Call Her Mine

Cybil seemed unaffected by his sudden irritation. She simply rubbed her face over the man’s knuckles and purred like the animal she’d become.

  A deep masculine rumble came from Isaiah’s throat. He turned his wrist and Cybil’s jaw swiftly unhinged. Her sharp teeth sunk into the male’s flesh and he grunted.

  What the hell? Torn between getting the bishop and staying to see what would happen, he gaped. Never before had he seen them interact, touch.

  Isaiah’s hips jerked forward and his breathing filled the quiet basement. Disgusting slurping and purring sounds came from his sister.

  “Cybil! Cybil, stop!”

  She didn’t even flinch. Isaiah’s head tipped back as if he were drawing insurmountable pleasure from Cybil’s touch.

  “I said stop!” Dane shouted.

  He reached down to the floor and snatched up the heavy pewter cup and lobbed it at them. Horror registered a split second later as he realized his poor aim sent the heavy cup soaring at his sister. He tensed, but just before it struck her Isaiah’s hand shot out and caught it mid-air.

  A deep, angry growl snapped through the air and Dane flinched. The male glared at him coldly, holding the cup where he’d caught it an inch from Cybil’s small face.

  With what could only be interpreted as extreme tenderness, the male withdrew his wrist from his sister’s mouth. She panted and Isaiah gently touched her jaw before extricating his arm from her cell.

  Dane’s stomach clenched. There was something very wrong with the way the male touched his sister, something not right at all. He looked at the male who was glowering at him with hard, threatening eyes. Unblinking, Isaiah held out the pewter cup and crushed the metal into dust.

  No way. No way could he be that strong. He’d been in isolation for over a year living off rationed blood. How could he have possibly kept up his strength? And if he could crumble the cup into nothing more than dust than how much were those bars really keeping him in?

  Cybil still panted. She was like an animal in heat at times, the way she simply stared and breathed hard through her teeth. Dane hated it, hated seeing her so debased.

  Again, he pointed the blame at Isaiah. If not for him, they never would have come here and Cybil never would have been hurt. She could have been a normal, happy teenager, but now, because of Isaiah, she was nothing more than an animal.

  Isaiah growled as if demanding his attention. The bars to his cell rattled and Dane’s spine went stiff. Plaster fell from the ceiling and he knew then and there that the only reason Isaiah remained in that meager cell was because he chose to. What kind of joke was this? He needed to tell Eleazar. If Isaiah escaped again it would only lead to more of a massacre than what had already been.

  Refusing to let the monster see his fear he straightened his shoulders. “The council says your last days are soon,” he lied. “It’s only a matter of time before they decapitate your ass and when they do I’m going to mount your head on my wall so I have something to spit at every day.”

  Isaiah didn’t growl or snarl. He laughed, low and manically as if he knew Dane was lying. Strangely embarrassed, Dane turned and walked toward the door. He tried to keep his steps steady and measured, so not to give away his discomfort, but that laugh only grew more outrageous. It was the laugh of a lunatic and Dane hated it, hated him.

  Chapter Six

  Warmth filled her veins and awareness swelled deep within her. Good. Hot. Fulfilling. Delilah’s mind slowly came into play as her mouth worked and her soul became revitalized. She was in a nest of comfort, snuggled somewhere between a dream and reality.

  No, wait…

  Her eyelids snapped open and she screamed.

  Christian jumped back as she wailed at him, flailing in his grip. Sticky moisture coated her chin and tongue. She gripped her belly and gagged, dry heaving over the side of the bed.

  Her shoulders were jerked back and she fought his touch. “Don’t. Touch. Me,” she wheezed. The cold, metallic taste of death was everywhere, in her sinuses, down her throat, filling her belly like bile on a rocking ship. She vomited.

  Christian’s exasperated voice filled the background behind her sobs. She wiped the back of her hand across her mouth and her eyes caught on the smear of crimson that matched the puddle on the floor. Blood. Her breath came fast, yet she could not draw in one useful gasp. She vomited again.

  “Delilah, be still, you are making a mess.”

  She jerked weakly away from his touch. Her body convulsed with shivers. How had this become her life? She wanted her old life back. She wanted to be away from this horrid place and in her old apartment where normal people existed and did normal things. She hated it here.

  No matter how much she fought off his touch, he would not leave her be. He overpowered her, pinning her flailing arms at her sides and drawing her onto his lap where he held her tight and rocked them both.

  “You needed to feed, pintura. You were beyond weak. Please stop fighting me. I was only trying to help.”

  The desperation in his voice should’ve meant something to her, but it didn’t. This was all his fault. She hiccupped on a sob and nearly gagged again at the putrid taste of blood on her tongue. “Water.”

  He lifted her off the bed and carried her to the dresser where he poured a glass of water. Her hands couldn’t seem to stop shaking long enough to hold the glass. Returning to the bed, he drew back the blood streaked sheets and sat her down. Her eyes focused on the copper soiled linens tossed in the corner on the floor. Blood.

  He tipped the cool glass to her lips and she hated needing his help. She drank slowly, but greedily, sputtering as too much worked its way down her throat. His large hand gently cupped the back of her hair.

  “Easy, pintura. Do not make yourself ill again.”

  She swallowed and he pulled the glass away. Her eyes watered and her chin quivered. She looked at him. His expression was pained with concern. She hated that beneath that stubborn façade she saw compassion.

  He lifted the glass again, but she feebly turned away and lowered her face to the pillow. He sighed.

  “You need to get over this revulsion you have toward feeding, Delilah. It is your nature and there is no use fighting what your body needs in order to sustain.”

  “I’d rather die.”

  His slow exhalation told her how much he thought about her confession. “You do not mean that.”

  She laughed without humor. “Yes. I do.”

  He stood. The glass made a quiet click as he placed it on the nightstand. “I will get clean sheets for the bed.”

  She ignored him.

  A few minutes later he returned with folded linens that smelled of fresh air and sunshine. She slid off the bed and sat on the floor, refusing to look at him as he redressed the bed. Without asking, he lifted her off the floor and sat her back on the freshly made bed, staring at her for several long moments, but she withdrew into herself. She wondered if vampyres could kill themselves.

  * * * *

  Christian sighed and stood. This was an absolute disaster. With every passing day she seemed to hate him more and more. She was doing the silent performance again. He didn’t know what he hated more, when she was a disrespectful banshee or when she ignored him completely. At his wits end, he was running out of ideas. The idea of failing where she was concerned was unacceptable.

  The sound of someone approaching his home caught his ear. So not to alert her, he simply kissed her forehead and stood. His jaw tightened when she shied from his touch. Turning, he marched out the door and shut it with a little more force than necessary. Let her sulk.

  Christian stepped through the front door and onto his porch. Dane was coming. Great. The young male seemed agitated and frightened. His paces were frantic as he approached, as if he wasn’t sure how he happened upon Christian’s doorstep.

  “Dane?”

  The boy’s eyes were frantic. “He touched her.”

  “Who touched who?”

  “That fucking beast, Isaiah, touched my sister
. She fed from him!”

  Christian frowned. Why would Isaiah do that? And how? “You saw this?”

  “Yes, I fucking saw it! He fed her! She’s sixteen! You have to do something!”

  The boy was irate. Christian kept his voice calm. “It is not my place—”

  “Bullshit! You’re an elder. You’re also her brother in case you’ve forgotten.”

  “The girl is merely my kin by blood. I have no personal interest in her.”

  Dane gaped at him. “Wow, you really are a self-serving prick.”

  Christian bristled. “Be that as it may, I will remind you that you are standing on my land. Not a wise place to toss out insults, especially for a half-breed of only twenty years.”

  The boy threw up his hands and turned. Pivoting back toward him he shouted, “Someone needs to do something! Isaiah should be dead! He killed my mom and twenty or more other innocent women. Why isn’t the council doing anything?”

  Contrary to the boy’s outraged tone, Christian calmly said, “Be careful what you set into action, Dane. If the council focuses their attention on those occupying the cells of the Safe House, it may not only be Isaiah’s presence that is brought into question. Do you wish for a decision to be made about your sister as well?”

  “She’s no longer my sister,” the boy surprised him by muttering.

  Christian frowned. Dane’s presence on the farm had never made much sense to him. He’d arrived one day and the Hartzlers had taken to him and the girl as if they were their own. Yet they were not immortal. True, years later a genetic link had been made to their kind—Christian’s blood specifically—but their presence still did not agree with him.

  They were not like the rest of The Order. Dane was more mortal than anything else. And while Cybil was now a full-blooded vampyre, she was off. Her transition had not been a natural occurrence and therefore her sire should have been punished. Yet Bishop King never seemed to mete out any kind of consequence to the Hartzler twin for bringing the girl back to life. For as much as Christian had stood on the elder’s council for nearly three hundred years, the decisions regarding the Foster children were beyond his comprehension.

  “I suggest you take your concerns to the bishop. I am occupied with more pressing issues.”

  The boy all but growled at him. His outrage amused Christian. His anger reminded him of a kitten standing up to a bullmastiff. “I also suggest you rein in your temper before it gets you into trouble. Do not forget who you are speaking to.”

  “And who is that?” the boy snapped. “As far as I can see, you’re about as useless as the rest of them.”

  “Because I do not care about your sister? I have other worries that demand my attention more than some deranged transition’s feeding habits. Better you acknowledge that she is as much your sister as she is mine, and move on with your life. There is no mending a mind as broken as hers.”

  The boy suddenly roared and lunged at Christian. Christian’s arm snapped out, sending Dane sailing to his rear in the dirt. “I believe we are finished here.” He turned to the house.

  “How’s your mate?” Dane asked snidely from the ground.

  Christian turned and sneered. “She is none of your concern. Do not be a fool and think yourself above our laws of privacy, boy. You will find yourself without a home.”

  He turned.

  “She hates you.”

  Christian’s pulse throbbed. This man-child was growing too big for his britches. Christian would not be baited by some foolish imp of a half-breed.

  “She’ll run again. I bet every possession I have on it. This time, when I see her, I’ll be sure to offer her directions.”

  A growl snapped from his chest. He pivoted and bared his teeth. “You will mind your tongue or I will relieve you of it. She is my mate and as such, your interference is a violation of our laws.”

  “The laws no one seems to follow through with? Like I care. You’re all a bunch of delusional, peace preaching disgraces as far as I’m concerned. If you asked half the members on the farm I’d bet they’d agree it’s time for a new reign.”

  Christian’s eyes widened. The boy was as out of his head as his sister. “I suggest you ask around, boy. I would be interested to see how that works out for you. Now, get off my land before I am forced to remove you.”

  Without another glance, Christian ripped open his front door and slammed it shut behind him. He would be speaking to Eleazar about this.

  * * * *

  At the sound of the door slamming, Delilah jumped back from the window and hurried to the bed. Her heart raced at the sound of Christian’s heavy footsteps climbing the stairs. She breathed and tried to calm her nerves.

  The door opened and he stilled. “Are you awake?”

  She opened her eyes but didn’t answer.

  “I want you to come downstairs with me. There are things I must show you. Enough time has been wasted and I am finished with this back and forth nonsense. You are my mate and it is time you started acting as such. How you deal with that is your business, but where I am concerned you will start doing your part. Enough is enough. I will see you in the kitchen in ten minutes.”

  The door shut with a conclusive snap.

  Well…

  Her mind reeled. Dane had said he would help her leave the next time she tried to escape. She hated trusting someone she didn’t much care for, but that seemed her best option. She should leave right now, but Christian was in a bad mood, worse than usual, and she didn’t want to press her luck.

  She didn’t know what he wanted to ‘show’ her, but she would play along for the time being until she figured out her next plan of escape. It may be in a day, it may be in a week, either way she was blowing this popsicle stand the first chance she got.

  She crawled out of bed and scowled at the door. Her hands tugged on her stupid clothing. She missed her clothes. Taking her time, she wondered through the hall and paused at the front door. Her hand reached out—

  A throat cleared and she quickly drew back her hand. The next time she made an escape it would be a successful one. She’d go see what he wanted to show her. Time seemed to stand still in this house so there was no harm in humoring the prick for a bit while she thought out her getaway.

  Delilah stepped into the simple kitchen and almost laughed at the stern set of Christian’s expression. She looked around to see if they had company, expecting that to be the only cause for his stiff mannerisms, but they seemed to be alone.

  “Good, you are here. Now, let us begin,” he said.

  Something was incredibly put on about the way he spoke to her. He was being weird—more so than usual. She silently waited to see what he had to say.

  “As I told you, the roles of male and female on the farm are strictly defined. It is a wife’s duty to tend to the household, bear and manage the children, and abide her husband’s will.”

  Oh boy.

  “The female’s tasks include cooking, cleaning, sewing and the general wellbeing of the family. I expect you to rise when I rise and become familiar with the way of our home. The husband is the patriarch of the family and as such I have final say in all matters pertaining to kinfolk and spirituality.”

  The sharp shrill of brakes screeching sounded in her head. She laughed. “Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa. Christian, I am not your wife.”

  He grimaced. “You will be.”

  “Yeah, about that…I’ve decided that’s a no.”

  He was silent for a moment and then pointed to the chair at the end of the table. “The husband sits at the head of the table as he is the head of the household. For now, I will limit your responsibilities to inside the home. However, if you do not get with child soon, your responsibilities will extend to those outside the home such as the milking of cows and—”

  “Stop!” She had to shake her head. “You aren’t listening to me. I said no. I’m not marrying you and I am not going to be some barefoot and pregnant service girl for you to bark orders at. You’re not the boss of m
e.”

  “The Good Book says the head of every man is Christ and the head of every woman is her man.”

  “What kind of fucked up fairytales have you been reading?”

  “It is in the bible,” he said simply.

  “Well that’s just peachy. I subscribe more to the book of Cosmo which says misogynistic chauvinism is best to be avoided.”

  “Cosmo?”

  “Yeah, let’s call that the Better Book.”

  He was quiet for a few minutes and then announced, “Failure to quietly submit is a denial of the culture and faith in which you are being indoctrinated into.”

  “Ex-actly. Glad you’re finally getting it.”

  “I get nothing.”

  No shit.

  “Delilah, you say you do not understand or believe these values, but they are the way of life here. I am not misogynistic. It is not subjugation I am pressing on you, but the role of equality. Our women hold a position of value unlike that of the English societies. Females are not expected to run around pretending to be men here. They are expected to be female in all things. Delicate and nurturing, we seek only your natural qualities to come into the light. You are capable of things no man could ever do. I am trying to show you how to embrace those gifts.”

  “By cleaning up after you?”

  “By caring for me.”

  “Yeah, that sounds fair. Didn’t you people ever hear of women’s lib? How about bringing in some real equality? I like being waited on as much as the next guy. You can even borrow my apron.”

  “Being equal does not necessarily mean being the same, Delilah. I am male, you are female, and we are, by God’s choice, different. It only makes sense that our roles differ as well, so that we may better channel our unique gifts.”

  All she could do was stare. He was nuts, but she already knew that. Apparently, he found her silence encouraging.

  “Around the house I expect you to be comfortable. You may go with or without shoes, but always be properly dressed outside of our bedroom. When it is just the two of us you may wear your hair down, but in the presence of others I expect you to wear your halduch, bonnet. However, if your responsibilities extend outside the four walls of our home, I shall expect you to dress properly. I would not like for other males to see your hair unadorned—”