by Tina Folsom
Quickening his step, he headed home, never letting go of Portia’s hand.
When the entrance door fell shut behind him, his eyes searched hers. For the first time in his life, he didn’t know where to start. They had barely had a chance to talk since the fire had killed her father, and except for the few words he’d said after they’d jumped from the window, he’d not mentioned her father’s death. But it was an issue they had to resolve.
“I know,” she whispered.
Could Portia really read him so well? “Know what?”
“That this is hard for you. I am his daughter. Nothing will ever change that. When you look at me, you must think of him, of the things he did to you and your family. I don’t know how I can ever make that go away.”
He silenced her by pressing a finger to her lips. “You have nothing to prove to me. I know who you are.” He pressed his hand to his chest. “I feel it in here. You’re nothing like him. When I look at you, I only see you. But I hurt you. The things I said to you, the way I threatened you …”
Zane closed his eyes, wishing he could undo it all.
“How can you even trust me after how I treated you?”
“You were willing to give your life in exchange for mine.” She sucked in a quick breath. “I would have never accepted it, of course, but to know that you were willing to do that … it showed me what’s in your heart.”
“I would offer it again.”
“I hope you’ll never have to again.”
Zane dropped his lids and studied his boots for a moment. “There’s something else you need to know.” When he looked up, she gave him a curious look. “Without a living parent, and considering your age, you’ll automatically be considered mature and legally of age. It means you can make your own decisions.”
A smile pasted itself onto her lips. “What kind of decisions?”
“Any.” He shifted his weight to the other foot, suddenly nervous.
Portia took a step closer, then another one, bringing her flush to his body. “Is there anything you want to ask me?”
Her eyelashes fluttered slightly, and he suddenly heard a tremble in her voice.
“I have no right to ask you.”
Her eyebrows twisted. “I don’t understand.”
“You’re young, and I’m your first. It would be wrong of me to offer you a … a union.”
Startled, Portia jerked back. “You don’t love me?”
He swallowed past the lump in his throat. “I didn’t say that. But I can’t ask you to make a decision that will affect your entire life. You need time to figure out for yourself what you want. I can wait.”
He’d thought about it long and hard on the flight back. If he asked her to blood-bond with him now, he would be exploiting her vulnerability. She was still grieving for her father, even if she didn’t want to admit it. And she was on her own. He didn’t want her to choose him simply because she had nobody else to turn to.
“Wait?”
“Yes, baby girl. I’ll wait until you’re ready, until you know for sure that you want me. Because once you say yes, I’ll never let you go.”
Her eyes softened. “And in the meantime?”
“You could live with me …” Zane searched her eyes for approval.
“In sin?” Portia teased, her lashes swinging upwards gracefully.
“Lots of sin, I can promise you that.”
Her hand came up and stroked over his bottom lip, the touch electrifying, her gaze hungry. “Can I have a taste of that now? I wouldn’t wanna buy a pig in a poke, if you know what I mean.”
His lips nipped at her finger. “I thought you’d never ask.”
Without giving Portia time to think, he swept her into his arms and carried her into his bedroom where he set her onto her feet. Seconds later, their clothes littered the floor, torn off their bodies in haste and with impatience. It had been too long.
Only when he felt her naked skin beneath his hands and her warm lips pressed to his, did the tension of the last few days desert his body and fade into the distance.
There was no finesse in the way he brought her down on the sheets, his body simply demanding its due. He’d promised not to bond with her tonight, to give her time to adjust to her new situation, but now with a pliable Portia in his arms, he knew he had to fight every cell in his body to keep his promise.
Zane kissed a path down her neck and filled his hands with her breasts, kneading the firm flesh and thrumming her nipples with his thumbs. He had one leg wedged between hers, with his hard-on pressed against her thigh, impatient to find its home. He forced back the need to drive into her without any sort of foreplay, but his leg urged hers to part wider, not caring that he was behaving like a savage.
Portia’s body arched as she pressed into his touch. Her voice was hoarse when she spoke. “Don’t be cruel; don’t make me wait. You know what I want.”
He raised his head to gaze at her flushed face. “Tell me then.”
She slid her hand to the back of his neck and pulled him to her. “I want your cock inside me. And your fangs in my neck.”
Her blunt demand was all it took to free the barely leashed beast inside him. His fangs descended and extended to their full length, their tips peeking from between his lips. And his cock had never been harder.
Complying with her wishes, Zane covered her with his body. The scent of her arousal filled the room and drugged him, making him unable to hold back. With a triumphant grunt, he thrust into her in one continuous slide. Her muscles gripped him like a tight fist, robbing him of his sanity once more. Whether he would ever get used to the way she took him into her beautiful body, he had no idea.
A light sheen of sweat built on his body, and with every thrust he delivered, with every impact of flesh against flesh, more sweat accumulated. He tried to delay biting her, not wanting to lose his head and drown in her essence too quickly. But it was only a matter of time. He couldn’t ignore Portia’s soft moans, her panting breaths, and her scent that only intensified as sweat covered her own skin.
The graceful curve of her neck called to him, and the vein beneath it pulsed in a frantic rhythm, beckoning him to approach.
Her hips undulated beneath him, urging him to drive harder into her. Beneath her half-closed lids, her eyes shone with passion and love, silently repeating her request.
“Zane!” she begged.
The sound of her voice undid him. With a groan, he slid his lips onto the spot where her neck met her shoulder. Shivering, he grazed her skin with the tips of his fangs, the contact shooting a flame of liquid heat through his body. Portia moaned in response. Then he pierced her skin and drove inside.
Her sweet blood touched his tongue, her essence so potent and so rich, the effect hitting him instantly. A high spread through his body, which was humming with pleasurable electricity. He drew more of her blood into his body, and the feeling only intensified.
“I love you, Zane,” he heard her whisper.
He wanted to respond and tell her how he felt, but was unable to let go of her neck. He needed this; he needed her.
His cock worked her frantically, driving them both higher and higher, and the sounds of their lovemaking echoed in his house.
“I’ve made my decision, Zane.”
Her words pushed through the bliss he was cocooned in. His brain didn’t work fast enough to understand what she meant, when he suddenly felt her lips on his shoulder, her teeth scraping against his skin.
“I don’t want to wait.”
All of a sudden Zane understood. His heart stopped only to restart the instant he felt her fangs drive into his flesh.
By drinking from him as he took her blood into his body while they were joined in love, she was accepting him as her blood-bonded mate.
Forever together.
Forever one.
As their blood comingled and their bodies exploded in carnal bliss, Zane’s heart opened wide. There would never again be a wall around it or chains locking it down.
He was free. Free to love.
His mind reached out to her. Baby girl, I love you.
And then, for the first him, he felt her presence inside him, warmth and love spreading in his heart and mind. When her voice sounded inside his body while her fangs were still lodged in his flesh, he knew that he’d never heard a sweeter sound.
You’re mine, Zane, forever mine.
Epilogue
One week later
Zane paced the full length of his living room, little Z running around under foot. Where was she? He’d awakened alone when it was still daylight, and that fact prevented him from chasing after her.
“You could have woken me,” he chastised the dog. “Ever thought of barking when she left the house?”
Z turned his face up to him, turning on his puppy charm.
“Yeah, you’re a great help.”
Even a week after bonding with Portia, he still felt nervous about losing her. His nightmares of seeing her in the burning house were only just beginning to wane. Feeling her in his arms was the only thing that chased them away completely.
Where are you, baby girl?
A warm tingle reached his mind.
I’m almost home, her response came.
Hearing her voice in his head settled his unease somewhat. Thank God for the telepathic bond that came with their blood bond. It allowed them to communicate when they were apart.
When he heard the key in the front door a few minutes later, his heart beat excitedly into his throat and as soon as the door closed, he rushed into the hallway and pulled Portia into an embrace.
Hungrily devouring her lips, he didn’t even give her a chance for a greeting. Only when the dog started barking did Zane release her lips.
“Now he barks. What a watchdog we’ve got ourselves there.”
“Going by that kiss,” Portia hedged, “you must have missed me.”
Her coquettish smile made his heart flip as if it were jumping up and down a trampoline. “What do you think?”
Her eyes locked with his. “Tell me you don’t love me.”
Zane smiled. “I can’t do that, baby girl.”
She brushed her lips against his. “Why not?”
“Because it would be a lie,” he whispered back and took her lips once more.
Breathless, he released her a few minutes later. “Now tell me what was so important that you had to leave our bed.”
Portia pulled away from him and reached into the inside of her leather jacket, pulling out a small plastic bag.
“You have no idea how hard it was to find this in the Mission.”
Curious, Zane watched her as she pulled a silken item from the bag. His eyes recognized the round piece of fabric. He raised his eyes to stare at her.
His mouth dropped open. “You bought a yarmulke?”
She nodded with a smile. “I want you to wear it at Isabelle’s ceremony tonight.”
His lips trembled as he pushed back the emotions that threatened to unman him. “I haven’t … it’s been such a long time …”
Portia put her hand on his forearm where his skin was now bare. Thanks to her, he wasn’t hiding his tattoo anymore and had started wearing short sleeved shirts instead of the long sleeved ones that had served him so well over the last decades.
“You should be proud of who you are.” She gave him a warm smile. “I am.”
Then she reached up and placed the yarmulke on his head. The unfamiliar piece of fabric slid into place right where it belonged, where it had always belonged. Suddenly he felt whole, the one last piece that made him complete finally clicking into place.
Slowly, he stroked his hand over the head cover, but he was too choked up to say a single word. He was free now, free to love and to believe. His faith in the good was restored, because even from evil, something good could emerge. Or someone good.
“Let’s get ready. We don’t want to keep Samson and the others waiting.” Portia caressed his cheek.
“They can’t start without me,” Zane murmured and pulled her against him. “And I have something important to do first.”
“What’s that?” she asked, but the excited flicker in her eyes told him she already knew.
“I have to thank my wife for saving me.”
“But you were the one who saved me,” she protested.
He moved his head from side to side. “No, baby girl, without you, I’d still be lost.”
THE END
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About Buchenwald
Buchenwald was one of the largest Nazi concentration camps in Germany. It was established in July 1937 and liberated by Patton’s army in April 1945. During most of this time, only male prisoners occupied the camp. Few female prisoners were at the camp in the early years, and those brought in were forced to work in the camp’s brothel. The majority of female prisoners arrived at the camp during 1944 and 1945.
Dr. Franz Müller is a figment of my imagination, however, doctors like him existed, and many of the experiments I described in Zane’s Redemption took place, in one form or another, if not at Buchenwald, then at camps like Auschwitz and Mauthausen. The most famous concentration camp doctor is Josef Mengele. After the war, he escaped to Brazil where he died in 1979, never having paid for his crimes.
Adolf Hitler and some of his followers did indeed believe in the occult and the supernatural. They searched, rather unsuccessfully, for the Holy Grail, hoping that once the artifact was in their possession, they would win the war.
The Holocaust is the darkest spot in modern German history. May it never be repeated.
Tina Folsom
Excerpt of Venice Vampyr #1
Isabella tore the wet clothes off the stranger’s body as her maid Elisabetta stood by wide-eyed. “Don’t just stand there, get a fire going,” she ordered.
“Signora, shouldn’t you let one of the footmen do this?”
Isabella shot her an annoyed look. “There’s no time for modesty.” Already she’d wasted precious minutes by ridding herself of her own wet clothes and drying off before stepping into a chemise and a dressing gown.
Adolfo had helped get the stranger up into her own rooms and placed him on the divan in front of the fireplace. She’d instructed him to keep quiet about the man. Having a stranger who was neither her husband nor a close relative staying with her would start all tongues in Venice wagging. Still, she knew it was only a matter of time before one of her staff gossiped and spread the scandalous news.
Despite the fact that she’d grieved for her husband for almost a year without taking a lover, without so much as allowing any man to even woo her in the most acceptable of manners, even she, a respectable widow, would not get away unscathed. If anyone found out a stranger was at her home—worse, in her own bedchamber—she would have to deal with the consequences. They would be harsh. Were they worth it? She hadn’t craved a man’s touch or attention, only her husband’s. Until now.
As she gazed upon the tall stranger whose clothes she peeled away layer by layer, she was grateful for the fact that her maid was busy with stoking the fire, for she didn’t want to be watched as she devoured the handsome man with her eyes.
Isabella allowed her hand to travel over his muscled chest and felt the raw power he represented. She wondered what kind of work this man did to have such strength in his body. But she knew he wasn’t a common laborer who worked in the warehouses or on the docks. His clothes were too well made and too expensive for that. He had to be a gentleman, a very well-built gentleman.
The moment she opened the flap on his breeches, easing open button after button, her own body heated, despite the chill she’d gotten in the freezing water. No man had ever been able to ignite that kind of response in her body, not even her late husband. They’d had a loving marriage, a very comfortable one, but she’d never lusted after him as she lusted after this stranger.
&n
bsp; The fabric clung to him. She told herself that she needed to rip it off him so he wouldn’t die of a chill, but she knew better. The reason she tugged forcefully at his soggy clothes was so she could feast her eyes on what was beneath. She stripped him and dropped the wet garments onto the rug.
“Give me a bowl with warm water and a sponge.”
Behind her, Elisabetta shuffled closer. A gasp told her that her maid was looking at the naked man. Isabella shifted her body to obstruct her maid’s view. She didn’t want to share him. What a strange thought, she reflected. He wasn’t hers, yet she wanted to be the only one who saw him like this: vulnerable in his nudity.
“Signora! It is not decent!”
Isabella spun her head and snatched the bowl of water from Elisabetta’s hands. “Leave us. And not a word of this to anybody if you value your position here. Do you hear me?”
She nodded nervously and fled from the room. Isabella looked back at the beautiful naked man in front of her and took a deep breath. She should let one of her male servants do this, but she couldn’t bring herself to relinquish the intimate task.
With the sponge she bathed him, starting with his face. His dark hair, sleek and shiny as that of a raven, clung to his skin. As she gently washed his face, she wondered what kind of eyes lay behind those dark lashes. Were his eyes as dark as his hair? And would those lips smile at her if he knew what she was doing? She sighed. It had been so long since she’d touched another person. And to touch him felt more exciting than she could have imagined.
Isabella cleaned every inch of his body with warm water, then dried him with a large bathing sheet. And all the while she marveled at the beauty of his nude form. Strong, powerful thighs, a muscled chest covered in just a light dusting of dark hair, arms that looked strong. But what truly captured her attention was what lay at the juncture of his thighs.
In a nest of black, coarse curls, a large shaft rested against his sac, which looked as if it held two small eggs. She knew all about the male form—her husband had been a virile man and had taught her about the pleasures of the flesh, how to arouse him and how to pleasure him.