“Parker,” Walter warned. He was taking this asshole’s side over hers?
“Who are you?”
“This is the director of Seer Affairs. Just over a week from now, he’ll be attending the celebration for the Treaty of All Races and thought it prudent to bring a historian along as his date.”
“His date?” As curious as she was to witness the once-per-century event, she couldn’t put up with this guy for fifteen minutes. Make that thirty seconds, because that was how long it had taken him to piss her off. “No.”
“It’s not optional, Parker. It’s an honor.” He turned to the director. “She’ll be prepared, sir.”
“If she screws this up, it will cause more than a blemish in her employment file.”
As if she didn’t know that. The amount of patience and understanding a room full of supers had could probably fit into her ‘I love history because you weren’t there’ coffee cup.
“See that she’s dressed appropriately. Her hair needs to be away from her neck, and she shouldn’t wear any strong fragrances.”
He looked at her but spoke to Walter, as if she wasn’t actually in the room, or couldn’t understand English. Hopefully, he’d pretend she didn’t exist at the celebration, too.
She bit her tongue, knowing if she said what was on the tip of it, he might want to stay and argue. The less time she spent with the arrogant SOB, the healthier it was for everyone.
“Make sure she understands what her role is to be,” the director said on his way out the door.
“Why me, Walter?” she asked. She looked down the table to all the other assistant historians who had envy in their eyes.
“The other guests will all have diversions.”
Ugh. Diversions—the most incredibly inaccurate job title ever created. “Then maybe he should take a toy too.” Even if some toys thought the job perks were worth the price they paid for them, they knew exactly what a ‘diversion’ was.
“He’s taking you, and I’m done talking about it. Pick up a nice dress at this place.” He handed her a card. “Do your hair and look happy to be there.”
“I thought you were done talking about it,” she grumbled.
“Parker!”
She’d never tire of the way he screamed her name. “Fine. I’m taking the rest of the day and tomorrow off to go to”—she read off the card—“‘Tucson’s.’ Should I tell them to bill you or the department?”
“Get out.”
“Thanks, Walter.” Okay, so maybe it wasn’t all bad news in the Histories Department.
Twenty
While Addison slept, Rhyse entered her mind and saw enough to get her killed before he was pushed out. But he saw nothing of her vision. The fear of her new reality had been obvious before she collapsed, her grief evident in every expression and phrase. Since then, it showed in her restlessness, in her intermittent cries and whimpers, in the jerks of her arms as if she were trying to fight off something in her dreams. When her entire body began to tremble, he tried to still the shaking by placing his hands on her. She clung to him for hours, never waking, never letting go.
The difference between the rude, irreverent woman he’d met to this broken soul moved Rhyse. She was real. But she believed what she’d said. She would realize the truth soon enough.
He fed her when she woke—telling her when to chew and when to take another bite—before tucking her in again and letting her sleep. Unfortunately, in doing so, he felt his bond with her grow. Quickly, with no blood exchange to blame.
That bond made him weak, against her and for her. Once he reclaimed his position, he would remove himself from the situation entirely. With enough time, the ridiculous emotions would fade and then be forgotten. Someone he trusted would watch over her and make sure she never used her power.
But if she couldn’t recover, if she went mad and was left unchecked, she could end the Highworld. One small woman with the potential to take out hundreds of thousands of beings, until one of them took her out. If she truly threatened all supernaturals, Rhyse would do what was necessary. What he should do right now.
Soon she would wake again and want to leave. He would let her go once she had aided him. Returning to his position and the Council was the only way to control the zone and the only way to keep her safe. But first, he needed her help to ferret out who had wielded the silver-encrusted stake.
Very ironic. To keep her safe, he had to put her in danger. But not until she settled into her new self. He would guide her into this new life, just as his sire had for him. Without guidance, fledgling vampires commonly died quickly or went insane. Rhyse would teach her to live and teach her to kill—the two things necessary in their world, one begetting the other.
“What time is it?” she asked, stretching her arms above her head.
“Daytime.”
“More specifically?”
“I do not know. Other than dusk and dawn, time has little importance to me.”
“Must be nice. How many dusks and dawns have I slept through?”
“Three.”
“Shit. I’m totally fired.” She closed her eyes again, groaning. “Doesn’t really matter anymore anyway, does it?”
“That is something we can discuss later. Once you are out of bed.”
“I had the most horrible dream—you were actually being nice to me.”
He grimaced. “Sounds detestable. I am surprised you did not scream in your sleep. Or perhaps you did and, sadly, I missed it.”
“You weren’t here the whole time?”
Almost. “I have far better things to do than stare at a human.”
“I’m not human.”
He nodded in agreement. “Yet you act like one.”
She looked ashamed, avoiding his gaze. “You mean I’m weak.”
He stopped himself from saying no—what he’d meant was that she could laugh and cry and love.
“I have all the weakness of a human and none of the benefits of being a super. Dang, if things get any better I’m going to start believing in angels and demons, maybe even fairies.”
“No one believes in fairies. They are far too flaky.”
She shot up. “That was a joke. You just made a joke.”
“Yet you are not laughing. Am I required to threaten you to make that happen?”
“Ah! There’s another.” She laughed. “Not a great one, but I appreciate the effort.”
“I suppose this means you feel better.” He sat on the other side of the bed.
“Like I haven’t gotten out of bed for three days.”
“Does that mean ‘better’?”
She nodded. “Not sure how much, but at least I feel well rested. And I’m not bawling like a baby anymore, so that’s something.”
“You are much stronger than I originally thought.”
“Whatever,” she mumbled, her eyes dimming. “Did you sleep?”
“I do not require it.”
“Ever?”
“It is enjoyable, though not necessary.”
“Wow. You’re so old.”
“Was that meant as an insult?”
“No.”
“Are you still angry with me?”
“Yes.”
“I would take you home as soon as the sun sets, but I still need your assistance with something that will benefit us both.”
“Sure it will.” She looked at the nightstand and picked up a piece of fruit from the tray he’d brought her. He’d fed much of it to her earlier, watching it pass her lips, envying a plant product. “Did I eat this?”
“And more.”
“What is it?”
“It is a Mexican guava.”
“It’s actually from Mexico, isn’t it?”
“The closer to the equator, the less likely one is to run into other supernaturals.”
“Thanks.” She put it in her mouth. “It’s really good.”
“I have also hired a servant who can go into town, if you need anything else.”
“I
could use a toothbrush,” she said, covering her mouth.
“That I have. Because there is no running water or electricity here yet, she has drawn you a bath. I will have the utilities taken care of as soon as possible.”
“Did you…drink from her?”
He shook his head. “I had Mexican.”
“That’s so fucking gross.”
“I must have blood to live, and the humans do not remember it. You saw me feed. Did those women seem discontented?”
“Just spreading the contentment to as many people as possible then, aren’t you?” she asked flippantly.
“I do not have to explain my actions to you, nor do I regret them.” He stood to leave, not wanting to argue, especially with someone as willing to do so as Addison.
“Wait!” she called, as if she wanted him to remain with her. “How long has it been since anyone lived here?”
“Approximately fifty years.”
“It’s in pretty good shape, then. There’s not even any dust. Vamp or otherwise.”
He grimaced, disgusted. “Is that what you call our remains? Dust?”
“Gee, I hope you’re not offended, Rhyse.” The shyness in her eyes was gone, replaced with anger. “Because we also use it as a verb—dusting, dusted, dusts—”
“Enough. It is terrible regardless of how it is used. As for the house, a caretaker comes by once or twice a year. You are fortunate he was here recently or there would be a lot of…dust.”
“Well, I sure as shit feel fortunate. Imagine how much it would suck if my prison cell was subpar.”
“This is not a prison. Believe me, I will toss you out the moment it becomes possible.”
“Then it’s a holding cell.”
“If you desire to call it such.” He felt her anger bloom, make her brazen, foolhardy.
“The last thing I remember desiring was that you’d dust in my bed.”
“There are far better things to desire me to do in your bed than dust.” Despite the sexual component of his comment, it was spoken in response to her growing agitation. He held her eyes so tightly she couldn’t look away. “I seem to remember being strapped down, but in an entirely…subpar way. Would you be more comfortable if I chained you to the headboard?”
“Oh no you don’t,” she spat. “This is not about kink, and it’s not about payback. You tell me right now if that was a mistake.” Her rage made her reckless. She knew what he was, the danger of pushing him too far, and she continued to press. “Before you knew what I was, would you have sucked me dry if you’d been able to get off that bed? Did those stupid chains keep you from killing me?” She raised onto her knees, her fists clenched around nothing. Powerless yet still willing to fight. “Tell me!”
“Yes.” The word wasn’t shouted, but it was as close as Rhyse remembered ever hearing come from his mouth. “Yes. To everything. I would have. I would have fed from you and heard you orgasm, and I would not have stopped.” And if she wasn’t dat vitae, if he could drink from her, even now he wasn’t sure he could stop. He ached to taste her, to be inside her, so badly he struggled to contain it. The effects of the few drops of her blood were nothing compared to this.
They stared at each other, the air between them volatile. If either of them moved, he knew exactly the direction it would be in. Like two asteroids, they’d successfully avoided each other thus far. Because if they collided, one or both of them wouldn’t be able to walk away.
The wood of the footboard gave beyond repair under his fingers, breaking the intensity of emotion and allowing him to think instead of simply react. There was no contest here, no question of dominance; therefore, he lost nothing by turning his back on the useless conversation. “Once you have eaten and bathed, we will discuss what you are to do.”
“Can you give me a hint as to what that is?” she said. “You already have someone who cleans and since you don’t eat, you don’t need a cook, so…”
“You will listen to what I say when I say it, and then you will follow my orders. Your only choice is whether you do it with a gag or without.” The door cracked as he slammed it behind him.
Twenty-one
Addison flinched when the door broke. That could’ve just as easily been her. Yelling at a vamp won the prize for Best Way to Cause Your Own Murder. But she needed to know she’d done something right. What she hadn’t expected was to see regret on his face. His eyes looked more haunted than they had before he brought her here. She’d snapped at him to protect herself, to push him away. Because she was more terrified now than she’d ever been, and it had nothing to do with death.
Wake the fuck up. He was a vamp. She was a plaything. A screwed-up plaything who he’d just admitted planning to drink for dinner. Had anything changed, besides the fact that he couldn’t drink her blood?
She crawled out of the massive bed and looked down at herself. Bra and panties. She couldn’t imagine Rhyse taking off her pants but leaving her underwear on. Or not completely shredding it.
Damn. Now she couldn’t stop picturing how it might have happened. “It was the woman he hired. For sure.”
She walked right by the low table at the foot of the bed, purposefully not looking at the pile of clothes that hadn’t been there a few days ago. She wasn’t going to wear them, whatever they were. Because she wasn’t a goddamn toy he got to dress up.
When she saw the steam coming from the tub, she almost felt bad. Almost, because after she ripped off her underwear and sank into the water, she’d never felt better. She tried not to think about the poor woman who’d probably melted the snow in a pot over the fire and then lugged it up here in fifteen trips. “I hope he’s paying her really, really well.” Addison would have to find her and thank her. Really soon.
But not right now.
“I hope you have died in there,” he shouted, his feet stomping up the stairs in a decidedly un-vampire-ish way. Her eyes popped open, and she jumped out of the water. “Because I see no other reason to keep me waiting this long.” Rhyse burst through the door before she’d even unfolded the towel. “Why—”
Evidently, the sight of her bare ass had shocked the condescension right out of him.
She wrapped the towel around herself and, after gathering enough courage, turned around. His eyes were too intense and there was a very large bulge in his pants, so she looked at his shoes.
“There is clothing laid out for you. Put it on and come downstairs. Now.”
She followed him into the bedroom. “Where are my clothes?”
“In the fireplace.”
“You burned my clothes?”
“We were out of kindling. But do not worry, more is being gathered.”
“Bastard.”
He crossed the room in three steps until he towered over her. She had to look straight up to see his eyes. “Did you say something, Addison?” Telling the truth was rarely the best idea in the Heights.
“No,” she said on an exhale.
“If you were any other being, you would already be dead,” he snarled. “Multiple times. Unfortunately, as unpleasant as it is for both of us, there is still something you need to do. Therefore, if you call me that again, I will bend you over my knee until you learn how to behave.”
Shit. Part of her was tempted to say it again. Not to check if he was bluffing, but because he’d bend her over.
That’s so wrong. “I’m not going to wear what you got me.”
“Then take good care of that towel because you will be wearing it for quite some time.”
She ducked around him and went to the clothes, tossing them onto the bed one by one. “It’s all leather, Rhyse. I don’t wear leather because it makes noise. Cotton doesn’t. Polyester doesn’t…unless it’s the hard and cheap stuff, I guess.”
“I believe that is vinyl.”
“Always? I’m sure it comes crinkly.”
He sighed. “Why are we discussing this?”
“I’m guessing the thing you want me to do is something like spying on someone you
can’t spy on yourself. Like in daylight. And I can’t sneak around if my pants make noise every time I move. So thanks but no thanks, because I don’t feel like dying. Of course, if you bought some stretch-knit leggings and a t-shirt, I’d be happy to wear them.”
He looked like he was about to vomit. “I would never, ever buy you stretch-knit pants. In fact, the mere thought of it will give me nightmares.”
“Then I guess I’m wearing the towel.”
“Put on the clothes.”
“Take me back to my apartment and I’ll wear all the leather you want.”
“As tempting as that sounds,” he said gruffly, “what I want requires no clothing at all.”
Her breath was heavy as they stared at each other, waiting for the other to give in or make the first damning move. Sadly, she couldn’t think of a single reason not to have sex with him. She knew it would be amazing, surreal, satisfying. It might even relieve all this tension so they could move past it. But there was a good chance she would never be able to move past it. All it would do was solidify the totally insane feelings that were currently bouncing around her head with absolutely no truth to attach to.
He’d tried to kill her—you’d think that would be a deal breaker. But he hadn’t, and now she knew he didn’t plan to. He’d fed her and helped her and was occasionally nice. Those were all good things. Great things. Impossible-to-imagine-in-their-world things.
She wanted to trust him and be protected and…even stupider things. Having—incredible—sex with him might ground those feelings, give them something to hold onto…like hope. Then they would multiply all the way up to the moment they destroyed her. And if she was still alive, he would go on and she would stay behind, haunted by the knowledge that she’d known what would happen from the very beginning, a time when she could have stopped it.
“I told you, the timeline has changed, buddy. It’s not gonna happen.”
“If that is what you truly believe, then you should probably get dressed before the temptation overwhelms me. I am not a patient being.” This time he didn’t slam the door on his way out. Because he didn’t use the door.
“Lucky bastard,” she mumbled. And then she got dressed.