Night's Honor

by Thea Harrison

  He promised, Soon as I’m on my feet, I’ll go after her.

  No, you won’t, Julian growled. His grip tightened on Xavier’s. Not this time. I’ve sent you on the hunt for me countless times over the years, but Justine is my issue to handle. No one attacks my progeny and lives.

  As Julian stood, Xavier opened his eyes. Looking up at his sire and king, he said, Good hunting.

  Julian touched his shoulder. Get better. And watch your back.

  Always.

  After ten more minutes, the paramedic announced Xavier was stable enough to be moved. Pain still wracked his body, but he refused to go to the hospital. Now that he had survived past the magic hour, there was nothing the hospital could do for him, anyway, except to offer him fresh blood, and he could get that need met in the comfort of his own home.

  They transported him to his town house in the ambulance. He refused to let go of Tess’s hand, so she rode with him. She looked horrific. Blood soaked her everywhere, and her face was tight and pale with exhaustion and stress, her eyes lined with dark circles.

  He had never seen anyone or anything so beautiful.

  He must have closed his eyes and dozed, because the next thing he knew, the medics were pulling the stretcher from the ambulance. Tess stayed by his side as they took him inside and down the main stairway to the master suite belowground.

  He wasn’t tracking what happened very well, because Raoul wasn’t present—but then suddenly he was.

  “He needs to take it easy for a few weeks,” one of the medics told them. He met Xavier’s eyes. “You survived, but that doesn’t mean the poison is gone. It’s going to take several days for it to fully flush out of your system. The best thing you can do is force liquids.”

  “Understood,” Xavier said.

  Raoul slid an arm under his shoulders and eased him off the stretcher. When he made as if to help Xavier to his king-sized bed, Xavier resisted.

  “No. Take me to the bathroom.”

  “Xavier, it doesn’t matter right now if you’re clean or not.”

  “It matters to me, damn it.” He looked for Tess, who hovered nearby anxiously. “Help me into the shower?”

  She came forward quickly and slipped an arm around his waist. “Of course.”

  He limped with her into the bathroom.

  He liked his comforts, and his bathroom reflected that. It was spacious, with a walk-in shower and a large sunken tub with Jacuzzi jet heads. After a quick glance around, Tess said, “I don’t think we should try the shower.”

  He didn’t disagree. Even with her support, he was shaky on his feet, and the muscle cramps kept hitting him unexpectedly.

  She helped him into the tub, and he stripped off his soiled, blood-soaked clothing while she turned on the water, checked the flow and adjusted the faucets. “Climb in,” he said. “You too.”

  He thought she might argue, but she didn’t. She stripped off her filthy clothes, dropped them into the pile with his and climbed into the tub. For a while, they just soaked, and he grew more comfortable as the warm water eased his muscle cramps.

  He stroked her back, following the delicate ripple of her spine. God, he loved her body, her sleek skin, those gorgeous legs, the soft swell of her pink-tipped breasts. He loved the cranky, vulnerable look in her eyes.

  Scooping up a handful of warm water, he wiped at her streaked face. “You saved my life,” he said quietly. “Thank you.”

  Her face moved. She took hold of his forearms and checked the wounds at his wrists. They had already closed over, but the marks where she had cut him were still long, red and angry-looking. Tracing one of them with a forefinger, she said, “You saved my life too.”

  “We saved each other.” With a deep sense of relief and fulfillment, he pulled her into his arms. She hugged him back tightly, and they rested together.

  He disconnected again, and only woke up when she let out the tub of rusty-looking water and ran more. Matter-of-factly, she poured shampoo into one hand and worked it through his hair. As her slender fingers massaged his scalp, he let out a low sound of pleasure and went boneless.

  Suds slipped down his chest and shoulders, and spread over the water’s surface.

  Scooping up fragrant handfuls, he washed her all over, relishing the feel of her silken wet skin and slippery body. Her breasts filled his hands beautifully. Obsessed with touching her, he massaged them and rubbed his thumbs over her nipples, watching the plump, succulent peaks of flesh pebble under his touch. She stopped washing his hair and held his hands against her, her eyelids drifting closed as she let him play with her.

  The arousal was there—it couldn’t help but be there. She was too vital, too sexy, and he wanted her too much. His hard cock brushed against the side of her thigh. But he ignored it. Instead, he laced his fingers through hers.

  Her eyes opened. When she saw the look on his face, she asked softly, “What is it?”

  He looked at her soberly. “Did Diego say anything to you before he died?”

  Her mouth tightened. “Yes. He was working with Justine. He said he thought she wanted you to come into the city so she could try something in Evenfall. He said he wouldn’t have done it, if he’d known we were going to be attacked, and he said he was sorry.”

  His eyes grew damp.

  Her tired expression changed drastically, and she straddled him to wrap her arms around his neck, embracing with such fierceness, he wrapped his arms around her waist and held on.

  He pressed his face against her. “I’d known for a while he wasn’t happy. I should have done something sooner. I should have talked to him.”

  “Don’t you dare try to make what happened your fault,” she whispered.

  “But it is partly my fault, querida,” he said. “I should have seen this coming.”

  “No. I don’t buy it.” She shook her head and told him in a harsh voice, “Lots of people get restless, and they might not be entirely satisfied with their lives, but that doesn’t mean they go out and betray someone, or put somebody in danger. They cope with what’s in their lives. That’s what adults do. Diego knew Justine was dangerous, but he made a deal with her anyway. He had perfect health, and he was strong and smart. He could have gone anywhere or done anything else, or he could have just hung out and enjoyed his easy job and the sunshine. But instead of counting up all the good things he had going for him, he was greedy, lazy and selfish.”

  As she fell silent, he said against her skin, “I guess you have strong feelings about it.”

  “I guess I do,” she muttered. “I’m sorry, but if he wasn’t already dead, I’d probably shoot him myself.”

  He didn’t want to smile, but he did anyway. She was bloodthirsty, his Tess, and he discovered he liked that very much.

  “Thank you,” he said, more seriously. “Your words mean more than I can say. I’ll have to think about this. It may take me a while to put what happened to rest.”

  “That’s because you like to think about things.” She scowled. “Me, I like numbers. They’re so much easier to understand than people.”

  She looked so adorable he had to kiss her. When he did, her lips felt so amazing, he had to deepen the kiss. He slanted his mouth over hers, again and again, eating at her like a starving man who had been brought to a banquet.

  Throughout every moment of the fight, he had known where Tess was. No matter how far away he had gone—yards away, to either end of the alley—he had obsessively tracked every movement she had made.

  He had known when she had stepped out of the SUV and crouched between the limited shelter of the two open doors. He had tracked every time she had brought up her rifle and shot, and he had been very aware of the moment she chose to slip around the rear passenger door to Diego, because that had left her exposed to an attack from behind the SUV.

  He had changed his fighting strategy accordingly, shiftin
g his attention to the attackers coming up from the rear, because none of those bastards were going to get near her. Not while he was around to have anything to say about it.

  And he had known when Diego had gotten shot. Even through the firefight and other sounds of battle, because of his extraordinary hearing—and because of the bond that existed between patron and attendant—he had been all too aware of Diego’s struggle for breath in those last few moments of his life.

  Maybe he could have gotten back to the SUV in time to save Diego. A strong influx of Vampyre blood might have stopped the internal bleeding. Maybe they could have held back their attackers through firepower alone.

  It had been a judgment call. Decisions in fighting were always judgment calls.

  But in the space of a few fleeting moments, he had decided against it. He had traded the possibility of saving Diego’s life for the certainty of saving Tess.

  And if he had to do it all over, he would do it again. In the deepest privacy of his soul, down at the bottom of a well where no one else could hear him, the part of him that had weighed life and death decisions over the last several hundred years took her life and weighed it against all else.

  Life became simple from that point on, because Tess had to live. No matter who else died, or how much damage he had to inflict on the world around him—Tess had to live.

  “Come on,” she whispered against his mouth. “Let’s get you to bed.”

  “And you,” he murmured. He sank one hand into her damp hair and tightened it into a fist. “I’m not letting you go this time.”

  She didn’t protest his possessive hold. Instead she smiled. “I’m good with that.”

  Leaving the tub, she went to the closet and pulled out a handful of towels. She hovered near his elbow as he climbed out, but he steadied himself against the nearby sink and waved her away.

  Toweling dry, he left his hair damp, and when she came to him, he wrapped an arm around her shoulders, leaning on her for support again as they went into the bedroom. She pulled back the covers, and gratefully, he sank down onto the mattress. She joined him, and, putting his arms around her, he pulled her damp body next to his.

  Their legs entwined, and the sensation of her naked body against his was as sacred as anything he had ever experienced.

  Running his fingers along the wings of her collarbones, he said, “You haven’t told me how you are doing.”

  “I’m fine. I’m tired.” She shook her head, the silky damp tips of her hair clinging to her skin. “I’m not fine—I’m not fine at all. Jesus Christ, Xavier, I went an entire hellish hour waiting for you to disappear and turn into dust. I held your head between my hands, and all I could think of was how you might vanish into thin air at any moment. I think I’m still screaming inside my head.”

  As her face twisted, he pulled her onto him and held her tight. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “It’s okay now. It’s going to be okay.”

  “I know that,” she snapped, as the tears spilled down her face. “I don’t have to be rational, or in control right now.”

  “Of course you don’t.” He stroked her hair, her shoulders, the beautiful hourglass curve of her back.

  She mashed her mouth against his, but her emotional distress was too apparent for him to smile at the lack of finesse. Instead, he made a low, soothing sound at the back of his throat and cradled her.

  “I didn’t know you two months ago. When I first met you at the Vampyre’s Ball, all I could think of was how easy it would be for you to rape me and drain me of my blood.”

  He pressed his lips against the delicate, vital pulse at her neck. “Not easy,” he murmured. “Impossible.”

  “The first time I walked into your study, I was terrified.” Her tear-starred eyes were filled with incredulity. “Now I can’t imagine what I would do without you somehow in my life.”

  Possessiveness stirred. Gripping her by the hips, he pressed his erection against her. “I am not somehow in your life,” he growled. “I am very much more than somehow in your life. You are in my bed. You have found your way into my heart, and I am in yours. Admit it.”

  Her gaze widened, and inexplicably, she calmed down. She muttered, “I guess you never know when the medieval Spanish nobleman might surface.”

  “He is always here,” Xavier told her. “And he has fallen in love with you.” He whispered, barely audible against her skin. “He’s waiting for you to join him.”

  Her response was immediate, and passionate. “I am. I have. I’m here too.”

  That was all he needed to hear. He pulled her down and took her mouth. Urgency drove him. He needed to go deep inside of her, and he speared her with his tongue. A raw moan broke out of her. It sounded so needy and shaken the instinct to cover her vulnerability from the world took precedence over everything else.

  He rolled with her until he had her pinned underneath him, and she readily parted her legs to cradle him with her strong, sleek thighs.

  Then something else occurred to him. He lifted his head and said with surprise, “I bit you.”

  She blinked, awareness showing through the arousal that flushed her face. One corner of her mouth lifted in a remarkably shy smile. “Yeah, you did.”

  Stroking her torso from breast to hip, he checked her neck. Aided by the properties in his bite, the small wounds had already healed. He asked, “How do you feel about it?”

  She hesitated, thinking, as she turned her head to press her lips against his bicep. “It can be like a drug, can’t it?”

  “Yes,” he said, turning guarded. “It can be. Some grow addicted to it.”

  Her gaze focused on him. “I would never let anyone else do such a thing to me,” she said. Her voice had turned crisp and decisive. “I would never let them take blood from me like that, or let myself feel that kind of—dangerously meaningless euphoria. I would never give them that kind of power over me.”

  His jaw tightened. He couldn’t fault her in the slightest for saying any of it. “I see,” he said. “I’m only sorry you had to do it the way you did, and I’m grateful you were willing to do it to save my life.”

  A frown appeared between her slender eyebrows as she studied him. A corner of her mouth lifted. She told him, “You did hear what I said, didn’t you? I wouldn’t let anyone else bite me. But you . . . Xavier, I loved it with you. I do trust you, and I loved giving you something so important.”

  The invisible band that had begun to tighten around his chest eased, and warmth, heat and light flooded him. He caressed the tender skin at her temple with his lips. He whispered, “Thank you for giving it to me.”

  Her expression gentled. “Even at your worst, you were reluctant to do it, and you stopped almost immediately.” Hesitating for a moment, she murmured, “Can you do it again—now that we’re safe?”

  The thought of sharing something so powerful with her made him close his eyes. He pressed his forehead to her shoulder as his whole body pulsed with desire. “I could,” he muttered. If anything, his penis grew even harder, and he felt like he was on fire. Without his conscious volition, his fangs descended. He managed to say, more or less coherently, “I wouldn’t have to take any more blood.”

  Lifting her head, she whispered in his ear, “So, bite me.”

  She deliberately used the same words and inflection from the first time, but then, she had been defiant and afraid. Now, the way she said them was in a soft, sensual invitation, and they sent him tumbling back deep into the well in his soul, which filled with fire.

  Growling low in his throat, he nipped at the soft, fleshy part of her shoulder, and his fangs penetrated her skin. Only lightly—he would not bite deep—but it was enough to let the smallest trickle of her blood flow onto his tongue.

  The pure power of it flooded him, such precious, beautiful life. It was a blood covenant unlike any other that he had experienced, given from love to love
.

  A shaking groan left her parted lips. She arched up to his mouth, whispering, “Oh, my God. My God.”

  A demon overtook him. He growled in her head, You’ll never give this to anyone else. Never give it to anyone but me.

  Of course, she had already said it, but no matter how ridiculous it was, he had to demand it.

  “Never,” she gasped.

  I want you so much, you make me die a little, he muttered. He ran his hands all over her, greedy to experience everything at once.

  “What?” Her head twisted on the pillow, eyes bewildered and glazed. “I don’t understand what you’re saying.”

  Dimly, he realized he had lapsed back into his native tongue, but he was so twisted up with the intensity of his need, he couldn’t find his way back to speaking English again.

  He gave up on the effort and praised the texture of her skin, the perfection of her lips, which grew swollen and moist from his kisses.

  The taste of her skin, the softness of her breasts.

  The beauty in her eyes. The strength in her spirit.

  He slid down her body to lavish all of his attention on her breasts. Her nipples pebbled underneath his mouth as he suckled at her. He drew hard, raking his fingernails lightly along the length of her thigh, until she spread her legs wide and let him delve into her incredible, soft fluted flesh.

  She was so wet, so wet.

  She knotted her hands in his hair and pulled his head back up to hers. She said against his mouth, “I’ve really got to learn how to speak Spanish.”

  When she grasped his cock, he shook all over. Obeying her silent urging, he fell back against the pillows and she came up to straddle him. He cupped her breasts again as she guided him between her legs, and she rubbed the tip of his erection back and forth on her, moistening the head.

  Then she eased down, taking his stiff, hard length inside of her, and she felt so good, so tight, so absolutely, utterly perfect, he arched up to her, driving in as deeply as he could go.

  She threw back her head, flexing her torso as she braced herself with both flattened hands on his chest. Her face was flushed, her eyes closed, as she lost herself in the moment.