Vampire's Embrace: A Vampire Queen Series Novel

by Joey W. Hill

  She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move. And he wasn’t done.

  “Over the past three years, being able to reach out and feel that mark I had on you, know you were somewhere in the world… It kept me from getting completely lost. Otherwise I might have just told Stanley and those like him that it’s a wretched world and stayed out of all this Region Master business.”

  She wouldn’t have expected him to say most of what he’d just said, and all of it echoed and ached inside her, stirring the things in her heart she wanted so damn much. The vampire world had taken those dreams from her. So had he, in a way. But his words made her feel as if he’d just been holding them in safekeeping for her.

  She wet her lips. “So even vampires need to feel like they aren’t alone in the world.”

  “Don’t tell anyone. We put a lot of effort into our anti-social tendencies.” But the smile didn’t reach his eyes. She gripped the wrist of the hand he still had on her face.

  She’d learned that they all felt alone. Everyone going through the same things, yet feeling all alone with it. Because there was something so damn uncertain about life that could make one believe that any connection could be broken, was temporary. Or that the person they needed was farther away than they seemed. Like her parents. Or Sher and her, when Sher would talk about being an InhServ.

  And yet here Nina was, unable to deny she was more closely bound to this male than anyone she’d ever met in her life, no matter all the rest.

  His jaw tightened at that and he scooped her up, holding her close. When he took them back to the bed and cradled her in his lap there, she spoke against his chest, shyly. “I did think about it. ‘If Alistair weren’t a vampire, and he’d come to you the way he did, just a bloke helping his mates, who helped and saved you, would you have wanted to see him after the war, be with him…maybe even married him?’”

  Tears stung her eyes suddenly. “I have to be honest with you because I’ve no other choice, do I? It’s painful. Because the answer to that was yes. You are what I want. The kind of man I want. And yet…your world, and you, are so different…they frighten me. As much because what you said is true, that I want to serve you, be this thing I don’t understand, for you. But it has to be in a world I’m not sure I want at all.”

  “Well…” He brushed his forehead against hers, an oddly tender move. “You’ve just described every pair of souls who’ve fallen together in an uncertain world.”

  Fallen together. He didn’t say love, but it wasn’t like that, was it? Or not like what she’d call love. At least not a few weeks ago.

  His arms slid around her back, bringing her in closer, and he tilted his head, using his nose and jaw to brush her hair away as his mouth found her throat. Her head tipped back, giving him access as her hand landed on his arm, fingers digging in. She drew in a shuddering breath as his fangs grazed her.

  “You’ve told me you want me. Now show me, Nina. Lie back on the bed and lift your arms over your head. Give yourself to your Master. There’s no holding your heart and soul back from me. There’s nowhere they can go far enough. But I will have a care for them, Nina. I promise you that.”

  She floated back, held in his one arm, his mouth creating sensations along the column of her throat that had her lips parted and her chin lifting higher. As she slid her arms up over her head, the blue fire in his gaze made everything tighten, her body readying itself for him again.

  He took his time, though, making his way down her with lips and tongue, the whisper of his fingertips. She drew in a shuddering breath as his fangs sank into her thigh. His tongue lazily traced the flesh, taking blood in slow draughts, his mouth pressed to the penetration to contain the initial spurt from the wild pump of her heart. He slid his hand up, his thumb pressing into her, his other fingers stroking her perineum as her thighs trembled, widened for him.

  You make me want to fuck you endlessly, sweet nurse.

  I’m beginning…to understand…why third marks need good healing properties. Fast recovery to overstretched…places.”

  Suggesting I’m well-endowed enough to make you sore and ‘overstretched’ only ensures I’ll be using you again. His voice was a sultry heated wind through her mind. She felt a tickle of wry humor, even riding a wave of helpless desire.

  Men are so…simple.

  But a vampire male…not so much. She gave herself to the moment, with no energy to spare for the dilemma that was their relationship. She wasn’t sure what problem she was trying to solve, anyway.

  It’s less confusing not to question it.

  It’s less confusing not to question anything, my lord. That’s hardly the point.

  But she had to admit, the answers seemed less important when—as he said—she chose not to think.

  While feeling could be as problematic as thinking, perhaps more so for a woman, these in-the-moment feelings were good. She let that be enough.

  Watching her get lost in her pleasure, Alistair had some of those same mixed feelings. He’d wanted to tell her something else, but had stopped short of it. It was something she’d either sort out for herself, or she never would. Hal had. Nick hadn’t. But then it had been a good lark for Nick, being a vampire’s servant. He’d enjoyed both men and women, as many as there was time to have. He was a hard drinker, and never met a party he wouldn’t join and make all the better for his presence at it. He’d never truly had the desire or need for family, permanence…love, in any kind of romantic, one-on-one form.

  Both had been good servants, but it was Hal’s loss that had lingered the longest and hardest as a result.

  It wasn’t that vampires couldn’t love their servants. It was that the connection between them was different from how humans classified love. The power differential, the vampire holding all of it and the servant having none, made it a very sticky thing. Randoms, servants who weren’t born and groomed InhServs, did have one choice—whether to become a vampire’s servant or not. After that, all the choices belonged to the vampire. Nina hadn’t even had that choice.

  To give her the answer he’d wanted to say when she said, “A vampire can’t love a human” would have only muddied those waters. But the simple fact was a vampire could do any damn thing he wanted with respect to his servant—including be in love with her.

  He just couldn’t tell her that. Or let anyone else in the whole bloody vampire world know it.

  But he could use every skill he had to give her endless pleasure. He could do that so bloody well, maybe the rest would stop mattering. To both of them.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The day at the hospital had started out slow, but in the way of it, things picked up suddenly. Before Nina knew it, the afternoon had flown by and it was getting close to dusk. Too close. Nero would already be waiting.

  After the past few days she’d spent with Alistair, she was eager to be at the house. He had a meeting that would take him away from home the first part of the night, but he’d told her they’d get together when he returned. He was seeking out her company and help more frequently. He’d certainly been talking in her head more since the night of the footy field. And he enjoyed being playful with her, like when she’d been examining a child who’d put a wooden block inside an unmentionable part of his body.

  How in the bloody hell did he do that?

  Alistair’s voice had come into her head when she was crouched by the examining table with the doctor, trying to determine the best manner to dislodge the foreign object. She’d managed, just barely, not to yelp.

  Very creatively, I’d say. He better hope the block doesn’t leave any splinters behind.

  Ouch. Maybe you should talk to him about far more pleasurable things that can go up an arse.

  Away with you now, vile man.

  His sensual chuckle had danced sensation down her spine, all the way to her tailbone and flaring outward.

  When the doctor had given her an odd look, she realized she might be smiling. She’d wiped away the look with a mental deprecation to her v
ampire Master that kept those chuckles coming in waves.

  She returned to the present and Tracy, standing before her.

  “Sly’s having a particularly bad day, Nina. Can you check in on him?” Tracy lifted a hand. “I know you’re pretty rigid about when you have to leave, but he responds better to you. I wouldn’t ask except, truly, I think he’s having a worse than usual time today. Too much in his head. I’m a little worried about him, if we can’t pick up his spirits.”

  She couldn’t stay even a minute longer. But she couldn’t not, could she? Maybe just a moment. Hopefully Alistair would understand. She tried reaching out, a tentative question, but received no response. It was a little bit of a letdown, that he wasn’t paying as close attention to what she was doing as earlier in the day, but she chided herself for foolishness. The male could hardly be expected to linger about in her head all day when he needed to sleep, or had a Region to run.

  After all, she’d been so busy today she couldn’t reach out to him much, either. But she had sent a few warm thoughts. Maybe he’d done so as well, and that was why she’d felt strengthened, more reassured during a couple of harrowing moments. He’d said he did that too, didn’t he? It was a nice thought.

  Surely he’d understand. She nodded resolutely to Tracy. “I’ll go see him for a minute.”

  Tracy pressed her arm in thanks and moved away. Nina had taken a handful of steps toward Sly’s room when she heard her name being called.

  “Sister Nina.”

  She suppressed a curse at the smooth voice. It was Mr. Grant, one of the hospital administrators, who had far more interest in nurses than hospital management.

  “I’m on my way to see a patient and then I must leave, Mr. Grant,” she said, turning in his direction as he strode toward her. He wore a tie and a striped shirt, and had his hair neatly sleeked back to emphasize his strong cheekbones and chin. He was a handsome man…if that was all a woman knew about him. For Nina, a man’s looks were sculpted and enhanced by what was inside his heart. Mr. Grant’s heart was lacking, in her opinion.

  “I’ve someone at home waiting on me,” she added, reinforcing it.

  He closed his hand over her left wrist, lifting her hand for his inspection. “That someone hasn’t put a ring on your finger, though you’re well past the age for it.”

  Like most women in service roles, nurses were wearily accustomed to men who somehow thought that gave them the right to touch without invitation, sometimes quite inappropriately. When it happened with patients, they learned to deal with it in firm ways that didn’t reduce the care they provided for the misguided bloke. However, supervisors and doctors always presented a challenge. Nurse matrons ran interference when they could, but none were available at the moment. From the determined glint in Mr. Grant’s eye, Nina wasn’t sure if it would have deterred him regardless. Tracy had warned her to keep him from drawing her into a too-private place.

  She knew the diplomatic ways to handle the situation. Act like she didn’t understand the man’s intent and courteously brush him off. Act apologetic, as if it were somehow her fault that she had patients at the moment and couldn’t respond to him as he wished.

  Yet when his grip tightened on her arm, the feel of his touch on her skin roused something not the least bit diplomatic in her.

  “Mr. Grant, you will release me this instant.”

  His gaze snapped up and his mouth settled into an unpleasant line. “You are overreacting, Nina. Being dramatic and female.”

  “You are touching me in a way I do not welcome, Mr. Grant. I respect you for your position. Respect me for mine.” She tapped the name plate pinned to her apron. “It says nurse, not whore. You may have been able to intimidate others into backrooms with you, where I expect you’ve done unforgiveable things they’ve allowed because they need a job. I do not need this job. But you need all your appendages, though I suspect you’d make smarter decisions without one in particular.”

  When his face reddened, and he looked as if he were about to sputter something unwise, she stepped closer. She was suddenly remembering Anahera and The Mistress, and she took the move from them. That sudden invasion into his personal space, their eyes inches apart, startled him into momentary silence. The move was not intimate but assertive, something she knew he didn’t expect from a woman.

  “If you decide to dismiss me,” she said, “I will explain to the man who calls me his why you decided to do so. In detail. He is very particular about who lays hands upon me.”

  She stepped back, and fixed a professional smile on her face. “Mr. Grant, if there’s nothing else, I’ll return to my duties.”

  An orderly and nurse were passing with a patient. At their curious looks, she saw Grant regroup and clear his throat. She also noted he looked a shade paler than usual, his eyes darting away from hers nervously. “Ah…yes, Sister Nina. Thank you.”

  She headed back down the hall. Though she felt a surge of satisfaction from the exchange, it was short-lived, changing to something else when she reached the door of her patient’s room.

  Sly Whitaker had had both legs blown off, ironically on the day that the war had been declared over in the Pacific. Repeat infections kept him coming back to the hospital, and the doctors couldn’t determine the underlying causes that made his immune system so susceptible. It was assumed the extreme trauma to his body was keeping his natural defense systems from rallying the way they once had. But unlike the ups and downs of his roller coaster health, his mood had been going in only one direction. Down.

  The nurses and volunteers took turns trying to bring it back up, wheeling him out for some brief forays of fresh air, playing cards with him, reading to him. He’d been an active bloke, though, all about sports and drinking with his mates. Everything made him restless in spirit, even as his body was pinned down by a lethargy he loathed.

  Entering his room, she saw his current roommate was absent, likely taken off for some tests. He was an older man in the final stages of cancer, not the best match for Sly, but there were no private beds and swapping didn’t happen much in the busy hospital, since the administration got very growly about it.

  She was about to say bugger it and do it anyway. She’d put him in the children’s ward with Timmy Werther, who’d just had his appendix out and was milking it for all it was worth, yet in a very charming little boy way.

  He’d be fascinated with Sly’s condition, asking him those blunt questions no adult would. Not guarded and awkward, or laden with pity.

  What happened to your legs? Will you walk on peg legs, like a pirate? Will you get a parrot?

  Just imagining it, she knew she was definitely going to put him in a bed next to Timmy.

  Sly was in his wheelchair, facing the windows. He stared at the curtains covering them. Even though it was getting past dark now, there was a good view of the street, things to see, if he’d chosen to open them. The cord was within his reach. Since he had his lamp off, anyone who passed by and gave him a glance would have thought he was asleep, his shoulders slumped and head dropped slightly forward, but she knew better.

  “Do you think you’ll get the advantage of me in cards by putting me in the dark there, Sly?”

  He didn’t respond, just stayed where he was, staring at the curtains as if they were the way to something far away from this. “Why didn’t I die?” he said. “What God is this cruel?”

  She sank down in the chair beside him. His voice was hoarse. Though she saw no evidence of the tears, his face was lined and tired, like after a hard cry that no man would admit to doing.

  Sometimes people tried all manner of things to cheer someone like him up, but they didn’t think to go to that dark place with him, see it through his eyes. Work out the path from it with him, rather than flinging open doors and windows in places where he couldn’t yet bear the light.

  Reaching out, she took his hand. Gripped it, hard. He turned his gaze to it. He stiffened as if he might pull away but then, unexpectedly, he shifted their grips to lace
fingers, tighten on hers. He held up their tangled hands and stared at the way they looked, displayed between them. “No woman’s touched me like that. Not since… Just a pat on the shoulder like you’d do a child. Or your grandfather.”

  Dealing with Mr. Grant in an assertive manner wasn’t the only thing that had changed about her communication style. “Your cock works just fine, Sly,” she said.

  When his gaze snapped to her, she continued in a brisk manner. “Your arms, your chest…you’ve had some muscle wasting, but if you do your exercises and rehabilitation, they’ll be as fine-looking as any man’s. There are exercises you can do to give yourself a nice-looking bum, too. You’re not paralyzed. You’re just missing your legs below the knee, and that’s far better than missing them above. Surgeons busted their arses to save that right one, knowing just that.”

  “How do you know my…” He glanced her way, colored. “That I’m able to be with a woman.”

  Lifting a brow, she stood up and leaned over him. His gaze slipped down automatically, stealing a look down her blouse. She was wearing one of those tiny bits of lace that Alistair favored.

  “That’s how I know,” she said. “Where your eyes go, even when you’re trying to be a gentleman.”

  “Do the underwear match?” he attempted the tease, and warmed her heart.

  “If I was wearing any. Yes.”

  His gaze shot back to her, and then his mouth eased into a rueful smile. “Sure, taunt the guy who isn’t a threat.”

  “No threat?” She took his hand, moved it to her arm, molded his palm over it, showing her the difference in their sizes. “You’re a man, Sly. A strong man who can make a woman feel fragile and feminine. The reason you’re not a threat isn’t because of your legs. It’s because you’re a good man who takes care of a woman, who wouldn’t harm her. Am I right?”