by Kallysten
* * * *
"Lilia?"
It always startled her, to hear him speak her name like this, without animosity. Although she would have liked it even more if he had put a bit more emotion in the word; his hatred for her had apparently disappeared, and she wished she knew what he felt where she was concerned. As for replying, she didn't trust herself to pronounce his name without betraying her feelings. It was easier to keep old habits and stick to his last name.
"Jordan?"
He shot her a glance before looking straight ahead again, and continued walking.
"Can I ask you for a favor?"
She couldn't help it. She smirked. The opening was just too good and with the kind of naughty thoughts she had been entertaining since she had slipped her arm around him...
"Depends. Is it an exchange of favors? Wanna get down and dirty, maybe?"
Technically, they both were dirty already, mud and ashes staining their clothes and hands, but he caught her drift. The blush creeping into his cheek was just delicious. Sometimes, she forgot just how young he was. Forgot that the fighter act hid something softer at the core. Sometimes, it was just better to forget.
"God, weren't you supposed to be a lady? One would never know, at hearing you talk. Just for once can't you..."
"Play your game?” she cut in, irritated that he had even hinted at a past about which he knew nothing. “Way I see it, I'm already playing too much."
Her retort was true, in a sense. Weeks of fighting her own kind, of feeding on foul animal blood, of helping a human—what was it all if not a game? She was pretending to be something other than what she was, and it was all an act. She was a vampire. A Master vampire. She should have been anywhere else, doing anything else other than help a Special Enforcer get home.
"It's not a ... Forget it. Forget I even said anything."
He tried to move away from her and walk without her support, but she tightened her arm around his waist.
"Don't be stupid, Jordan. Your ankle could be broken."
"It's not,” he spat. “And anyway, why do you even care if it's just a game for you?"
Snickering, she allowed his weight to rest on his injured ankle for the next step or two; he deserved nothing else, but his hiss of pain was still strangely unpleasant.
"I don't care,” she assured him. “Just earning my blood, that's all."
His snort made his disbelief clear. “That's all, Lilia darling? You're not doing it because of the Mating, maybe?"
She barely caught herself before she could snap at him; he would have enjoyed that too much. Instead, she stopped walking, forcing him to a halt, and when she turned to face him, she brought her free hand up to his neck and past the collar of his shirt to touch the raised scar. Her mark.
"Well, now that you mention it, if you offered me another drink, I wouldn't say no, lover. So hot and delicious and so fucking erotic..."
The widening of his eyes, acceleration of his heartbeat, and the subtle change in his scent were all dead giveaways, but he still tried to pretend he wasn't affected by her words, like he always pretended her touch didn't do a thing to him. He failed when his voice cracked on the last word.
"I was there. I don't need a graphic description."
She made a mental note that he hadn't addressed her half request for his blood, but didn't press the question. She hadn't really been serious anyway, she was rather certain he wasn't as stupid as those idiots who willingly offered blood to vampires for the thrill of it. Nevertheless, she couldn't not go after that waver in his voice.
"So you remember?” she leered.
His hand trembled as he snatched hers away from his neck, and only then did she realize that she had still been caressing her mark in an involuntary gesture. No wonder he was so wound up.
"Can we ... not talk about it?” he requested as he took a step forward, giving her the choice to start walking too or let go of him. She did neither, and, with a strong hold on his waist, stopped him again.
"Just answer the question, Jordan. Do. You. Remember? Do you still dream about it? Do you get so hot and hard when you think about it that—"
His heart was pounding now, and he refused to meet her eyes. “Stop it! Just ... stop."
Accepting that she had pushed things far enough, she started walking again, silently taking more of his weight on her in a wordless apology. After a few steps, his heartbeat had calmed and he took a deep breath. His voice was cool but no louder than a murmur when he said:
"Yeah ... I remember."
Something warm stirred inside Lilia. Gods, she was pitiful. For a few steps, she mentally ran through all the insults she could think of, before realizing that pitiful was probably the most accurate description for herself and gave up. She had feelings for him, and while she enjoyed teasing him, she couldn't stand it when it upset him that much. Four months earlier, she had been ready to kill him, and now she couldn't even annoy him without feeling threads of guilt. Completely and utterly pitiful.
"So,” she mumbled after a few instants. “What was the favor?"
She very deliberately did not look toward him and kept staring straight ahead, but from the corner of her eye she could still see him turn his face toward her.
"Huh?” he asked, so eloquently.
"You wanted a favor,” she sighed. “What was it?"
"That was ... ten minutes ago! We've crossed half the town and now you want to know..."
The urge was strong to roll her eyes and call him a drama queen, but Lilia managed to keep her cool. Not looking at him helped, slightly.
"Yes. I do want to know. That would be the reason I'm asking."
For long, long seconds he was silent, to the point that Lilia was about to repeat her question when he finally said: “It was ... nothing, really."
Lilia snorted. She was trying to be helpful; he could at least help her help him.
"Must have been something,” she insisted, “seeing the fuss you made about it."
"I did not make a fuss! You're the one ... God, you're impossible! Why do I even bother trying to have a civilized conversation with you when clearly you—"
"Just tell me what it was, Jordan,” she interrupted him, grinning at his ramblings.
They had finally reached his home; she let go of him as he rested a hand on the door and fished his keys out of his jacket pocket with the other.
"Don't call me that,” he grumbled.
"Don't call you what?” she shot back. “Jordan? It's your name, isn't it?"
"Yeah. And no one but my fifth grade teacher ever called me that. And he couldn't stand me."
"Tell you what, Vincent. Tell me what the favor was and I'll try to remember about the name thing. You get two requests for the price of one. Better make it good, honey."
He rolled his eyes when she chuckled and fumbled to put the key in its lock. Only when he had unlocked the door did he look at her again.
"I just...” He hesitated for a second, and sighed deeply before continuing. “You've got to stop touching it, OK?"
Lilia frowned, unsure what he meant. “Touching what?"
"What do you think?” he rolled his eyes. “My neck. The scar. Every time you do it ... Why do you think I sprained my ankle?"
For a half second, she was taken aback. She had indeed noticed that he had tripped over nothing, but a couple of vampires had attacked right after that and she had forgotten about it. Still, she wasn't going to let him have this one.
"My mark,” she said simply. “My privilege."
And just to prove her point, she reached toward his neck and wormed her way past his collar again to stroke the two raised scars. He shivered under her touch and his eyelids dropped. She took the opportunity to step closer, and when he opened his eyes again, she was only inches from him. Pretty blue eyes, all surprised and wide and just a little hopeful. Pretty lips, with just the tip of his tongue coming out to wet them.
"Lilia, don't...” he breathed, and she could feel the caress of the word a
gainst her lips.
"Shhh..."
For the first time since they had become Mates, she kissed him.
She had wanted to do it quite often in the past weeks; hell, she might even have thought about it, briefly, once or twice or ten times, back when they were still trying to kill each other. But she hadn't, not back then, not more recently, afraid that such a simple contact would make her want more. Afraid, also, that he might not respond.
She had been right on the first part; after only a second her whole being was aching for him and she pressed herself to him, trapping him between the door and her body.
As for the second ... no fears to be had there. He wanted it—the kiss, more—as much as she did.
Or so she thought, until he stopped everything by closing the door in her face.
Chapter 9
The simple kiss, just lips on lips, surprised him so much that Vincent didn't even think for one second about stopping it. And so it lasted, and deepened, and set his body on fire while making him crave for more as he clung to Lilia, his body pressed to hers, mindless of anything but the overwhelming sense of right having her in his arms brought him. And if a simple kiss felt that good ... he was impatient to rediscover how much better more than a kiss would feel.
He opened the door behind him, and stumbled through, wincing when all of his weight rested on his ankle for a second but forgetting the pain already at the idea of what was to come. Except ... He had been pulling Lilia with him when he stepped in, but the invisible barrier at the threshold had stopped her rather abruptly, separating them. Eyes wide and heart beating too fast, he watched her as she stood there, her palms flat against the wall of thin air that separated them, and murmured his name pleadingly. And he realized what he had been about to do.
There was a world of difference between working with Lilia every night, relying on her and trusting her with his life, and taking her to his bed, and at that instant the latter seemed like it would lead to nothing but trouble. He patrolled with her because, whether they liked it or not, they were Mates and staying away from each other felt uncomfortable. But to do more than that? Insanity. He could already hear Don telling him that vampire/human couples always ended in blood or ashes, sometimes both. He knew the statistics, he had given them to clients often enough, and now it was all he could think of as Lilia waited for him to invite her inside. His palm was damp with sweat on the metal doorknob, and he gripped it tighter. “Sorry” was all he said before closing the door on an incredulous Lilia.
And he was sorry, definitely, as he limped to the shower, then to the mezzanine, to lie down and wait in vain for sleep. Sorry, and too frustrated to find any relief in his hand. Kicking off the stifling covers, he left his too big bed and went downstairs again, limping, to the liquor cabinet. He didn't indulge very often, but he could tell he would never find sleep without a little help.
With each sip of vodka he took, his arguments crumbled. He had never judged Don's private life, even when his friend had been dating those twins back in their junior year of high school, and Don ought to give him the same respect. It wasn't as though he didn't know what he was getting himself into anyway; on the contrary, who better than he could know what having a vampire in their life meant? He was an adult, he knew all there was to know about vamps, and he could make his own decisions. The little detail that, by killing him, she would cripple herself was also something to remember. And he wasn't planning to date Lilia anyway, he just wanted to sleep with her, and he was ready to bet that she wanted no more than that either. They were both adults, both consenting, why would it have been wrong to have a little fun?
When he finally crawled into bed, his head felt light and slightly buzzing but he had made his decision. As soon as he would wake, and provided that the hangover wasn't too bad and that he didn't lose his nerve, he would go to Lilia. He suspected she wouldn't be too happy with him after the way he had closed the door on her, but he was sure he would find a way to improve her mood.
* * * *
Not once, in more than a century and half of existence, had Lilia known rejection when she had offered someone sex. That Jordan had done just that, when he was not only her Mate but also someone for whom she had feelings, left her stunned. And aching.
She was still trying to understand when she reached the mausoleum and realized that her steps had brought her back home even while her mind had remained in front of that closed door. He had wanted it, she knew that; his scent, his eyes, the way he had kissed her back, all of it pointed to the same conclusion. So why had he rejected her?
Letting habit take over, she locked her door and stepped into her room, going first to the small fridge where she retrieved a jar of blood and drank from it without really tasting it or feeling her hunger be appeased. Still following her late night routine, she pinned her hair up to keep it dry and took a quick shower, loathing the cold water that slid over her skin, hungry for the heat a warm body could have offered her.
Wrapping a towel around her once she was done, she turned on the television and lay down on the bed. Her fingers on the remote switched from one channel to the next, but her mind still wasn't processing what was in front of her, as she continued to try to understand what had happened to make Jordan literally shut her out.
The only clue she had was that he had seemed to change his mind after he had seen her being stopped at the door and needing an invitation to come in. Had he maybe remembered at that moment what she was and why she needed to be invited? When she compared that moment to the easiness with which he had invited her in during their Mating night, she was left with a bitter taste on her tongue.
She finally went to sleep just as her senses warned her of the impending sunrise, hoping that things would be clearer when night came and she saw Jordan again.
She didn't have to wait that long.
The sun was at its peak, or so her internal clock informed her, when the magical security alarm woke her with its light chimes, indicating that someone was on her doorstep. Furiously trying to remember if she had used the heavy bolts to lock the door when coming back, she threw on some pants and a t-shirt, forgoing the boots. The time of day clearly spelled that it wasn't a vampire at the door, so she didn't expect to have to fight. Only two humans knew she lived there, her landlady and Jordan; while she didn't have a problem with showing her body, she was in no mood to flash either of them.
She knew, before she reached the door, who was there. His scent, although extremely faint, had drifted inside, carrying a mix of expectation and lust, but even without it the pounding on the door and his repeated requests that she open to him made it quite clear that it was Jordan. She debated for a second—did she want to open to him? He was the one who had locked her out after all—but the curiosity of hearing what he had to say made it too hard to resist. That and his scent was a rather clear hint that he wasn't there to stake her.
She unlocked the door but didn't open it, certain he would hear the sound and know he was now free to enter. Wary of whatever sunlight might get in, she took a few steps back and stood in the middle of the room, in front of the altar, waiting for him. He stopped knocking and calling out for her, but for long seconds, nothing happened and she wondered what he was thinking, standing in front of her door. Was he going to change his mind again?
Finally, the door opened and he stepped in, still slightly limping, she noticed. He remained by the door after closing it, hands in his jeans pockets and looking, of all things, sheepish.
"Hi,” he said as he finally met her gaze.
She kept her face neutral, waiting to see what he would say. “Jordan."
"I came...” he started, and immediately stopped, starting again after a few seconds. “About last night..."
Once more, he hesitated, but the growing bulge in his pants and his scent, almost pure lust now, were much more explicit. Grinning, Lilia came forward, one slow step after the other, and her movement caused him to start speaking again, his words now slightly rushed.
"I want to apologize. I mean, it was rather rude to close the door on you like that and I'm sorry I..."
She was now standing in front of him, almost close enough to touch, but not touching yet.
"You're sorry you what?” she prompted, raising an eyebrow.
His tongue came out to wet his lips. “I'm sorry I didn't...” His breath hitched when she reached out to his shirt and started undoing the buttons, but he didn't stop her. “Sorry I didn't let you in,” he finished. “I wanted to, very, very much.” The green cotton shirt slid easily past his shoulders and she left it there, trapping his arms back but leaving his torso bare. He shivered when she slid a fingernail down his chest, pressing just hard enough to leave a slight red trail in her wake. “I guess I got ... scared."
She looked up from where her fingers had just undone his jeans button and searched his eyes. “Scared of me?"
He shook his head. “Not scared of you. Scared of wanting you."
Slowly, so very slowly, she slid his zipper down. “We're Mates, Jordan. Wanting is normal."
Proving her point, she tugged his pants down and cupped the erection that strained against his boxers; he jumped under her touch.
"Your body knows it even when your brain denies it,” she murmured, leaning toward him until she could feel his breath against her lips.
He didn't wait more than a second before covering her mouth with his, but his touch was still hesitant, a far cry from the searing kiss they had shared the previous night. She slid one hand to the back of his head even as the other found its way inside his boxers. He gasped when she wrapped her fingers around his cock—Gods, but she had missed the feel of him—and she took the opportunity to slide her tongue into his mouth. Finally, the fire was back, and he battled her tongue, seeking dominance even as he arched into her touch. She granted herself a few more seconds of warmth and passion before stepping back, severing all contact. He looked at her with wide eyes, looking both debauched and bereft, and she had the brief thought that she must have looked a bit like that the previous night.