by CC MacKenzie
The way Anais attempted a pitiful smile had Marcus step forward to scoop up his wife.
With a nod of thanks to his brother and holding her close, he carried her out of the room. He felt her arms wind around his neck as her head dropped to his shoulder. He was so proud of her and the way she was coping with his world and his family. Even his father, who was a man very hard to please at times, adored her. Anais was a team player, always had been, always would be. But now she was putting herself, her mental health, at risk. For days he'd watched her struggle to reach Charlotte, knowing that if he interfered or tried to stop her, it may cause a significant breach in their new and fragile relationship. He had no doubt she loved him. No doubt. But Marcus wasn't absolutely certain she'd forgiven him for everything she'd gone through.
Hell, he hadn't forgiven himself.
Perhaps they'd work on forgiveness together.
He used his shoulder to shove open the door to a huge bedroom suite, complete with bath, sitting area and dressing room and headed for the big bed that dominated the space.
With a kindness he didn't know he possessed, he laid her on her back and simply stared down at the woman who held his heart captive. She was staring, unblinking, up at the ceiling and quietly weeping. A river of tears ran into her hairline to seep into the comforter.
Marcus took a breath, she was over-emotional, worn-out and fretting about Charlotte. He could feel waves of all three coming from her mind. Plus, he noted with a frown, she'd lost weight. She needed to feed. But first, she required pampering and support and a lot of love.
First up, a bath.
Shrugging off his suit jacket, his tie, his shirt as he went into the bathroom, he tossed salts and a couple of drops of her favourite bath oil into water steaming from the taps. While the enormous tub filled, he stripped, stepped into the power shower and washed away the stresses and strains of the day. He was picking up a lot of the business slack for James, which meant his workload had doubled. Not that he was complaining. Hadn't James done exactly the same for him when he'd messed up with Anais in Shanghai?
By the time he'd towel dried his hair, her bath was ready.
When he returned to their bed, she hadn't moved.
Tears were drying on her drenched cheeks.
Those beautiful big almond shaped eyes were unbearably sad.
God, he couldn't remember the last time he'd seen such a luminous beauty. It was as if Anais was lit from within.
Without speaking he started to strip her and she simply lay there and let him.
He took a selfish moment to admire long lean arms and legs, the tight little breasts with their tight little nipples the color of caramel and her flat belly, her pubis. All of which made him hard as stone. Wryly he bit his top lip. There was no sign of his predictable response to her diminishing any time soon.
Scooping her up in his arms he carried her through to the bathroom and placed her in warm, scented water.
"Too hot?" he asked.
She shook her head and her eyes closed as she sat, wrapped her arms around her legs and rested her cheek on her knees. With gentle hands he removed the hair-tie from her slippery tresses, piled her hair on top of her head and tied it in a messy top-knot to keep it dry. Then he knelt beside the tub, grabbed a large sponge and soap and set about looking after his woman.
Anais wondered if the black fog in her mind was what depression felt like.
She'd no idea since she'd never been depressed in her life, not even when Marcus brought her into his world. She'd been spitting mad. Sometimes she still felt mad. No, the darkness that weighed her down was different. Charlotte was in so much pain. Her mind living in a place of pandemonium and bewilderment. And who could blame her? Anais closed her eyes as the too tight muscles in her shoulders were massaged with firm fingers.
God, her husband had magic hands.
And he knew exactly how to use them.
"Do you want to lie back? Or do you want me in there with you?"
Her eyelids were so heavy it took an incredible act of will simply to lift them.
When she did, she saw a sight for sore eyes.
Her man was watching her like a hawk, his violently blue eyes edged with disgracefully long lashes seemed to reach right into her soul. His hair, black as jet, was damp and tousled and his strong jaw badly needed a shave. She loved the hard bones of that brooding face with a mouth just made for kissing.
"I want you in here with me," she said.
The flash of dimple in his left cheek was somewhat incongruous. After all, who'd ever heard of a big bad vampyre with a dimple? He rose and she couldn't help but catch the sight of his dazzling arousal. Satin over steel. She felt that shaft settle at her back as he slid in behind her. Now she sat between his legs and lay back against him, letting him take her weight, as he continued long leisurely strokes of the sponge down her torso. He lifted her arms up to link her hands around his neck. In this position she was wide open to him. He payed particular attention to her breasts and then slid the sponge gently between her legs. Oh yes, her man was thorough, very thorough, in all that he did. When he was satisfied she was scented and spotless, he lay back with her in his strong arms and placed his cheek on top of her head.
Even though every single cell in her body was aroused, she simply relaxed and enjoyed the moment. It was like being cocooned with pure love. When the water began to cool, she felt him stir as he lifted her and rose.
She stood before him, helpless as a child as he dried her with a warm bath sheet, wrapped her tight and carried her to their bed.
It wasn't until she was all warm and snug that he stood next to the bed and stared down at her.
"Do you want a bag of blood, or do you want to feed from me?"
Her choice.
She could either take a bag from the fridge, drink it and sink into sleep, or if she fed from her mate, that would mean making love. Really, there was no choice.
"I want you."
Right answer.
The dimple flashed again as he climbed in beside her and turned down the bedside light.
She turned into his arms, felt him release her hair and lifted her face to his kiss.
Her lips were soft and sweet as he tasted the honeyed depth of her mouth. The idea was to keep everything soft and gentle. Marcus knew his woman needed care this night. And he was determined to give rather than receive. Gentle hands explored the silky, perfumed skin. She smelled of a summer meadow, wild flowers and soothing herbs. His mouth went on a voyage of discovery over her face, placing tiny kisses on her closed eyelids, tasted a little salt which told him her emotions were still all over the place. Poor darling. When his lips trailed open-mouthed kisses to the frantic pulse, her carotid, her breath hitched. She was so amazingly responsive to him, his woman. But he wasn't going to taste her, not yet. Instead, he dipped his head and sampled her nipple, sucked the dusky bud between his tongue and the roof of his mouth. Her moan and the way her pelvis rose made him smile. She liked that. He did it again. And again. But he wasn't finished. Now he trailed a path of kisses down, down, to her navel, let the tip of his tongue explore her belly button and her hips rose again. She was becoming impatient. The scent of her arousal was like nectar to his vampyre who actually whimpered in his mind.
'Down boy,' Marcus growled in response. 'She needs tender loving. There will be no rough stuff this night.'
"Marcus," she breathed his name. "I need you inside me."
Since he only lived to serve her, he paused, lifted his head to find her on her elbows, her eyes burning into his.
Watching her, he slid his fingers into her hot slick sheath, saw her eyes go almost opaque.
"I wanted to taste you, to bring you pleasure."
She blinked, lay down and held out her arms.
"I want you inside me. Please Marcus."
Her legs spread wide and he positioned himself in the cradle of her pelvis and slid right in to the hilt. He couldn't help the moan of a pleasure so deep it was almost pai
n. Now her legs were around his waist, pulling him even further into her body. Tight. So tight. Her face was flushed. Her mouth trembled with each thrust of his hips as he gave her the ultimate pleasure. He kissed her, surging into her again and again. Now she was writhing almost squirming beneath him, trying to lift her pelvis to make him go faster. But he pinned her to the bed as he went slow and steady. He could feel the way he stretched her flesh, her tendons. And then her internal muscles clenched and released, clenched and released. Now he was the one who was trembling. Closing his eyes tight, he fought a war of attrition with the sting of release racing down his spine and into his sac. He groaned out loud with the pleasure of it and opened his eyes to find her vampyre staring into his eyes. The shock nearly made him lose it as his vampyre leapt.
The beast, however, did not impale her fast and furious.
Instead his vampyre went perfectly still.
She whimpered.
A plea.
A sound of submission.
Abruptly, his shaft swelled, stretching her tight sinews further. He took her painfully slowly as his hands caught hers, fingers entwined, and pressed them on the bed next to her head. A pleasure so deep rose between them as his vampyre offered his mate his neck to feed, to take her fill.
The tip of her tongue licked his carotid and he held absolutely still as her fangs sank into his flesh to drink, to feed, to replenish her body, her mind. When she was replete, he moved into her again and again until he felt her womb clench as she became wetter, her voice high and begging, pleading with him to go faster, harder. Now he was riding her hard, driving his flesh into hers. Hot. So hot.
The climax that had a scream rip through her, the way her body bore down on his triggered his own. Hot jets released his seed into her again and again. Christ, her claws were digging into his shoulders. They were going to make a mess of the white cotton sheets, and he couldn't give a damn.
Marcus lifted the weight of his body from hers, leaning on his arms, his breath sawing in and out of his lungs. The eyes that stared back into his were his Anais. A very satisfied cat's-got-the-cream Anais. He kissed her, he couldn't help it, and watched her smile.
"That wasn't supposed to happen like that," he admitted. "Tonight was supposed to be all about you."
Through her lashes, she stared up at the darkly sensual and sexy man above her. His eyes now were the darker blue she'd come to equate with passion, ownership and he was still hard inside her. How was it even possible?
"I will never get enough of you," he said, plucking the thought right out of her mind.
"Stay out of my head."
Ignoring the cranky tone, he kissed her and she kissed him back.
He rolled to his side and took her with him, hooked her leg over his hip and pressed closer.
"I read your face, not your mind. You have a very expressive face, my wee darlin’."
Her little mew of self-disgust that he could read her like a book was heartfelt.
Anais slid her fingers through his silky black hair. He always made her feel wonderful when they made love. As if she was the most beautiful woman in the world for him, as if he could never, ever, get enough of her. He'd made her forget, just for a moment, all the pain and hurt and dismay she'd felt when joined with Charlotte. "I love you, Marcus."
She shifted to get a good look at his marvelous face. His eyes were an almost violent blue with a delight that thrilled her and she read everything in them. Love. Eternal, ever-lasting shone right back at her, as did possession. A possession that was almost naked in its raw state. It was aggressive. And it was all Marcus.
Her gaze dropped to the claw-marks on his shoulders, already healing.
Really, she should have been horrified that she'd done such a thing to his flawless skin.
Instead, she realized that she was as possessive and aggressive about him, too.
As she burrowed her face into his strong chest to hear the steady beat of his powerful heart, Anais discovered she didn't give a damn.
"Do you want to talk to me about Charlotte?" he whispered as he held her tight. "Daniel told me it would help you enormously to talk about what happened today, to get it all out. Share the burden with me. That's what marriage is all about, sharing the bad times as well as sharing the good times."
Anais closed her eyes, wishing they didn't have to break, what had been for her, such a special moment.
But the moment had already slipped away.
So she stayed where she was, wrapped up safe and warm in his arms and told him what had happened. By the time she was finished her heart was still heavy, but she felt lighter somehow.
"She suffers so terribly, Marcus. I don't know if she will ever be the same," she said at the end.
His hand stroked her hair as his mouth kissed her temple, her cheek and tasted her tears.
"Try not to cry, darlin’. I can't cope with it when you cry. It kills me."
She sniffed.
"Sorry."
He dropped a kiss on her nose.
"Nothing to be sorry for. I'm just a wimp."
She couldn't help but laugh.
Anyone who was less a wimp she'd yet to see.
Even if she dreaded the answer, she asked the question that had been tormenting her for days,
"What does one do with an unstable vampyre?"
"One kills it."
Stunned, Anais could only stare up at her husband in horror.
His blue eyes were dark now, cold.
Merciless.
And right then he looked exactly what he was, inhuman.
Ice filled her veins, pooled in her belly.
Nausea a beating fist in her throat.
It rose within her, fear.
"You would kill Charlotte?"
He blinked and the otherworldly being was gone in an instant.
For a moment she thought that perhaps she'd imagined it.
But she wasn't a fool.
She wasn't self-deluded either.
Those violently blue preternatural eyes stared into hers as if seeing right into her soul.
She couldn't help it, she shivered.
A response that made him tip his head to study her very carefully.
It was a move that reminded her of the moment, a moment of utter stillness, before Eleanor had attacked her in Shanghai.
"If I had to, yes. But I won't have to. James will kill her."
He kissed her.
But for the first time she didn't feel it.
For the first time she just lay there and wondered what kind of monster was it she'd married.
Chapter Thirteen
James hadn’t seen Charlotte for three interminable days.
The memory of her broken body lying on a table in the operating theatre made that fist around his heart clench nice and tight. It didn’t matter what he had to do, James promised, he’d make all of it, everything, up to her. He'd fix it.
Telling himself it was utterly ridiculous to feel nervous, he took a deep breath and knocked on the door of the master bedroom suite. Not waiting for a response, he opened the door. The room was dark, lit only by a row of flickering candles grouped on a large serving table and reflected in a wall mirror. Scented candles, he realized. The air was filled with a pleasant herbal aroma.
Charlotte was seated in an elegant chair facing towards the window.
She sat utterly still, eerily illuminated by silver moonlight.
The thick beautiful hair he loved to bury his face in, loved to stream through his fingers, appeared almost black in the light.
She was dressed in a kimono of red silk. All he could see of her lovely face was her profile. Her hair was caught back from her face and flowed over her right shoulder in glossy curls. Curls? Her hands appeared relaxed on the arms on the chair and her breathing was shallow and steady.
Closing the door with a soft click, he stepped forward.
Even though he had the distinct feeling she'd heard him, she didn’t turn to look at him.
&nb
sp; His heart did a crazy dance against his ribs, because now his instincts were telling him that something was wrong with her.
Very wrong.
He stepped closer, his hungry gaze sweeping over her face.
With care, he inhaled, and icy fingers of fear crept up his spine.
The changes in the woman sitting before him were subtle but nonetheless devastating.
She didn’t quite smell like his Charlotte.
She didn’t quite look like his Charlotte.
Her glossy hair was dark brown curls rather than the smooth strands he loved. The clear skin was pulled tight across high cheekbones and the full mouth appeared puffy, terribly swollen. The lashes were thick and heavy as they blinked once, twice. Then her nostrils twitched fractionally and she inhaled his scent.
Slowly, her head turned towards him.
Big eyes looked up into his and his knees went so weak so fast he nearly collapsed.
The creature who sat there did in no way resemble Charlotte Gillespie, ER medic or his human wife.
The creature that stared right through him with eyes the color of ripe cranberries was one hundred per cent vampyre. And a seriously pissed off vampyre at that.
Her fingers flexed on the arm of the chair as she very slowly and carefully rose to her feet.
Hadn't Anais told him Charlotte was in a great deal of pain?
He wanted to stretch out a hand to help her, but the look in her eyes for him held him back.
Hatred.
It cost him, but he held his ground.
Christ, she’d grown about six inches.
Those strange eyes went on a voyage from his head to his toes and back again as if seeing him for the very first time. The fine hairs on the back of James's neck stood to attention as the vampyre's mouth twisted, a contemptuous sneer, that made it crystal clear she was not impressed with what she saw.
And his vampyre growled in his mind at the perceived threat.
Instantly, she bared her fangs and James found he couldn’t swallow the hard, hot lump in his throat.
