Afterimage

by Jaye Roycraft

  Keeping the compliance hold on his opponent, Drago escorted him to the door. “Scott, help me get him downstairs. He’s going to know the burn of l’argent.” Evrard struggled, but it was a poor effort against the combined power of Drago and Scott. Once in the concrete prison, Drago shackled the Patriarch to the remaining silver armband, and fitted the helmet to him as well.

  “Search him, Scott. Make sure he has no keys on him.”

  The search took only a couple of seconds. Evrard was wearing nothing but silk pajama bottoms.

  “I’ll have my revenge on you yet, Drago. This won’t be the last of it. The Directorate will never forgive you for what you’ve done here.”

  “Perhaps not, but neither will they forgive you.” Drago dug in the pockets of his trousers. “I’m sorry I don’t have a souvenir for you . . .” His fingers touched something small and cold. “Ah, but I do. I’ll leave this with you.” He pulled the coin out of his pocket and gazed at it. His lucky kopeck. It was just a one-kopeck coin, dated 1990, but it was one of the last issued before the collapse of the USSR. “Here. Something as obsolete as you are soon to be, monsieur le patriarche.” Drago flipped the coin at Evrard, and it landed on his lap.

  Drago and Scott left and closed the door behind them, but Drago could hear the cry of pain and frustration all the way up to the patio.

  “Scott.” Drago stopped at the end of the patio.

  Scott came to a halt as well. “We need to find Callie.”

  “We will. First, there’s something I want to tell you. I don’t say this very often, but merci beaucoup, mon ami.”

  A wry grin twisted Scott’s mouth. “I just follow bloody orders. Thank your lady friend. She took the risk.”

  Drago nodded. There was a lot he was planning on doing to Marya, and thanking her was only one of the things on his list. “I will. Let’s get what belongs to us and get out of here.”

  They met two of Evrard’s vampires in the hallway, but the two didn’t seem inclined to challenge either Drago or Scott. They found Callie in the bedroom in the northern wing of the house. Scott gave her a quick hug.

  “Grab your things, Cal. We’re going home.”

  They made their way swiftly back to Marya’s room. The door was still locked. “Cherie, it’s me. Open the door.”

  He heard the key in the lock, and an instant later she was in his arms, not seeming to mind the dried blood on his body or the wild manifestation of bloodlust he was certain was still apparent in his appearance. His senses were open, and the beating of her heart, her quickened breathing, and the warmth of her slender body assaulted him in a mad rush of sensation. The control he had fought so hard for nearly deserted him in the ease of one quick embrace. But now was not the time. They were still in the enemy’s camp.

  “I was so afraid . . .” she whispered.

  “That Evrard would best me a second time?” As soon as he asked the question he was sorry. It was unfair to question her faith in him. Especially since she seemed to believe in him more than he himself did.

  She pulled away from him and said nothing, but her dark eyes answered him all too well. He had hurt her again.

  He looked at Scott, not wanting to see any deeper into Marya’s eyes. “Give me ten minutes to clean up, then we’re out of here.”

  Marya let out a long breath. “We’ll need the special van for Callie. The van with no windows. It’s what they brought us here in.”

  “We’ll get it, don’t worry,” replied Scott, giving Callie an embrace almost as ardent as the one Marya had given Drago.

  Drago was already heading for the bathroom, clean clothes in hand. The shower he took was quick, but very, very cold.

  MARYA WATCHED Drago retreat to the shower then shifted her gaze to Revelin and Callie. Marya had no doubt that if Callie hadn’t been so glad to see Rev she would have made it a point to show her disdain of Marya’s affection for Drago.

  Affection? What exactly did she feel for Drago? He had promised to keep her safe, nothing more, but he had lived up to his word. Was it simply gratitude entwined with a strong physical attraction that she was mistaking as something deeper? Or was it just that she found it easier to hold her fear at bay by immersing herself in fantasies of fondness and desire?

  And what about him? Certainly he had rebuffed her every time she had tried to get close to him. Did he still think of her as the repulsive aberration? The mortal with the tainted blood? Perhaps Callie had been right all along—she was just being foolish in trying to paste a layer of humanity onto a being who was far from human. What could Marya possibly expect to happen? Assuming they made their way safely out of ‘the mirage,’ was there any future other than going home to Vicksburg, saying good-bye to Drago, and never seeing him again? Yet how could she accept such a future when she knew she’d see the afterimage of his haunting blue eyes every day for the rest of her life?

  He stepped out of the bathroom wearing snug black jeans and nothing else. She stared at him, and it was the wrong thing to do. Her physical response to the sight of his dripping wet hair creating thin rivulets of water down his bare chest was so immediate and powerful that it swamped any logic her mind was trying to exert over the situation.

  Drago glanced at her, but only to ask her if she was ready.

  I’m ready. Could he read her mind? She felt her face flush. Well, if he can’t read my mind, he can certainly read my face now. “I’m packed. I’ve got your things packed as well.”

  “C’est bien.” He quickly rummaged through his suitcase, pulled out a black T-shirt, and pulled it over his head, giving her one last look at the undulating movement of his abdominal muscles. “Let’s go, then. Marya, stay right behind me. Scott, you follow the ladies.”

  They swiftly made their way across the house to the northern wing. Cheyanna was the only vampire they encountered. She opened her mouth as if to ask something. But at a look from Drago, she snapped it shut and slunk away like a dog chastised by nothing more than a stern look from its master. Beyond the kitchen was a door to the garage. It was locked, but a kick from Drago’s boot proved just as effective, if a little messier, than a key. The van was in the garage, and the van’s key was hanging on a rack on the wall.

  A half hour later they were off the mountain and down into the heat of the Valley of the Sun. Drago drove and Marya sat beside him. Revelin was in the back with Callie. Drago hadn’t spoken since they left the house.

  “Where are we going?” she asked at last, curiosity overcoming her unease at his silence.

  “We’ll fly back to Jackson if there’s a night flight. In the meantime I think an inn is in order. We could all use some rest.”

  “Is it over? All of it?”

  He let out a long breath. “Nikolena’s assignment is done. Mine isn’t. Verkist wasn’t the one who forged your termination order. None of his people did.”

  “So now what?”

  “Simple. I look under a new rock.”

  Simple. None of this had been simple, and she doubted Drago thought so either. She studied his profile as he spoke. He did look exhausted. It showed in the heavy smile lines framing his mouth and the shadows under his eyes, made darker, perhaps, in contrast to the paleness of the rest of his face, but there nonetheless. It was also apparent in his body language. At red lights she noticed he leaned his head back against the headrest.

  It wasn’t long, though, before they found a hotel. Getting Callie inside was a bit of a problem. Drago pulled the van as close to the door as possible, and Rev wrapped Callie in a long, black coat, completely covering her head with a second coat. He hustled her quickly inside, and except for some dizziness, Callie was no worse for the experience.

  Drago ordered two rooms—one for himself and her, and one for Rev and Callie. This time Marya made no complaint about being in the same room with Drago. She followed him into their room
and set her suitcase down. Drago dropped his on the floor and leaned back against the wall, his eyes closed, as if he, too, had been dizzied by the sunlight. Marya wasn’t sure what to do. The Anti-God of the vampire world was hardly what she had expected. He was strong, to be sure, but far from invincible. Right now he looked like a man who had just run the race of his life but didn’t care in the least that he had won. It made him seem human, and whether he was or not no longer mattered.

  She moved closer to him, then stopped, unsure of herself. He had warded off all her previous attempts at intimacy. If she went to him now and he were to push her away, she didn’t think she’d be able to stand it. Yet she couldn’t look at the need in him and see him supported by nothing but a wall. She tentatively stepped up to him and slid a hand along his waist. The fabric was soft, the muscle beneath hard.

  His eyes opened at her touch, and the double barrel of longing and fatigue that aimed at her eyes launched her heart into her throat with renewed fear that he’d turn away. But he didn’t. He lifted his arms to her head and drew her to him. She slipped her arms around his waist and ran her hands up his back. She buried her face along his neck and inhaled deeply. He smelled clean, but his own scent prevailed as well—warm, close, and familiar.

  She felt him gather handfuls of her hair and draw them to his face, as if he, too, wanted to drown himself in her scent. She gave a shuddering breath and relaxed against him, shifting her feet to bring her entire body into contact with his. He groaned in her ear, but then suddenly pushed her away from him. A feeling of dread sank her heart to her toes until she saw what his intention was. Grabbing the bottom of his shirt in both hands he stripped it over his head and off in an instant. As he lowered his arms he did the same to the cotton tank she wore, then pulled her body flush against his.

  He said nothing to her, asked no questions. This was not the time for a discussion of what they meant to each other. Talk of feelings could wait. As could the future, if they had a future. This was pure need, and she felt it as strongly as he did. It was a primal thing, raw and undeniable, like a raging river, and yet it wasn’t out of control. A kind of restraint banked the river, containing and directing it. But just barely.

  His hands moved to either side of her head, and he positioned her to give his mouth access to hers. It was the mouth of the experienced lover she had tasted once before, but this time she could feel the underlying tension. His lips drew on hers, pulling away, then increasing the pressure, never still, never in one spot too long. Finally he dragged his mouth to her jaw and sucked at a spot halfway to her ear. A shiver coursed down to her toes, and her whole body trembled. His response was a groan against her skin, and the vibration of his voice tore all the way through her, as if her body were trying to soak up every part of him she could.

  He glided to the bed, drawing her by the hand, but he didn’t pull her down to the covers. Instead, he stood next to the bed and took both her hands in his. His hands were sure, the fingers long and slender, and they guided her hands to the waistband of his jeans. She took a deep breath, trying to slow her racing pulse. She grazed her fingers along his abdomen, feeling the smooth skin, hard muscles, and line of hair that disappeared beneath the heavy denim. She undid the button and zipper of his jeans while he brought her long hair from either side of her head across the space between them to his mouth. When she started tugging his jeans down, he dropped her hair and ran his hands across her shoulders, dragging her bra straps down to her upper arms. With a renewed urgency he wiggled and stepped out of the jeans and pushed her skirt down to the floor.

  She backed up to get a wider view of his body, and in doing so hit the bed with the back of her knees, toppling her to the mattress. She had only the blink of an eye to marvel at his lean body, so perfectly proportioned, before he followed her onto the bed. He lowered himself onto her, splaying his fingers against the mattress on either side of her head to take some of his weight off her. He took her mouth with his again, parting his lips and kissing her more deeply than before. She wrapped her legs around his and encircled his neck with her hands, weaving her fingers through his thick hair. Frustrated with the space between them, she tried to arch up to him, at the same time releasing his hair and grabbing his shoulders, trying to pull him down to her. He collapsed the brace of his arms and let his weight press fully against her, and a small cry of pleasure escaped her lips. But there was still clothing between them, and she wanted to feel all of him. A sweet but demanding ache set parts of her body throbbing, and her hands struggled to satisfy the demand, tugging at the waistband of his shorts.

  She didn’t have to worry. It was clear he wanted the same thing she did. He rolled her a little to the side, enough to unhook her bra and untangle the straps from her arms. Her panties and his shorts were next, and the sudden exposure and vulnerability sent a quick tremor of fear through her. She had never been this intimate with a man before, but when Drago’s hands covered and warmed her, the waves of pleasure overran her apprehension.

  His mouth kissed hers as his hands caressed her breasts. His long hair hung forward on either side of his face, shielding the light from her eyes. In the darkness his lips and hands and body were everything, and they told her stories more magical than those he had communicated with his voice. His mouth relayed euphoria and passion, and his hands spoke of a possessiveness of all he deemed his. In his body she felt his strength, but strangely it wasn’t the strength of force and power, but of endurance, patience, and courage. His lifted his head, and she saw his eyes, as blue as the clearest lake. The fathomless depths enraptured her with their melancholy. She saw loneliness as interminable as a long, gray winter, and an emptiness as vast as the cold plains.

  “Love me, Drago.”

  “The vampire will love you. The beast. Your tainted blood won’t satisfy the bloodlust. I swear I won’t hurt you, cherie, but you may not like what you see.” The sentences came almost as gasps.

  “I don’t care. I need you, Drago, please,” she begged.

  She felt him tremble as he lowered his mouth to just below her earlobe. His lips and tongue unfurled a ribbon of pleasure down her throat, but suddenly she felt a tension in his body, and his breathing became labored. He raised his head and shifted his gaze to hers. His eyes darkened to the color of the night sky, and his skin shone with a pale luminescence. It was the manifestation of the vampire, but she didn’t want him to stop now. She raked her fingers through his hair and silently willed him to continue.

  He dropped his head to the well between her breasts and pressed a line of kisses downward. In between each kiss he murmured sounds against her skin, some words in French, some in Russian, and some that were no words at all, but purrs and growls. His voice created a vibration in his lips that her skin absorbed and conducted to every inch of her body. She squirmed beneath him, wanting more with every kiss he bestowed on her.

  His hands cupped her breasts, teasing her nipples with his thumbs, but with every awakening of her desire she demanded more. He gave it to her, skimming his mouth over the curves of her breast. His hands streamed down her body like rushing water, cool and energizing, flowing over her rib cage, across her belly, and along her hips. When his hands reached her buttocks and thighs, jolts of electricity ran through her, and when his mouth closed over one nipple, the current she felt surging between them threatened to erode the remaining banks of her restraint. He suckled her, holding her bottom and pulling her tightly against him. She felt him hard against her softness, as rigid and unyielding as the tension that tightened her body in an almost painful grasp.

  She felt him press against her again, and suddenly his mouth was at her ear.

  “Relax, cherie.”

  She shook her head, frustration and fear abruptly intruding where only desire had reigned. “I don’t know how.”

  His fingers stroked her softness, and a groan next filled her ear. “Why did you not tell me you had never had a man befo
re?”

  She shook her head again, tears against her eyelids coming easier than words. “I don’t know.”

  “Shhh . . . shhh, cherie. It’s all right. Just relax.”

  She tried to, and he waited, but not easily. Suddenly she felt his teeth pressed against her skin, as sharp as the ache deep within her, and she had the insane desire to feel his canine teeth pierce her flesh. But he didn’t. He shifted his body, his quickened breaths heating her skin in time to the blood pulsing through her veins, so close to his mouth, yet forever out of reach. But his frustration was immediately followed by his salvation and hers. He held her hips and drove into her, slowly but steadily, and she cried out with him in both pain and pleasure.

  His thrusts were slow and deep, and he trembled in her arms as if he, too, were making love for the very first time. He buried his face in her hair, and she wrapped her hands around his neck, feeling the tautness building again in his body. His rhythm quickened, and his strokes became progressively harder and faster. The physical sensations assaulted her with an intensity she couldn’t assimilate, sending her mind to a place of light and shadow it had never been before. Flashes of brilliance strobed behind her eyelids, and with each flare of light, she saw images of life and death—flames and fortunes, charnels and churches, invaders and icons, birch-barks and blood. She didn’t understand what she saw. She only knew that they came from his mind. But as quickly as the visions came, they disappeared, shattering in an explosion of awareness. He had given her life, and a freedom she had never known sent her soaring above all the darkness of the world.

  His rhythm broke, and she was aware again of the man in her arms. He drove into her hard one final time and trembled with the release he shared with her. His weight settled on her, and she held him, stroking him as though he were anything other than the Anti-God of the Undead.

  Too soon, though, he pulled out of her and rose from the bed. He scooped his clothes from the floor and vanished into the bathroom. She climbed underneath the covers, cold without his warmth. She closed her eyes, trying not to think. She, for one, would not regret what had just happened.