Ivan held up one of his huge hands and counted off on his sausage-shaped fingers. "Lor kills eleven people that the Consortium is forced to save. He mauls innocent humans, including his favorite donor. He even tries to kill your mate and still you wish to save him!"
"Hey, asshole," I interrupted, my temper snapping, "I'm the mate in question and I want to save him, too. I don't think Lorćan killed Emily or Sharon. And he didn't try to kill me, either."
Ivan's glacier blue eyes raked me. "Yes. We heard the tale of another lycan. Pah!"
"Oh no, you didn't. You did not just pah me!" I launched myself off my chair with every intention of marching across the gym and ripping off Ivan's balls, but Patrick grabbed my shirt and yanked me into my seat.
"Apologize to Jessica," he said mildly.
"This is not the council of ancients," sneered Ivan. "I say what I like, even to you. Here, you are not a prince."
"And you still owe Jessica an apology," said Patrick patiently, ignoring Ivan's jibe.
Obviously, the whole apology thing was a pissing contest between two males with egos the size of Montana. Even if Ivan did apologize to me, it wouldn't be sincere.
"You are not a prince here!" yelled Ivan.
What is he talking about? Are you a prince? I sent the questions into Patrick's mind. Your father is… is … a vampire king? Holy shit! Does this mean you'll shower us with caviar and diamond tiaras?
You know very well I'm not a prince. Ivan still thinks too much like a Romanov. They run their sect like a royal court.
Huh. Well, lucky for you that I hate eating fish eggs and wearing things that pull my hair. But Jenny would love a tiara.
Then she shall have one.
"Where is Nara?" asked François suddenly. "Should she not be here?"
Silence descended as thick and cloying as a bad perfume.
"When did she go missing?" asked Ivan, distracted from his temper tantrum. "Did no one search for her?"
I found it interesting that only François had noticed Nara's absence. Why? Had he noted that she was missing because he was involved with her in some way? Oh, c'mon. I couldn't see him and Nara doing the horizontal bop. Maybe he'd been put in charge of keeping track of her movements in case she was a Wraith trying to bring down the Consortium. I liked that idea better.
"Forget Nara!" said Ivan. "She is empty-headed and useless."
My irritation at Ivan had an instant reversal. A guy who insulted my nemesis wasn't all bad.
Ivan surged to his feet. He was one of the few vampires I'd met who wore facial hair. His goatee dripped off his chin like frozen black tar and it was pointy, which made him look sinister. "We must decide what to do about the Wraiths. And whether or not Patrick agrees—we must also hunt Lorćan."
"Someone else is attacking and killing innocents. Jessica barely escaped with her life."
"Pah!" yelled Ivan.
"Sit down, Ivan," demanded Brigid softly.
He glanced at the woman sitting primly in her chair, her serene gaze zeroed in on him. The gold symbols on her skin flared brightly as they swirled into a new pattern. Ivan looked as if he might be willing to take on an armada, but no man was brave enough to argue with Brigid. He slunk back to his seat, obviously unhappy but at least he kept his trap shut.
"I don't believe Lorćan attacked Jessica or killed Emily and Sharon," said Patrick. He stood in the middle of the circle, looking all strong and cute and leaderlike. "I believe there is another creature… maybe one that lived in this area and was drawn to us. Maybe one that is already among us."
"Diseased vamp," drawled Johnny. "You think one of us has the Taint."
"It's possible," said Patrick. "Though I find it strange that a vampire would kill without feeding."
"Progression of the disease," mused Stan. He was tapping information into his PDA. "If the vamp is in the dementia phase… who knows what he's thinking. But once that stage is reached, it's not possible to hide the effects."
"Everyone's accounted for," said a guy that I remembered seeing briefly at the first meeting. He had an exotic accent I couldn't place. I had no idea what his name was, either. "And no one has exhibited symptoms of the disease," he added.
I studied him while conversation weaved around me. His skin was the color of chocolate and he was so big and tall that he looked capable of snapping Ivan in half. He wore casual, but expensive clothes. He had a shaved head and while I've never found skulls particularly alluring features, this guy's was sexy. But the most fascinating thing about him was his eyes. They looked like burnished copper.
"Let's just say that we buy your theory about Lorćan not being the murdering bastard," said Linda. She leaned forward and gave Patrick the stink-eye. "If all the paranormal folks are accounted for and vampires aren't showing signs of the Taint, then we're left with the humans. Most of 'em have already packed their bags and headed to greener pastures. That being the case, we're left with believing there's an unknown attacker running around Broken Heart and clawing people to death."
Damn. Her logic was almost irrefutable. And I wasn't the only one who thought so. I saw people nodding and heard murmurs of agreement.
"I saw two creatures that night," I insisted for the gabillionth time. At least, I was ninety-nine percent sure I had seen two. I was certain Lorćan hadn't attacked me. He had rescued me. But what if I was wrong? What if the glamour had screwed up my mind? And if Lorćan was innocent, why hadn't he contacted me again? Was it because he couldn't… or wouldn't?
"No offense, Jess, but we can't count on you being in your right mind when you got hurt." She looked at me, her gaze entreating, but her expression was set in no-bullshit stubborn. "Honey, Patrick's brother is just about the only one who could be murderin' folks. We can't forget he's the reason eleven of us are sitting here, part of the blood-suckers bandwagon."
"We vote," commanded Ivan. "Should we track and kill Lorćan?"
"You are proposing," said Brigid in a quiet, deadly tone, "that we vote on the cold-blooded murder of my grandson?" She rose to her full height, which was at least six feet, and swept her arm out, as if to encompass all who sat in judgment of Lorćan. "Who will cut off the head of Lorćan O'Halloran and show it to Ruadan the First?"
Nobody answered and very few could meet Brigid's gaze. Her fury encompassed the entire room, so much so that I felt like a little girl wrongly sent to the principal's office. Brigid strode across the room until she was toe to toe with Ivan. "Would you do such a thing, Ivan? You, who owe Lorćan more than any man here! You would kill him?"
"My debt to my friend is paid," said Ivan, though his baby blues flashed with regret and pain. "The monster who does these things is not Lor. How can it be so when we all know he would rather greet the dawn than hurt a living soul? No, vedomye zheny, you cling to hope where there is none."
I watched as Linda laid a hand on Ivan's arm. To my amazement, the bluster went out of Ivan like a popped balloon.
"I honor Brigid," Ivan said in a worn voice. He rubbed a hand across his jaw. "But if Lorćan is innocent of killing the humans… why doesn't he turn himself in?"
"Ivan's right," I muttered as I paced the high school parking lot. Patrick leaned against one of the big, white RVs parked near Sharon's pink Twinkie. "If he's innocent, why is Lorćan staying away from everyone?"
"I'm sure that my brother has his reasons," said Patrick.
He sounded less than sure so I went to him and slipped my arms around his waist. In his silver eyes, I saw beautiful, terrifying emotions. "What are you thinking about?" I asked.
"You."
We lifted into the air. Just like that, he flew me up and away. It was joyful to feel the wind against my face and to see the ground zoom by. I wasn't afraid of it. Not anymore. This was freedom. This was a gift.
We landed near the entrance to the Boob & Barley Barn. The neon sign, which consisted of two stalks of wheat pressed between a pair of breasts, had already been dismantled. Bulldozers were parked on the surrounding field and
half the structure had already been torn down.
Patrick took my hand and walked me around the back of the building. The biggest RV I'd seen yet was parked in the gravel parking lot. The long sleek vehicle was solid black, except for the gold symbols painted on it.
Patrick saw the direction of my gaze. "Protection spells," he said. "Only I, Stan, or Damian can enter alone and others only if they're accompanied by one of us."
"Wow. Good to know."
He waved his hand across the entire bus. The symbols sparkled then changed patterns. He smiled at me. "Now, only I, Stan, Damian, or you can enter alone."
I looked at the RV then at Patrick. I was getting those warm fuzzies again. Darn the man. "This is your version of giving me a key to your apartment?"
Patrick laughed. "Yes, love. That's an excellent analogy." He opened the door and ushered me inside.
To the left was a black curtain that blocked off my view. So, I turned right and entered the luxurious domain of an Irish vampire who could afford a custom-built recreational vehicle.
Two gorgeous coffee-brown leather couches faced each other. In the middle of both gleamed ebony tables.
"So, what's back there?" I jerked my thumb toward the closed door.
His gaze glittered with mischief. "Why don't you find out?"
Chapter 21
"What a surprise," I said. "It's your bedroom."
"The bed is big enough for two," said Patrick as he plopped onto the edge of it.
"Are you kidding? It's big enough for five." I wandered around the space. Considering the limited square footage of an RV—even a custom-built, mega-huge one—the bedroom was spacious.
No windows, for obvious reasons. The black walls shone with the same metallic finish that coated the bedroom walls at my house. Everything here was black and brown with hints of gold. I figured the color scheme was probably the same on the whole bus.
Nearly all the dressers were built into the walls. The small, narrow doors that faced the bed, I assumed were closets. And the big door on the right wall probably opened into the bathroom.
"Okay, I've seen it. Now what?"
Patrick stood and walked to the bathroom door. "How about you get naked, wet, and soapy?"
"Yeah, right."
He opened the door with a flourish and, curiosity piqued, I followed him into the room.
"Is that a… a waterfall?" I asked. "Holy shit!"
"I should have Jenny make a Cussing Jar to keep here," said Patrick, laughter in his voice.
"Don't you dare." I walked to the edge of the huge, square bathtub. "Is this real marble?"
"Yes."
The tub could probably fit at least eight people in it. Water burbled and bubbled not only from the spray gently arcing from the back wall into the tub, but from jets arranged around its perimeter. On three sides, a ledge with dips and curves offered places to sit or lie down.
"Want to go for a swim?" asked Patrick.
"If you're thinking what I think you're thinking and we've established that thinking is all we're going to think, then… uh, I lost track of what I was saying."
"No penetration and no exchange of blood… then no binding. Let's pleasure ourselves in other ways." As soon as the words left his mouth, our clothes left our bodies. There wasn't so much as poof or a sizzle. One second we were clothed, the next we were naked.
"I'm so learning to do that!" I said.
"There are other things I can teach you," said Patrick. He stepped into the bathtub and held out his hand. I took it and he helped me across the rim and into the warm, swirling water.
I watched, dry-mouthed, as Patrick slid into the warm water and lounged on a curved seat. His silver eyes were molten—the swirling, grasping heat of magma. His fingers grazed my hips then he drew me onto his lap.
His cock, already half-hard, nestled in the vee of my thighs. Lust knotted my stomach, its fickle tendrils curling through me.
Gotta maintain control. Gotta stay on guard. Gotta make sure I don't lose my mind.
But maybe it was too late. My body went on full alert, a military base preparing for an invasion that wasn't going to happen.
"This is dangerous, Patrick," I whispered as I leaned down to lick water beads from his collarbone. "Really dangerous."
"I know, love." His head lolled back and allowed me access to the strong column of his throat. He was so beautiful. A living sculpture that deserved worship.
I nibbled his neck. And evil nymph that I was, made sure my breasts scraped his lightly haired chest. My nipples tingled and tightened. Down, girl! No… not like that. And yet, my hands refused to obey my responsible, not-going-down-there commands. As I explored his jaw with my lips, I stroked the muscled ridges of his chest. Didn't stop, either. Just kept going until I reached the hard length of him. Stop, naughty hands. Well… maybe you can do that for a minute. One hand wrapped around Patrick's fully hard cock while the other dipped under and squeezed his balls. Like friggin' juicy plums.
I loved plums.
Patrick moaned, his hips flexed, little movements that matched my rhythmic adulation.
"Jessica, love. You're going to kill me."
"You're already dead."
"Ah. Good point." His hands slid down to my buttocks and squeezed. "Fantastic ass," he murmured. His fingers kneaded my flesh and I wiggled closer, tormenting us both.
I shuddered at the sensations of heat and wet and naked Patrick. We sat mercilessly unjoined and stroked each others' bodies. Hands and mouths created fire, passion, need. Patrick cupped my breasts and paid homage, suckling my nipples until I panted and moaned and begged for more.
Then… slowly, I slid against his cock.
"No penetration," I reiterated as I rubbed against him.
"No," he said, his voice hoarse.
The sloshing water and the press of Patrick's cock against me made me quiver, made me want. Craven desire bloomed in my belly, flowering within me and burning away good sense. (Like I had any to start with. Hah.) I wanted to feel Patrick inside me for real. No dreams. No pretending.
I wanted his cock plunging into me as we found bliss.
Oh yes. This white-hot, unbearable yearning inspired all kinds of delightful and regretful ideas.
The voice of reason, however, could not be drowned out. I wasn't a do-or-die horny college student. I was a mother who held not just my own future, but that of my children, in my hands. I couldn't give that up, not yet, not until… well, not until ever.
Oh but I wanted to… with Patrick's scent in my nostrils and his fingers dancing along my spine… I wanted him. Forever.
Grabbing his shoulders for leverage, I rubbed against his cock harder, faster. I ground against him and he held on to me, thrusting against my clit.
"Drink from me," I said.
"Céadsearc…"
"You haven't eaten. I know you haven't. So, drink, damn it."
He bit the flesh above my breast and as my blood flowed into his mouth, pleasure crashed through me from breast to clit. The merging feelings were too much.
"Patrick!" My cry of release ricocheted off the marble. He groaned as I arched against him, contracting fiercely.
As orgasmic aftershocks rumbled through me, Patrick's fingers dug into my hips as he pressed against me, groaning, his face tight. I felt his cock jerk as he let go, the hot spurt of his release ghosting across my stomach.
Then there was only the feel of water around us, tainted with love… and with regret.
Later, Patrick reluctantly put clothes on us again and we returned to the driveway of my house.
The glow that resulted from fantastic sex still infused me, but reality was a bitch who wouldn't shut up.
"I don't think it's fair to either one of us," I said.
"What?" Patrick brushed a kiss across my knuckles, his gray eyes glittering with… gulp… love.
"This almost-but-never-really stuff we're doing when we make love."
He shrugged. "There are many ways vampires find pleas
ure without binding."
"Yeah, but it seems like… cheating somehow. Not going all the way. Sometimes, you gotta shit or get off the pot."
"You have the strangest way of putting things," he said, chuckling.
I wasn't in the mood to chuckle. My stomach dipped in terror as I realized the truth about me and Patrick. Either I choose the binding with him… or we would spend our days almost making love.
"You've shown me some great stuff… some terrific things… but Patrick, my kids are my world. What kind of mother would I be to bring you into our lives when you don't want all of us?"
Patrick stepped away to glare at me. "Who says I do not want all of you?"
I crossed my arms and hugged myself, miserable. "I do."
"Have I once asked you to be less to them so that I might have more?"
"No." I swallowed the knot of dread in my throat. "I figure you've lived four thousand years. What's a few more?"
He frowned at me. "I don't understand."
Damn it. I didn't want to have this conversation. Apprehension iced my throat, my belly. Oh God. But if not now, when? What would change about the scenario if we had the argument today or twenty years from now? "Patrick, I'm not stupid. What's seven or eight decades to a man who's been around for four millennium? So, maybe… you think hey, I just gotta wait it out."
"This is what you truly believe? That I value my happiness over yours?" asked Patrick, his tone warbling with pain. "I want nothing more than for you to always be happy and safe. To always feel loved."
I didn't think I could feel worse, but his words carved out my heart and tossed it onto the pavement. Way to go, Jessica. I reached out to touch him and realized that was a bad move. So I shuffled back another step and gnawed on my bottom lip. "I'm sorry, Patrick. Maybe I shouldn't have… okay, yeah, I assumed a lot."
"I told you that I wouldn't fail you again, Jessica," he said. "And as long as I walk the Earth, I will honor that vow."
I needed a good curl-up-and-cry and chocolate. Oh, no. Chocolate. The last time I'd tasted it was drinking from Sharon. And she'd eaten champagne truffles because Patrick asked her to give me something I thought I'd lost. Pain lanced me. Poor Sharon.
I'm the Vampire, That's Why Page 17