by Kresley Cole
She recalled that she'd been angry with him and had run, but couldn't quite recall why. She could never stay angry with a man who was looking at her like he was.
He stared at her as though awed.
"I dinna want to hurt you. I tried no' to."
"It was fleeting. I tried not to hurt you, either."
He grinned, then asked, "Did you hear something inside you? You knew things…"
She nodded. "It was like…instinct, but instinct I was clearly aware of. It scared me at first."
"And then?"
"And then I came to understand it was, I don't know how to put it, but it was guiding me…rightly."
"How did the moon feel on your skin?"
"Almost as good as it felt to run. It was like…heaven. Lachlain, I felt scents."
His body was shaking and he sank back, pulling her over him to lie on his chest, straddling his hips. "Sleep." His lids were heavy, but he kissed her. "Tired from sating my young mate. And from your trick."
Now she remembered the night before, and stiffened. "I only retaliated against yours." If he took her to task about her actions—
"Aye. I like that you give as you get." His voice was drowsy as he said against her hair, "You are teaching me, Emmaline."
At that, the outrage she'd wanted to feel at his actions—or felt she should feel like other, stronger women would—deflated to nonexistence. She was a spineless wuss, she knew it. Because after one mere cataclysmic night in the grass, her first through fifteenth orgasms, and a couple of awed looks, she was tempted to latch on to this strong, bighearted Lykae with two hands and fangs and never let go.
As if reading her mind, he murmured, "Need to sleep. But when I get my strength back, I'll be able to give you this"—he thrust into her, still semihard—"and all the blood you can drink."
Her flesh spasmed around him at the thought.
He grinned. "Every night. I promise you." He kissed her forehead. "Rest for a while."
"But the sun will be up soon."
"I'll have you in our bed well before then."
Her body was warm and relaxed under his hands, but her mind was in a panic. Yes, she wanted to rest in an open field on top of him near the earth they'd torn apart during hours of sex. But an open field—like a parking lot or a football field or, God forbid, a plain—was a death trap. Sleeping under the stars? Avoid at all costs. She craved cover, thick canopy, a cave or some way to get lower in the earth, farther from the sun.
And still the pull to remain here was strong, conflicting with her need for self-preservation. The Lykae Instinct he'd given her was beautiful, compelling, but there was one problem.
She was a vampire.
He rolled over in sleep, tucking her into his side. He put his knee over her to pull her close and then crooked his arm around her head. Protectively. All around her. Better. Maybe just surrender.
"Mine," he growled softly. "Missed you."
Yes. Apparently she'd missed him, too.
Surrender. Trust him. Her eyelids drifted closed. Her last thought was, Never knew day. Or night…
27
In their bed, Lachlain lay on his side, stroking the backs of his fingers from her navel up between her soft breasts and down again. He felt electricity charging the air and after last night, he now knew it was for her.
He didn't understand how she could still desire him or why she seemed so pleased with him. He'd woken with a heavy regret for his actions. She had been more than he'd ever dreamed, so beautiful, so passionate, and he'd finally claimed her. Again and again. Beneath the full moon, she'd given him unimaginable, mind-boggling pleasure—and a soul-deep feeling of connection with her.
She'd given these things, but he'd taken her virginity on the ground in the woods like the beast she thought him, shoving into her delicate flesh. He thought…he thought he'd made her scream with pain.
Then he'd marked her neck savagely. She could never see his mark—no one but a Lykae could—or feel it, but she would carry this frenzied brand forever. The Lykae would forever know upon seeing it that he had been out of his mind with lust for her. Or they would reason he'd done it to such a degree as an overtly hostile threat to other males. Both would be true.
Yet in spite of all this, the lass seemed pleased with him, chattering happily, reaching up with a dreamy expression to caress the side of his face.
"You have no' drunk today. Are you thirsty?"
"No. For some reason, no." Then she smiled brightly. "Probably because I stole so much yesterday."
"Saucy lass." He leaned down and nuzzled her breast, making her jump. "And you know it's freely given." He grasped her chin and met her eyes. "You do know that, do you no'? Anytime you need to drink, even if I'm asleep, I want you to take."
"You really like it?"
"Like is no' the word I'd use."
"You'd heal faster if I didn't."
"Maybe, but my recovery would no' be so sweet."
Still she was insistent. "Lachlain, sometimes I feel like a ball and chain around your ankle." Before he could protest, she said, "You asked me the first time I drank if I thought you would turn me to a Lykae. Could you?"
He tensed when he saw she was serious. "Emma, you know no living being can change without dying first." The catalyst for the transformation among the vampires, the ghouls, the wraiths, among all of them, was death. "I would have to turn fully, give myself up to it, and then kill you, hoping that you got infected so you could be reborn." Praying that she accepted a piece of the beast into her body and that it would roar to life within her—but not too strongly. "And if you survived, you'd be locked away for years until you could control the…possession." Most took a decade. Some never gained control.
With her shoulders curving in protectively, miserably, she muttered, "And still it almost sounds worth it to me. I hate being a vampire. I hate being hated."
"Becoming a Lykae would no' alter that—just would alter you to a new set of enemies. We're no' exactly universally loved in the Lore. Besides, even were it done with the snap of my fingers, I would no' do it."
"You wouldn't change that I'm a vampire?" she asked, her tone disbelieving. "It would be so much simpler!"
"Bugger simple. It's made you what you are, and I would no' change a single thing about you. And besides, you're no' even wholly a vampire." Going to his knees, he scooped her up against his chest. He ran the tip of his finger over the small sharp point of her ear, then nipped it with his teeth, making her shiver. "Think you I dinna see the sky you gave me last night?"
She blushed, a shy smile coaxed forth, then buried her face in his shoulder.
If he hadn't seen it, he'd never have believed it. Crystal clear sky, moon heavy, yet lightning streaked wildly over it like a net, the light fading so slowly from each bolt. It had taken him a long moment to realize they mirrored her cries. "That's always been rumored to be a Valkyrie trait, but none of us knew for certain."
"The men who see it don't usually, well, live, if they're the type to tell about it."
He briefly raised his eyebrows at that, then said, "You are no vampire. You have your lightning and your eyes grow silver. You're unique to all the world."
She grimaced. "In other words—a freak."
"No, doona say that. You're just your own entity, I believe." He eased her back in his arms and the corners of his lips quirked up. "You're my wee halfling."
She punched his shoulder.
"And I like the lightning. I'll know you're never feigning it." He kissed her, but he was grinning and she punched him again. He seemed to think this was hilarious.
"Oooh! I wish you'd never seen it!"
He gave her a lewd smirk. "And if I'm outside and feel a charge in the air, I'll know to come running to you. You'll have me trained in a day." He was clearly thinking of all the scenarios. "I'm glad we live so far from towns."
We live.
He frowned. "But you were in a coven. Everyone would know if late one night you brought yourself t
o come. No' a lot of privacy."
He spoke so bluntly—he was so aggravating! Face back against his chest, she snapped, "I didn't have to worry about that!"
"What do you mean? You never saw even when you touched yourself?"
She gasped, glad he couldn't see her face. But of course, he leaned her back, not letting her look away. "No, Emma. I want to know. I need to understand everything about you."
She was secretive, shy. Those damn voices were insisting she share.
"Lightning is constant over the manor—any marked emotion triggers it, and so many live there. And anyway, before last night, I've never, um, well"—she struggled with the word—"come."
His eyes widened, and she could tell he was…delighted.
"It was very distressing for me."
"I doona understand."
"I've heard that the most twisted vampires have subjugated that need. Blood is all they desire, and those are the ones that decimate villages and drink to kill with such greed…" She stared past him. "To not be able to was terrifying for me. Every day I feared I would be like them."
"No' able to." He brushed her hair back from her forehead. "I dinna know. I thought you had some kind of Valkyrie control over yourself…I dinna know it was involuntary."
She must be using a gallon of blood blushing tonight.
"It's no' surprising you could no'."
She looked at him with hurt.
"No, no, if you were young and dinna know how and then it dinna happen…you would start to feel pressure each time."
She nodded, stunned he saw so much. That was exactly what had happened.
"You will never be like those vampires. Emma, you are nothing like them."
"How can you be so certain?"
"You are kind and gentle. You feel compassion. I would no' want you so strongly if I dinna know you are these things."
"But the Instinct forces you to want me. You said before that you had to keep me with you."
"Is that what you think?" He cupped her face. "The Instinct guides me to what I want and need. It directed me to the one woman I could make a life with. No matter what, it would always be you for me, but without the Instinct, I would never have recognized you as my mate because you are other. I would no' have given us a chance—and never forced you to."
"You say all of this like my mind's made up."
His expression grew grave, his eyes bleak. "Is it no'?"
"Well, what if it wasn't?"
He palmed the back of her neck, his eyes flickering blue. "You canna speak lightly of this."
"Has it never happened?" she whispered.
"Aye. Bowen."
She wriggled from his grasp, curling up against the headboard. "I thought you said his mate died."
"She did. As she ran from him."
"Oh, my God. What did he do?"
"He became void of feeling, more a walking corpse than Demestriu even. You would doom me to that."
"But if you want to build a life with me, mine involves my family. You said you'd take me there. Why not now? Just get it over with."
"I have to do something first."
"You're going to get revenge, aren't you?"
"Aye."
"It's that important to you?"
"I canna be right without it."
"What Demestriu did to you must've been awful."
A muscle ticked in his cheek. "I will no' tell you, so doona play to find out."
"You always want me to tell you my secrets, but you won't share one that affects both of us."
"I will never share this."
Giving him her side, she hugged her legs tighter to her chest. "You want your revenge more than you want me."
"I will no' be what you need until I set this right."
"People who go after Demestriu don't come back."
"I did," he said smugly, with all his considerable arrogance.
Could he be lucky twice? He couldn't not come back. "So, do you plan to leave me here when you go mete out your retribution?"
"Aye, I would trust your safety only to my brother Garreth."
"Leaving the little lady back at the keep?" She laughed, but it was a bitter sound. "Sometimes I'm stunned by what a time capsule you are." He frowned, obviously not understanding her. "Even if I could be convinced to kick my heels up here, this plan has a flaw. The coven is busy with their own difficulties, but there's only so much time before they will come for me. Or worse."
"What do you mean, or worse?"
"They'll find a way to hurt you. Find a weakness and exploit it like a scourge. They just won't stop. Isn't there a group of Lykae living in the next parish over? My aunt, the one I love best in the world, could attack them with a viciousness that would stagger you."
He ground his teeth. "You know what bothers me most about what you said? I should be the one you love best in the world. Me."
She gasped at the words and the surprise feeling that flashed through her all the way to her toes.
"And of the other, if anyone in my clan is weak enough to be captured or killed by wee fey…women, then they needed to be culled from the pack anyway."
That statement brought her crash-landing back into the conversation. "They are small and fey looking. They also kill vampires regularly. My aunt Kaderin has destroyed more than four hundred of them."
His lips curled. "An auntie tells you tales."
"There's proof."
"Did they sign a paper right before she worked their heads off?"
She sighed, and when she didn't answer, he leaned forward and squeezed her foot. "When Kaderin kills, she snaps out a fang—to be strung with the others. The line runs the length of her room."
"All you're doing is endearing her to me. Remember, I'll see every one of them dead."
"How can you say that when I am one? Or part of one. Whatever you want to call it! One of them is my father." He opened his mouth to speak, but she said, "You can't spare him only. Because I don't know who he was…or is. That's why I was in Paris searching for information."
"What of your mother?"
"I know more about what she was doing a thousand years ago than I do about when she was pregnant with me. We do know that she lived in Paris for some time with my father. Just the fact that I insisted on traveling alone should tell you how important it was to me."
"Then I will help you. When I return and after you see your family, we will solve this."
He was so assured it would be done. So says the king.
"What was your mother's name? I know the names of about twenty or so Valkyrie. Even know some legends told around a fire. Was she another bloodthirsty witch like Furie? Does she have a trailing name like Myst the Coveted or Daniela the Ice Maiden? The beheader, perhaps? The castrator?"
She sighed, weary of this. "Her name was Helen. Just Helen."
"I never heard of her." He grew quiet, then said, "And your last name? Troy? At least your aunts have a sense of humor."
Her gaze flickered over his face.
"Oh, no. No' going to believe that one. Helen of Troy was human at best. Most likely a myth or a character in a play."
She shook her head. "Nope. She was Helen of Troy by way of the country of Lydia. She's no more a myth than my aunt Atalanta in New Zealand or my aunt Mina, of Dracula legend, in Seattle. They came first. The warped stories come after."
"But…Helen? At least that explains your looks," he muttered, clearly shocked, then frowned. "Why in the hell would she stoop to a vampire?"
She flinched. "Listen to your disgust. Stoop to my father, you mean." She grasped her forehead with her fingers. "What if he is Demestriu? Have you ever thought about that?"
"Demestriu? I know that is no' the case. I will help you find your father—you will have your questions answered. I vow it. But you are no' his."
"How can you be so sure?"
"You're gentle and beautiful and sane. His issue would be like him." His eyes grew blue. "Malevolent, filthy parasites that belong in hell."
A chill crept up her spine. To hate so deeply…it would have to spill over to any vampire. "We're kidding ourselves, Lachlain. This will never work between us," she said, in a tone that even she recognized was utterly defeated.
His brows drew together at her words as if astounded she felt that way. But how could he be?
"Yes, it will. We've trials to overcome, but they will be overcome."
When he said it like that, when she couldn't sense even the minutest hint of doubt, she almost felt herself believing disparate beings like themselves could make this a go. Almost. She ventured a reassuring expression for him, but didn't think she pulled it off.
He suddenly rasped, "Christ, lass, I will no' argue with you when I've been too long to find you." He reached forward to cup her face with both hands. "Let's speak of this no more. I have something I want to show you."
He lifted her from the bed, setting her on her feet, then began leading her to the bedroom door though she was naked.
"I need to put on a nightgown!"
"No one's here."
"Lachlain! I'm not walking around willy-nilly naked. Okay?"
His lips curled as if he found her modesty endearing. "Then go put on the silk I'll soon be ripping from you. You've no respect for your clothing."
She glowered, crossed to her dresser, and chose a gown. When she turned back, she found he'd slung on a pair of jeans. She'd realized that about him—he'd begun trying to make her feel more comfortable. Of course, he still often insisted that she "stretch herself."
He led her downstairs, then past the gallery, until they approached what had to be the end of the castle. There he covered her eyes with his hands, leading her into a room that felt moist and smelled decadent and lush. When he removed his hands, she gasped. He'd taken her to an ancient solarium, but now the light it captured was the moon's, illuminating all that grew within.
"Flowers. Blooming flowers," she breathed, staring in disbelief. "A night garden."
Emma turned to him, bottom lip trembling. "For me?"
Always for you. All things for you. He coughed into his fist. "All your own."
"How did you know?" She ran to him, leaping up into his arms. As she hugged him tightly—she really was getting to be a strong wee lass—she whispered her thanks in his ear, with little teasing kisses, easing the empty, feral desperation still clinging to him. He'd been stunned to realize how convinced she was that they would end.
