Why These Two

by Jackie Ivie

  Just the thought of her looking and maybe tracing the rose-wrapped sword design added something more to the scene. He should be shuddering with revulsion and horror, not tensing with excitement and something very close to desire and want. Why the hell didn’t his body listen?

  “Where are my clothes?”

  His voice was gruff. Thick. Hard. It matched the rest of him. He’d have pulled the hand-made, pieced quilt to his chin, except the wad of material at his groin was good camouflage.

  She walked through the space between him and the fire, the light molded on creamy flesh and really ripe breasts. Darryl rolled onto his side, ignoring the twinge of his old injury, to keep her in view. She reached a large, carved, free-standing wardrobe. Opened both doors, pulled out a dowel holding a row of shirts, another dowel appeared to hold a selection of large sized jackets, and then she slid out a drawer to lift pair after pair of slacks before replacing them.

  He couldn’t tell. Something in there might be the outfit he’d been wearing.

  “I just need mine, Lady,” he said.

  “These are all yours.”

  “Bullshit. With a capital B.”

  “I bought them just for you. Trust me.”

  “Look. Lady.”

  He sat up. That was probably a mistake. He hadn’t kept the quilt for protection, he hadn’t lost his six-pack from the service – if anything due to his extreme physical therapy sessions it was more defined, and he hadn’t counted on going on display in the firelight. He watched her eyes narrow and then she licked her lips. And then she shuddered. All of it extremely visual. And stirring. He should probably look at something else. And if he trusted her, he would.

  “They don’t carry my size in any shops around here.”

  “Oh. No. Not up here. I had these special ordered. Express delivered.”

  “Special ordered. Express.”

  “Yes. From that night in Columbia. Where we met…”

  Her voice took on a dream-tone, going lower. Softer. Sending signals his body didn’t have any trouble deciphering. He pulled muscles taut to stop the flow of blood downward. It didn’t work. He was elongating and hardening, and finding sexual stimuli from where the quilt cradled him. He almost shoved deeper into it. No wonder Grandmas put these on their own beds. He had to clear his throat to get his voice to work.

  “You don’t know my size.”

  “47 Chest. 33 Waist. 16-1/2 neck. 35-1/2 sleeve. 36 Inseam. How am I doing?”

  “Unbelievable.”

  “Are you ready to talk yet?”

  She went across his vision again, and sat on the foot of the bed, just this side of grabbing range. Her thighs spread slightly with the move, looking more than feminine, and then God help him, she pulled her legs up and crossed them, pooling the violet-shaded gown into the well of space she’d created.

  Shit.

  Darryl jerked his eyes away, fixing somewhere over her head. Forced his vision to focus on the wall behind her. The stonework. The logs. The oil painting of a rustic cabin somewhere in the Alps. Anything but her.

  He was losing. He just didn’t know how badly. Maybe she didn’t either.

  “What do you want to talk about?” he asked the painting.

  “Mating.”

  His entire form lurched at least an inch off the bed before dropping back. The jolt of his spine hurt. Not enough. He felt a flush spread all through him, starting at his chest and moving outward. Heating him as it went. Sending physical signs that he couldn’t control. Mating. The word was primal-sounding. Territorial. Primitive. Barbaric. And incredibly rousing.

  He’d never dealt with such lust. Craving. Need. He put a hand atop his cock beneath the quilt and just held it there, keeping the information to himself.

  “In particular…true mates.”

  “True mates?” His voice warbled. Maybe she wouldn’t know why.

  “Yes. It’s a phenomenon some species get to experience. They mate for life. Eagles, for instance.”

  “Eagles.”

  He moved his eyes back to hers. It wasn’t purposefully. It was like she was a magnet and he was steel. She had spectacular eyes. Deep. Light violet shaded. Mysterious. Pools of purple liquid. Filled with desire. His dick pulsed at his palm. He pressed back.

  “I’m not explaining it well…but I never believed it. Not until now.”

  “Believed what?”

  “The mating thing. Two beings destined and meant for each other. Through eternity.”

  Holy shit. His brain was reacting in absolute horror and denial, but his rod just was not connected, or something. That portion of his anatomy was getting antsy, and even harder. Darryl licked his lips. Spoke. Sounded like a truck backfiring.

  “You think…I’m your mate?”

  Sweet. He could actually make a sentence. And it wasn’t nonsensical gibberish.

  She nodded.

  “How can a dead thing have a mate? I mean…you are dead, right?”

  “I was.”

  “Was?”

  Good. That only required one word. And it came out intelligible. It was the best he could do. His body wasn’t obeying. It couldn’t. It was gripped in what had to be lust. Craven, mind-blowing lust. Carnal pleasure lust. Rock hard and red-hot lust. Grab her and shove that piece of material she wore up, and bury deep into her, lust. And she just sat there, watching him with unblinking, perfectly shaped, purple eyes. Darryl pursed his lips as though deep in thought and pressed a little harder on his groin.

  “I’ve been a vampire for a long time. We’re cursed. You know what that means?”

  “Well, yeah. I’ve…seen movies.”

  Lame, Darryl.

  “I don’t mean that. I mean – immortality isn’t living forever. It’s more a state resembling real death. Or…animated death. It’s cold and emotionless. There aren’t any physical sensations. No emotions. No feelings. No…um. Passions.”

  Passions.

  The word came out with just enough volume to keep it above a whisper. She lowered her eyes and dusted her cheeks with her lashes as if embarrassed to say it, too. And damn it all. The word sent fuel right to his dick, as if it was a sensor for catching vibes, and incapable of being censored by the rest of him.

  “I was told this immortality came with a codicil. I was young. I didn’t understand.”

  “Codicil?”

  She blushed. His entire groin reacted, pumping his cock against his hand, while his body shuddered with the restriction he placed on it. He was not reaching for her. He was not moving an inch of that fabric aside. He was not moving. He refused. He was staying right here and avoiding contact with her. Eleven years of discipline and training were the only things holding him back. Every muscle on his body was a demonstration of it. He’d never put such a tight rein on himself. And she just sat there. Observing. Adding to his torment.

  “The codicil is like the fine print that nobody reads.”

  “You made a deal with the devil and you didn’t expect fine print?” The tight rein was slipping. It sounded in his voice. He should have kept to short answers.

  “I’m a vampire, Darryl. Not a devil. They’re worlds apart.”

  “You suck blood, don’t you? You took mine. Sounds pretty satanic to me.”

  She smiled. He lurched, jostled the bullet, groaned, and settled back into the same spot. And she was watching the entire time. Waiting. As if she knew what he suffered. And the cure.

  “You’re right. We feed. We suck blood. But it’s nothing like what happened when I bit you.”

  Darryl looked up. Above the wall. Toward the ceiling this time. This was a really cozy room. The ceiling was maybe seven feet above the floor, and painted white with wide dark stained wooden beams intersecting the space. Shadows were bouncing about the beams from her fireplace. The view was pretty innocuous. And his voice might work.

  “I don’t know if I can explain. I can try.”

  “Do you have to?”

  He probably got what was a snicker. He didn’t l
ook down to check. And, then she started speaking again.

  “I’ve never felt like that. Actually…I’ll backtrack. I can’t remember feeling. I couldn’t. That’s the codicil. Become a vampire and you’ll get a never-ending cycle of days followed by nights to spend on nothing. Time passes. Perceptions change. You start to understand that material things haven’t much value because time is a great equalizer. That’s all a vampire has. Time. Endless. Blank. Boring. Only one thing changes that. Finding our mate. A-a-and then everything changes. Things…alter. Weird things…happen. Parts…reanimate. Regenerate. They come alive. Or something.”

  Now, she was whispering. And stuttering. And sounding altogether virginal and young and shy.

  “You’re my mate, Darryl.”

  “How about I just say no.”

  Avoiding looking at her wasn’t working. Nothing was. He took a deep breath and looked down. She’d moved. She was on her hands and knees, and right at his side, her mouth inches from his. And all he could envision was locking lips and tangling tongues. This was heading from weird to he’d be looking for a priest in the morning, if he didn’t do something to stop it. That’s when Darryl realized his stupidity. He had the means to counteract whatever spell she was weaving. It was already encased within him. Pain could kick any desire for copulating. Easily. He pulled in both buttocks and held tight, waiting for the familiar burn to course his legs, rendering them pretty much useless. He got pain all right. He also got another full dose of hand-sewn quilt where he least needed it. And for some reason, lust even tempered the pain. And then overrode it.

  “You can say no. That doesn’t change it.”

  She licked her lips after that and moved closer. She had spike-tipped fangs just starting to dent the plump shape of her lower lip. It should scare the hell out of him. It didn’t. It sent his raging get-the-dress-off-her lust even higher. He wanted to be deep in her. Buried. Pumping. As if he still could.

  “Look…uh. Lady. I…I have to tell you something.”

  “Can I get you to call me Reika? Please?”

  She could get him to call her just about anything. Darryl bit back the instant reply. He couldn’t fight this. All he wanted was to react. But he had to tell her. If he was her mate, and she only got sex if it was with him, she was getting the raw end of this deal. And in a moment it was going to be obvious.

  “Listen. Reika. This, uh. This isn’t...going to work.”

  “Please?”

  “I have an injury that…affects things.”

  “I know.”

  “Nobody knows,” he informed her.

  “You have a bullet fragment lodged between your lumbar and sacral curve. Lower spine. Inoperable. Potentially paralyzing. Painful if jarred.”

  “What the hell?”

  “It’s not a problem, Darryl.”

  “Tell that to my spine.”

  “It’ll be better by morning.”

  “Every specialist on the planet says different.”

  “Did you see a vampire?”

  Darrell lifted both brows. “They weren’t on the referral list…so no.”

  “Then, trust me. I can fix it.”

  “Trust you?”

  “I promise.”

  “Is the cure going to be worse than the disease?” he asked.

  A slight smile curved her lips. She ran a tongue over them. Moved a hairsbreadth closer and his neck arched up, as if wanting the connection. The kiss. The tongue action. What the hell. If he had to go, might as well go this way.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Lips touched. Melded. His breath caressed. Teased. Tongues tangled. Reika’s moans resonated with pleasure. Her arms wavered and then gave, sending her against, and then atop his chest as he collapsed back onto the mattress. Her breasts smashed into his pecs. Her belly grazed his. Her loins slid along his lower abdomen. Down. Farther. Questing and reaching, and then touching absolute rigidity and heat. Her knees reacted, gripping alongside his hips, while everything inside her started altering. Going soft. Liquid. Pliant. Hungry. Feminine. And everything she’d lost so many centuries ago.

  She’d forgotten his injury.

  His body jerked beneath her, went tense. Angered. Darryl yanked from the kiss, arching his head backward. His body shook. The bedstead joined in. He might’ve groaned but cut it off, stifled in his throat where it made a gurgling sound as he dealt with pain she couldn’t comprehend. Or understand. A red flush crept through his chest, up his neck. It tinted his lower jaw and cheeks. Reika lurched with reaction, fighting the temptation to take. Feed. Her thighs tightened along his sides. Her hands dug into his shoulders. She had to conquer the need; the hunger.

  Not yet…

  He’d taken to little huffs of breath, barely moving his chest against hers. Each touch was incredible. Stirring. His touch altered the bloodlust, taking it to something else. Something beautiful. Reika slowly relaxed her fingers. Her thighs. He still had his eyes tightly closed, denying this, rejecting her. Reika started anew, this time sliding her tongue along the vein in his throat. Licking at the perfect puncture point. Scraping a canine along flesh…opening a cut. Enduring the allure. The carnal feast. The enticement. No. Not just yet…

  “Listen. Uh…Reika…”

  The words were distorted. Gruff. And stopped by how she’d lifted her head and caught his agony-laced gaze. His cut-off speech was also due to her movement, wrapping her hands about his head, massaging a thumb across his lips. He didn’t need to say anything. She had been at fault. She’d been hasty. She hadn’t handled his pain first. He needed an infusion of vampire-tainted blood. Her blood was the perfect panacea: the relief to his pain; treatment for his injury; countermand to his condition. Vampirism was the perfect medicine; even a partial infusion would restore health. Alter abnormalities. Heal disease. Cure infirmities. Remove foreign objects…

  Like a bullet.

  But she’d lost her wits the moment their lips had met. She hadn’t known how devastating a kiss could be! Nobody had described the wonder, the feel and texture…and the taste! Oh my. Darryl’s kiss was unbelievably stimulating; totally irresistible. She’d just have to resist the temptation. Be strong, so it wouldn’t overwhelm her again. Reika jabbed her fangs into her lower lip, opening duel cuts that immediately welled blood. And then she slammed her mouth to his.

  His body reacted at the first taste, arching up from the mattress; taking her with it. She held on, while he sucked and licked and shook with something that might have started as pain, but didn’t stay that way. The long groan coming from his chest was auditory proof. Her moans weren’t far behind. His kiss contained wonder. Absolute perfection. It sent her soaring into a sphere of ecstasy-dipped sensation and then it kept her there.

  She had to alter it, though. She had to finish this before things went completely out of control.

  Reika rolled to her side, taking him with her, disguising her intention with a slide of both hands about his back. Learning. Massaging. Caressing. Her fingers skimmed the ridges of his spine; the muscle of his lower back. Each move drew her closer to the little scar that marked the bullet’s point of entry. She found it, situated at the exact point where his back met the curve of his buttocks. The area was thick with muscle. Taut. Warm. His skin was sensory delight. Tangible pleasure. Reika made circles about his scar, tenderizing it. Working it. She could feel the bullet vibrating beneath her fingers as it shoved through healed-over tissue, searching the same path that had placed it there; tearing through flesh and sinew and tendons.

  And nerves.

  Darryl was shaking but completely taut; handling pain and agony as she’d never experienced. Or if she had, it was forgotten over the centuries. She must not have given him enough of her blood. She probably should’ve opened a gash in her wrist, fed him more, maybe allowed more time. She should have, but couldn’t. Her entire body was alert and readied and thrilling with something she had barely leashed. She didn’t know how she controlled it now. If she waited…?

  This wasn’t wor
king. She’d have to help.

  Reika lifted her head, craning her neck to look up, locating her dagger that he’d worn strapped to his belt. Still there, dangling from one of the posts of the headboard. She lunged for it.

  “What the hell? Reika—?”

  Wide brown eyes stared into hers. The irises large. Black. His look was anxious. Guarded. Almost frightened. Reika maneuvered her hands without breaking eye contact, keeping the dagger behind him, out of view. One hand grazed the path along his spine to his injury, located the bulge that was his bullet seeking a pathway out. The other hand sliced. Darryl jerked. Cried out with a sharp curse. Tried to yank from her. Reika didn’t allow it. And she was stronger. She held him in place as blood spurted onto the sheets, accompanying the bullet. She grabbed for it, and knocked it off the bed, where it rolled somewhere beneath them. Where she couldn’t…quite…see.

  “What…did you just do?”

  The words were tight. Controlled. Spoken through clenched teeth. She had to give up looking for the bit of steel.

  “I got the bullet out.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “Wait. Don’t move yet.”

  “Bitch.”

  The word got meshed in with some more cursing. Most of it aimed at her; at fate. He graduated to creatures of the night. Reika ignored him and bent over his side, bringing the gash into view. This was incredibly difficult. Close to impossible! The aura of blood called her. Her canines throbbed with ache. Deep, liquid red coated her vision. Thirst dried her mouth and she fought it, shaking with the effort.

  And still he cursed her. Unknowing of how she fought near-uncontrollable cravings and urges. Stupid man.

  Reika put her fingers against both sides of his gash, pushed the flesh together, and held it while she blew on it. Watched it start to knit. Waited for a scab to start. Knitting his flesh back together. Healing him. Watching it turn to a pucker of scarred skin again. And then she moved, sliding back into place; matching her frame to his; doing her best to ignore the blood coating her hands as it tormented her. Called to her.