“Lena, this is already bruising. How hard did you hit the ground?”
“I don’t remember.” Her forehead creased with the effort.
“That’s not a good sign.”
“I guess not.” She wiped her brow with the back of her hand.
“Are you feeling tired?”
“Very. Do you think I have a concussion? I didn’t think I hit that hard.”
“You said you don’t remember.”
Her crooked smile seemed to be an admission of some sort.
He filled a glass of water at the sink and slid it across the counter. “Listen, I want you to stay in my room so I can watch for any signs of a concussion. I’ll wake you up every few hours.”
“There’s no need for that. I’ll sleep in my room. I can set an alarm and wake myself up.” She took a tentative sip, then swallowed the rest of the glass in one gulp.
“Sleep wherever you’re most comfortable. But I’ll keep watch either way.”
Her mouth parted. “Really?”
“Yes.”
She closed her mouth, pressing it into an unreadable expression. “Fine. Then I’d prefer your room. Mine will bring back all the unhappy memories of living here.”
About that they were in perfect agreement. Two whole years of self-denial and unmet expectations weren’t good company for her at the moment.
“No problem. Let’s get you settled.”
He took her to his room and went to hers to gather some essentials. Only, what were essentials for a woman like her? A bra hung on the door to her bathroom, and he shied away from it as if he’d snuck a glance at her bare breasts. His gaze landed on a large dresser. If he brought it upstairs, she would have whatever she needed. Soon she would leave Kaštel, and it would be someone else’s job to take care of her. But he would do it right until then.
He stopped midway down the hall and shifted his load. The weight of her dresser was insubstantial, but he just couldn’t find a way to grip the awkward thing. He dragged it the last few yards into his room.
Behind the bathroom door, water splashed in the sink. Her toothbrush scrubbed and then the sounds of whatever else women do to get ready for bed came through the door. When she emerged, she had on over-sized flannel pajamas. They were turquoise with a dark-blue unicorn print, making her eyes an even deeper blue. His hands ached to touch her, his palms breaking out in a layer of sweat at the force it took to resist. With her clean face and her hair brushed out into waves, she was the picture of girlish sweetness.
If he weren’t two-hundred-percent certain she wanted Andre, and not him, he would have kissed her.
“Everything okay?” he asked instead. Idiot. It was only the millionth time he’d voiced the question already. With all the books in the room, with all the brilliant words from renowned authors in his mind, he should be able to speak more eloquently.
“Kos, really, I’m fine.” She looked around the room. “But, I feel bad taking your bed.”
“You know I don’t sleep. Never use it.” Mostly true—since he didn’t actually need sleep. Beds were purely recreational, and he preferred not to recreate at his father’s house. He folded himself into his favorite chair and kicked his feet up on the ottoman. “The sheets are clean and the bed is comfortable. I’ll just sit here and read. I’ll wake you every now and then to be sure you’re not having complications from the head trauma.”
“You make it sound so…traumatic. Really, I’m fine.”
“I’m sure you are. But, this way I won’t worry.”
“Right, that’s good. I don’t want you to worry.” She pulled the sheets down and sat, swinging her legs up and under the covers. Settled into the bed, she let out a contented sigh.
“Comfortable?”
“Yes, and suddenly I’m very tired.”
He turned off the lights and picked up a book, but he didn’t open it. Instead, he studied Lena curling on her side under the quilt. He’d wanted her from the moment she’d arrived at Kaštel, and he’d had the good sense to stay away from her for those two years. It had been easy, because she wanted Andre. And that was good, because if she ever wanted him—
“Kos?”
“Yes.”
“Would you read to me?” She propped her head on the back of her hand and looked toward where he sat with eyes unfocused by darkness.
“What do you want me to read?”
“Something you like. Anything. It doesn’t matter.”
He opened up War and Peace and once his eyes adjusted to the nearly black room, he began to read it aloud. Long after her breaths evened out into the rhythm of sleep, he read to her. Her steady inhalations soothed him, melting the tension from his shoulders. There was no denying her effect on him, and deep in his heart lodged the certainty he’d made a terrible mistake.
Chapter 2
LENA AWOKE SLOWLY. Foggy tendrils of a dream curled away from her, receding deeper into her mind. It was the same one she’d been dreaming her whole life—she carried a tow-headed child in her arms. Only, for the first time in twenty-six years of dreaming, she recognized his eyes.
Then his image dissolved, and she was warm and cozy in a soft bed. She’d slept there every day for more than a week, but it still felt strange.
Through her half-open eyes, she saw Kos watching her. He sat in his ratty leather armchair near the foot of the ornately carved bed, his book open in his lap. She thought so—that baby boy from her dream had Kos’s light gray-blue eyes. How strange. Had she always dreamed them that color, or had her subconscious given Kos’s best trait to the dream baby? Probably so, after how much she’d been thinking about him in the last week.
His dark blond hair, too short to comb, was tousled. The collar of his blue shirt hung open several buttons and revealed the top of his broad, fair chest. Pale coloring of his skin was so different from the olive complexion of his father. At first, she’d found Andre more handsome, but now she wondered why. Kos’s high cheekbones and full mouth were enticing. She’d imagined kissing them way too often since he rescued her. The scarlet bedspread nearly matched his lips. She pulled it up to her chin, stretched her arms overhead, and arched her back.
“Good morning,” she said, smiling under his intense gaze.
“Good morning.”
There was an especially warm sound to his voice, like she’d said something funny. Was her hair sticking up?
“What?” She patted her head. “Why are you laughing?”
“I’m not.” Quickly, he looked down at his book and buttoned up his shirt.
“How far did you get?” she asked.
“About half way.”
He read her War and Peace each night until she fell asleep. But, since he didn’t sleep, he’d finished it himself in just two and a half nights. Now, after she dozed off, he put it aside to read The Brothers Karamazov.
“No offense, but I’m finding War and Peace pretty boring,” she said.
“It is slow. I remembered it as more entertaining when it was first published.”
Ooh, goody—what she did not find boring was Kos. “Were you still in Dalmatia?”
“No, Hunters had driven us out. We were already here on the estate.” Kos examined the spine of the ancient, leather-bound book. “I missed Dalmatia terribly when we first arrived, so I read a lot to practice my English, and later for fun. California was the Wild West back then, and the only entertainment was go to a saloon—gambling and fighting, mostly. Got boring fast.”
She’d seen enough Westerns to know the word missing from his list was whoring. It was nice of him to leave it off. He’d had lots of girlfriends since she’d known him. Several at a time, usually, but he always spoke about them with respect.
She tried to get back to the thread of the conversation. Whores, saloons, Wild West. Oh, right. She wished she had something intelligent to say. Kos was really smart and had read about ten thousand more books than she had. But all she could think was to ask, “Did you wear leather chaps and ride a horse?”
>
He grinned, and she didn’t feel stupid after all.
“I’ve worn just about everything fashion demanded of me since I was born. Things change a great deal in two hundred years.”
She would really like to have seen those chaps, but she wasn’t dumb enough to say so. “If you’re bored with War and Peace, we can read something else. A mystery or a thriller.”
“Dull works for me. I just need something to occupy my mind, since Andre’s no longer free to play cards. But, would you prefer a more exciting book?”
“Boring is perfect, puts me right to sleep.”
“Maybe it’s my company.” He winked, offering up his sexy smile, complete with uneven dimples.
“That’s not it,” she said, mimicking his grin. If she didn’t know better, she’d have thought he was flirting.
He was so funny and kind. In his bed, while he read to her from the armchair, she could almost forget how badly she wanted to leave the Kaštel Estate. Almost. Then she remembered the life she really wanted, felt the ache of all the years she had wasted chasing Andre Maras.
“Still no response to the advertisement?” she asked. It was so past time for her to leave Andre’s house, if only someone else would hire her. She was a complete failure as a blood servant.
“Nothing yet, but don’t worry. Something will come up soon.”
With every drop of blood in her veins—blood intended for a vampire who actually wanted her—she hoped Kos was right. In the meantime, she kept on cooking, because she liked it, and the household needed her…
A hungry household, which was probably ready for breakfast by now. It was time to get up and go to work.
She threw off the covers and slid out of bed. September had brought a late summer wave of warmth, and she only wore a pair of shorts and a tank top. Not exactly Victoria’s Secret, but Kos’s eyes darted to her legs.
He cleared his throat and stood up. “I’ll give you some privacy.”
Shame heated her skin from head to toe. Did he think she was coming onto him?
“Kos, you don’t have to go.” She grabbed her robe and threw it around her shoulders.
“No, no, it’s fine.” He fast-forwarded to the door. “Take a shower, take your time. Zoey should be ready to work by now. I’ve got to arrange for the bottles, and the labels, and the laborers, and…”
He was rambling. Obviously she’d worn out her welcome and made him uncomfortable.
“I’ll move back to my room today, get out of your way.”
He turned to face her, hanging his thumbs from his waistband. It was a strangely casual gesture, given the dressy cut of his tailored slacks and expensive shirt. She wanted to ruffle his perfectly smooth hair and try to draw him out every time she glimpsed that easy-going side of him.
“If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather have you here. Even a sleeping friend is better than no friend.” His lips pressed into a sad smile and then he closed the door.
She stared at the closed slab of oak. Friend—that was the problem. She was feeling way more than friendly. And it was a lost cause. She’d thrown herself at Andre recklessly for years. And then she’d made the unforgivable mistake—stripping to her underwear and offering herself up to him out of desperation. That stupid move plus his rejection was a humiliation beyond repair, and the week that followed was the longest of her life.
It would be so easy for her to mistake Kos’s kindness for something else, but he treated every woman like a queen. For one thing, he would never want his father’s castoff.
From her dresser, Lena selected a purple knit skirt that would keep her cool in the hot kitchen. She held it up to her waist and noticed her knobby knees. Leaning in, she scrutinized herself in the mirror. Two years of Andre’s rejections had left her uncertain about her appeal. Sometimes the woman staring back at her in the mirror seemed pretty enough, with pleasant features and a shapely figure. Other times all she saw was a convention of flaws—hips too wide, nose too pointy, hair dull. Everything about Andre Maras and life in his house made her hate herself.
She needed to get the hell out of the Kaštel Estate with her dignity, or what remained of it, intact.
Zoey curled her lips into a smile against the soft skin of Susan’s neck. Andre’s toes tapped a nervous beat, his jealousy a tense knot in Zoey’s belly, pulsing in time with his foot. She could sense his frustration through their blood bond, but she didn’t mind. His possessiveness was cute.
Susan was aroused. The scent was unmistakable, although the smell of Zoey and Andre’s sex hung in the air, too. It always did in the morning. Becoming a vampire had made her intimately familiar with the smells of her own body and those of others. At first the odors overwhelmed her, but now she reveled in the scents of her world—the sweetness of ripe grapes blowing off the vineyard at night, or Andre’s dark spice mixed with her own after a night of making love.
She savored another swallow of Susan’s warm, tasty blood and then traced her tongue over the puncture wounds in the other woman’s neck to stop the bleeding. Squeezing Susan’s arm, she said, “Thank you. I’m grateful, as always.”
“You know I’m happy to oblige,” Susan said, winking at Andre. She gave Zoey’s hand a reciprocal pat, which she let linger, probably just to piss him off.
He growled at her, and followed her to the door, glowering, before he slammed it behind her. “She likes it too much.”
“So what? She just goes back to her room and gets busy with Ally, like she did when you fed from her all those years.”
Before Zoey had bonded to Andre and become a vampire, she hadn’t anticipated what an inconvenience it would be for them to feed from others, their bites arousing their prey like a raw oyster dinner with a Viagra chaser. She didn’t like seeing Susan or Ally squirm and cross their legs when Andre fed either, so she didn’t watch. He, on the other hand, insisted on chaperoning her meals.
“That was different. She does not like men.”
“Andre, relax. I don’t want her, and she doesn’t want me.” Zoey rubbed the pads of her fingers in a circle over her heart. “Baby, I know you can feel that you have nothing to be jealous of.”
“I do not like it.” He pouted, even as he touched his own chest, able to sense the wave of unfettered love she’d called up in her own heart. “I am hiring ugly, straight women for this household right away. Or, as soon as…”
In the silence of his unspoken words, every uncertainty of their life came into Zoey’s mind. As soon as the eternal war with Hunters was over. Or, as soon as they were forced to flee the estate and settle in a new household, he without the wine that had cured his wasting disease, and she in a new exile, to begin her own downward slide into the devastating condition.
She’d known it all when she said yes to him, and she wasn’t sorry. But that didn’t mean she wasn’t afraid. He stared out the window, scanning the horizon in search of his enemies. Suddenly, she needed the comfort of his big body again, as if she hadn’t had it all night long. In two steps, she crossed the hardwood floor to him, encircled his waist with her arms, and pressed against his back.
“Baby, make me feel safe.”
He turned and lifted her, nuzzling his face into her neck as she wrapped her legs around him. Into her ear, he whispered, “That much I can do, love.”
Chapter 3
IN THE NARROW, OAK-PANELED HALLWAY, Kos leaned against the wall outside of his room and banged his head. Hard. From behind drawn curtains, the light of dawn seeped into the hallway. He should encourage Lena to go back to her own bedroom, but she seemed so sad whenever she mentioned the memories waiting for her there.
Still, it was excruciating to have her so close.
Every night that he watched over her sleeping form, his urge to protect and take care of her grew. And those weren’t the only urges. When she’d throw back the blanket and bare her long legs, it was all he could do not to kneel at her feet, kiss her slim ankles, and slip his hands up her smooth thighs.
He’d kn
own better than to get so close, known she was the one woman to tempt him. As much as she made him wish it weren’t true, love was something to be feared. Love meant an addiction to her blood worse than any human street drug. Love would be a noose around his neck, or worse, a razor blade in her bathtub. And he wanted both his neck and Lena’s delicate wrists safe from its seductive destruction.
A suffocating pressure at his throat made him realize he’d been squeezing off his airway. Krist. He needed a distraction, and there were plenty waiting for him in his office.
The house was quiet, its rooms filled with every Croatian antique his father could acquire—rustic tables, ornately carved chairs, oil paintings and watercolors of their homeland. Croatian humans weren’t sentimental about old junk. But vampires were different. Nature made them nostalgic in their very blood. Amidst the historical objects, Kos could almost believe he was back in their family home on Šolta. Not a bad fantasy, since an escape into the past would rid him of the troublingly gorgeous blonde in his bed.
Papers were piled on his desk in the same neat rows and precise angles as everything in his office. He sat down and straightened their already straight edges, mentally listing his priorities for the day. Rhythmic noises from the master bedroom overhead told him all too clearly why Zoey wasn’t in the office yet. He didn’t begrudge the new couple their happiness—they should enjoy it while it lasted.
Because it wouldn’t last forever. Andre’s marriage to Kos’s mother had proven that. Theirs had been a passionate, love-at-first-sight kind of match. Although Kos was only five when they met, he remembered the way Andre had gazed at Mila, or touched her. But that love had soured quickly, their misery a shroud over Kos’s childhood—until Mila’s suicide, which had nearly killed Andre.
He shuddered. Kos had learned the lesson well. Love could not withstand the eternal demands of a blood bond, and when it failed it tore everyone apart. He could not stand to be the destruction of a woman, especially not Lena.
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