"I am not the most savory-looking fare he's ever picked up," Dameon said to her in a low voice, a faint grin on his face. "Fortunately, we are in New Orleans and even the most disreputable can be overlooked as long as he pays."
Jen glanced at the driver, who was peering repeatedly into his rear mirror with an uneasy scowl. She'd forgotten how Dameon might look to a stranger up until now. The world might think the worst, but would never guess the truth, but that was the least of her worries. Dameon was breathing heavily, and she could tell it was taking all of his strength to sit upright. But, he's alive, she reassured herself. And he'll recover and gain strength.
She couldn't help but look back over her shoulder as they drove off for one last look at the shadowy mansion. Jen thought of what was inside, behind the charming old-fashioned façade, and shuddered. As the taxi moved on, Belle Mansion dwindled in size and receded behind the enormous, concealing trees until it disappeared altogether. She thought of Hollie and what she'd done to him and fought back a cold wave of nausea. She was a murderess.
"It will get better with time," Dameon spoke softly. He must have been feeling better, since his powers of perception were as strong as ever. "You may not forget this, but the shock will fade. You were only defending yourself, chérie. They would have killed us both, or worse." He reached to squeeze her hand.
"Just like what happened with Tatiana," she said neatly.
Dameon raised an eyebrow. "Touché."
Jen instantly felt rotten for sparring with him when he was so weak and ill. She started to apologize when the driver announced they'd reached the hotel. Jen fumbled for her purse and realized her funds were low for both taxi and hotel. She didn't have enough cash or traveler's checks on hand.
"My wallet—it's in my pocket. You can use my credit card," Dameon murmured as he slid out beside her. He braced himself against the cab as she reached in his pocket.
At least we've survived, Jen thought as she paid the driver, and we're together.
Chapter Thirty
The sun was only a thin rim of orange fanning out into a swirl of purple sky. Dameon had minutes ago surfaced from unconsciousness and now watched the night slowly take over, long, black fingers reaching across the horizon to swallow the city whole. The cool linen sheets felt good against his still feverish skin and the satin spread was just right, not too heavy or too light. He'd showered earlier and felt slightly revived. Soon, he'd be ready for another dose of medicine. He wondered what effects this long period of withdrawal would do to him. At least he could be grateful that Evelese hadn't yet forced him to drink from her. The psychotic lamia had been waiting till the final moment, right before he died, milking every last torturous moment.
He rubbed his jaw. Between Tatiana and Evelese, he was developing a bad feeling for lamias.
Dameon was in bad shape now, but if that had happened, all would have been lost. He wouldn't have had the wit or will left to worry about anything. But Evelese had been foiled. Jen had saved him. He smiled and ran his hand again over his jaw. He was too shaky to shave yet.
Jen emerged from the shower, rosy-cheeked and glowing. Her wet hair fell sleek around her small face. She was fastening the hotel robe around her waist. It was a navy silk, fine and butter soft, but too big. She looked fragile in its folds. A fierce longing smote him, and he wished he had the strength to take her in his arms.
She whirled and caught his gaze. With an anxious exclamation, she rolled a linen draped cart full of food she'd ordered from room service over to the bed.
"You're awake—do you think eating would help? I tried to order things you might like." She nodded toward the array of fresh fruit, beignets, croissants, bowls of gumbo and tea.
"You are very thoughtful, ma chérie, but"—he smiled at her through half-shut eyes—"food is not exactly the tonic I need." At her chagrined expression, he spoke again tenderly. "But, you eat. You need the sustenance. How long has it been since your last meal?"
Jen sat beside him on the bed and nibbled an enormous, ruby strawberry. "I don't even remember," she said dreamily. "I've lost all track of time.
He could smell her sweet, clean scent and watched as a tiny stream of strawberry juice trickled down her chin. Desire burned through him, and yet, he made no move toward her.
She turned and met his eyes. He read tension and insecurity in her face. "Are you glad I came, Dameon? I mean…" Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Are you really glad we're...together?"
"But, of course. If I haven't demonstrated how much--"
She stopped him. "No, that's not what I mean." She looked away and bit her lip. "Our future is still unsure. Nothing's been resolved yet. About me, about you…"
He watched her closely. "True, but I am hopeful. I was so wrong, chérie, to keep us apart. Ours is not a perfect situation, but then, this is not a perfect world. I am vampire, you are not." He reached for her hand and kissed each finger. She still wouldn't look at him. He could feel her pulse race and knew what she feared.
"We will find a way to be together. If that is what you still want." He paused.
She faced him, eyes enormous, her breath coming quickly. "I still want."
He struggled to rise. "Come here, ma chérie, please. I'm still weak and cannot come to you." He held out his arms.
She flew to him and he grabbed her tightly as she fell on top of him. Her slender, warm body hungrily pressed against his, and he could hear her breath coming fast and wild. He covered her face with kisses, his hands lost in her hair. Cool water droplets sprayed him as wet strands of hair fell on his face, but he scarcely noticed. With one finger, he caught the strawberry juice on her chin and ran it lightly across her mouth. He kissed her soft, trembling lips, tasting her sweetness mingled with strawberry. He slid his hands under the robe, exploring the smooth, warm, trembling flesh below. She writhed, murmuring his name, and pulled him closer.
Their bodies sought each other with a savage intensity until all else was forgotten.
* * * *
It was late in the night, and Jen ran her hand down Dameon's chest. He was too thin and frail, but it didn't matter. He was here and with her. He would get better, too.
In the soft moonlight, she could see his features, despite the ravages, still Michelangelo beautiful. She wanted to trace the perfect contours, but didn't want to wake him.
Nestled against his shoulder, she felt a deep contentment. The violence and terror back at Belle Mansion had receded, the months of lonely misery and need had faded. All that remained was the wonderful reality that they were back together. Forever this time. Maybe for eternity on earth. Maybe not. Would they be immortal together, or would she live and die a normal life while Dameon went on with his vampire existence? There were no answers, but she wasn't worried. At least, not now.
Their hotel was elegant and grand beyond her wildest dreams, and their room was superbly opulent filled with every amenity imaginable. But she had scarcely noticed. Too intent on helping Dameon and praying that he would make it, she'd barely been aware of the stares and looks they'd received from the well-dressed guests when checking in. There were so many loose ends—her bills, her house, her everything. And, of course, her beloved Cobbs...But she had Dameon. Together, they would sort it all out. She had come such a long way, from intense suffering to joyous fulfillment. Jen felt both weary and exhilarated.
"You have forgiven me then?" His voice came like a sudden touch of velvet from the dark.
She stirred and kissed the satiny smoothness of his chest, inhaling the mint fragrance that was uniquely his. Jen raised steady eyes to meet his. "Almost," she said, and then sighed. "Of course I have, but you put me through hell, Dameon."
He reached down to caress her hair. "I did what I thought was best," he said in a sad tone.
She sat up. "You can't make decisions about us without at least consulting me," she said, her voice shaking. "I felt so powerless and hurt."
He sat up, too. "I know, chérie. So did I." He cupped her chin in his han
d and gently turned her face toward his. "I was wrong," he said in a low voice. "I won't repeat the mistake. Do you think you can ever trust me?" His bottomless black eyes searched hers.
His face was anguished and worried. The last particles of pain inside of her heart dissolved and she threw her arms around of him. "I trust you with my life," she whispered, pressing her face close to his. They held each other tightly and in silence, her heart beating in time with his. Something like peace enfolded them both, and any lingering doubts were dispelled. They were in harmony, trusting and whole.
"I don't want you to sacrifice too much because of me, chérie," Dameon whispered against her hair. "Last night, when we talked, you told me about your dreams of adopting a child...I don't see how I could do that until I'm positive that I'm…cured."
"I know," she said. "But we don't have to give up. We'll figure everything out, and there's still hope."
"Maybe, but I would hate letting you down," he replied.
"You won't, Dameon," Jen assured him, snuggling closer. Her eyes suddenly opened. "You weren't reading my mind again, were you?" she demanded, teasing but suspicious.
"No, I simply guessed. You know that I try not to abuse my powers. Your thoughts are you own. I will not intrude." Jen could hear the concern in his voice. He'd read and even invaded her mind before. She thought it was likely that he might, on occasion, do so again. Especially with their strong psychic bond. She felt that she was very much in tune with Dameon even without vampire abilities, and if she did acquire them, well…
Jen was curious and squinted to read the expression in his eyes. They were like the night, though, mysterious and without light, lost in the shadows.
"I care about everything that makes you happy. If I can make all your dreams come true, I will." He reached down, his lips seeking hers. They were firm yet tender as they explored hers.
"You already do make me happy and complete," she breathed, her lips against his. She cupped his face in her hands, fingers memorizing and tracing each beloved and perfect feature. Hunger to absorb him, devour him, melt into him left her speechless. Her body ached for his, and she felt him move and press his fully against hers. He slid over her and began to kiss her neck and shoulder. Her body longed for speedy fulfillment, but also wanted the sensual, thorough delights he would give her.
"You are my heart's desire." His voice was low and husky as he kissed her, speaking first in French, and then translating in English. "My angel, my true love."
She cried out as the kisses deepened.
"I want to give you everything, ma chérie," he whispered.
"You already have," she murmured back. "You've given me more."
THE END
www.robynnclairday.com
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Robynn Clairday has had ten books published and two screenplays optioned. She's written horror and romance for a variety of small presses and magazines. She is working on a new novel and screenplay. She lives in Nevada with her husband, Matt, and her cat, Mint.
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Kiss Noir (BookStrand Publishing Romance) Page 29