Blood Shadows

by Lindsay J. Pryor

  ‘Poisonous to us. And infused with all the charm and prowess to get us to bite. They’re a walking advert for vampire celibacy if ever there was one.’ He broke a smile before looking back into the flames.

  ‘Have you ever come across one?’

  ‘I wouldn’t be sitting here now if I had. Not with my lack of self-control over the years.’ He glanced back at her. ‘Unfortunately for you, they’ve kept away from me.’

  ‘Only scared of one thing. That’s impressive.’

  ‘Why, what are you scared of, Caitlin?’

  ‘It would be quicker to list what I’m not scared of.’ She hesitated and took a steadying breath. ‘Like you, I guess it’s not being in control. Being helpless. A failure. Being alone. I’m scared of you taking my soul. I’m afraid about how it will feel not to have it anymore.’ She interlaced her fingers and clenched. ‘I’m frightened of feeling that emptiness again. I’m frightened of the pain that comes with it.’ She felt him tense, knew he hadn’t taken his eyes off her. But she didn’t dare, couldn’t bear, to meet his gaze. She looked down at her hands. ‘I sometimes wonder if I’d even have come down this path if I hadn’t lost them both. If Rob hadn’t walked away. I wonder if I could have made myself normal.’

  ‘What’s normal?’

  She looked into his eyes, eyes that studied her intently. Too intently for her to sustain it. She looked back into the flames and shrugged.

  ‘Strong isn’t about not being afraid, Caitlin. It’s about facing what you’re scared of.’

  ‘Like you,’ she said, holding his gaze. ‘And what you can do to me.’

  ‘I don’t want to scare you.’

  ‘No?’

  He shook his head. He brushed her hair back from her shoulder, but didn’t withdraw his hand. Instead he gently smoothed down the hair on the back of her head before tenderly cupping her neck.

  She warily met his gaze, a gaze that lingered as if in contemplation. But he didn’t need to say anything more. His touch had said it all. His eyes had brimmed with compassion enough to break her.

  She didn’t think about it and she was glad she didn’t, or she’d never have had the courage to do it.

  She leaned into him, the energy crackling between them as their legs touched.

  She knew it was a tentative kiss, but he didn’t seem to mind. He accepted her willingly, lips parting to hers, tongue meeting hers as they kissed slowly, lingeringly. He cupped her neck with both hands, his thumbs tracing across her jaw as he moved onto his knees, straddled her, guiding her gently onto her back.

  His kiss was deep, intense, as he took his time, teasing her mouth open, creating enough pressure to make every hair on the back of her neck stand on end.

  She traced her palm down his chest, taking in every hard curve, his skin warm from the heat of the fire. She absorbed the static as she ran her fingers over the top of his jeans, the ridge of his toned stomach.

  He unfastened his jeans and led her hand down to his erection. He guided her hand around his girth, held her there until she relaxed it enough for him to slide it up and down his length before wrapping her fingers around the ridge, guiding her thumb over the tip so she could feel his wetness.

  Arousal shot through her, his grip tightening over hers as he sighed against her lips. He was enjoying it. He was enjoying her touch. And he kissed her slowly, tenderly, on the mouth, down her neck, her cleavage, rubbing his thumb across her breast through her bra before sliding his hand to her neck again, her whole body ignited.

  Hell, he was going to break her heart, tear her to pieces, but still she couldn’t stop reacting to him. She had fallen and fallen deep. And as she kissed him again, she could feel her heart wrenching.

  She’d never make him love her. It was a battle she’d never win. But she’d hold on to the way he looked at her right then, the way he touched her as he gently pushed her hair back, running his fingers through it.

  ‘Let’s just do this,’ she said against his lips. ‘Before I change my mind.’

  He nodded, his head pressed against hers. He stood and took the herbs and books from the mantelpiece. He emptied the contents of the plastic bags into the crystal flute glass, the dried samples melting into the warm water surprisingly quickly.

  Kane handed the flute across to her as she sat up. ‘You have to drink it in one go.’

  She accepted it off him, the glass warm between her fingers. She looked down into the liquid then knocked it back. It was sweet to taste but the bitterness quickly snapped in, a dry wall forming in her throat. She felt nothing else for a few seconds, but then felt consumed as if dropped in a warm pool. Feeling her body sway, she clutched the floor.

  She frowned, her head feeling heavy. If it hadn’t been for the awareness of Kane’s arms guiding her back down she would have sworn she was falling slowly. The rug felt soothing, warm and comfortable as she relaxed into its softness. The darkness of the room added to the inescapable calm seeping into her body and mind, the flicker of the flames on the ceiling compellingly hypnotic.

  Kane’s kiss was deep again, sensuous as he pulled off his T-shirt and lowered himself onto her, melding against her. She slid her hands up the tautness of his biceps to his shoulders and down his hard, cool back, before gliding back up to the nape of his neck as his kisses trailed back across her jaw.

  It was all she could concentrate on as she felt herself drifting into languidness. Her eyes were an effort to keep open, the coolness flushing over her skin adding to her sleepiness. The shadows on the ceiling took on shape and form, mingling and merging, swirling in each other’s midst. What she knew to be 2D became 3D, reaching out for her, looming down on her like stalactites. She reached her hand up to touch them but felt nothing but warm air, each time the tips of the stalactites receding just out of reach. The rug felt like liquid, dissipating between her fingers.

  She turned her head to the right as Kane kissed down her neck, the room following a split second behind, adding to her queasiness. The flames curved and bowed towards her, stretching and morphing into shapes, into faces, elongated then squashed.

  She closed her eyes, needing to rest her weighty lids.

  ‘Still with me?’ Kane whispered in her ear.

  She nodded.

  She let him spread her legs and push himself into her.

  She caught her breath and clenched the back of his neck and forearm as he eased all the way inside her.

  Her body felt shockingly relaxed, surprisingly at ease. His cool fingers interlaced with hers and squeezed, but he still felt distant, her hand feeling as though it was someone else’s. And as he began to penetrate her, the darkness seemed more intense, its depth almost breathing as it contracted and expanded.

  She knew she could have died then and would never have felt more complete. She knew she could want nothing more than having him inside her, feeling him that close to her, a part of her. She pulled him closer and kept him against her as he kissed down her throat, down her cleavage. He withdrew to slide down further, pushing up her dress to kiss her inner thighs. She arched her back, knowing where he was leading to and longing for him to get there. His cold tongue instantly met her heat, licking at her folds and encircling her clitoris until she grabbed the back of his head. He pushed his tongue inside, the sensation almost knocking her to the brink of climax. But he sensed it, his mouth again meeting hers, as he pushed himself back inside her.

  ‘I could never hate you,’ he said softly in her ear. ‘You make me feel too much.’

  Her gaze met his. He was blurred, but she could tell from the way he was looking at her and the sincerity of his tone that he was speaking the truth. A truth that made her heart ache.

  His thrusts became slicker, his grip firmer as he started to bring her to climax. The relaxation of her body made every tiny pulse almost too intense to bear, her arousal consuming her, overwhelming her. She didn’t care that she couldn’t contain it. She didn’t care that she whimpered in elation. She didn’t care that she called out his name
or cried as she broke into another climax. A climax Kane lingered in until he kissed her tenderly on the ear and withdrew.

  Words. She heard words. Distant muffled words as if she were under covers or in another room. But she knew Kane’s voice. She picked up the rhythm of an incantation. He’d started the process.

  She could hear the crackle of the fire, the flames seeming to vibrate on the ceiling as they leapt unnervingly fast as if they were panicking, trying to get away.

  A wave hit her, the whole floor seeming to undulate beneath her. Then again. The next one came harder and faster as if a tidal wave was not crashing against her, but flowing out from within her. It took all her concentration to keep herself steady, her toes and fingers curled into the rug.

  A thrum resounded in the room, in her ears, like a distant drumbeat only softer, like a large bird preparing itself for flight, beating its wings in slow motion. She could almost see them: those heavy brown wings outstretched, picking up air with every beat. And they got faster, louder, lighter, flapping now instead like tiny bird wings. The stronger the pull inside, the more the wings flapped frenetically. And she realised it was paper – pages turning rapidly – turning because the incantation was working. Her soul was being drawn out, its content transferring to words on the paper.

  The flapping became so frantic it hummed in her ears. Her body ached, her chest tight. She felt empty, lost, just as she had the day her mother had told her about her father, just as she’d felt the day Max had sat her down to reveal the same news about her mother. And tears trickled down her cheeks. Disassociation overwhelmed her, the pain too great to acknowledge, the emptiness all too real and all too encapsulating. The void grew with every passing second, until she heard a thunk as the book slammed closed.

  The water rushed away, Caitlin feeling as if she was laying in an empty bath, not moving as the darkness pulsated and throbbed behind her eyes.

  She clenched her hands and they felt like hers again, the rug felt warm and soft beneath her. She opened her eyes and looked up at the ceiling, the flames flickering on the ceiling a surprising comfort.

  Kane gazed down at her as he rested on his forearm. ‘It’s done,’ he said softly.

  She sighed and turned her head to look across at the book that lay closed beside her. She scanned the room. Everything looked the same. Everything felt the same. Everything smelt the same. Apart from that nagging feeling of emptiness inside, she didn’t feel any different. She looked back at him through heavy, sleepy eyes. ‘Now we wait?’

  He nodded. ‘I’ll get us some pillows. We can bed down here.’

  Kane pulled a couple of pillows from the bed.

  Caitlin had moved onto her side, her back to him. He stood captivated by her feminine silhouette in the firelight – the inward curve of her slender waist, down over her rounded hip, her slender, shapely legs, those delicate feet, her toes curling and uncurling in the rug. Her sandy-brown hair cascaded over her beautiful shoulders, her head resting on her forearm, that tantalizing neck exposed. A neck he had fed on and ravished. A body he’d come to know nearly every part of. A body that sent a pulse of excitement through him from just a touch. A body he had been so close to doing so many atrocities to – thoughts that now sickened him.

  Because, tough though she may be, fiercely resolute, irritatingly stubborn, her vulnerability overrode it all. A vulnerability that had never been more apparent. A vulnerability that he could no longer deny had entranced him since the moment he’d pinned her up against the wall in the corridor and stared into those milky-coffee eyes. Eyes that even then warned him she was going to break him and that she was going to change things – that she was going to make everything different.

  And he’d suppressed it and fought it because his plan necessitated it. His plan could not have him falling for his target. His plan could not have him softening for one moment. And he would defile her and toy with her and destroy her to prove that point.

  And he was going to succeed. He was going to succeed even after she’d saved his life in that cellar. Even after she’d put her trust in him enough to unfasten those shackles. Even as she’d given herself to him willingly for the dual feed.

  Up until then it had all gone so smoothly. Even her escape had allowed him to get deeper inside her. Even in her distress, he’d seen the way she’d been looking at him as he’d tended her foot. She wasn’t used to being cared for. She wasn’t used to someone else picking up the pieces for her. And when she’d cuddled into him for the first time, he knew she wasn’t used to being comforted.

  And he’d managed it – the guilt, the deceit. He’d managed his feelings. He’d accepted them.

  Until that crucial moment. That moment she’d looked in his eyes and saw him. The real him. Looked at him with warmth and understanding and love. That moment she’d opened her heart and broke his. Until she kissed him without barrier and without refrain. Until, for the first time in fourteen years, he’d made a connection and felt a glimmer of contentment. Contentment at knowing her. The real Caitlin. Contentment he still felt watching her lying in front of his fire as if she’d always been a part of his life and always would be.

  And he realised he’d lied when he said only one thing scared him. Nothing compared to this: the thought of being without her.

  He’d felt it as soon as her hand had closed on his chest to force-read him. The sheer panic he had felt, not that his plan would fail, but that within seconds she would have been gone.

  Gone by his hand.

  It had only been three days of being with her. Three days of being close to her and she’d crumbled walls to parts of him he thought lost forever.

  And as she’d looked him in the eyes and asked if he hated her, she may as well have asked him to love her.

  But loving her wasn’t the hard part. It was sacrificing his love for Arana to be able to love her that was the problem.

  The problem that chained him to the darkness that had become a part of him. A darkness that was too interwoven for him not to be ripped to shreds from its release.

  He placed the pillows beneath their heads and he lay down behind her. In her semi-conscious state, she settled back against him, her head on the pillow beside his. As he interwove his fingers through hers, she languidly toyed with his fingers, running her thumb over each short nail in turn before massaging each of his knuckles.

  He could kill the soul ripper as soon as it appeared. Drive the dagger deep into its spine and give Caitlin her soul back. Keep her there. They’d never find her. They could live out the next few days, even weeks, locked in his haven while he plotted another way to get those responsible.

  And then she’d despise him when he succeeded. She’d be torn apart even more.

  He had no choice.

  He leaned forward and kissed her, eased her lips apart gently, his tongue meeting hers. She relaxed into his kiss quickly and easily, her soft, wet mouth accepting him willingly. He ached for her again, hardening in readiness again, but as she closed her eyes, her hand becoming lax in his, he spooned against her, holding her close.

  She was asleep within moments, her breaths deep, heavy, sated.

  He could feel the depleted strength in her, her deflated resilience because of her absent soul. She probably didn’t feel any different, other than being exhausted. But he could sense it. Like a lover sensed sadness or worry or anxiety, he sensed the difference.

  He kept his fingers interlaced with hers, rested his head against hers as he stared into the fire.

  She was going to hate him anyway, but at least it would be over quickly and painlessly. Hatred was essential if it was going to work.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  ‘Caitlin, wake up.’

  Caitlin opened her eyes. The fact Kane had whispered it close to her ear unnerved her more than anything else. Unnerved her more than the fact the fire now lay dead and the room had turned icy cold. More than the fact the silence was more intense than it had been in the soundproofed cellar. She sat bolt uprig
ht beside him and stared at the figure stood at their feet.

  If she hadn’t felt so angry she would have cried. For one split second, for that tiny amount of time, she thought her mother had come back. Thick, wavy hair cascaded around the vision’s shoulders, the floor-length nightdress reminding Caitlin when and where her mother had been the night she had been taken.

  But it wasn’t her mother. Her eyes alone revealed it wasn’t her mother, because the eyes that glowered back at her were dark and cruel and lifeless.

  The eyes of the soul ripper.

  Caitlin gripped Kane’s hand, partly for reassurance and partly to curb her anger at the creature that focused on her.

  ‘Take it easy,’ Kane said softly to Caitlin as he handed her the book. ‘Don’t move.’

  The soul ripper glanced at Kane. Its eyes were unreadable, but it clearly wasn’t bothered by his presence. Instead it snatched its attention back to Caitlin and advanced the few steps towards her, its jerky movements like jumps in a movie roll. It crouched in front of her, its face less than two inches away as it stared deep into her eyes.

  Caitlin dug her nails into the rug, her trembling hand clutching the book to her chest as she forced herself to look back at it.

  And, just as Kane had described, she saw herself upside down in the murky, fathomless pool of its black eyes, eyes that flicked to the book before staring back at her.

  It retreated, more quickly than it had advanced, clearly disgruntled with what it saw. Its eyes snapped to Kane as quickly as its body did.

  But Kane didn’t flinch, his sullen eyes unwavering on the creature.

  ‘Go and get on the bed,’ he instructed Caitlin.

  Caitlin eased away from him, clambering back, not taking her eyes off the soul ripper as it watched her every move. But as it stepped forward to pursue her, Kane stood and blocked its way. It cocked its head to the side in what could have been mistaken for a nervous twitch, but it was clearly an unspoken enquiry that Kane understood.

  ‘You want her, you do my bidding first,’ he said, without so much as a quiver in his tone.