by CC MacKenzie
She was pale.
Too pale.
What sort of a mate was he to place her in danger like this?
He'd failed.
He'd failed to protect her.
Around him people were tending to the walking wounded as the emergency services arrived. Blind and deaf to his surroundings, his entire focus was centred on Anais. With gentle fingertips he carefully checked her skull for lumps, bumps, and found none. The back of her right hand had three deep cuts, probably from flying glass. Blood was flowing freely down her fingers leaving dark stains on the silk of her dress. The heady aroma was nectar to his vampyre. Marcus brought her hand to his nose. He smelled the wound. And frowned. He sniffed again, and went absolutely still. He sensed... vampyre. Every part of him went on alert as he carefully studied the wounds on her hand and realised they were claw marks. Fury rose fast and hard. Someone had dared touch his woman? Without stopping to think, he licked to clean the liquid from her hand before sucking the wound hard to remove bacteria. Vampyre claws and fangs harboured many diseases, some fatal to humans. Passing his tongue over the deep cuts he used the healing and cleansing acid on the tip to seal the injury. The ambrosial flavour of her coated his tongue, the back of his throat. She tasted like wild honey and crushed green peppercorns freshly picked from the tree.
A heavy hand on his shoulder jolted him back to the present.
"Brother, there are humans present. What do you think you are doing?" James hissed in his ear.
Marcus took a shocked breath when he realised what he'd done to Anais.
He glanced around relieved to see no one was paying any attention to him, except for his Centuri, their wide eyes expressing their appalled amazement.
Fuck.
He'd crossed a line.
Anais was unconscious and in his care, under his protection. And now there was no turning back. He'd put his mouth on her open wound and sucked. The saliva from his mouth had merged with her body fluids. Her blood was blending with his.
Anais had made a blood pact with a vampyre.
Strong fingers held her throbbing hand.
Anais became aware of the sense of the contact of a... tongue... licking and then the feeling of lips touching her flesh as a mouth sucked, as a firm tongue burned the cut, the sting too hot and bright on the back of her hand. The pain of it had her gasp out loud. The scorchingly hot sensation streaked lightning up her arm into her shoulder until a stunning impact to her ribcage took her breath.
She was aware of a flash of white light behind her eyes.
A low voice whispered deep in the dark recess of her mind, 'Mine.'
"Hurts," Anais whispered as her eyes fluttered open. It took a few seconds for her to focus on Marcus to read the worry and something that looked like guilt in his dark eyes. Then she lifted her hand and stared at the wound.
Her eyes flew to his.
"Did you just lick my hand?"
And had she just asked him that crazy question?
He didn't meet her eyes as he lifted his hand and brushed back a wisp of hair from her forehead.
"My saliva is an antiseptic," Marcus assured her.
Anais found the concept too much, too insane, to deal with.
"For all you know I could have a disease."
The tip of his tongue licked his bottom lip, as if tasting her.
And for some reason Anais found the move terribly erotic, terribly arousing.
"Nope. Your blood tastes just fine."
She simply stared at him in complete shock. "I don't know what on earth has got into you tonight." Her hand rose to her temple. '"What happened?"
"A little earth tremor."
She looked around at the shattered glass, the men comforting sobbing women.
"Little?" she said in a voice of stunned disbelief.
"Can you sit-up?"
Placing her feet on the floor, every single bone in her body ached as Anais realised she was missing a shoe.
"I've lost..." A huge doorman dressed in black stepped forward, handed her the missing shoe and the small evening bag she'd left on the restaurant table. "Thank you."
Her hand shoved back the heavy weight of her hair.
Marcus took her purse, opened it and dropped her gold chopsticks inside.
"You're all in one piece."
Still dazed, she slid on her shoe and stared up into his face.
"Am I? I feel as if I've been hit by a truck and flattened by a steamroller."
His wonderful mouth curved.
He offered his hand. "Are you able to stand?"
On legs that felt like melted wax she held his hand for support, attempted to rise and the room spun.
"Ooops," he said. "Maybe not."
He scooped her up in his arms as if she weighed nothing.
And since the room was still spinning Anais dropped her head on his strong shoulder and closed her eyes.
Chapter Seven
"Is she asleep?"
Back at the hotel, Marcus turned to find James watching him carefully as he handed him a glass of Scotch.
"Thanks." He took a sip. The heat of the alcohol hit his gut. "Sound asleep."
Marcus sank onto a wide couch, closed his eyes and laid back his head.
God, what a night.
"A vampyre, I smelled it on her wound, attacked her in the ladies rest room. I cannot believe one of our kind dared touch her." The blood stone was supposed to protect her. The stone was a clear mark of ownership. The niggling feeling he was out of his depth was a new and unwelcome experience for a man who ruled his world with an iron fist of intellect. A wave of utter weariness washed through him. He was tired? When had he ever felt tired? Marcus turned his head and opened his eyes to find his brother's brows lowered over anxious eyes. "To be honest, I don't know what the hell I'm doing here, James. I don't what I'm doing with her," he admitted the fact for the first time.
"Tell me about it," said James. "We think we're invincible but when we fall in love..." He shook his head, took another sip of his whisky. "It's seriously scary shit."
Eyeing his brother through his lashes Marcus watched James sit on the couch opposite and stretch out long powerful legs.
"Who said anything about love? If this is what love does to me I don't want it."
James sent him what passed for a grin.
"Falling in love is not a personal choice, you stupid bastard. So you admit it then?"
Marcus shook his head.
"I don't know what it is. One kiss and it nearly sent me over the edge. All I know is that when I thought she was hurt I've never felt anything like that, panicked like that, in my entire life. Then when I thought I'd lost her I just... I just went to pieces."
His vampyre growled, a low dull rumble from the deepest recess in his mind.
And Marcus begged it to please, please, give him a fucking break.
"I know the feeling. I was right there, pal. I know the scene I witnessed was more than a kiss." Now James sat upright and leaned his elbows on his knees. Studying the liquid in his glass he spoke slowly and with care, "Intimacy and negotiating a close relationship with the woman who is our life mate is new territory for us. And I know we're in the dark here, but you need to try to understand what is happening to you. When your yearning is upon you, nothing matters more than to make that woman yours. While they are human our women are too vulnerable. We cannot unleash our vampyre, Marcus. Charlotte holds my happiness, my heart, my soul, in her hands. And she doesn't even know it. These days I'm terrified to touch her in case I lose myself in her. Taking her vein will be dangerous and I don't mind admitting I'm panic-stricken of the thought of something going badly wrong. I cannot tell you how many times I've wished those damned scrolls hadn't been lost and we knew what we're dealing with."
Marcus could get behind those feelings, especially after tonight.
Now he listened to the voice of his vampyre. 'Anais is mine.' He felt and heard the pain of need in the voice and deep in the heart of the beast within.
Marcus Gillespie wasn't a man who dithered over a decision. Once he made a choice he acted. And it was too late to back down now. The taste of Anais still lingered at the back of his throat and he wanted more. Much more. Knocking back his whisky in one, he rose and eyed his brother.
"You and the team can take over the negotiations with the Chinese delegation. Anais needs plenty of rest because tomorrow she will meet her destiny," he said in a voice that meant business.
James nodded, his deep blue eyes serious.
"Saira Pattullo and the medics arrived this evening, just in case the whole thing goes pear shaped. Good luck."
Luck?
He didn't need luck.
If he and Anais were to get through the next twenty-four hours unscathed, Marcus needed a miracle.
***
She'd slept too deeply.
Through the sheer curtains of her bedroom windows, the wintery sun was low in the sky over the city of Shanghai. Anais lay warm and snug, safely cocooned up to her nose under a down feather comforter. She couldn't remember much about the journey back to their hotel last night, or the trip in the elevator except that Marcus had held her on his lap in the car and carried her into her bedroom. And something about the heady scent of him as he'd held her in strong arms made her feel utterly safe and secure. She had a vague memory of him taking off her shoes and her dress before tucking her up nice and tight. A couple of times during the night she'd been aware of his hand gently touching her forehead as if to test for a fever. Even now his scent surrounded her. It was everywhere. Dreams were a wonderful escape from reality. For months Marcus had had the starring role in her deepest imaginings. In her dreams he fell truly, madly and deeply in love with her. In her dreams they married and had children, three children, no more and no less, with the prerequisite happy ever after.
Now she frowned as a soft voice, a woman's voice, laughed deep in her mind and whispered, 'A closet romantic, who knew?'
Still trapped in that lovely moment between deep sleep and awake Anais murmured,
"So sue me, bitch."
The soft voice just laughed.
Then her eyes popped wide open as the memory of what happened between her and Marcus, before the earthquake struck, flew into her brain. She'd been emotionally wrecked after The Kiss and not herself. Perhaps that was why she'd over-reacted to the strange woman in the rest rooms? Perhaps the woman had been in fancy dress at a party? Maybe she'd worn strange contact lenses, dentures over her teeth? The woman had been an awesome actress because she'd scared the hell out of her.
It was the only explanation.
Wasn't it?
But then the soft voice inside her mind, sly and filled with cunning, whispered the word,
'Vampyre.'
Anais frowned as she thought about the single word in the statement.
Rubbish, vampyres do not exist.
In the cold light of day, Anais had her lawyer head firmly screwed on and refused to consider the ridiculous possibility that otherworldly creatures existed outside of the realms of an over-active imagination, which was more than likely the result of adrenaline overload caused by too much stress.
She'd been working too hard for too long, she admitted now. Add in her attraction to her boss, correction her ex-boss, and The Kiss, and no wonder she'd been imagining things.
And hot on the heels of that thought came the emotions that had overpowered her during The Kiss and her whole system went on a heightened state of alert as her breasts went too tight. The ache of liquid need burning deep in her belly was a terrible thing.
What on earth was the matter with her?
All he'd done was kiss her.
She'd been kissed plenty of times before.
But never like this, she admitted now. Marcus had kissed her as if he craved her, couldn't get enough of her, as if she was his life, his heart and his soul. The vivid memory of his taste, how he'd held her close, made her squeeze her eyes shut.
Then he'd stepped back and rejected her, in public.
She took a shaky breath.
Just as well.
Remembering her wanton response to the way he'd touched her, kissed her, Anais groaned, cheeks burning as she rolled on her tummy to bury her face in the pillow as her system took her on another roller-coaster ride.
Then she flipped to lie on her back.
Mind spinning, she stared hard at the ceiling as logic at last rode to the rescue and overwhelmed too many stupid emotions.
Maybe she had been working too hard?
Well, going forward that wouldn't be an issue since she'd lost her career.
Rolling to sit on the edge of the bed, she realised she was wearing a huge pale grey T-shirt. It was freshly laundered but still held the scent of him. Marcus. So he'd dressed her in one of his T-shirts?
Oh God, he'd seen her naked?
She wore tiny panties, but still, Anais let the heat of utter humiliation roll through her.
Then she felt the heavy weight of the necklace around her neck.
Lifting arms that felt like leaden, she tried to find the clasp to unlock the chain, but her hand throbbed. The effort was too much, so she gave up.
On the bedside table her cell vibrated and her alarm sounded.
Her head throbbed so bad she couldn't think.
Her throat felt scratchy.
Her muscles sang.
Maybe she'd picked up a virus?
Flu?
As she stripped in the luxurious bathroom and turned on the shower, Anais let the powerful jets of hot water batter a body that felt weary right down to the bone. And told herself losing her job wasn't the end of the world. There were other law firms out there. She was sought-after and head-hunted on a daily basis. So what if she had to start from the bottom again?
She could do it.
She was a fighter.
She was a strong woman.
But the strong woman couldn't stop the hot tears that mingled with the water on her face.
Hot water powered over her head and she winced as it stung the cuts on her hand.
Through bleary eyes she stared at the weeping sore, the swollen, hot inflammation that had spread up her wrist. For the first time alarm bells rung loud in her mind.
Had she dreamed the words of the terrifying woman who'd dug her nails into her hand?
"Not yet bound to him. Fascinating."
What on earth did that mean?
Maybe the crazy woman had been on drugs?
Then Anais shivered, remembering the way Marcus had licked her wound.
Had she dreamed that, too?
But why on earth would he have done such a thing?
Her fingertips pressed into her aching skull.
It appeared her brain wasn't firing on all cylinders this morning.
She couldn't string two cohesive thoughts together to make a whole.
All she knew was that she needed to go home.
Get away from Shanghai.
Get away from Marcus Gillespie.
Anais knew she was being a coward, but she didn't want to face him.
Not today.
She needed to pack and book the first flight back to the United States.
He wouldn't want an ex-employee hanging around.
Marcus didn't work like that.
Knowing him, even now, he'd be doing everything possible to rescue the contract with the Chinese.
After packing her suitcases, Anais dressed with care.
She may have lost her dream job but that didn't mean leaving Shanghai, and Marcus, without looking one hundred per cent professional. The white silk shirt was collarless sleeveless and buttoned up to the neck. Her skirt suit was a wool/silk mix and beautifully cut. The color suited her mood, black. Sliding her stockinged feet into black leather pumps, the jumpy nerves in her belly tightened. And all the while a sickly perspiration beaded on her top lip, slid down her spine.
Before she left her room she checked the smooth chignon of her hair in the mirror and refused to
look into her eyes in case she read vulnerability and dismay. She was a grown-up and it was about time she started acting like one.
With a tilt of her chin and what felt like a dagger in her heart, Anais opened the door.
The scent of fresh coffee and a hot breakfast made her stomach churn but she kept her eyes on the buffet set out on a black lacquer side-table and poured herself a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice.
Their suite of rooms were stunningly beautiful and decorated with a cream wool carpet. Carpet so deep your feet sank into them. Since she'd been working her butt off Anais hadn't had a lot of time to appreciate the heavy silk drapes in a rich burgundy edged with gold and held back from the windows by huge brass globes the size of a football. Three huge couches, each one could comfortably sit six, were covered in crushed velvet the color of a bleeding sunset. They groaned under the weight of velvet cushions in the same fabric as the curtains. And, unusually for a hotel room, there was a spectacular fireplace at least six foot high and built of black marble. The gas fired logs flickering lazily. And above it hung a huge mirror, which reflected the rest of the room. Two over-stuffed chairs covered in burgundy and gold stripe with a footstool sat either side of the fireplace. It was all quite lovely, and Anais realised she was going to miss living like this. She turned to the dining table, set for two with solid silver cutlery and stiff napkins of pristine cotton carefully folded in place. An enormous shallow bowl of clear glass filled with green moss held a dazzling display of creamy orchids.