by Jackie Ivie
It felt—
Oh, shit. Hellfire. And damnation.
Paul Henry jerked his mind to a halt. Snatched any thought of emotion from consideration. Mentally shoved it into a compartment. Slammed the lid on it. If he could, he’d have hammered it shut. This was totally unlike him. He didn’t deal in feelings. They were for the weak. Powerless. Cowardly. And they usually covered up failure.
Paul Henry Beethan wasn’t weak. Or cowardly.
And he didn’t fail.
The word wasn’t even in his vocabulary.
There were reasons he was like this. His upbringing was just a part of it. He’d figured it out for himself years ago. Nobody had a set future in this world. Success depended on an individual, not their chance placement at birth. He’d been called driven. That was true. His life was a series of goals he set for himself, some of them seemingly impossible. But he’d always managed to achieve them. Enjoy a measure of satisfaction that followed. Move onto the next goal.
That’s what he was used to.
Not this...
This...
He wasn’t even sure how to describe it. Failure tasted like an insipid dish. Resembled downing a glass of tepid water. Had the consistency of pudding. It wasn’t repulsive. Or disagreeable. It was just bland. Nothing of import. He didn’t even want to ponder it. But that didn’t change the facts.
He’d just failed.
The goal had been lasting the night. Staving off sexual gratification. Keeping on task. The objective had been a personal matter. No one would ever know about it. Still, it mattered. Once one target was failed, didn’t that make it a little easier to fall short on the next one? And the next? And what about the aspirations following that?
Paul Henry grimaced. Failure did not feel right. Like a sliver caught beneath the skin. Festering. He couldn’t afford to be unsuccessful again. The ante had been upped considerably. The next goal was just coming into range. And he wasn’t failing that.
He moved his gaze to the chandelier above them. Very few candles still sputtered in their pools of wax. The room was dim. Quiet, except for the sound of their united breathing...always in tandem. As if what Eska said was true.
And they were mates.
The objective was not just to leave in the morning. That part was preordained. Infallible. Set in stone. The aim was to do it with his heart and mind intact. This entire episode forgotten, or – at the very least, disregarded.
That was the goal.
Eska murmured something. Stirred. Paul Henry’s fingers froze. He slowly lifted his hand from the hair strands across her back. Moved it to his side. Hoped she didn’t notice. Her head lifted. She turned to him and regarded him from a few inches away. A firestorm of heat whooshed through his chest. Grabbed his heart. Squeezed the organ until each beat shuddered as if hitting a cage. He told himself it was a physical impossibility, but that didn’t make it disappear.
Oh, shit.
He was in trouble.
A big pit of trouble.
And he dangled from the precipice, ready to fall in.
And that was too imaginative a construct. Completely unlike him. Utterly alien. He barely caught the surprise and dread from showing anywhere. Steeled himself. Sent a mental command. And then it got worse. His dick started to get interested.
Again?
What in the hell?
“What did you do to your eyes?” she asked.
Paul Henry tensed throughout his hips. Sent the order to stand down. Got ignored by his own physiology. He cleared his throat next. It was a wasted effort, as well. His voice was a rasp of sound. “When?”
“Just now.”
“Um. Nothing.” He told himself it wasn’t a true lie, and worked at keeping his gaze on hers. He didn’t even blink.
“They look deadened again.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” he responded.
Now...that was a lie.
“You are trying to shut me out, aren’t you?”
She lifted from him enough to put a finger to his chest, directly atop his heart. The damned thing stopped. Hers matched. He took a deep breath to restart things. She echoed that, too. And then she smiled.
His trouble pit grew deeper.
“Oh. Paul Henry. You are...so very young. And so...very stubborn.”
She traced an open heart atop his as she spoke. The organ responded with a series of erratic thumps, accompanied exactly by hers. He wondered how to hide that.
“I am not much younger than you,” he replied.
“Physically? Yes. Experience-wise...?”
She left it opened-ended. He knew better than to enjoin a debate with indisputable facts against him. He considered her for a long time. Decided on an offense. Shifted his hips suggestively against her.
“Did you really have to bring that up?” he asked.
“What?”
“That you are a corpse. Animated for now. But you will return to your grave come sunrise. Like all vampires.”
“Oh. Paul Henry. You are really good at that, aren’t you?”
“At what?” he parried.
“Attempting to alter a situation...with words.”
She shimmied against his groin. He almost groaned aloud. Inside his head he might as well be shouting orders. All of them disregarded. He had to try a different tack.
“Eska?”
“Yes?”
“How do you tell time around here?”
“We don’t have need of it.”
“Everyone has need of time.”
“When you are immortal, time is like being adrift on an ocean...atop a small raft facing a sea of infinity. It’s vast.”
“How do you know when to seek your coffin then?”
“I don’t have a coffin.”
“Why not?”
“I was not buried.”
“Oh. All right. How do you know when to seek the place containing dirt...from wherever you were changed, then?”
“I don’t have dirt.”
“All vampires have dirt. It’s a requirement of their existence.”
“I don’t.”
“Very well. Educate me. What do you have?”
“I would have drowned. Remember?”
“Are you saying you...what? Rest in water?”
“Exactly.”
“How? A liquid chamber? And, if so, why isn’t your skin all scaly and water-logged?”
She laughed. It was musical. Endearing. His ears filled with the sound. His eyes stung oddly. His throat closed off. And his heart did antics within his chest.
Holy shit.
His trouble pit was a yawning maw. Big. Black.
“Wherever you got your education on vampires...it appears to be lacking, Paul Henry.”
He glared at her with what he hoped was anger. Distaste. Nothing on his body agreed, however. And his groin was becoming a real issue. Uncomfortable as hell. He almost shifted, but that would just alert her to it.
“I have lots of water. The Bering Sea. All I require is a few drops. I carry enough in a vial. It’s in my purse. Would you like to see?”
“You’re telling me the means to destroy you? And giving me directions?”
“Is that what you want?”
He tried to stop the flood of sensation overtaking him. It crested like a wave over his shoulders. Crashed through his torso. Wrapped around his heart. Smacked into his gut. And then went lower. He pulsed against her loins. Felt her answering twinge. All of it wrong...but undeniable. He set his jaw. Considered her for long moments.
“I’m still leaving in the morning,” he finally replied.
“You are my mate, Paul Henry.”
He slid slowly into her, in the event she was tender. Trembled with remembered ecstasy as well as the new sensation. Started his withdrawal. Stopped for a moment.
“Just because you say something, does not make it true,” he said softly.
“There is nothing better than finding your mate. True love...is just the beginning.”<
br />
He sighed heavily. It disguised all sorts of other ills. Elation. Dismay. And the blasted need for her that he couldn’t seem to halt.
“I warned you not to say that word,” he finally answered.
Her smile was bright. It matched her eyes. There was a patina of gloss atop them, as if she was close to weeping. Her voice only validated that impression. “You cannot...fight it, my love.”
He gritted his teeth. Felt a stab in his lower lip. Disregarded it. Tried to drum up anger. At the very least, disgust. “I will be leaving...come sunrise. You have my word on it.”
“You will fail.”
He lowered a hand to her backside. Held her in place for his shove back into her. Heat surrounded him. Liquid enchantment. Pulsating sensation. He locked her to him with his hand. Rolled. Lifted from her for mobility. Waited a few moments while she regarded him with her unfathomably deep dark eyes.
“I got news for you, sweetheart,” he told her. “I never fail.”
And then he moved.
But he knew he was lying.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Paul Henry rolled neatly from the mattress to the floor and then to his feet. Muscles rippled beneath his skin, drawing her appreciative gaze. He really had gorgeous skin tone, even where it hadn’t been tanned...and that didn’t seem like a very large area. The man obviously wore extremely small swimwear. He probably drew more than one glance when he wore it.
Eska sat, pulled her knees up and wrapped her arms about them. Craning her neck, she looked up, and sighed appreciatively.
Paul Henry twisted to look over his shoulder, displaying even more perfectly-formed male physique. He saw her expression. Looked like he correctly interpreted it because he glanced quickly away, and...
Was that a blush?
His cheeks and chin weren’t the only things darkening. The color leached down his neck, too.
“Eska.”
He was probably trying to sound authoritative again. That was entertaining. The amusement sounded in her voice. “Yes?”
“What are you doing?”
“Admiring the view.”
“Well. Cease.”
“I’m not certain...I can.”
He put his hands on his hips. Turned to face her. Oh, my! That was an even better angle. She raked her gaze down to his ankles. Back up. Shivered in pleasure. Watched as goose flesh rippled along his skin, as well. All these years, she’d been searching for a human version of a King Salmon. As far as she was concerned, she’d found the king of Kings. Superlative. Strong. Arrogant. Looked like she’d managed to hook him, too, but he was fighting hard. Reeling him in presented quite the challenge.
“Eska. Enough.”
He quickly dropped a hand to cover his groin area. The striations in his abs and lower belly were pulled taut, however, giving him away. Eska fought the smile. He might sound contrary, but his body wasn’t following the agenda. And he wouldn’t be able to hide it for long.
“Enough...what?” she asked innocently.
“I don’t know what time it is, but it’s got to be closing in on morning.”
“Probably. It’s nearing noon.”
“What?!”
“Noon. You know...twelve o’clock.”
“How is that possible? And why aren’t you resting?”
“Because we are underground…and the sun has yet to rise.”
“What the—? Oh. Dumbass.” He looked upward, smacked his forehead with his free hand. Used the gesture to hold hair off his face as he looked back down at her. “We’re in the far north, aren’t we?”
“Perhaps.”
“Near what? Barrow, Alaska? Nome?”
“Not exactly. A bit farther west.”
“There is nothing west except...? Oh, bugger me. We’re in Russia, aren’t we?”
She shrugged.
“This is clearly a cheat.”
“How so?”
“You can’t keep changing the conditions of the bargain when it’s already been negotiated. That’s patently unfair.”
“Says who?” Eska countered.
“Everybody!”
“I don’t see the trouble,” Eska teased.
“We bargained for a span of one night. Nobody said a thing about it being a three month night!”
“Nobody asked, either.”
“Oh. Trust a vampire to bend the rules at whim.”
“You will try anything to start an argument, won’t you? And, you’re wrong. It’s not winter yet. The sun will come up. Eventually.”
He opened his mouth. Shut it. Lowered his chin to glare at her. It didn’t do what he expected. Eska’s eyes half-closed in remembered pleasure. She reopened them to his frown. And then he turned from her, looked about. Walked toward the bed frame. She twisted to follow his progress.
“Where are my briefs?”
“Probably shredded,” she answered.
“Fine. I’ll just take this.”
He bent, snatched up her orange dress, broke the zipper as he ripped it open, and then draped it about his hips. He wasn’t being gentle. His motions put a lot of muscles on display throughout his frame. She couldn’t resist another sigh of pure pleasure. And nearly giggled at his resultant flush.
“Do you have a weapon handy?”
“I don’t think orange is your color,” she remarked, “...but I do like a man in a kilt.”
“A knife, Eska? Something? Anything?”
“Why?”
“I am about to gird a vampire den. I don’t know the extent of the complex. Or how many adversaries I may face. A weapon would be beneficial.”
“I don’t have one here,” she told him. It wasn’t true. Her ulu knives were in her suitcase. Within easy range.
“Great. Just...great.”
He walked toward the door. Eska sat up straighter.
“Good bye, Eska. And farewell. I will not see you again.”
“You can’t leave me, Paul Henry! You can’t!” Eska’s voice rose. She shoved to the mattress edge.
“Our bargain is over.”
Her heart was giving her trouble. It sent spurts of pain with each beat. He had to feel it, too. But he didn’t exhibit anything.
“I am leaving now,” he told her.
“You can’t.”
“I have to. You don’t understand.”
“No. You don’t understand! Mating is rare. Incredibly special! And undeniable! You cannot ignore it!”
He shoved the bolt up. Turned the handle.
“Don’t you feel...anything...for me?” she asked in a small voice she instantly regretted.
His back muscles clenched. He turned around. He had his upper lip lifted. Fangs sprouting.
“I am not staying, Eska. I can’t. It’s not open for negotiation or consideration.”
“Give me one reason why not?”
Eska was on her feet. Approaching. Watched his jaw clench. His fangs bit into his chin, once again. This time the blood didn’t take long to well. A trickle started to meander over his jaw, down his throat.
“That wasn’t part of our bargain.”
“So?”
“You can’t continually alter a contract.”
“Then you can’t leave. It’s still night out there.”
He sighed heavily. “I can’t stay, Eska. All right? It’s not you. It never was. It’s me.”
She’d reached him. Looked up. Locked gazes with him. Felt everything inside her start melting. “What about you?”
“It’s who I am. I’m not a Hunter. I didn’t lie. I haven’t been indoctrinated yet. But I am...the man who will sign their paychecks.” He said the words through clenched teeth.
“What?”
“I’m Paul Henry Beethan! Now, do you understand?”
She gasped theatrically. And then she lifted a finger to the center of his chest and let it hover a few inches from his skin. She let her breath out, cocked her head, and smiled. “I’ve known who you are since you told me your full name.”
&nbs
p; “You have?”
She nodded. “But I also knew it didn’t matter. It doesn’t matter who you are. Or what you’ve done. Nothing matters...except this!”
She lunged at him, wrapped her arms about his shoulders so tightly, it lifted her off the floor. Felt tingles throughout her body. She caught her breath. So did he. Their hearts hammered in unison, as well. But then his hands unlatched her. He forcibly placed her on the floor. Let her go. And stepped back. His face looked carved from stone, but his eyes were the hardest to observe. They weren’t just lifeless. They were a light blue shade, and they looked frosted over.
Cold.
Deadly.
“This is good-bye, Eska. Don’t let me see you again. Ever.”
“Paul Henry!”
“I may be forced to exterminate you.”
He slid out the door and pulled it shut. Eska regarded it for long moments without seeing anything. And then it opened. Paul Henry rushed back in. Joy hit her eyes. Nose. The top of her head. She nearly burst into tears.
“You...came back,” she stammered.
“Only because somebody. Finally. Is thinking straight here.”
“What?”
He held out a bundle of black leather. A long sword. A crumpled piece of parchment. He placed the blade along the wall, and unfurled trousers. A belt dropped with a thud.
“Where did you get these?”
“On the floor outside.” He put the parchment between his lips and shoved a leg into his pants. Pulled them up with vicious gestures. Retrieved his parchment. There were two holes in it from his fangs. He handed her the note. “I’m guessing you recognize the writing?”
There was one sentence:
‘The hangar is on the second floor.’
And it was signed by ‘A’.
Eska’s breath stopped. Her mouth dropped open. Paul Henry was already dressed, slipping the belt through the loops. He grabbed up the sword.
“Wait! Paul Henry!”
This time, the door shut with a bang. He didn’t even stop.
Eska sagged to the floor, clutching the parchment. She’d never felt so betrayed. Her belly had taken a blow. Her eyes burned. Her throat closed off. She was wounded, blood seeping from every pore. And yet, the only thing that showed was an unpleasant series of goose bumps roving over her bare skin.
