by Joey W. Hill
Perhaps none of that would have been enough, but this male was trying to take care of the soldiers, same as her. Strangely enough, in a world made so complex by chaos, some things became simple.
Then there was one more reason to do the crazy thing she was thinking about doing. She might understand a little better how Sher felt. When all this was over, she could possibly make a better peace with it. Even if she couldn’t ever imagine feeling better about her sister being beyond her reach.
“No,” she said. “Alistair…wait.”
She retrieved the drink and sandwich she’d left just inside the tent flap and headed down the hill. She noticed he’d left his bloody shirt. He’d likely snag another from somewhere else, one less likely to attract attention.
He seemed very relaxed as he was, in only the boots and trousers. She hadn’t seen a single mosquito bite on him. Was that also a vampire thing? Did they possess a natural bug repellent? She’d always focused on the big questions with Sher, the why, not the details about his kind.
He’d stopped when she’d called to him. There was a faint impatience on his face, that underlying urgency which she expected was partly the need to assuage the bloodlust, and partly the urge to get it done, the sad task of retrieving his friend’s body.
She’d broken into a quick step to catch up to him. The lawn was slippery with the rain, so she skidded the last several feet and bumped into him. He steadied her as she flushed and pushed her hair out of her face with her free hand, the other resting on his forearm with the sandwich and bottle of tea clutched in it.
“If you’d like, you can drink from me. I have what you need, and I’ll give it willingly.”
Surprise flitted across his features and then they reflected something else, something which made her hesitate and repeat herself. “I mean, if you like.”
His expression was somewhat like the one he’d possessed when he was going to bull around her into the hospital. When she’d felt almost overcome by that will, wanting to do as he demanded simply…because he demanded it.
She saw bodies all the livelong day, and yet she was suddenly quite aware of how close the bare expanse of chest was to her, filling up her field of vision, the curve of biceps under her palms. His long, strong fingers, half curled upon her hips.
Being a nurse, she was also caught up for a blink or two in clinical absorption, seeing a member of a different race close up, so human-looking, and yet surviving on the life essence of her own kind. Well, human-looking in a rather intense way.
It was those eyes, she told herself, staring up into them. The absolute attention he could center upon someone with them. She expected when he cleaned up, he was quite devastating to female senses. To break that feeling, she gestured to one of the smaller buildings. “That one isn’t occupied. We think it might have been used by a school caretaker who lived on the property. It’s mostly clean and has a couple items of furniture in it, if you’d prefer some privacy.”
He seemed to be thinking it over. Yet his reserve wavered, and she saw him swallow. The hand on her hip twitched. When his glance shifted, there was a reddish tint in his eyes. That might have made her anxious, but he’d also gotten paler, and the twitch became an outright tremor in his hands.
He was going back out there to make sure one of their boys made it home to his mother. So she could bury him. Mort likely wasn’t going to survive, but Alistair had given him and Jonathan the same gift. He’d likely saved Charlie and Rigby’s lives. Maybe Horace’s, if he pulled through.
Sher had told Nina a good bit about certain things. Vampires were invincible, so when they showed signs they weren’t, it wasn’t good. A moment of inattention, being too slow, and he could get blown up. Which killed everything, maybe even vampires.
She didn’t know how far he had to go tonight to reach shelter before dawn, but the answer to every question she had led back to his need for sustenance. Which she could provide.
She adjusted their grips so their fingers were interlaced. Slowly, keeping her eyes on his, she tugged on him. After a weighted second, he followed her. She led him past the converted building for the nurse’s quarters, to the caretaker’s cottage. The door was unlocked.
There was an easy chair with green floral upholstery, and a rumpled floor rug full of dust. No electricity, not that they’d be turning on any lights, but it meant they had plenty of shadows. Nothing inside could be seen through the windows. They’d have their privacy.
As Nina drew him to the chair, she recalled the places Sher had said vampires liked to feed. Throat, most often. Nina was startled by the surge of heat through her as she envisioned him biting her there.
Daft idiot, she told herself. For one thing, he was now sitting and she was standing. He’d have to tip his head back. She didn’t want him doing that, because it would increase blood pressure against that healing part of his skull. Vampire restorative powers aside, it didn’t need extra aggravation until fully restored.
She thought of a better option, though it gave her pause. Until she reminded herself it was a method of treatment, that was all. The man needed replenishment.
Bracing herself on the arm of the chair, she sank down to the carpet on her knees, adjusting herself between his spread ones. She lifted her wrist toward him. “Will this work? Do you need me to cut it first?” She kept a pen knife in her pocket.
When he said nothing right away, she wondered if the throat might be best after all, somehow providing him a richer source of blood that he needed in his current state. There were ways to accomplish that, but the idea seemed extraordinarily intimate, especially when he was staring down at her like this. It gave a strange significance beyond function to her being on her knees. Her breath caught in her throat, her heart speeding up.
Sher had talked about wanting to be on her knees to him. Letting him feed from her wrist, just as Nina had presented it to him. She’d talked about the way she imagined him looking at her.
Just like this.
His eyes seemed capable of holding her in this position as long as he desired. She’d only seen concentration like that with a predator. Cats, stalking mice. Dingoes after rabbits. A tiger in the zoo, captured and yet never subjugated, always knowing that what lay outside the bars was weaker, slower. His to take, if given the opportunity.
Did meeting their gaze cause such disturbing thoughts? Even so, such thoughts felt improper. While her sister would be his servant, not his wife or girlfriend, Nina thought if she was bound to a male like this, she wouldn’t want to see his lips on another female. She’d honor her sister’s devotion to him, sight unseen though it was.
She lowered her gaze. Another decision that seemed to have two meanings, and caused another leap in her lower belly when he made a hard-to-define noise in his throat. A growl, if she was still indulging her oddly fanciful mood, but whatever it was spread warmth through her lower regions.
“Drink, sir,” she said, low. “I don’t want to offend, but I’ve only a short dinner break and many patients to tend. You don’t have to hesitate. I don’t fear pain. I know you have places to be as well.”
“You’re right, sweet nurse. But some meals it’s a crime to rush.”
He reached out, cupped her wrist in his palm. Her arm was quivering, and it wasn’t all nerves. She knew what it was, but was surprised he recognized it as well. He nodded to the sandwich.
“Eat that first. Drink.”
“I—”
“You will eat first.” He picked up the sandwich, unwrapped it, handed it to her.
He was right. It was sensible. But taking the food from his hand, putting it in her mouth under his regard, following his unmistakable order, brought more of the same peculiar rush of feelings. She ate quickly, and he said nothing. His gaze shifted to the windows, watching whatever was going on outside. She stole glances at his chiseled features, the set mouth. When she looked down again, her gaze slid over the bare chest, the way his belt clasped his waist, the length of his thigh against the fabric of his
trousers.
As she finished the last bite with a hard swallow, he touched her shoulder. She lifted her head, realized he was holding out his hand again. As she laid her wrist back into it, she realized she was anticipating the strength of his grip, the heat of it.
“Better?” he murmured. “Steadier?”
She wouldn’t say that. Whatever he saw in her face seemed to satisfy him that she was ready, though. Perhaps it was other things, her uncertainty about the proper answer to the question, that made his eyes gleam in the darkness. Then the shadows cloaked his face as he bent his head.
Her fingers convulsed on the cool bottle of tea as his nose brushed her skin. He took his time, as if he were inhaling her, then his lips were upon her wrist, tasting her pulse, making things flutter within her. Her own lips parted, her fingers curled, and she gasped as he bit. She’d known what he was, but seeing the momentary flash of sharp fangs through those shadows, feeling the fiery burn as he sank them into her flesh, was unexpected.
His mouth moved upon her as he drank, and she started to feel heated and strange. She had to resist the urge, not to pull away, but to rise on her knees and press closer. The bottle was left on the floor, her nerveless fingers slipping away from it.
Then she was following that urge, not even realizing she was until it was happening. Or maybe he’d pulled her up, for his hand was at her waist and then lower, gripping her buttocks as a wanton moan broke from her lips at the pressure of his strong grip. What was the matter with her? Things were spiraling up between her legs, tightening the tips of her breasts, making her whole body dance and shudder in his clasp.
His fangs were far larger than the largest bore needle they had, but the excruciating pain was gone. He had his head turned and bent over her captive wrist as he continued to drink, and she wanted to move her hand from his shoulder to his hair. She didn’t, though her fingers curled hard into his flesh.
His hand slid from her backside around to the front, under her skirt. He was caressing her core, finding his way under her knickers. When he touched her, her sex was wet, so his fingers slipped just inside the labia, stroking, playing, and moving up, to the clitoral hood above.
As a strong paroxysm swept her, her fingers convulsed upon his shoulder, biting into bone. “Oh…” She was rocking against his touch, mercy, riding it.
He made that approving growl again, as he continued to drink and stroke, drink and stroke. She wrapped her other arm around his back, pressing her face into his chest. She couldn’t think about stopping, didn’t wish to do so. Control was lost.
He hitched her up against him, adjusting his touch to push his forearm between her legs and spread his hand full over her arse. She continued to work and rub herself against him as he kneaded her buttocks, traced his fingers over the seam, sending tendrils of sensation dancing down into that forbidden crevice. His hand was still beneath the cotton, flesh against heated flesh. For the first time since she’d come to this humid jungle, she welcomed the heat.
She was coming down. So, so slowly. She’d think she was regaining control of her faculties, and then another little spasm would shake her, arch her against him with a soft cry. He’d hold her tighter, work her some more against him.
“Little wanton,” he murmured, his voice throaty and rough. “All that passion. So innocent.”
He nudged her jaw with his nose, a tender playfulness, before he eased her back to her feet, adjusting his grip to hold her hip. He’d retracted his fangs, licked the puncture wounds, which normally she’d consider a very unsanitary treatment idea, until she realized the blood coagulated under the stroke of his tongue, the healing neat and clean. Remarkable.
“You look shocked, sweet nurse,” he said. “You’ve never had a man bring you to climax, have you?”
She shook her head. Mortification would arrive soon, she was sure, but for a moment, amid death and despair, she’d felt so brilliantly alive.
“It does that,” he said, and she realized she’d whispered it. “No shame on having a measure of that, in the midst of all this. It’s my fault anyway. I released something in your blood to ease the pain of the bite, a strong aphrodisiac injected through my fangs.”
“Oh.” She wasn’t sure how she felt about that, stiffened a little when he squeezed her hip.
“It enhances whatever is already there. You’ll be a very passionate and uninhibited woman with the man who deserves the gift.” His smile was tired, though she could still feel the heat of his eyes on her. “But since I had control of this moment, and I wanted to thank you for your generosity, there is no guilt and no regrets, little beauty. If you’re pure, consider yourself that way still.”
He paused, his head cocking. Her mind still whirling, she wasn’t sure what he was hearing until she heard it, through a broken pane of the window. Pure sweet notes, poignant and playful by turns, were drifting through the night air, a woman’s voice raised in song.
“It’s Lainie. One of our nurses,” She cleared her thick throat, thought about easing back to stand away from him, in front of the chair, but he still had an arm looped around her hips, her own curved around his shoulder as she half sat on his lap. It wasn’t unpleasant, and her heart rate was still slowing. Plus, at this proximity, she could verify his color was looking much healthier, and she no longer felt a tremor in the grip at her waist.
“She sings at times to help calm the men, quiet their fears about the things that have happened to them.” Could happen to them.
“‘The Last Time I Saw Paris.’ A good choice.” Alistair laid his head back against the chair’s cushion and gazed at her. She wasn’t entirely sure what he was thinking, but he seemed content, pleased. He was studying her so thoroughly. He kept her in place, stroking her waist and gripping her waistband, tugging lightly. As his gaze shifted toward the window again, toward that music, his expression became more serious.
“Are you afraid of what could happen here, sweet nurse? If the Japanese come?”
She made a noncommittal noise. The Matrons set such a good example, she rarely allowed herself the luxury of fear except for brief frissons of anxiety. “I think most of the stories we’ve heard are simply to scare us away from our duty. But the soldiers…I worry what would be done to them.”
“Hmm.” Unexpectedly, he switched topics. “You said your family is pledged to the vampire world. Is a member of your family a servant?”
“She will be. My sister. She’s training to be an InhServ.” For some reason, she couldn’t bring herself to volunteer that Alistair was her intended Master. Maybe because Nina was still remembering his arm between her legs, his hand kneading her bum, making her practical army knickers feel like far scantier, silkier lingerie.
The thought and his question reminded her it was time to return to reality. Her dinner break was surely close to done. When she pushed off his lap and stood, he allowed it, after a lingering moment when he didn’t, his eyes measuring her as he held her still. Then there was space between them. She needed to go. The shadows cloaked him, still sitting, but she caught the sudden bleakness that entered his expression, rooting her feet to the floor.
“He’s going to die, too, isn’t he?” he asked quietly. “Mort.”
“I’m not a doctor.” But she was experienced enough to know. Whatever Alistair sought from her, it wasn’t false hope. She found she couldn’t lie to him.
“Yes, most likely. I’m sorry. But they’ll ease his pain as much as possible. It’s good you brought him here.”
“He was in agony for most of it. He’d pass out, only to have the pain rouse him again. He wouldn’t scream because the enemy was too close. Bloody bastard. Fucking hero.” He leaned forward, linking his hands, and stared at the floor.
“You were mates.”
“Yeah. Much as I can be with a human. He told me to take the others first. Should have ignored him. Maybe, if I’d gotten him here earlier…”
“You honored his wishes,” she said, and had her hands on his shoulders, had closed
the distance between them again. This time to feed a different need. He lifted his head to stare up at her.
“Wishes don’t seem to have much place here, do they?” he said.
“No,” she said honestly. “But maybe that’s all the more reason to have them. Candle in the dark, and all that.”
He nodded, sighed. Looked down. She didn’t know if he moved first or she cupped the back of his head, bringing it to her breast, but suddenly that was where they were, his arms wrapped tightly around her hips, his head on her bosom, mouth warm against her as he drew in soft, painful breaths, his shoulders quivering.
A powerful man, but not broken. When he at last lifted his head again, he stood. His face was unmarked by tears, but his eyes were raw, reaching into her. She stepped back to let him rise, but he retained one of her hands, holding that connection between them.
“I hope we both see a day where wishes are more than candlelight, sweet nurse. I’d like them to be a fucking bonfire in the night, and dance in the flames with you. Thank you.”
He squeezed her hand and moved away, sliding out the door of the cottage. As she stood there, she realized she’d likely never see him again. At least, not like this.
She leaped for the door, yanked it wider and brought herself up short when she found him standing there. He was looking up the slope, toward the hospital.
“Please,” she said.
He tilted his head, looked at her. It was a curiously formal gesture, suggesting that distance was back between them, vampire and human, but she still found the courage to say what she needed to say to him.
“My twin sister. You’re her intended Master.”
He lifted a brow. “Your twin?”
“Yes.” She folded her hands together, nervous but determined. “Please… Please treat her with care. Take care of her, I mean. I love her dearly, and she’s very special. I mean no offense.”