Blood Kiss

  "Don't worry about it."

  "Okay." Man, for some reason that blase response, like none of it had particularly mattered, hurt worse than her concussion. "All right."

  "Look, Paradise, you and I . . ."

  "Are what?" She glanced at him. "Or is it more like aren't. As in aren't meant to be? Is this the part where you go through all the reasons we can't be together again, including, if not especially, because of my background? Because if it is, I'm pretty sure we covered that on the phone."

  When he didn't say anything, just stared at the floor as if he were counting the stitches in her needlepoint rug, she imagined he was practicing the final good-bye in his head. And that would be a good-bye to their relationship, not a never-see-you-again. Because she was not dropping out of the fucking program; that was for sure: In just these initial nights--which felt like twelve thousand years, thank you very much--she'd already invested waaaaaay too much for quitting.

  "You'd better go," she said with defeat. "Just--"

  "Why me?"

  She frowned. "I'm sorry?"

  As he looked over at her, his eyes were dead serious. "I guess, I don't understand . . . why me? You could have anyone in the species. I mean, whole bloodlines would give their arms and legs to have a son with you. You are literally the most valuable thing on the planet--and that's before they get to know how strong you are, how smart you are . . . how resilient you are. How courageous . . . and smart. Have I mentioned smart." He looked back down at the rug. "And beautiful. And then there's that voice of yours." He made a circle next to his head. "It makes me crazy, your voice. Every day, after we'd hang up the phone, I would sleep with the fucking thing on my chest. Like maybe part of your voice, part of you was still in it."

  Okay, now she was tearing up for a completely different reason.

  Craeg motioned around the room. "Even if you'd forgive me for being a total asshole . . . I can't give you anything like this. My parents' cottage has, like, two bedrooms and a galley kitchen. There's Formica on the counters and linoleum on the floors, and really ugly carpeting in it. The wood is fake, it's not antique. The oldest piece of furniture I own is from the seventies--and it's horrible-looking. I can't . . . I can't buy you jewelry, or cars--"

  "Stop."

  At the sound of her voice, he fell silent.

  "I don't think like that," she whispered. "And neither should you."

  "What if that changes."

  And that was when she realized he'd never really shown her the vulnerability in him before. And wait, was he talking about them still being together?

  "It won't," she vowed. "I don't care about any of that stuff and that is not going to change."

  "How do you know?" he said softly. "Because . . . I'm in love with you. And if you decide tomorrow, a week from now . . . a year from now . . . that this is just a fling, or that you need to be with someone who's classier than I am, I'm not going to survive that. That is one thing that will bring me to my knees and keep me there. So just let me go, okay? Put me out of my misery . . . let me go."

  Paradise wiped her eyes and had to smile.

  "Did you just tell me you loved me?" When he didn't answer, she prompted, "I think you did."

  "I'm serious, Paradise."

  Suddenly, nothing in her head or her body hurt, and the fear that had been like a toxic poison in her veins was gone.

  "So am I," she whispered.

  "Then yes, yes I did just tell you I love you. And I'm sorry I lost it about you and your family. And I'm also an asshole for lumping you in with the people who killed my father. I don't know . . . all I have to do is think back to that first night, when you didn't want to leave me on the trail? You were like that with everyone, not just me. You . . . you would have locked yourself out of a safe room if it meant one more person could have fit in."

  He released a shuddering breath, and wiped his face with his broad palm, like he was struggling with his own emotions.

  "Craeg, all I can say is this." She waited until he looked up at her again. "I beat everyone that first night, didn't I. I was the last one standing, right?"

  He nodded. "Yeah. You were amazing."

  "Well, I would do that all over again right now if it meant I could prove the unprovable to you--and that is that my heart knows what it wants. It's as simple and uncomplicated as that. You can try, if you like, to layer on all kinds of reasons why I'll think differently sometime in the future, but my feelings are never going to change. I knew you were the one the first night I met you, when you walked into the audience house. I spent weeks wondering if you'd be back with your application. The night of initiation? I waited and prayed to see you come in. And when you did, all I could think of was, 'Thank God he's here.'"

  She put out her hand to him. "I still think that every time I see you after I've spent some time away from you. 'Thank God . . . he's here.'"

  Craeg came to her slowly, as if giving her a chance to change her mind. But then his palm was against hers. And then he was sitting on the bed next to her. And then he was leaning in and pressing a kiss to her mouth.

  Except he sat back and got grave. "I'm going to ahvenge my father. I know you don't agree with it, but I can't change that. I'm sorry."

  She closed her eyes as pain struck her in the chest. "Please . . . no. And I'm not saying that to protect some distant cousin of mine. There's been too much death already. I'm trying to protect another living thing."

  "A coward who killed my father."

  "Maybe there's another way of getting justice." She squeezed his hand. "Just . . . let's work on that. Maybe there's another way. Promise? For me. Do this for me."

  It was a long, long while before he answered. But when he finally did, it seemed like a vow. "All right. I hate it . . . but all right."

  Sitting up, she wrapped her arms around him and felt him hold her in return. "I love you."

  "Oh, God, Paradise . . . I love you, too."

  They stayed that way for the longest time, embracing each other, saying small things, touching, feeling, kissing.

  And then there was a knock on the door.

  Yeah, boy, Craeg moved so fast off her bed, he practically slammed into the wall that was farthest away.

  She laughed a little. "Yes?"

  "It's Butch," came the deep voice. "I'm leaving now. Craeg, you gotta come with me."

  "Okay," Craeg said, heading for the door.

  "When will I see you?" Paradise asked. "Tomorrow night's class is canceled also?"

  He put his hand on the knob and looked over at her with hooded eyes. "Answer your phone at seven a.m. and we'll discuss it."

  With that and a very hot wink, he slipped out and shut the panels quietly.

  As Paradise let herself fall back against her pillows, she was grinning so hard her cheeks hurt.

  Chapter Forty-seven

  One week later . . .

  "Wait, so where does the cumberbatch go?"

  As Craeg stood in front of a full-length mirror in the Pit, he was in a panic until Butch stepped in behind him. Naturally, the Brother smiled at him like he was an idiot. Which he was.

  "It's cummerbund." Butch took the banding and put it around Craeg's waist. "Damn, son, you're gonna look tight."

  "How much did this thing cost?"

  "Fifteen thousand." There was some fussing and tugging as things were done up at the small of his back. "And the good news is that you and I are the same kind of stocky, so it fits you like a glove."

  Craeg blinked a couple of times. "Fifteen thousand? Dollars?"

  "No, Pop-Tarts," Vishous said from over on the bed. "And if that makes your nuts shrink, multiply it times all the shit on those hangers over there."

  Craeg glanced at the racks of clothes in the otherwise neat and tidy bedroom. "Oh, my God."

  "Yeah, Saks loves him." V lit up another hand-rolled. "And Neiman Marcus."

  "Fuck you, V." Butch leaned to the side and picked up a black jacket with long black tails. "Guys like Craeg and me, we
have to put on some window dressing for our ladies. That's how we roll."

  Personally, Craeg would rather have been in his jeans. But he had to admit the starched white shirt with its fancy white knot at the throat and the bright red suspenders and the black slacks with the satin stripes down the outsides was not a bad look.

  And then he put the jacket on.

  Staring at his reflection, he brushed his newly cut hair back and then shook the stuff out. "I look . . ."

  "Like fifteen million bucks." Butch clapped him on the shoulder. "Now get the fuck out of here so I can get dressed, too. The misanthrope over there is staying home because he's too good for this shit, but you and I are gonna have a great fucking time."

  V grunted and got off the bed. "Call me if you don't, though. I'm always good for a fistfight, and I like hitting pretty boys."

  "You're just bitter you don't have a tux."

  Vishous paused in the doorway and looked back at Craeg. Nodding once, he said, "The a-hole is right. You look good. She's going to be proud to be on your arm. Don't let any of those fucking morons make you feel second-class--she could pick anyone in the world, and she chose you. Also, don't offer anyone your hand first. It'll give them a chance to snub you. You let them greet you, not the other way around, 'kay?"

  "Thanks," Craeg said roughly.

  V nodded, and went to stalk down the shallow hall, adding, "I'm going to go sucker punch Lassiter. Then probably play some pool with him."

  "Have fun, honey," Butch called out. Then he refocused on Craeg in the mirror. "Let me let you down into the tunnel. Wait for me in the parking garage. I'll drive you out."

  "Okay. Hey . . . thanks."

  God, that sounded so fucking lame.

  Butch smiled, showing off a front tooth that was a little wonky. "I mated up, too. I know what it's like to be with a female who's--"

  At that moment, Marissa stepped out of the second bedroom and . . .

  Craeg recoiled. The dress . . . the diamonds . . . the dress . . .

  The fucking diamonds.

  The female literally sparkled white from head to foot, a blinding show of beauty and elegance in her formfitting gown.

  Doc Jane jumped out into the hall. "So! How'd we do? Huh? How'd we do?"

  Craeg looked over his shoulder at Butch . . . who was standing there dumb as an ox, looking like he'd seen the second coming of the Scribe Virgin Herself.

  "Let yourself out, kid," the Brother said in a guttural voice. "Like now. I'll be there in ten minutes--no, wait . . . twenty."

  *

  As Marissa smiled at Craeg and told him he was handsome, she marveled how one could be fully clothed and completely undressed at the same time.

  Then again, with the way Butch was staring at her, she was very clear on what he was thinking about.

  "Come on, Craeg, I'll take you into the tunnel," Doc Jane said. "And have fun, you two."

  "Go, go, go, go," Butch muttered to V's mate. "Before you see way more than you're gonna want to."

  As the pair left and the door into the tunnel clicked shut and relocked, Marissa did a slow turn in front of her mate. "You like?"

  Butch's reply was to fall to his knees. Like, really . . . fall to his knees so hard she wasn't sure whether the cracking was because he'd broken his bones or the floorboards.

  Gathering up the skirt of her Reem Acra gown, she hustled over to him. "Are you all--"

  He captured her shoulders in his hands, his hazel eyes roaming over her face. "I want to kiss you, but I don't want to ruin your makeup."

  "So kiss me carefully."

  And he did, brushing her mouth with a gentle stroke. "You take my breath away, Marissa. You're going to take everyone's breath away."

  She smoothed his hair. "We'll see about that."

  "Yes, we will."

  Marissa grew serious. "Havers isn't coming tonight. It kind of surprised me. He was the one who nominated me to be head of this thing."

  "Maybe it's his way of putting out an olive branch. Allowing you to shine without the complication of a lot of gossip."

  "Yes." She thought of her brother by the bedside of the female who had been killed. "It's almost easier to demonize him."

  "You know, when it comes to Havers, if you can forgive him . . . well, I'll never forget what he did to you, but I won't kill him if I see him. How's that?"

  She laughed. "Deal. And I don't know. I guess we'll have to see what the future holds."

  "I know one thing that's coming," he drawled, eyes going hooded.

  "And what might that be."

  Her mate rose from the floor and circled her waist with his warm hands. Leaning down, he whispered, "I'm going to be the one helping you out of this dress later."

  Laughing, she put her arms around his neck and arched into him. "Does that mean I get to take your pants off at the end of the night?"

  "Oh, God . . ." he groaned. "Yeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee - eeeeeeeeees . . ."

  Chapter Forty-eight

  As Paradise descended the grand staircase of her home, she held up the flowing skirt of her pale blue gown. With each step she took, she thought of the night one week before, when she had come down to find Anslam there on the marble, waiting for her as if there was nothing out of sorts, nothing wrong, nothing threatening.

  For a split second, her mental wires got crossed and a shimmy of adrenaline shot down her spine.

  Doc Jane had been right: The concussion had healed and so had the bruises, but her brain had a new pathway, one that had been forged quickly, but permanently. The conditioned fear response wasn't going to be a prison, though. Mary was helping her make sure of that.

  As she got to the last step, her father emerged from the library. "Oh . . . Paradise."

  With a dip of her head and body, she curtsied to him. "Father."

  "You look like your mother."

  When he held out his hands, she went to him. "That is the most perfect compliment."

  "Well, it is true." Guiding her in a twirl before him, he smiled. "And I have something for you."

  "Oh?"

  "Come."

  Drawing her into the study and over to the desk, he presented her with a flat red box with a signature golden border. "These were hers."

  "Father . . ."

  "No, come now. You must open it."

  Paradise's hands began to tremble as she accepted the box and toggled the top open. As she gasped, he stepped in and took the antique diamond riviere from its satin bed.

  "There are forty-eight diamonds, one for each of the first forty-eight years I spent with your beloved mahmen. On this night, I give it to you free and clear in the same manner I give to you my love and respect. I couldn't be--"

  "Wait." She stopped him. Shook her head. "I can't accept that."

  "Why ever not?"

  As his face fell, she closed her eyes. "I have to tell you something. It's . . ."

  Unable to stay still, she began to walk in a tight circle. All she could think about was that conversation they had had about love, and class, and how he wanted her to have an aristocratic match like he and her mother had had.

  But unlike before she'd gone into the training program, she had a much better sense of who she was now. And even if it broke his heart, she was going to love whoever she wanted, regardless of station, class, or ranking.

  "Father, I'm in love with a male. He's a commoner, and I don't care. More to the point, I don't believe that makes him any less valuable than anyone else. Craeg is--"

  "Finally!" he exclaimed. "Finally!" He pulled her in and kissed her on both cheeks. "I've been waiting all week!"

  "What--wait, what?"

  "Peyton told me."

  "What!"

  "And I agree with you. Craeg is a male of worth--and I totally approve. You may have all my blessings."

  Paradise frowned and shook her head. "Father . . . I don't understand. Just last week you were telling me that I needed to mate an aristocrat. I know Craeg saved my life, but you can't do a one-
eighty like that and expect me to believe it."

  "My darling," he said with a recoil, "when did I tell you that you had to mate a member of the glymera?"

  "We were having First Meal before I went out--and you were saying that I had to have a mating like you and mahmen had. Two aristocrats set up by their families."

  "No, I said your mahmen and I found true love. That's what I want for you. The true-love part--as long as the male is good to you, I do not care where he hails from. I have long watched the travails of our class and been summarily unimpressed. Balls and parties are fine, but one must return home with the person to whom one is mated. That is far more significant than any pedigree--and I shall make no apologies to anyone if there is talk--"

  Paradise launched herself at her father and squeezed the dickens out of him. "I love you so much I'm going to cry!"

  Her father, her dear, wonderful, perfect father, laughed and held her in return. "Will you allow me to put this necklace on you now? And will you finally admit that Craeg is attending to you this eve?"

  "Yes, yes, he's coming! Oh, he is! I can't wait for you to meet him properly and get to know him."

  "Nor can I, my love . . . nor can I."

  Thirty minutes later, with streams of glittering guests arriving through the front entrance and proceeding down the hall to the ballroom, Paradise thought . . . well, at least she assumed Craeg was coming.

  He'd told her he was coming.

  Really, he had.

  Standing just inside the ballroom's upper level, at the head of the grand staircase that took guests down to the dance floor, she searched the crowd. She didn't think it was possible that she'd missed his arrival. Certainly not with the butler announcing everyone as they came in before they descended to the party below.

  She'd been well aware that he'd seemed a little uncomfortable at the idea of escorting her, but he wasn't the type to back down. Especially not where she was concerned--

  "Hey, beautiful."

  "Peyton," she murmured as she turned to her friend.

  As they embraced, she glanced behind him, hoping to see . . . nope, no Craeg.

  "Wow, nice ice." Peyton leaned in and checked out her necklace. "Where's your man?"

  "I don't know." She frowned. "And I thought you were bringing that female, what's her name?"

  "Oh, her. Yeah. No. Her father called mine and asked what my intentions were. I'm not about to get entangled with that stuff."