“I’m so sorry, Commander Sazar,” she exclaimed. “I know I’m late. I—”
“Where were you?” Before he could stop himself, Sazar was across the room in front of her. He took her by the shoulders and shook her once, hard.
The plain, round framed glasses she wore fell off and hit the floor with a flat crack and her hair, which was coming loose from its bun at the nape of her neck, tumbled down in a profusion of silky brown waves.
“I…I’m sorry,” she gasped, looking up at him. “I didn’t mean—”
“I was worried about you,” Sazar heard himself admitting. Although he didn’t know why he should be. He hadn’t even known the little human for twenty-four Earth hours yet but already the idea of losing her—of her being hurt or injured in any way—made his protective instincts rise.
“I’m sorry,” she said for the third time. “I just…lost track of time when I was playing with your son. And then I got on the wrong tram trying to get back to this level. But I never thought—”
“No, you didn’t think, did you?” Sazar forced himself to let her go and take a step back.
The Blood Hunger was too close to the surface and this little human was entirely too appealing. He could still remember the one sweet taste of her blood he’d gotten when he healed her. It made him ache to sink his fangs into her vulnerable throat but he restrained himself sternly.
“Why didn’t you use the Think-me to call and let me know you were all right?” he demanded.
Her cheeks flushed. Without the round lenses her eyes were big and starry, fringed thickly with dark lashes. They were more green than brown, Sazar decided—the color of a quiet forest pool, reflecting the leaves of the trees overhead.
“I should have used the, uh, Think-me,” she admitted quietly. “To be honest, I forgot all about it. And…I didn’t think you’d be so worried about me. Isn’t the Mother Ship safe?”
“It is,” Sazar admitted grudgingly. “Except for the Unmated Males section. You should never go there without the scent of a male on you to protect you.”
“Uh…okay.”
Clearly she didn’t understand. To be honest, Sazar didn’t understand himself. Why was he getting so worked up about his new assistant? He’d had five or six assistants since moving from Tranq Prime to take this position aboard the Mother Ship. He hadn’t worried about any of them—other than the fact that taking blood from them was a problem. So why was he so worried about Sarah?
He took another step back and the heel of his boot crunched on something. Looking down, he lifted his foot and saw the mangled metal frames of the round glasses she always wore.
“Goddess damn it!” he swore, bending to retrieve them.
“Oh!” Sarah took them from his hands, looking with an unreadable expression on her face at the twisted wire and broken glass.
“Forgive me,” Sazar growled. “I’ll have these replaced at once, of course. Or if you’d rather, I believe there is a Tolleg surgeon onboard who can fit you with permanent lenses that will correct your eyesight.”
“No, no…that’s okay. I…” She cleared her throat and her creamy cheeks got a shade darker. “I don’t really need them. So you don’t have to replace them.”
“Don’t need them?” Sazar exclaimed. “Then why would you wear them?”
“I…” She looked up, her eyes huge and uncertain. “I have something for you. Here—look.”
It was obvious she was changing the subject and Sazar wondered what was going on with her. Why would any female wear oculars she didn’t need? Was it some kind of a fashion statement? But she actually looked better without the round lenses. In fact, with her thick brown hair down and her large, dark eyes naked without the glasses, she looked…
Beautiful. In fact, she’s Goddess-damned gorgeous. Why didn’t I see that before?
He pushed the thought away quickly—it was unprofessional to be thinking that way about his new assistant. Instead, he concentrated on what she was holding out to him—which appeared to be a wad of paper tissues.
“What—” he began.
“It’s a vranna. At least I think that’s what Tsandor called it.” She unfolded the tissues carefully, as though they held an incredibly valuable treasure. Inside was a lumpy figure made of teal and purple clay which had dried.
Sazar felt guilt pierce him like a knife.
“Yes,” he said dryly. “A vranna. It’s a large carnivorous beast from our home planet of Tranq Prime.”
“He wanted you to have it.” Sarah held the clay figure out to him but Sazar didn’t take it. “He…I think he misses you,” she said in a low voice.
Guilt turned to anger—a fury as icy as the depths of a Tranq Prime winter.
“I sent you to bring the boy some clothing, not to meddle in my personal affairs.”
Sarah blanched but then a determined light came into her eyes and she lifted her chin.
“Commander Sazar, he’s lonely. If you would go see him just once before we leave—”
“I told you, my personal life is none of your business!” His voice rose to a roar and Sarah flinched back, one arm half raised as though she expected a blow.
Her protective stance made Sazar hate himself all the more. Gods, had it come to that? Did she fear him as she feared the abusive past she’d run away from? What was wrong with him?
He turned away from her abruptly, unable to face the fear on her lovely features. Fear that he had put there. The Blood Hunger clawed at his throat, making his voice come out husky and strained.
“Go to your quarters. You have the suite right beside mine. Simply press your palm to the metal pad outside and the door will admit you.”
“All…all right.” Her voice was quiet and shaken. He’d really frightened her, hadn’t he? Gods, he was a monster.
He didn’t watch her go. He kept his back turned as he listened to her cross the floor and the door to his suite swooshed shut behind her. Only when he was certain she was gone did Sazar turn around and see that she’d left him something.
Lying on the arm of the chair, still half wrapped in the protective tissues, was the lumpy clay figure of the vranna.
Sazar took it gently in his big hand and collapsed into the chair. He wanted to weep but his eyes were dry.
The ache was too deep for tears.
* * * * *
Oh God, what have I done? He hates me now—he’s going to fire me. What am I going to do?
Sarah paced back and forth on the plush carpet of the guest suite she’d been assigned. Had she just lost her job—the only thing that was keeping her safe, keeping her on the Mother Ship instead of down on Earth where the Brotherhood could find her?
What’s wrong with me? Why didn’t I keep my mouth shut?
But she knew why—she couldn’t stand by and be silent when she’d seen Tsandor’s pain and longing for his father. Why didn’t Sazar go to him?
Because he’s in pain too.
The voice seemed to come from outside herself somehow, though Sarah heard it in her mind. She looked around the room but she was alone.
Must be hearing things. But it made her think. Kindred were said to be devoted to their mates so Commander Sazar must be as broken as his son, though it was clear he tried to hide his wounds as much as he could.
It’s a sensitive subject and I put my foot right in it, Sarah thought ruefully. He didn’t need a lecture from me. He needs…
She paused. What did he need?
A picture popped into her head—a memory from when she was only nine or ten, well before her mother had gotten involved in The Brotherhood and dragged Sarah into a life she’d never wanted.
Her father, coming home from work in an awful temper. It was something to do with his supervisor—Sarah wasn’t sure what. She only remembered being frightened by the way he shouted and slammed things around. Her mother had found her later, crying in her room and had comforted her.
“Don’t you worry, sweetpea,” she’d said, wiping Sarah’s eyes with
a tissue. “Your daddy isn’t mad at you or me. He just had a bad day and he missed lunch—he’s hungry. Most men get grouchy when they need to eat, that’s all.”
Sarah stopped pacing, her eyes wide. In her mind’s eye, she saw Commander Sazar, his eyes blazing. There were dark shadows around those pale eyes and a strained look on his face. His high cheekbones stood out starkly and his chiseled features looked too sharp—too prominent somehow. It was the haggard look of a man who hasn’t gotten enough nourishment for days—possibly weeks.
He’s hungry, Sarah realized. Or in this case, thirsty!
She took a deep breath and smoothed her hair. All right, she shouldn’t be surprised. After all, her new boss was a vampire—well, a Pitch-Blood Kindred, which amounted to the same thing. Just because he could go out in daylight and wasn’t allergic to garlic (that she knew of) didn’t change the fact that he needed blood to survive.
The contract she’d signed had been very specific in spelling out how much blood he could take from her (not much) and how often he could take it (not more than once a week.) Sazar had also informed her that he would let her know where and when he wanted to drink from her and he hadn’t said anything to her yet. If he was in dire need of blood, why not just tell her?
Maybe because of the way his past assistants reacted, Sarah thought. She remembered the disgusted, incredulous look on the blonde applicant’s face after her interview earlier that day.
“He wanted to bite me—can you believe that? He actually wanted to bite me! Whose going to take a position where one of the job requirements is getting bitten?”
Me, thought Sarah grimly. I took the job and I was lucky to get it. It saved me from the Controllers of The Brotherhood. The least I can do is fulfill my duties.
A good personal assistant anticipated her boss’s needs and met them, even before he asked, she told herself. Now her boss needed blood.
So what was she going to do about it?
Chapter Five
It seemed to take Sazar a long time to open the door this time. Or maybe the minutes just seemed to stretch out like taffy because Sarah's heart was beating so hard.
She’d taken the time to change out of the paint-stained suit—Lola had assured her the water-based paint would come out at the dry cleaners—and into something she hoped was more suitable.
But what was suitable attire for offering yourself as a blood sacrifice?
Sarah didn’t know. She had agonized about the decision for some time and decided at last on the jeans Kat had talked her into and a silky top of deep crimson. It had a V neck and flowing sleeves edged with lace of the same color as the blouse which could be pushed up easily to show the veins of her wrists or elbows. Sarah hoped the big Kindred went for the elbow—in her experience it hurt less to be poked by a needle there and she assumed it would be the same for fangs.
Despite the fact that she knew her choice of clothing would be viewed as perfectly modest and conventional aboard the Mother Ship, she couldn’t avoid the feeling that she was totally exposed. It was hard to come out of the protective shell she’d worn so long at the Compound. But now that her glasses were broken, it seemed like she might as well try to get used to her new look.
I look fine, she tried to reassure herself. Just because these clothes would be forbidden in the Compound doesn’t make them bad. I have to get away from the past, away from that way of thinking and learn to find my own style, like Kat said.
She was about to knock again when she heard a deep, weary voice say, “Come,” and the door slid open.
Commander Sazar was sitting in a large leather chair in front of the fireplace which seemed to be standard in all Kindred suites. He cupped the little clay vranna carefully in one hand, cradling it as though it was something precious. When he saw it was Sarah standing there, he put it down gently on a side table.
“So,” he said heavily, not bothering to get up. “You’ve come to offer your resignation. Can’t say that I blame you—you lasted longer than some of the assistants I’ve had.”
Sarah was taken aback by his appearance. Had she thought he looked tired and malnourished before? Now he looked beyond weary—almost ready to collapse. Not only that, his pale eyes had turned a dull red—was that also an indication of his thirst?
Her heart went out to him in a sudden flood of compassion—a deep welling of emotion, just as she’d had when she’d first seen Tsandor.
“No,” she said, striding purposefully over to him. “I didn’t come to give you my resignation. I came to offer you something else—something you need.”
“What are you—” The words died on his lips as she pulled back the full, trailing sleeve of the crimson blouse and offered him her arm.
“Drink,” she said simply.
His eyes blazed a deep, hungry red.
“You don’t know what you’re offering me. You don’t know how thirsty I am right now.”
An icy finger of fear slid down Sarah’s spine but she refused to give in to it. So her instincts had been right—he was thirsty. So thirsty he was barely controlling himself.
“Drink,” she repeated, not trusting herself to say anything else.
He took her arm in his big hands and for the first time she felt his warmth—a heat that radiated from his muscular body, the need like a flame blazing inside him. His warm, spicy scent surrounded her, making her feel dizzy.
“I can’t make it pleasurable for you,” he warned in a hoarse voice. His double set of fangs, placed where a human’s canine teeth would be, had grown long and incredibly sharp. “This will hurt—badly.”
“I’ve never been afraid of shots or needles,” Sarah said, trying to keep her voice from trembling. “Go ahead—do it.”
It seemed Sazar had exhausted the last of his willpower. With a low noise somewhere between a groan and a growl, he sank his fangs deep in the flesh of her inner elbow.
The pain was, as he had promised, intense.
Sarah bit her lower lip until she tasted blood when his fangs first dug into her sensitive flesh. But after the initial wound was made, she found that the pain was easing somewhat. Maybe it was because he had withdrawn his fangs and was just sucking now—drawing from her in deep, thirsty draughts.
This isn’t so bad, Sarah told herself. Now that his fangs are out it actually just feels like giving blood at the doctor.
Only somehow, it felt like more than that.
To Sarah’s intense discomfort, the sucking sensation seemed to spread from her arm to other, much more sensitive parts of her anatomy. When Sazar drew blood from her arm, she felt a deep pulling sensation not only in the inner crook of her elbow but also at the tips of her breasts and between her legs.
What’s happening? she wondered nervously. Is this normal? Why am I feeling like this?
She had no answers, only the growing pleasure which made her clench her free hand into a fist and press her thighs together tightly, trying to fight the pleasurable ache that grew inside her with each mouthful of blood Sazar took from her.
What is he doing to me? What…how…
Her thoughts seemed to be growing hazy and suddenly the room was spinning. Sarah felt light-headed and weak and then she was falling…
“Careful!” Strong arms caught her just before the world went dark.
* * * * *
An unknowable length of time later, her eyelids fluttered. Sazar breathed a sigh of relief as he cradled her limp body in his lap. The Blood Hunger had overcome him and he had taken too much from her. She was so little to begin with, he might have drained her dry.
He didn’t usually require so much blood but it had been so long, so very long since Malinda…
Sazar pushed the thought of his dead mate aside along with the lingering ache that came with it. He had to concentrate on Sarah now—had to be certain he hadn’t done her any lasting damage.
Her eyelids fluttered again, the lashes like dark fans on her pale cheeks.
“What…where am I?” she murmured thickly.
“Here in my suite, with me,” Sazar answered. “How do you feel?”
“Dizzy.” She tried to sit up but he held her down, cradling her against his chest. Gods but she was soft and curvy in his arms and her scent was amazing.
Not that he should notice such a thing about his assistant.
“Don’t try to move just yet. I took too much from you. For that I must ask your forgiveness.”
“What? I don’t…Oh!” Her hazel eyes went wide with sudden remembrance and understanding. “Am I…will I be okay?”
“I believe so, yes, since you’re talking and apparently thinking clearly,” Sazar said dryly. “Here, drink this.” He held the cup he’d gotten from his food delivery chute to her lips.
She started to sip and then winced away.
“Ouch!”
“Is something wrong?” Sazar drew the cup away, concerned.
“Nothing,” she said sheepishly. “I just…I think I bit my lip when you, uh, sank your fangs into me.”
“Ah, I see.” He looked at her lush pink mouth—there did seem to be a small wound on her bottom lip he hadn’t seen before. “Do you wish me to heal you?” he asked. “As I did your arm after I drank from you?” He nodded down at the crook of her elbow and Sarah looked there too, her eyes wide. Her pale skin was smooth and unbroken, as though he had never pierced her flesh at all.
“I’m still amazed you can heal me like that,” she murmured dreamily. To Sazar she still sounded only half conscious.
“It’s only fair considering that I am the cause of your wound. Will you allow me to heal you now?” he asked.
“I…I guess so,” she murmured dreamily.
Gods, shouldn’t want to do this so much…but he did.
Setting down the cup, he cupped her cheek in his free hand and tilted her mouth up to his. Bending down, he sucked her lower lip gently into his mouth and laved it carefully with his tongue.
Sarah gave a soft, low moan and suddenly the healing turned into a kiss. She threw her arms around his neck and Sazar found that for a brief moment, he was tasting her fully.
Lust filled him—a desire to own and possess—a need to claim her as his own so strong it nearly overloaded his system. Once more his fangs sharpened, ready to bite at the moment of claiming and he crushed her to him, eager for more of her sweetness.
Healing the Broken: A Kindred Christmas Tale (Brides of the Kindred) Page 5
