by Ariel Tachna
Adèle pushed Pascale backward onto the couch, pinning her in place as she hovered over the vampire. “I’m sorry, all right?” she all but shouted. “I was jealous, only I wasn’t ready to admit it, even to myself, and tonight only made it worse. That woman came out in her skimpy little nightgown and I could see where you’d bitten her and it was all I could do not to hex her into next week.”
“Can you really do that?” Pascale asked, twining her arms around Adèle’s neck.
“Not literally,” Adèle replied, nuzzling Pascale’s neck in turn, “but I could have left her in a world of hurt.”
“If you’re angry at someone, you really should be angry at me, not at her,” Pascale pointed out logically. “She didn’t know about you until you arrived here tonight.”
Adèle shrugged. “I wasn’t angry at her; I was jealous of her. And I can’t really be angry at you when, if I’d been more honest with myself, you wouldn’t have felt the need to see her in the first place.”
“So what happens now?” Pascale asked, her hands sliding down Adèle’s back to her waist. “I mean, as tempting as you are, I probably shouldn’t feed again yet. Between Nicole and then biting you while you fixed my vase—thank you, by the way—I’m probably close to the point of making myself sick if I take anymore.”
“You’re welcome for the vase,” Adèle replied. “I’ve never felt that kind of clarity when working with fire, not even with Jude. It was like all the mysteries of it suddenly disappeared. I’d already made up my mind when I came here tonight that I wanted to give a true partnership a try, but if I needed proof that this time was different, that was it.”
“Really?” Pascale asked shyly. “But he was a much more powerful vampire than I am and—”
“It’s not the age of the vampire that matters,” Adèle interrupted. “It’s the strength of the connection. There’s a lot we don’t know about the partnerships, but there’s no doubt that when Orlando feeds from Alain, his increase in power outstrips all the rest because of their Aveu de Sang. I hated Jude. The one time he fed from me to actually consciously increase my power, he kept touching me, distracting me. I lost control of the fire I’d summoned because it was too strong for me to handle even with his so-called help. What I did tonight with your vase was far more difficult, far more intricate than what I attempted with him, and yet I had no problem controlling the fire. I don’t know why he and I were paired in the first place when things were so very wrong between us from the beginning, but I do know that you’re already more of a partner to me than he ever could have been.”
“I’m glad we fit that way,” Pascale said, shifting beneath Adèle and drawing the wizard’s attention back to the press of body against body. “I like the idea of being your source of strength.”
Adèle closed her eyes, struggling against the ingrained habit of denying she needed any outside support. Pascale was not offering because she thought Adèle was weak. She was offering out of a sincere desire to build a relationship. Opening her eyes again, she gazed down into Pascale’s blue eyes. “Don’t make me go home tonight.”
Pascale’s arms tightened. “Only if you want to leave.”
Adèle doubted she would ever want to leave if Pascale was there to keep her company. “You know I’m not much of a catch, right?” Adèle felt compelled to say.
“Stop that,” Pascale said, her fingers digging into Adèle’s sides. “You keep saying these things about yourself, and I don’t like it. You’re strong and beautiful and loyal. So maybe you have a temper, but you controlled it tonight. And maybe you’re stubborn, but you thought things through and you saw reason eventually. Don’t put yourself down.”
Adèle flushed, feeling incredibly vulnerable. Pascale saw straight through her, it seemed, leaving Adèle feeling completely off balance. “I’ll try.”
“You’ll do more than try,” Pascale insisted, “because I’m going to correct you every time you say something self-deprecating until you stop doing it. Modesty is one thing, but not putting yourself down.” She pulled at the band holding Adèle’s hair back in a tight bun. “And another thing. When we’re home together, you should wear your hair down.”
Adèle shook her head, her dark hair falling over her shoulders and down around her face. Pascale combed her fingers through the long strands. “Yes, exactly like that.”
“When did you get so bossy?” Adèle teased, leaning into the caress. “What happened to the woman I stopped from jumping off a bridge?”
“Extenuating circumstances,” Pascale retorted. “I’m not usually quite that flaky.” She pushed at Adèle’s shoulders, urging her to sit up. “Is that really who you wanted?”
“No,” Adèle admitted, sitting up but pulling Pascale into her arms. “That was another of my hesitations, honestly. I didn’t want someone who would always be weepy or hysterical, but you haven’t been since that night, and I think you were entitled under the circumstances. This is just the first time you’ve been quite so emphatic. I didn’t expect that either.”
Pascale shrugged. “This is the first time you’ve been mine enough that I could say that kind of thing. If it really bothers you—”
“It doesn’t,” Adèle assured her, “although if you get to tell me what to do sometimes, then I get to do the same.”
“Like what?” Pascale asked.
“Like finding a more flattering robe,” Adèle said with a grin. “This one looks like a sack on you.”
“I put it on to answer the door, not to seduce a lover,” Pascale retorted. “Stay right there. I’ll be back in a minute.”
Adèle let the vampire go, toeing off the boots she wore and undoing the top button of the blouse Pascale had closed again after she finished the spell. Her fingers lingered over the marks left by Pascale’s fangs before drifting lower to the ones Jude had left. Looking around for her wand, she picked it up and touched it to the scars. All the reasons to keep them as a reminder had disappeared with her new partner’s kiss.
“Soulagez,” she whispered, watching as the scars slowly faded. She left the marks from Pascale’s fangs untouched. They would heal in time, but even if they did not, they were a reminder of a very different sort. She slid her wand into her coat pocket and waited for Pascale to return.
Moments later, Pascale reappeared in the doorway. Gone was the staid cotton robe, replaced by a satin kimono wrap that stopped mid-thigh. It hung open to reveal a figure-hugging satin slip in the palest of lavenders.
“I think it’s a good thing you didn’t answer the door dressed that way,” Adèle said, swallowing around the lump of need clogging her throat. She rose slowly and crossed the room to where Pascale stood. “I really would have hexed her if I’d known she saw you looking like this.”
Pascale smiled shyly. “You like it?”
Adèle traced the neckline of the gown over the top of Pascale’s breasts. “Yes, I like it, although I bet it looks even better tossed on the floor. Or maybe you’re the one who will look even better with it tossed on the floor.”
“Are you ready for that?” Pascale asked seriously. “I’m not saying no, because I’d love nothing more than to take you to bed and show you what you’ve been missing, but I’ll understand if that’s too much too fast.”
Adèle wanted to shrug and pretend she was not apprehensive, but she could not make herself lie to her partner. “Maybe we could take our time?”
Pascale pulled her head down for a kiss. “All the time you need,” she promised when she released Adèle’s lips. “Do you want to borrow a nightgown? You’ll be more comfortable in that than you would be completely dressed or undressed.”
“I’m not sure your gowns will fit me,” Adèle replied, resting her chin on the crown of Pascale’s head.
Pascale chuckled. “All the better for me. The gowns probably won’t fit, but one of my robes that’s intended to be long will be mid-calf on you instead.”
Adèle hesitated a moment longer. “I can try a gown for tonight, even if it’s a l
ittle small, and then bring something from home tomorrow night. I didn’t want to get my hopes up tonight.”
Pascale smiled and took Adèle’s hand, leading her toward the bedroom. “You can get your hopes up as high as you’d like. I ordered a nightgown from an online site, and when it got here, their sizing and mine disagreed, but it wasn’t worth the hassle of sending it back to exchange it. Give me a second to find it.” She dug in a drawer full of a froth of silk and satin, the sight making Adèle wonder if she could convince Pascale to model them all for her at some future point. A moment later, Pascale straightened, a Nile-green nightgown in hand. “The color even suits you. You can change in the bathroom if you’d rather not change in here.”
Adèle took the garment and went into the bathroom. She stripped down to her underwear and pulled the nightgown over her head. It was short, barely brushing the tops of her thighs, and it was tighter around the bust than she usually wore, but she was covered, at least, and more comfortable than she would have been sleeping fully clothed. Taking a deep breath, she walked back into the bedroom, arms crossed over her chest protectively.
“Don’t hide from me,” Pascale said, kissing her gently and easing her arms down to her sides. “You’re beautiful and I want to see you.”
“The nightgown’s a little tight,” Adèle muttered.
Pascale smiled, taking a step back so she could admire her new lover more easily. The nightgown, which had reached mid-thigh on her, barely covered Adèle’s hips, highlighting her legs, which seemed to go on forever, making Pascale want to feel them wrapped tightly around her as she nibbled her way up them or as she licked the wizard to climax. The gown clung to the dip of Adèle’s waist and then drew tight again over her full breasts. Pascale’s mouth watered as she imagined peeling the satin away and feasting on the taut nipples she could see pressing against the fabric. “I’m not complaining.” She traced the swell of Adèle’s breast. “The other marks are gone.”
Adèle shrugged dismissively. “The reasons to remember him were gone, so there was no reason to leave the scars. I’d rather have your marks on me than his.”
Pascale leaned closer, running her lips over the skin where the scars had been. “It will be my pleasure,” she promised.
Adèle shivered at the provocative caress. Pascale’s lips were softer than most men’s, and her face had no hint of stubble to scratch tender skin, but other than that, the touch did not feel all that different from a man caressing her the same way. Perhaps being loved by Pascale would not feel so foreign after all.
Chapter 22
Denis stared morosely at the one photo of Noël he could not bring himself to put away, wishing he could drink himself into oblivion the way his mortal peers could do when in the grips of the kind of melancholy that had overtaken him since he left l’Institut three days ago. His mind and his heart warred with each other over what to do about Martin, whether to take the chance on a relationship. He had no more answers than he had had then, but he missed Martin terribly, and not just how he made Denis feel when they ended up in bed. He missed the man’s sense of humor, his sharp intelligence, his seeking curiosity.
“I need to get over myself and accept this partnership, don’t I?” he asked the picture as if it could answer him.
The sound of a crash in the courtyard startled him, but he ignored it. Someone’s dog getting into the garbage cans, no doubt. He had returned to his contemplation of Noël’s picture and his current conundrum when a shout followed another crash.
A shout that sounded suspiciously like Martin’s voice.
Frowning, Denis crossed the room to the large window that opened onto his tiny second-story balcony. He pushed open the vertical panes and stepped out, looking for the origin of the noise, and felt his heart stop.
Martin lay on the ground, struggling weakly against a vampire who had him pinned and was feeding from his throat. With a scream of pure rage, Denis vaulted over the railing, the drop to the stones below nothing compared to his need to drag the interloper from his lover, his partner.
He hit the other vampire at a full run, knocking the man away from Martin. They rolled across the cobblestones, each vying for dominance. In the pale light of the moon, Denis caught sight of the attacker’s face. “Renaud,” he spat. “What are you doing here?”
Renaud ignored him, his hands reaching for Denis’s throat. Denis broke their hold, springing away from Renaud’s grasp. “Taking back what’s mine,” Renaud shouted.
“You and what army?” Denis demanded, looking around quickly to make sure no other vampires lurked in the shadows, but he saw only Martin, still lying prone on the ground.
Renaud did not answer, lunging at Denis instead. Denis dodged him, using the momentum to slam him into the wall, pinning him and forcing his arm behind his back. “Why did you attack Martin? He’s done nothing to you, and I know he didn’t give you permission.”
“He’s mortal. He’s nothing,” Renaud scoffed, slamming his head against Denis’s, knocking the chef de la Cour back. Denis lifted his hand to his nose, scowling when it came away wet with blood.
“That kind of attitude will see us all staked in the sunlight,” Denis warned, circling Renaud, looking for an opening. “How many people have you turned without their permission?”
“Two, ten, twenty?” Renaud taunted. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
Tired of the game and conscious of Martin still not moving, Denis charged Renaud again, pushing him backward, his hand around the vampire’s throat as he squeezed. He had to knock the other vampire unconscious or risk him escaping into the night as he went to tend to Martin. He needed to tend to Martin, but he could not let Renaud escape. This might be his only chance to capture the other vampire.
Renaud kneed Denis in the stomach, knocking the breath from Denis’s lungs and breaking his grip. Denis braced for another attack, but it did not come, Renaud disappearing into the night. Denis almost went after him, but the compulsion to check on Martin outweighed the desire to see justice done. Still coughing from Renaud’s parting blow, Denis stumbled across the courtyard to Martin’s side, feeling blindly for his pulse.
It beat weakly beneath his fingers, but with each pulse, more blood oozed from the multiple wounds on Martin’s throat. Lowering his head, Denis licked at the wounds, knowing his saliva would help close them. The flavor of Martin’s blood exploded onto his tongue so strongly he nearly gave in to the desire to feed for himself, but he could not take that risk, not when he had no idea how much Renaud had taken or why Martin was unconscious.
Convinced he had done all he could to seal the wounds, he dug through Martin’s pockets in search of his cell phone. He dialed l’Institut the moment he found it.
“Bellaiche.”
“Oh, Jean, thank God,” Denis said. “Martin’s been attacked. I need help.”
“Where are you?” Jean said.
“The courtyard of my building,” Denis replied. “I don’t know why he was here, but I heard a noise and—”
“Tell me about it later,” Jean said. “Does he need a doctor?”
“I think so,” Denis said. “He’s still breathing, but he isn’t moving.”
“Feed from him,” Jean ordered.
“I can’t,” Denis said. “He was attacked by the extorris. I don’t know how much Renaud took.”
“Lightly,” Jean said. “Enough that the partnership bond will kick in and help him.”
“He isn’t my partner,” Denis insisted, though the taste of Martin’s blood on his tongue assured him he had already crossed that line. To do more without Martin’s permission….
“It’s going to take time for us to get there,” Jean said. “Raymond will know who to call, but it’s going to be a few minutes, minutes Martin might not have. He’s spent the past three days miserable because he didn’t know how to make you understand how serious he was about you. Put the phone down and bite him. You aren’t newly turned. You can monitor his well-being through his blood. Do it now. We�
�ll be there as soon as we can.”
The line went dead before Denis could say anything else.
“This is not the way I wanted our first time together to be,” Denis whispered to Martin as he lifted the limp body in his arms and lowered his head to feed.
The few laps of Martin’s blood Denis had taken to close the wounds in no way prepared him for the full banquet of Martin’s blood when his fangs pierced flesh and he drank from the source. A feeling of strength and homecoming he had not known since Noël died flooded through him, the connection so strong that Denis wondered why he had ever questioned it. He forced himself not to gorge, knowing Martin was too weak for that. Instead, he focused on the connection between them that had slammed into place the moment his fangs broke skin. The thready pulse worried him, but it did not weaken more, so Denis left his mouth in place, not actively feeding so much as nursing the fledgling bond between them.
Movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention. Keeping Martin cradled protectively against him, he turned his head as much as he could. A woman he did not know approached first, followed immediately by Jean, Raymond, Alain, and Orlando.