by Lund, S. E.
I can't help but smile back at his playful tone and that lopsided grin. Then his grin disappears and he pulls me into his arms, his lips finding my cheek, his tongue touching my skin. I feel such a wave of love and desire from him that it almost makes me pass out, but I push him away.
"Michel," I say, trying to escape his arms. "I can't…"
He sighs, his hands cupping my face. "I'm sorry. You must understand how I feel…"
I do understand. I feel it when he touches me. He loves me. He wants me. His heart is breaking at the thought that I love Julien.
Despite everything, this feels so right – being with Michel. This could happen so easily between us...
I pull back and there are tears in his eyes. The expression on his face is haunting in its sadness, as if he already knows that I'll choose Julien.
But even I don't know what I'll choose. Who I'll choose.
CHAPTER NINE
"There is no I or you, so intimate that
your hand upon my chest is my hand, so intimate that
when I fall asleep your eyes close."
Pablo Neruda
I spend the rest of the afternoon and evening in class, studying for our final written test. The instructor goes over the different fighting techniques, weapons, tactics, and other information we've received over the course of the past week and a half. All the while I can't stop thinking about Michel and what he's offered. He's actually giving me the choice to go with him or to stay with Julien. Some part of me can't really believe it – will he renege on his offer and take me if I decide to stay with Julien?
Will I stay with Julien? I think back to our time together, as brief as it has been, and my heart swells with emotion for him. He's so beautiful and so attentive and so erotic… The thought of us working together as partners makes me happy.
But Michel… He's so serious. His words are so somber and scare me. Dominion – it's just a concept to me – the rule of Ancients and vampires over mortals. I remember reading in my journal what Julien said to me at the hotel in Norfolk – how the Ancients were planning to strike against technology. Millions – perhaps billions – would die in the coming war.
I'm so torn.
Later, after I shower and dress in my pajama top and bottoms, I'm finally alone in my tiny bedroom, sitting on my bed waiting for my nightly dose of blood. The door opens and it's Michel. I realize he must have compelled everyone in the building if he can just come and go at will. He closes the door and sits beside me on the bed.
"You need to feed," he says, his voice low, husky.
"You have a vial of blood for me?” I say, but I know he wouldn't bring a vial. I know that like Julien, this appeals to him so much – my need for his blood. My feeding off his body.
"No vials of blood between us, Eve," he says and pulls me into his arms. I stiff arm him and don't let him embrace me.
"No," I say. "I can't just do this so easily. I'm used to Julien…"
He exhales heavily.
"Do you really want my blood in a vial?"
I hesitate. I can't deny that the idea of sitting on his lap as I have with Julien, drinking his blood from his neck appeals to me, but I suddenly feel all shy with him. He's so much like Julien, except the longer hair and clean shaven face, but the eyes and thick black lashes, the square jaw and soft mouth are the same.
"It would give me some distance. This is all so," I say and struggle for words. "So overwhelming. I just can't go between you two like this. You can't expect me to."
"I know," he says and strokes my cheek, releasing an endorphin in my brain that makes me relax. Before I know it, he's pulling me onto his lap, into his arms. I can do nothing, my body so relaxed I'm practically like a rag doll. He positions my arms around his shoulders and tilts his head to the side, dragging his nail down the skin on his neck below his ear. A thin line of dark blood forms and begins to drip down his neck.
I don't hesitate, pressing my mouth against it, sucking.
He sighs, his arms tightening around me. The taste is so sweet and intoxicating, different from the tiny vial of Julien's blood I've been drinking while at the abbey because it's fresh and not adulterated with preservatives and anti-clotting medications. I don't need much to feel satisfied – just a mouthful or two – and as I fall away from his neck, he lays me down on the bed and lies on top of me.
I spread my thighs without thought and he lies between them. He moves and presses against me, and although my body is ready, my mind still fights.
"Please," I manage to say, turning my face when he leans down to kiss me.
Finally, he sighs and rolls off me.
“I'm sorry," he says.
"You have to understand. I've just been with Julien. I can't just fuck you. It's the blood."
"It’s OK,” he says and exhales. “I understand. I can wait. When you’ve existed for eight hundred years, you learn patience. When this happens between us, I want you to be absolutely certain. I want you absolutely present with me, willing, ready.” He kisses me and strokes my cheek. “I’m a very patient man, Eve. I can wait for you.”
It’s then my thoughts turn to my future and a cold sensation takes hold of me. I still don’t know what my decision will be.
Beside me, Michel exhales heavily and pulls me tightly against him.
We sleep on the tiny cot, nestled against each other, him spooned against my back. I'm surprised he stays, but he must have every guard and trainer under his power. Of course, when I wake with his body beside me, I want him but I dig my nails into my palms.
"It's OK, Eve," he whispers. "I won't push, but you'd better leave, quickly, or I might not be able to control myself." He kisses my neck and his lust momentarily makes me dizzy, my eyes closing. I see into his mind and detect his plan to masturbate in the shower when everyone's in class and he'll be alone, with thoughts of my naked body in his mind's eye.
I roll over and I'm unable to keep the smile off my face when I see his wide grin.
"I'd better leave. I'm not even allowed to masturbate while I'm in training."
"It's a male plumbing thing," he says. "I have no choice in the matter. It's part of the lifestyle."
I recognize the Seinfeld reference and smile against the pillow.
This is too good. This feels too perfect. I could be happy with this – the way it is right now between us. So light, so happy, so filled with lust and love. If it could be like this always… But the things he said yesterday suggest it will be otherwise and that worries me. I never was an actor. I could never hide my true feelings even if I lied to myself about feeling them. I don't know if I can do what it is he says I'll have to do to be with him.
I push the thoughts out of my mind and get up, leaving him alone in the bed. Before I go, I take one last long glance at his half-naked body sprawled on the bed, his skin so perfect and pale against the dark wool blanket, his muscles well-developed, the dark thatch of hair running down from his navel beneath his boxer briefs. His delightfully thick erection is clearly visible. Just seeing him lying there almost naked sends another jolt of lust through me and part of me wants to just go and sit on him. But I don't. I can't be that woman – the one who cheats on her lover. I can’t be Marguerite who moved between the two brothers, fucking them both at the same time.
Instead, I head to the showers and the cafeteria to start my day.
I'm busy in class all day, reviewing before the big written test but thoughts of Michel masturbating in the shower as the water runs over his naked body distract me from my work, a pleasant ache in my groin.
Late in the afternoon, Michel watches me while I spar with two fellow students, practicing with a set of short swords, one wooden, one metal. He's dressed in a black Japanese-style uniform, soft trousers and tunic, his feet bare. He circles us, his arms crossed, stepping in to give us direction. He seems to have taken over Julien's role. Julien was the Knight, the soldier, the warrior. I wonder why he isn't here instead of Michel. Why didn't he decide to take part in my training the way Michel
has?
Regardless, Michel is focused, watching me, judging me, stopping the fight at various points to make a comment about technique, adjusting my stance and even his touch arouses me. He rolls his eyes at me once when he stands in for my opponent, adjusting my body so I'm in a better position and I feel a stab of lust race to my groin at his touch.
"Eve," he whispers in my ear as he leans in briefly, squeezing my shoulder. "Concentrate."
It's so hard for me to concentrate when I know what he's done earlier.
He grins and pushes me away. All the while, his eyes are on me and I feel self-conscious. Despite his brief indulgent smile, his face is dark as I fight, his eyes intense. I'm a bit hesitant for fear I don't perform up to his standards.
Later, we eat together in the cafeteria after the other students have finished, and he tells me about my performance against multiple opponents. I have slightly better fight sight than the students I fought against today, and it gives me an advantage.
"Physically, you are now strong enough to fight, but you still must develop judgment. That will only come with time. You and I will need to practice frequently, to ensure you have faced every possibility and found a way to survive, succeed."
I don't say anything. He's planning as if I will go with him but as much as I desire him, I haven't decided. While I sat in class earlier, instead of listening to the instructor review a section on weapons, I thought about my choice. I can't deny my attraction to Michel – he's so calm and strong and makes me feel safe and loved. His willingness to let me choose makes my emotions surge. But he killed my mother, and there's a part of me that can never forgive him.
Then I think of Julien…
Julien's so passionate. When I'm with Julien, I feel as if we're just completely absorbed in each other. He loves me. He needs me in a way Michel doesn't seem to. Michel will let me go, but I know Julien wouldn't.
I feel as if Julien and I are equals. I know we aren't – he's eight-hundred years old. He's a vampire – more than just a vampire now that he's transformed. But when we're together, I feel as if he treats me like an equal – as two humans instead of a vampire and human, the way Michel does. I'm Julien's partner as well as his lover. He wants us to be a team to police the treaty and stop Blackstone. His humanity seems closer to the surface. Despite our intimacy, Michel still seems otherworldly to me and there's this distance I feel from him, like a separation that can never be breached, no matter how much mutual lust I feel from him.
Now, as I sit across from Michel while we eat our meal, my gut wrenches about the decision I must make tomorrow. No matter what I decide, someone will be hurt. Michel said it would break his heart, but it must not break it that much if he's willing to let me go. I know Julien wouldn't let me go without a fight.
That must mean something…
I choke up at the thought of this choice and for a moment, I have to put my fork down and try to calm myself, taking in deep breaths, biting my cheek to gain control. Tears bite at the corners of my eyes. Across from me, Michel looks up and frowns, wiping his mouth on a napkin and pushing his plate away. He reaches across the table and takes my hand and if he's reading me, if he knows my thoughts, he doesn't say. He doesn't protest. I don't feel him in my mind and I wonder if I've blocked him or if he's just that much more powerful now that he can enter my mind without my knowing it. I have been drinking his blood.
He squeezes my hand, his face so earnest, his eyes haunted. He stands and comes around beside me, pulling me against his chest, stroking my hair as I struggle to regain my composure.
Still, he says nothing. Just holds me tightly.
He knows…
Then he lifts my chin with a finger, wiping my tears away with his other hand.
"You are so beautiful in every way."
He leans down and kisses me, his kiss chaste. When he does, I wish I'd never met Julien. But I have and now I can't get Julien out of my mind. Part of me wants neither of them, but as Julien said, if I don't choose one, by default I choose Soren, for he's the most powerful of the Ancients – or whatever he is. I still haven't figured that out yet.
Michel sits back down and we continue to eat in silence. My mind is unable to leave Soren behind and I decide to push Michel for information. He can't protest – he wants me to make this huge decision and I need to know more before I can.
"What is Soren?" I say. "He's not just an Ancient."
Michel sits back, frowning. He doesn't say anything for a few moments as if debating with himself on whether to tell me.
"What do you think he is? You met him."
"That's not fair," I say. "You know what he is. Why won't you just tell me? He told me that I was wrong about what he is. That must mean he's not an Ancient. Is he Grigori?"
Michel pushes food around on his plate without looking at me. Finally, he speaks and his voice is almost a whisper.
"He is less than Grigori. More than an Ancient. When he fed the first time, it wasn't on a human. It was on his maker – his father. He killed his father, a Nephilim. That made him more powerful."
"What is his plan? He doesn't want to lead Blackstone. What does he want?"
"Eve," he says and shakes his head. "I can't tell you. How many times do I have to repeat that?"
"Why? You want me to just trust you, come with you, to be your little slave, and help you stop him, but you won't tell me." And then I pull out my trump card. "Julien would."
He doesn't respond so if my barb hit its target, I can't tell.
"Julien doesn't see what I see."
"What do you mean? See what?"
He shakes his head quickly, and I can see the internal struggle written on his face, his jaw tensing, his brow furrowed. Finally, he glances up at me, his eyes pained.
"Even telling you this much changes everything and I have to try to see my way through all over again. I wish I could tell you, Eve. You don't know how much. I just can't."
"Why? What do you mean, see your way through all over again?"
He bites his bottom lip as if to stop himself from speaking. He's completely unnerved by this conversation. What is he hiding? Why does he feel so afraid to tell me the truth?
He leans forward, his eyes downcast, and whispers as if he's afraid to say the words out loud.
"Every word, every act, every decision," he says, his voice shaking, "changes everything. I can see all ends and I'm trying so hard to find the one that protects you but even just saying that much changes it all once more. Soren and I – we're playing a game of chess, both of us assessing each other's moves. We can both see every possible outcome, every possible future." He says nothing for a moment as if overcome, struggling with his emotions, then he looks at me, his gaze moving over my face. "I wish you could just submit, Eve. Just submit. It would be so much easier."
"I can't until you tell me why I have to."
He closes his eyes, raising his hands as if in surrender. "That is my dilemma. I must not tell you, I must not force you because if I do, it will lead to the end I fear the most. I must keep you in the dark and let you choose."
"You're not making any sense."
He shrugs, his eyes dreamy as if he's seeing something in the distance or in his mind's eye.
"It all keeps changing, shifting, the ground moving under my feet with each word and each action. I try to do the right thing, keep on the right course, but I am unable to control everything. I fail to control you." Then he glances back at my face. "I have to be so careful…"
"You sound insane." He does. What he's saying makes no sense. "Tell me, Michel! Tell me what's going on."
He shakes his head as if helpless.
I put my napkin over my plate and stand. If he's going to keep up this mystery man act, I can't go with him. Julien promised to tell me the truth, always. Why can't Michel?
"I'm going to my class. I guess I'll see you later at the final bout."
He nods without looking at me as if he's already off somewhere else, trying to see his way
through it – whatever it is.
After another hour in class, we go to our sparring practice and Michel is there, waiting for me, short Wakizashi swords in hand. This time when we fight, he keeps just ahead of me, pushing me, challenging me, forcing me to always be on the defensive. And then he hurts me, by accident I'm certain, but he hurts me all the same. He slices my arm and the blood pours out of the deep cut, so much so that it scares me.
I crumple to the ground and try to stem the flow of blood. He grabs my arm and applies pressure to the wound, his brow furrowed.
"I'm so sorry," he says, holding the edges of the wound together with his fingers. Slowly, the edges knit together and the flow changes from a gush to a tiny ooze but I've already lost a lot of blood.
He carries me to my bedroom for I'm weak from blood loss.
"Don't let me die," I say, as darkness closes in on me.
"You won't," he says, biting his own wrist, holding it up to my mouth. "Drink."
I do, for I know it will heal me, replenish the blood I've lost. Soon, I feel strength return to my body and my vision, which had dimmed, clears so I see his beautiful face poised over mine, his eyes dark.
Soon, I'm able to sit up and I examine the thin line where the wound used to be.
"Soren healed me completely without making me drink his blood."
"He's more powerful than I am."
"What is he?" I say, touching his arm. "What does he want?"
"He wants to be a god," he says, and then helps me up. "A god of war reborn. He wants to claim the Roman Church for his own. Use it to rule over all."
"And you? What will you be to him? He wants you with him."
He nods. "He wants me as his High Priest. His Pope."
He raises his eyes to meet mine as if he's embarrassed to admit this to me. Finally! Michel tells me something I didn't already know.
"And are you?" I say, heat rising in my face at his admission. "Are you his High Priest? Will you be his pope?"
He exhales. "I will. He wants Julien as his warlord."