by Kit Tunstall
A stirring of resistance built in her, but she was beyond paying it heed. Emily’s thoughts focused only on taking part in the feast. She ached to feel the blood sliding down her throat, wanting the coppery taste to fill her mouth.
Nicholas dropped the old woman, and she landed on the cement of the alley with a moist thud. Her eyes stared up into the sky, as if begging God for an explanation. She was dead.
He held out his hand to her.
Emily’s arm lifted of its own volition, until her hand was snug in his. She took a step when he took a step, moving with him toward the man. She couldn’t seem to tear her gaze away from Nicholas’s.
“Yours.” He touched the shoulder of the man and pushed Emily down onto her knees beside the man.
She stared at him with wide eyes, unable to get up, and unable to lean forward. She remained frozen, torn between her hunger and her conscience. Her eyes fastened on his carotid artery, visibly pulsing. She could smell the fear on him, and her stomach rumbled.
Nicholas knelt beside her, smoothing hair off her shoulders. “It’s just like with me, love. Tear the vein and drink the blood.”
“Will he be in pain?”
He shook his head. “No, I’ll see he enjoys it.” He leaned closer. “If you can concentrate while feeding, tell him with your thoughts how pleasurable the experience is.”
She nodded, tentatively reaching out to touch the man’s neck. It looked none too clean, and the stench emanating from him nearly quelled her appetite, until she glanced at Nicholas and saw the blood on his lips. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath before leaning forward.
When her face was in the crook of the man’s neck, she gagged on his scent.
“Think of roses,” Nicholas said as he smoothed his hand down her back. “Your mind is powerful enough to make him smell like anything.”
Emily tried to recall the smell of the honeysuckle near the backdoor of her parents’ house during summer. Soon, the scent filled her nostrils, along with the gentle hum of the bees that spent the season circulating the bush whispering in her ears. She opened her mouth and traced her tongue along the path of the man’s vein. Dirt and sweat clung to her tongue, and she scraped it along the top of her teeth, puncturing herself on her fangs. The taste of her own blood was a welcome respite from the taste of her victim’s skin.
Nicholas put his arm around her waist and leaned forward with his head on her shoulder. “Bite through the skin, Emily. You know how.”
She swallowed down her fear and self-disgust as her fangs penetrated the man’s skin. It was like sliding a hot knife through butter. His flesh offered no resistance, and soon a well of blood pooled in her mouth. It was warm and intoxicating. The aroma sent shivers racing down her spine, and she gulped greedily, tearing with her fangs to widen the wound.
A veritable river of blood flooded her mouth and spilled over, running down her chin and staining her shirt. She remained too focused on feeding to worry about the proper etiquette of ingesting a victim’s lifeblood. She lapped and sucked eagerly, desperate for every drop. When the flow began to diminish, she pushed her face deeper into his neck, ripping at him with her fangs.
“Stop, Emily. There’s nothing left.”
She ignored Nicholas, determined to wring every drop from the man in front of her. She rooted against his neck, licking at the skin, and not noticing the awful taste that had previously repelled her. Her heart raced in her ears, and delicious warmth spread through her.
She cried out with pain when Nicholas yanked on a handful of her hair, pulling her away. She glared up at him, baring her fangs and hissing.
He gave her an indulgent grin. “There’s nothing there to drain. You’ve taken it all.”
She snarled at him again and tried to return to the man’s body. It had fallen to the ground in a permanent slump. His eyes were wide with pleasure, and he had an erection visible in his baggy trousers.
Nicholas pulled her to her feet.
She pushed against his chest, determined he wouldn’t stand between her and the blood.
“Calm yourself. There’s another.”
She tried to drop to her knees again, and Nicholas held her. Emily struggled against his hold, throwing off one of his hands. She reached for the body of her first victim, but he was out of reach. “More.”
“Not him.” Nicholas shook her shoulders to get her attention.
Emily’s mournful gaze remained on the man’s torn throat. Her puncture marks were nothing like the neat, tiny holes Nicholas had drilled through the old woman’s throat. His wound was messy and gaping. He looked like he’d been torn apart. Rather than repulse her, the thought excited her, and she shoved against Nicholas.
He shook her just hard enough to get her attention, bringing his nose against hers. His black gaze bored into her eyes, and he spoke clearly. “Relax.”
Her body went limp, though the bloodlust didn’t pass so quickly. Slowly, Emily became aware of her surroundings, and her eyes came into focus to meet Nicholas’s. “What happened?”
“You got caught up in the moment.” He shrugged. “It happens to most new vampires during their first feedings.”
She laid her head against his chest, feeling as though she couldn’t stand up. “I’m still hungry.”
He nodded. “We’ll share the woman. I’ll go first.” He grinned. “I want to ensure there’s something left, and you’ll get sick if you drink too much.”
She nodded, following him to the woman. Her eyes were wide and vacant, and she made a low, keening sound. Her mind had clearly left her body already.
Emily didn’t even experience a vague stirring of conscience as she knelt on the filthy ground on one side of the woman. She leaned forward avidly as Nicholas’s fangs punctured the mother’s skin, watching his throat as he swallowed several times. She was enchanted by the rhythmic movements of his Adam’s apple as he took in the blood carefully, with little wasted.
When Nicholas lifted his head a few moments later, the woman’s eyes were glassy, and her cheeks were pale. She slumped forward, leaning in Emily’s direction. She moaned softly when Emily took her into her arms, but didn’t try to pull away.
Emily tilted the woman’s neck and sank her fangs into the unbroken skin on her left side. She struggled to feed with the same finesse as Nicholas, but the blood seemed to drip into her mouth. She didn’t have the patience to wait, so she ripped through the vein, struggling to swallow quickly enough to take it all in and not waste any. Rivulets of blood still flowed from her mouth and down her chin.
With the edge taken off her hunger, Emily became aware of the woman’s body. She could hear the heartbeat slowing to a stop, and was aware of the moment when the woman’s breathing ceased. She longed to continue feeding, but peripherally saw Nicholas watching her carefully. Reluctantly, she pushed the woman’s body away, letting it topple over backwards to stare skyward, as if stargazing. She wore a contented expression.
Emily crawled toward Nicholas, unable to summon the energy to stand. She was full and sleepy, but still hungry. Her head turned in the direction of the boy when she heard his fingernails scraping across the concrete. She licked her lips.
Nicholas touched her cheek. “No more right now. You’ve had enough, and his blood is tainted.”
She frowned. “Tainted?”
He nodded, rising to his feet and helping her up. He pulled her toward the boy, dropping her hand when he knelt to lift the boy. “Smell him. Put your nose against his neck and breathe in his scent.” He passed the boy to her. “Don’t bite him though.”
She did as Nicholas said, though she found it almost impossible to fight back the urge to slide her teeth through his tender skin and rip open a vein. She inhaled deeply, at first smelling only the scent of the streets, unwashed body, the tangy odor of urine, and the dumpster nearby. When she took another deep breath, she detected a bitter odor underlying it all. It was sickly-sweet, like the smell of decay. She put the boy on the ground and lifted her head. “I d
on’t understand.”
“He’s sick.” Nicholas shrugged. “It doesn’t matter what he has. It might not harm you, but why take the chance?”
“Can you always tell?”
“Yes.” He walked forward, putting his arms around her. “If the blood smells foul, don’t ever drink it.”
She put her hands on his chest, feeling a second type of hunger stirring, even as she forced herself to remain focused on the conversation. “Would I die?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know what would happen. My sire warned me about it. I’ve never seen a vampire who drank bad blood.”
“I see.” She tilted her head, catching the way his eyes lingered on her face. A hint of red had crept into his pupils, and he licked his lips. She reciprocated, once again tasting the blood of her victims.
He pulled her closer, crushing his mouth against hers. The kiss was brief, but it left her knees weak. Then his tongue moved to her chin, and he began to lick away the blood. Emily moaned with pleasure as his fangs raked across her cheek. The pain was delicious. She dug her nails into his arms until she heard him groan. His blood trickled over her hands, and she broke away from him to lick at the wound on his left arm.
With a rough motion, he pulled her face back to his and continued to clean her. Emily pressed her body closer to him, feeling liquid heat pool in her pussy. She briefly wondered if her inhibitions and common sense had been lost in the frenzy of feeding, but thinking required too much concentration. She lived only to feel—the rasp of his tongue across her skin, the hardness of his cock pressing into her stomach and his yielding flesh under her punishing nails.
She lifted her hands to frame his face and force his mouth back to hers. Emily plundered the hot recesses of his mouth, growling with pleasure at the mingled taste of blood and Nicholas. She nipped his tongue, adding more blood to the cocktail, and cried out when his nail scraped across her throat, grazing the vein. A thin trail of blood rolled down her neck, and he broke the kiss to position his tongue to catch it.
His hunger and desire slammed through her when he nicked the vein with his tooth and took some of the blood flowing through her. She could feel him under her hands, but could also feel her breasts in his hands as he moved to cup them. She moaned as the simultaneous sensation of her nipples hardening and his fingers rolling her nipples swept through her. The coppery taste of her blood filled her mouth as he drank lightly from the already-healing wound he had inflicted.
A cry of anguish broke them apart. Emily stumbled away from Nicholas, feeling coherence return in an instant. Her gaze swung wildly around the alley, expecting to find someone gazing with horror at what she and Nicholas had done. Instead, she saw only the boy on the ground. He had crawled over and laid his head on his mother’s shoulder. He held her in an awkward embrace and hummed some strange music softly. Tears glistened on his cheeks. “Momma,” he said in a broken voice, sounding as if he was rusty with the word.
Repulsed, she turned and ran down the alley, ignoring Nicholas calling her name. She plunged headlong into the foot traffic on Greenwich Avenue, unheeding of where she ran. She pushed aside anyone who got in her way, frantic to escape what she had done, desperate to deny the hunger still pulsing through her, and the desire pounding into her. She was desperate to outrun the truth. She had enjoyed the carnage and taking the lives of her victims. She had reveled in killing those people.
* * * * *
Nicholas found her several minutes later. When she raised her head, Emily saw him at the end of the alley where she had taken refuge. His expression was tender as he drew closer. She cried out and pressed her face against her thighs, unable to look at him without remembering what they had done, without wanting to do it again.
He crouched beside her, gently smoothing the hair off her shoulders. “It’s okay,” he said in a soothing tone. “I felt the same way the first time I fed.”
She shook her head against the denim skirt. “You don’t understand. I’m a monster.”
Nicholas sighed. “You’re a hunter now, Emily. There’s no shame in taking pleasure in the victory.”
Her head whipped up with a popping sound. “It wasn’t a victory. We slaughtered those people. We left that boy without his family.” Her voice trailed off to a soft whisper. “I enjoyed it.”
“So did I. It’s part of who you are now. You’ll adapt.”
Her stomach knotted, and she rolled over onto her side to vomit on the cement of the alley. Dark-red blood splashed everywhere, including on them. “What have you done to me?” she whispered. “It’s your fault.”
“Yes.” He stood up and lifted her into his arms. “I’ll take you home now. After you’ve rested, you’ll feel better about what had to be done.”
She wanted to protest, to insist she could walk, but was too weak. It was easy to snuggle against him and let him carry her to a cab that he hailed on the street. She lay in his lap as the driver took them home, listening to the sound of his heartbeat thundering against her ear and oddly comforted by it. Perhaps it reminded her of prenatal days of floating in the womb, when she was still safe from the world. When she had been protected from Nicholas’s dark love and what she had become. What he had made her.
At the apartment, Nicholas left her in the cab while he paid the driver. Then he lifted and carried her inside. At the elevator, he said in a teasing tone, “The neighbors will think you can’t walk if I keep carrying you into the building.”
She tried to summon a smile, but was too overwrought. It was as if her body had shut down in response to her emotional turmoil. She didn’t know if she wanted to sleep or sob for an eternity. Either way, she would still have to face up to what she had done eventually.
In her room, Nicholas stripped off her clothes, as he had done that morning, and dressed her in pajamas. He placed a chaste kiss to her forehead before sitting on the bed beside her. He picked up her hand. “Do you want me to stay until you fall asleep?”
She didn’t want to be reminded of her atrocity, as she was each time she looked at him, but also didn’t want to be alone. Emily nodded. “How did this happen?” she asked in a groggy voice. “How did you become a vampire?”
He settled more comfortably on the bed, until his hip pressed against her shoulder. “Let me see if I can remember that far back now.” Absently, his hand stroked through her hair. “I was idealistic and more naïve than you can imagine. I was the eldest son of a baron, and I was devout, as he had raised me to be.”
“Catholic?” she asked around a yawn.
“Of course.” He chuckled, and it held an edge of bitterness. “When King Richard put forth a call for pious young men to take back the Holy Land, I was eager to go. So was William.”
“Your brother?”
“Yes. Father tried to stop us, but we were headstrong. At twenty-four, I thought I knew everything.” He snorted. “It didn’t take long to discover differently. Before I ever saw Jerusalem, I was fatally injured. William left me to die, intent on claiming his place as the next baron.” He touched her cheek. “I guess he was anxious to claim you—Emma—too.”
“What happened then?”
“I spent two agonizing nights in pain, begging for God to send me an angel of mercy to end my pitiful existence.” He sighed heavily. “Instead, Koss came.”
She blinked rapidly, struggling to keep open her eyes. “Who’s Koss?”
“My sire. He was an Egyptian reservist, called in by Saladin.” Nicholas paused. “I guess he saw something in me he wanted, because he offered me eternal life and the way to return to Emma. I seized the chance, not realizing the price.”
Emily had more questions to ask, but her eyes refused to stay open. She opened her mouth to ask him what happened before he returned to Emma, sensing there was more to the story, but couldn’t find her voice. She thought she heard a snore issue from her opened mouth, but wasn’t certain as she slipped into a deep sleep.
Chapter Nine
Elspeth returned to the plantation when the su
n was high in the sky, having taken extra time to find the juiciest berries. She returned the sorrel to Abel, frowning when she saw the way he looked at her. His dark eyes refused to meet hers.
With a shrug, she grasped the basket of berries and hurried across the grass. Surely, Lord Tremont had eaten breakfast by now. It was nearly time for the noonday meal, and she wanted to ensure the berries were ready for him.
When she entered the kitchen, no one was there. Johanna wasn’t near the fire, and Griselda wasn’t kneading bread dough, as she was supposed to be doing. She set the basket of blackberries on the table, wincing at the scratches on her hands from the briar patch. She got a heavy earthenware bowl from the cupboard and dumped the blackberries inside before adding fresh cream, as Lord Tremont liked.
Muttering to herself, Elspeth fixed her hair and smoothed her hands down the apron before leaving the kitchen to search for her sister. The bread should have been baked by now. Griselda’s absentmindedness would see them both in trouble with Johanna and the master.
She entered the hall, relieved to discover Lord Tremont wasn’t at the long table, waiting for lunch. The hall was empty, and she frowned when she noticed no fire burned in the fireplace. She stepped closer to it and touched the stones of the hearth, finding them cold. Had anyone started a fire this morning? Lord Tremont would reprimand Agnes if he found out.
She didn’t take time to build the fire, feeling more of a responsibility for her sister than the other servant. She went up the stairs and hurried past the second floor to avoid having Johanna see her, knowing she probably lurked in the master’s room, under the guise of changing the linens. A small smile flashed across Elspeth’s face as she recalled once catching Johanna lying on the bed with her hand under her skirt. She had crept out without the housekeeper knowing she was there. If she had revealed her presence to the other woman, punishment would have exceeded her worst imaginings.