“Here we go, sweetheart!” I feel the swaying motion of her running, still clutching me tight to her. The heat is intense, the flames licking at us like hungry tongues but somehow my mother keeps them off. I hear her chanting under her breath, feel the magic flowing out of her like water…like blood.
Even as a child I know this isn’t right. She’s giving too much, expending too much energy—too much life force. It’s as though she’s cut a vital artery in her arm and the flow is all that is keeping us safe from the flames. But how long can she keep it up? And how can she live if she gives herself away so recklessly?
I hear her voice weakening and the swaying is more pronounced. She is stumbling now, fighting her way through the burning house with only one thing in mind—saving me. Getting me out in time before the blazing roof collapses. I don’t know how I know that’s what she’s thinking but I do. And then I know something else—she doesn’t think she’s going to make it herself.
I want to push my head out of my nightgown and protest. To tell her she has to stay with me—that she can’t leave me. Like so many free-spirited witches, my mother is a single parent. She’s all I have in the world. Oh I have other family but none so dear to me as her. None whose hearts are linked to mine by an unbreakable bond.
Suddenly I hear a loud thumping—like someone banging on something. I push my head up and out of the confines of my nightgown and find myself almost suffocating with smoke. My mother has reached the front door of our modest little house. She is still clutching me to her but she can’t get the door open. She’s kicking it with her bare foot as she jiggles the knob, all while still keeping me safe in her arms. I can feel her distress rising, like a silver mist between us. Please, she’s thinking, throwing her thoughts out into the night like a cry for help. Just help me save my baby. Just help me save Emma…
Suddenly the door leaps open, as though someone has yanked it from the outside. I tumble out of my mother’s arms and onto the hard wooden porch, bruising both knees. I turn, expecting to see that she’s come with me, out of the inferno.
Instead I see her still in the house—just inside the doorway—wreathed in flames.
“Mamma!” I try to go to her but something or someone holds me back. A strength I cannot fathom is keeping me from getting to her. “Mamma!” I scream again but she only shakes her head.
“Go, Emma!” she shouts above the roar of the flames. “I love you but you have to go!”
“Come with me!” I beg, still reaching for her.
“I can’t.” Her long ebony hair is alight, the black turned to an orange-and-red-and-gold corona by the flickering, hungry flames. “I can’t, Emma. The fire, once called, demands a sacrifice. Go!”
I don’t understand her words. I only know that my mother is burning…burning… I struggle in the strong grip of whoever is holding me back.
“Keep her safe,” my mother cries, as the flames consume her. “You are oath bound to protect her!”
“I will,” a deep voice says. And then he is taking me away, taking me to safety while my mother burns. “Don’t look,” he tells me. “You don’t want to see.”
“Mamma! Mamma!” I scream and beat against his back but he pays me no attention. He moves me swiftly away from the burning house and out into the dark yard. Out there, among the trees, I see a swarthy face—the man with horns—coming for me. But when he sees my protector, he scowls.
“She is not for you,” the man holding me says. “Tell your masters she is not to be touched.”
“She’s safe for now. When the power of her blood manifests—”
“She is not to be touched,” my protector grates. “She’s under my protection.”
“We’ll see about that.” The horned man fades into the darkness between the trees, laughing. He leaves an unpleasant, musky odor behind that lingers long after his ugly chuckle has faded. When he’s gone, my thoughts return to the horror I have just witnessed.
“Mamma,” I whisper brokenly.
“She’s gone, darling,” murmurs a soft voice. “I’m so sorry. She’s gone. Gone…”
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
“Gone…” I wake up crying, as I always do from The Dream.
What exactly happened that night—the night of the fire that I always dream about and can never quite remember? I can recall very few details. I remember crying inconsolably. Strong arms carrying me and a deep, soothing voice telling me I would be all right. The dark, smoke-smelling night folding around us. And then my rescuer, whoever he was, depositing me in my aunt’s arms. “She’s yours now. Take care of her.”
And then he disappeared.
I never saw his face. I never knew his name or even where he came from. But he saved me from running back into the fire and from the danger in the woods… Danger? What danger? Something about a man with horns…
I try but the dream is slipping away. The more I try to grasp at the details, the more they disintegrate to ashes, like paper in a fire.
And then the pain starts, driving away every other thought in my head.
Chapter Eighteen
My period isn’t a regular, monthly occurrence, like it is for most women my age. It only comes three or four times a year—always presaged by The Dream.
And it always makes me feel as if I’m dying.
The stabbing, grinding ache in my lower abdomen feels as if someone is simultaneously poking me with a bayonet and driving over me with a tractor. Usually it comes on slowly, giving me time to brew a cup of tea from the special herb mixture I’ve concocted, which makes it a bit more bearable. The herbs don’t take all the pain away—nothing short of death could do that. They do, however, make me feel a little less as if I’m about to meet my maker.
But this time the pain hits hard and fast, like a freight train of agony smashing straight into my body. It hurts so much I can barely breathe and even if I get up, it won’t do any good. My herb mixture is at home and I have no way to get it.
I think of calling Lexy. It’s the middle of the night but she would understand. She was with me when I had my first few cycles—the ones where my aunt rushed me to the emergency room, certain I had been stricken with appendicitis or something equally deadly. It was only after having two or three periods that we realized the grinding agony was normal for me.
So yes, I’ll call Lexy and ask her to go to my apartment again, and bring me my herbs. But my phone is all the way across the room on the dresser. I’ll have to get up to get to it and right now, I’m not even sure if I can turn over, let alone get out of bed and walk across the room.
Still, if I don’t get my special tea, the torture is only going to get worse. I know from painful experience that it can go on for up to twenty-four hours before my period finally runs its course. That, of course, is the only goodthing about my cycle—it’s very short. It’s as if my body saves up all the pain a normal woman has during her entire week-long cycle, multiplies it by a factor of twenty and dumps it on me all at once. All in all, I think I’d rather have a week of dull, achy cramps than one twenty-four-hour time slot filled with unremitting agony. But it’s not up to me.
Grimly, I force myself to roll over in bed and sit up. The effort leaves me shaking, my forehead damp with sweat. I can feel the wet, sticky warmth between my thighs and I’m afraid I’m ruining the crisp cotton sheets. I never have a very heavy flow but it’s enough that I need a tampon—which is something else I left at home. I’ll ask Lexy to bring them along with the herbal-tea mixture.
Now comes the hard part—standing up. I know that getting to my feet is going to feel as if someone is stabbing me with a thousand knives but I have to do it. I have to reach my phone. Why the hell didn’t I leave it on the nightstand instead of all the way across the room on the dresser? Ugh…this is going to really hurt…
Pushing against the mattress with all my strength, I lever myself up into a shaky standing position. Okay, that wasn’t so bad. Then I take the first step and the stabbing pain cuts through me. The bright flare
of agony in my lower belly brings me to my knees. I hit the carpeted floor with a thump and a low moan is drawn from my lips. For a minute, all I can think about is how much it hurts. The pain…the pain… Oh Goddess, please make it stop…
And then someone is bending over me. In the darkness, I see a pale face, almost too perfect to be real. Luminous silver-gray eyes are staring anxiously into mine. Aiden…Master…
“I’m here, darling.” He sounds worried—maybe on the edge of panic but somehow he’s holding it together. “What’s wrong? Where are you hurt?”
“Not…hurt,” I manage to gasp.
He frowns. “The hell you’re not—I can smell the blood. What have you done to yourself?” He lifts one of my arms and examines my wrist, maybe looking for slash marks.
“I…I didn’t cut myself,” I say, trying to pull my wrist away.
“Then what’s going on?” he demands.
Absurdly, I’m embarrassed. Despite the raw pain still tearing through me, I don’t want to explain. This is a female matter—private. And I’ve yet to meet a man, human or supernatural, who didn’t shy away from discussing it. But Aiden is bending over me, his eyes filled with concern, clearly waiting for an answer.
“It’s—” I gasp as another bolt of pain shoots through me.
Aiden grips my shoulder tighter. “What? What is it?” he urges.
“Just…just my period,” I whisper through gritted teeth.
Aiden’s face fills with understanding. “Your monthly cycle. Is it always this bad?”
“Always,” I whisper, grateful that he understands. “I need my herbal tea. It’s at home but I’ll get Lexy to bring it. That helps a little.”
Aiden frowns. “It will take too much time for her to get here.” Gently, he scoops me into his arms and carries me back to the bed.
“No, don’t.” I struggle weakly as he tries to slide me back under the covers. “The sheets—I’ll ruin them.”
“Damn the sheets,” he says angrily. He puts me in bed and then crawls in beside me. He’s no longer wearing his expensive business suit, I realize hazily. He’s back to faded blue jeans and a T-shirt.
The pain gets worse and I start to shiver. Aiden sits up a moment, rips off his shirt and holds me close, obviously trying to warm me with his body heat. I close my eyes and try not to think about the pain but it fills me, consumes me. It feels as if someone is digging out my insides with a dull shovel.
“Emma,” he whispers harshly in my ear. “This is too much for you to bear. I’m going to give you something to dull the pain.”
“Drugs…don’t help,” I whisper, fighting to get the words out. “Nothing but the herbs. Call…Lexy.”
“This will help,” he says with such certainty that I open my eyes to see what he’s talking about.
I focus on him just in time to see him bring his wrist to his teeth and bite down hard, his white fangs sinking into his pale flesh. He pulls his mouth away and deep crimson blood, like liquid rubies, begins to flow. The set of his eyes betrays the agony he’s feeling. If everything I’ve heard is true, Aiden has just inflicted pain equal to what I’m going through on himself. Losing blood is a traumatic and excruciating experience for vampires. As I explained before, their bodies don’t want to give it up.
“No,” I whisper, my eyes going wide with horror. “You can’t—”
“The hell I can’t,” he says fiercely. “Didn’t I tell you I’d give my blood if you needed it? Well, you need it now, Emma.” He presses his bleeding wrist to my lips. “Drink. It will make the pain less.”
I open my mouth to protest but then his blood is filling my mouth. It’s hot and sweet like melted honey with a sharp, metallic tang at the end. Too weak to push him away, I let it fill my mouth and run down my throat like liquid sunshine. I know this must be hurting my Master but he doesn’t make a sound or a sign, only watches anxiously as my throat moves, swallowing the sacrifice of blood he gives me.
It only takes a minute or two before I feel a change. Something miraculous is happening—the stabbing, grinding pain in my lower abdomen is fading. Slowly but surely it slides away, like a chain pulled crushingly tight around my belly is being loosened. At last, all that’s left is a dull ache, which, while not pleasant, is a hellof a lot better than what I felt before.
Feeling stronger, I push Aiden’s wrist away. There’s no need for him to endure any more pain for me and anyway, the self-inflicted wounds on his pale flesh are already healing. His face is still anxious as he looks down at me. “Feeling better?”
“Much,” I say and take a deep breath. “Thank you. I know how much that must have hurt.”
“My pain doesn’t matter,” he says roughly. “It’s yours I’m concerned with. Is it gone—all the way gone?”
“Almost completely,” I assure him. “There’s nothing but a few, uh, cramps left now.” I feel my cheeks getting hot as I say it. Now that the pain has dissipated, I’m embarrassed again.
“Almost completely isn’t good enough.” Aiden strokes my cheek. “I want you well.”
“I feel a lot better than I did,” I point out. “Not even my herbal tea helps this much. Honestly, I feel almost normal.”
“You need a little pleasure to dispel the last of the pain,” Aiden decides. Cupping my cheek, he kisses me gently on the mouth. Despite my recent agony and the cramps I’m still feeling, his touch makes my heart pound and my blood race.
“Master…” I whisper. “I don’t—”
“You don’t have to worry about anything,” Aiden finishes for me, firmly. “Just relax, darling, and let me take care of you. First we’ll get you cleaned up.”
Now I’m truly mortified. “Don’t bother,” I say hastily. “I’m feeling better. I can take care of myself.” I start to get up and go in the bathroom but Aiden pushes me back down, gently but firmly.
“I know you can but I don’t want you to. I’m going to take care of you. Do you understand?”
Biting my lip, I nod. “Yes Master,” I whisper.
I expect him to go get a wet washcloth to clean away the evidence of my cycle. As I said, I don’t have a heavy flow but my inner thighs are wet and sticky with blood and no doubt there are spots on the sheet beneath me.
But instead of leaving, Aiden starts kissing me. He starts by nuzzling the sensitive side of my neck and then works his way down. He takes his time, drawing one aching nipple between his lips and sucking it slowly but deeply, taking as much of my breast into his mouth as he can until I cry out at the intensity of the sensation. Then he moves to the next one, being just as slow and tender and deliberate as he was with the first.
By the time he finally finishes with my breasts and moves on down my trembling abdomen, the ache in my belly is no longer just cramps. I can feel sparks of pleasure moving inside me, the hot need growing in my pussy.
But I’m still shocked when he gets between my thighs and bends down to kiss me there.
“Aiden!” I gasp, trying to close my legs, to shut him out. “Master, no! You can’t.”
“Why can’t I?” he asks, looking at me directly. His hands rest lightly on my knees, which are turned inward, trying desperately to keep him out. I know he could force them apart if he wanted to but he doesn’t. He just sits there looking at me as though what he wants to do is the most normal thing in the world.
“Because I’m bleeding,” I say. “I mean, it’s disgusting.”
“Not to me, darling.” He strokes my tightly closed thighs. “Did you forget I’m a vampire?”
“But…but you really want to…you really don’t mind…?” I can barely get the words out, I’m still so embarrassed and incredulous that he would even consider this.
The look in Aiden’s eyes is both hot and tender. “Very much,” he assures me, still stroking my cheek. “Blood is power and this is the time when a witch’s power is at its peak. I’ve been wanting to taste your blood again from the first night I claimed you as my own.”
“But not like this.” I
protest, still unable to believe it. “I mean, if you want to drink from my wrist again or my neck…”
“I want to take what you’re giving so freely,” Aiden says. “You have difficulty letting me in, which makes it impossible for me to make my bite pleasurable for you. This way I can take your blood without hurting you—while giving you pleasure.” He looks into my eyes and his voice deepens. “Spread your thighs for me, darling, and let me in. Let me taste you.”
The sound of his Master voice makes my knees weak and my heart pound against my ribs. Goddess, he really wants to do this. Slowly, warily, I open my thighs for him.
Aiden has kissed and tasted my pussy many times in the weeks I’ve been with him but tonight it’s different. He takes his time, lapping gently at my inner thighs first, his warm, wet tongue cleaning me as he promised. Then he moves on to my bare pussy.
My naked pussy lips are swollen with need and my clit is already throbbing. But I can still feel the sticky wetness welling up from within. Is he really serious about this?
He spreads me open, revealing everything and looks at me. I have no doubt his sharp vampire eyes can see much more clearly in the dim bedroom than mine and I have another mini-panic attack. How can he possibly—
“Beautiful,” Aiden murmurs, looking up at me. “Always beautiful to me, Emma darling.” Then he lowers his head and licks me gently, from bottom to top.
When he starts, I’m still clenched tight with embarrassment but as his warm, wet tongue slides over my sensitive clit, I moan and relax. He’s a vampire, I remind myself. He really does want to do this. It still seems weird but I’m rapidly losing my inhibitions. His mouth on me feels so good, so right and the slow, tender way he laps my pussy turns my insides to melted butter.