“Part of me…” she started, then shook her head. “No. It might feel right, but it’d be wrong.”
“No, it wouldn’t.” His heart sank. He understood, but gods, he was losing her. No, it wasn’t the norm for a fateblood to avow a pürblood, but nothing about his life was the norm anyhow. Was there nothing he could say to stop her? Panicking on the inside as he watched her slip on her heels, his mind raced with what to do. To his detriment, he had to let her run.
He followed as she turned for his front door. Snatching her hand, he yanked her to him and captured her mouth in his. She whimpered as he parted her lips and dipped his tongue inside, needing a taste before she left. Something to go on for the hours he’d be without her.
She broke away, breathing hard, fingers tremoring as she touched her lips. “Last night was incredible.”
“Stay with me.”
“I have to go—”
Helpless, he pushed her against the pillar, claiming her mouth, crazed with the thought he might not get to again. He went slow, methodical, reminding her what she was giving up, using his hands how she liked and hearing her moan. “See? You will hunger for me.”
She exhaled shakily, briefly closing her eyes. “Yes.”
“Then why go?”
“I need time, Rhemy. To think.”
“How long?”
“I don’t know. A few days. Give me a few days. Please.” She sidestepped away from him and left.
He stared at the door, dumbfounded, already longing for her to come back.
A few days? Fine. But not a minute more.
He exhaled, jaw clenched, teeth sharp.
Every fiber of his being demanded he go after her, but she had to choose him, too.
He pressed his palms on the door, his body shaking as he tried to rein in the powerful urge to bring her back, finding it maddeningly difficult.
Chest heaving, he sank to his knees, at a loss at the need in him, a need that should only come with finding his fated, or so he’d been told. Confused, he wondered if he ever did meet her, how he could ever possibly want her more than he wanted Taelour.
A love like that could only be sheer madness.
Day one was a blur.
Rhemy slept in restless increments, always waking up with Taelour’s name on his lips, his head pounding, his head numb with longing.
He gave up on rest, took a shower, and left his apartment at dusk, as was his routine. Since it was Monday, the club was closed, but the casino was open, and he spent most of his evening there, socializing with the gamblers. To the poker players’ delight, he even started a private game, with a $25,000 buy-in, ten players, including himself. The enticement of a quarter-million-dollar purse was too tempting for his high-rollers, and he had a full table within a matter of minutes.
He played a little loose, smoked and drank, and was able to kill six whole hours of the night, losing to a big-bellied Texas oil man. Taelour only crossed his mind a thousand times or so. He headed up to his apartment in his drunken haze, and slept in his chair.
Day two did not go as well.
It was a slow night at the club, both for the bar and for the casino. Tuesdays were always a quiet night, but this Tuesday was exceptionally molasses-slow. He thought for sure he would hear from Taelour. A call. A text. She had his number, right? Then again, he didn’t remember giving it to her at any point during the weekend.
How the hell was she going to reach him?
He didn’t have her phone number or her address, but it was easy enough to find the former. He called Calvin Porter—who’d lost the entire credit Rhemy had awarded him—and got her cell number with no protest from the weasel. After pacing his place like a caged tiger, debating, he finally sent a text asking Taelour to call him.
She didn’t.
Day three was hell. By midnight, Rhemy’s patience was spent.
As soon as the sun lowered into the horizon, he considered her deadline passed.
He missed her. Needed her. He could talk her back to his bed, he had no doubt. Her reservations about being with a fateblood were understood, but they would overcome them.
He was going crazy, literally. Damn her for fucking with his head and heart and walking away with all the power.
Damn her.
He started to dial her number, but hung up. No. He had to see her. He picked up his landline and called someone who he knew could get information fast.
“I need an address…When? Yesterday.”
Seven
“What’s wrong with her?”
Taelour slowly opened her eyes, seeing Jake standing on the left side of her bed.
“Hell if I know,” Seth answered, who stood on the right.
Head immediately starting to pound, she pulled the sheet to her chest with an exhaustive moan, her teeth sharp and sore. It was mid-morning. “What’s going on?”
“You’re going on,” Jake answered. “And on and on and on. Moaning so loud in your sleep we can hear you clear across the house.”
“It sounds like you’re having an orgy of one in here, sis,” Seth added.
She ran a shaky hand through her hair. Since the moment she left Rhemy, she’d been a wreck. Her teeth wouldn’t normalize, her body wouldn’t rest, her brain wouldn’t quiet. She was in a constant stake of aching. Everywhere. She thought she could control it, as she’d managed to do with her sensa, but every day was worse than the one before.
“I’m fine,” she lied to her brothers. “It’s nothing to worry about. Just some…strange dreams.”
Jake lifted a brow. “Right, well, kind of weird to hear my sister moaning and groaning hour after hour. You sure there’s nothing you want to tell us?”
“I’m sure.”
Seth guessed, “Maybe suppressing your sensa is catching up to you?”
And running me over. “Yeah, that might be it.”
“You should go into town tonight and deal with it. I think you’re overdue.”
She nodded. “I’ll take care of it.”
As they filed out of her room, Jake glanced back with a small smile, then shut the door.
If she chose to be with Rhemy, would he demand she never see her brothers again?
What about her home? She would have to leave it and her brothers behind. And her revenge? She would have to forsake that, too. Rhemy would undoubtedly make her. She’d bought herself a few days so she could think, sort things out, come to terms, but time was up. She had to make a choice.
Taelour whimpered, turning on her side, her teeth refusing to shrink back, her skin so sensitive even her high-thread count sheets could rival sandpaper. What the hell was happening to her? Throwing back the sheets, she got dressed, hoping she would get the answer she needed.
An hour later, she walked in the heavily incense-scented covered porch of a woman named Miss Rita, renowned for her psychic readings and magick spells. Taelour was there for neither of those things, but Miss Rita also provided services to vampires. Thank the gods she was local. Many humans with gifts like hers refused to accommodate underworld beings; vampires were considered bad luck. Some psychics feared their abilities could be taken like energy, even though that wasn’t true whatsoever.
She pressed the doorbell.
Moments later, the door opened on its own accord.
Miss Rita sat in the kitchen at a Formica table, smoking a cigarette. “Come in, child.”
The lamps were covered in dark cloths, casting the rooms in a red glow. “Good evening. I hope you can help me.”
“Well, I can’t read ya mind. Tell me why you’re here to see ol’ Miss Rita. Help or truth? Truth is cheaper. Folks rarely like it so I cut the price to make it easier to digest.”
She sat down across from her. “Actually, I’m not sure. I’m so confused.”
“About him? The one with the sexy eyes and signet ring on his hand? Hmm?”
The woman’s gift was true. Just the thought of Rhemy had her closing her eyes, nearly moaning as she pictured him. “Yes. He’s a fateblood. I
’m a pürblood. I can’t be with him, yet I don’t think I can be without him.”
The woman’s eyes squinted. “Two hundred dolla’s, please. Don’t hand it to me, put it on the dish over there.”
Taelour set the cash where instructed.
Miss Rita gave a grunt as she pushed up off her chair and hobbled toward an ancient sideboard. She pulled out a white handkerchief and set it on the table. “Rest your hand on top of the cloth, palm up.” Once Taelour did, Rita plucked a topper from a glass decanter, then produced a dagger from her mumu pocket. She dipped the tip of the dagger inside the decanter to the black substance within, then slowly turned to her. “Think of him. His face. Concentrate solely on him. As hard as you can, even through the pain. You hear?”
Taelour gave a stilted nod. That would be very easy.
The psychic held down Taelour’s forearm with her cold, wrinkly fingers and raised the dagger with the other. She stabbed through her hand quick and sharp like a cobra. The puncture stung and Taelour cried out, black rivulets spreading out from the wound.
“Be still now. Keep thinking of him,” the old woman commanded, cigarette hanging from her lips.
Taelour’s mouth gaped open at the pain coursing through her veins, her heart pumping furiously, while she clung to the image of Rhemy’s handsome face.
“Turn it over. Bleed on the cloth.”
Hand shaking, she turned her palm, her blood dropping on the white linen.
Miss Rita snatched her wrist. “Hold it.” After a few more seconds, she released her. “Good! That’s enough, child.”
Gods, Taelour hoped so. Curling her hand in a soft fist, she brought it to her chest, the wound already sealing.
“The side effects will only last a few seconds,” Rita muttered before putting on reading glasses and reaching for the cloth, sniffing it. “Oh. Hmm.”
Oh, hmm what? Taelour waited for the assessment, impatient. “What is it?”
“Pürblood you said? How long has it been since you bit him?”
“A few days.”
Miss Rita tossed the linen down. “Child, please. You are no pürblood. Your blood matches perfectly with his. See here? You’re a fateblood, through and through. You found your fated. Simple as that.” She patted Taelour’s knee. “You just fine.”
She stared at the woman for a few seconds, blinking. “No. No, that’s not right. I’m a pürblood!”
“Sweetie, I’ve been looking at vampire blood all my livin’ life. I know the differences between. You and he are fatebloods. Have him get a taste of you and you’ll both know. Lordy! That lust of yours is stinkin’ up my house. You gots to go.” She started to shoo her out. “I can’t believe you can even walk.”
“But—”
“But nothin’. Walk yourself to him right away. He’s all you need to feel better.”
Eight
It took hours for his hacker to sneak his way into her cell phone account, but Rhemy had Taelour’s address at last.
He mapped it on his phone at the same time he was peeling out of his parking spot in his 1962 Austin-Healey 2000 MK. She hadn’t been exaggerating about the distance. Her home was out by Wills Point, would take almost an hour to get to if traffic wasn’t kind.
Soon enough, he turned on the driveway. The home could date back to the 1700s, a large, French plantation house in good condition, and as Rhemy pulled up, he had a flash of panic that Taelour was spoken for by some rich southern gent.
Gods. Don’t let it be that.
Though he knew she didn’t bear any man’s scent, he worried she was still connected to someone, and that was why she ran and hadn’t messaged him back.
He parked the car, looking around.
Some lights were on, but the curtains were drawn, and it was hard to see if anyone was home. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up while he climbed the steps to the porch. Frowning, he looked to his left, to his right, his instincts giving him pause.
Despite this, he started to knock on the door when the unmistakable sound of motorcycle engines coming down the drive caught his attention. He turned, eyes narrowing. Three men on Harleys circled around his car and blocked him in.
Shit.
They turned climbed off their bikes, looked at each other, then at him, and advanced like a trio of prey.
“Pardon me, gentlemen. I have the wrong house,” he told them.
“Who the hell are you?” asked the one in the middle, wearing a tight black T-shirt with his hair in a bun atop his head.
“No one.” Rhemy made sure to keep his tone friendly and even. “Just a motorist with a mistaken address.” He started to come down the steps, but the three of them had formed a body blockade, staring at him with identical narrowed eyes.
The one on the right, a blond with a sleeve tattoo, eyed him up and down. “Something doesn’t smell right.”
Rhemy steeled his spine. “I don’t want any trouble. I was just looking for someone and it’s clear this isn’t where she lives. I’ll be on my way and you’ll never see me again.” Though, damn it, there was the matter of their bikes preventing him from going forward or backward.
The front door behind him opened. “Who the fuck—”
“Chase. Grab him!”
Rhemy barely had time to glance over his shoulder before he was clocked across the jaw, barely conscious as his face was introduced to the wood floor, his body dragged inside by his feet. Two strong arms hooked under his armpits and he was sat up on his knees. His teeth descended, his rage discharging his instinct to fight, but he was unable to stand. One set of strong hands held down his left shoulder, another on his right.
A third hand grabbed his hair and yanked his head back.
His eyes came to focus as the guy named Chase in the Saints shirt snarled down at him, then looked up at the others. “Vampire.”
Rhemy struggled, but they were mighty strong, and there were three of them holding him. His chest rose and fell with his heavy breaths, his mind racing with what he could say or do to get him out of this mess. Their scents hit him at once, strong and unmistakable.
Shifters.
He kept his temper in check. “Release me.”
“Not happening,” said the one gripping his left shoulder, the one with the man-bun. “Now, what are you really doing on our property?”
“I’m not your enemy.” The yank on his head to expose his neck more made Rhemy grit his teeth. “Get your fucking hands off me.”
Chase crossed his arms. “Four against one here, bub. I don’t think you’re in a position to give orders and have them be obeyed.”
“Look!” Rhemy roared. “I don’t know who you are, but you’re making a mistake—”
“Think he’s a spy or some shit?” interrupted the blond gripping his right shoulder.
“Not a very good one if he is,” said the hair-holder, who then released his grip on Rhemy’s hair and walked around to face him. “And look at the way he’s dressed.”
The blond dug his fingers in. “Should we rip his throat out and throw him in the swamp?”
Rhemy twitched, struggling to break free. There was no way that was his ultimate fate, being murdered by a pack of shifters too paranoid to even consider a vampire would be on their property merely by error. “Listen—”
Just then, a voice from behind them interrupted their questions. “Guys! What’s going on?”
A feminine voice. The only one he ever wanted to hear.
She came from around a corner and gasped. “Rhemy?”
His eyes widened at the sight of her. “Taelour.” He had the right address all right.
“You know him?” asked man-bun.
“Say the word and we’ll waste him. He knows where you live, Tae.”
Her teeth sharpened, eyes brightened, then—to the surprise of them all—forcefully pushed man-bun’s shoulders, then the blond one. “Get off him now. Do it!”
“Why?” The third one asked incredulously. “They kill our kind every fucking day.”
“Kill him? You can’t kill him!” She covered her mouth with her hands, closed her eyes, and sighed. “He’s my fated.”
Had Rhemy not been so shocked by those three last words of Taelour’s, he would’ve stood up, but his legs wouldn’t let him.
“What?” exclaimed the four shifters in unison.
Exactly.
He snatched her hand and yanked her down to her knees so they would be eye level.
The men stiffened, growling at him, but they didn’t touch him.
To Rhemy, they barely existed at that moment. “What did you just say?”
She made a despairing sound and cupped his jaw. “It’s true. The other night when we were—together, when I bit you, I knew…but I didn’t know at the same time. I know that doesn’t make sense, but it’s true.”
“But you’re a—”
“Pürblood. That’s what I was told. My mom said so. I never thought twice about double-checking.” She looked up at the four staring down at them. “She must’ve been wrong. I’m a fateblood. He’ll know I’m not lying. My blood will tell.”
He didn’t have to, to know it was true. Gods, it made sense. If only he’d bitten into her vein that night, he would’ve discovered for himself, but she hadn’t allowed it. Then she’d fled from him. Perhaps that was what had been hovering in his cognizance when they made love, the knowledge that she was his fated. “Why didn’t you tell me what you were going through?” he begged to know. “I’ve been going out of my mind.”
“So was I! But how could I explain what I didn’t know? I thought I was a pürblood. I went to a psychic and asked her for help. She told me it was simple. I’d found my fated.” She sighed. “I was just about to call you.”
He closed his eyes, touching his forehead to hers, before pulling her into his embrace. With a relieved exhale, he absorbed the news that really wasn’t actually shocking to him at all. She’d been his from the start, and he’d known it.
“I see you’ve met my brothers.”
“Brothers?” Shock number two. She’d left that detail out. Though she had mentioned having four brothers, he’d naturally assumed they were vampires.
Rhemy: Immortal Forsaken Series #4 (Paranormal Romance Novella) Page 10
