by Joey W. Hill
No. She thought of Sher. Sher wouldn’t want her to give up. She had Sher. Nina had a reason to live.
She thought of the intent gaze of the vampire. Alistair. Okay, it was daft, but she’d assume he was a good reason to live, too.
Something clamped down on her, and she discovered she could still feel full blown terror. Her scream was lost in a choking swallow of seawater. A shark had her in his jaws, and adrenaline was keeping her from feeling its deadly bite. One small mercy.
Then she realized hands were holding her. Strong, relentless hands.
Her mind couldn’t process it. Had someone else made it out, swum like she had? It seemed impossible, but she was being pulled further out, unmistakably. Was that wise? They were already so far out…
Her rescuer kept her on her back now, shifting his arm across her chest in a swimmer’s rescue position, as he stroked with the other arm. She knew the person was male. The press of his chest against her, his size, were all evidence of a masculine presence. And he was a bloody strong swimmer.
“Can you shift onto my back and hold on?” he said, his voice rough and urgent. “I need to get you to a boat.”
A boat. That was why he was pulling her out further. Not a soldier from the beach. Not a soldier at all. Not technically. She knew that voice. Knew him. Had she conjured him?
The world was orienting itself, and suddenly she remembered the moment behind the tent, only a few days before. Alistair. It was Alistair.
In answer, she turned over clumsily in the water. She was so cold, even though logically she knew the water was likely not much colder than a swimming pool. He dipped below her, helping, and she had her arms around his chest, her body resting against the back of his, so he could breast stroke more swiftly. He was warm, and he briefly clasped her hands, giving her more of that warmth. The moment of compassion, an acknowledgement that he was here with her, and she was not alone, meant enough to her that tears leaked from her eyes, joining the ocean.
She had enough of her wits about her to note that, while his strokes were powerful, there was a curious lack of buoyancy to him. He moved more like a boat under power than a person bobbing up and down with the movement of the waves. His body kept an even cut through the water.
“Told you…to…leave. Hate swimming.”
She blinked and had no response to that. Her mind couldn’t form an answer to anything. He didn’t seem to require that, however, since he continued to grumble to himself even as he made admirable progress.
Perhaps because of shock, she simply drifted as she had been doing, flotsam carried along by his will. But when she managed a glance toward the parallel shore, she saw the red-tipped lighthouse that had guided the survivors was much more distant. The soldiers were no longer visible, though even with the lighthouse, the beach was too dark to see much.
Could anyone else have been in the water like her, in need of the boat to which he was taking her? She couldn’t admonish him for not checking. Really, what choice had there been? But it gave her a sick feeling, to think they might have left someone alive behind.
It took quite a time, but then she realized he’d reached the boat, a small craft. “Climb me like a ladder and get in,” he said. “Can you do that? You won’t tip it. Don’t worry.”
She tried, and she was just too cold, her limbs not listening to her. “I’m sorry,” she rasped. Though the real problem was she couldn’t let go of him. It was mortifying, in some distant world where embarrassment mattered.
He paused, turned his head where the side of his face brushed hers, another welcome contact. “It’s all right, love. Hang on tight, then.”
His shoulders tensed, and she remembered that poof moment where it seemed like he’d disappeared, but he’d simply moved that fast. There was wind on her face, like from a roller coaster’s descent, and she was in the bottom of the boat, him over her.
He didn’t let her go, though, shifting his hold to bring her in between his spread knees where he sat on a seat. “Are you hurt?” His hands roved over her, probing, and she flinched as he found her side. Her hands followed his there.
“No,” she said through stiff lips. “Graze, I think. I could swim well enough.”
“Not bleeding,” he said, and reached over her to a knapsack, if the shape of it were any indication. He pulled something out and she felt a blanket brush her. “We’ll have to see about all that when we’re somewhere safer, then. Can you get your clothes off? Need to get you wrapped up in this, get you warm. The water’s not that cold, so it’s the shock making you shiver.”
She knew that. Warmth would pull her out of the grip of it, make her less logy. She’d be no good to him so debilitated, unable to help him in whatever ways were needed to keep them both safe. Her coat and shoes had been lost in the sea. Her blouse had been in tatters under her lifejacket when she reached the beach, but an ambulatory soldier had brought her a T-shirt, likely taken off one of his mates who no longer needed it, or maybe he’d held onto his duffel. She remembered his politeness, the way he did his best not to look at how her bra had been visible beneath her torn shirt.
So she’d been wearing that T-shirt over her skirt. The latter had at least held up well, a sturdy uniform fabric like her regrettably lost coat. When the soldiers had come onto the beach, she’d had her shoes sitting tidily to the side, drying out. She’d walked into the surf barefoot.
It was full dark, and modesty was not something she would dwell upon, regardless, so she stripped off the shirt, unhooked her bra and slid it down her arms with practical efficiency. Wriggling out of the skirt and knickers in a rocking boat took a little more flexibility, but she felt the heat of his hand on her back, below her shoulder blades, steadying her as she did it. His thumb brushed her, stroking the bumps of her spine, a reassurance. She reached for the blanket, her fingers shaking but her mind steadying with the occupation of doing something that made sense, had purpose.
He helped, wrapping the blanket around her. When he touched her chin, she looked up at him. His face was shrouded in darkness, but she saw a brief flash of his eyes, caught by the distant strobe of the lighthouse lamp. His jaw was firm as he studied her.
“Going to have to be quiet and move fast. Have to have you well on your way back home before daybreak.”
“How did you…”
“I would have been here sooner except for the damn daylight,” he said brusquely. “Heard that they’d evacuated you and that you’d come under fire. Came as soon as I could. When I bit you, I gave you the first mark. It’s a locater. Don’t know why I did that, but now I’m bloody glad I did. I need you to sit down here between my knees in the center of the boat and be quiet for a bit. Let me focus on our surroundings while I haul our arses to one of the few spots on shore we might not get ourselves shot.”
She could be quiet. She settled back down in the bottom of the boat and laid her hand on his inner thigh, her hands curling around it behind the knee. His clothes were all dark, and damp. In some other alternate world, she’d be aware that she was leaning intimately against his groin, but right now he was warmth, safety, and none of that unsettled her. He started rowing, and crikey, he was fast. She expected he wasn’t using the motor so as not to alert any soldiers still on the beach or who might be doing boat patrols around the island.
She drifted, following the rhythm of the craft, the shift and flex of thigh and calf muscle against her. She inhaled the ocean-bathed scent of his flesh. She’d coiled her hair into a knot on her neck, so the curve of her throat was against the tough fabric of his daks. He didn’t noticeably breathe, except when he was speaking, when air had to be pushed across the vocal cords to make sound. So he must have lungs, even if he didn’t need to breathe to live. Curious questions and foolish thoughts.
“Why do you hate swimming?” she asked, forgetting she wasn’t supposed to talk. But he answered her.
“Vampires don’t swim. We pull ourselves through water like anchors, using strength alone to stay above the surfac
e. No buoyancy. Hush now, sweet nurse.”
She processed that for a while. He swam very well for an anchor, she thought, but couldn’t find the sad giggle that should go with such a silly thought.
The boat thumped to shore, jarring her out of her torpor. He didn’t pause, adjusting her so he could stand, then reaching down to swing her up in his arms. He did it effortlessly. Since she was a taller-than-average woman, she’d never been carried by another person, and definitely not like this. He had the strength to carry her curled up like he was cradling her in his grip. He’d stripped off his own wet shirt at some point, so she laid her head against his bare chest, listening to the hard pounding of his heart.
He had the rope to the boat tied to his waist and pulled it along with him with seeming ease until they were in the cover of the forest. Then he put her down against the base of a tree and left her to erase the track of the vessel. Her eyes followed his silhouette.
Well, clung to it. She refused to panic that he’d left her for these few moments, but it was a near thing. A lot of things were settling in that she’d been able to keep at bay. She needed to be somewhere quiet and alone, where she could fix herself a spot of tea and get her wits about her. Not go all weepy and female.
He was back and had lifted her again. Despite her thoughts, she curled her arms around his naked shoulders and neck and held tight. He wasn’t even sweating. Just solid heat and muscle. He pressed his face briefly against the side of hers. “Hold fast, love,” he said gruffly. “I’ve got you.”
Striding through the woods, not very far, he took her into a wide, long clearing. After he sat her down again, she watched him move back inside the perimeter of the forest. Her eyes had acclimated enough to the night she realized he was pulling something off a large thing, and her mind filled in the gaps her sight could not. He’d removed the camouflage cloth off a small airplane, a two-seater.
“Pilot,” she said as he came back to her. She didn’t seem capable of full sentences yet.
“Pilot,” he confirmed. He must have had another pack in the plane, because he’d donned a dry shirt and was carrying another one, much like the T-shirt she’d taken off, but this one was dry. Dropping to one knee, he guided the shirt over her head, helped her find the sleeves. She might have been embarrassed to need help dressing like a child, but he kept talking, in a calm, matter-of-fact voice, as if it were of no account.
“Been flying since airplanes became a thing, so I’ll get you out of here. With it being nighttime, and the air patrols not too heavy among the islands here after dark, we have a decent shot at getting you where help can be found. We’ll have to island hop at least once, since this one doesn’t carry much fuel.”
“The others…”
“Don’t think about them right now.”
He sat back on his heels before her. She could make out more of the outline of his face, the fall of his hair over his brow. He touched her face, his fingers so blissfully warm she wanted to weep from that simple blessing. Yes, she needed to squash her emotions. Hard.
“Say your name to me again, sweet nurse.”
“Nina. And you’re Alistair.”
She thought a faint smile touched his face, though his voice remained serious. “I like the way that sounds when you say it. You’ve got the courage to rival a lioness. Still want to blister your arse for not leaving when I told you to do it.” His tone became thoughtful. “Actually, I’d blister your arse just for the pleasure of it. A nice thought to hold onto in the middle of this hell.”
She blinked. He really was an odd one. She couldn’t comprehend him any more than she knew how to process her reaction to his words. If it was possible for a person to be cut down the middle by circumstances, she was evidence of it. There was a cannonball lodged hard under her heart. She wanted to cry, to scream out her horror. She also wanted to kiss him, absurdly enough. She realized with a harsh dose of honesty how often she’d thought about the curve of his mouth, the strength of his body, his insane beauty, in just the few days since she’d seen him last. It had seemed a harmless and logical enough fantasy amid the ugliness of war. Sher would forgive her, because it meant nothing.
But this, this didn’t mean nothing. This sudden urgent need to lose herself in something real and normal and amazing before her horrible reality set in and she was encased in ice forever. Because it was going to happen. Soon as he got her somewhere safe, she would come face to face with what could never be unseen or forgotten, and the world would never again be as hopeful or beautiful to her as it had once had the chance to be.
She reached up and traced his mouth with her fingertips. Though she couldn’t really see them in the dark, she knew those blue eyes had steadied upon her. Locked.
“I want…” she whispered.
His hand dropped to her shoulder, then the side of her throat. When his grip tightened, it sent a shocking bolt of need right through her center. She wanted him to spread out his large hand, hold her throat fully, hold her fast. She wouldn’t be able to surge toward him as she wished, but him controlling her movements, that would provide her the still point she needed for the chaos within her.
“What do you want, Nina?” he said, just as low and quiet. “You have to ask, and I have to tell you that you can have it. But you know that, don’t you?”
Did he mean she knew the protocols between vampires and servants? Or did he mean something different? She remembered what Sher had said.
You understand it, Nina. It’s in you, too.
She swallowed, those butterflies startling up and then settling again. “I want to kiss you. Need to. Please. It doesn’t have to mean anything.”
“A kiss always means something,” he said. “And I’m going to kiss you instead.”
She parted her lips to say however he wanted to manage it, she was fine with it, but then his mouth was on hers, and he was pulling her close, deep into the shelter of his body. God, she would have climbed inside him if she could. Her hands were on his shoulders, clawing into them. Not like a woman experiencing controlled passion, but as if she was literally trying to dig into his flesh so she could crawl inside him. She drew blood.
Life in this second was a denial of death, a defiance to all the evil in the world. She was wrapped around him, and he was on his feet, carrying her again, with her still being kissed as he put her back against a tree. When she locked her legs around his hips, a strangled groan vibrated through her throat, for his thick and quite noticeable cock pressed against her core, causing another starburst of sensation through her lower body.
He didn’t remove the clothes between them. Just fisted his hand in her wet hair, pulling the knot free. He controlled the direction and pace of the kiss. Controlled her, helping her to savor this with an intensity that was savage. Helping her to forget.
Lord in Heaven, what was she doing? She managed to pull her mouth away, which didn’t make things better, since his moved along her cheek, her jaw…to her throat. Her sex contracted, and that sound she’d thought was a growl was an unmistakable one now as his fangs scraped her.
He lifted his head without biting her, and stared into her eyes, as if trying to work something out about her. When he shifted his hand so it replaced his mouth at her throat, his fingers formed a firm collar over it. As he constricted her airway, just as she’d imagined, his thumb pressed against her rapid pulse. It made them both more aware of the strength of her life force, how he held it in his even more powerful grip. Her breath grew shorter, but not as a physical reaction. What was he doing to her? She couldn’t move; could only stay within the lock of his eyes, his grasp, and think wild thoughts of being bound to him.
“You have what is irresistible to a vampire, Nina,” he said. “Perhaps they chose the wrong sister.”
It was better than a cold slap of water in the face, returning things to reality. She drew back, pressed the heels of her hands against his chest, rather than flattening her palms and spreading her fingers over that muscular terrain as she wished.
/>
“No. I’m sorry, Alistair. My sister is devoted to you. It’s wrong of me to have done this.”
He cocked his head. His voice was still throaty, animal like, even as he spoke with mild, implacable logic. “Your sister will be my Inherited Servant, Nina. Not my wife. She’ll serve me in many ways, but she does not expect, nor would she ever demand, that my attentions belong only to her.”
“So even if she loves you with all of her heart, you’ll feel no obligation to return that loyalty?” Though she was weak, she squirmed enough to get him to lower her back to her feet. He held her an additional moment, however, making sure she was steady.
“It can’t be framed in the context of what you know in your world,” Alistair said, not unkindly.
Sher had told her much the same thing. “You don’t know, Nina,” her sister had said once. “You have to be willing to understand it.”
Alistair squeezed her arm, a truce, and left her propped against the tree, returning to his preparations with the plane. Nina moved forward, because the distance from the tree to the plane seemed too far. The distance from the tree to him. Her legs were wobbly, so she sank to her knees, watching him. He glanced back at her. Stopping what he was doing, he strode several feet away and picked a dark shape off the ground, the blanket that had fallen unnoticed from her during their embrace.
As he moved toward her, she wished it was daylight, so she could better see how he moved, the expressions on his face. But if it was daylight, he wouldn’t be here at all. When he reached her, he folded the blanket into a thick square and put it on the ground next to her. Dropping to his heels, he gripped her elbows, helped her shift onto it.
“That’ll be more comfortable,” he said shortly, and then rose, turning toward the plane again.
They had more important things to worry about. She should leave it alone, move on. Pretend that crazy moment had never happened.
“You were of this world,” she said to his back. “A made vampire. You were human. Didn’t you want a wife and children someday? Someone to fall in love with, pledge your loyalty and care to them, until death do you part?”