Chapter 13
Rome, Italy
She went to her hotel room and opened the door. The lights were already on and the window was open, sounds of the palazzo below drifting in with the breeze.
Lucas was sitting in a chair next to the window, looking as though he belonged there. “I just got here and checked in? How did you get here first?”
He smiled at her benignly, ignoring the question.
The anger came back in a rush, scorching her grief into ash. No more being good and frightened. She wanted answers and by god she was going to get them. She’d push and provoke until he told her or killed her. He wouldn’t fucking manipulate her anymore.
Val closed the door and set the deadbolt. When she turned back towards Lucas he was watching her, a faintly questioning expression on his face.
“Shall I be frightened then?” he asked mockingly.
“You promised me! If I helped you, you would keep them safe. All that crap about how your word of honor meant something to you. I even believed you! What a fucking idiot, I am. Why should I have believed you?”
She'd been stalking towards him, her anger making her brave and reckless. She wanted to hit him, punish him for Nate and Jack, for taking her life away, for making her want him, punish him for every shitty thing that had ever happened to her.
He let her approach, uncrossing his legs and leaning forward— waiting. Because he was in control. That’s what he was telling her with his mocking voice and patient tone.
The hell he is.
The chair looked small, the whole room was small with him in it.
She took a deep breath, trying to calm her rage.
“What will you have of me?” he murmured.
Val walked up to him and he settled back in the chair, letting her crowd his space and come between his thighs. “Did you know the Hunters would be there?” Her eyes searched his face, looking for signs of deception.
“I did not. There were too many vampires in that room last night. It was not safe for Hunters there.” She believed him and she wondered if that was foolish.
“Then who told them? How did they know?”
“I do not know.”
“Guess.” she said, voice filled with rage.
There was a tension in his shoulders, the sense that he was holding himself very still, like she was an animal in the jungle and he was waiting to see if she’d pounce. Or maybe he was just trying not to laugh at her. “There is no point. I do not know.”
Her hands fisted at her sides. “I called you. My father was hurt and I needed to be here.” The unspoken accusation was there. Where were you that you couldn't get me here before he died?
He inclined his head but said nothing.
“Did you know my father was there last night?”
“What does this serve? You seek to hold me accountable for actions I could neither control nor foresee.”
He knew. She was certain of it. “That's not true. I think you could have done something. All this time you have asked for my trust, pretended that you are omnipotent and that you would be able to protect me and my family, but that was a lie.”
His hand reached up to her and he took her chin in his hand. “Did you expect the truth from me?”
Val felt stupid but nodded, tears in her eyes. “I did.” Why? Because he’d saved her? Because he was beautiful and she wanted him?
She looked away from his cold blue eyes and tried to watch his mouth, his full lips and even teeth. She'd never even seen a hint of fang. He must have them.
“Valerie, it was not foolish to trust me.” She jerked her face away from his grip and he released her easily, the light touch broken.
Wasn't it? She thought of all the things he didn't tell her. What was his interest in her? Any Hunter, any person would have done his bidding if he'd threatened their family, so why her? She'd been too trusting or too afraid to push for answers but that time was over.
“Why won't you drink my blood?” It was the question at the forefront of her mind, spoken before she had time to think about asking anything else.
He smiled at her, a genuine smile that held a hint of something male or chauvinistic. “I would have avoided giving you my blood if I could have. Blood holds power. By drinking my blood you are bound to me. Only lightly. It would grow stronger if it was repeated frequently. And,” he paused, “you may know my feelings as well. They might be clear to you or you might find yourself guessing and be correct. I do not know how strong the bond is.”
He raked his hand through his hair. She watched him do it.
Nervous.
“As for my restraint in taking your blood, your blood would have untold consequences. It would bring me to my knees, and as tempting as that is, my answer is no.” He said it calmly, almost jokingly, but there was a hardness at the end of his words that got her attention.
He turned his face from her. She didn’t like that, her hand reaching out to his jaw, fingers sliding down his skin. Granite. He closed his eyes and almost flinched away from her touch, she felt his jaw clench under her fingers and then his skin was warm, and she could feel stubble under her fingers.
She moved her hands into his hair. He didn’t need thick, golden, shiny hair.
Something dark shifted inside of her and she wanted to tug it, use the weight of his hair to pull his head back, make him look at her. Instead of her constant fascination.
“It hurts you to play human for me, doesn't it?”
He turned back towards her and their gazes locked. “Do you know it or guess it?” His voice was deep.
She thought about the question. “I know it.”
His hands rose, resting on her waist keeping her between his legs.
That small touch made her breath hitch. Maybe because it was possessive, or maybe it was the look in his eyes that went with it—hot and dominant.
Untamed. That was it. The look in his eyes, the tension in his body, he was different tonight because he wasn’t in control of himself. Not like before, where he was only as close as he wanted to be. Right now he was here, present and in this. Right now, he’d give her anything she wanted.
She decided to ask him again, “Did you know the Hunters would show up last night?”
“I did not.”
Her hand fisted lightly in his hair, tugging his head back so that he looked up at her. He could kill her in a moment but he was pretending to be pliant for her. She liked the way he closed his eyes as his head went back, the furrow of his brow and the way his fingers were tightening on her hips.
What did he hope to accomplish? What did he really need from her that he couldn't get from someone else?
“Do you want to drink my blood?” Almost the same question but not.
She felt something from him, an eagerness and a restraint, like he tamped down his first response. But his expression didn't change from polite interest. His voice, when he answered, was deep and caressing, sliding over her body like it was his hands and lips instead. “More than anything I have ever wanted.”
Truth.
She became lightheaded with fear and a pleasure so heavy she didn't want to acknowledge it. Her nipples pebbled and she wanted him in her. Immediately. Now. Hard. Fast.
A rush of desire pulsed through her and he closed his eyes, taking a breath that flared his nostrils, his hands gripping her hips tightly.
His eyes were sapphire blue when he opened them, his smile rueful and human. He gentled his hold on her hips and said thickly, “I will not drink your blood. As much as I want to, I won’t.” He didn't say the words like a man afraid, or at least not like he was confessing a guilty secret.
As though he read her mind, he said, “There is no shame in not wanting your blood. If anything, there is shame in wanting it, for your blood is a weakness, a mirror of emotion and feeling which vampires spend centuries disposing of.”
“Why? What is it about my blood?” He looked down briefly. Was he thinking or hiding his expression?
With a sigh and a noise s
o slight she might have imagined it, he leaned forward, resting his head against her stomach as though gathering himself. Then he straightened, leaned back into the chair and stopped touching her. The cool mask back in place.
“You are an empath. Your blood restores feeling and emotion for a vampire, can settle a werewolf. Your kind were delegates between the vampires, the shape shifters and the Fey.”
Empath. The revelation cut through the fog of lust and anger that was wrapped around her. Finally, an answer. What he wanted from her and why. His fascination with her. Did it explain her fascination with him too?
“Are empaths human?” She was scared of the answer.
“Yes. For all practical purposes, an empath is human.”
“Why practical, what does that mean?”
“The Others are gone. You would have no one to use your powers on, assuming you had power. You are not a full empath, your abilities would most likely be limited. It's dangerous to be an empath, even part empath. Vampires are all that remain, the only species you could affect, and they would not thank you for it.”
“Except you?”
His voice was oh-so-neutral when he said, “Except for me.”
“Why?” she touched his face and his hair, stroked his neck, couldn’t stop touching him as she listened to him talk to her quietly. He held eye contact with her, like he wouldn’t look away if she wouldn’t. forging a bond of some sort, maybe wanting her to know that he was telling the truth.
“Because I feel very few things. My attraction to you and your response to me…I have been existing for a very long time. Marion was right when she said my existence has become a curse of sorts. I stand on the outside looking in and there, just over the threshold is you. There is much I would give to cross that space.”
“What happened to the empaths?
He paused and she tried to feel what he was feeling, straining as though listening for music played far away.
He’s keeping himself from me.
“I did nothing to protect your kind. The wolves did. They revered empaths, whereas the vampires feared them like a vengeful God. And the Fey— they had their own issues with empaths. The wolves were decimated and the vampires turned their backs….”
“Why don't I feel your answer now?”
“Restraint comes with age child,” he said flippantly.
No, she needed to know these things, what he felt about the destruction of... her kind. Yeah, that little nugget was gonna come out of the vault for examination later. She was an empath? Did WTF suffice as a response?
“I can’t tell when you’re lying anymore or what you’re feeling. I want to know.”
“If I relax my shields so that you can feel the bond, we shall both regret it.” He spoke to her like she was a child.
“Who are you to make that decision? I need to know. Not just be a pawn.”
“I will answer your questions and then I must go. Ask.” His voice was implacable and cold.
What was the point in asking questions when she wouldn’t know if he was lying to her or keeping things from her? Fuck that.
The anger was overwhelming. She wanted to kill him, stab him, destroy him. Her hand flew, slapping his cheek hard, but he moved and her nails scraped his neck, creating deep red marks on his still soft flesh. He hissed in a breath and looked back at her, a light in his eyes that made her shiver.
“Will you protect me?” Gasped and husky words.
His brows drew together as though confused, and he reached a hand up to the scratches, touching them lightly as though they actually hurt.
“How could I not?” The words were ironic but his emotions came from him, a fierce sincerity followed by desire. “Be careful with that.” His defenses were lowered again, his words almost having an emotional echo that slid through her veins and made her feel weighted.
Be careful with what? Her nails? Provoking him? His shields went up, the weight went away, that feeling of rightness gone again.
Her hand went to his jaw then scratched her fingers down his neck, scoring the same place as before. Desire slapped her back, making her gasp at what he felt, like she’d been floating without gravity and was now being squashed under its heavy weight.
His hands were on her hips, jerking her forward so that she fell towards him, legs spread over him as he settled her on top of him, his eyes level with her own, every long lash delineated, blue eyes so close that she could see his pupils contract slightly.
“It's very bad for your longevity to try and make a vampire lose control.”
Someone’s heart was pounding, so loudly that it ricocheted around the room and between them like a live thing. Was his heart beating? Was it hers? Hers as he heard it?
And then he kissed her, gentle at first, almost hesitant and tender, no response she’d ever attribute to him. His hand came up, cradling her head in his large palm before tilting his head and plunging his tongue into her mouth with desperate urgency.
Yes.
Her whole body relaxed, her core settling against him more firmly so that he moaned lightly and twitched her even closer, rocking his hardness deeply against her.
She gave a small cry of surprise and delight, winding her arms around his neck.
This was what she needed. Too much was happening: her father, Jack, empath bullshit. But this immediate fulfillment was something she could lose herself in. She could deal with consequences later.
Abandoning herself to the pleasure she leaned forward, pushing her breasts flat against his chest as his arms clasped behind her then stroked her back and sides. His hands roamed to her thighs, resting on the inside, along the juncture where her thighs met her pelvis. He rubbed this thumbs along that slope in a firm caress that made her wriggle closer to him, showing her what he would do to her when he moved his fingers to the very center of her.
Still he kissed her, gentle kisses turning into deep hungry strokes of his tongue, but once she started moving against him more urgently, her body restlessly wanting his, the kisses changed, his head tilted again so that he could taste more of her, claim her, mimicking what it would be like when he sank his cock deep into her body. They were both breathing harshly and his hands lifted to her face, cupping her tenderly even as his tongue devoured her.
His hands swept down her neck, then her chest, grazing her nipples so lightly that she made a noise of frustration. Despite her protest his hands skated lower until they were resting beneath her breasts but not touching them.
She arched farther into him, trying to put her breasts into his hands, the motion pressing her damp heat against him hard. If he'd been human it would have hurt but he groaned, a sound more animal than man and he did as she wished, his hands cupping her breasts in his palms, his fingers finding her nipples through her sweater and bra.
Pleasure coursed from her nipples to her center as though he was toying with her there instead. A great sigh of pleasure came from her and he inhaled, taking her breath deep into his body.
Breaking the kiss, she moved her lips to his jaw and down his neck to where his pulse was beating steadily. She ran her tongue over it and he shuddered beneath her, his hands splayed over her ass, shoving her closer, deeper as he met her from below.
His breathing mirrored hers, a fine tremor in his hands as they roamed her body restlessly. Her body was tight, swollen and on edge. And there was that duality again, that desire was everything but she didn’t know who it belonged to. Hers or his or the both of them together.
Her mouth hovered over his neck, most of his body frozen as he waited, still pressing himself against her, almost despite himself. And then she struck, letting her teeth close lightly against the marks on his flesh, before licking him soothingly.
She sucked on his flesh as though the skin was directly linked to his cock. And fuck, maybe it was.
His breath had turned ragged, but he groaned and stopped her, making her stand although her legs were shaky and she wasn’t done yet. She felt the loss of his cock against her core
like a phantom limb, something she’d never forget and needed to have back.
She almost fell, gripping his hard bicep as he tucked his thumbs in her underwear and pulled them down her legs, fingers trailing downwards. She stepped out of them and his head was so close to her core that she began to tremble.
Very slowly, he looked up at her, his eyes meeting hers, maybe reading the desperation on her face. He smiled so cockily, so surely that she didn’t know if she wanted to hit him or kiss him. “Don’t I get to see what fifteen hundred years of experience gets a girl these days?”
He laughed thickly and stood up, hands on her legs again, caressing firmly up her body until his hands were back on her ass, under her skirt while he stepped backwards to the chair, pulling her forward again so she straddled him. Her skirt was like a stage curtain between them.
His heated gaze was focused between her legs like he could will the fabric away, hands roving from her hips to her thighs and her ass, the skirt moving and shifting, almost exposing her but never quite.
Voice thick with desire, gaze still focused between her legs, hands moving, confidence purring from him, he responded, “What does fifteen hundred years get you?”
His gaze climbed her body, stroked her breasts, her neck and lips before reaching her eyes. She bit her lip, the teasing, his voice and everything they had already done putting her close to orgasm.
He made a noise like a growl before answering, “Knowledge, stamina, control. The right touch and the right time, in the right place.” And then his fingers were touching her, stroking so that she writhed on his hand and began to tremble, the orgasm close. The match to her spark. The pressure and stroke of his fingers as perfect as he’d promised.
She could only half hear him, she was so close to coming.
“But that’s not the question you should be asking.” His breath teased her ear, voice close and intimate as he kept her on the edge. He knew how close she was, her body writhing, begging him unashamedly, to finish her. “The question is how much passion, lust and desire can a woman stand when a man hasn’t been this…hard…hungry…and desperate, for centuries.” He flicked his index finger across her gently and she came.
His fingers slid along her slick flesh, coaxing aftershocks from her, making her feel limp…but hungry. Hungry for him to fill her and take her, hungry for his flesh and his blood, even for his gasps of passion. She wanted to devour him. Is that what I want or does he want it?
She bit his neck and his fingers hesitated for the barest second before he made a noise deep in his throat.
Her mouth went back to his, letting his tongue fuck her as she knew his cock wanted to. His fingers were still on her, stroking her, rubbing—he was going to make her come again. She began to tremble, feeling the moment of pleasure gathering within her, impossibly soon. He stroked her a little harder, a little faster and she came, the shock of it reverberating throughout her body. She hadn’t known she was one of those women. A multiple orgasm woman.
She collapsed against him and he eased his hand away from her body.
He kissed her lips, his whole body taut with arousal. Val kissed his neck again and his hand went to the back of her head, urging her mouth harder against the scratches she had made until she was sucking him harshly, harder than a hicky but not enough to draw blood.
He was trying to distract himself from what he really wanted, she could feel his desire clearly, as though he was saying the words aloud: I need to be in you. Fuck you. Claim you. Make you mine.
She reached down and grabbed his hand that was still wet from her body, pulling it between them. His eyes opened and their gazes locked.
“No.” His voice was rough and strong. Purposeful. She shook her head at him like he was a naughty child trying to deceive her. She brought his fingers closer to his mouth and he didn't stop her.
He'd stopped breathing. He was holding himself in check, no longer willing to push himself with her. Too close to losing control. He wouldn’t breathe her in, taste her or feel her anymore. He was going to leave. Sanity. That was what he fucking needed. Her fingers were hot on his hand as she brought his wet fingers to his lips.
“Is this my desire, to have you lick me off your own hand? Or yours?” Please, let it be his, she thought.
“Mine.” He said, burning frustration making his words ragged.
She should have been embarrassed by what she was doing and was sure a large part of her would be utterly mortified when this was over but that was a distant buzz in her mind, crowded out by this haze of desire, his urges overwhelming her.
“Do it. Lick me off of you.”
“No.” But he licked his lips even as he tried to pull back from her a little. She did it instead, licked his index finger that was still wet with her come then leaned forward and kissed him, her tongue sliding into his mouth, transferring the taste of herself to him.
She pulled away from him and his eyes were closed, brow furrowed as though in pain or deep concentration. “It's a hold on me. This binds me to you. It’s not a game. Your essence, body and blood, all of it will link us together.” The words were slow and pulled from him, weak sounding.
Despite the words, his emotions and desire urged her on, negated them, overwhelming her with his need to have her and absorb her. He was worried about being bound to her, but lured to it as well.
She couldn't think beyond his desire. She felt like a devil and enjoyed it. “You want to be bound to me,” she whispered. “That’s your secret, isn’t it, Lucas? This is what you want more than anything in the entire world. My taste, in you, tying you to me.”
She still held his hand between them but he pulled it away easily and rubbed his hand along his pants furiously, wiping her off of him.
His voice was harsh and tightly leashed. “Do not play with me.”
She felt his desire disappear like swiping an eraser across a chalkboard. Gone.
“I must go, this is reckless.” He stalked towards the door, the hard bulge of his erection in his slacks drawing her attention.
It probably wouldn’t have fit anyway.
“Valerie. This is the peril of an empath, getting swept away by another's emotions. You must guard yourself against everyone.” He shook his head, staring at the floor and pacing.
Lucas paced?
“My...want of you is too strong, it could overwhelm you and rebound back to me if we are not careful Valerie. Do you understand what that means? You could act not because you desire something but because another does. You might commit any number of sins only to recoil in horror when the emotion has passed.”
Was he saying her feelings for him were not real? “So you took advantage of me?” She felt the rise of some sharp emotion in him, it stabbed at her and then was gone, shut down again.
“If I were a different man you'd be lying under me and screaming my name. Do not underestimate your own desire. It is a testament to my strength that we are conversing at all.”
“This is why I react to you so strongly, because I'm an empath and you are— what — powerful?”
He took a moment to answer. “The lust is your own but your reaction to my own desires has grown since I fed you.”
“For how long?”
Again he paused as though considering his answer carefully. She wanted to kill him for taking so long. “I am not fully healed from yesterday. In a day or two I will be whole and that should be enough for me to prevent,” he threw her an irritated glance, “this, from happening again.
Bad Valerie, no more orgasms for you. That’s good, right? Val frowned. “So you think you can block it from me?”
“I do.”
She thought of something important, “Does being an empath affect my humanity in anyway? Am I even human?” She felt sick just asking the question. He took a breath and she wondered if he could feel the pain the question caused.
“You are human. Being an empath has never made a noticeable impact upon humans. They have no susceptibilities to empaths nor empaths
to them as far as I am aware. You get no extra strength or powers, no longevity or protection.
“What do I get? Sounds like a bum gig so far. How do you know for sure that I even am one?”
“If this were five hundred years ago it would give you safe passage among the Fey, vampires and wolves. You would be sought after and involved in our...politics. But the wolves and Fey are probably gone so your only appeal is to vampires. Young vampires still have emotions thus your impact is limited. The older and more powerful a vampire is the more...interesting you become. Your kind was a moral compass. I've seen an empath kill a vampire from emotions, drive them to suicide. Or inspire them, give them joy and passion. It can be a wondrous thing.”
“Can I do that? Is that why you don't want my blood?”
He made a dismissive gesture as though it were irrelevant. “Do not get ahead of yourself. I need to tell you what is occurring before I leave. A Challenge has been called. Any vampire who seeks to take my place must answer and be victorious.”
“There is going to be a fight for control of the vampires?”
He agreed with a slight movement of his head.
“When?”
“Tonight.”
Her mouth dropped open. “Why so soon? Why not wait until you have your power back?”
“That is not possible. Marion attacked me in the open. My supporters fled. It is too tenuous to wait.”
“What happens if you lose?”
He actually smiled at her. Like a parent to a child, a reassuring smile. It was sincere and she could see little lines appear at the corners of his eyes, laugh lines bracketing his mouth, as though he’d smiled a lot as a human. “A fair contest is impossible for me to lose. That is why Marion attacked me as she did.”
“Why would she go along with a Challenge if she cannot win?”
“I suspect she believes she can.” He looked mildly disgusted with himself. “Vampires are very hierarchical, they do not respond well to chaos and change. Things are unsettled. The Challenge is designed to settle leadership disputes quickly.”
“What am I supposed to do?” she asked worriedly.
“Nothing. This has nothing to do with you. I only wanted you to know that when we next meet your safety will be assured. This situation will be resolved. I will be unavailable for a few days.”
He turned and walked to the door, unlocking it. “Why are you leaving that way? Shouldn’t you just poof on out of here.”
He paused, one large hand on the door handle. “I shall try to conserve as much strength as possible for the Challenge.”
“You said it was nothing to worry about. I didn’t realize dematerializing took that much strength.”
“I do not know how many Challengers there will be and who is still loyal to me, if any of the vampires are. It could be a long contest. Why tempt fate?” He said, closing the door behind him.
She wanted to tell him to wait, to stay and explain more but part of that was the lust talking and the other part of it was because she was afraid for him. And that was stupid.
She'd watched him talk and could barely listen she was so desperate to let him take her. All the kissing and fondling had only made the craving for him worse. It was like giving a hungry person a bowl of soup, really good soup, but then not having a main course.
She really wanted the main course.
But maybe she didn't. Maybe it was just him who wanted her and his feelings made her feel lustily psycho.
She shivered at the memory of how much he'd desired her. How she'd been able to feel him holding himself back. The strength of his control had been an aphrodisiac. She'd wanted to know what was under that, see what he would do if he decided to simply give in and do what he wanted.
Val took a shower, instantly feeling half of her energy go down the drain. She was exhausted mentally and physically. Her father was gone. She was an empath. Lucas might die. She had almost slept with him. Jack knew something was going on.
How many of those things could she actually control? She laughed weakly, struggling to turn off the water she was so wiped out. None of it. She had no control over her those things. Everything happened to her. That was her life. She needed to make her own decisions. Be her own person. Maybe there is a book for that.
Maybe things would be better when she was stronger. Perhaps she could resist better when she was healed. If she could just stay away from Lucas for a little while she'd have a chance to regroup and see what was real, and what was the blood.
She crawled under the stiff sheets and closed her eyes, sleep instantly there to drag her under.
Her body jerked, as though she'd been about to fall and reacted involuntarily.
What if Lucas died? All because of Marion, whom he seemed to hate. But if he did hate her, then why had he allowed Marion to live for so long? She’d spoken of him like they’d been lovers for centuries. What was she to him? She wanted to know. Then she was dreaming about walking on a bridge.
This isn’t my dream.
It was nighttime and cold. She could see a woman coming towards her. Tall, thin and hard, long dark hair cascading around her shoulders, a child in her arms.
Marion.
Not a dream, a memory.
She was on a bridge in London, watching Marion through Lucas’ eyes.