"She left looking for you," Georgia said. "Don’t you think you should at least talk to her? She has gone to an awful lot of trouble trying to find you."
"She should not have," Servaes whispered. He turned to leave. "Just tell her to go. Tell her it will be safe back in America for her."
"You don’t believe that, do you?" Georgia asked, stopping him. "If someone as powerful as your kind is after her, America will not save her."
Servaes bowed his head at the woman’s perception. He knew she couldn’t read his worries, but she was right. If the vampire council wanted her dead, there was nowhere on the planet she could hide. It was possible she was already within their grasp.
"She wants to be with you," Georgia persisted when he didn’t leave.
"Then she is a fool," he said in return. "My life is cursed."
"She has told me of your deeds." Georgia cautiously stepped forward. She laid a gentle hand on his arm. The cold muscles sent a chill over her. Leaning to the side to study his face through the trailing length of his dark brown hair, she said, "There is purpose to everything. You were made for a reason. And you love her for a reason. Do not question so much. Go to her and take her to be with you. It will work out."
"So much faith," Servaes mused, amazed. He lifted a hand to her weathered cheek. He could feel her mortal age in his palm.
"You should have some also," said Georgia. "Have faith in your heart. Do what it tells you. Life is too short, even your life I’d suspect. She was meant to be with you. She has gone through time for you. She has gone freely into the mouth of hell and possibly death -- for you. She loves you."
"Hathor does not know, does she?" Servaes smiled a sad smile. Brushing the old woman’s cheek, he lifted his finger to his lips to taste her single tear. Biting into his fingertip, he drew the bloodied tip to her lips until they were stained a very moist red. "Drink this."
Georgia stood transfixed. He wiped the blood over her mouth. She could feel the warm stickiness of it, a contrast to his cold skin.
"This single drop will take away the cancer and the pain," he continued.
Georgia’s eyes filled with tears. Again his hand drew over her cheek tenderly as he watched her swallow his gift. The backs of his fingers glided over her thinned hair. He could feel the immense pain the woman was in. She never let it show, not wanting anyone to fuss over her.
Suddenly, Georgia wrapped her arms around him. Servaes stiffened at the unexpected gesture. She could feel her body recovering, growing with strength. Leaning her head to his broad chest, she rushed, "Thank you, Servaes. You’re a good boy. Don’t you ever doubt it!"
Servaes patted her cheek, resting his fingers along her neck before drawing her away from him. Seriously, he ordered, "Go up and rest. You will feel tired for a few days. Do not fear. It is my blood warring with the disease inside of you. When my blood wins, you will feel better."
"Promise me you will find her," Georgia whispered, trying to hold back her tears of worry and gratitude.
"If it is within my power I will find her," he promised. Within a human second he was gone, disappearing into a fine mist that swirled out beyond the window.
Georgia gasped at the abruptness of his departure. She touched her lips, drawing a finger away stained with a trace of blood. Sticking the last bit on her tongue, she sucked the gift from her finger. She went to the window to stare out into the darkness.
"Go to her, boy," Georgia whispered. "Find her."
* * * *
Jirí growled. He tore up the side of his hotel, over the balcony and through the suite searching for Hathor. She was nowhere. He could sense the lingering affects of a presence that was not Servaes’. The smell was too old to be his son, but was too faint to detect whom. Someone had taken Hathor.
Abruptly, he stopped. He appeared impassive as he walked to the balcony. He looked out over the city, searching for Servaes with his senses. He could detect him traveling alone through the night. Nodding his head, he somehow knew that Servaes would find her. Smiling, Jirí decided to give him the one night with her, before he set out to reclaim the human woman and bring her before the council.
Chapter Nineteen
A fire burned brightly in the large old fireplace of the bedchamber. Its soft melody echoed throughout the hollow room, cascading a warm orange glow over the gray stones, which were covered with thick velvet drapes. The long blue material flowed beautifully from ceiling to floor, spilling forth like a pool of water on the hard stone.
Covering the floor in front of the fireplace was a bear rug, its brown fur soft and inviting. In place of a regular bed rested a coffin, made from brushed steel, its wide base large enough to fit two people easily within its deep core. Along the wall were a dressing table, a wardrobe, and a large high-backed chair with a padded cushion seat of matching velvet.
Hathor opened her eyes. She felt the press of fur beneath her limbs. The softness of it tickled the back of her neck, sending chills over her spine. Weakly, she touched the side of her throat. She felt the dry scratch of blood against her fingers. As she sat, she wove back and forth, her attention drawn to the flames.
"Hathor?"
Hathor stiffened. Her head followed her dazed eyes over to the sound. Her pale lips endeavored to smile as she saw Servaes’ handsome face. Her lids drooped over her eyes, forcing her to peek at him from beneath her lashes.
"Servaes," she murmured quietly.
Servaes looked at her pale face, staring strangely at him from the middle of his rug. It was like a dream -- her in his room. There was no way she could have found it on her own. Looking around him, he couldn’t sense anyone else’s presence.
"Who…?" he began. Suddenly, he frowned. He saw her body sway as she fell over to her side. He could detect the two perfect holes in her shirt over her breast, stained lightly red and two more matching holes on her jeans near her thigh. The soft brownish-red tresses of her hair clung to her neck, revealing two more very distinct punctures hidden there. Servaes was immediately by her side, gathering her up into his strong arms. She smiled gratefully, unable to look at him.
"Damn it, Hathor!" he cursed. His eyes searched her. She draped in his arms. "Who did this to you?"
"I don’t," she mumbled incoherently. "Jirí took…."
"Hathor!" voiced Servaes firmly to get her attention. His tone neared panic. He cursed again, this time in several languages so she couldn’t understand. Biting his wrist, he lifted it to her. He let a few drops pass her lips until her eyes opened once more.
Hathor moaned as if awakening from a sweet dream. Her clouded eyes found his. She parted her lips to speak, but thought better of it and leaned up to press her lips against his instead. Servaes groaned, wrapping her instantly in his solid embrace.
There were no words between them as Servaes laid her back on the soft fur. Hathor raised her arms to him, pulling him down to kiss her. Her fingers found the nape of his neck, hidden beneath the warm linen of his shirt. She lifted herself up to meet his firm, inviting hold. His hand found her back. Gently, he rolled next to her on the floor.
Hathor felt the heat of the fire on her hand as she caressed the length of him. The flames glowed, haloing his perfect hair. The touch of his tapering fingers was unhurried as they explored over her every curve. His firm mouth only left hers to trail kisses over her face and throat.
She ached at the sight of his beautiful, immortal expression and knew that this was where she would spend forever if he would let her. A moan escaped her as his hands found the flesh at her side, inching her shirt up as he explored her flat stomach. She sat up on the fur, reaching to pull her shirt off her shoulders. Then, with probing strokes, she tugged his shirt over his head. She took in the sight of his unmarred chest, the defined curves of his muscular folds.
The stormy gaze of her blue eyes studied all of him. A smile lit on her features as she went into his arms. Servaes laid her on her back, stripping her completely with his supernatural speed. Within the next instant, he too was n
aked, molded to the length of her awaiting body. His eyes glanced over her breasts and thighs to make sure she was unharmed by the bites she received. He knew that they were his fault, albeit indirectly.
Hathor chuckled passionately in spellbound awe, not noticing his self-reproach. Servaes was all around her. His body fitted along her in stroking caresses, his legs intertwined with her legs, his hips to her hips, his chest to her chest. The hot scolding length of his erection nestled into the crease of her leg, between her hips and thighs. With growing urgency, she rubbed herself against its taunting smoothness.
Panting, she begged him with her body. Her legs spread, wrapping around his delectable waist. She opened herself to him, and he claimed her with a wild, fast stroke. Hathor gasped, feeling the pleasure of his consummate possession, the fullness of him inside her quivering body. Servaes leaned back to better press within her elegant depths. Her hips met his thrusts with uncontrolled surrender.
Their heated groans grew in unison, building with passion and pleasure until they screamed their mutual release loud into the chamber. Hathor cried out, trembling. Tears came to her eyes at the power of him, his touch, his everlasting claim. As he fell against her sweat-laden chest, to lie weakly between her breasts, she couldn’t move but to breathe. Her arms fell to the side, resting by her head, and her legs fell from his body.
The crackling of fire marked the time. Slowly, Servaes raised his head. But instead of the loving gaze Hathor expected, his face was full of loathing and torture. He pushed himself away from her, not bothering to don his clothing as he turned from her to the fire. His forceful hands shoved deeply into his hair, pulling it at the roots in his suffering.
Hathor stared at him for a long moment, the fire-bronze glow to his skin, the trim line of his pale back thrown into ravishing contrast of light and dark. He was a statue, strong against the test of time, untouched by age or illness. Hesitantly, she reached her hand to feel him. Instantly, his dark eyes pierced her with their mythical depths. She could see the power of his nature swimming in his gaze, unhidden and raw.
She didn’t back away. Despite the warning she felt in him, she went to him unafraid. Her hand moved over his back, free from the sweat of exhaustion. She came to her knees, running her fingers into his hair to loosen his hold. When he relaxed, she pulled him to her chest, kneeling as she held him to her.
Servaes could hear every excruciating beat of her human heart. He could feel the life in her, the decency of her spirit. He was obsessed. He pulled away from her chest to study her face. Her wide eyes searched him, open and vulnerable and completely trusting. It had been a long time since someone had looked at him thus.
"We should not have done that," he stated darkly. "We will not do it again."
Hathor managed a small smile, not believing his words and knowing he didn’t either. They could no sooner stop their feelings than they could time. Inquiring shyly, she asked, "Where is this place?"
"My home," he answered in low tones. When she looked at him in confusion, he said, "Did you really think I would live in that little hole? I kept it for emergencies. This is where I sleep most nights."
"Oh," she breathed, looking around at the sparsely decorated chamber dangling with cobwebs. Carefully, she said, "It’s nice."
"How did you get here?" he asked, weary. He couldn’t take his eyes from her ravishing face, lined with sweat from their efforts.
Hathor’s body wracked with shivers at the familiar sound of his voice. It was like a balm to her soul. She smiled a breathtakingly radiant smile, as she answered, "I don’t know. I just woke up."
"You said Jirí," he prodded. He didn’t move away from her, but his expression didn’t encourage her affections either.
"Yes." Her hand cupped his cheek before falling to her lap. She sat back on her feet. "Jirí saved me from some of the others. They were trying to kill me. I was by the club looking for you."
"Damnation, Hathor! You are an obstinate woman! I told you not to look for me," he fumed in outrage. He pulled away from her, moving to stand in his agitation. "Why do you not listen?"
Hathor grabbed his shirt, uncomfortable to be naked with him so angry. She slipped it over her head. The voluminous folds drifted to her knees. It carried the scent of him. With a sigh, she explained calmly, "You left me no choice. You weren’t going to come back to me. Now you, my dear Marquis, might have forever to figure things out, but I don’t."
"The man you love is dead," he growled.
"The vampire I love stands before me," she answered smoothly. Servaes cursed the damning light in her eyes as it glowed confident in her words. Hathor stood to face him, her hand flying to her hips. "Now, I will admit, I do love the human form you presented to me. I do understand that the man you were is dead, but only physically. Everything I love is standing before me. Granted, your eyes are not as lighthearted and your smile not so ready. But love is not dependent on an easy smile. It is much more than that. It is the feeling of the sun and moon colliding within you at just a thought. It is the sensation of drowning in pleasure within a brief glance. And that is only the beginning of what I feel for you. Can’t you understand? I need you. I am not whole without you."
Servaes wanted to believe the pretty words. They flowed over him, begging him to accept them. But he couldn’t. He wouldn’t damn her for her ignorance. Darkly, he reasoned, "And what happens when you grow older? What of children and grandchildren and daylight? Will you not want it all? Will you truly be contented in your life with a being that can’t even walk you through a sunlit garden? Will you be contented knowing each dusk when I leave you I go to kill?"
"But --"
"No," Servaes answered for her. "You will not. What about after you are gone? What do you think it will do to me? I will never be able to die and join you. I will be trapped for an eternity with only the memory of you to torture me. That is not something I relish. Already it is hard for me to imagine my existence -- damned and cursed as it is -- without you. If not for you, then do it for me. Leave me forever. Do not search me out again. If you truly think to love me, then go. Find a man who can give you what you deserve. Have a life of love, one that will not be overshadowed by constant death."
"My heart can’t love another, you fool," she cried. She tried to go to him. His gaze stopped her. He shook his head as he backed steadily away.
"It is my blood in your veins that makes you say such things," he explained with damning rationale.
"Stop telling me that! I am like a pincushion with all the blood taken and given to me. Every time I turn around someone is trying to bite me. Well, I am through with it. Ginger, Vincent, Lamar, Jirí, and whoever that last one was -- they can all rot. I know my mind." Hathor’s chest heaved in frustration. This was not going as she hoped. Her voice softened, insecure as she watched him. "And I don’t expect you to be lonely forever after I’m gone."
His eyes shot to her, wondering at her words.
Carefully, she acknowledged with a false sense of bravado, "For I am going to be with you forever. I’ll be with you so long you will tire of me and grow fond of me a hundred-thousand times over."
"What are you trying to say?" he asked carefully.
"For one who can read minds, you are pretty dense," she ruefully teased. He was not amused. Sighing, she said, "I want you to make me what you are. Turn me into a vampire so that I can be with you. It is the only way. I am tired of being bitten and chased. End it for me. Make me like you. It is the most logical answer."
Servaes studied her. Going over to his pants, he pulled them on. Slowly, he tied the laces at the sides. He could feel Hathor’s eyes on him, waiting for him to answer.
"Servaes?" she whispered.
"You do not know what you ask," he stated finally. He turned to her, looking at her graceful body in his shirt. He knew that the image of her now, before him in all her vulnerable charm, would never fade from his mind no matter how many more centuries would pass for him.
"Yes, I do," she asserted. Hat
hor took a step for him. When he didn’t move, she turned her neck to the side. "Do it. Take my blood one last time. I know it will hurt. I saw you on the docks. But it won’t last. Now, take it. It is what I want to happen. I want to change and be with you forever. It is the only way either of us will find happiness."
Servaes lifted a hand to her cheek, caressing her skin softly. He smelled her blood, her yearning. He felt his own love her for her pumping in his veins, the emotion sweet after so many years of nothing. The power of the feeling nearly choked the life from him. Softly, he murmured, "You could have been free of me. You could have left me to die that morning by the stairwell. You should have let me die."
"I will never be free of you," she whispered back. Her eyes closed. She stood waiting for him, her body tense and nervous.
Servaes leaned forward, baring his teeth for the bite. Freezing in midair, he studied the rose tint to her complexion, the fine lines of her soft face and delicate lids. He heard the thud of her heart, and then he felt her shake. Slowly he drew back, covering his fangs with his lips.
"You might never be free," he whispered, "but you must forget about me. I will not turn you. I will not be the one to damn your soul."
"Then I will find someone else," she threatened. "Jirí --"
"He will not," Servaes denied easily, knowing it to be true. "Jirí will not change a woman."
"Well then I will find someone else besides the sexist pig," Hathor fumed. "Maybe that man … creature that must have brought me here. Maybe he will help me."
"Who?" Servaes questioned, remembering that she mentioned before that someone else had taken her blood.
"I don’t know. He was older than both you and Jirí. And he was very powerful." Hathor went over to her jeans, pulling the denim roughly over her hips. Servaes felt a surge of jealousy in his chest. Defiantly, she charged, "Then let’s see you try to run from me for the next eternity. I should very much like proving you wrong as you make love to me every night."
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