Calling for a Miracle [The Order of Vampyres 2] (Siren Publishing Classic)

by Lydia Michaels

  “Cybil, get up,” he growled. “We’re getting out of here.” But by the time he looked back to the trees, it was too late. The man was standing right in the open and had spotted them.

  He was young, maybe twenty-something. He stood about fifty feet away from the trees and Dane wondered how he had missed him walking so far into the open.

  “Hey, this is private property, buddy,” he yelled to the man. Rather than answer or turn around, the man began to walk toward them. His posture was casual. He kept his hands loosely in his pockets with each unrushed step. The closer he got Dane noticed a smile.

  “God damn it, Cybil, get up now!” he said quietly through gritted teeth. Then he turned to the trespasser and yelled, “You can’t be here, man. You’re gonna have to leave.”

  The man smiled at him without showing his teeth. His expression appeared friendly, nonthreatening, but that meant nothing to Dane. When he came within ten feet of them, Dane stepped in front of his pain-in-the-ass little sister. She moved to see around his legs and looked at the man.

  “How ya doing?” the man asked. His voice was deep and his words made it sound as if English was not his first language.

  “You deaf? I said you’re trespassing,” Dane informed him. He cursed his pubescent body. While Dane was sixteen and tall for his age, his body weight had yet to catch up to the rest of him. Even from this distance, Dane could see the man was ripped. If this guy caused any trouble, there was nothing Dane would be able to do to protect his sister, again.

  The man tilted his shoulders to the side and looked at Cybil. “Hi there.”

  Dane stepped forward and bunched his shoulders. “Yo! Don’t talk to her.”

  The man looked at him. “I’m looking for Forsythia Way.”

  That was the road his grandmother lived on, but there was no way Dane was giving this J.O. any information. “Sorry. I can’t help you, man.”

  A whistle filled his head and Dane saw his sister’s vision of their grandmother’s home and the street sign at the end of the long driveway that read Forsythia Way. The man cocked his head and looked at Cybil and smiled. Dane then saw the same vision in the man’s head as if he had plucked it right from his sister’s mind. He shook his head. It was peculiar to see into an adult’s mind, something he couldn’t often do.

  “You must be Cybil,” the man said as he squatted low to the ground. “I’m Cain.” Dane wanted to tackle the guy for talking to his sister. Cybil just sat there, watching the man. Just as Dane was about to freak out, the man looked at him and said, “And you’re Dane.”

  “How do you know our names?”

  “I am a friend of your grandmother’s.”

  Having already done it once, Dane tried to push back into the other man’s mind again. He immediately saw a picture of his grandmother, but it was through a television screen from some news channel. “Are you a reporter? We don’t want any of you on our property. Now either go or I’m calling the cops.”

  The man stood and calmly brushed off his pant legs. He shut his eyes and shook his head then quietly mumbled, “If one more person accuses me of being a reporter…” Looking back at Dane, he said, “I am not a news reporter. Can’t stand them as a matter of fact. I am here to speak with your grandmother. Is she home?”

  “No,” Dane lied as he saw Cybil’s vision of their grandmother sleeping on the couch.

  The man, Cain, looked past him and at his sister and smiled. “Thank you, sweetheart. Would you like to come with me to the house?”

  Dane scoffed, speechless, as he watched his sister stand up. “Cybil, you don’t know him!” Even the damn dog was being friendly to the guy. What the hell kind of watchdog wandered up to a complete stranger and licked their hand?

  “Do you think your brother would rather wait here?” Cain asked his sister and she looked back at him.

  “She doesn’t talk,” Dane snapped and Cain tilted his head as he looked back at Cybil.

  “I see.” The man actually said this as if it made him sad.

  Cybil shivered and pulled her jacket tighter around her. Dane was shivering, too, but trying to hide it from the other man. When the man reached out to button Cybil’s jacket Dane was ready to hit him, but he stepped back and stood before Dane had a chance. He wasn’t that much taller than Dane, but he probably outweighed him by a hundred pounds.

  The man tilted his head back and shut his eyes. He took a long deep breath. Dane should have grabbed his sister and run at this point, but he couldn’t stop watching the guy. What the hell was he doing?

  The breeze shifted and Dane heard his grandmother’s wind chimes clanking and tinkling in the distance. Shadows moved across the ground as clouds rolled overhead. The sky turned from murky gray overcast to vibrant blue. The sun suddenly blazed above them and Dane immediately felt its warmth on the exposed skin of his arms and his covered shoulders.

  He looked back at the man as he lowered his chin again and opened his eyes. Watching Dane, he said, “Beautiful day, isn’t it?” Dane just stared back at the man, mouth gaping, as his sister smiled.

  Chapter 20

  Abilene lugged the heavy copper pot to the cellar door. Shifting the handle in her hands, she grumbled as a bit of water splashed out and wet the hem of her dress. She awkwardly reached for the knob and opened the old wooden door. The familiar scent of cool, musty earth greeted her as she stepped into the cellar.

  Her feet scraped over the dirt floor as a band of sunlight filled the room, chasing away the dark shadows. She placed the heavy pot on the work surface and moved to open the grate below the iron caldron. Pulling a match from her apron, she lit the fire below and blew over the kindling until the flame caught.

  Abilene returned to her pot and carried it to the caldron. Pouring the water into the deep vessel, she sighed and stretched her sore muscles. As the water heated she went to the wooden rack hanging on the stone wall and selected a blue jar filled with soap. She twisted the metal lid and breathed in the strong scent.

  While Abilene waited for the water to come to a boil, she sprinkled some soap in the caldron and dug out her favorite washboard. Placing the board near the press and barrel, she went to the window and unlatched the shutters to let some light in.

  It was an unpredictable November. They had already seen a dusting of snow and not a day later the children were running through the fields without their cloaks. Today was surprisingly sunny, but there was still a bite in the air when the breeze gusted across the fields.

  The room began to warm from the fire as the water began to simmer and steam. She went to unlatch the shutters on the other cellar window and stilled as a low growl rumbled softly from the shadows. She was not alone.

  Abilene turned slowly and looked into the dark corners of the room. Her ears and eyes adjusted and she saw into the shadows clearly, picking up on the fine spider webbing in the corners and the sound of a mouse scurrying along the dirt floor.

  She quieted her breathing and waited for whoever was there to show himself. “Who is in here?”

  The growl sounded again, much like a lion’s purr, and Abilene turned toward the other corner where the sound was streaming from. She stepped forward and saw two glowing eyes through the darkness. She knew those eyes. “Jonas?”

  Before she could move another inch, the growl exploded into a roaring hiss and she screamed as her husband charged at her. Abilene’s back hit the ground with a thud and all the air left her lungs in a painful whoosh. Stunned, she screamed and tried to push him off of her.

  He continued to growl like a rabid animal. His long, black hair formed a wild halo around his face. His eyes were mere black slits in pools of blue. His fangs were out and his breath was hot as he panted over her. She pressed at his chest, but her efforts seemed futile. He had always been stronger than she, and now, in the eye of his ire, he was unmovable.

  She watched in horror as his clawed hand came down upon her and tore at the front of her dress. The fabric came apart and she struggled under his weight. “J
onas! Please! Why are you doing this?”

  She began to cry. Her hairpins stabbed into her scalp, and she could feel the grains of ash and dirt staining her pristine bonnet as she fought him. When she saw him reach back to claw at her again, she instinctively covered her face. The burn of his claws over her flesh cut right to her heart. She cried out. How could he be doing this to her? She loved him.

  He began to grab at her gowns, her bare legs twisted beneath him. She yelled for him to stop, but he could not hear her through his rage. The sharp bite of his claws through her garments stung her hip and she snapped.

  Abilene bared her fangs at him. Her growl was sharp and fierce. She reached her arm above her head and swiftly dragged her claws down his face, leaving four thin rivers of blood. He reared back and hissed. Before she could cover her head, he came down on her with inhuman speed and bit cruelly into her neck. Her scream faded to a gurgle as he drank from her.

  Her body stopped fighting and settled beneath him. She could feel his arousal pressing into her and wanted to curl on her side, away from him. His touch was something she could not bear. She shut her eyes and cried. Perhaps he would drink her life away and leave her here to die. She no longer feared such an outcome.

  Her throat was raw and too abused to swallow. She was certain he was going to rape her, but then Jonas slowly pulled his mouth away from her neck and she felt nothing but the warm trickle of her own blood seeping into the torn fabric of her gown. She would not look at him.

  All was silent. His heavy knees still pinned her legs to the dirty floor. The only thought she could process was her wonder at how she would make the walk back to the house without being seen. No matter what she still wanted to protect him and that shamed her, but she knew none of this was his fault. She could not see him brought to justice for his crimes. He was her husband and she was losing him. This was what the others had meant when they had said the unanswered grow feeish, she realized.

  The removal of his weight was sudden. She breathed as deeply as her torn throat would allow. He looked down at her and let out an agonized howl unlike any sound she had ever heard him make before. Pressing her eyes tightly shut and curling to her side, she vaguely heard his shoes scrape along the floor and then there was just the shaking clatter of the wooden door bouncing of the stone wall. He was gone.

  Chapter 21

  Larissa stretched under the thin blanket that covered her and snuggled close to the warm body lying to her side. Her flesh touched hot skin as she was pulled over thick legs and a strong, hard body.

  “Good morning, bellissima.” Eleazar kissed her soundly, his soft lips pressing firmly against hers, his tongue trying to seek out her own.

  She kissed him back. “Good morning, Bishop. Although, I do believe we have missed morning.”

  His legs pulled up, seating her more firmly over him. As her knees settled on either side of his hips, she felt his arousal pressing between her thighs. She sat up and the sheet slithered off of her shoulders and down her back. The cool air had her breasts pulling and puckering tight at the tips. Eleazar reached up and cupped her breasts with big, dark hands.

  “You are beautiful.”

  She smiled. She felt beautiful. He made her feel beautiful. She watched as he leaned up and pulled the bud of her breast into his mouth. Sensation filled her body, reaching through her breasts and traveling down to her core, warming her blood. His hands coasted over her flesh and squeezed tenderly at her hips. His maleness fit to her female parts as if they were made for one another.

  He began to slide her back and forth over his length and she felt her folds grow slick with her nectar. He bit down on her nipple and she sucked in her breath. He groaned.

  “Do you feel that, Larissa? The way your pleasure is mine?” She was feeling various pleasurable things at the moment. “When I lick your nipples I feel it on my own. When my cock slides over your soft folds I feel it deep inside my own body. I have never known such pleasure.”

  She blushed at his use of language. He pressed her down closer to his body and his shaft touched an extremely sensitive place as he slid through her moist crease.

  “Is my mate suddenly shy?”

  She looked at him. She knew her cheeks were flushed. Never had Silus touched her during the daylight hours. He had only evoked his husbandly rights after the sun had set.

  “Ah, now where has your mind gone? That wonderful sensation of your pleasure has left me.”

  She pushed all thoughts of her husband away and focused on the beautiful man holding her. He nudged that sensitive point again with his shaft and she gasped.

  “There you are.” He smiled up at her. “You were gone for a moment.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “No need to apologize.” He ground his hips into her, rotating beneath her and she gasped again. “Tell me you can feel that. Tell me you can feel my pleasure the way I feel yours.”

  She shut her eyes and focused on the incredible awareness of him. She felt his body sliding under hers, awakening her loins and sharpening her senses, but she felt nothing of what he was describing. “I feel your touch.”

  “You cannot feel what your body is doing to me the way I can sense what my body is doing to yours?”

  She tilted her head and considered what he was asking. “I like what I feel.”

  “As do I, but I feel so much more than I ever imagined possible.”

  She agreed. It was so much more than what she had expected, but she still understood he was speaking of something she was not experiencing.

  “It is as if when your body is aroused and receiving my touch, your mind is open to me. I begin to receive your pleasure as well as my own.”

  She frowned. “I do not know what that is like.”

  He was silent for a moment. Their bodies continued to rock and glide together as her blood heated and her heartbeat increased. “Try coming into my mind, Larissa.”

  “You know I cannot.”

  “Try.”

  She shut her eyes and felt for his mind. As her hips rode over his maleness, she suddenly gasped. She could feel her hot folds encasing him. She could sense the way her moisture coated his shaft. Cock, he had called it.

  “Do you feel it?”

  “It is amazing.” She looked down at him in complete awe. How was such a thing possible? “Can all mates share such pleasure?”

  “I have never heard of it before,” he admitted. His fingers went to her breasts and he began to toy with the tips, plucking and pulling. He arched beneath her as if it were her touching his chest. Tits. The unfamiliar word popped into Larissa’s mind.

  “Eleazar?”

  “Yes, bellissima.”

  “What are tits?”

  He laughed and cupped her breasts. “These are tits.”

  She looked down at his warm hands holding her there. “Like a cow has a teat?”

  “Sort of, but we call them tits. I might also add that yours are beautiful and it is a crime to even compare them to a cow’s udders.”

  “But they are for milk.”

  “They are for so much more than that.” He leaned up and pulled the tip of her breast into his mouth and suckled it tightly between his lips. His tongue flicked it from inside his warm mouth and she made a silent “oh” as she understood what he meant. He called these her nipples.

  Larissa thought about the way he had described her body the night before. He had made it sound beautiful like a flower. He had used words she was familiar with like bud, and petals, and nectar. Larissa wasn’t sure she could ever walk through a garden again without blushing. She liked the way he had given her words she could say. Yet she felt somewhat childish using them while making love.

  “Eleazar?”

  “Yes.” He rolled them so that her back pressed into the covers and he was now on top of her.

  “What do you call a woman down there?”

  He kissed her and his shaft found her opening, but did not enter her fully. Holding himself up, he made soft, shallow t
hrusts, teasing her opening. “What do you mean?”

  “You called your maleness a…cock.” She blushed. “What is the name for a female?”

  He stilled above her. “Say it again,” he whispered, his lips so close to her own.

  “Cock?”

  He shut his eyes and breathed deep. “You are a surprise, Larissa.” He continued to make shallow dips into her with his cock. Then he said, “There are many names for a female.” He pressed a little deeper and she squirmed, impatiently wanting him to enter her all the way. His voice grew thick. “I have heard many English terms over the years, yet I find none of them complimentary or flattering. I much prefer the French terms.”

  “What are the French words?” She held his forearms as he leaned forward and licked from one nipple to the next.

  “There is”—he pressed deeper into her core—“petite fleur, which is French for ‘little flower.’” His hips retreated then pumped back in, this time reaching almost all the way inside of her. “Or I have heard it referred to as a female’s jardin secret, her ‘secret garden.’” Her hips began to undulate beneath him. She felt her fangs descend and her breath pick up. “I, however, prefer to call your petite fleur something else.” He pulled back, practically leaving her entirely empty.

  She whimpered, wanting him back inside of her, and asked, “What is that, Bishop?”

  He smiled down at her a bit wickedly and leaned close to whisper, “Mine.”

  His shaft then thrust into her so deep she felt their bones collide. She groaned and tilted back, savoring the sensation. He began to pump into her steadily then. In and out, building the fire in her belly again. She felt his mind pulling her and suddenly saw images of herself through his eyes. She did not recognize the woman beneath him. It was her, but never had she imagined she could appear so wanton. So beautiful.