“Buried,” Ian said. “Where no one can ever make him join our march of time again.”
“Will his fellows return for him?” she whispered as the almost pain slid along her veins.
“I hope so,” Ian said. “His signal still pulses and he has suffered enough for remaking us in his image. Even gods should be forgiven.”
Fedeyah bowed. “I must leave you. With your permission, I will take a horse.”
“Of course.” Ian’s brows were drawn together in concern. “Where will you go?”
Fedeyah snorted derisively. “Who cares? What purpose has my life now?”
“Give yourself time, Fedeyah,” Beth whispered. She could feel his pain. He was glad Asharti was dead, and devastated.
“Time is what I have.”
Ian held out a hand, but he did not stand. Fedeyah took Ian’s hand, shook it once, and strode toward the camels.
“Fedeyah!” Ian called. The Arab turned. “If you can’t find worth in yourself, perhaps one day someone will find it for you.”
The Arab chuffed out a breath, and a small smile touched his mouth. “Worth is earned, English, and I have done nothing to earn it.”
Dim horsemen appeared at the crest of a dune. “Asharti’s followers,” Ian said. The resolution in his voice said he was ready to fight against any odds.
“I’ll give them the bad news. They will not trouble you.” Fedeyah glanced up at the late-afternoon sky. “Perhaps I’ll go to Casablanca. Asharti left some rubbish that requires removal.”
“Others of our kind will join you. Beatrix will bring them. Don’t risk too much.”
Fedeyah touched his forehead. “Good-bye, English.”
They watched him stride away.
“Much as I hated her, I think he loved her that much.” Ian’s voice was distant, reflective.
“I suppose that means there’s hope for him,” Beth said. Ian turned his gaze on her. It was hesitant, questioning. “If someone can love her, they can certainly love him.” Beth tried a smile. Dared she admit how much she loved Ian? Now that he had given her his blood, what had happened to their bargain? Now he didn’t need her anymore.
They watched the sun set and twilight set in, Beth’s head against Ian’s shoulder. It was as if they could not move. Whether it was shock or just the demand of their new blood for time to settle in, Beth could not tell, but the time of quiet steadied her. She listened to Ian’s flesh repairing the burns. She thought about the life ahead with new blood in her veins. She wasn’t frightened of being vampire, as long as she had Ian.
Why not? Why wasn’t she afraid? It would be a strange life. She was now strange herself. But had she not always been an outsider? In Africa they thought her white; in England she was the strange Egyptian girl. And she had always been a mystery to herself, uncomfortable with her mother’s blood in her veins. But it was her mother’s blood that drew her to Africa and to love the mysterious. Like Ian. Like herself? She had wanted to solve Ian’s mystery, but it was the answer to her own riddle she had been seeking all along. In some ways the mystery now was solved. She was vampire. She loved Africa. She loved Ian.
As true night fell, the singing in her veins turned to irritation. She shifted in Ian’s arms.
“What is it, Beth?” His voice was anxious.
“Nothing.”
“You need blood.” She saw his eyes go red. His canines lengthened and he opened the inside of his elbow this time. “Drink,” he commanded.
She leaned into his arm and drew at the wound. The wonderful warm liquid flowed through her, calming the irritation, softening the song even as it strengthened into some chorus that made her feel whole. Life! The blood is the life. She throbbed with it as she raised her head.
“Better?” he asked.
She nodded and smiled at him. “Better perhaps than I have ever been.”
Ian cleared his throat. “I am so sorry for burdening you with this horrible condition. If there had been any other choice . . .” He searched for words. “It was my fault you were injured in the first place. I brought you here.” His eyes locked with hers, regret shining in them.
“I have no regrets.” His gaze turned, wondering. Then he held her tighter and his eyes went indigo dark, a fact that she could never have seen in this light before she took his blood. The air around them seemed to vibrate. That vibration touched places that made her shudder. His head dipped toward hers. She waited breathless, his scent wafting over her. Then he shook his head as though to clear it and set her gently against the wall of rock. He got to his knees and offered a hand to help her up. “We should go, if you feel up to it.”
Beth felt the loss of his electric touch. He still wouldn’t, couldn’t, build a bridge across the gulf that had opened between them on their wedding night. But everything had changed. She had felt his love when he embraced her and sent her to the surface. He had done something abhorrent to him when he made her like him, just to save her life. If there was to be a bridge across their gulf, it must be built now, before it opened wider. If he could not do it, she must.
This was the moment the Countess had been talking about. Now was when she must have courage if she wanted to help Ian, help them both. She took her future into her own hands. She must try for what she wanted. And what she wanted was clear with her new sight. “May I use some water to clean up and change my clothes? We have plenty now there are only two of us. And have you had time to fully heal?”
Ian’s mouth was mobile. Was it a smile? His eyes were soft. “You are always so practical.” He looked down at his chest and fingered his shoulder. “I think so.”
“I’ll need some lessons, you know. You don’t intend to abandon me, do you?” She could hardly credit her boldness. But she had no choice. Or maybe she had choices for the first time.
“Like Asharti abandoned me? I should think not!” he sputtered. He made a wry mouth. “Though the news will not be good.” He reached to take her hand, then thought better of it and gestured to the camels, now nestled for the night.
“News? I know most everything.” She walked into the open desert. The night was warm. The moon was rising in the east. It would be almost full. Already it silvered the sand and made Ian glow. Or perhaps it was the Old One’s blood that shone from him. “I know about the immortality, the sensitivity to sun, your ability to compel, the blood, the disappearing. If there are other things, you will tell me and I will know them, too. It isn’t bad. It just is.”
He stared at her for a long moment, then wrenched himself away. “I’ll lay out the bedrolls and pitch a tent,” he growled. “You must be tired.” He stalked away.
She had never been so far from tired. She was strong and alive and knew what she wanted. Unstrapping a water pouch, she mentally counted those remaining. Yes. They could easily spare this one. She could feel him moving behind her.
Now she must go carefully. She must let him come to her and trust that the resolution she had seen in him, the fact that Asharti was dead, and the sureness brought by the Old One’s strength would counteract the shame and horror that had come between them. But to let him come to her, she would have to be bolder than she had ever thought possible. She must forget that she was short and brown, with odd-colored eyes. She must trust the singing in her blood and be what she was, who she was, without regret. She and Ian were kind to kind now.
Remember the embrace in the temple, she told herself. Remember that Father always said your mother was the most beautiful woman in the world. How much did she want Ian?
Enough to be bold. She took off her boots.
He finished pitching the tent. She could feel him standing behind her. His vibrations rolled over her. She might always know where he was, now. Half-turning, she said, “Can you hold the water bag and pour it over me?” She kept her back turned as she unbraided her hair and shook it out. She found the strength somewhere to just let him wait. His breathing grew uneven.
She turned and cupped her hands. He stepped forward (dear God—the nea
rness of him!) and squirted water into her hands. She splashed her face. And then she did the bravest thing she’d ever done. She looked him right in the face, smiled, and pulled her shirt over her head and tossed it aside. “Can you pour, please?” she asked.
He looked stunned, gulped, and held the water bag over her head. His reaction gave her courage. Water cascaded on her upturned face. She splashed it over her neck, smoothed it over her bare breasts, and rinsed the half-dried blood from her abdomen. “Oh, that feels good,” she murmured. The water stopped. She paid no attention but busied herself with her belt and her buttons and slid her wet trousers down. Her breasts hung as she bent to free her feet.
When she straightened, she held out her hands for more water. “This blood is very sticky,” she remarked as she splashed her belly and rubbed. His breathing was a series of ragged gasps. The muscles in his jaw and his strong throat worked. She was having trouble controlling her own breathing. Her nipples were tight. Her breasts felt almost as swollen as the mound at her groin. There was no mystery about what her body wanted. It wanted to finish what they’d started on their wedding night. He wanted that, too. Needed it, she wagered, in many ways. She must give him a chance to prove to himself that Asharti was really dead and her power over him gone.
“Beth,” he said, as though it were torn from him against his will. She looked up and tried to feign surprise. His eyes were dark with desire. There was no mistaking the tension in his body. His hands were clenched at his sides, one clutching the water bag.
Only the certainty that he did not want to resist, that he was only unsure he could build the bridge, allowed her to reach out and cup his jaw with her hand.
“Ian . . .” She stepped into him, brushing her breasts against the burnoose and his bare chest. Now she could feel his swollen member. She smiled. “I love you.”
“I can’t,” he said through clenched teeth.
“She’s dead and we’re alive, so very alive. Of course you can,” she whispered. Doubt lingered in his eyes. Somehow she had to push him, yet let him come to her. “If you don’t love me, I understand.” But she did not pull back. She looked up and watched him struggle.
“Of course I love you. You know that. Don’t pretend you don’t,” he said crossly. “I’ve loved you since the Beltrane.”
She ran her palm over his chest. The skin was smooth again, except for the scars. He had healed. But he was hot to the touch. She pressed herself into him and felt the throb of his erection and heard his sharp intake of breath. The vibrations humming at the edge of her consciousness ramped up another notch. “Then there is only one thing to do, isn’t there? The blood is the life.”
His embrace was sudden and strong. He held her head against his chest. “Beth . . . Beth. After what I’ve done to you? You don’t know what it means yet, but you will.”
“I think neither of us really knows what it means. Already I feel the flush of life the Countess spoke of.” She looked up at him. “Is it not wonderful?”
His eyes scanned the horizon, seeing nothing. “Yes. Too wonderful. Asharti felt this.”
“We are not Asharti.”
He looked down at her, his eyes alive with emotion. “No.”
For the second time that day he lifted her effortlessly into his arms. He ducked under the tent flap and laid her on the blankets carpeting the sand. He kissed her and she kissed back, their tongues searching each other’s mouths. He held her against him and pressed his loins to hers, letting her feel the full extent of his erection. She held his head, kissing him, moving her hips against him. The blood beating in her body began to sing. A silly word, but the only description she could think of. She was wet and ready. She had been ready for more than a month.
His burnoose was in the way of pressing more of her flesh against his. She grabbed it, meaning only to pull it away to bare more of his body, but it ripped to the hem. She was stronger than she thought. It didn’t matter. He was naked now. That was what she wanted. He moaned into her mouth and moved his knee between her thighs. She rubbed her moist flesh up and down his leg. His vibrations cycled up again.
He pulled his mouth away, panting, and swallowed. Beth knew he was going to try to delay his own pleasure again for hers. Not this time. This time she wanted his ecstasy more than she wanted her own release. His hand slid down between her thighs.
“Time enough for that,” she breathed. “We have unfinished business.”
He looked startled. Was he hurt by the reference to his failure? She would not give him time to be hurt. She smiled at him tenderly and pushed her fingers through that lovely long hair. “Let me feel you inside me, please?” She brushed her nipples across the light hairs covering his chest. At least he wasn’t thinking about his scars. She licked his throat, producing another moan.
“She-devil,” he murmured.
“Yes.” She moved one thigh up over his. “And no. Only your Beth.”
He rolled her on her back with something like a growl. She lifted her hips instinctively. His cock pressed at her opening. He entered slowly, pushing and withdrawing, thrusting inside her a little farther each time until he pressed fully home. She felt the exquisite sensation of opening to him, almost discomfort, almost ecstasy. She rocked against him, moaning, cupping his buttocks as they bunched and released. She wanted more! He pushed in and out faster. Yet she could feel he was trying to hold himself back, trying to prolong the experience. Her blood was shouting at her now, a chorus with his, their vibrations intertwining and humming up some scale she’d never heard before. She wanted more of him. She rocked against him, faster. He slid inside her and out, the muscles in his arms rock-hard as he braced himself above her. Her legs coiled around his waist and her hips bumped against him in counterpoint to his thrusting. She heard the panting and the small sounds that escaped their throats as though from far away.
Then she heard nothing but the blood screaming in her veins and saw nothing but light bursting. She felt him still against her, except where his cock jerked rhythmically. She herself spilled over into vibrating white light, contracting in her turn again and again as he thrust in and out again. At last they froze, locked in receding rapture, for what seemed an age. Was this like dying? Did he feel this way, too?
It was over. Beth clenched her eyes shut and felt the buzz in her head. God in heaven! Well, she would not have to ask Ian whether he had found his pleasure. She opened her eyes.
He kissed her softly. “Beth,” he murmured. “Beth. Your name is like breathing.”
She liked that. He lowered himself gently and rolled with her to the side, embracing her, still inside her. She liked that, too.
They stayed that way for a long time, shuddering with aftershocks. Finally he eased out of her. She ran her hands over his body, saying nothing. He cupped her neck and kissed her, gently. Her blood hummed faintly now. But she could feel that she would want him again. Soon.
“I think I will find this marriage very convenient,” she remarked, brushing her lips across the damp skin at his throat.
“Ever practical Beth,” he murmured.
Had she said something wrong? He must have felt her stiffen. “Shuush,” he said. “It is only one of the things I love best about you.”
She relaxed into his arms, running her hands across his burly shoulders. The whip scars were still there. They always would be. Perhaps they would not matter so much to him anymore. “Men are lucky,” she said. “They have so much more experience of loving than women.”
“Not like this they don’t. Take my word for it.” He was kissing her ear. Another thing she liked. “Maybe it’s the Companion.” He looked down at her. “That is what shares our blood.”
She sighed. “Companion. Well, it has its good points then. I’m glad we will have a very long time to do more of this.”
He lifted up his head, so he could look at her. He would be able to see her in the darkness as well as she could see him. “You . . . you accept it so much better than I ever did.”
&nbs
p; “Your only experience was of Asharti. My only experience is of you.”
“People will call us monsters.” His anxiety was ramping up again. “Are we damned?”
She smiled. “Could the Companion not be a gift from God instead of a curse?”
“I don’t think God contemplated vampires.”
“No? I’m not sure what God contemplates. Maybe he contemplates everything.”
“We are an aberration.” His voice was bitter.
“Wherever the Old One comes from, he is not an aberration. Is God not there? There are others of our kind, like the Countess, even here. I liked her.” She lifted herself up on one elbow. “I don’t pretend to know much about God. But I feel in my heart that he counts on us to make choices. And if I’m wrong, if there is no God, then we must make choices on our own. Either way, we can but try to make good choices, even with his most mysterious gifts.”
“It’s going to be difficult, Beth,” Ian said, a note of sternness in his voice.
“Maybe good and easy don’t go together. But I feel alive. I love you. Isn’t that good?”
He kissed her and crushed her to him. She could feel the growing effect her body was having on his, just as she felt her humming blood begin to sing again. “I love you, Beth. I want to be with you in Africa, where you are most at home, or wandering the world, or in a drawing room in England, or in Casablanca fighting the remainder of Asharti’s army. It doesn’t matter. I guess I’m glad to be alive.” He seemed in awe of that fact.
“The blood is the life.” She believed it. He might come to believe it, too. The future beckoned. She ran her hand over his hip. His vibrations hummed up the scale. He bent to kiss her. His breath smelt like cinnamon. Cinnamon and ambergris.
Table of Contents
Cover
Title
Copyright
Dedication
Half Title
Susan Squires - [Companion Vampires 0] Page 37
