Vampire's Embrace: A Vampire Queen Series Novel

by Joey W. Hill

  “Perhaps no need to do so, either.”

  “That’s your perspective. You’re not the one pried open like a helpless clam on the beach,” she said against his skin. She realized she was still clutching him as if she thought she might fall off a precipice if she let go, so she made herself do so, push against his chest. “Please. I need some space.”

  He didn’t have to listen to her, didn’t have to do anything she asked. It choked her, but before another wave of panic could take her, he’d shifted off her, withdrawing from her body, which protested the loss. Ignoring it, she scrambled off the bed, stumbled. She had no idea where she was going, but she just had to move. To go.

  Maybe he wasn’t as keyed into her mind as much as she’d thought, because when she bolted from the room, she heard a startled and muttered curse. She ran blindly, through the kitchen, out the back door, and down the path toward the beach. The ocean was there, the waves, the enormity of it perhaps enough to swallow her, make her feel insignificant again, unnoticed, rather than accessible to the mind of the male who’d made her feel ways none other ever had. And that was even before she’d found out she was bound to him for eternal servitude.

  Master. She’d called him Master and meant it. She needed to go. Before it was too late, before she could acknowledge it already was.

  Nina. His voice was a thunder in her head, her rapidly beating heart. She was headed for the ocean, and she vaguely registered she wasn’t wearing a stitch. But it was also the dead of night. Who would see her, except a vampire who could see in the dark?

  Or another third marked servant, since she vaguely realized her own night vision seemed to have improved exponentially. All the better, then. She plunged into the surf, and kept going.

  It wasn’t until she was past several breakers that she realized how badly she’d panicked. She hadn’t been in the ocean for three years, had actively avoided it, and every cell of her being suddenly came to full screaming life, infused with the memory of why, drowning her even before she stumbled and went under.

  Helen’s hand, tight on hers. The choking salt spray as she tried not to give away she was still alive by coughing, floundering. The pain of the bullet wound, making her fear she was bleeding out.

  She was back off the shore of Bangka. The water churned, pulled her down, and she needed to let it take her down, so she wouldn’t be visible. But she couldn’t breathe. She was gasping, dying, every conception she’d had about the line past which humanity would go destroyed. Their brutality was unstoppable, limitless, so far beyond the realm where hope could live.

  She should sink. She’d known it then, that she should just give up, let the sea take her, never surface and face the aftermath of something so horrible. But she’d fought, and then Alistair had reached down, drawn her up, held her. Got her through.

  He should have let her die. Better for them both, really.

  So this time, when he gripped her, she fought him. Fought him with everything she had, using teeth and nails and kicks and punches, everything she’d ever learned. She screamed and begged. Begged him to let her die.

  This was so much more than what had happened in the past few moments. It was a culmination of three years of lost confusion, of detachment from the world, from her family. His third marking had been a trigger, the wall coming down on all that had gone before. She could never go that way again, all of it lost. Everything she was or had ever thought she’d be.

  She wouldn’t have been surprised or even really blamed him if he’d gotten rough with her to subdue her. But he didn’t. He held her fast, took her abuse, brought them both to shore. There was a blanket there, one he must have pulled from the bed, and he immediately wrapped her in it, an effective cocoon and restraint when he pulled it around her snugly. He sat her in his lap on the sand, letting her cry and struggle, scream at him. There really was no one else on the beach, because he didn’t seem concerned about that, his attention on her alone. He tucked her head under his chin, wrapped both his arms around her, and rocked her.

  He’d pulled on his slacks to chase her, but she was pressed against his bare chest. It took her a while to realize he was talking to her, both in her head and echoing the words aloud in his deep voice. Rough with emotion she didn’t expect.

  It’s all right, sweet nurse. I know. I know.

  But he didn’t know. Even if he was in her mind, heart and soul now, he didn’t know, because she refused to believe he could understand the depth of her helplessness and rage and not be willing to let her go. She knew the world was impossibly cruel, but she couldn’t believe he was.

  Which maybe said more about her than him.

  Yet what he was giving her was comfort, no matter how meager, and the heart responded to that even if the mind wanted to reject it, wanted to close off and be cold, unforgiving.

  She was weeping now. She thought of Sher’s grave. There’d been flowers from a few people, the typical and expected types of arrangements. But there’d been a lovely New Zealand tea tree, the deep pinkish crimson blooms displayed in a clay pot with a cream and golden glaze, a gorgeous piece of work to complement the plant.

  Nina had stared at those blooms throughout the service, because the New Zealand tea tree blooms had been Sher’s favorite flower. Though always under its supervision, the InhServ program had encouraged her to gain experiences, travel, and she and other initiates had traveled to New Zealand in her teens. She’d liked the flower so much she’d pressed one in her diary. Had her mother kept that?

  Had her InhServ friends sent the plant? Everything else at the funeral had been from family friends who really didn’t know much about Sher. They’d just been there to support her parents.

  “Nero kept track of your sister’s progress in the program,” Alistair said quietly. “He read the reports, the letters she sent, when she was approved to send me communications. A one-way correspondence, to give me the opportunity to get to know her better. He has them, if you’d like to read them.”

  “Did you ever read them?” From what Nero had said, she was sure the answer was no, so she didn’t know why she was torturing herself, but she wanted to hear his answer. He gave her honesty. She gave him credit for that. And at least it was a qualified no.

  “Not until recently, when someone pointed out I didn’t even remember her name.” He shifted, adjusting her so she sat on the sand between his spread thighs, one crooked around her hip, one bent before her so she could shift her head to his knee to gaze at him. He braced himself on one hand, the other arm still circling her loosely.

  “I read through a few of them,” he admitted. “I didn’t get much of an impression of her…uniqueness, because most of them were similar, expressing her devotion, her willingness to serve. The emotions that the InhServ program targets and sculpts.”

  Before she could stiffen at what sounded like a criticism, he continued, and she noticed his expression became thoughtful. “But she wrote to me about going to New Zealand, and how she loved the little tea tree flowers. She said she imagined creating a chain of them and putting them around my neck.”

  Nina blinked at him through her still-wet lashes. “You sent the tree?”

  “I wish I could tell you so,” he said, meeting her gaze. “But it was Nero. I asked him to read through the letters and decide what would be appropriate, so thanks go to him.”

  She looked down at his chest, her fingers worrying the blanket from the inside, where it was so securely wrapped over her hands. “Why didn’t you go to her funeral?” she asked in a small voice. “I suppose I can guess, but you meant so much to her. Please don’t say it was the idea of you that meant so much to her. She spent her whole life trying to convince me otherwise. I don’t want us ganging up on her when she can’t defend herself.”

  Plus, after spending time with vampires, she understood Sher’s point of view enough to question her own doubts.

  “It was not appropriate for me to be there.” He sighed, touched her face, fingertip sliding over her cheek. She
supposed she could have resisted the touch, but what was the point of it anymore? It was easier simply to enjoy the comfort the contact could bring.

  A muscle twitched in his jaw, but he answered her question. At least she detected genuine regret in his voice, even if it was probably more for her than Sher. “Her letters were charming and lovely, and yet she was a stranger to me, Nina. A great deal of that is my fault. Many vampires, when awarded an InhServ, will spend much time reading through those letters, anticipating the InhServ’s arrival like a favorite Christmas present, because their reputation is without compare. A true gift. Some of my kind will even write back. We have that option. We can even arrange for some visits to the InhServ school. But I did not.”

  What would have happened if he had? Would their meeting have been different? Would Sher’s opinions have changed? Some terrible part of Nina wondered if he would have gravitated toward her as much, connected to her so strongly, if he’d made that connection with her sister first. She really hoped Alistair didn’t pick up on that thought, because it shamed her enough to have to hear it herself.

  “She was a political choice pressed upon me,” Alistair said. He gripped her shoulder, as if anticipating her drawing away from him, but Nina merely stayed still, numb, listening. “I intended to accept her into my home and treat her the way I view Nero and the rest of the staff. Perhaps when I met her face to face, and saw the depths to which an InhServ trains, I would have had a far deeper appreciation of her loyalty and value. But I can only give you the truth.”

  She nodded. They sat silently for a few minutes, only the movement of the surf and the response of the wind creating any conversation on the beach.

  “You told me I didn’t believe in small talk,” he said after a while. “Like ‘how have you been these past three years?’ ‘What have you been up to?’” His lips curved, but there was no humor in his gaze. There was that straightforward relentlessness, but she also detected a strain of the bleakness she’d seen in him before. “Most of the first year after you and I saw one another was a blur. I came back to Brisbane, did nothing useful, unless independent tests to determine if a vampire can get alcohol poisoning or fuck himself to death in an endless line of tight arses is possible. Neither one, apparently. I can’t even get tipsy. It’s God’s cruel joke, one of many.”

  “On the flip side, imagine the damage you could do if you could get drunk,” she said, snuffling. “Perhaps it’s just evidence of God’s practicality.”

  He paused, gave her an odd look, then half-chuckled. “Yes, that’s true.”

  “My nose itches. I need my hands free.”

  “Here?” He carefully rubbed her nose with one finger, the tip and around the nostrils, up to the bridge. She stared up at him. Despite herself, a painful smile touched her lips. She’d done that once, for a soldier who had casts on both arms and hands.

  Seeing her smile, Alistair’s own expression eased, but the tightness around his mouth lingered, as did the tension in his body. It had been a rough few moments, and perhaps not just for her.

  “I won’t tolerate you telling me you want to die,” he said.

  “I don’t think I want to,” she said. “But sometimes, it becomes so painful, it’s like being trapped with nowhere to run. It’s the only avenue out of it.”

  “Well, we’ve just established God is either imminently practical or a right bastard. I expect there are consequences to that avenue that likely land you right back on the same point on the path until you sort out a different way. You’re an efficient woman, Nina. You don’t want to have to go round the track another time to get right back to where you started.”

  She dropped her head back to his knee. He had loosened his hold on the blanket and she was able to free her hands. He took one, lacing their fingers.

  “What happened to your previous servants?” she asked.

  “They both killed themselves. Told me anything was better than putting up with my bullshit.”

  Her head jerked up, but she registered the twitch around his mouth.

  “You arse,” she said, without rancor, and he chuckled again, though it was a hollow sound. She expected they both felt that way. Hollowed out, tired of it all. But there was a peace to that, sitting here together on the beach. And she was all right. She was pretty close to the shore and not being pulled back into those bad memories. She just smelled the sea and Alistair, wound so close around her. “Will you tell me, really?”

  “I lost both my servants during wartime, Nina. Two separate conflicts. Being blown into too many pieces to be put back together will kill a human servant even more efficiently than a metal stake through the heart. So will being decapitated by a flying piece of shrapnel.”

  She swallowed as he looked away, at the darkened beach.

  “How long were you with them?” she asked quietly.

  “I had Nick for thirty-nine years. Hal…eighty-six. Haven’t had one since him. He threw himself on that grenade to protect me. Because being blown to bits is pretty much fatal to a vampire as well, and I was right with him. We were both charging the line. He decided he’d absorb enough of it I’d survive. It was the last thought he had, and turns out the daft bastard was right.”

  Despite his even tone, she had dealt with too many men holding their feelings inside. Her hand slipped from the blanket and covered his.

  “I’m sorry. You cared for them.” Of course he would. Vampires might be ruthless in getting their way, but certainly they bonded with others. In fact…

  With an odd tilt inside her stomach, she realized that maybe a human servant was the closest bond they had. From everything Sher had said, their relationships with other vampires were like navigating mine fields.

  He was studying her with that penetrating look. She didn’t want to go there, give him that avenue, so she quickly changed the subject. Not that it would help if he really wanted to pursue it, but maybe he’d give her some space, since she was still trying to wrap her head around the third mark thing.

  “Can you…” She frowned, thinking it through. “What happens when you cut off a vampire’s limb?”

  He pursed his lips, reaching down to fold back a piece of the blanket, clasp her thigh. Run his thumb along it, an idle caress. “Not sure, really. Can’t remember ever seeing one without all his arms and legs, fingers and toes, but I know we don’t re-generate like lizard tails. Maybe.” He slanted her a glance and then dropped it to his hand, resting against her skin. “Maybe we’ll chop off one of my fingers sometime for a lark and see.”

  “We will not,” she said staunchly.

  “You say that now, but what about next time you’re in a blue at me? You may pick up the nearest butcher knife and start happily hacking.”

  She sniffed. Her hand had fallen upon his when he’d suggested cutting it with a knife and now they both looked down at their hands, the fingers loosely intertwined. As he turned her hand over, playing with it, his brow furrowed. Supporting her forearm with one hand, he released her fingers and lifted it. She followed his gaze. She thought he was looking at her InhServ mark and realized he was, only he was looking at more, too.

  There was now an additional mark there. What looked like a swirling, stylized Y, the upper arms of the letter flanking the InhServ fleur-de-lis. But something told her that it meant more than the letter Y.

  “Were you told about the third mark, Nina? The physical manifestation of it?”

  She shook her head. His fingers passed over it, his eyes on the symbol and its new addition. “When a servant is third marked, a new mark shows up on her body. It usually means something, but it’s nothing that we control. It’s some other magic that makes that decision.”

  She wasn’t sure she believed that, but there was no doubt the symbol had not been there before the third marking. She wasn’t sure what it meant and, from the intent way Alistair was studying it, she suspected he wasn’t, either. But it was additional proof of the new bond between them.

  He paused, then spoke carefully, re
turning to their earlier, more difficult topic. “I was given a choice, Nina. To take a fully prepared InhServ. To release my claim on you, allow you to be inducted into their official training program. As an adult, you would have spent several more years with them, where you would have been far better prepared to be an InhServ. The Mistress has given me thirty more days to be sure.”

  Her heart sank, even as her stomach jumped. “They wouldn’t have let me out of it if…you hadn’t wanted me,” she ventured carefully.

  Darker emotions passed behind his gaze, but when he spoke, his tone remained mild. “No,” he said. “Your family is bound to the obligation. They could take the next in line if you’re a complete washout, but they’ll go to considerable lengths, a year or more, to determine if you’re not suitable. And your family would suffer for your recalcitrance. For submitting a candidate unsuited to the role, no matter that it was due to circumstances beyond anyone’s control. Born vampires are rigid and unsympathetic about certain things, because they reason if a justified exception occurs, it will lead to attempts at less justified ones. A straight line is always the shortest distance to the goal.

  “The biggest problem…well, not a problem.” He amended it as her gaze sharpened on him, and his tone gentled. “The challenge is that your sister was exceptional, even for an InhServ. You’re her twin. They would want to make very sure. And truth, Nina, you do have a submissive’s nature. If you try to resist that test, you will fail it, again and again, because it’s at the core of who you are. Just as it was for her.”

  As she felt a wave of misery try to take her, he wouldn’t allow that. He touched her face. “I want to show you something.”