Blood Awakening

  She stared at him in abject horror, unable to speak, unable to think, her body convulsing as a pain unlike any she’d ever known seized her muscles, and her organs began to shut down.

  Salvatore cupped her face in his hands and nuzzled her neck. “Would you like my assistance, sweet princess?”

  She pleaded with her eyes.

  And then he knelt softly beside her, lifted her head in his palms—allowing it to fall back, and struck her jugular quick and hard with his own razor-sharp fangs. Venom a thousand times more painful than that of the cobras’ assaulted her blood stream.

  Ciopori prayed for death.

  But it didn’t come.

  It felt like hours—though it was probably only seconds—before Salvatore withdrew his fangs and her voice slowly returned, the swelling in her throat receding. Her body began to heal as Salvatore’s venom overpowered the cobras’. “Will I become a vampire?”

  Salvatore laughed. “No. Only the destinies of the lighter vampires can be so easily converted. You would have to willingly relinquish your soul first. The unfortunate word being willingly.”

  Ciopori swallowed hard and tugged at the chains. “Release me, Salvatore”—she paused—“Please.”

  Salvatore looked around the room and eyed the waiting snakes. “You will do as I say, or there will be no mercy.”

  “Yes.”

  “You will come willingly into my arms. You will acknowledge that I—not you—am the master of this domain. And you will obey me from this moment forward, or I will keep you here all night, allowing every snake in this pit to strike you, providing you with just enough venom to keep you alive so that you cannot escape the torture. Do you understand me, Princess? Your insolence will not be tolerated.”

  Ciopori looked up at the wicked being now standing above her, his hard, muscular body naked and soiled with his own pleasure. Reluctantly, she nodded.

  Salvatore unchained her hands first, still allowing the snakes to hover.

  “Please,” she begged, hugging her arms to her chest. “Get rid of them.”

  He unchained her feet, and she stood up on the bench as if she could avoid the vile creatures by stepping out of their range. They slithered around her feet.

  “Salvatore!”

  He held out his arms. “I’m waiting.”

  Ciopori swallowed hard and leaned toward the repugnant son of Jaegar. He moved his body even closer to hers. As a large snake began to climb her leg, she kicked it off, threw her arms around his neck, and crawled into his arms.

  “And?”

  Ciopori squirmed, trying to keep her body out of the reach of the snakes. She clung to Salvatore’s gigantic frame like a thrashing boat tethered to a buoy in a storm. “And you are…” She struggled to say the words.

  As Salvatore lowered her slowly toward the serpents, she dug her nails into his shoulders, grasping for sanctuary.

  “You are the master of this domain.”

  Salvatore bent his head. He sniffed her fear and moaned. “Whose master?”

  Ciopori brushed away a burning tear and buried her head in the crook of his neck. It was of no use. She was terrified…defeated.

  Humiliated.

  “Whose master!” he thundered.

  “Mine,” she whispered, unwilling to die for pride. “You are my master, Salvatore.”

  Salvatore waved his hand at the snakes. “Leave us.”

  One by one, the cobras slowly retreated, slithering away from the bed, up the walls, and back into their hell-holes.

  Trembling like a child awakened from a nightmare, Ciopori relished the safety of Salvatore’s arms. Her body still suffered the effects of the snake and vampire venoms. Her heart still pounded erratically in her chest. The slick, viscous substance of Salvatore’s pleasure clung to her tattered gown and skin.

  Salvatore purred deep in his throat. “You are mine, Ciopori.”

  With the wave of his hand, he clothed himself. And then he gently stroked her hair and headed back to his lair.

  twelve

  Marquis stood outside of the guest bedroom early Monday morning, gathering all of the courage he could muster. He had fought in countless battles over the centuries, defeated formidable enemies, and led respectable armies, but he knew that he was in for the fight of his life now.

  He knocked gently on the bedroom door. For the third time.

  “Go away!”

  Another large object smashed against the wall and splintered into pieces: This one sounded like the Renaissance vase he kept on the armoire.

  Marquis cringed.

  Well, at least there was nothing left of value for Kristina to destroy. Anything else she got her hands on was at least from the current century, and thus, possibly replaceable.

  “Kristina,” he grumbled, even though he tried to whisper. At least he didn’t growl. “I’m coming in...okay?”

  “Don’t you dare open that door, you cretin son of a…”

  The string of words was as long as his arm, and he winced. “Kristina, please—”

  “Please what!”

  Please what, indeed.

  What had he expected after that primitive demonstration he had put on the night before? A Hallmark card and breakfast in bed? Marquis leaned back against the wall and shut his eyes. Dearest Lord Draco, what had he done?

  As a male vampire, even in the house of Jadon, his nature was both civilized and untamed. He possessed equal parts light and shadow, and like any primitive being, there was a breaking point, a threshold beyond which caution and reason gave way to pure primal instinct. Where judgment became impulse, and the animal became too feral to restrain.

  He chided himself on his complete lack of control. Never—well, rarely—in his great expanse of life had he allowed himself to go that far over the edge, and now he was paying the price. Converting her like that? On the porch? Without her consent? The pain and suffering she had endured...

  It was extreme, even for him.

  He took a deep breath and steadied himself. She had tried to kill him, after all.

  Twice.

  He knocked again. “Kristina, îmi pare rӑu.” He leaned his forehead against the door. “I had a...very bad day.” I’m sorry.

  “What!” she squealed as another heavy thump resounded, this time against the door: definitely a shoe this time. “You had a bad day? Go to hell, Marquis!”

  Marquis shook his head. He’d had more than enough. They had been at this for hours. This standoff had to end. Using the supernatural speed of his kind, he flung the door open, entered the room, and quickly waved his hand, paralyzing her arms.

  To his surprise, as he started toward his mate, a large, heavy object launched off the bed and barely missed his head. He ducked back out of the room and slammed the door. Wow, she had kicked an old Webster’s dictionary with her foot. He hadn’t seen that coming. Perhaps the woman had missed her calling; she should have played soccer.

  “Kristina!” Marquis snarled, slowly reopening the door, this time immobilizing her legs as well. “That is quite enough.” When he looked over at the bed, her face was beet red, and her bottom lip was quivering like a toddler’s, just moments away from a god-awful wail. He held up his hand. “Please, don’t.”

  Her eyes bored into his skull like daggers as she sucked back air, too proud to cry in front of him. “Yeah, those words sound familiar, don’t they?”

  Marquis shook his head and slowly approached the bed. She was just a human and a small one at that—paralyzed—but for the love of Perseus, the female looked scary. “Can I release you now? Will you behave?”

  Kristina blanched at the word behave and glowered at him with pure, unadulterated hatred in her eyes. “Will you?” she retorted.

  Marquis shrugged his shoulders. “Yes.”

  Kristina rolled her bright blue eyes. “Well then come on in, honey dumpling, sweetheart, baby. Let’s get this marriage rolling!”

  Marquis blinked several times, absolutely lost. Under normal circumstances, he had
absolutely no idea what to do with a woman—outside of making love—and these circumstances were strained at best.

  Kristina laughed aloud. “You should see the look on your face, boss. Damn, and I always thought you controlled the universe. You’re clueless, aren’t you?”

  Marquis huffed, indignant.

  “Yeah, well, let me give you a hint. What you did last night? First, to Dirk…” Her voice trailed off as tears welled up in her eyes. She fought them back. “And then to me? You may as well save the rest! This it-shay is too broke to fix. Ever.”

  Marquis took a few steps toward the bed, then stopped. He dropped his head in his hands and smoothed back his hair, pushing it away from his face. “Kristina, I regret the way things…unfolded last night.”

  She chuckled. “Oh, well then, what was I thinking? Being so angry and all?” If looks could kill, he would have been six feet under.

  He sighed. “How are you feeling this morning?”

  She reached for a glass paper-weight beside the bed, but Marquis was too quick. Using only his mind, he whisked it out of her hand and gently floated it across the room, lowering it smoothly onto an antique dresser before she could launch it at his head. “We need to talk, Kristina. There is much—”

  “Oh, shut up, Marquis!” Her voice was sharp with anger. “Just. Shut. Up.”

  Marquis felt his top lip begin to twitch and quickly closed his eyes, willing his fangs to stay where they were. Do not kill the human, Marquis. Do not kill the human, Marquis. Do not kill the human…

  “Kristina—”

  “I agree,” she interrupted a second time. “There are some things that need to be said, but it’s your turn to listen while I talk.”

  Grateful for the reprieve—and because he had absolutely no idea what he was going to say next, anyway—Marquis took a seat in a high-backed, upholstered arm-chair adjacent to the bed and waited. This was a far better strategy anyhow. Learn your enemy’s position and then counter with—

  Enemy?

  Had he just said enemy?

  The reality struck him. Dear gods, this woman was not supposed to be his enemy; she was his destiny. His eternal life mate.

  As quickly as the thought entered his mind, the princess’s beautiful face flashed through his memory; he rubbed the bridge of his nose and looked away. “I’m listening, Kristina.”

  Kristina sat up and pulled the covers all the way up to her chin. “So, here’s the deal: Have you ever heard of IVF?”

  “IVF?” Marquis asked.

  “Yeah, IVF! In vitro fertilization. It’s when—”

  “I know what it is, Kristina.” Marquis scowled.

  “Good. Because—”

  “And if I know where you’re going with this”—it was his turn to interrupt—“then I think what you mean to say is artificial insemination. Unless of course, there is some reason you are unable to become pregnant, which”—he took a deep sniff of the air—“there isn’t.”

  Kristina gasped, incredulous. “OMG! You are disgusting! Damn! You are way too much for me, Marquis!”

  “Too much what?” he asked, contemplating. “Oh…is this what you fear?”

  Kristina’s hand shot up in the air. “Stop! Don’t even go there. Holy shit!” She took a deep breath. “Remember, you’re supposed to be listening. Just listen, Marquis!”

  Marquis leaned back in the chair, stretched out his legs, crossed them at the ankles, and folded his hands in his lap. “Very well. Have I ever heard of artificial insemination? Yes, I have.”

  “Well, good,” Kristina snapped, trying to regain her composure, “because that’s the closest you’re ever going to get to me. And that’s assuming I agree to do this whole...baby thing...because let’s just both be honest, that’s the only reason I’m here. You sure as hell don’t love me or want me. And I sure as hell don’t love or want you! And I never will.”

  Marquis was surprised at how badly her words stung.

  They were true, but after so many years of waiting for one’s destiny—imagining, believing, hoping—the whole situation was like a horrible nightmare, too awful to be true. “Go on,” he mumbled.

  “If I have to live here”—she waved her arms around the room—“then there are going to be some changes...some additions.”

  “Like what?” Marquis snarled.

  Kristina sat up straight and glared at him. “Like any damn thing I want! A home theatre! A sauna! A covered swimming pool out back—anything I want!”

  Marquis stared at her, swallowed hard, and bit his lip. “Continue.”

  “And that’s just the house,” she stormed. “There are a whole lot of other things...like my own Hummer to drive in the winter, and maybe a pink Corvette for the summertime: a convertible. And clothes. Jewelry. A new iPod. A few gold cards to spend at my leisure—”

  “Is that what you wished to tell me?” Marquis growled in frustration, his temper growing short. “Make a list and write it down, Kristina. I haven’t the time for this nonsense.”

  “Excuse me?” She sounded mildly surprised.

  He sat up and leaned forward. “Will all of those things shut you up? Make you cooperative? Get you out of my hair?” To heck with trying to be cordial. The female was right—they had nothing in common, and they never would.

  Not to mention, this was the second time she had tried to trade her body for favors; and frankly, it disgusted him. It was the second time she had treated something as sacred as bringing life into the world as an abomination to be bartered over—and the second time she had acted as if whether he lived or died was of no consequence whatsoever. Very well, then. Forging an understanding up front would make life a lot easier on both of them.

  “Money is of no consequence to me,” he quipped. “Go on.”

  Kristina cleared her throat, suddenly a little less cocky. “And I don’t want children,” she whispered, straightening her spine as she delivered the words.

  Why was he not surprised?

  “So that means a nanny twenty-four-seven ...maybe several…whatever it takes to keep the kid out of my hair. I won’t raise our son, Marquis. And trust me, the one we have to have is the only one we’re ever going to have.”

  A low growl escaped his throat as he tried counting backward from ten to one. “Go on,” he spat through gritted teeth.

  “I don’t work unless I want to, and you let me go wherever I want and do whatever I feel like, even if I have to have a bodyguard—one of those sentinel dudes with me all the time.” She crossed her arms in front of her.

  “Is that it?”

  “No,” she sighed. “We sleep in separate rooms, and if I want...” She took a deep breath. “If I wanna...get with…someone else, another guy, then you’ve got nothin’ to say about it, so just turn the other way.” Feeling emboldened, she added, “It’s none of your biz, feel me?”

  “Are you through?”

  Kristina looked down then. “Maybe, but if I come up with something else, I’ll let you know.”

  Marquis rose slowly from the chair. His heart-beat was eerily steady, his demeanor far too calm. As he stalked to the edge of the bed, his fangs began to elongate on their own accord, and he felt the primal heat of rage burning in his eyes. But he made no attempt to soften their intensity: Let them burn the color of blood. It was better than spilling hers.

  Kristina scooted as far back against the headboard as she could, her throat working in anxious swallows, her hands now clutching the covers like a drowning man grasping a life jacket.

  Marquis didn’t blink.

  He stopped with his face a few inches from hers and then knelt with one knee on the mattress, his powerful frame towering over her miniscule one. Slowly and evenly, he began to speak: “Kristina, you will take the remainder of this day and tomorrow to recover from the conversion, and then you will go to Kagen’s clinic tomorrow night for the insemination. I will command the pregnancy, and we will get it over with.”

  He shifted his weight, his muscles rolling in silent w
aves of contempt as his warrior’s body contracted. “You may have your swimming pool, theatre, and sauna—and whatever else you desire—once my own contractors have seen to the plans: You will not make a pretentious eyesore out of this home…or this land…and you will not obstruct the natural views or compromise the architectural integrity in any way.”

  He stopped to lick the tips of his fangs, drawing a single drop of blood from his tongue and swallowing it. “Drive whatever you wish, Kristina, and I will see to it that you have a credit card with an inexhaustible balance—but not because you have extorted it out of me. As I said before, I can make you want…and do…whatever I wish. No, you will have your precious possessions because as my mate, there is nothing I would have denied you anyhow.”

  Kristina’s face paled, and she didn’t dare speak.

  Marquis cleared his throat. “You may also travel with a sentinel escort and seek your own entertainment, within reason, but I will not have you demean the honor of our house—or the house of Jadon—so choose your activities wisely, lest you lose all freedom forever.”

  He leaned closer then, their noses touching, and then he chuckled, though the laughter did not come from humor. “As for your sexual desires and what is or is not my business: Should you ever avail yourself of the pleasures of another man, I will rip his throat out while you watch, and then I will force you to kneel in his blood and feed from his dying heart. So, again, I say—choose wisely.”

  He backed away then, stalked to the door, reached for the handle, and turned around. “Oh, and Kristina...”

  Her eyes opened wide.

  “You will have your nanny, and the less you have to do with our child, the better. But know this: Should you ever do anything to compromise our son in any way, I will put you in the ground myself! Feel me?”

  He didn’t wait for an answer. He simply walked out the door and shut it behind him.

  thirteen

  Marquis leaned forward on the back stoop and stared out at the river. It was so peaceful, so unassuming.

  So unconcerned.

  How could there be so much turmoil going on all around it? He sighed. But that was the way of nature, was it not.