Bel turned to Andre with his dark brows raised.
“What?” Kos asked.
Andre shrugged and then put his hands in his pockets, tight lipped.
“I’ll walk with you,” Bel said. Several steps into the damp, musty cellar, he spoke again. “It’s all over your face. I’ve never seen that look before. Why don’t you keep her?”
“You know damn well why.”
“Uh, no, I don’t.”
“Because of Mother. Because of the vow we took.”
“Vow?”
“Bel. You must remember. We bled on her grave. We promised never to marry, never to bond.”
“Kos, I was, like, eleven.”
“Of course I wouldn’t hold you to it. And I always did like Lexi—”
“But you were only nineteen. You weren’t even a vampire yet. You can’t hold yourself to a vow you made then. You had no idea how long forever was.”
“You’re right. I didn’t. But I do now, and I know for damn sure it is way too long for any love to last. Vow or not, I cannot keep her.”
“She looks a little like Mom, doesn’t she?”
One of Kos’s shoes stuck to the stone floor as if it had been glued there. The other slid out from under him like it had been greased.
Bel caught him before he toppled over.
As soon as he was on his feet, he said, “No. She really doesn’t, Bel, besides her hair. She’s taller and thinner. Her face is fuller, her nose narrower.”
“I suppose you’re right. I hardly remember what Mom looked like, and Andre destroyed all the pictures. You’re my only memento.” Bel opened the door into the foyer and held it for Kos. “You and Lena suit each other nicely.”
“You’re not helping.”
“Oh, sorry. Kick her to the curb, bro, like the needy blood slave she is. Hos and bitches all of them.”
In spite of himself, Kos laughed. They’d reached the kitchen, and he was grateful to find a full pot of coffee. He poured a cup for Lena. “Bel. About Lexi. Did you want—?”
“More than you can possibly imagine.”
“Really? Even after everything with Mother and Andre?”
“Yep. Even then. I always held them personally responsible for the mess they made. Doesn’t mean everyone in the world is destined to cock-up their forever.”
For the first time in his life, Kos really wished he could believe that.
“Goooaaal!” shouted the announcer.
“Piss off,” Bel shouted back at the television, waving a nearly empty beer bottle at the TV.
Pedro didn’t care a lick who won the game, but football was the sport of his youth, so it was still fun to watch. He kicked his feet onto the coffee table and curled his finger around open air, wishing he could drink his own cold cerveza.
With the mouth of a beer bottle between his lips, Bel shut up for once.
Pedro seized the moment. “So, you’ve found the mysterious magic ingredient in Hunter blood and Blood Vine, but you’re no closer to learning why it’s there.”
Bel’s eyes turned to slits over the beer bottle. He looked closely at the bottle, then began to peel the label off. “The more I think about it, the more it becomes clear that the only explanation is vampires evolved to need Hunter blood, with Andre’s wine as an inferior substitute.”
Pedro took the bottle from Bel, forcing the other man to look at him. “But vampires don’t need Hunter blood if they live in their homeland, only if Hunters drive them out. So, which one is the chicken and which the egg?”
“Right. That’s the million dollar question. But no bets on this one, buddy.” Bel’s eyes flicked to Pedro’s groin and back, and he winked.
“Yeah, yeah.” Pedro cleared his throat, unsure if he was ready to share his theory. Damn, he’d like a swig of that cold, malty beer to moisten his dry mouth. “I have an idea. But I’m not willing to put a million bucks on it.”
Bel lifted his beer. “Shoot.”
“At some time in the past we were all together, and vampires exploited the Hunters for their blood, enslaved them, and that’s why they hate us.”
“Nope. Doesn’t work. Vampires didn’t need their blood unless they were exiled. Why bother exploiting them?”
“Well, that’s the thing. I’ve never tasted any blood but Hunter blood, but I think it’s different. I’ve seen Andre and Kos feed from humans all the time. For the humans, it’s hot, but for vampires, it’s nothing special—like a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Feeding from Lucas is…” Hunger and lust surged through his veins, and he took a breath. “It’s every good feeling at once. It’s like your favorite home-cooked meal and waking up on Christmas morning and a hug from your mom, and the best sex of your life, all rolled into one, which I realizes sounds creepy, but Madre de Dios, it feels really damn good.”
Bel’s dark eyebrows pulled together, and he scratched his head. “I didn’t know that.”
He sipped his beer and looked at the ceiling for a long time. Pedro waited, hoping Mr. Vampire Wizard would have some kind of whopping brilliant epiphany and cure Pedro of his Lucas addiction. Not that he wanted rid of Lucas, exactly. He just didn’t want to need him so damn much. Need his firm lips, his long arms and legs wrapped—
“Normally, things that feel good have an evolutionary benefit,” Bel said. “For humans, eating and sex support the survival of the species. For vampires, feeding from people who get blissed out from a bite serves the vampires well, helps them survive.”
“You’re saying that maybe vampires didn’t just feed from them for the, uh, vampire crack effect?”
“Exactly. Maybe the blood doesn’t just feel good, but does something else to you.”
“I need to feed less often than Andre and Kos.”
“Right. That could be it.” Bel didn’t sound convinced at all. “Maybe Lucas knows.”
The idea of Lucas keeping something like that from him made Pedro queasy.
“You should ask him.”
“Yeah, right.”
But Pedro wouldn’t. He couldn’t stand another betrayal.
Chapter 18
LENA ARCHED HER BACK and stretched, reaching her hands over her head. Kos’s fingers were lodged inside her for an anatomy lesson, and she’d decided to play dumb.
“Sex Ed class is a lot more fun with you than with my health teacher, Mrs. Humphries.”
“That’s good to hear.” He breathed the words into her ear, his hot breath heightening her sensitivity. “But you’re sure this doesn’t hurt?” He wiggled his fingers slightly. “I can’t believe you’re not sore.”
The pain lingered, a dull ache that kept all her core muscles on alert, but she didn’t want him to stop touching her.
“I’m surprised too. I promise that when you do that, what I feel is the exact opposite of pain.”
Half true. She wanted the pain because it reminded her this was their one and only chance to be together. She didn’t want to take for granted any sensation.
She groaned.
He grinned at her, all satisfied male. “That’s your g-spot.”
She’d known that the moment the broad head of his penis had hit it and her insides had melted.
“Oh. I’ve heard about that.” Then she pushed herself further onto his fingers. “More please.”
Later, she knelt between his legs and asked him to tell her about how he liked to be touched. She was a student of sex, after all, and she should use him as a live model to learn how to please her new employer. Though, really, she wanted to learn his body and his alone.
“In the pantry, was it the first time you—” He rubbed a finger across her kneecap.
When he didn’t finish the sentence, she asked, “Gave a blowjob?”
He blushed red. “Yeah.”
“It was. I’ve read just about every magazine article titled Men Reveal Twelve Secret Turn-Ons. And, I watched a lot of porn.” She ran her fingers from his base to his tip.
“Really?”
“I was st
udying up to join a household. But porn’s not a good way to learn. It’s all the same, really. Just put it in a hole as far as it will go. There’s not much technique to observe.”
She stroked him up and down with her fingertips, until an awful thought occurred to her. She froze. “Did I do a bad job?”
“Honestly, I thought your innocence was an incredibly sexy act. Turns out you’re inexperienced, but not really innocent. The idea that you were studying and waiting and you chose me is…” He took both her hands in his. “It’s an honor I’ll never forget.”
“I’m glad you said yes.”
A curtain of gray closed over all the blue in his eyes. “It was something special, and I’m sorry to say it’s not always like that—so intimate, so intense.”
That was a relief. She could have sex with this Mason Kearney, but she didn’t want to be intense and intimate with him. It would be a long time before she was ready for that again.
“I still have to pack. But will you make love to me one more time?”
“I hope it’s okay, but I asked Susan to pack your things so I could have you to myself all afternoon.”
She pictured her suitcase. Who cared if it was a mess? “No, I don’t mind. I’d rather be with you.”
“But I will only make love to you again if you promise me you’re not in pain.”
“Not in the least.” White lie. He stood up and circled behind her on the bed. “Where are you going?”
In answer, he guided her from a kneeling position onto her belly, with a pillow under her hips. “I want you like this.” He spread her thighs just enough to fit one leg between them.
She arched her back to present herself to him, feeling like an animal—in a good way.
He groaned, wiping away every fear she had about knobby knees and dull hair. And he didn’t treat her like an animal—he entered her slowly and rode her gently, kissing her neck and shoulders, running his hand down her side and back. This time, he reached to find her clit, swollen and sensitive, and he stroked her with gentle circles that matched his thrusts.
His touch was too slow, it wasn’t right or how she would do it herself, but she wanted him to do it. And finally, after so much longer than it would have taken if she were in charge, her muscles began to tighten around Kos of their own accord. By surrendering to him, she’d drawn out both their pleasure. Pressure and need coiled inside her, building and building until a powerful orgasm rocked through her womb, shaking her thighs and curling her toes. He pressed her into the bed, covering her and breathing hard. Every inch of her skin tingled, and his body called to her, and through the veil of hair falling over her eyes, the whole world was brighter and more alive.
Oh God. Kos had done this to her, given this to her. And, soon, she was leaving. Her tears spilled into the mattress.
She was a blubbering idiot, and she couldn’t let him see. Tears were desperate and she would not beg or bargain.
“Lena, sweetheart?”
She sniffed. “I’m fine. But, I thought you said it wasn’t always like that.”
He rolled and lay down beside her, quiet. When he spoke, there was something like awe in his voice. “It’s not.”
Good. She wanted him to miss her, to hurt over saying good-bye as much as she would—badly, and for a long, long time.
The ugly thought felt wrong, and right. Anger bubbled up in her. It was his choice to send her away, to deny them both this pleasure, this love. She hugged her arms over her chest tight and corralled all her emotions up tight inside.
When she spoke, she heard the strain in her own voice. “I’m going to take a shower.”
“Can I join you?”
She wiped her hand across her forehead, pushing back stray strands of hair. “Kos, we can’t do this forever. I need to get ready to go.”
She’d never taken a sharp tone with him before, and surprise took hold of his face. It wasn’t fleeting—he was stunned and frozen that way. She ached to comfort him, to thaw him and reassure him of her affection. But no, it was time to move on—a new home, a new vampire, and a chance to decide once and for all whether she was destined to be a householder or a mother.
Kos stood in the foyer with Vania, discussing the route to San Francisco.
“If they follow you, you drop her at the mall downtown. I’ll keep my eye on her, and we’ll catch a cab to Kearney’s.”
Kos’s shoulders were knotted liked someone had winched his trapezius muscles up to his ears. He rolled them, but it didn’t help.
Vania put her hand on his arm. “Maybe it’s out of line for me to say this—”
Her head was slightly angled, and the soft set of her mouth was unusual. Her black eyes were almost tender, very unlike the hardened warrior he’d had an affair with years ago. Krist, she was about to give him relationship advice, advice that he really did not want.
“Vania—”
“Kos, shut up and listen.”
“Spit it out, and then we go.” He swallowed and tried to roll his shoulders again. His muscles were immovable.
“You’re different with her. I think she’s your one. You shouldn’t let her go.”
“Vania, I don’t have a one. Get your ass in the van.”
She didn’t flinch at his tone, just gave his arm a squeeze and spun toward the door.
Lena came down the stairs, and he dropped his car keys. She wore a pair of jeans that showed off every curve of her flawless legs. It was so much worse because he knew what they looked like wrapped around him. He could even make out the sexy shape of her kneecaps.
Kneecaps? I’m lost to her.
Another minute at Kaštel, and he would profess his love. But he couldn’t tear his eyes from her. She had on a loose blouse that draped temptingly over her delicious breasts, and she held a sweater in her hands. Fashionable boots covered her calves. He’d never seen her dressed so stylishly.
“Boots?”
She swung her purse onto her shoulder and angled herself away. “The ocean makes it colder in the city.”
“Right.” Another shrug. Still, his muscles wouldn’t budge. “Susan put your suitcases in the car.”
“Has the sun set?”
Enough light came through the windows that it was still unclear whether the sun had passed the horizon. He looked at his watch. “Yes. It will be safe for us to leave in another five minutes. Vania is waiting to follow us—she’ll make sure we aren’t tailed by Hunters.”
“Okay.” She sat down in a straight-backed wooden chair near the door. The heavy antique dwarfed her, its rustic lines at odds with her modern style. In her fashionable clothes, she looked out of place. She was. She didn’t belong at Kaštel, and she didn’t belong with him.
She fiddled with something in her purse—already gone.
His heart fell into his stomach. She’d put up a wall and it wouldn’t come down again, not for him. There would be no passionate good-bye kiss, no heartfelt confessions of a love that could not be. Grief pounded into his chest like a punch, stealing his breath. It was over already.
This was my choice.
He’d made the decision that was right for everyone. If he tried to keep her, he would hurt her worse than this. If they lost themselves to the passion between them, it would be even more devastating when it came to an end.
Andre appeared in Kos’s mind, three stones too light and starving after Mila’s death. How had his father withstood it? If Lena belonged to Kos, she would be his everything, his reason for living. If she killed herself like Mila had, breaking their bond, Kos would walk right into the sun.
Lena combed her fingers through her hair, shielding her face. O Krist—she knew he was watching her, and she was avoiding his gaze. He made it easy by looking away.
“Is it time?” she asked.
He checked. “Yes. Let’s go.”
He crossed the drive to Andre’s sporty Mercedes coupe because Kos’s more practical four-door model had been parked in by the vans for Bel’s crew.
In the
car, the silence was sharp. She had a plethora of reasons to be angry with him, and they cut through his mind, although there was nothing he could do to make them right.
“Music?” he asked, to deflect the quiet’s sharpness.
“Yeah, maybe some of your classical music. But not that dissonant Russian stuff. It makes my head hurt, especially right…I don’t feel like it.”
Maybe Franz Liszt’s “Years of Pilgrimage.” The piano pieces had the perfect amount of melancholy for the occasion. He hadn’t realized she’d paid any attention to his musical taste. Aside from Andre and Bel, she might know him better than anyone. He plugged in his iPod, preparing to scroll for the album, but the last track he’d been listening to blared—Peter Gabriel’s “In Your Eyes.”
Fuck.
She let out one surprised sob before she covered her mouth. No way to deny it—he was caught being a sentimental, self-pitying fool. His face heated with anger for only himself. Finally, he found the Liszt, and forced his mind to the music, letting each note fill him, so he didn’t think about her scent, the softness of her skin, the blaze of love in her sated eyes, the horrible pain they’d brought her at Kaštel. Yes, he was a master of self-control. Thanks to Liszt, he only thought of her a hundred times a second.
“Did you study music?” There was an uncharacteristic coolness in her voice, but at least she was talking.
“No. I didn’t have any talent for it. My Aunt Uta was an incredible musician.” Words poured out of him, and he was grateful for another distraction. “She’s better than any professional soprano I’ve heard and plays the violin beautifully—she’s best with the old Croatian folk songs. When she was at our house, it was full of music. I suppose I learned to appreciate it because of her.”
“Was or is?” Ever so slightly, her shoulders tilted toward him.
“What?”
“You said she was a musician, but is a great singer.”
He kept his eyes glued to the road, afraid even to glance her for fear she would shut down. “Uta’s a vampire. She fled Croatia with us, but like all the refugees, she’s in hiding and we don’t know how to find her.”
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