Strigoi
Page 10
Wrapping her hands in his hair, she imprisoned his head against her breast. Marek opened his mouth, caught a pink nipple between his teeth, fought frantically not to bite into it as he felt himself nearing his release. He managed to control his fangs, keeping them from dropping…as he kept thrusting and thrusting, forcing himself even further into her, as he neared completion.
Her hands clung to his back, fingers grasping as he pulled away, leaving her body so violently that for a startling moment everything went black, and his body spasmed. Once, twice...
He felt his entire being shatter, breaking into a thousand fluid pieces. His cry was wrenched from him, hurling itself into the air, leaving him gasping for breath. With a groan Marek collapsed in his spill as a final violent surge wrung him dry. He was unable to move, a husk of splintered flesh drained of every drop.
I’m destroyed. I’ve died. I’ll never leave this bed. He lay there, panting.
One of her hands touched his back, caressing. The other brushed against his hip. He was startled to feel his flesh quiver...and something else...
…his soul return to life once more.
With a groan he heaved himself onto his pillow, breathing into the darkness. “Ah, little one. Now I owe Madame Lubos another fee.”
“Don’t give it to Madame Lubos.”
He marveled she could be so coherent in that moment. The gods knew his mind as well as his body was still in fragments.
“If you do I’ll never see a leu of it.” She caught his left hand in her smaller one, lips brushing against his fingers where the scent of blood—her own and those he’d killed that night—still clung.
“We wouldn’t want that, would we?” Leaning over, he kissed her lightly, managing to get enough breath to say a full sentence. “Let Madame Lubos earn her own money.”
He attempted to catch his breath before speaking again. In spite of the tales the twins told as they bragged at the dinner table, he’d never believed deomi females could be so passionate or stir a man so. The aventurieri female who’d initiated him couldn’t compare to this little human. He kissed her again, rising to stare into her eyes.
The scent of her virgin sacrifice was strong, and it made him wantsomething more from her, not only the passion her body engendered but to unite with her soul. A union in every way possible.
“Let me have some of your blood,” he whispered.
“Whatever you wish, my lord.” She didn’t hesitate. “Take it.”
He lowered his head to her slender legs. He was surprised at the meager flow. He’d always believed virgins bled profusely, another sign of his ignorance. The insides of her thighs and that sweet mound were barely smeared, the sheet beneath them merely spotted. Gently, he pushed her legs apart, pressing his mouth against her damp flesh, licking away her gift to his desire.
“Oh, master...”
He lifted his head, to say, “I told you I’d a weakness for cherries, sweet, and also for cherry juice,” and smiled at his little pun as he now understood her blush at the banchet.
Her reply was an odd little giggle dissolving into a whimper as he pressed a kiss against the auburn curls, listening to her moans rise.
“You're delicious,” he told her, and settled beside her, pulling her body into the curve of his own.
He’d never felt like this before…sleepy, sated, and incredibly content. In that moment he wanted nothing more than to slip back into sleep with the girl’s body against his.
“Master!” The sudden hammering on the door jarred through them both.
“Go away.” He didn’t want to leave his bed or this peaceful moment. Nothing short of the announcement Ravagiu had been discovered would make him do so.
“Please, my lord.” Sandor’s call was urgent. “It’s Ruxanda. She’s ill.”
That was the only other thing that could take him from this delectable little human, but why did the child pick this moment to sicken?
“She’s crying and calling for you, sir.”
Settling the girl onto her pillow and away from the damp puddle on the bed, Marek kissed her eyelids. “Sleep, nurliu, and wait for me.”
With a sigh, she drifted into unconsciousness. Grimacing as the movement sent a sharp pain through his wounded shoulder, he left the bed, throwing on his robe as he opened the door.
“Did you summon Dr. Lavelle?” Marek stalked down the corridor, bare feet not making a sound, Sandor trotting at his heels.
“She forbade me, lord.” Even in his concern Sandor managed to look disapprovingly at his master’s bare feet and legs, revealed whenever the robe parted.
“Forbade you? Sandor, this is a thirteen-year-old child. She doesn’t forbid anyone. Where’s Ilona?”
The nursemaid was pacing beside the door of Ruxanda’s bedchamber. Seeing him, she paused in her frantic hand-wringing.
“Oh, my lord. She won’t let me in.” She looked at the locked door. “She wants no one, but you.”
From inside, loud sobs were punctuated by sharp groans of pain.
“What happened?”
“I don’t know.” Ilona swiped at her eyes, slinging away tears. “She drank her tea. I made the rice pillow and placed it on her belly, and she fell asleep. A few moments ago, she awoke and began crying, but when I tried to comfort he, she ordered me away, saying she wanted you and no one else to attend her.”
A sob becoming a near-shriek came from the bedroom.
“Can she be pretending? To get sympathy, because I forbade her attending the banchet?”
The sobs quieted briefly, then rose again.
“Lord, I think not,” The nursemaid shook her head. “You’ve spoiled the child, but she’s never indulged in tantrums.”
“True.” Marek made a decision. “Ilona, go to your room and rest. I’ll see to Ruxanda.”
“But, my lo—”
He held up a hand. “Whatever’s wrong, it can’t be as horrific as it sounds. I’ll discover the cause, and it’ll be all right.”
She looked doubtful.
“You’ll see.” He glanced at the old servant, who stood several feet away, looking as if he didn’t want to come near either his master or the doorway. “Keys, Sandor.”
The montant handed his master the circlet of keys, and Marek selected the one opening Ruxanda’s door.
“Go with Ilona, Sandor.”
For the servants’ benefit, he forced himself to sound composed. With a curtsey, Ilona allowed the montant to lead her away. Marek inserted the key into the lock and went in.
“Xandi?” He stopped at the foot of the bed, watching the trembling mound of bedclothes from which those heartrending sounds escaped.
“Marek?” Throwing back the covers, Ruxanda sat up, red-eyed and tear-stained. “Oh, Marek.”
“What’s all this, little one?” He walked around the bed and sat on its edge.
Instad of answering, she threw herself into his arms and began sobbing again. There was a brief jolt to his insides, sharp as the beginnings of desire. Blaming it on his recent bedding of the deomi wench, Marek ignored it. Embracing the crying child, he stroked the tangled blond curls.
“Tell me what’s the matter, sweetheart. I’ll get Dr. Lavelle.”
“No!” She pulled away, putting her hands to her face. “You mustn’t tell him, Marek. You mustn’t tell anyone.”
“Tell what? Explain what you mean and I’ll decide whether it should be kept secret or not.”
Instead of answering, she stared at her fingers, twisting them together. Marek stayed silent, letting her decide what to tell him, for now, he was certain her distress was real and not pretended.
Without looking at him, she said, in a whisper so soft he could barely hear, “Marek, I-I’m
b-bleeding.”
“Where?” Seizing her hands, he turned them over, examining both wrists, caught her chin, forcing her head back so her throat was visible. As far as he could tell, she was untouched. No fang marks or wounds of any kind.
“Not there.”
This time, her whisper was shame-filled. “I-in my privates.”
She pushed back the quilt so he could see a red splotch on her nightgown below her crotch. Marek glanced down at the chubby legs protruding from the hem of the garment. There was a thin red trickle down one ankle.
“Who did this, Xandi? Did one of the gardi…” Seizing the child by the shoulders, he shook her. “Tell me! I’ll kill him!”
“No one did it.” Her own fright increased as she realized he might punish one of the guards for something no one had done. “It just happened. Am I dying? Are my insides bursting?”
She began to sob again, pressing her face against his chest. He hugged her before pushing her away and wiping the tears from her cheeks.
“Xandi, stop crying. I don’t believe you’re dying.”
She hiccoughed, and fell silent.
“That’s a good girl. Now, tell me what happened. Exactly.”
Taking a deep breath, Ruxanda launched into a rambling explanation punctuated by attempts to keep from bursting into tears again.
“Ilona gave me my tea and brought the rice pillow. It felt so good I fell asleep, but then I woke up...and m-my stomachache was back and much worse...” She inhaled with a noisy snuffle. “…and when I sat up, between my legs was wet and I saw the b-blood.”
“You haven’t fallen on anything? No one’s touched you?” Marek was still trying to determine if one of his gardi had been fool enough to assault their master’s little sister.
“Of course not.” She gave him one of her disdainful looks. “No one touches me there, not even Ilona when she gives me my bath.”
“Xandi, I’ve no idea what’s happened.” Marek decided to admit it. “But I’ll ask Dr. Lavelle.”
“Don’t tell him, please. It’s too shameful. He might want to see and…oh, Marek, I couldn’t bear that.”
“Nonsense. Sabine delivered each of us. He’s seen us all naked from our mothers’ wombs and knows more about our bodies than we do. I’ll tell him and he’ll know what’s wrong.” He forced a hearty optimism into his voice. “Why, he probably has some powder or elixir for just this purpose.”
“You think so?” She sounded so hopeful, it was shocking.
“I know so.” Marek had no idea whether the doctor could help but he had faith Sabine would do his best. “You can’t stay in that shift,” he decided. “I’ll help you get clean and change your nightgown and then I’ll see the doctor.”
Obediently, she slid off the bed as he went to a chest and poured water into the washbowl on its top. Bringing it back, he busied himself selecting another sleeping shift from the wardrobe while Ruxanda squatted over the basin and bathed away the blood. When she’d finished, he returned the bowl to the chest and helped her put on the shift. As she removed the bloodied nightgown, he was startled to see her little breasts were swollen. Looking away as he dropped the shift over her head, he concentrated on buttoning it, speaking hastily to cover how the sight shook him.
“The sheets need to be changed. I think I can manage that without calling a servant. Why don’t you sit in your chair by the fire?”
He gestured at the old rocker. Without argument, Ruxanda climbed into it, tucking her legs beneath her. Once the bedclothes were changed and the soiled ones dropped in a basket hamper in a corner, Marek pulled a knitted shawl from another chair and wrapped it around her shoulders.
As he was tucking another across her knees, he asked with forced casualness, “Xandi, does your chest feel all right?”
“No. It’s swollen and it hurts.”
“How long has it been that way?”
“I don’t know. Several days? A week?”
Has the child actually been ill for days and I never knew? Why didn’t she say something sooner?
“And your belly? Does it still ache?”
She nodded.
Gently, he placed a hand on her stomach. It was so tense and tight, it pained him to touch it. Or was it simply that strange sensation lingering in his own gut?
Looking around, he saw the teapot sitting on the hearth. He lifted the lid. Steam rose from inside.
“The tea’s still hot. Good.” He poured some into the cup beside it and handed it to her. “Drink your tea, and I’ll speak to Dr. Lavelle. By the time you’re finished, we’ll have this problem solved.”
Although the look she gave him held more than a little doubt, Ruxanda took the cup from him and stared into it. Her lower lip trembled.
Without looking up, she whispered, “Please hurry, Brother.”
With a gentle touch to the top of her head, Marek went out.
Chapter 15
Once in the corridor, he felt the tension leaving his body. The further he got from his little sister’s room, the more at ease he felt.
At the corner of the corridor, Sandor waited for him, falling into step behind him. As they reached the turn in the hallway, Marek stopped so quickly the old montant nearly careened into him.
“There’s something I’d have you do for me, Sandor.”
“What’s that, my lord?”
“There are some empty chambers at the other end of the corridor from Dr. Lavelle’s surgery. Prepare one for the female waiting in my apartments.”
“The young lady’s staying then?”
“That she is.”
“For how long, my lord?”
“Forever.”
The montant thought a moment. “Isn’t this a little sudden, sir?”
Marek didn’t answer.
“I think it’d be best,” Sandor went on. “If I simply pay the girl her money and send her on her way.”
“She loves me, Sandor.” It was a sign of Marek’s inexperience that he believed no maiden would freely give herself to someone she didn’t love.
He continued down the hall, only to stop as he realized the thrall wasn’t accompanying him. He turned and looked back.
Sandor was staring at him, his look so surprised that was surely the reason for his unwise choice of words.
“She’s a whore. What can she know of love?”
The next moment the old man threw his hands over his face as Marek leaped at him, a blaze of red washing through his eyes. One fist came up.
“How dare you!”
“Mercy, master!” Sandor cringed. “I’m sorry.”
When the expected blow didn’t fall, he dropped his arms, gaze fixed on the floor.
“She was virgin, Sandor. She gave herself and her blood to me.” Marek spat the words. “I’ll not have even you speak of her so.”
“My lord, forgive me.” Sandor bowed penitently.
“Just remember. A tongue speaking without knowledge may find itself cut out.” Marek whirled and stalked down the hall, throwing over his shoulder, “See to my orders.”
Shaking his head, Sandor watched him go. A wave of sadness swept through him. Marek’s threat worried him, for the Master wasn’t one to mistreat his servants. Still, the ghidaj had gone through many emotional changes in the past decade.
His attitude about the girl was no less shocking.
Why am I so surprised? Both Marek’s grandfather and Lord János gave their hearts too freely to pretty faces and warm bodies.
János had proposed to Lady Anastacza after being seated next to her at a banchet. Lord Adrian merely saw a young girl during a tournament, went to her father and asked for her hand without ever having spoken to her.
Why should the young master be any different? With his lack of experience, and the heat of High Blood upon him… Sandor sighed. If only Lord Marek would listen.
He was well aware no one could tell a man in love anything unless he wished to hear it, especially not a servant, even one who’d been with the family for centuries. If the girl gave him some happiness before she stole the goldplate and ran away, perhaps that was all that mattered.
After everything that had happened, the Oracle knew the lad needed some brightness in his life.
Sighing in acceptance, Sandor hurried to carry o
ut his master’s orders.
* * *
As he climbed the three flights of stairs to the doctor’s offices, Marek found himself wishing he could’ve gotten into the restricted section of the Scholomance’s library while he was a student. In its shadowed, crowded stacks was housed the arcane Book of the Elders, possessing knowledge only those past the eighth-century mark were allowed to access, including the art of transport. Marek would’ve eventually gained that knowledge if he hadn’t left the university so early. As someone concentrating in that study, he might’ve covertly obtained it sooner.
He always regretted that lack. It certainly would come in handy now.
As it was, he simply burst into Sabine office.
“Damnation, my lord!”
Engrossed in a large medical tome, the doctor jumped with a gasp, one hand going to his heart.
“You gave me quite a fright.” He glanced at Marek’s feet. “You’re missing your house slippers. What’s the matter?”
“It’s Xandi.” Marek didn’t waste time with apologies for his appearance. “I think she’s very ill.”
“That stomach ache?” Dropping the book to the desk, Sabine stood up. “When I examined her, it didn’t appear serious.”
“Apparently you didn’t examine her well enough.” Hands on the desk’s surface, Marek leaned forward. “I just left her. The child’s distraught, nearly hysterical.” He hesitated, then blurted, “She’s bleeding, Sabine.”
“Bleeding?” The doctor backed away, one hand going to his chin. “Ah. Yes, I see. How old is she now? Twelve…thirteen? Breasts swollen, too, I’ll wager, and painful?”
He didn’t wait for Marek’s nod.
“Of course.”
“You know what’s wrong?” That was a relief. “How serious is it? What’s to be done?”
“I’m afraid I do know what’s wrong, and I agree, I should’ve been more thorough in my examination. As for what to do, there’s nothing to be done.”
“Is she going to die?” Marek fell into a chair. He made the question blunt, masking his fear.
“No, no, nothing of the sort.” Sabine smiled. “Rather she’s going to begin to live. I can imagine how frightened she must be. I didn’t think the child old enough yet, and truth be told, I actually forgot she’s deomi and not a true Strigoi. To have no one prepare her…”