I went to the kitchen sink and splashed ice cold water on my face until I was gasping. It helped—a little.
“There,” I said out loud. “That’s better.”
It occurred to me that I was getting into the habit of talking to myself, which was sort of bordering on crazy. I needed to get a grip. I remembered that I had seen a box of chamomile tea in one of Victor’s cabinets and made a plan on the spot. I would explore the rest of the house and then make myself a soothing cup of tea to sip while I watched something mindless on TV. And I would not entertain any more fantasies about the big were who was now my husband.
“Temporary husband,” I reminded myself as I retreated from the kitchen and went to look at the rest of the house.
The upstairs rooms were still clearly under construction. They looked like they were going to be some guest bedrooms and maybe a study. Downstairs was almost completely finished. Besides the kitchen there was a breakfast nook and a vast living area filled with a big brown leather sectional and a large flat screen TV.
Probably where he watches the game, I thought, imagining Victor sprawled on the couch, his long, muscular form taking up most of the sectional. He would have the remote in one hand, clicking idly. I would come up behind him and kiss the back of his neck.
“Who’s winning?” I would ask.
He wouldn’t answer—instead he would reach up and pull me into his lap. I would snuggle close and breathe in his rich, masculine scent. The heat of his big body would warm me all the way through. One large hand would slip into my blouse and cup my breast, his thumb sliding gently over my nipple until a sweet, lazy lust filled me, making me hot, making me want him…
God, I was doing it again! I shook myself and took a deep breath, trying to clear my head. What was going on with all the weird fantasies? The feelings I’d been having for ages, but these strange little flashes of what my life would be like with Victor if we were really a couple…not to mention the way they kept getting sexual—well, it was too much.
Keep going, I told myself sternly. Look at the rest of the house. Concentrate on that and stop fantasizing.
Except the next step on my self-guided tour led me straight to the master bedroom.
I stared in dismay at the king sized bed, realizing suddenly that it was the only bed in the house. Was this where I was supposed to sleep? I went to the windows on the far side of the room, noting that they were far enough from the bed not to cast any light on it when the sun was up. But when I got closer, I saw that it wouldn’t have been a problem, even if they had been closer. Victor had covered the glass panes completely in heavy duty aluminum foil and there were thick, navy blue blackout drapes hanging across them that matched the dark blue spread on the bed.
Wow, he really had been preparing the house for me. That was…actually, it was kind of nice. Maybe he was a more thoughtful guy than I’d given him credit for.
I went back and sat on the bed for a minute, testing its firmness. It would be the first time I had slept—really slept—in a real bed in years. I’d had a creaky little cot at Corbin’s club, Under the Fang. And in Celeste’s house I had been given a dark, cobwebby crawlspace beneath the floorboards to sleep in. It had been horrible but I still liked it much better than any of her palatial bedrooms. That was because spending time in bed always meant torture of some kind. Celeste enjoyed hurting others as much as most people enjoy sex—more, actually. And she especially loved to act out her kinky fantasies on me…
I pushed the memory away with a real effort and buried my face in one of the plump, king sized pillows at the head of the bed instead. I breathed deeply, filling my senses with Victor’s scent. Dark spice. Fur and leather and sunlight in the forest… I don’t know why but it calmed me down.
It’s over now, I reminded myself. Roderick is dead and Celeste can’t touch me. I’m safe. I’m safe here.
I only wished I could believe it. Even more, I wished I could exorcise the memories of my personal season in hell. I had told Addison most of it—I would have gone insane if I couldn’t talk to someone. But some things were too awful to express in words. Too horrible to remember yet too dreadful to forget…
I became aware that I was crying and sat up hastily. Since vamps cry blood for tears, it’s important to watch it when you have a breakdown. I looked down anxiously—I didn’t want to stain Victor’s sheets.
There was a small drop of blood on the pillowcase I’d been lying on but it was so tiny as to be unnoticeable, especially against the dark blue pillowcase. I flipped the pillow over just to be sure and went to the bathroom to get some tissue.
After blotting my red-rimmed eyes, I looked around the master bath. It was very nice—all done in dark gray marble with a walk-in shower and a garden tub. There was only one window, high up in the shower stall. Which meant I wouldn’t be taking any showers during the day but then, I would probably be sleeping anyway. Most people think vamps are dead—all the way dead—while the sun is up, but that’s not true. We just sleep very deeply—so deeply we’re almost impossible to wake—which is why it’s so important to be someplace safe and light tight before you finally let yourself collapse.
There was a vast walk-in closet at the far end of the room, which appeared to be sparsely filled with mostly jeans and t-shirts. (Yes, I looked through his clothes. I know—I’m nosey.) There were several pairs of work boots too as well as a laundry basket of what appeared to be clean towels, another basket filled with dirty clothes, and a first aid kit, but nothing else of much interest.
I came back out into the master bathroom and my eyes were once again draw to the tub. I liked it a lot. So much that I decided to modify my plans and have my mug of tea while I took a soothing bubble bath. I got the water running and looked around for something to use for bubbles but there was nothing but a bright green cake of Irish Spring in the shower. No big surprise there—Victor was a man’s man if I had ever seen one. There was no way I was going to run across a bottle of Bath and Body Works Sweet Pea bubble bath in here.
Finally, I ended up using some lemon scented dish-soap I found in the kitchen while making my tea. It wasn’t exactly what I wanted but getting a hot, soothing bubble bath for the first time in years was such a treat I didn’t care. Back at our old apartment, Addison and I had drawn up a regular bath schedule because there wasn’t enough hot water for both of us to have one on the same night. I treasured my bath nights, even though our little tub hadn’t been nearly as deep and luxurious as Victor’s.
I piled my hair on top of my head and secured it with a pencil I found lying on the bedside table. Really, I was going to have to get Addison to bring me some things. I thought about calling her up and chatting about my new temporary house right then, but from the looks she and Corbin had been giving each other, I was certain she was busy.
A little smile crossed my lips when I thought of my tough-as-nails Vampire Auditor best friend finally giving in to her attraction to the big blond master vamp. Corbin had been after her for ages—intent on making her his from the first minute he’d seen her. I was glad she had finally realized how sincere he was and allowed herself to find love. If only that could happen to me…
But it wasn’t going to—not now. Once, back when I was human, before Celeste had taken me and turned me, I had thought it would be possible. I used to imagine finishing vet school and opening my own small animal practice somewhere in Tampa. Treating my four-legged patients and then coming home to a loving husband and a sweet little boy or girl at the end of the day. Maybe both—why not? I had always loved kids and I was sure I would make a great mom.
Back when I had the ability to become a mom, that was. Vampires can’t have kids—the blood flowing through our veins is too cold and there isn’t enough nutrition in it to nourish a fetus. Not to mention the fact that even if I could get pregnant and carry a baby to term, I still wouldn’t do it. Because getting pregnant would entail having sex with someone and that was something I had sworn off forever.
“Ne
ver again,” I whispered, sinking lower in the tub, letting the lemon-scented bubbles cover me. “Never…never again…”
I don’t know how long I stayed in the tub, dozing and sipping the soothing chamomile tea. Hours, probably—I just kept adding hot water. Anyway, it was long enough to finish my tea. I wondered idly where Victor had gotten it. He didn’t seem the type to drink any kind of tea—let alone the fussy herbal stuff. Maybe it was a present from his mom? An old girlfriend? Imagining him with another girl made me uncomfortable for some reason. I closed my eyes and let my mind drift to other, more pleasant subjects.
“Want me to scrub your back?” he’d say, coming in to the bathroom while I was taking a bath.
“Sure.” I would sit up, gathering the bubbles around my breasts demurely, and presenting him with my bare back.
“Mmmm…” His voice would be a deep growl of approval as he sat on the edge of the tub and slid one big, warm hand over my naked, shivering back. He would soap me for awhile and then his hand would slide lower, slipping down under the waters to find my pussy and cup me there. I would feel those long fingers parting me, letting the hot water rush in to stroke my silky folds until I moaned…
This time I didn’t try to fight the fantasy. I didn’t know why I kept having these visions—it was bizarre to say the least, since I didn’t even really know the big were—but I was tired of trying not to imagine him. He might be big and scary and rough around the edges but he was much nicer to think about than the horrible things I’d gone through while I was at the mercy of Celeste.
The feelings grew inside me until I couldn’t help myself anymore. Slowly, my hand dipped beneath the bubbles. I gave a little moan when I cupped myself—I couldn’t help it. I had thought this part of me was dead and yet, here tonight, it seemed very much alive. I slipped my fingers into my pussy and caressed the hot little bud of my clit. My own touch felt wonderful but I could feel my body aching for more, begging for the rough yet gentle touch of someone else…
I touched myself slowly at first and then more rapidly, giving in to the pleasure that overwhelmed me again and again. And yet, I still wasn’t satisfied. Why—?
A long, desolate howl suddenly cut through my pleasurable contemplation. My heart pounding, I sat up in the tub with a jerk that sent a wave of lukewarm water over the side. Looking up at the window located in the shower stall, I was shocked to see the first gray-pink tendrils of dawn creeping in.
I felt a stab of shame. What was wrong with me? How long had I been lying here, touching myself and indulging in fantasies I had no business imagining? What would I do if Victor came back home right this minute? After all it was dawn—weres everywhere would be shaking off the call of the moon and going back to their human forms. A were or shape shifter can’t take their animal form during daylight hours—at least, none that I had ever heard of. So no matter where he was, Victor was probably human. And if he came home early and found me lounging in his tub, touching myself…
The thought was enough to send me up and out of the tub in record time. I pulled the plug, grabbed a towel (did the man own any linens that were not navy blue?) and dried myself off hurriedly.
I went to grab my clothes off the floor, only to find they had been soaked by the rush of tepid water I had sent over the side of the tub. Great—now what was I supposed to do? I couldn’t hang around Victor’s house naked or wrapped in a towel.
The howl sounded again, much closer than before. It made me jump and not just because of its proximity. There was something in the long, mournful sound—a note of pain I had heard often enough before in my old life working at the animal hospital. Pain. It’s in pain.
Immediately the vet part of me, the part that had loved animals from the first time I had brought my mother a tiny baby squirrel that had fallen out of a nest to nurse and raise, woke up. I have to help it. I have to.
Leaving my wet clothes in a sodden mass on the floor, I went back to the walk-in closet and grabbed a white t-shirt out of the laundry basket. I could smell Victor’s scent on it and when I pulled it on, the hem fell almost to my knees. The soft, worn cotton felt comforting against my bare skin.
The howl sounded again—this time closer to the house. I ran to the kitchen and heard a thumping sound coming from the other side of the door.
I peered out the half circle of glass located high in the kitchen door, standing on my tiptoes to do it. Just outside was the biggest wolf I had ever seen. It was whining and pushing its furry head against the door, causing it to rattle in its frame and making the thumping sound.
I stood back, gnawing my lower lip in indecision. Was it Victor? Should I let it in? But how could it be him? Dawn was definitely here. I could see the grayish-pink light growing slowly more golden and I could feel the sun, like a weight in the sky above me. Soon that weight would press me into the ground, wearing me out, forcing me to give in to sleep whether I wanted to or not. I still had a little while before I was literally knocked unconscious by the unseen ball of fire in the sky, but I needed to make a decision soon.
I looked out the high window at the top of the door again and saw that the wolf had backed up a little. It was looking up at the door with a mournful expression in its big golden eyes.
But it wasn’t the wolf’s eyes that drew my attention—it was holding one front paw carefully up and out from its body. Hanging from the paw was a trap—a thick, dull silver thing with sharp, wicked looking teeth. The teeth had pierced the wolf’s forepaw and rivulets of blood had run down its leg and matted its grayish-black fur.
That was it—my mind was made up. I couldn’t leave an animal to suffer like that—even a dangerous one that might hurt me.
I had to let it in.
Chapter Four—Wolf
Hurts. It hurts. Ithurts ithurts ithurts. Thoughts are not clear when I am Wolf but that is always true. I am running, trying to get away from the pain in my leg but I can’t, o, I can’t. The wind coming through the trees tells me other wolves are there, other wolves are following. Do they know I am hurt? Are they closing in for the kill?
Instinct sends me home, to the wooded house the man built. He/I—we share this body. Sometimes another shares it too but I don’t like to think of him. The almost Wolf. The in-between one. He frightens me until I want to bite someone, to gnaw my way out of the danger and run and run and run.
I reach the edge of the woods and see the man-house standing there in the first light of dawn. I want to go toward it but something tells me not to—a message, distant but direct, coming from the man who is somewhere far in the back of my head.
“Don’t go near the house. Leave the girl alone.”
I howl in pain and confusion.
What girl? Why should I care about her? The man-house means safety, refuge from the hunting pack that may or may not be chasing me. And maybe even a stop to the pain, the sharp, piercing agony that grips my left foreleg and won’t let go.
I want to go to the house. I can feel the man in the back of my head, watching me, telling me no. The impulse he sends to stay away tries to stop me again but this time I ignore it. The house is safety. The house means no more pain.
But when I get there, the wooden door is shut. Why is it shut? The man always leaves it open for me. He knows I walk the day sometimes, keeping the body we share longer than I truly should. He leaves the door open and some meat on the floor, in case I haven’t caught anything during my hunt. But not this time—this time it is shut.
I push against the door, rattling it in the frame. The silver biter digging its teeth into my paw hurts more with every minute. Why can’t I come in? I want to come in!
I lift my head and howl, giving voice to my frustration and pain. Let me in! Please let me in!
Suddenly, a miracle—the door opens. I start to go to it…and stop. Standing there is a girl, but not just any girl—a dead one. A growl starts to build in my throat. Wolves don’t like dead ones. They are not right—not natural. My instincts say they shouldn’t exist. I do n
ot like things that should not exist—they confuse and frighten me.
The dead one is pale with big, sky-colored eyes—a pale girl. What is she doing in the man-house? Why is she in the place the man and I share?
I growl at her again but the pale girl doesn’t seem frightened—or at least, I don’t catch the scent of fear from her. She crouches down and whispers to me, calling me by a name that sounds familiar. The man’s name? I cock my head to one side, trying to understand. Slowly, I limp-hop a step forward.
“That’s it.” The pale girl’s voice is soft and coaxing. It sounds nice…soothing. She calls me from the doorway and I take another hobbling step forward. Her scent is stronger now and I take a deep whiff. Funny, she doesn’t smell much like a dead one. But she doesn’t smell human either. She smells…she smells almost like another Wolf. Which doesn’t make any sense. How can a dead one be a Wolf?
“Come on, boy. Come on,” the pale girl coaxes. I am almost to the door now but when she reaches for me I am suddenly frightened. I don’t know her—how can I trust her?
I jump back out into the yard and give a short, painful yip as the silver biter grinds its teeth in my paw. Hurts. O, it hurts and hurts and hurts. Please, make it stop. Make it stop hurting!
The pale girl is still crouched in the doorway. She looks up at the sky and now I smell a fear scent on her. But she isn’t frightened of me—she is scared of something in the sky. The sun? The light? It is getting brighter and brighter—soon it will be day. I should leave and let the man take over but somehow I can’t. I am stuck, as I have been many times before.
The pale girl looks stuck too. She wants me to come to her but I cannot—I fear her touch. I fear the pain in my paw. I fear I will be stuck forever and the man will never come forward again.
The girl looks up at the sky once more and seems to make up her mind. Slowly, carefully, she steps outside, past the doorway. At once her fair skin begins to blister. I see the pain in her eyes and smell the hurt in her scent but she doesn’t shout or cry or run away. Instead, she walks slowly toward me, talking softly in that soothing voice.
Born to Darkness Box Set Page 32