Lord of the Vampires

by Gena Showalter

Page 29

 

  Where are you, brother?

  A moment passed. There was no reply. Very well. He would try again later.

  A sense of urgency reignited, and Nicolai checked for his daggers. They were gone, as were his clothing and all his other weapons. The room had been totally cleaned out.

  He ground his molars and pictured the rest of the castle, which was surprisingly easy. Towering, more rooms than he could count. Winding hallways and secret passages. He whisked to every bedroom, every cell in the dungeon. He saw people he did not recognize, more bloodstains, more monsters patrolling the gates. Rage consumed him. The need to kill the new king, the sorcerer, intensified. But his family was not here, nor was the sorcerer.

  He would have to return. Soon. Always soon. Right now, he had to protect Jane. A full-time job, he was coming to realize. One he cherished and wouldn’t trade.

  After a last glance at the castle he’d once loved, he closed his eyes and pictured the forest and the last spot he’d seen Jane. He was there a second later—easier every time—but found no sign of his woman. No sign of Laila and her army, either.

  He sniffed…sniffed… There. He locked on to Jane’s sweet scent, mixed with the disgusting aroma of Laila and her men. They were following her.

  He gave chase.

  JANE HEARD THE VOICES before she spotted the town, and nearly toppled over with relief. She increased her speed, and finally, blessedly, reached civilization. The sun was steadily rising in the sky, casting a violet haze on the people just now starting their day. Warming Jane, and even burning her. Her skin itched, prickling as if little bugs were crawling through her veins.

  She did not want to contemplate the possible reasons for such an occurrence.

  People—humans?—strode along cobbled streets, some carrying wicker baskets piled high with clothing, some carrying bags of—she sniffed, moaned—bread and meat. Her stomach grumbled as her mouth watered. She was light-headed, her blood supply a little low. She needed to replenish.

  Jane paused beside a tree, watching, thinking. She had two choices. Keep moving, remaining on her own, and risk being found by Laila. Or enter the town, eat and risk being found by Laila. At least the second option provided a meal plan. So, okay. No contest.

  Except, she was still Odette. If these people recognized her, word would spread, and she would be found far more quickly. On the plus side, Laila wouldn’t hurt her and Nicolai was no longer with her. He was no longer in danger—she didn’t think—and that was a good thing.

  He’d disappeared in a heartbeat of time, shocking her. She’d waited in the area for what seemed an eternity, but he’d never reappeared and she’d had to move on. He would find her, wherever she was. She couldn’t believe otherwise.

  Laila’s army had nearly discovered her, marching right over her hiding place. But they’d lost Nicolai’s trail and backtracked in an attempt to find it again. That’s when Jane bolted, forcing her protesting body to act before it shut down completely and Laila returned.

  If—when—Jane was discovered, she wanted to be well-fed, stronger. So again, no contest. She limped forward, entering the town. The moment the people caught sight of her, they stopped what they were doing, horror consuming their features, and knelt.

  Yep. She’d been recognized. What the hell had Odette done to them?

  She closed the distance between her and one of the groups with food. “Please. I’m so hungry. May I—”

  “Take whatever you wish, princess,” the man closest to her said, thrusting the basket in her direction.

  “I don’t have any money, but I’ll find a way to pay you back. I swear. ” The scent of roasted chicken hit her, transporting her straight to heaven. She stretched out a shaky hand, reached inside the confines of the wicker and claimed a bowl of something creamy. Was she drooling? You can’t dive in like an animal. “What’s your name?”

  “Hammond, princess. ” There was a trace of anger in that husky voice.

  “Thank you for the food, Hammond. ”

  “Anything for you, princess. ” The anger morphed into hatred.

  Jane sighed, looked around. “Please stand. All of you. There’s no reason to bow. ”

  Several seconds ticked by before they obeyed, as if they feared she would attack them for rising, even though she’d told them to. Other than that, they didn’t move. Though she wanted to limp away, find a deserted, shadowed corner and shove her face right into the food, she couldn’t. They might suspect she was not who they thought she was.

  “I need a room,” she announced. “And water. And clean clothing. Please. If one of you could point me in the right direction, I would be grateful. ”

  At first, no one stepped forward. Then, reluctantly, a middle-aged female curtsied and said, “If you’ll follow me, princess, I will see to your needs. ”

  “Thank you. ”

  Ten minutes later, an eternity, Jane was inside a bedroom, alone. She devoured the contents of the bowl—some kind of chicken salad—before bathing in the steaming tub the woman had filled with a muttered spell. Not human, after all, but a witch. The water soothed Jane’s sensitive skin, relieving the itching. Afterward, she donned a clean, blue robe the witch had laid out for her.

  All she lacked was Nicolai, and this day would be perfect.

  Where was he?

  With a weary sigh, she sprawled out on the bed. Firm, lumpy, but heaven for her still aching muscles and bones. What to do, what to do. Nicolai was, at heart, a protector. Fierce, unwavering. Which meant he hadn’t left her voluntarily.

  So. Either his abilities—whatever they were—were responsible, or someone had used magic to draw him away from her. The first was more likely. As strong as Nicolai was becoming, she doubted anyone would be able to simply spell him someplace anymore. Because, if that were the case, Laila would have done it days ago.

  Laila. The bitch was a problem. A big one. As long as she was out there, Nicolai would be hunted, in danger. Jane could turn herself in, she supposed, and try to convince the princess to leave “the slave” alone. Would that help, though? Having tasted the man herself, she knew how impossible it would be to forget him.

  Laila probably craved him more than the air she breathed. The thought alone caused jealousy to rise up, sharp and biting. Jane ignored the unproductive response. A few problems with turning herself in. One, Laila could wield magic. Jane could not. Two, Jane’s secret could be found out. And if the queen whipped her own daughter, what would she do to an enemy impersonating one of her children? Three, what if Nicolai followed her to Delfina? He could be captured again, his memories wiped. His body used.

  His body belonged to Jane. No one else.

  She rolled to her side, clutching the pillow to her middle, suddenly reminded of the day she had received Nicolai’s book. She’d read a few passages and had thought of him for hours afterward. She had been obsessed with him, really. After reading a few more passages, she had fantasized about him, practically making love to her pillow. Then, she had gone to him.

  Maybe she could reach him again.

  She closed her eyes and imagined him inside her cabin, puttering around, fixing things, then seducing her into bed. There, he touched her, stripped her. Kissed her, tasted her. Consumed her. Goose bumps spread. She could almost feel the warmth of his breath, the slick glide of his skin.

  “Nicolai,” she breathed.

  Jane.

  His voice, so deep, so familiar. For a moment, she experienced a wave of dizziness, felt as if she were floating. Then the mattress was beneath her again, and…cold. Cold? In less than a second, the mattress had gone from warmed to chilled. Impossible. Unless— Her eyelids popped open, hope unfurling.

  Hope dying. She hadn’t whisked to Nicolai. She was inside her cabin. On her own bed.

  Jane jolted upright, trying to suck air into her lungs. A knot formed in her throat, and nothing could penetrate it. No. She couldn
’t be here. No, no, no. She popped to her feet, nearly toppling as her knees shook. She rushed around, stumbling a few times, grabbing her knickknacks to see if they were real or imagined.

  Please be imagined.

  They were solid, dusty, as if they hadn’t been cleaned in weeks. They were real. She choked back a sob.

  No! Tears blurred her vision. She swiped her arms over her dresser, knocking everything to the floor. A glass vase shattered. A hairbrush clattered. How the hell had she gotten here? She’d wanted to be with Nicolai. She needed to be with him and had to get back. She would get back.

  She just had to figure out how.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  JANE RAGED FOR HALF AN HOUR. Panicked for an hour after that. Then she did what she did best—reasoned. There was a logical explanation for what had happened. There always was. So, she brushed her teeth, showered and redressed in her robe. No way she’d dress in jeans and a T-shirt. She didn’t belong here anymore, and wouldn’t dress as if she did.

  She belonged there. With Nicolai.

  She stretched out on her bed, and her comforter plumped around her. Okay. She could do this. What had she been doing before she’d ended up here? Lying in bed, just like this, thinking about Nicolai. Imagining the two of them making love, actually. Good, that was good. She would just do that again.

  She cleared her mind with a little shake of her head, drew in a deep breath, released the air…slowly…and forced her muscles to relax. A picture of Nicolai rose front and center. Dark hair shagging around his head, silver eyes liquid with desire. For her. Lips parted as he breathed shallowly, his own desire raging. His fangs peeked out.

  Her stomach quivered, but other than that, nothing happened. No dizziness, no movement whatsoever. Keep going. In her mind, she saw him remove his shirt, slowly pulling the material over his head. His skin, his beautifully bronzed skin, glistened exquisitely. His nipples were small and brown, utterly lickable. That scrumptious trail of hair lead from his navel to a cock she’d once loved with her mouth.

  Warm moisture pooled between her legs. But again, no floating, no changing locations.

  Damn it. She hadn’t been this unsuccessful since the age of eight, when she’d read about making synthetic diamonds in the microwave. Diamonds she’d hoped to present to her mother on her birthday. The charcoal bricks and peanut butter necessary for the conversion had survived the lengthy cook time. The dish she’d put them in had not. Neither had the microwave.