by Irina Argo
He took a deep breath, calming himself, then gathered the energy of the Gift of Ra and blasted the door into a thousand pieces.
Tor stood in the doorway, stunned, unable to move. His world narrowed until all he could see were two huge, frightened eyes, one green and the other amber. A shiver ran down his spine, and he felt himself spinning into a vortex like a black hole, falling deeper and deeper to meet his unknown fate. It was, he now saw with perfect clarity, a fate written by the Goddess herself.
So this was Arianna. He took a tentative step toward her, not wanting to frighten her. She watched him with the intensity of a cornered animal, as though she expected him to attack her. And of course she would, wouldn’t she? She’d been imprisoned, treated like an animal, for almost a year.
The girl was half-hidden behind a mass of flaming red hair. She sat on the bed, pushed all the way into the corner, her knees pulled up to her chin, arms wrapped around her legs. She was completely motionless. Her full lips were parted slightly. Tor caught himself thinking of gently cupping her face in his hands and brushing those lips with his.
He continued to approach her, slowly, his motions deliberate so he wouldn’t scare her more than he had already. Her skin was ashen, almost transparent, her hands thin as a skeleton’s. She was starving. Carefully, as though handling a wounded bird, Tor gathered her into his arms. Her heart beat loud and fast; he thought it might actually fly out of her chest.
Was he that scary? He wanted to comfort her, but the words stuck in his throat. What could he say? What would a lion say to his prey? He was speechless, so he just pressed her to his heart.
She was turning his world upside down. She was an abandoned and abused child, left by everyone to die. His heart was breaking, shattering into spears of pain. And her suffering, her loneliness, her unthinkable pain—it was the merciless reality he had created for her. It was all his fault ...
Tor carried her up the flight of stairs to the main floor of the cabin. When they got outside, she squinted against the blinding sunlight for a second, scrunching her face up, and then closed her eyes and relaxed, basking in it. Her pleasure at just feeling the sun on her face made his heart melt again, and then swell with what he thought might be joy. It was as if she’d reorganized and rebuilt him in just a few seconds.
Cradling Arianna as though she was made of crystal, Tor got into the car and held her in his lap. Her face still looked happy, but she was shivering and her teeth were chattering. Tor shouted to the bodyguards to bring a blanket from the house, and while they waited, he pressed her closer to his body, warming her with the heat of his flesh. She shifted closer and placed a trembling hand on Tor’s chest. Tor gently took her hand; it was so frail that if he squeezed too hard, he could easily crush the delicate bones without even knowing it. He turned her hand palm up and found an ugly red scar on her wrist, the bloodstock mark.
Later, when they boarded the plane, Tor made sure Anock set the best seat so it was reclined at just the right angles for Arianna, and then tucked her into it.
“Tameri,” Tor called to a flight attendant, “Where’s the food that was prepared for the girl?”
“I’ll get it for you immediately, Sir.”
Tameri appeared with a bowl of warm chicken bouillon and handed it to him.
“Here, you need to eat.” Holding the bowl of soup in one hand and a spoonful of bouillon in the other, Tor leaned toward Arianna.
Arianna lifted her head and stared at him in total shock for a moment. He knew what it was: Sekhmi didn’t treat Amiti this way. But then she opened her mouth and greedily swallowed the spoonful of soup.
Tor’s heart sang; she hadn’t rejected his offering. He slowly fed her the whole bowl. By the end, she was visibly exhausted, and when she finished, she closed her eyes and fell asleep.
She slept through the entire flight. Tor never took his eyes off of her.
Why was his heart opening to this girl? Why was it melting like a candle? Why was he filled with peace and joy just being near her? There were only questions and no answers.
Chapter 45
The Royal pride’s residence, Nice, France
Arianna slept for the remainder of the flight and stayed that way as Tor picked her up again and carried her in his arms from the plane to the car, then up the elevator from the underground garage of the villa to his bedroom. There, he laid her on his bed and stood back, transfixed, watching her for a moment before beginning his task. Even with her ashen skin tone she was exquisite, her dark red hair spilling across the pillow like flames.
He could only imagine how beautiful Arianna would look beneath the veil of starvation, when she was once again healthy and happy. Female Amitis’ bodies were petite, finely boned, and curvaceous, with well-defined breasts, waists, and hips, a striking contrast to the long, lean, leggy bodies of female vampires. Amiti beauty was more feminine, softer, more appealing—at least to Tor.
A wave of desire surged through him, but he ignored it. Right now what he needed to do was heal her, and they needed as much skin-to-skin contact as possible in order for it to work. He summoned his reserves of self-control. The plan, he reminded himself, was to win her love before blood-bonding with her, and he wouldn’t accomplish that by pawing at her unconscious form.
He removed her ugly shirt and pants and swallowed hard at the sight of her nude body before averting his eyes, removing his own clothing, and lying down next to her, pulling the blanket over them as he encircled her in his arms.
Tor reached deep within himself, searching for the rays of the Sun, the power of Ra. There was almost nothing left, but Tor hoped that he still had enough to heal Arianna. If not, he would heal her through sheer force of will, through the urgency of his yearning to see her healthy.
That yearning, and the tenderness he felt toward her as he held her in his arms, would be useful tools when he needed to start getting her to love him. They were means to an end, not an astonishing depth of feeling unlike anything he’d ever experienced, not a sense that they were fated to be together.
No, it certainly wasn’t either of those things. He was the Vampire King, not some fawning teenager in love.
He felt the healing power of the Gift of Ra rise from the center of his body, let it spread through his limbs and torso and out into her skin. It felt tentative at first, flickering like a candle flame that might not stay lit, but then the flame caught and began burning brightly until he felt its warm healing energy blazing into her.
They stayed like that for hours. At some point she seemed to awaken, the rhythms of her body quickening, but she didn’t pull away from him, didn’t move at all. Tor told himself that he wasn’t thrilled at her acceptance of their intimacy, but he knew he was lying. After several minutes she sighed and fell back asleep.
* * *
Arianna woke to the glow of morning sunlight, feeling refreshed and full of life, her head still resting on Tor’s chest. As consciousness kicked in, she felt herself flinch at the comprehension that she was sharing a bed with the King of the vampires. Then she remembered her mission and stayed where she was, not daring to move.
She had to enchant him, had to make him grow attached to her so he would want to blood-bond with her. But right now it was hard to focus on her duties as Queen; she couldn’t help enjoying the feel of his skin under her cheek, his fingers running through her hair, massaging her scalp. Arianna closed her eyes and imagined that she was loved. She’d attend to her responsibilities later; right now she just wanted to seize a little bit of happiness for herself.
Arianna’s head snapped around at the sound of a tentative knock on the door. Tor pressed her head back into his chest and she was a little ashamed at how eagerly she complied..
“I’ll kill you, Ken,” he growled, raising his head to address whoever was behind the door. “I asked not to be disturbed.”
“Yes, I know, Sir. But it’s been twelve hours. The Council is waiting for you.”
“Damn.”
His head flopped back down on the pillow.
“I need to go.”
He lifted her head from his chest, sat up, and moved the pillow closer to her, arranging it just right before gently laying her head on it. Dreading the prospect of seeing him naked, she didn’t open her eyes as he stood and walked away, and then when she heard the sound of the shower and knew it was safe, she was too drowsy and comfortable.
She might have dozed off again for a moment, because the next thing she knew, he was reappearing in dark grey slacks and a crisp white shirt, jacket folded over his arm.
He paused by the side of the bed to address her, his voice gentle. “The door won’t be locked. You’re not a prisoner here, but please, stay in the room.” He leaned over her and brushed her cheek with his lips. “Please, don’t run away. You’re safe here. If you run, you’ll be caught again in just a few short hours. Promise me that you’ll wait for me.”
Was he looking at her with hope in his eyes?
But Arianna couldn’t answer him, her mind a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts. Her plan—Serena’s plan, the Order’s plan—was going so well. She was so close to their goal: one shift of her hip and baring of her throat, and he wouldn’t be able to resist. He’d take her vein, and his life would be in her hands forever.
The hatred she knew she was supposed to feel for him wasn’t taking form. She couldn’t hate him. And she already knew with absolute certainty that she wouldn’t be able to kill him when the time came.
She was so committed to the Amiti and to her role as Queen. But here she was, wavering before she’d done a damn thing for them. Was this what it had been like for her mother? Was Arianna doomed to walk the same path?
Chapter 46
The Royal pride’s residence, Nice
Three weeks later
Arianna brushed Tor’s throat with her lips, burying her face in his hair and inhaling his now-familiar scent. Tor nuzzled her temple, seeming to melt into her warmth. It had been three weeks since he had rescued her and they’d been sharing his bed ever since.
It had been blissful, but it was tearing her apart. Her intuition, which had never lied to her before, was screaming that Tor loved her, and she desperately wanted to believe it. But she couldn’t allow herself to slip into that delusion. How could he feel anything for her? She was just a girl raised on the sands of California beaches, not a sophisticated female of the Elite. Tor couldn’t possibly love her. It was just wishful thinking. And she needed to remember, always, that Tor had motivations other than love. Why did she keep catching herself forgetting that it was the Gift of Ra he was after?
Ever since she’d arrived at the Royal pride’s residence, Tor had kept the door unlocked, and there were no guards at the doorway. At his invitation, she’d ventured beyond the bedroom and into the sitting room of his private suite, but she hadn’t gone any farther. The idea of wandering around in a Sekhmi’s nest was too terrifying. Other than Tor, she only interacted with one other member of Tor’s pride, a female named Theores. Theores had dropped by to introduce herself the very first time Tor had left Arianna alone; she’d visited often ever since, and was always incredibly friendly, bringing Arianna books to read and other things to do.
Tor seemed to want to be with her whenever he wasn’t working. At first, by some unspoken mutual agreement, they kept themselves busy. They didn’t talk about why, but for her part, Arianna was still nervous around Tor, even a little scared of him. More importantly, she was worried about what topics they could talk about. She certainly didn’t want to bring up the war between vampires and Amiti, or anything related to bloodstock or blood-bonding—which seemed to cover everything important that had ever happened in her life. And given his title, she was sure the same was true for him. She did make sure to tell him that her blood-bond with Simone had been severed shortly before Tor had come to get her, so she couldn’t help him find her. Of course, he seemed disappointed by the news, but he also seemed glad that she’d let him know.
For the first week, they watched movies and played games. He brought a deck of cards, Monopoly, Scrabble, chess. When he was out working, she scoured movie reviews looking for good ones neither of them had seen. By the end of the week, they’d gone from playing games in near silence to chatting and teasing each other while they played, and from just watching films to heckling the bad ones and discussing the good ones after they ended, or even pausing mid-movie to talk. And they ended every night by cuddling on the bed, holding each other as they fell asleep.
The second week, they started having fun with their food. From day one, the staff had been delivering all their meals, and even though Arianna assumed that he usually literally ate like a king, taking for granted that all his food would be of excellent quality, she got the sense that he was making an extra effort to procure magnificent meals for her. He seemed excited about them, recounting the origins of various dishes and teaching her some finer points of wine-tasting. And then he began punctuating his descriptions by placing bites in her mouth, getting increasingly playful and creative until finally he stopped providing excuses for doing it and it was just fun. And more than a little hot.
By the third week, they’d discovered a whole lot of conversation material; vampire/Amiti politics suddenly didn’t seem to be the center of the universe anymore, and they were telling stories about when they were kids. Arianna was totally fascinated to hear Tor tell those stories. The guy was a living history book; it blew her mind. She got him to talk as much as she could, spending her idle moments trying to think of as many neutral questions as possible so she could get him to keep the stories coming.
Then she decided that she was ready to show him what she did best. She’d started violin lessons as a very young girl, and seemingly as soon as she’d picked up the instrument, her violin instructor was telling her that she had an innate talent, more important than all the technical skills anyone could ever master: she could play in a way that made people cry. She’d always joked that they were crying because they couldn’t bear listening to her, but she knew it wasn’t true. She was good—really good. Something about how she played let the soul of any piece fly free. And her gift hadn’t kept her from developing technical skills, too. If it hadn’t risked putting her in the spotlight way more than any Amiti could afford to be, she’d have tried going pro.
So she asked Tor to bring her a violin—of course, he found her an exquisite one—and played and played until she saw him blinking, and then played some more, until he turned away and rubbed his eyes. Then she was ready to stop, satisfied. She hadn’t really believed that she could made the vampire King cry, and although she wasn’t completely sure she had, at least she’d come close.
* * *
She must have dozed off while reading in bed, because Tor was practically shaking her, nudging her out of bed. “Get up. There’s somewhere I want to take you, and we need to get ready.”
“What? Where? I don’t want to go anywhere.” She looked around, still disoriented. Had he just come back from working? Judging from the light in the room, it seemed to be dusk.
“Don’t worry. It’s not far, just another room in the house. Come on, get up,” he urged, and then got out of bed and disappeared into the walk-in closet. “Actually, wait there.”
She was happy to comply, and a few seconds later he returned, urged her up from the bed, and had her covering her eyes with her hands as he led her into the closet.
He pulled her hands away from her eyes to reveal an exquisite emerald-green silk gown on a luxurious padded velvet hanger.
“It’s for you. Put it on, my love.”
My love?
The words gave her goose bumps, a mixture of joy that he might share her feelings and trepidation that she might be letting herself be manipulated. He’d slipped out of the closet right after saying them, though, so she couldn’t look for the truth on his face. Not that she would have found it there.
“Do I have time to shower first?” she called to h
im through the closet door.
“Yes, of course. Whatever you need,” he called back.
As she showered and blew her hair dry, Tor’s my love echoed in her head in an endless loop. She couldn’t even think about his words, much less strategize; all she could do was hear them over and over again. Then she forced her attention away from the tangle of her feelings and turned to the dress, which was calling to her in an utterly un-confusing way. It was simply stunning. She slipped into the silky fabric and turned around to look at herself in the full-length mirror. The gown was a perfect fit, skimming her curves and cascading gracefully to the floor, the emerald color complementing her skin and the sparkle in her eyes.
Tor appeared in the mirror behind her; he’d changed into formalwear, too, while she was getting ready, and he looked absolutely mouthwatering. Arianna closed her eyes unable to bear the reflection of the two of them together, looking like a couple in love.
“Open your eyes,” he whispered.
She obeyed and watched Tor as he wrapped her hair into a knot at the nape of her neck and skillfully clasped it with an emerald broach. His eyes fixed on her throat, and as though mesmerized, he leaned toward her and placed his mouth on her vein.
Arianna arched into him, her heart accelerating. Now.
“You may take it,” she breathed.
Tor’s body went stiff, and then he quickly stepped back.
Damn, had she spoken too soon and ruined everything?
But then he dropped his arms around her and buried his face in her hair with a heavy sigh, standing completely still like that for a moment.
“You look incredible,” he finally said, kissing her cheek. “Let’s go now.”
He nudged her toward the door. When they reached it, she hesitated, scared to step out of their space of safety, but feeling like a stubborn child.
Tor seemed to sense her fears. “We’ll come back soon. Don’t be afraid; I promise you’ll like it.” He gently pulled her hand, and she reluctantly followed him.
