Ward of the Vampire: Complete Serial

by Kallysten

  I pressed back against him because I was not fragile. I wouldn’t break, not from a kiss, not from having to leave him—from having him let me leave without a protest. Because, yes, from that very first kiss, I knew this was goodbye, the same way last night had been goodbye. The difference was, this time we both knew it.

  We shared a slow, deep kiss, each of us caressing the other’s mouth in turns, slowly building up again the fire that wouldn’t be completely extinguished between us. I tried to memorize everything about that kiss, from the way his lips moved against mine to the stifled moan he let out when I sucked on his bottom lip. But memorizing a kiss wasn’t enough. I wanted to take all of him with me when I left. So I let my mouth trail away from his and over his face, from his strong jaw to the delicate skin under his eyes, from that sensitive spot under his ear to the very top of his forehead. I threaded my fingers through his hair and held it back to press kisses along his hairline, from temple to temple.

  I think he understood what I was doing, because he didn’t try to guide me back to his mouth but let me explore to my heart’s content, first his face, then his neck where I sucked hard to leave a love bite, his shoulders which I explored with mouth and fingertips before sliding even lower.

  He lay still under me as I teased his nipples to peaks with my tongue, one after the other, gently and at length. Well, when I say he lay still… I should say he tried to be still, did his very best, but his body trembled under mine, and I couldn’t deny it was a thrill to feel it, to know how much I could affect him.

  I continued my journey downward, laying wet, smacking kisses across his stomach all the way to his navel. His hands, which had been caressing my back until now, settled on either side of my head and ever so gently made me look up.

  He said my name, nothing more than my name, but in that familiar, rumbling voice that never failed to set fire to my mind. How he could do that, how he could make me want him, crave him, make my panties wet, make me feel so damn empty with nothing more than a word… If I said it was unnatural and one of his vampire tricks, he’d claim it wasn’t. Either way, there we were: I was the one touching him while he’d only offered me a kiss, and still I was ready to impale myself on him and ride him until we both collapsed.

  Good thing I was clothed, or I might have done just that.

  As it was, it took the greatest pains in the world to control myself and continue on my journey. I wanted to taste every inch of him, and I’d be damned if I was going to stop now!

  I followed the groove where his thigh met his torso, tracing it with my tongue and studiously avoiding his hardened cock. I was saving it for last. His thigh felt strong as I caressed it with my mouth. His knee was ticklish, and that discovery filled me with a little girl’s giddiness. I licked and kissed his knee, both the top and the sides, as far underneath as I could reach, and hid a smile at his quiet protests and the twitching he couldn’t quite control.

  Finally taking pity on him, I made my way lower on the bed, down to his ankle where I bit the protruding bone softly. Kneeling up and sitting back on my heels, I surveyed the expanse of his body, while running my thumb into the arch of one foot, then the other.

  I wanted to tell him I was going to miss him, that I didn’t really want to go, and that I’d be back if he only said the word, but when I met his eyes, I realized I didn’t need to say it. He knew all this. Of course he did.

  Breaking eye contact, I moved back up his body, offering the right side of him the same caresses I had offered the left. When I reached the apex of his legs, I placed a small kiss on his sack, then a second at the root of his cock, and more, just as fleeting, just as tender all the way to the head where I swiped my tongue over the bead of precome that glistened along the slit.

  I’d meant to take him in my mouth, but a quick look up was my mistake. Our eyes met again, and his were pure onyx and molten lava, both incredibly dark and yet full of fire. He moved faster than I could think, reversing our positions so that I lay on my back while he knelt astride my thighs, his hands curled over mine and holding them on either side of my head.

  “My turn,” was all he said, his voice rumbling again like thunder, like waterfalls tumbling down from the stars, like all things dark and awe-inspiring.

  He undressed me quickly, although I did notice his fingers were a little unsteady as he worked on the buttons of my blouse, and he ended up pulling it over my head. My jeans and underthings soon joined the blouse on the floor, and then Morgan knelt next to me, already pressing his lips to my skin.

  He started at my neck, flicking his tongue along my collarbone, then down the valley between my breasts. He pressed gentle kisses to each mound, but never came anywhere close to the areolas, despite my attempts to stir him in that direction. My nipples were two tight peaks waiting for his touch, but he ignored them and instead kissed down to my navel.

  It was payback, of course, for the time I had taken to explore his body. I only needed to look at his face to realize that. But if he thought I’d accept payback without protest, he was gravely mistaken. When he shifted down to settle between my thighs and explore my legs with his mouth and fingers, I pushed myself lower on the bed, getting closer to him, close enough to wrap my legs around his torso and pull him to me. He let out a sound that could have been surprise or amusement, or maybe both, and flung his arms down on either side of me so he wouldn’t topple onto me.

  Looming above me, he grinned.

  “My, my, Angelina. Are you in a hurry?”

  Rather than answering, I reached between us to the thick, pulsing cock that was brushing as though by accident against my folds and clit. I held Morgan’s gaze as I led his cock inside me, bucking down to help him slide all the way in. His eyes closed tight for a second. When they opened again, they were full of fire. His mouth crashed down on mine, and I held him to me as he started to move inside me.

  I knew I should have made it last. Now that we’d truly started, now that he was inside me again, the end would only come too fast—no pun intended. Every second we’d drawn things out had been another second spent together. Every second now was taking us closer to our separation.

  Knowing all that didn’t change a thing. I needed him, and I needed him now. I needed him because I already felt like I was losing him, and the idea was unbearable. It was my choice to leave, yes; that didn’t mean I was happy about it.

  I thought he might have understood—and I dared hope that he might even have felt the same way—because while his hips rocked into me in a steady rhythm, he kept his pace slow, as though to make it last. His head dipped lower and his mouth met mine, coaxing a small moan from me when he sucked on my bottom lip.

  His lips retraced the path they’d taken earlier over my face and neck, but now he lost no time in covering my left nipple with his mouth and teasing it with broad swipes of his tongue. The touch sent flickers of fire through me, and suddenly I was arching against him, pushing back to take his cock deeper inside me.

  He answered with a groan and sharper thrusts, and pushed himself to a kneeling position without breaking his rhythm. His strong hands grabbed my hips and tugged me closer, practically on his lap. I couldn’t move as much like that, but the angle of his cock pushing inside me, touching every part of me, felt incredible. I’d been clutching the sheets, but I needed to touch him, more of him, so I covered his hands where they clutched my hips and entwined our fingers. Our gazes remained locked. Neither of us said anything. Everything had already been said.

  I couldn’t tell you how long I pushed back the waves rising inside me. I tried to make it last as long as I could—to keep Morgan just a little longer—but in the end, the waves crested and crashed through me, their force causing my world to narrow to two things: Morgan, and the pleasure we shared when he followed me over the edge.

  We lay curled up together afterward, our bodies still touching everywhere, his chest moving in quick breaths along with mine. I stroked his arm, and he caressed my hair, and while we remained quiet for a
long time, it was a peaceful, comfortable kind of silence. I could have stayed like that, in his bed, in his arms for the rest of my life. But of course our time together was already over.

  “When are you leaving?” he asked, his voice a little rough.

  His fingers continued to card through my hair; was the gesture as soothing for him as it was for me?

  “I don’t know,” I murmured, but even as I said it, I knew I was lying. Of course I knew. I just wished it didn’t have to be. “I should go now, shouldn’t I? There’s no point in dragging this out.”

  No point in making it even more painful than it already was.

  “I’ll drive you home,” he said.

  I wanted to say yes. I wanted to stay with him just a little longer. Maybe he’d even come up for a cup of coffee. Or stay a little longer than that. So of course I couldn’t say yes.

  “No. Don’t. I’d like that, but it would make it harder to say goodbye.”

  His hand pressed to the back of my head, angling it down so he could press a kiss to my forehead. When he pulled away, it wasn’t merely his mouth or his hand leaving me. He severed all points of contact between us and stood. I shivered.

  “Have Stephen drive you, then.”

  His back was already to me. He riffled through the drawers of his dresser, though without pulling anything out. He could have been the very picture of nonchalance, but his voice had betrayed him. He didn’t want me to go, not any more than I wanted to go. But he believed, like I did, that it was the only thing to do—although his reasoning was very different from mine.

  I would have liked one last kiss, one last goodbye, but it would have hurt us more. I slipped into the bathroom with my clothes and made myself decent. Then, for the second time that morning, I left Morgan’s room. For the second time, I did so without a word. And for the second time, even as determined as I was, I still had to wonder if I was doing the right thing.

  *

  Coming home after all that time was odd. When I opened my apartment door, I only walked in far enough to let the door close behind me again. It had been my home for three years, and I loved the place, but at that moment it felt about as warm and personal as a hotel room.

  Shaking my head at my own silliness, I stepped into the living room, dragging my suitcase after me. And promptly stopped again, half-convinced I was dreaming. I had to be dreaming. How else could I explain the oversized painting now hanging on the wall over my sofa?

  I approached slowly, almost reverently, as though the whole scene would dissolve if I made a sudden move. It was the painting of Central Park I loved so much, the one that had been in the same room as the Monet in the mansion. The one Irene had demanded Morgan get rid of.

  It wouldn’t have been out of place in a museum, but there it was, taking up almost the entire wall, with only a couple inches of clearance above the sofa and even less than that with the ceiling.

  The fleeting question of ‘how’ brushed my mind, but not for long. Hadn’t Morgan said that very morning that he knew everything that went on in his home? He had to know how much I liked the painting. After taking in my fill, I looked around. Surely Morgan had to have left a note. He wouldn’t just put this in my apartment and…

  And of course he would. That was his MO all over again. Offer incredible gifts, and not bother with a word of explanation. Whispering his name, I shook my head and smiled. He was ready to let me go, but not to let me forget him, it seemed. That was all right. I had no intention of forgetting him.

  When I finished unpacking, it was time for lunch. It occurred to me that, after two weeks, my fridge had to be a disaster zone. I peeked in, already holding my breath. And was taken by surprise for the second time since entering my apartment.

  The fridge was filled with fresh groceries. I recognized the same brands and types of food I’d seen Stephen buy. My eyes prickled a little, and I had to sit down at the kitchen table before my knees wavered too much. Without thinking, I pulled out my phone. I wasn’t going to call him, I told myself forcefully. I’d left the mansion not an hour earlier, I wasn’t going to call him so soon. But a text message would be okay. Just to say thank you, nothing more. It’d only be polite.

  There was a slight problem with that plan: I didn’t have his phone number.

  As soon as I realized that, I wanted to call myself an idiot. It was something so basic… How could I have not thought of it? How was I to contact him now? What if he wanted to call me? Did he have my number? What if we wanted to chat, or check up on each other, or just say hi, really? What if I missed hearing his voice, or the way he said my name?

  Yes, that is about how long it took me to regret leaving. Almost an hour.

  Honestly, I’m surprised it took that long. I knew it was the right thing to do, but that didn’t mean I had to like it.

  I set my phone down on the table and tried to push the thought of talking to him as far away as I could. I tried to distract myself by throwing together a plate of food, but I can’t say it worked very well, especially when I realized I did have a way to get Morgan’s number.

  As soon as I thought of it, I told myself no. I wasn’t going to lower myself to that level. I refused to ask her for any favors.

  I resisted for a half hour, then gave up. Picking my phone up again, I gritted my teeth and dialed. This number, I knew quite well; usually Miss Delilah had been the one calling me, but the reverse had been true, too.

  I didn’t want to talk to her, so I sent a text message. It was as terse as I could make it, and very much on purpose.

  What is Morgan’s phone #?

  As soon as I pressed send, I started to wonder what kind of reply I was going to get. Would she refuse to give it to me? Would she mock me for not getting it from him? Would she ask for something in exchange? I could only imagine the worst.

  What I did not imagine, however, was that she’d reply within two minutes and with no more than the number I had asked for. Nothing else. It was almost too good to be true, and for a moment I caught myself thinking that it had to be a trick. What if she’d sent me a completely random number?

  What if she hadn’t?

  I wouldn’t know until I tried.

  My fingers a little unsteady on the small keys, I typed the number she’d sent and the message, You are IMPOSSIBLE. Holding my breath, I pressed send. I stared at the screen until a response popped up. It took even less time than Miss Delilah’s answer.

  I’m going to assume this is about the painting. You’re welcome, Angelina.

  How crazy was it that, when I read my name, I could hear Morgan’s voice in my mind?

  It really was his number. I really could contact him whenever I wanted to.

  And he could contact me if he wanted it, too.

  Which brought up two questions. Should I, and would he?

  As much as I wanted to keep texting him, talking to him right then, I decided it would be a bad idea. After all, I’d left the mansion to give him space. That wouldn’t be effective if I texted him every five minutes.

  Even if I really wanted to.

  I thought I’d distract myself by getting in contact with my friends. I’d emailed and texted them while I was at the mansion, but I hadn’t actually called any of them. I’ve mentioned before I don’t like lying, and that’s in part because I’m not very good at it. If they’d asked me over the phone where I was and why I couldn’t join them for a drink or dinner, I’d have been hard pressed to find an answer. Now it wouldn’t be so difficult. Or so I thought until I called my friend Carol and agreed to meet her at our favorite restaurant that evening.

  Being outside was wonderful, and even though it was chilly and I was wearing heels—one of my new pairs of shoes, midnight blue to match my coat—I walked to the restaurant. Carol was already seated, and it was obvious as I approached the table that she was scrutinizing me. She hadn’t been able to talk much over the phone, but I had a feeling I was in for a full interrogation now.

  “Do you want a drink before we d
o this?” she asked with a wicked smile as soon as I sat down.

  I shook my head and sighed. The last thing I needed was to be tipsy and say things I wasn’t supposed to. No one had warned me against talking about vampires, but I was sure that revealing Morgan’s, Miss Delilah’s, and Irene’s secret wouldn’t earn me any good will from them. And of course, who would believe me?

  “So a while ago, Paula sent me this,” she said, setting her phone on the table and pushing it toward me. “And ever since, you’ve been incommunicado. Do you care to explain or should I make up my own story?”

  I had a small idea, even before I laid eyes on the screen, what I would see there, and I was right. It was a picture from the night that had started it all. It showed Miss Delilah and I, both of us clad in extravagant red gowns, walking up to the mansion’s front door.

  I peered at my own face on the tiny screen and almost wanted to laugh. I looked like the proverbial deer, waiting for the impact and maybe not quite believing what was happening to me. It felt like such a long time ago… Not even one month, when all was said and done, but I’d changed during those few weeks. I had learned of the existence of a world I hadn’t imagined. I’d been more scared, more upset than ever before in my life. And I had fallen in love.

  “That’s me,” I confirmed, pushing the phone back to Carol. My fingers shook a little, and I was beginning to reconsider my stance on drinks and clear-headedness.

  “I know that’s you!” She laughed quietly. “Come on, tell me what happened. You’re not going to force me to play twenty questions, are you?”

  My throat felt parched so I took a sip of water. Just then, the waitress came to get our orders. Carol looked frustrated, as though I’d timed the interruption to rob her of the answers she craved. Despite the situation, I couldn’t help but grin.

  Once the waitress had left again, I asked in my most innocent voice, “So, what’s your first question, then?”