by Nancy Morse
“Sins are sins and cannot be forgiven in advance, only when you repent for having committed them. Do you consider yourself a good Catholic?”
“Of course.”
“Then your use of the Eucharist as a means to threaten me is an offense against Christ.”
“You dare speak to me about what is offensive to our Lord? You, a creature of wickedness. Of selfish passions and evil ambition.”
“I am what God made me.”
“You are from Satan.”
“And God made Satan.”
“You delight in cruelty and blood.”
“I do not kill out of malice.” The nun-killer and the padre notwithstanding, she thought with malicious irony. “Neither I nor Nicholas are a threat to you.” Another lie. Nicholas would have devoured him the instant he walked in the room.
“Now it is I who do not believe you,” he said.
“Do you have children?” she asked.
“No.”
Without a first born son, his obligation to the Sanctum would end with him. There was always the possibility that he would produce a male heir in the future, but by the time that offspring reached maturity, she and papa would be long gone from this place.
“I will strike a bargain with you,” she said. “In return for letting you live tonight, you will swear on the sacred Host that you will leave me and my kind alone.”
She studied his face. He looked confused and disturbed. A moment passed in which he appeared to be thinking.
“Sabine treated me with kindness,” she said, pressing her advantage. “She knew that I did not choose to be a creature of the night, an exile from humanity, that I am also a victim. Perhaps she took pity on me because I am deprived of the light created by God.” This last part was not entirely true for she was quite able to get around during the daylight hours provided the sun was not shining too brightly, but she wasn’t about to tell him that. “She even looked upon me as a daughter and asked that I call her maman.” Her eyes were steady on him as she spoke. “There are worse dangers hiding in the night. You saw it yourself in the bayou. We are not so very different. You longed for love from Sabine, I from Stede, and we have both been deeply wounded by the loss of that love. If you agree to the bargain, I give you my word that I will leave you here tonight with your life intact.”
“What about that green-eyed devil?”
“I will speak to Nicholas on your behalf.”
“You lied before. How do I know you are not lying now?”
“You don’t. It’s a risk you must take if you value your life. Besides,” she slyly added, “if you kill me, you will have to answer to Nicholas as well as to Stede.”
His face paled in the lamplight.
“Nicholas is very clever,” she went on matter-of-factly. “He will have figured out by now that it is you and not Delphine who is the hunter. If you kill me, he will no doubt tell Stede. I would not call them friends in the true sense of the word. Let’s just say there is an understanding between them. So, you see, Christophe, you can die by having the blood drained from your body by Nicholas or by being run through with a sword by Stede. Or, you can agree to the bargain.” She shifted in the chair and turned her face toward the window. “Be quick about it. Daylight approaches and I must be going.”
She could hear the frantic rhythmic beating of his heart as he contemplated the offer and the consequences of refusing.
He turned slowly and looked at her. A shudder rippled through his body at the eerie stillness about her, like that of death. And yet there was also something else that gave him reason to pause and question, “Are they all like you? So…so… He cast about for a word to describe her.
“Human?” she suggested.
He managed a broken nod.
“I find it difficult to detach myself from human pain and misery. Perhaps it is because I have only been in this state for a brief time, not yet a century, and am still in touch with my mortal self.” She shrugged against the darkness. “Who knows? In any event, I would advise you to take advantage of the human nature I still possess.”
His voice barely rose above a whisper. “I will agree to the bargain.”
Her gaze followed discreetly as he returned the wafer to his pocket. A savage sense of triumph swept through her. She rose from the chair and floated toward him. Lifting her hand, she stroked his cheek with a cold finger. “You have chosen wisely, Christophe.” He trembled and flinched away from her touch. Hopeful that she had inspired sufficient fear in him to keep him at bay, she feigned a sweet smile and said, “Just remember our bargain.”
Outside, the moon was large in the pre-dawn sky. Pru picked her way around the ditches that gurgled with black slush from yesterday’s rain, wondering how long Christophe would hold to his part of the bargain. She didn’t trust him and would have killed him right then and there had he not used the Sacrament against her. Her powers were not yet strong enough to shield her against the Consecrated Host. The religious symbol which she had accepted willingly in holy communion when mortal was now used as a powerful weapon against her. As much as she hated to do so, it had been best to bargain with him in order to gain time. New Orleans had seemed like a good place to reside, for a while at least, but now, despite her papa’s fondness for masquerades and fancy-dress balls, it was time to leave.
She returned home feeling tired and weak. The thirst burned within, the grinding in her stomach a familiar pain from not having fed, but she was in no mood to hunt. She went to the mahogany cabinet where her papa kept his decanter of chicken blood, thinking a few swallows would temporarily alleviate the unholy craving she had for human blood, but the cabinet was empty.
Upstairs, her papa’s bedroom was vacant, as well, the bed undisturbed. Perhaps he’d gone to one of the cabarets along the river’s edge as he sometimes did, bringing along the decanter secreted under his coat. Tomorrow evening, after he had rested during the daylight hours, she would sit him down and explain why they had to leave New Orleans. Papa would understand.
In her room she fell onto the bed fully clothed, too tired even to remove her garments, and slipped into a restless sleep.
***
Her mind and body awoke in the same instant. Turning her head on the pillow she looked toward the window. Moonlight streamed over her face through a slit in the velvet drapes. She was about to roll over and go back to sleep when there drifted to her nostrils a familiar potent scent.
He was sitting in an armchair by the door, green eyes blazing out of the darkness, his shadow merging with the shadows on the wall.
She swung her legs over the side of the bed and got up. “How long have you been sitting there?”
“Long enough. Do you know you make the most delightful noises when you sleep?”
“I do not.”
“How would you know?”
With a roll of the eyes she trudged to the dressing table and lit a candle. “Never mind that,” she said, pulling out the stool and sitting down.
“You haven’t fed,” he observed. “I can tell by your color.”
“We have more important things to discuss than my sleeping or eating habits.”
“I know. What did you do with him?”
“With who?”
“Christophe.”
“Oh, him.” She pulled a tortoise shell brush through her hair, working out the tangles.
“Yes, him. I went to his cottage. He’s not there. So you must have disposed of the body somewhere. Although from the look of you, you obviously didn’t drain it. When was the last time you fed?”
“I don’t remember,” she replied wearily.
“And yet you were strong enough to kill him. I’m impressed.”
“I didn’t kill him,” she admitted.
He got up and came to her, his boots barely touching the floorboards. “If you didn’t kill him, what did you do with him?”
“I bargained with him.”
“You what!”
“I told him I would let him live if he g
ave his word not to harm us and that I would speak to you in his behalf.”
“Are you insane? You don’t bargain with a sanctioned hunter.”
Her eyes flared to life. “I had no choice. He threatened me with the Consecrated Host. I don’t know what came over to me, Nicholas. When I saw it, I felt the most dreadful fear. It wasn’t just an emotional reaction. It was more like a physical pain, in here.” She rapped a clenched fist against her abdomen.
“Ah, well, even I would have difficulty with that,” he conceded. “It’s one of the few things that can stop a vampire in his…or her…tracks.”
“So, you don’t blame me, then, for not killing him when I had the chance?”
He ran a cold finger over her porcelain cheek. “Not at all. Leave it to me. I’ll take care of it.”
“If you can find him.”
The rhythmic stroking of her cheek ceased. With typical arrogance, he said, “I’ll find him.”
A sudden thought brought Pru’s hand to her mouth to capture a gasp. “Papa! He wasn’t here when I got home. He must be at one of the cabarets. I have to find him before Christophe does. I don’t trust Christophe to keep the bargain.”
Nicholas laughed. “You little hypocrite. The way you are not keeping to your end of the bargain?”
“I’m a vampire of my word,” she said indignantly. “I told him I would speak to you about it, and I have.”
“You also told him you would not kill him.”
“That’s right. I told him I would not kill him. I didn’t say anything about what you might do.”
He gave her a cunning smile. “What a clever little vampire you are. Just my type.” His arm reached out to snag her about the waist and draw her to her feet.
She recognized the hunger in his eyes and put her palms against his chest to keep him at bay. “How can you think of such a thing at a time like this? We have to find Papa. I won’t rest easily until I know he is safe.”
Bringing his face close to kiss her, he said, “He’s already safe.”
Pru twisted her head from side to side to avoid his lips. “What do you mean he’s already safe?”
“Not now,” he breathed against her hair.
The moment was splintered by a display of strength that surprised him when she pushed him away and said in a threatening voice, “Now!”
His face lost all trace of humor. He looked at her, green eyes lingering for a moment on her lips that were rigid with determination, and then turned away from her, muttering something unintelligible under his breath as he walked to the window and parted the drapes. For many long moments he stared moodily down at the street below. At length, he said, “I went to see your pirate.” He heard her soft intake of breath behind him and knew that the mere mention of the pirate would elicit the response he’d been dreading. “I arranged for your father to be put aboard a ship and taken to safety.”
“Stede? Stede did that for me?”
“I prefer to think he did it for me,” Nicholas replied. “To repay his debt to me for saving him from the Spaniards.”
“Yes, yes, of course. It doesn’t matter who he did it for, only that he did. What did you tell him?”
“That your father is in danger from those to whom he owes some gambling debts.”
“Nicholas, you know Papa doesn’t gamble.”
“Would you have preferred that I tell him the truth?”
“I would prefer that you start explaining.”
“When you left my cottage, I got to thinking about what you had said. It didn’t make sense that the hunter was a woman, and what doesn’t make sense cannot be true. That meant the hunter was out there somewhere stalking us. I might add it’s a wonder I was capable of thinking clearly after our extraordinary round of lovemaking.”
Pru shivered, besieged by scalding memories of their night together, and said tersely, “Go on.”
“So, I went to see your pirate—”
“He has a name,” she cut in.
“So, I went to see your pirate,” he went on deliberately, “and made arrangements for your father to be put aboard the ship. Let me see now, what is her name?”
“You know very well what her name is.”
“Your pirate—” He stopped at the glaring look she shot at him and acquiesced with a slight inclination of the head. “Stede agreed to take him aboard the Marie’s Fortune. She’s being outfitted for a voyage. Meanwhile, she is anchored in a secluded place—he did not say where—but assured me your father would be safe. I then came here to find you, but Delphine told me you’d gone to Rue d’Orleans. When I learned that is where Christophe lives, I knew what you were up to. I put your dear papa aboard a carriage that would take him to Stede and, from there, to the ship. By the time I got to Christophe’s cottage, you and he were gone. Assuming you had killed him and disposed of the body, I returned here to find you asleep. End of story.”
“This story won’t be over until you kill him,” she said.
“I have to find him first.”
“Try Maspero’s Exchange on Rue de Chartres. According to Delphine, he spends much of his time there.”
“I know the place,” Nicholas said. “Merchants and brokers transact much of their business there. What would someone like Christophe be doing there?”
“Delphine said he sometimes steals items from Stede. Perhaps that is where he sells them.”
“Then that’s where I’ll begin my search. But first, I’m hungry.”
Her gaze traversed his face. In the flickering candlelight his cheeks bore a faint rosy, albeit temporary, tint, an indication that he had recently fed
He smiled licentiously. “It’s not blood I’m hungry for,” he said, reading her thoughts. “It’s you. I won’t take no for an answer. Besides, it’s the least you can do after I made safe arrangements for your father.”
“Doesn’t it bother you that I will give myself to you only in return for a favor,” she asked, “and never out of love?”
His arms went around her, crushing her to him, and his mouth covered hers in a savage kiss, and although he did not answer her question, she knew by the fierceness of his response that it bothered him deeply.
She owed him her thanks for getting her papa to safety and for so much more, yet while the love he craved would never be his, at least she could give him this. She melted against him, responding instantly, knowing in a distant part of herself that it was as much for herself as it was for him.
She shuddered at the sound of his labored breath when his lips moved across her cheek to her ear. Her body hummed with need and fulfillment. His mouth was suddenly everywhere—tasting, nipping, ravishing her cool white flesh with a wildness about him such as she had never glimpsed before.
Her own desire changed from dreamy to desperate. She moaned, digging her nails into his shoulders, pulling him closer. Was it only carnal satisfaction that made her feel like this, or was it something more?
She heard the seams of her garments ripping beneath his frantic hands and didn’t care. Clothing could be replaced, but nothing could take the place of this feeling of wild abandon that she experienced only in the vampire’s arms. There had never been any control in their lovemaking, and this night was no different.
Moonlight filtered into the bedroom sending shadowed light across her naked body as he swept her in his arms and carried her to the bed. He laid her down on the feather mattress, his mouth finding hers again as he settled on top on her. Her need grew as his hands moved over her body, cupping and lifting her breasts so that he could kiss the soft flesh beneath, raking along her waist and the curve of her hips, up and down the inside of each silken thigh, coming to rest upon that place that burned like a wildfire out of control.
She moaned his name and reached for him, wrapping her fingers around his hardness, feeling it throbbing to her touch and thrilling to the sound of his strangled gasp when she pushed him onto his back and drew him into her mouth. Yes, she would pleasure him this way, not because he demanded it but
because she wanted to, because he tasted so sublimely sweet, because it made her feel powerful to have him writhing against the mattress, because only with him could she be as wanton as this without being judged.
Lifting her face, she ran her mouth up along his belly to his chest—tasting, licking, savoring the coolness, swirling her tongue around his hard little nipples as she straddled him. She leaned forward and kissed him. His tongue met hers in a heated union. Reaching down, she grasped his phallus and rubbed its tip around her entry, teasing and eliciting an unintelligible epithet from him before coming down upon it.
There was no need for soft motions that built in rhythm and speed. The instant she felt it go in she began to move on top of him, pumping her hips in a beat that grew more frantic, like the voodoo drums in the bayou. With his hands about her waist, fingers biting into the tender flesh, he used his preternatural strength to lift her and bring her down hard, over and over again, succumbing to their mutual need to possess and be possessed.
Lifting his head, he buried his face in her pendulous breasts and tugged at the hardened nipples with his teeth, eliciting a moan from her.
“Am I hurting you?” he rasped without stopping.
She grasped the back of his head and held him there. “More.”
Her response enflamed him beyond rational thought. Acting now on pure instinct, he pulled her off him and flipped her onto her back. Grasping her ankles, he drew them up over his shoulders and brought his mouth forward. There was no need to go slowly. He craved the sweet, succulent taste of her, and her fingers digging into his hair demanded complete ravishment. Her body strained and arched as her breathless voice begged for more.
When she thought she would explode from the wicked pleasure, he lifted his head, and without further ceremony, plunged into her. With a sharp cry, she wrapped her legs around him, holding his body prisoner to hers.
The moonlight fell across their writhing bodies as release came upon them simultaneously, and the midnight air filled with the sounds of two wild things coming together in a tangle of hot, torrid need, each gasping with shock over the power and strength of the other.
