Starry Knight

by Nina Mason

  “Ours is a cruel curse, my friend, as you’ll soon learn,” Callum said, unsure if Armstrong could still hear him. Though the man looked very bad, he still felt compelled to say his piece. “We’re like animals in many ways—driven by bestial instincts to feed and mate—but with human emotions. Sex isn’t a choice; it’s essential to our survival. Abstinence is lethal, which she knew and chose to ignore.”

  “She did it for you,” Armstrong croaked.

  Had she? Callum found it hard to believe, given her failure to invite him for a visit. “Even if that’s true”—which he seriously doubted—“it doesn’t excuse reckless endangerment.”

  When he got no response, Callum checked the pulse on Armstrong’s wrist. It was weak and rapid. If he didn’t act now, the poor bugger would expire from exsanguination.

  Callum dropped to his knees and bent over the dying man. Guilt, hurt, and anger wove a braid around his heart as he sank his fangs into his own wrist. Holding the dripping wound to Armstrong’s lips, he urged the man to drink. It took a wee bit of coaxing before Armstrong latched on and began to suck.

  “You’re going to feel like hell for a couple of days as you undergo the transformation,” Callum told him as he drank. “When it’s over, you’ll be stronger, faster, and your senses will be keener. You’ll need blood and sex pretty quickly, but we’ll have time to figure that out. I’ll stick around for a few days to impart what you’ll need to know, but, after that, you’re on your own.”

  When the deed was done, Callum left Armstrong to rest and recuperate and returned to the bedroom. The door was closed. He remembered then she’d slammed it when he ordered her out of the room. Was she stewing in her juices? He rapped on the door in as gentlemanly a manner as he could manage. Her response would tell him whether or not to gird his loins.

  “Come in.”

  She sounded calm, so he opened the door to find her perched on the foot of the bed in a pink kimono. She met his gaze with a penitent expression. Good. Sorry was good. She wouldn’t look contrite if she planned to rip him a new one.

  He parked himself beside her and folded his hands in his lap. The coolness blasting out of a box in the window was the only good thing about the air in the room. He hadn’t realized how hot he’d been until he felt it on his sweaty skin.

  “How’d it go?”

  “Well enough,” he said tightly. “He’s one of us now.”

  “Thanks for helping.”

  He scoffed. “Did I have a choice?”

  “I guess not,” she said, setting her head on his shoulder. “I’m really sorry about everything, Callum. I don’t know what came over me. I totally lost control.”

  He swallowed his rising irritation. “Why’d you let it get this bad? Why didn’t you ring and ask me to come? I would have been here in a heartbeat. You have to know that.”

  “I didn’t want to need you,” she offered meekly.

  His banked fury burst into a blaze. “And for that, you endangered the lives of everyone around you? Good God, Vanessa. Do you never think of anyone but yourself?”

  She pulled away and fixed him with a petulant glare. “Jesus, Callum. I said I was sorry. What more do you want from me?”

  He wanted everything, but he wasn’t about to tell her that. She had too much power over him already.

  “Nothing.”

  Without looking at her or saying another word, he left the bedroom. In the living room, as he stood there, fists and teeth clenched, anguish closed around his heart like an iron maiden. What in the name of God had he done? He’d put everything on the line for a woman who, just like both his wives, didn’t have it in her nature to care for him.

  Chapter 18

  Vanessa, aggrieved over Beau and at a loss about how to mollify Callum, stepped out of the bathroom, her silk kimono clinging to her freshly showered skin. To her great surprise, Callum was stretched out in the center of her bed like the king of all he surveyed. His hands were tucked behind his head, his legs crossed at the ankles, and his eyes closed. Except for his shoes, which he’d tucked neatly under the foot of the bed, he was still fully dressed.

  Her insides twinged with guilt as she took in his short hair. She’d loved his beautiful golden mane and now it was gone—because she’d tried to change him. She felt like Delilah, assuming the conniving temptress felt remorse for what she’d done to Samson. Callum opened his eyes and met her gaze. “Feel better?”

  “I will when you apologize.”

  “For what?”

  “For saying I think only of myself.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Even if it’s true?”

  Her face heated and she looked away, unable to bear his stare. “If that’s really what you think of me, why did you come?”

  “Why didn’t you call me? I want the real reason.”

  “Why didn’t you call me?” she asked, turning the question back on him. The truth would lay her open and she felt too vulnerable already.

  “Because you’re Madam Butterfly.”

  The accusation stung, probably because there was truth in it. Even though she cared for him—more than she’d cared for any other man—she’d flown away from him. Because he’d asked her to be his mistress—not that she was clear on why that bothered her so much. Did she feel it cheapened their relationship and her value? Or did she simply want more?

  “I announced my candidacy,” he said, steering the conversation to safer ground.

  “I know, my father told me.”

  “It would have been nice if you’d been there,” he added, not bothering to hide his bitterness.

  “I wanted to be there.”

  There was a long, awkward silence before he said, his tone heating, “Why didn’t you call me? I want the truth, so I can decide what to do about all this.”

  Fear sparked in her heart. Was he thinking of breaking things off? She wasn’t sure what she wanted from him, but she knew she didn’t want that. Mustering her courage, she prepared to take the plunge into honesty. Given the choice, she’d much rather bare her soul than break her own heart. “Fine. You want the truth? Here it is: I didn’t call because I didn’t want to step on your big bloody Leo ego.”

  He laughed, an unexpected response. “God Almighty. What a daft pair of twats we are.”

  “What do you mean?” she asked, turning back to him.

  “I didn’t call because I didn’t want to step on your wings.”

  Vanessa bit her lip. What fools love made of people, if in fact this was love. She still wasn’t sure. She only knew she couldn’t bear the thought of living without him.

  “Callum?”

  “Aye?”

  “I’m glad you’re here.”

  The tremulous smile he gave her touched her heart.

  “So am I, lass. Despite everything.”

  She crawled to him on all fours and kissed him—a brush of the lips, a touch of the tongue—and then, with a mild jolt, remembered her Good Samaritan. Pushing up a little, she said, “I almost forgot in all the madness—I met a guy the other night I’m almost certain is one of us.”

  Concern—or was it jealousy?—flashed behind his eyes just before they narrowed. “Met him how?”

  Annoyed, she compressed her lips. “If I’d slept with him, do you honestly think I’d have pounced on poor Beau like a she-devil?”

  “I suppose not,” he said, clearly unconvinced.

  “I met him after I went hunting my first night here,” she started to explain. “I got a flat tire and he stopped to change it for me.”

  The dent between Callum’s eyebrows deepened. “And what makes you so sure he’s one of us?”

  “The way he smelled.”

  “Oh, aye?” Suspicion narrowed his eyes. “And just how did he smell, eh?”

  “Just like you.” Flattered by his obvious-yet-baseless jealousy, she kissed his mouth to reassure him of her devotion. “His name is Finn MacKnight. He told me he tends bar at a place called
Napoleon House. I thought we might pop in for a drink one night while you’re here so you can get a look at him for yourself.”

  “All right,” he agreed, looking skeptical. “But I can’t imagine he’s Avalonian. As I told you before, there’s only me and MacQuill in this realm. And I’m only here because Queen Morgan doesn’t know I’m alive. She keeps her knights under lock and key, lass. Frankly, I’m surprised she let MacQuill out into the world, though she did put a curse on him. Perhaps she thought he’d suffer more that way than if she killed him.”

  “Doesn’t she worry he’ll father the drone of the prophecy?”

  “Nay, because the prophecy says the drone who dethrones her will be a full blood, and there aren’t any fertile Avalonian females on this side of the veil.”

  “What about me?”

  “You were made, not born,” he said, forehead wrinkling again, “which doesn’t count.”

  Now that things were easier between them, Vanessa was ready for make-up sex, so she sat down on the front of his trousers. He was already hard, which pleased, but didn’t surprise. She eased the top button of his shirt out of its hole before moving to the next one and the next. He watched this ritual with blistering intensity, but neither moved nor spoke. When his shirt was open, she tugged the tails free of his belt, and pushed the halves aside to expose his bare chest. Bending over him, she kissed his nipples, one after the other, before rubbing her cheek against his wiry chest hair. The familiar feel and smell of him made her ache for more.

  “I missed you,” she whispered.

  Sitting up, she gazed into his eyes, hoping he’d say he’d missed her, too. He didn’t. He just stared at her with those yellow-hot eyes of his, reducing her soul to cinders.

  “Put on some sexy underthings, eh?”

  As much as she didn’t want to move away, neither did she want to deny him. She’d denied him enough, like a stupid ass, believing she was giving him what he wanted. Or had she subconsciously been punishing him? Yes, she was peeved he’d asked her to be his mistress, as if she were some common trollop.

  Was that why it bothered her? Because she thought herself too high and mighty to be a kept woman?

  As she got up, she took his hand and kissed his knuckles. His eyes smoldered, but with desire or something more? He’d never declared his feelings. Not really. She knew he cared, but not how much. She let him go, climbed off the bed, and crossed to the dresser. Opening the top drawer, she took out the bits and bobs of the Bo Peep ensemble he’d bought her that day in Wick.

  Though her back was to him, the heat of his stare scorched her flesh. She peeled off her kimono like she was doing a strip-tease, milking the moment for all it was worth. Little by little, she let the robe slip down her body until it pooled on the floor at her feet. The noise he made at the sight of her naked backside shot a delicious thrill straight to her sex.

  She fastened the corset, hooked the garter belt around her waist, and bent to slip on the frilly crinoline, giving him a view of the goods. She jumped when his big, warm hand came between her legs and gasped when he slipped two fingers into her vagina. He moved them around as he playfully nipped at her hip.

  Though it felt divine, she wasn’t quite ready to bring the curtain down on her little show. With a laugh, she pulled out of his grasp.

  Returning to the dresser, she pulled out a pair of stockings. Black with lace tops and a seam down the back. She let them float on the air as she back-stepped toward the bed. Sitting beside him, she gathered one delicate tube down to the toe before slipping it over her foot. As she unfurled the silk up her outstretched leg, she heard his breath catch. Yes! With a smile playing on her lips, she pulled the second stocking on just as seductively before fastening the dangling clips. When she stood and started toward the closet, he seized her by the hips and pulled her back, onto his lap.

  His erection poked her, giving her another shuddering thrill. Slipping a hand between her legs, he teased her clit before pushing the finger inside her. She moaned with pleasure as he masterfully stimulated her g-spot.

  God, he knew exactly how to please her.

  Just as she reached the brink of climax, he withdrew the finger and ran his hand down her thigh to the top of her stocking. Then, to her surprise, he swatted her, though playfully.

  “Go put on the shoes you wore to the book signing.”

  Knowing which pair he meant, she climbed off his lap, hurried to the closet, and stepped into the pumps he’d requested.

  Returning to the bed, she found him stretched out, hands behind his head on the pillows, still in his trousers and open shirt. Apparently, he wanted to prolong the performance as much as she did.

  Good.

  As she approached him, his blazing golden gaze swept over her, scorching her flesh and heating her blood.

  “Come, my bonny butterfly.” He reached for her. “Alight on your lion.”

  She got onto the bed on all fours, crawled to where he lay, and straddled his hips. He let out a breath, but didn’t move. She ran her hands over him, hungry for bare skin and the hard plains of his chest. She stroked his hair and teased his nipples until they stood up. Making a sound low in his throat, he rolled his pelvis under her weight.

  “What are you thinking?” she asked.

  He smiled. “I’m way past thinking, mo dearbadan-de.”

  Dissatisfied with his answer, she bent over him, pressed her breasts against his chest, and kissed him deeply. As their tongues entwined, he ran his hands down her back and over her frill-covered buttocks before snapping both her garters.

  In retaliation, she seized his tongue between her lips and bit down. He grunted in surprise, but didn’t pull away. The meaty brine of his blood danced across her taste buds, provoking an onrush of moisture between her legs.

  Forget feelings. Forget the future. For now, she’d settle for giving and receiving succor in the form of erotic pleasure. She slid down him, raking his chest with her fingers as she went. Stopping on his thighs, she unfastened his belt and trousers, freeing his erection.

  Sliding farther down his legs, she bent over and dragged her tongue down the length of his cock and around his balls, gently suckling each egg-like testicle in turn. He squirmed under her and made a pleased sound deep in his throat. Spurred by his response, she licked and flicked until his bell-end glistened with saliva and pre-ejaculate. She then blew softly everywhere her mouth had moistened. He shivered and made another carnal noise that set off scrumptious sparks between her legs.

  “Do you like that?” she whispered.

  A smile danced on his mouth. “Do you have to ask?”

  She lifted her gaze, meeting his hungry eyes. Holding his stare, she flicked her tongue ruthlessly against the divot in the underside of his glans.

  “Would you like me to suck your cock until you come?”

  He made a sound, half cough, half laugh. “Is that a trick question?”

  Fighting a smile, she drew his dome into her mouth and pressed the tip of her tongue into him. His body quivered, his breath caught, and his eyelids fluttered. As she took him deeper, he grabbed her head, pressed his fingers into her scalp, and pushed his cock to her tonsils.

  Gagging, she expelled his member and fixed him with a disapproving glare. “Who do you think I am, Anastasia Steele?”

  His eyebrows drew together. “Who’s Anastasia Steele?”

  “The girl in Fifty Shades of Grey. Haven’t you read it?”

  “I can’t say I have.”

  Feeling foolish, she stammered, “Oh. Well. The point is, she had no gag reflex—and I do.”

  “Sorry,” he said, looking sheepish. “It just felt so bloody amazing.”

  Shrugging it off, she climbed off the bed and set about removing his shoes, socks, and trousers. After dropping them on the floor, she held out a hand.

  “Now the shirt, Fifty.”

  Pushing up with a puzzled expression, he squirmed out of his shirt and tossed it to her. Af
ter depositing it with the rest of his things, she took a minute to admire his naked physique. He was a gorgeous hunk of man to be sure, but also so much more. Being with him was like basking in the sunshine. He added rather than subtracted. She’d never felt that with anyone before; never dreamed such feelings were possible.

  Holy shit. Was she actually in love?

  Mortified, she climbed onto the bed and stalked up his body like a lioness until she was even with his face. He reached up, through her hanging hair, and brushed her cheek with a tenderness that made her want to cry.

  “What are you thinking?” he asked.

  Panic slithered through her like a cold-blooded snake. If she shared her thoughts, it could ruin everything.

  “I’m way past thinking, Fifty.”

  She sat down on his cock, taking his full measure into her. He groaned and shuddered, sending a torrent of thrills through her body.

  When he reared up and rolled over her, she welcomed his weight, the driving rhythm of his thrusts, the animalistic sounds of his pleasure, and the pulsing release of their mutual orgasms.

  The sex, as usual, had been glorious, so why did she feel so unfulfilled? When it was over and he lay softly panting against her breast, she wrapped her arms around him and clung to him as if he was a part of her she feared might break away and become lost. They stayed like that for a long time, her arms wrapped round him, his head on her chest, before she was seized by the unsettling feeling he was a stranger to her. She still knew so little about him, about his life before they met, about all the cold-hearted fucking he’d done over the centuries to satiate his voracious libido. Was that all she was to him? A convenient way to scratch a never-ending itch? Was that why he’d asked her to stay in Scotland as his mistress?