Ward of the Vampire: Complete Serial

by Kallysten

  “Claws instead of nails.”

  He dropped the soap in the sink and looked at his hands in front of him, then at his reflection. When he clenched his fists, it felt as though they were tightening over my heart.

  “How is that possible?” I murmured, looking at the lines superimposed over his image. Even with his description of what each line was, I had a hard time imagining what he was seeing. But then, did I really want to imagine it?

  “I don’t know,” he said with a shrug. “How are vampires possible? Where do we come from? How can we exist for so long on nothing but blood?” He sighed, then repeated, lower now, “I don’t know. But I know that this is the real me.” He pointed at the mirror. “This monster is the real Morgan. So when you say you love me…”

  When he turned to me and smiled, I thought my heart would break. How could anyone carry so much pain inside and not be utterly crushed by it?

  “You can’t, Angelina. You can’t love someone you don’t really know, and how could you know me when you can’t see what I am?”

  I laid a hand on his cheek. As gentle as I tried to be, he still flinched as though I had slapped him.

  “I do see you,” I said, and tried to put all my strength and conviction in both my voice and eyes. The first time he’d called himself a monster, I hadn’t had the chance to respond, but this time I wasn’t going to let it go. “I see all of you. That image…” I glanced at the white lines on the mirror; I’d never been all that fond of abstract art. “I don’t know what it means, but I know what it doesn’t mean. It doesn’t mean you’re a monster. Things you do, that’s what makes you who you are. And the things you do make you the very opposite of a monster as far as I am concerned.”

  He shook his head, but I kept my hand where it was.

  “You don’t know all the things I’ve done,” he said roughly.

  That was true, certainly. I didn’t know all that he’d done, and I probably didn’t want to know. I’d had a lot of time to think about what it meant that he was a vampire. He’d said he wouldn’t hurt me, said he didn’t kill anymore, but he hadn’t shied away from admitting that he used to kill. That ‘used to’ was what made all the difference to me.

  “You’ve killed people,” I said calmly. “You’ve even killed the woman you loved. But you said yourself that was an accident. And you also said you don’t kill anymore. I’m less concerned about what you did four centuries ago than I am about what you do today. Every day. What you decide to do or not do. That’s the Morgan I know. And whether you believe me or not, that’s the Morgan I love.”

  I finished by giving him a light kiss, just a brush of my lips against his mouth. He didn’t reciprocate, but that was all right. He still looked shaken up. Hopefully he’d feel better soon. I definitely planned to do my best to help with that, if only he’d let me.

  “Dinner?” I whispered, hoping with all my might that I hadn’t ruined it all.

  He blinked several times before answering. Was he actually seeing me? What else was he seeing, if it wasn’t me?

  “If you’re going to ask questions the entire time, I don’t think it’s such a good idea.”

  That wasn’t a no…

  “I won’t,” I said hurriedly. “I promise.”

  Apparently, that was enough for him. He made a small nod and allowed me to take his hand and guide him out of the bedroom. In the hallway, he freed his hand, but I didn’t have time to wonder what it meant before he tucked my hand under his arm. It took me a little while to notice he was barefoot. Between that, his uncombed hair, and the cuffs of his shirt, rolled halfway up his forearms, he hardly matched my careful preparations. I really couldn’t have cared less. He was there; that was enough.

  When we reached the dining-room door, he made as though to open it, but I shook my head.

  “Not in there. I’m not having dinner in there ever again. Just so you know.” At his confused look, I added, “I’m pretty sure that room is bad luck.”

  He let out a quiet snort but didn’t say anything and let me guide him to the staircase up to the sun room. Right about that time, I started to worry. What if he didn’t like what I’d set up? What if it was too much, too fast?

  Looking back, I can’t help but think that if anyone had been as pushy with me as I was with Morgan, I might have sought a restraining order. I kept saying I was pushing his boundaries, but I didn’t see what else I could do to change the status quo. And I thought it spoke to how starved he was for contact that he allowed me to keep pushing. Sure, he snapped back sometimes, but he had yet to tell me he wanted me to stop.

  A lot had changed in the almost three weeks I’d spent in the mansion. Only three weeks… It certainly felt like a lot longer than that. I’d never fallen in love that fast, but then, I’d never been that close to anyone, either. I’d never even lived with any of my boyfriends. And there I was, rushing things along because my time with Morgan was coming to an end and I didn’t want it to.

  “We’re having dinner up here?” he asked, sounding a little taken aback, as we walked down the path.

  I didn’t reply and let him take in the setting I’d prepared. In that central spot in the middle of the sun room, I’d pushed the armchair and chaise lounge to the side. The solid wood table had proved too heavy for me to move, but its placement seemed planned now, with three candles gleaming in the middle of it, no doubt set there by Stephen. A bottle of wine and two glasses sat next to the candles. The comforter I’d brought up from my suite, folded in two since it was so wide, was spread out on the floor next to the table, with two pillows at one end, and a tray with our dinner in the middle. Stephen had turned my attempt at a picnic into ‘romantic chic,’ and judging from Morgan’s wide eyes, I wasn’t the only one who was impressed.

  “Is this all right?” I asked when, after a few seconds, he’d made no movement toward the improvised picnic blanket.

  “I… sure. All right. Yes.”

  He continued to be just as quiet until we’d settled down, facing each other and propped up on one elbow, Ancient Rome-style. Morgan’s blood was in a tall, insulated metal cup. My own dinner, a generous slice of the frittata, had been kept warm by a metal dome. I took a couple of bites while Morgan sipped from the cup.

  “You tricked me,” he said all of a sudden. “You said you wanted company for dinner because you’re lonely. You didn’t say this was a date.”

  I don’t know how I managed to keep a straight face when I asked back, “What makes you think this is a date?”

  He let out a little amused huff.

  “It certainly looks like one.”

  “So? Would it be that bad if we were having a date?”

  My forced casualness didn’t fool him for a minute, that much was painfully clear.

  “I don’t appreciate that you tricked me,” he said slowly.

  “How was it tricking you, exactly? I’ve told you how I feel about you. And then I ask you to have dinner with me. Are you telling me you can’t add two and two? And if you really want to talk about tricking people, you’re not going to win that argument. Fair warning.”

  His lips twisted on a little half smile. He sat up and poured wine in both glasses, all the while saying, “You’re a dangerous woman, Angelina.”

  He held out one of the glasses to me, and I took it with a nod.

  “And I don’t even have fangs,” I said with as much of a straight face as I could manage.

  The half-smile bloomed, and I even got a chuckle as we clinked our glasses together. The wine was excellent, as always. White and light, it complimented the frittata perfectly. If Stephen tired of being a butler, he could start a second career as sommelier in a fine restaurant.

  We went back to our respective food, and after taking another bite, I had to ask, “Can I ask you a question?”

  Morgan set down his cup and laid back on the pillow, sighing deeply as he closed his eyes.

  “Didn’t you promise you wouldn’t?”

  I put down my fork and w
atched him. He was so close, just an arm’s length away on the other side of the tray. I wanted to reach out to him and smooth out the small frown marring his brow. I didn’t dare and picked up my wine glass instead, moistening my lips.

  “This isn’t about that,” I said. “It’s just… You asked what I’ll do when I can leave. What about you?”

  He turned his face toward me and opened his eyes.

  “What about me? What do you mean?”

  “What will you do? Get back to your normal routine? Stay away from people unless they happen to work with you or for you?”

  ‘Be alone and lonely again’ was on the tip of my tongue, but I didn’t dare say it aloud.

  “I was thinking of taking a small trip, actually,” he answered after a short pause.

  My stomach plummeted at the thought of him leaving town. Which, granted, was stupid, seeing how I’d told him that I’d be getting out of New York once I was finally free to leave the mansion, so it wasn’t like I’d expected to come see him or anything.

  “Oh? Where to?”

  I don’t know what he heard in my voice, but his frown deepened as he observed me.

  “I don’t know,” he said.

  I reacted before I was even aware of it and threw a quiet, “Liar,” at him.

  He didn’t deny the accusation, which I thought was interesting. Instead, he turned onto his side and uncovered the bowl of chocolate mousse that had been waiting on the side of the tray.

  “Why do you call me a liar?” he asked, not meeting my eyes as he picked up a spoon and scooped up a bit of mousse.

  I watched his lips part and a hint of tongue peek through as he tasted the delicacy. He was very distracting. I picked up the second spoon and dug in as well, even though I’d hoped he’d feed me dessert like he had once in a fantasy.

  “Because,” I managed to say, “when people start planning a trip, they have a destination in mind. If you hopped on a plane without planning it, I could believe you, but you just said you are thinking about it.”

  It was his turn to watch me eat a spoonful of chocolate scrumptiousness. I could practically feel his eyes on my mouth the entire time.

  “And you are thinking too much, my dear Angelina.”

  That little catch when he said my name told me I wasn’t the only one affected.

  “I think too much, but I’m not wrong,” I challenged.

  He sighed again and set the spoon down before he rolled onto his back, his hands linked behind his head.

  “No, you’re not wrong,” he admitted with another sigh. I had enough time to eat three spoonfuls of heaven before he finished his thought. “It’s been a while since I went to Hawaii. I thought maybe after you leave, I would go back.”

  “Did you just visit,” I asked, “or did you actually live there?”

  I was done with the food; I picked up the tray and set it behind me so nothing would stand between me and Morgan anymore. Lying down on my side, I watched him, still so close and yet his voice sounded incredibly far—all the way in Hawaii, maybe.

  “I lived on Kauai for a couple of years,” he said. “It was a long time ago.”

  “How long?”

  I made a mental bet for twenty years—

  “Twenty-five years or so.”

  —and lost by a few years.

  How odd it still was to hear him talk about the span of my life or just about as though he were talking about a trip he’d taken a few months ago…

  “Wouldn’t it be strange if you got there and met people who knew you then and they realized you still look the same?”

  His voice dropped to a whisper.

  “There’s no one left who knew me then.”

  “Does that mean—”

  His head snapped toward me as he cut in.

  “Why do you keep prodding, Angelina?”

  Why, indeed. What was I waiting to hear from him? Nothing in particular, at least I didn’t think so, but he was right that I kept asking questions when I’d said I wouldn’t.

  “Because I care about you,” I whispered. “Because I want to know more about you. So when I say I love you again, you’ll actually believe me.”

  Very slowly, I brought my hand up and touched his elbow. I’d have touched his hand if both hadn’t been tucked under his head. When he flinched at the contact, I pulled back.

  “You heard Irene,” he said in a cold voice. “I killed the first woman I ever loved. Made her lose herself. Lose her mind. And then I had to kill her again, this time on purpose, and this time for good. Is that the kind of monster you want to love?”

  I battled with myself, then. He’d flinched at my touch, but words weren’t enough. I needed to show him I wasn’t afraid of him, or repelled, or anything of the sort. I lifted my hand again, and this time rested it right in the center of his chest.

  “You mean the kind of man who made a mistake once when he was very young and who still flagellates himself for it? Yeah, I’d really have to be stupid to fall in love with someone who’s not perfect. Let me just go out and find the first absolutely perfect guy I meet in the street; I’m sure he’ll make me much happier than you do.”

  What did make me happy at that moment was the startled look on his face. He liked to be in control, and seeing him taken aback like this was pretty sweet.

  “What… what do you mean, I make you happy?” he stammered. “You argue with me all the time!”

  I raised myself up to see him better, and doing so I slid a little closer to him on the blanket. Of its own accord, my thumb started to stroke gently back and forth on his chest.

  “Only because you argue with me first,” I said, unable to stifle a grin. I was playing the ‘you started it! No, you did!’ game with a man who’d seen the dawn of four centuries. When he looked utterly nonplussed, I had to roll my eyes. “Why won’t you just believe that I know what I want, and what I want is this?”

  On the last word, I leaned over him and kissed him. My hand slipped up to hold his face in place when he started to turn away. He stilled and even parted his lips when I pushed my tongue against them, but he didn’t kiss me back. More than a little annoyed, I nipped at his mouth. Not very hard; it wasn’t exactly a bite. But yes, my teeth did rake over his lips.

  He jerked back, startled. When he touched his bottom lip with two fingers then looked at them, I felt like he expected to find blood. I hadn’t bitten that hard!

  “You bit me,” he said, his eyes wide when they came back to me. He sounded completely perplexed.

  “Yes, I did.” If I hadn’t been a mature young woman I’d have stuck my tongue out at him. Instead, I asked, “What are you going to do about it?”

  What he did was stare at me as though I’d just sprouted wings. And when he was done staring, he framed my face in his large hands, drew me to him, and finally kissed me back.

  *

  We’d kissed before. We’d kissed in every one of our shared fantasies, of course, and each time had been special, from that first heated kiss on the balcony to the mind-shattering kiss in the dining room that I had been so sure was real. We’d also kissed in the ‘real world’ on New Year’s Eve, and that had been frustratingly good for something that led nowhere.

  This kiss was beyond all of them. And I don’t mean the mechanics of it, caressing mouths, soft touches, and our tongues pressing together the way our bodies yearned to. It went deeper than that. Call me crazy, but when Morgan let me explore his mouth, I felt like he was letting me in, dropping the masks for once, and letting me touch the core of who he was.

  I don’t know why it felt different from the other kisses, but that was the impression I had, and to be allowed closer, at last, was as sweet as the kiss itself.

  Or at least it was until Morgan abruptly stopped and jerked his head back. I tried to follow, but he was still holding my face between his hands. All I could do was open my eyes and hope I looked as bereft as I felt—too much so to even put it in words.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, his vo
ice rasping. His gaze flicked down to my tingling lips, and he licked his own as though reflexively. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

  The worst part was, he sounded like he meant it. I’m not a violent person, but once I shook off my slight daze, I did consider smacking him over the head. It wouldn’t have helped anything, but damn, it’d have felt good.

  “Yes, you should have done that,” I said as patiently as I could manage. “I wanted you to. I still want you to. I want you. And I know you want me too. Don’t deny it.”

  To emphasize my words, I shifted my hips against his. As close as we were, lying on our sides like this, he would have had a hard time—cheesy pun absolutely intended—hiding how aroused he was. It wasn’t only about his body, though. Something had passed through that kiss, through the gentleness of his hands, through every heated look he’d given me in the past weeks. And come on, if he’d had no interest in me, he could have left when he saw what kind of dinner I’d invited him to.

  One of his hands slid to the back of my head, his fingers tangling in my hair.

  “Angelina…” he breathed, and I knew what would come next. I’d heard it before. I didn’t need to nor want to hear it again.

  “Don’t you dare,” I said, and for all that I was still a little breathless, I managed to make my words commanding. “Don’t you dare say I’m trapped here and this is all against my will because it’s not. I want to be here. I want to be with you, Morgan. You say you’ve lived four-hundred years and you understand people. Look into my eyes. Listen to my words. Tell me I don’t mean it with everything that I am.”

  He stared at me, one of those dark, deep stares that could have made me wonder if he was drawing me into a fantasy. I almost asked but decided not to. I’d asked him not to do it again, and I trusted that he wouldn’t. So, I let him look, I let him search my eyes, search my soul if he could look that deeply. I knew he’d find what I wanted him to see, simply because there wasn’t anything else there.

  And he must have seen something, because when he looked away, he was troubled.