She was working on several physiological theories at the moment. One, she definitely had a case of Stockholm’s going on. He’d kidnapped her, changed her, dictated to her, and yet, she found herself less and less willing to leave him—actually dreading it at times.
Two, she was going through some sort of Pavlovian reflex. All Christian had to do was appear and she wanted to rape him. On top of that, every time the oven turned on her mouth watered and she secretly hoped he was making some savory—juicy—dripping—plump—delicious—meat.
She was turning into Homer Simpson and had to stifle many of the unladylike gurgling sounds she was often tempted to make in the presence of Christian eating meat.
It was the blood. She knew it was the blood. There was no rationalizing the hunger twisting her insides. It was relentless and ever present and if she didn’t have something with blood soon she was going to find a cow and kill it.
No. She couldn’t kill a cow. That would be just mean. Poor Bessie. Maybe a pig. They bite. She was losing her mind.
Anna had come by with Gracie one day while Christian was working in the barn. He was probably killing some sort of chicken or something. Maybe it was some big, fat Foghorn Leghorn type chicken that was practically man size. A person could live for days on that kind of poultry. Too bad she wanted to eat poor Foghorn raw with a side of uncooked Daffy and finish it off with a cup of fresh squeezed Bugs Bunny.
What is wrong with you?
She shook off her Silence of the Lambs thoughts—Ooh, lamb!—and went back to sorting through the items Anna and Gracie had brought her.
They delivered an enormous box filled with paintbrushes and various jars of different colored paint. Delilah hadn’t told Christian. She wanted to surprise him. Stowing the box of art supplies in the spare bedroom, she’d waited all morning for him to leave so she could find what she needed.
She took an armful of jars and brushes into the bedroom and went to the water pump to retrieve a jar of water. Laying out her brushes, she sat back and examined the plain green wall. She hated green.
Once she found the perfect place to begin, a nondescript spot just to the left of the dresser, she uncapped a jar of deep brown and began to paint. Her eyes followed the line of each stroke and she lost herself in the monotony of it all. Her fingers swayed and the narrow bristles of the brush became an extension of her. Disconnected marks connected and formed indentations on a landscape that had never existed before.
Tall trees took shape on the invented horizon and tiny clusters of shapes formed horse drawn carriages in the distance. She worked and worked until the dresser needed to be dragged away from the wall and the hideous green was cut into tiny segments of images.
Rinsing out her brush, she found a pale yellow. In an empty jar she diluted the color until it showed as translucent as sunshine. Once she had it the perfect consistency she filled the mural’s skyline.
Next came the whites and grays to make up the wispy fleece like clouds. Purples created shadows and reds made warm puddles of heat. Browns and greens combined to form their own patchwork patterns of earth. Every detail was so carefully delineated the realism of it all began to take shape.
High in the pale pink and yellow sky floated silhouettes of geese and low on the horizon hung insects lazing by the fields. The wall came alive and the beauty of it all was mesmerizing, even to her critical eyes.
When Delilah sat back and looked at the completed mural, her gaze was drawn to the marvelous section of clouds in the upper right of the wall. Gold beams of light filtered through the cotton candy clouds blushing low in the sky. Dappled shadows of bullion yellows and hues of rose caressed the tops of the trees. There was something breathtaking about that part of the mural, yet she couldn’t place what it was.
Looking down at herself she flinched. She was a mess. Paint smeared her arms and speckled her fingers. Her clothing showed dashes of every color of the rainbow. The sun was setting and she guessed Christian would be back soon. She should have probably thought about making something for dinner, but she had been so engrossed in painting for him it had completely slipped her mind.
The front door opened and closed and she flinched. Too late to clean herself up now. She quickly gathered up her supplies and scurried to turn the room back to rights. The dresser would need to be moved to the other wall.
A wave of lightheadedness nearly knocked her to her knees when she tried to move it. She was getting incredibly weak. Sooner or later she would have to do the one thing she’d been trying to avoid. Feed. She didn’t want to think about that now, however. Thinking about feeding made her resent what she’d become, what Christian had made her, and today was about doing something nice for him.
Heavy footsteps climbed the stairs and Delilah panicked. She tightened the lids on all the jars of paint. When she turned the mural overwhelmed her. What if he hated it? What if he was angry she painted his house without asking?
The knob on the door turned. Suddenly afraid of what he might say, she tossed the paint onto the bed and threw herself at the door. It slammed shut and Christian grunted.
“Delilah?”
“One minute!” she said frantically.
“Is everything all right?”
“Umm, I just need a minute. I’m not dressed!”
He chuckled and the knob again twisted. “Delilah, I’ve seen everything—”
“Please don’t come in!”
“Delilah, what is wrong?”
“I…did something.”
“Something?”
“Yeah. I did something and I don’t want you to be mad at me.”
He was silent for a beat. “What did you do?”
This was stupid. She meant to do something nice. If he couldn’t appreciate that, then it was his fault. Yet she still didn’t want to upset him. She bit down on the corner of her mouth and hissed. Touching her lip, she pulled her finger away and saw blood. What the hell? Her fangs were out. She needed to eat.
“Delilah, I want to come in.” He no longer sounded pleasant.
“Promise you won’t get mad.”
“How can I promise that when I don’t know what it is you’ve done?”
She fidgeted. That didn’t make her feel any better.
“Delilah, I’m coming in.”
She tensed and the door opened. Christian paused at the threshold observing at her messy state. “What—what happened to you?”
He sounded stricken. She looked down at herself and realized a good amount of paint was muddy shades of red. Mmmm, like blood!
“It’s paint,” she quickly explained.
“Paint?”
“Yeah, paint. I painted you something.”
The tension in his brow unknotted. “You did?”
Okay, that was not the voice of an angry vampyre. “Mm-hmm. But I might have gotten a little carried away.” She waved her hand toward the wall with the mural.
Christian stepped in the room and came up short. “Oh, Delilah…You did this?”
“Do you hate it?”
“No, I do not hate it. How could I hate something you created for me? It is beautiful.”
He stepped closer and lifted a hand.
“Don’t touch!” Lowering her voice, she said, “It’s still wet.”
He nodded and continued to stare at it. “This is spectacular, Delilah. I’m speechless.”
“So you like it?”
He frowned at her. “Like it? I love it. How could I not, when you made it?”
Warmth spread through her chest. Her heart raced. She tugged at the neck of her gown. Christian turned back to the mural as if in awe. Delilah noticed a smudge on the floor. She focused on the dribble of paint and her vision blurred.
“Christian?”
“Yes, pintura,” he said without turning away from the painting.
She licked her dry lips. Her shoulders grew heavy. “I don’t feel so good.” Her legs went numb and the floor rushed her vision in a blur as she collapsed and the world we
nt black.
The rapid touch upon her cheek jarred her back to consciousness. “Delilah, can you hear me? Open your eyes, pintura.”
Her lashes fluttered and Christian’s face, wrought with concern, came into focus. He sighed. “Oh, thank the Lord.”
“Shouldn’t take the Lord’s name in vain,” she mumbled weakly.
He didn’t laugh. Pressing his lips together he shook his head as if to say, now is not the time. “Delilah, you need to feed. I do not want an argument. Your pulse is erratic and you are weak. If you want I can use compulsion to make it easier, but you need to have blood.”
Funny, her stomach didn’t recoil. In fact, her belly seemed to cry out with happiness right at that very moment. “Okay, Christian,” she said tiredly, her eyelashes fluttering shut again.
“Okay you want me to use compulsion or okay you will feed?”
“Okay.”
He sighed and mumbled something she couldn’t make out.
* * * *
Christian’s heart was going to burst out of his chest. First the painting and now this. He had never been so touched by anything in his life. The mural was breathtaking and she had done it for him. He already loved her, but in that moment, seeing her so shy and insecure about his reaction, so fragile and longing for his approval, he fell for her all over again. Then she collapsed.
He caught her before she hit the floor, but for a split second he was seized by sheer terror. He shouldn’t have let her go on without feeding for so long. She was small and a new transition. Why had he ever conceded to let her determine when her body would need sustenance? She was stubborn and had probably been feeling weak for days.
He gently plucked open her eyes. She was out cold. “Please do not hate me for this, pintura.”
He bit into his wrist and placed it over her lips. She latched on so fast he jumped. Her small hands curled around the back of his wrist and held him to her mouth as she pulled from his vein. Her body hummed and she moaned as his essence filled her.
“That’s it, love, take what you need. Get your strength back. Whatever you need from me, it’s yours.”
She drank like a babe. His body buzzed with the rush of having her take from him. Lightheadedness set in with that specific sense of euphoria that came with feeding one’s mate. He became drunk with each sip she took as though he was the one consuming.
His body hardened and he ignored it. This was not about him, but about meeting her needs and seeing that his mate was healthy.
As she drank he stared at the painting she had made for him. It truly was a work of art. She had talent like he’d never seen before. If this was what made her happy he would let her paint the entire house.
Sluggishly, her pulls drew farther apart. Her cheeks regained their color and she sighed contentedly in his arms. Her mouth released his wrist and like a true vampyre, she closed the wound without even waking. He should lay her down so she could rest, but he wasn’t ready to let her go.
Christian cradled her in his arms, his fingers sifting through the silken strands of her dark hair. She was perfect. And she was his.
He looked at her arm and frowned. Just above a dash of paint, the teal rose that wrapped around her forearm showed, no longer vibrant indigo, but now a faded shade of cornflower. The shape remained, but the blue that filled the bloom was fading. How odd. He looked at the rest of her body. The other markings still appeared the same. But this one was definitely fading.
* * * *
Delilah awoke while the sky was still dark outside the windows. Her side was warm where Christian held her tight.
“You are awake.”
She turned to face him. “What happened?”
“You fainted.”
She searched her mind. Yes, she definitely passed out. “Did you feed me?”
His lips formed a tight slash over his mouth. “You were weak, Delilah. You needed blood. It is my duty—”
She gently stilled his lips with the tips of her fingers. “I know.”
“You do?”
“Yes. I was feeling my hunger for several days. I should’ve said something. I’m sorry.”
He was silent for a moment. “You scared me.”
She scared herself. “How am I going to deal with this, Christian? My body wants meat and blood, but my mind finds it repulsive.”
“I believe you are allowing your head too much say over the matter. You were more than willing to take from me when I offered. Perhaps you need to simply let go of your principles for a time in order to take what your body requires.”
She pressed her face into the pillow and sighed. “What’s going to happen to us, Christian?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, this week’s been great. I’m really starting to like it here. We make each other laugh and have amazing sex, but…that isn’t a marriage.”
“It is a start, pintura.”
She supposed it was. “What about my shop?”
He sighed. “I have valid reasons for not wanting you to return to your English life.”
“People will worry. I was at my shop every day. I practically lived there. I have clients who will be wondering where I am, people I owe services to or have to repay. I could get sued for taking money and not doing the work I promised.”
“Part of becoming vampyre is letting go of your mortal self. I know it’s difficult, but it is necessary.”
“Forever?”
“For now. Delilah, it is not safe out there. You are different. You’ve always been different. You simply did not realize it until now. But now that you are transitioned, you will slowly come into the female you were intended to be. Others will notice. Exposure is something none of us can risk. Whatever it is you need from your shop, what joy it brings you, I can try to create the same joy here. It won’t be the same exactly, but I can do my best to emulate your hobbies here on the farm within reason.”
“Are you saying I can open up an Amish tattoo parlor?”
He chuckled. “No. I do not think immortals are able to be marked in such ways.”
She frowned and looked down at her body. “My tattoos are fading.”
“I noticed. I am sorry, pintura. I did not realize that would happen.”
“Do you think eventually I will look like everyone else?”
“I think that’s impossible. You are like no one else I’ve ever come across. You will always be uniquely Delilah.”
His words warmed her. “You know I’m crazy, right? I mean you’ve been so set on trying to get me to agree to stay here. Have you actually thought about who I am? I’m not easy, Christian. I have the attention span of a fly and the energy of a bunny. I don’t do well with being idle.”
“An idle mind is where the devil plays.”
“Well, that may be, but I’m pretty sure I have a little evil in me too.”
“I do not doubt it.”
He ran his fingers down the edge of her jaw and traced his thumb over her lips. “What now?” she whispered again.
“Now I would like to make love to my mate. Tomorrow we have service. After that we will decide what to do with your shop.”
She nodded sadly, knowing the extinction of Skin Deep was inevitable. Maybe later they could open back up somewhere else. She did have an eternity after all.
“Kiss me, Delilah.”
She leaned close and pressed her lips to his. So soft and plush, he had the best lips for kissing and other things. They slowly caressed one another with their fingers and mouths, warming to each other’s touch.
Christian rolled to his back and pulled Delilah over him. She straddled his narrow hips and took his length in hand, gently stroking. He arched and moaned. His eyes fell shut and his head tipped back as she caressed him.
She lifted herself and lined his sex up with hers, gently lowering herself onto him. He moaned and she sighed. They fit perfectly. Unlike any other partner she’d ever been with, Christian fit into her like a true mate.
Delilah reached bac
k and balanced her weight on her palms resting over his muscled thighs. Christian’s hands coasted over her front and gently cupped her breasts, his thumbs rolling over the pierced tips.
“You take my breath away, Delilah. I am so grateful God has called me to you.”
She smiled and continued to move. God and Delilah had a finicky sort of relationship. She’d eventually have to have a long sit down with Him about various parts of her life. She was nowhere near the place Christian was as far as faith, but the more she thought about her situation now and compared it to her situation a few weeks ago, she had to admit, the Big Guy had pulled in some favors.
Chapter Nine
A basket of gowns arrived sometime that morning. Christian carried them up and Delilah was sorting them while he dressed. She was glad to see there were more than just green dresses.
“This one’s pretty,” she said holding up a pale blue gown with a lace apron.
Christian stilled from fastening his shirt and stared at her, a peculiar look on his face.
She glanced down at the cornflower blue dress. “What?”
He swallowed, his Adam’s apple making a slow glide under the stubble of his throat. “That is your wedding dress.”
She looked at the gown again. “It is?”
He nodded. “Amish believe that the dress a female wears on her wedding is symbolic of the most important moments of her life. When she gives her life to her husband, the one she will love above all others, there is a celebration. And then the gown is only worn again when she gives her eternity to her maker.”
“You mean when I die? That’s sort of creepy.”
“Not creepy. All orders hold such traditions. Our order however does not typically follow the second portion of the tradition.”
She opened her mouth. “Right. Because you guys don’t die. Yeah, it’s still creepy.”
He chuckled and pinched her chin affectionately before retrieving his black brimmed hat from the peg on the wall.
Call Her Mine Page 17