Love At First Bite

by Sherrilyn Kenyon

  “You don’t know—”

  “But I do. Surely nothing can be worse than tonight.”

  “One mortal, one not…” He shook his head ever so slightly.

  She left that for later, just put up her chin and bared her throat to him.

  His eyes began to glow faintly red. “I can’t take from you…” This was a desperate sob.

  “You’re not taking, my love. I’m giving. It’s different.” She stroked his jawline as his eyes went fully red. Would he growl as those in the lobby had? Would he rip her throat?

  Instead he kissed her, gently. His lips brushed her chin, her jaw. “I don’t deserve you,” he murmured. Then he kissed her throat. She forced her shoulders to relax. She stretched her head back, waiting. But he continued to kiss her so softly, so tenderly, that she began to feel the wet between her legs. She remembered yesterday, making love through the sunlight hours, sweet pleasure rolling through her again and again at Davie’s touch. And when the twin points of pain finally came, they were all mixed up for her in lovemaking. Davie filled all her senses, even pain. She moaned as he clasped her to his body and sucked rhythmically.

  “Ahhh, Davie, Davie,” she murmured, and held his head against her throat. The pain was over. All that remained was the sensation of being one with him, possessed. The throb of her heart was meant to push her blood into his mouth. The great artery in her throat was meant to be opened by him. Her hips began to move of their own accord as they rocked together. And then there came a feeling of… distance, as if she were floating away on the tide of their passionate exchange. She relaxed into his arms.

  The moment she went limp, he wrenched away with a cry. “Emma, Emma, did I take too much? God, what have I done?”

  She looked up at him, sleepy. “No. That was… exciting.” She noticed that the wound on his cheek was closed. That brought her up sharply. She shook off her lethargy and examined him, as he hung over her. If she didn’t bestir herself it would be too late. But no, the wound on his shoulder was still open and seeping. She raised herself on one elbow and pushed him firmly onto his back. He looked surprised. Then she bent her head, pulled back his tattered shirt, and, taking only one breath for courage, licked his wound.

  The taste of his blood was copper, thick. Not unpleasant. She licked again, just to make sure she got enough. The wound closed under her lips.

  He gripped her shoulders, his glare fierce. “What have you done?” he cried.

  She looked at him calmly, more calmly than her thumping heart might indicate. “I have fulfilled a vow. For better or for worse.”

  “You don’t know!” He sat up. With the strength lent by her blood, his wounds were disappearing quickly. “You’ll die without the immunity of a vampire’s blood…”

  “How lucky that I know a vampire. You won’t let the Rules stand in the way of my immunity, will you, Davie?”

  “Emma.” His eyes filled. “I will likely die tonight, Emma. We can’t hold them. Forty we killed tonight and still they come and come. You’ll be left alone to die horribly.”

  “We both could die tonight, Davie. Or any other night. One just can’t know the future.”

  “You don’t know what you’re in for. You can’t.”

  “Probably neither of us do.” She smiled ruefully. “But we’ll face it together.”

  He grabbed her, shook her until she thought her teeth would rattle, and then took her in a fierce embrace. She could hear him trying to suppress the sobs in his chest. There. That was better. “I wanted to protect you.”

  “Do your best, Davie. I permit you to protect me from anything but you.”

  “I never wanted this for you.”

  “And what I want, does that not count? We are a partnership.” It was her turn to disengage herself and hold him away from her. “An equal partnership.”

  “Woman!” he half-laughed, though his cheeks were wet.

  “See?” She smiled. “You didn’t know what you were getting into with me, either.” She sobered as a flaming sensation coursed along her veins. “Mr. Rufford may not be happy over what I’ve done. And you must wait to give me immunity. You can’t be weakened with the odds so great.” Suddenly things she hadn’t anticipated came rushing in. She felt her eyes go big. Now was not the time for her to become ill and be a burden on him.

  He rose and handed her up off the flour sacks, his mouth a grim line. “Just let Rufford try to hinder us. Let us see how he and Fedeyah go on. They didn’t have blood tonight.”

  She followed him, dousing the candle. “They did have blood. I collected a bowlful from that man in the lobby, the one who wasn’t vampire. Or what was left of him.”

  He turned a shocked countenance on her. “You… ?”

  “I managed.” She didn’t tell him she had vomited.

  He chuffed a laugh and took her hand. Rufford was sitting at the table in front of the hearth, tucking into a bowl of the stew. Fedeyah was pouring wine. He handed Davie a glass. Their wounds were hardly more than scars.

  “Miss Fairfield?” Fedeyah asked, waving a full glass of wine. “You look pale.”

  “Thank you.” She nodded.

  “She needs blood, Rufford,” Davie said, without preamble. His voice had iron in it.

  “I thought she might,” Rufford remarked. “Excellent stew, Miss Fairfield. We are not used to such expertise in the kitchen. Or should I call you Mrs. Ware?”

  “That can wait until we find a Christian minister,” she said, suddenly shy. The room was doing funny things around the edges.

  Mr. Rufford peered at her. “Take her upstairs where she can be comfortable, Ware.”

  “I mean to give her what she needs.” Davie said it as a threat, a promise. Emma smiled. He had decided.

  “My blood will do the job faster. I’ll send up a cup later. Between us we can muster enough to make her way easier than yours was.”

  “My blood is hers,” Fedeyah said from somewhere far away.

  Emma felt her knees grow wobbly as the fire in her veins raced up toward her heart. She wanted to thank them, to apologize for being so much trouble… but she couldn’t seem to make her mouth work. Then Davie swept her up in his arms. She felt his heart beating against her breast…

  Night. Blessed darkness! Moonlight shone in through shutters thrown wide to the night air. She was alive! She touched the wool of a fine red robe she had been wrapped in. She could feel each individual thread in it The scent of jasmine drifted in through the window. How had she never noticed how wonderful jasmine smelled? Joyful life flowed through her veins… she felt… more than she had ever been. Where was Davie? She must tell him how wonderful she felt.

  She heard noise in the street below. She threw off the covers. How long had she lain here? She remembered Davie sitting with her, Davie making her drink the thick, sweet copper-flavored blood drained from his wrist or sent up from Rufford and Fedeyah. The pain had been dreadful, but always Davie was there to soothe her…

  She leaned out of the window. In the street below, Davie, Rufford, and Fedeyah stood, backs together, sabers drawn, and in a semicircle around them stood what? Fifty? A hundred? Eyes glowed red on both sides. She stifled a cry.

  “Strategic retreat, Ware?” Rufford whispered. She heard him clearly, though.

  “What use?” Davie answered, iron resolve in his voice.

  “Very well. The last stand against chaos starts here.” Rufford straightened.

  Lord, God, if such as I am now may pray to you, then help them! she thought.

  But dash it all, she dared not leave it only to God. Strength rushed through her. She would not again stand by stunned while they fought for their lives as she had in the lobby that first night. She whirled from the window and hurried down the stairs. The lobby had been cleared of corpses. Her bare feet slapped against the cool tile. Over the fireplace in the lobby hung a display of crossed swords. No paltry butcher’s knife for her tonight. She climbed on the hearth and stood on tiptoe. If Davie was going to die tonight in
some gesture of sacrifice and duty, no matter how futile, then so would she.

  She had a moment of doubt as she reached for the heavy weapon. She was only a woman. But she hefted the sword easily. She was that strong! She didn’t stop to wonder. The red robe she wore was a native burnoose, richly embroidered at the edges, much better than her English dress for moving about in. She raised her sword and ran for the street. She had no skill with such a weapon. But that was not the point, was it?

  The three men standing in a semicircle against the hordes glanced back. Rufford smiled. Fedeyah touched his forehead once. And Davie, about to protest, closed his mouth firmly over whatever he would have said. She took her place beside him.

  He looked down at her with such love in his eyes that the thing inside her welled up and shouted gladness. Life seemed to hum in her veins. But there was no time to tell him. Movement made her glance out at their enemies. The wall of red eyes ahead advanced. Who were these men? Why were they here? Only what they wanted was plain. They wanted the four before them dead. Fedeyah and Rufford spread out to give themselves room to swing their swords.

  “Decapitation is the only way,” Davie whispered, his eyes hard. “It’s difficult. Aim for the neck. I’ll finish them.”

  Emma swallowed. Killing people? Had she thought this through? Even such creatures as these? But what choice was there?

  At that moment, a heavy man in the center let out a piercing ululation, and the line broke into a melee of bodies as they charged forward. This was it, the doomed last stand against chaos.

  Emma hefted the sword with both hands. Davie stepped in front of her, slashing. A body launched itself into the air from the side. Emma held her sword out, frightened. The body was impaled upon it, wrenching it from her grip. She shrieked in horror. But then the creature stood. He slashed at her. A cut opened on her shoulder. She gripped the hilt of her sword where it protruded from the creature’s breast and pulled. Davie slashed at the vampire’s neck. She didn’t think anything happened, but the creature fell back. She pulled her sword back with both hands and slashed at the neck of an oncoming boy, even as horror shrieked inside her. The blade thunked against something. A horrible cut opened up, but the boy raised his sword. Davie cut at three others now descending. Shadows cascaded behind them. There were too many. Rufford fought like a slashing demon. Too many!

  In the center of the melee, whirling darkness spread, obscuring even the closest of figures. Emma just pushed the young boy vampire with the glowing eyes and blood spurting from the cut she’d made back into the crowd. The darkness was everywhere, in among them. Had she not seen that strange kind of darkness before? A cutlass found Davie, and another vampire was twisting Davie’s head. Emma slashed at those arms furiously. The attacker fell away, howling. A hand grasped her shoulder. She turned. Another young man hardly out of his teens hissed at her, brandishing a knife. She pulled away.

  Time slowed as combatants on both sides took in a new reality. The darkness was seeping into the earth, it seemed. And taking its place, standing among the attackers, still like statues, were perhaps twenty men and women, some dressed as monks, some in rich garb from many nations. The stillness lasted but a moment. They began to move almost faster than the eye could comprehend, rending, slashing at the hordes. And their eyes glowed red.

  “How did you hold out?” a tall man with luxuriant mustachios asked. Emma sat in a corner just behind Ian Rufford, hoping not to be noticed. The power careening around the room was intimidating. Energy vibrated in different notes and tones. Davie had taken several of the newcomers upstairs to bathe and dress, but perhaps fifteen of the victorious were arrayed around the grand dining room in various states of dishevelment. Wounds were healed and now a cold collation and the hotel cellar’s finest vintages were being consumed with relish by monks and noblemen alike. “Must have been the blood of the Old One that runs in your veins.”

  “We would not have held through tonight if you had not come.” Rufford frowned into the dregs at the bottom of his glass.

  Emma recognized the stunning woman with hair like banked coals who poured Rufford another glass of wine. Beatrix Lisse, Countess of Lente and toast of London’s male society. It was disconcerting, no, stunning to discover that she had been vampire all along.

  “Why so anxious, Rufford?” the Countess asked. “Asharti’s army is broken.”

  “Here,” he growled. “But there is still Tripoli.”

  “Ahhh,” she said in recognition. “John sent word. Tripoli is secured. Your Beth is fine.”

  Rufford relaxed.

  “We expected two of you. Yet we find four,” the Countess observed, glancing at Emma.

  Davie’s new kind might not be welcoming to newly made vampires, since they had just spent some effort to eradicate an army of them. Emma tried to think what to do about that, but she was having trouble concentrating on the talk around her. Thoughts of Davie kept creeping into her mind and down lower to the point between her legs. The flood of life that coursed through her veins seemed to conjure thoughts of Davie, naked and needing. She wished he would return. But maybe that would only make it worse.

  “Ironic, isn’t it, Beatrix?” Rufford asked, twirling his glass. “Four made vampires, two actually by Asharti, were the only thing standing between Asharti’s army and success.” He said to Emma confidentially, “The Countess was my instructor in the ways of being vampire.” Then he turned back to Beatrix Lisse. “You didn’t mind using made vampires when it was the only chance you had to kill Asharti, did you?”

  “Point taken,” she conceded.

  “And I called for Ware. He came, knowing exactly what he was up against. He kept us provisioned and provided logistics for nearly two months.”

  “Courageous fellow.” There was still a tone of reserve in her voice. Emma could see that several of the others were listening.

  “He got infected saving my life, Beatrix,” Rufford said, his voice hard. “I couldn’t let him die, any more than Fedeyah could let me die.”

  “And you?” the Countess asked Emma, with sweetness that Emma knew masked dangerous power. “What brought you all the way from England to a place like Casablanca?”

  Emma lifted her chin. “I came to help Major Ware.”

  “She and I were betrothed.” Davie came down the main staircase, himself washed and dressed. The coat didn’t fit him exactly. It was probably “borrowed” from one of the departed hotel guests. But to her he had never looked better, more English, more hers. Now she recognized the vibrating intensity the Companion gave. The fact that Davie had just lied to save her face was dear. “She sacrificed as much as anyone for this cause. I made her vampire. Blame me.”

  Emma stood. She couldn’t let Davie take responsibility for this. This was on her head. “No, he didn’t, Countess. I couldn’t gather enough human blood for all three of them. So I gave him my blood.” Davie came to put his arm around her. She smiled at him, getting courage from his straight back. He was proud of her. She turned to the Countess. “And then I licked his wounds. I couldn’t let his condition stand between us. In short, I did it for love. And you won’t understand that, but it’s the truth.”

  The Countess glanced to Rufford, uncertain.

  “True,” he remarked. “Of course you’ve never made anyone for love. John Staunton, Earl of Langley, for instance. Why, I’ll wager he’s always been vampire—”

  Beatrix Lisse threw up her hands. “Ahhh! I can’t police true love. The Elders must grow used to it.” She poured wine into her own glass, frowning. “These outposts never have champagne…”

  Davie sat next to Emma. The others began planning to spread across the city to be certain the stragglers from Asharti’s army were no more. Davie took Emma’s hand. It sent what must be the same electric shocks through her body as it had in the breakfast room of Fairfield House, but now they seemed magnified a thousand times.

  “You are under no obligation, Emma,” Davie murmured. He glanced down at their joined hands, unabl
e to meet her eyes. “I know the Companion in your blood must seem a… a violation. If you want to cry off…”

  “A violation?” She drew her brows together. Did that mean he was the one who wanted to cry off now that together might mean forever? Should she free him from his vow and let him have time to decide?

  No, dash it all! What good was being a rebel if you couldn’t tell the truth and demand truth in return and damn the consequences? She’d know how he felt for certain if she could look into his eyes. Diplomat or no, he wouldn’t be able to hide how he felt about her. That was why he wouldn’t look at her, because he knew his eyes left him vulnerable. She lifted his chin.

  What she saw in his eyes was so complex she needed a moment to interpret it. He had put up a wall. He thought he was making his eyes calm and flat. But underneath was such longing that no wall could hide it.

  She smiled. “Can you call the life we feel, this sensation of wholeness, a violation? I call it a gift.”

  “The gift comes with a few drawbacks,” he managed, swallowing.

  She smiled and gave a tiny shrug. “So does life.”

  He cleared his throat. “Does… does that mean… ?”

  “It means I have no intention of releasing you from your promise, Davie Ware. It means I want to know what all this sensation flooding me will feel like in bed naked with you, with your lips on my body and your cock between my thighs. I have been unable to think of almost anything else for the last hour. Am I making myself clear enough here?”

  He flushed and laughed, whether in embarrassment at her language or in sympathy with her wishes she’d wager even he wasn’t sure. They noticed the silence around them at the same time. They turned their heads.

  The others in the room were staring at them, some with frank amusement in their eyes. Emma felt her rebellion dissolve into a fiery blush.

  Davie stood, squeezing her hand for reassurance. “I… I crave a boon,” he announced to everyone and no one.

  “We are leaving you alive,” the gaunt vampire with the mustachios noted.