No one said it, but they all felt the threat looming. Thunderclouds drifted in a steady stream across the sky, lightning flashing. They had received no word from Waleron, but Keir had called informing them the plane was in Newfoundland airspace and would be cleared to land shortly. She heard Balen ask about Waleron, but there was no answer as to his whereabouts.
Balen was tense and disconcerted about something. When she asked what was bothering him, he somehow got around answering her with a kiss instead of an answer.
The white pearls around her wrist glowed soft lavender, and Danielle felt a comfort seep into her veins as they walked out to the car. Hannah had said it would ease her mind and help her when the time came. She was uncertain what she had meant, but whatever it was, she did feel something comforting as soon as the bracelet was placed on her wrist.
“So we have what . . . two hours of driving. Plenty of time to spill our deepest, darkest secrets,” she said. “How about a game?”
“Game?” Balen raised his brows as he started the car.
“Hmm, yes. My father and I used to play it at the hospital when my mom was sick. I ask one question that requires a one-word answer, and then you get to ask a question. I’ll start. And I’ll make it easy. Favorite food. So I must answer first and then you. Mine is poutine.”
“You,” Balen answered without hesitation.
Danielle laughed. “Not fair. A food, dingbat.”
“Dingbat? What is that you call me?”
Danielle smothered her laughter with her hand. “Figure it out. Now, your favorite food, besides me, and it can be anything in this world.”
“Ruffles sour cream and onion potato chips.”
She laughed. “Really? What about Lays? They are thinner, easier to put more in your mouth at once than Ruffles. But if that’s your choice . . .” She shrugged. “Who am I to say which chip is better? Now you go, but remember you must also answer the question you ask.”
Balen watched the road, his fingers tapping the steering wheel as he contemplated.
“Oh, come on. Hurry it up,” Danielle said, crossing her arms.
“Most delectable smell.” He turned towards her and said, “I would hear your answer first.”
“That is so not fair,” Danielle protested. “But I will allow this, considering this is your first time and you are perhaps shy about giving your answers.” She smiled when he flinched at the word shy. Well, maybe next time he’d step up to the plate and go first. She had an answer but it was two words and therefore void. “Cinnamon.”
She heard his chuckle and smiled. Okay, it was working the tension from the corners of his mouth. His eyes flashed brilliant green, different than what she had always painted; instead of sorrow, she saw an ease and comfort. “Why are you laughing? I love cinnamon.”
“Cinnamon is a sign that love is near.”
“Really? Well, isn’t it funny that it was only recently that I really became fond of the spice. Odd how that is, isn’t it?” she said.
“Hmm, yes, quite,” he said.
“Okay, now you go, and you can’t say me.” She pinched his arm.
“But you are the most delectable smell,” Balen said. “But if those are the rules . . .”
“They are.”
“Well, in that case, I will have to say the smell of your pulse beating beneath your skin.” He put his finger on her throat. “Right here.”
“But that’s cheating. It’s still me and a pulse doesn’t have a smell.”
“Oh, but it does and you forget I am a Senses, my dear. I can smell your pulse beating faster right this second. It releases sweetness from your pores. One I’d like to taste right now.” He grinned and leaned over and nuzzled her neck.
Danielle gasped.
The flash came barreling into her like a Mac truck. She pushed him away and put her hand to her throat as the memory came spiraling to the surface. Ryszard biting her neck, pain, blood rising to the surface and then . . . Balen coming towards her, his eyes filled with anguish, the words floating over her mind. “I’m sorry, little one,” he had said.
“Yes,” Balen said, his voice calm and quiet. “I took your blood that night. I had to, or Ryszard would have . . . kept you for himself.”
“He . . . he bit my neck and then you . . . you . . . you drank from . . .” She looked at him with horror. “I passed out. You nearly killed me.”
Balen swung the car over to the side of the road and threw it in park. Danielle raised her hand and slapped him hard across the face. “You bastard. You nearly killed me. How could you? How could you do what he did? You knew I hated it when he bit me. You heard me screaming for him to stop, yet you did it yourself.” She fumbled with the door handle. She was suffocating, her head reeling with confusion.
“Danielle, no.” Balen grabbed her arm before she had the chance to escape.
“Let me go.” Danielle punched him in the jaw and felt satisfied when he grunted. “I need a minute, okay? I’m not going to take off into the bloody woods and disappear. I can’t—remember? We’re Bonded.”
****
He dropped her arm and she jumped out. He followed but remained standing at the hood of the car, watching as she paced back and forth. He heard her swearing and kicking stones with her running shoes. Shit, this was bad. He should’ve told her ages ago. He knew her memories were returning and she’d eventually find out.
She stopped and raised her head to look at him and then frowned and began pacing again. He leaned against the bumper and crossed his arms. Okay, she was pissed. Maybe he deserved it for not telling her, but he’d done it to save her from Ryszard. It had been Ryszard’s plan—consume the vampire blood and then drink Danielle’s to heighten his taste for the wicked stuff. It had almost worked. He’d fought the craving every second of every day. The memory of her sweetness on his tongue, the thirst being quenched, the power it gave. But he survived it. He drove it from him until not an ounce of the urge to taste another was left lingering.
After ten minutes, she climbed back into the car, slamming the door. He said nothing as he came around to the driver’s side, got in and started to drive down the highway, waiting for the words that he knew were inevitable. Danielle rarely remained silent on any issue.
“Why?” she asked.
“I had drunk Ryszard’s blood. Keir and the others were coming and he knew that if they got to me, the chances of me turning would be greater if I had tasted your blood.”
“Turn?”
“Become like him. Drinking their blood, willingly, changes us. We grow fangs, seek blood, become evil. He needed me to be rescued, healed, and then keep him informed of the warriors’ plans in order to get to Anstice. By forcing me to drink from you, it would heighten my thirst for blood, therefore turning me quicker. Otherwise, it would have been weeks before I completely turned.”
“Why did he want Anstice so badly?”
“She is a Healer. Her healing is powerful, and any vampire would want to make good use of her to Heal them. As of right now, they do not have any who is a Healer. Once they had, a long time ago.”
He waited for her to say something, to understand. To know why he did it, but even to this day, he remembered her horror when he leaned over her.
“Don’t do it again,” Danielle said.
“That’s it?” He had meant to say it in his mind, but he was so surprised that he let the words tumble forth.
Danielle nodded. “You had no choice. I hated it. I hate that you did it, but I understand why. Just don’t do it again. Okay?”
He gave a single nod.
“So, what age did you have your first kiss? I was fifteen.”
“Twenty-five,” Balen answered. She was like no woman he’d ever encountered. She accepted and let it go. Most women would keep you on burning rocks for days.
“No shit,” Danielle said. “Why so late? I mean, don’t all guys kiss a girl when in high school?”
He shrugged. “I was training to be a warrior. I had no interest
in girls at the time.”
“What was her name?”
Balen shook his head. “That is two questions, my dear. Wait your turn.”
They played the game for a while longer and then stopped at Tim Horton’s for coffee and muffins before arriving at the airstrip in Newfoundland where the private jet waited on the tarmac.
She had to admit, she was excited to fly on a private jet. When in her lifetime did an opportunity like this come up? Never. A local artist barely making ends meet, and here she was getting on a plane with the most handsome and . . . delectable man she’d ever met. Yeah, she’d forgiven him for taking her blood. After contemplating the situation and reliving the memory, she knew that he had done it for her. All she had to do was see his eyes, the sorrow in them, and she knew that he had hated that he’d been forced to do it.
“Wow,” Danielle exclaimed as she peered around at the luxury of leather lounge chairs, a bar, flat-screen TV. All the blinds on the windows were firmly shut, but the lighting gave ample illumination. She decided to sit in a seat facing backwards; after all, when on an economy flight did you get to do that? Balen took the seat across from her; a low table sat between them.
The pilot came on, announcing their departure, and requested seat belts be fastened. Danielle sat back and smiled. Okay, everyone had to experience this once, lots of leg room and better than sitting in a La-Z-Boy in your own living room.
“You have no fear of flying?” Balen asked as the plane careened at a sharp angle into the air. His legs stretched out and he appeared as at ease as she was.
“God, no. It’s remarkable. To think all this steel can actually sail through the sky. Incredible. I must confess though, I’m gonna hate flying economy after this.”
Balen chuckled. “Then we shall always fly this way, my sweet.”
My sweet. She loved his endearments, the way they rolled off his tongue as though he’d been calling her those words for years. What concerned her was how he spoke as if they would be together forever. She wanted him to be right, but she was scared that the six-month axe would fall and have her running as fast as she could for singlehood.
She’d like the idea of a relationship and it was obvious that what they shared was bigger, stronger and more powerful a connection than anything she’d ever experienced. But was that because of the so-called Bonding spell or was this real? She wanted to be with him, touch him, learn about his life. Could she make them last? What would happen when the Wraiths caught up to them? The Wraiths sounded scary and powerful as hell. Just that one Genevieve appearing out of mist had thrown her for a loop. She couldn’t imagine what the rest of them were like. Would they order his death? What then? It would be like her parents all over again. She could never live like her father, desolate and struggling to breathe as each day grew longer and more miserable without his wife. No, she promised she’d never allow that to happen to herself.
“Planning on traveling a lot?” she asked.
“We shall do whatever you wish,” Balen said.
“And what about these Wraith guys?” She hated to bring up the subject, but the reality was that they were running. Balen was a wanted man and she was Bonded to him. He could be taken away before she was transformed. She could die. She ran her hands up and down her arms. Balen leaned forward and took her hands in his, a slow caress over her knuckles.
“We will survive this.”
His soft, calm voice soothed every fear. But he could never soothe the fear she held cemented in her heart. Imprinted in her since childhood, the sorrow she saw every time she looked at her father’s face. Every second she stayed with Balen was making it more difficult to do what she must. “I wish I knew what to expect. I mean, I used to live day by day, you know, not wondering what the future holds, but now—I mean after Ryszard—it changed. I hated that I couldn’t remember and now I hate that I do. Boy, am I screwed up.”
“Just confused,” Balen offered.
She didn’t know why she started to tell him. Why she had this need to spill her guts, but the words came tumbling out and they wouldn’t stop. “I still feel his hands on me. The sound of chains. My wrists hurt sometimes, like they’re burning. I . . . the coldness, it bothers me. I was constantly cold. For weeks I sat in the tub trying to get rid of that feeling. You’d think after going through something like that . . . well, that you’d appreciate life more. I don’t know. I mean, I was glad to have survived and all, but a part of me—I want to go back to being carefree and not scared anymore. I hate that I panic at small spaces or when I hear certain sounds or smell black licorice.
“It eats away at me and yet . . . I feel selfish because I did live and you—you sacrificed yourself for me. You went through years of . . . I’m guessing hell.” She breathed out a big sigh. “When I flipped out at the blood thing, it wasn’t just because you did it, it was because I was ungrateful that you did it. You did it to save me. Guilt, I guess.” She felt his hands curl around her own. “I hate him. I hate that you saw what happened. That you heard me scream. I never heard you scream and he . . .”
“Ah, little one,” Balen reached forward and cupped her chin. She loved when he did that. “I can never take away what happened to you.” He paused. “What you endured . . . but it is such a small part of us. Let it be a small part of us, my sweet. A moment in time that we survived, conquered and have grown into different people because of.”
He was right of course. It was a moment in a lifetime and yet it ruled her thoughts, her actions, words, feelings. God, she had to get over it. It happened. Worse shit had happened to others in this world. She lived. She survived. So suck it up.
Balen ran a finger down the side of her cheek and she looked up into his warm green eyes. “Beautiful,” he whispered.
It was one word. And it filled her with immense warmth, not because of the word and what it meant necessarily, but how he said it, how his eyes looked and how he touched her. How could he think she was beautiful when inside, she was an empty shell? Filled with fears, wearing a mask every day pretending to be strong and carefree. But the reality was that she was terrified. Terrified of what she felt for this man.
She’d created the persona of someone who lived by the seat of her pants, but it was just that—a persona. She’d quit everything she tried ever since she could remember. She begged and pleaded with her dad to take jazz class, and after three classes, she quit. She begged him to let her join a soccer team, then quit after the first game. Then there was the idea that she’d be a vet like Anstice, go to university, the whole deal, but after one year at school she dropped out. Her father never once gave her heat about it, supported whatever decision she made, but she knew that he’d been disappointed.
The only thing she stuck with her whole life was her painting, and it had paid off. She had her own gallery, made a decent living, but she still quit relationships.
Balen leaned back in his seat, his eyes closed and body relaxed. Would she quit him? Once this Bond stuff was settled, would she pull away? It was difficult to think that she’d ever deny his lips, his hands, his body, but wasn’t it that way with all of them? She had been so hot for Gregg and then, wham—don’t touch me syndrome.
“Stop thinking so much,” Balen said, his eyes still closed.
“Were you reading my thoughts?” Please say no.
A slight upwards tug on his lips. “No, but your body is as tense as a deer being hunted.”
“But your eyes are closed,” she said, trying to ease the tension from her muscles.
“I can feel everything about you.” He opened his eyes. “And if you don’t relax, I will find a way to make you.”
Danielle smiled. “And that would entail?”
“Sex,” he said.
Her body instantly heated at the thought. Maybe that was what she needed. “I’ve never done it in a plane.”
“Is that so?” Balen said, his eyes flashing with mischief. He stretched out his hand and her heart slammed against her chest.
“The
pilots . . .” She glanced at the closed door.
“Are flying the plane,” he said. “Come here, sweet one.”
She hesitated. What was she hesitating for? Her body was already heating up, and she itched to run her fingers across his flesh.
“You’re thinking too much again,” Balen said, taking her hand and urging her over to him.
She stood between his legs and his hands rested on her hips. Sweet moisture pooled between her legs. “Balen you should know someth—”
“I know everything I need to know about you. And anything more we have a lifetime to explore.” His hands slipped under her shirt and rubbed against her skin. She sucked in her breath. “Take off your jeans, Danielle.” His hands roamed up beneath her shirt, his thumb grazing her nipple, and then he reached behind to unclasp her bra.
She shivered, her body reacting instantly to him. But something was holding her back. Her mind. It was reeling; confused. A lifetime, he said. Her heart began pounding erratically at the thought. The word was a lead weight on her ankle, pulling into the depths of sorrow.
What if they remained Bonded and she had no escape? He wanted commitment; a lifetime. They were headed to his homeland, by God, to make her one of them. Would that mean she was tied to him forever? Could she escape him if she wanted to?
She fell backwards, out of his grasp, and he frowned. “Ladies room,” she quickly said and bolted for the back of the plane.
She dove into the bathroom and slammed the door. As soon as it clicked shut, she realized the mistake. Panic grabbed hold and her heart pounded, tingling began in her limbs, her breath in short gasps. She threw open the door. Okay, calm and in control. She wasn’t trapped. She looked around the bathroom and saw nothing to help with her predicament. She took off her shoe and put it in the door so it wouldn’t shut all the way.
She leaned up against the sink and covered her face with her hands. She couldn’t do this. She knew nothing about these people. She had thought at the time it was an exciting idea, becoming a Senses, but now . . . it would change her life. She’d be committed to them; to him. That was if he didn’t die. And if he did live, could she be with Balen for the rest of her life? What if she abhorred his touch in six months like the others?
JUMP (The Senses) Page 21
