by Jeya Jenson
“Damn,” he swore softly under his breath. The slice was worse than he’d intended to make. What had he been thinking? He always tried to be careful with his victims, inflict as little damage as possible. He traced the cut with his tongue, savoring anew the warmth of her blood. The taste was not unpleasant, but coppery and rich, with a cloying sweetness. The rush of energy through his body felt as though he’d walked right into a hot-wire fence. Instead of feeling weakened, spent from sex, he felt stronger, more alive than ever before. He could understand the need some vampires felt to take more, drink deeper of his victims.
Trisha was murmuring incoherently. “W—what’s g—going…”
“I’m just making sure you’re okay, honey.” Tasting her blood again, Adrien whispered a few words; old words, ancient ones that he’d learned during his captivity as Lilith’s pet. When he lifted his lips away from the cut, it had healed, leaving only a small white scar. She would forget, too, that he’d cut and drank of her. It was too dangerous for her to remember everything.
Her eyelids fluttered, gaze focusing on his face. “You always take it outta me.”
A fatalistic grimace bent his features, lips turning down in a frown. Guilt stabbed again, wielding all ten of its razor sharp talons.
“I want to make sure you get a good rest.” He drew his wallet out and removed two crisp bills, a hundred and a fifty. He folded the money and tucked it in her hand, closing her fingers over it. “Here’s a little extra. Stay in tomorrow, okay?”
“Sure,” she mumbled before sinking down into a leaden slumber. A soft snore escaped her parted lips. When she woke up, she’d feel like she’d been on a week’s bender and was kicked in the head by a mule. His need had severely weakened her. For the next day or so, she would feel sick and nauseated. But she would survive to walk the streets again.
“Sleep well,” he whispered, pulling the covers over her body.
Going into the bathroom, he quickly washed up, rinsing out the rag and hanging it on the shower rod to dry.
With nary a glance back, he slipped back into the night, locking the door behind him.
Chapter Six
It was past four in the morning when Devon arrived home. In an earlier time, he would have remained downstairs in his parlor, drinking wine and making love to any attractive woman he’d happened to entice for the evening. Since meeting and then marrying Rachel Marks, those days were over. No longer did he play host to endless orgies for his brethren kith. He was no longer the caddish playboy who ate women up and spat out their bones.
This was not to say that he didn’t have to have other women. After all, he still had a hunger to feed and two Kynn vamps could not nourish each other. To spare Rachel’s feelings, he had settled on a course of discretion by keeping his victims away from his home. Just as a man had to separate work and play, he now had to separate his need for raw sex from that of his desire to make love to his wife. It was a very thin line to walk and he was determined to make a success of it. As for Rachel’s own hungers, something was wrong…very wrong.
Hardly wasting a minute, he hurried to the second floor suite he shared with his wife. A thin line of illumination sneaked out under the crack in the double doors, indication that she was still waiting up for him. She always did, refusing to sleep until he came home and joined her.
Slipping quietly through one door, he found her as she usually was, propped up in bed. Seeing him, she smiled. “You’re so late,” she said by way of a greeting. She put the book she was reading aside. Worry was etched on her brow. “Work, again?”
He pasted on a fake smile and lied. “Of course. Isn’t it always?”
Knowing her husband well, Rachel tipped her head, gaze searching his face. She cut in before he could speak again. “You’re sure it’s just work?”
Devon sighed, knowing she disbelieved him. She was obviously picking up on his inner tension. I must not burden her any further, he warned himself. Sliding out of his coat, he hung it up, answering, “Just work, darling.”
Suspicion creased her features. “Promise me it’s just that.”
He put up a hand. “Scout’s honor, I swear.”
Discarding his vest, he walked over and sat down on the edge of the bed. He gazed lovingly at her calm figure. She was dressed in a soft pink negligee, just transparent enough to give a hint of the ripe breasts and belly beneath. Black hair, blue eyes, pert chin under a short shag, she was more than merely pretty. In his eyes she was wholly beautiful. He’d fallen in love with her the moment she’d come into his office asking for work. Love at first sight was an old cliché—but a true one. Her feisty attitude and refusal to back down in the face of adversary had impressed him.
She pursed her lips. It was clear what was on her mind, a shadow that could not be easily cast away. “No more letters from that crazy man?”
“Nothing more—or less—than the business of making money.” Leaning forward, he kissed her stomach. “These two are going to be spoiled rotten with all that money can buy.”
She giggled and lifted his head, planting a quick kiss on his lips. “Who’d have thought the notorious Lord Carnavorn would settle down into fatherhood?”
Admitting with all truth, Devon was the first to say that it’d taken some time to get used to a feminine presence in his all-male domain. The first thing she’d done was redecorate the suite, throwing out all the heavy dark furniture and replacing it with lighter, more modernly designed pieces. She’d had the good sense not to bury him under pinks and whites, instead choosing rich spring tones to bring a sense of warmth and peace to their private haven.
The soft strains of a Bach concerto issued from the stereo. Piled on the table at her elbow was the usual array of needlepoint that she regularly worked on. Accomplished with a needle, she was sketching and designing a complete fantasy trilogy based on the Mother Goose fairytales. Under her creative hands, most of the old fables had come to brilliant life in thread. She was presently working on the lovely blonde Rapunzel in her high tower.
“Before I met you, I never would have thought it possible,” he answered honestly. Once in a lifetime, two perfect souls found each other. He and Rachel were much more than husband and wife. They were eternal mates. She had taken his loneliness and banished it, taken his hate and tempered it with mercy.
Looking at her now, he could not fail to notice how pale and wan she looked. Worry had taken a toll on her mental and physical state of being. This in turn vexed him immensely. These last months had been difficult on both of them, unforeseen events slowly turning their joy into dread.
The first evil to cast its shadow was Adrien Roth.
No sooner had their engagement been announced in the papers six months ago then a strange slew of letters began arriving in the mail; letters that seemed to be the ravings of a twisted lunatic.
Devon knew better. He had no doubt that Lilith had inflicted an inhuman torture on the man. But such knowledge was something he could not bring himself to admit to Rachel. So he’d lied, telling her that Roth was a madman. It was apparent that Adrien had been stalking him for a very long time, learning about each and every facet of his life and business with a methodical and quiet menace. His marriage was apparently some sort of catalyst setting the man onto his path of revenge.
She believed him and was content to leave the matter in his hands—until a beautifully wrapped hatbox arrived addressed to her. Inside was Lilith’s head. And another letter, a letter outlining exactly what Roth intended to do to all of them. Receiving the murdered woman’s head had horrified her. Instead of crumbling, she’d held her ground, drawing on that inner core of strength that never failed to serve her through the hard times in her life. She was an iron butterfly. And a tigress. Nothing was going to stop her from birthing her babies.
She lifted his head, staring into his eyes. “You’ve not done anything—foolish—have you?”
He couldn’t lie to her. She’d know in a moment any untruth he tried to slip past her. And he didn’t
considering hiring an assassin to take Adrien Roth out foolish at all. Still, she didn’t need yet another upset. Her health was precarious as it was.
“I have taken care of Adrien in a civil gentleman’s manner,” he said honestly. “He won’t bother us again.” He looked at her again, noticing her how cool her touch was. The tips of her fingers were blue, as if she were not getting enough oxygen. “You look so tired, darling. You didn’t have to wait up.”
She sighed, laying a hand on her belly. “I can’t sleep when I’m so hungry, Devon. It’s like these two inside me are draining me. I can’t seem get enough to keep them or myself fed.”
His heart sank. It was not enough that trouble from the past was brewing. Trouble was also looming in their future—a future that was becoming more and more uncertain with each passing day.
He stood up. “Let me get you something.”
She smiled. “Thanks. I was just about to.” She patted her tummy again.
The master suite was as luxuriously outfitted as his private offices. Tucked away behind sliding cabinet doors was a small bar/kitchenette area. Opening the dorm fridge, he sighed. There was no edible food inside, only row after row of neatly stacked packets.
Taking one out, he cut the corner and poured its contents into a glass. The sight of the viscous liquid caused his stomach to curdle in disgust. Schooling his features, he delivered the glass to his waiting wife.
Her own face twisted into a scowl of displeasure when she took a sip. “God, how I hate it cold,” she exclaimed. “It’s so much better body temperature.”
“It’s getting harder and harder to find volunteers, darling,” he cautioned, watching as she drank the blood down. “We have to be careful how much we take from live victims.”
Tears rose in her eyes. She blinked them back, trying to put on a brave front. “I know, I know,” she burbled angrily, more at herself then at him. The look on her face said she wasn’t pleased with this strange turn of events. “I don’t understand what’s happening to me.”
“It’s not your fault, my love,” he murmured, taking the empty glass. “Whatever’s happening to you, I’m sure it’s only temporary. As soon as the children are born, you will go back to normal.” Nervous as a cat at an all-dog convention, her emotions were stung tighter than a harp wire. Devon feared that she was going to have a complete mental breakdown.
The second evil adding to our gloom, he thought.
A few months into her pregnancy, Rachel’s hungers took a strange deviation. She no longer seemed to need the sexual energies of a victim to survive. Her rapidly diminishing appetite was pared down to a single element.
Blood.
Her thirst was insatiable, becoming difficult to satisfy. There were no clear answers as to why her cravings had taken such a turn; the Kynn did not subsist wholly on blood. To meet her need for constant feedings, Devon was liberally bribing a blood bank attendant.
Who would have thought that our happiness would turn so viciously on us?
Rachel sniffed, looking at him through a tear-jeweled gaze. “What if I don’t?”
He cupped her chin with one hand, wiping away her tears with the other. You will,” he insisted firmly. Nuzzling her cheek, he gave her a quick kiss.
She pulled back. “No funny stuff, mister,” she admonished. “Not until I get rid of this disgusting blood breath.” With a little help, she hefted her ungainly body out of bed and headed toward the bathroom. She returned minutes later, teeth freshly brushed. She stopped before a full-length mirror, cupping her belly.
“God, I’m so fat,” she lamented. “I’m as big as a house.”
Walking up behind her, Devon folded his arms around her. She sighed and put her head back on his shoulder. Holding her close, he smelled the fresh scent of the soap and shampoo she’d recently bathed in. For a few blessed minutes, the outside world seemed to disappear.
The last months were a jumble in his mind. Examining each memory as if it were the piece of a larger puzzle, he laid them out in sequence to form a clearer picture.
The first piece was how shocked he’d been when Rachel had revealed her secret.
She was not completely sure, but she believed that she’d become pregnant the first time they’d made love, in the park one night after work. That was the first time he’d dared to have full intercourse with her, going all the way.
After the delight had faded, there were many questions to be addressed. The first and foremost in their minds was whether or not their children would be wholly human, as he and Rachel once were, or would their twins be something…else? They believed the former. It only made sense that the children would be born as normal human beings…mortal human beings.
But as the months began to pass, Rachel’s needs had changed drastically. Unable to keep down even the lightest and gentlest of foods, the only thing she could stomach was blood. Was the conception and carrying of two babies the root of her peculiar craving? Or was her surprise pregnancy the genesis of an entirely new race of vampire, one that would see the Kynn move a step further up the evolutionary ladder of the cultic beings?
In truth, there were no answers.
There was one solution that Devon had cautiously broached while Rachel was still in her first trimester. Abort the fetuses.
Rachel’s answer wan an emphatic, “No!” Eyes blazing anger, hands protectively covering her stomach, she’d refused to consider the idea. She was determined to carry and deliver, even if it meant she might die. She would have it no other way, stubbornly digging in her heels.
Devon had no choice but to comply. On one hand he was overjoyed at the prospect of fathering a new race. On the other, he was terrified of losing Rachel. If she died in delivery he doubted he would long survive, especially if the children were lost, too.
He nuzzled the back of her neck. “Nonsense,” he soothed. You’re perfect—the most gorgeous woman in the world.” He tightened his hold, hugging her harder. He could feel Rachel’s body trembling against his. It was real—he was real, and yet she didn’t feel like she was truly there. She slowly leaned back her head, looking up at him. A bit of the old playfulness glimmered in her gaze.
“You’re just saying that to be nice,” she teased.
Devon shook his head, looking into her blue eyes. He loved getting lost in them. She was the first woman whose eyes he would look into as he made love to her. When he was pleasuring her, he wanted to see her every reaction, enjoy the sight of her soft body writhing beneath his hard one.
“It’s true.” He bent down and kissed her, lips lingering on hers before he pulled back. His hands moved to her breasts, savoring their ripeness, full of the milk that would someday suckle two new lives. “I would never lie to you about that.”
She batted her lashes in a coy manner. “You always were a silver-tongued devil.”
He laughed and kissed her again. This kiss was nothing like the one he had given her a moment earlier. This one was heated with delight as his hands moved up and down over her full stomach. He could feel that familiar tightening in his groin.
“I am not lying when I say how much I need you tonight,” he groaned in her ear. Pulling her hips to his, he ground his growing erection against her firm ass. Each day his physical ache for his wife grew stronger. She aroused him beyond words.
“Then your wish is my command, master.”
Rachel stepped away. Licking her upper lip, a mischievous grin lit her features as she slipped her gown off her shoulders. It dropped to the floor at her feet, a soft pool of pink. Stretching her arms over her head, she brought her hands back down, running her palms over her shoulders, breasts, belly and hips. It was a totally erotic and unselfconscious gesture.
Devon was delighted. Rachel hadn’t shown much interest in intercourse these last few months. He might have to take other women to survive on this earth, but he preferred the loving arms of his wife around him in bed each night. In his mind there was a very clear line between sex to replenish one’s energies and sex g
iven and taken through the love of another soul.
“Are you sure?” he breathed, almost unsteady with need.
For an answer, she ran her tongue over his top lip before nipping the lower one. “Oh, yes.” Their kiss grew hotter, tongues meeting to liberally explore each other’s mouths. She pulled at the front of his shirt until it was out of his slacks. Giggling, she slipped her hands up his abdomen, feeling his flesh.
He needed no more urging. He bent, easily sweeping her up in his arms. His desire was to throw her on the bed and ravish her until she screamed in pleasure. Since that was neither wise nor possible in her present condition, he’d have to be gentle with her, take his time. That idea pleased him even more as he settled her on the soft mattress. He couldn’t get out of his own clothes fast enough.
Naked, he stretched out beside her. To accommodate her bulging stomach, he lay on one side, propping himself up on an elbow. She lay on her back, hooking one leg over his hips. The position allowed him access to her body without discomfort or stress. His cock strained, a mere inch away from her creamy slit. It was hell not to enter her right then and there.
Eager to feast after the famine, he gazed at her, visually tracing her every feature. Stroking her cheek, her let his fingers trail down her slender neck. He could feel her pulse under his fingers, the beat of her heart strong and sure. His gaze fell on the birthmark on her thigh, one that strangely mirrored one on his own chest. Together the two marks completed a symbol sacred to the Kynn; Ariel had chosen him because of his mark. He, in turn, had chosen Rachel Marks. Together, they were fulfilling an ancient prophecy among their kith. Rachel’s surprise pregnancy certainly seemed to indicate that truth of that. He’d never encountered another with the odd birthmark. He was not the sort of man who believed in ancient lore, but he had to admit that it was more than a bit spooky.
“I’ve missed making love to you,” he whispered, hardly recognizing his own voice. He began to tease one firm peak with tweaking fingers.
