Eternity

by Eternity(Lit)

  "It is bothering me. Close tha bleedin’ drapes, will you?"

  "Sunlight kills vampires," Emily stated emphatically.

  Nigel struggled up onto one elbow and peered at her blearily. "Are ye daft, lass? Why the bloody hell would sunlight kill me?"

  "You’re not a vampire, are you?"

  He studied her for a long moment and finally collapsed on the pillow once more. "More of tha’ vampire nonsense ye been hearin’ about, eh? Well, it’s too bleedin’ early in the day fer arguin’. Come back later, lass, an’ we’ll go a round er two when I’m up ta it."

  On one level, she knew he was right. She hadn’t even had her coffee, and she felt like hell. Her own brain felt as if it was functioning at half speed … or maybe less, because she remembered just then that she had not gone to bed naked. She occasionally slept nude, when it was particularly hot and the air conditioner couldn’t keep up with the muggy heat of the deep south, but she wasn’t in Georgia anymore and it wasn’t hot and she knew damned well she’d had a nightie and panties on when she’d gone to bed.

  "You … you … Asshole! Where are my damned clothes?"

  He turned his head to one side and cracked an eye open. She wasn’t fooled, however, there was definite wariness in that one, bright blue eye. "Did ye lose them?"

  Her eyes narrowed. "I didn’t dream that … what happened last night, did I…?"

  "I’m a vampire, na’ a mind reader. How am I ta ken what ye dreamed, or ye didn’t dream, lass?"

  Emily ground her teeth. "I’m sure as hell not dreaming now and there’s … semen on my thighs."

  He raised up enough to study them with interest. "Here, let me have a better look," he murmured, grabbing her legs and prying them apart.

  Emily slapped his hands, but he dragged her beneath him despite her struggles, grabbing her hands and manacling them to the bed. He was shaking with laughter when he pinned her to the bed with his chest and that made her madder. "You … you hypnotized me … or something."

  "I’m na’ sure what this hypnotize thing is, but I’m fair certain I didn’t. I’m thinkin’ ye was sleep walkin’ and molested me in my sleep when I was defenseless."

  She hated to admit it, but not only was he sexy as hell with his tousled hair and his morning whiskers, he was also cute. She bit her lip, trying to keep from smiling back at him. There was no sense in encouraging the rogue. "You did the vampire thing, then, and made me think I was dreaming it."

  Something flickered in his eyes. "If I had, ye’d na’ remember a thing about it."

  "I didn’t have to remember! You left … evidence!"

  His dark brows rose, but his eyes were still twinkling with suppressed laughter. "I’ll have ta remember ta tidy up after meself then, won’t I, lass?"

  "Ha! You admit it then?"

  "I dinna, but I’m thinkin’, seein’ as how ye’ve got me all roused up an’ awake now, I may as well partake."

  Emily gaped at him, all traces of humor gone. "You think I’d let you?"

  He sighed irritably. "Aye, I think ye will," he murmured, pinning her with a piercing gaze.

  Emily blinked, feeling heavy suddenly, weak, dizzy. She struggled against it. Bit by bit, however, the lethargy gained the upper hand until she found she no longer wanted to struggle. She felt strangely peaceful as she stared up at him, totally aware, and yet devoid of emotion about the situation.

  Releasing his grip on her wrists, he rolled off of her, propping his head in his hand and allowing his gaze to roam her length in a leisurely inspection that seemed to miss nothing. Emily watched his eyes darken and cloud with desire, feeling a reflection of his need growing inside of her.

  He caressed her with a slow thoroughness that left no part of her untouched, building an inferno inside of her that made her feel scorched from the heat, feverish.

  Spreading her thighs, he settled between them, breaching the mouth of her sex and thrusting inside of her even as he covered her lips in a searing kiss. Emily gasped as her body adjusted to his intrusion, feeling her body fisting tightly around his engorged cock. With each stroke of his flesh along her passage, quakes of delight rippled through her, growing harder, winding tightly through her until she tore her lips from his and uttered a throaty groan she could no longer contain.

  He increased the tempo of his thrusts then, driving more rapidly into her until the stimulation was nearly unbearable. When the sensations reached her limit of endurance and burst, fragmenting in white hot ecstasy, it dragged an exultant cry from her that he echoed moments later as he reached his own culmination.

  Shuddering with the force of it, he settled weakly against her, gasping for breath.

  Awash with satisfaction, Emily lay limply beneath him, vaguely aware of a sense of completion that went beyond mere sexual release and an anxiety that nearly matched it that she should feel anything of the sort.

  Placing a gusty, open mouthed kiss along her neck, Nigel rolled off of her and onto his back. Lifting the hand nearest her, he stroked her temples with his long fingers. "I’d say yer na’ ta remember, lass, but yer tha’ stubborn an’ I ken ye will. I’m na’ complain’, mind ye. I’ve a notion I’d na’ awoke when I did if na’ fer the life force ye bear, an’ my affairs in such a mess as it is, but as much as I need to feed from it, I’m thinkin’ is na’ such a good notion ta keep ye here.

  "Mortals make pur companions for vampires an’ a wise vampire stays clear of a mortal when there’s danger of growing attached. Fer both our sakes, ye need ta be thinkin’ about goin’ back ta the colonies, lass."

  Chapter Eight

  It was bright in the room when Emily awoke. She lay staring at the ceiling for some time, feeling lethargic, strangely satisfied and yet ill at ease, too.

  Nigel was dead to the world.

  Maybe that wasn’t the best sort of metaphor to use in reference to a vampire?

  Frowning, she sat up and eased off of the bed.

  He felt around the bed when she moved, as if searching for her, but after a moment, he ceased, sleeping deeply.

  Creeping around the room, Emily found a change of clothing and moved to the door. It was still locked, and the cloth she’d stuffed under the door untouched. She studied it in puzzlement, wondering how he’d gotten in, and finally glanced toward the window. It, too, was still closed and locked.

  Nigel didn’t seem to follow any of the ‘rules’ she knew about vampires--he might or might not be a vampire--but it was for certain he wasn’t just an ordinary fellow.

  The door creaked when she let herself out and she glanced toward the bed, her pulse jumping. When he didn’t stir, she closed the door behind her and went down the hall to the bathroom.

  There was no sense in trying to lie to herself about what had happened. She had thoroughly enjoyed Nigel’s lovemaking--he was a skilled and considerate lover. What made her uncomfortable was that he seemed capable of depriving her of will in a way that went beyond merely ‘turning her on’ to a point where she simply didn’t care anymore.

  She wasn’t in the habit of engaging in recreational sex, or casual sex. She had needs, just like everyone else, and she didn’t consider herself a Miss Goody-goody. She just didn’t get anything out of sex, generally, unless there was also a bond of affection.

  She found Nigel likable--for a complete nut. She also found him very attractive, but she didn’t feel comfortable about falling into bed with him on such a short acquaintance and knew she wouldn’t have willingly.

  He’d done something--besides being a charmingly handsome rogue.

  Dimly, she remembered saying something about not ‘letting’ him have his way with her--and directly after that, had.

  What was she to do about him?

  She supposed she could go back to the police station and demand that he be removed, or arrested, but what if what he’d said was true? What if this place had been his and he hadn’t agreed to the sale, thought he had it taken care of?

  It wasn’t her problem. She’d bought it. Everyone tha
t was supposed to know about these things said everything was in order. Legally, it was hers.

  The problem with legal was that it wasn’t always right.

  It also wasn’t infallible. It was possible that Nigel might be able to prove a prior claim and come up with the papers to back it up that would negate her title. Then she’d be out her money and the place, because she didn’t think for one moment the people she’d paid would just turn around and hand it back to her. She would almost certainly end up in court … and then the little nest egg she’d discovered would be gone, too.

  She could leave, of course, but in the U.S. possession was nine tenths of the law and if she gave up possession and moved out, it might weaken her situation even worse. Besides, she didn’t really have any where to go unless she was willing to use the wind fall she’d discovered in the dungeon and she was afraid to use it until it was absolutely necessary.

  By the time she’d finished her bath, she had decided to yield possession of the master suite to Nigel and take the next one down the hall. At least then he couldn’t claim that she was sleeping in his bed, which nine out of ten men would consider constituted an open invitation--with Nigel obviously among them.

  She couldn’t quite decide why it was that she wasn’t totally pissed off about the fact that he’d taken advantage of her. It occurred to her that she should have been and that her acceptance of the situation so philosophically just wasn’t like her. Regardless, she couldn’t summon outrage, fury--anything at all beyond a mild sort of discomfort at the sense of acceptance that gripped her and wouldn’t let go.

  She didn’t know what she was going to do if he persisted in considering her as part of his property. She decided, though, that she would cross that bridge when she came to it.

  The most important thing at the moment was to figure out how she was going to get her coins out of the bed and into a safe place now that Nigel had so inconveniently decided to lay claim to the bed.

  She discovered when she got downstairs that a handful of local men had arrived looking for work. It disconcerted her, but finally she told them to have a look around the place and assess the damage while she went to the kitchen to scrounge up food to jump start her day.

  The milk was tepid. Since the refrigerator was turned all the way up as far as she could see, she mentally added a refrigerator to her list of needs and tried the stove. It seemed to function reasonably well, but after charring the bread she put in the oven to heat she decided she was going to have to figure out its little idiosyncrasies before she could actually cook with it. Breaking off the burned areas, she buttered the remainder and ate it with a cup of instant coffee, pondering her situation.

  She supposed she hadn’t adequately considered the difficulties in renovating a structure several hundred years old, but then she’d expected the castle to be in far better shape than it actually was. She’d figured the building would need modernization, probably some repairs, but she’d thought it would be basically livable. She supposed it was, but not by most people’s standards and only in the sense that it beat living on the street. The unpleasant truth was that the castle was pretty much a disaster area. If it hadn’t been a historical structure, it would probably have been condemned.

  She’d seen buildings that looked better that had been condemned.

  It was going to take a lot of money to make this place the jewel she’d envisioned, and she wondered if there was enough gold in the world to do it. That thought reminded her of the coins she’d tucked away and she dwelt irritably on the fact that Nigel was barring her from it at the moment. It suddenly occurred to her, though, that she’d tucked that first coin she’d found into the pocket of her jeans. It wasn’t likely to bring much, but at least she could have the coin assessed so she would know the value.

  She’d left her jeans in the bedroom--with Nigel.

  Leaving the kitchen, she went to assess the situation with the castle again, this time with an eye toward repairing it. Two of the men were wandering around the great hall, staring at the walls, the ceiling and the floor doubtfully. When she entered, they stopped and turned to look at her. She could tell just from their expressions that they figured tearing it down and starting over might be the best bet, but that wasn’t an option.

  After a little thought, she decided just to start with basic cleaning. The place was so filthy from so many years of accumulated dust and mold and cobwebs that it was pretty near impossible to tell what needed discarding, repairing, or just cleaning. Whatever the value of the coin, she thought she could pay the men for one day anyway.

  Briefly, they haggled over a days’ pay and she put them to work sorting and moving the furnishings. Any piece that looked sound was to be left where it was. Anything that needed repairing was to be brought to the great hall. Whatever looked beyond repair was to be placed in a separate pile so that she could study it herself and decide whether to attempt repairs or give up on it and consider it a total loss.

  They didn’t look particularly thrilled with the job, but they went to work readily enough. Shrugging inwardly, Emily figured the job itself would take care of ‘weeding out’ those who really wanted, or needed, the work and those who’d come because they thought they might make more money working for the American. Outside, she found three others. She put them to work cleaning; cutting the overgrown brush, collecting the stones that had fallen that would need to be reworked, and building a rubbish pile.

  Satisfied that at least some progress was being made, she went back inside and stood staring up the spiral stairs for some moments. Finally, girding herself, she went up.

  Nigel was sprawled in the center of the bed on his belly, a pillow over his head, but he didn’t so much as twitch when she quietly entered the room. The pillow was the only thing covering his bare body. The coverlet had slid off on the floor.

  Emily stared at him for several moments, captured by the sight of all that bare flesh.

  As much as she would’ve liked to dismiss any interest in him, she found she couldn’t. He was a big man, and very nicely built. He did not have the ‘cut’ and definition of a body builder, but his body was taut and muscular and, as she recalled, hard all over.

  A shiver went through her and she dragged her gaze from him almost reluctantly and looked around the room. Her belongings were still scattered and she didn’t want to linger in the room long enough to gather them all up. After a moment, she spied her discarded jeans and shirt from the day before and collected them. To her relief, the coin was still inside the jeans pocket.

  Turning, she scurried from the room, feeling a sense of triumph.

  The sense of jubilation lasted until she got her first good look at the rental car in the light of day. Dismay filled her.

  The windshield was cracked. The lord only knew what the rental agency was going to charge her for repairing it.

  She had a week, however, before she had to face them with the damage, and she dismissed it, pulling out the road map and studying it. It wouldn’t hurt to look for a coin shop in the village, but she rather thought she wanted more than one opinion on the value of the coin.

  Telling the workers she was off to get supplies, she headed out, hopeful, working out a story in her head to explain her possession of the coin that she thought might be believable.

  Chapter Nine

  The racket could not be ignored. Nigel tried his best, but slowly the bumps and pounding and talking and whistling filtered through his cocoon of comfort, disturbing the sense of well being that had held him in blissful thrall. Irritation surfaced. The servants knew better than to make so much noise when he was sleeping. What the devil were they about?

  He didn’t realize that he’d been trying to identify the sounds as individuals until it occurred to him that he heard nothing familiar. Sluggishly, his mind connected with that lack of recognition and it finally dawned on him that he wasn’t listening to the day to day work of his servants. Those mortals were long since gone. Whoever it was stomping about the place and
making such a racket, it was no one he knew.

  Yawning, he stretched and rolled over. After a little while, he managed to lift one eye lid enough to peer toward the window. It was still early. Eleven, perhaps eleven thirty.

  In the days before he had taken the notion to hibernate for a time, it had been his habit to roam the night, drop into bed near dawn, and sleep till early afternoon, but he could see that until he’d trained a new staff that wasn’t a habit he was going to be able to take up again.

  He felt around the bed for his woman and discovered she was gone.

  That roused him enough to make him sit up and look around the room.

  He frowned when he saw that the room was empty save for himself, far more irritated that his concubine was missing without his leave than he was about being awakened. He’d claimed her twice--thoroughly. She should have been completely under his spell. He couldn’t figure out how it was that she didn’t seem to be, but he didn’t like it. He didn’t like it at all.

  She should have been waiting for him to waken to do his bidding. He felt invigorated from the life essence he’d absorbed from her thus far, but he needed her again and she’d fled, leaving him with no way to assuage his hunger.

  In the light of day, he found he was less inclined to attribute her with powers of any sort … beyond mortal stubbornness. He felt strong now. Perhaps he hadn’t yet attained his former strength, perhaps he was still a little lacking in some skills because of his prolonged sleep, but he was certain he was once again fully capable of summoning most of his powers.

  And yet Emily still managed to effectively resist him.

  Finally, he decided it was an enigma that would sort itself out with time. At the moment, he was more interested in discovering what was going on in his castle. Rolling from the bed, he looked around for a chamber pot.

  There wasn’t one. There also wasn’t a washbasin or pitcher for bathing. Irritated all over again, Nigel stalked down the stairs and through the deserted kitchen. Flinging the kitchen door open, he leaned against the door frame and took a piss in the garden.