Night Flight

by Margaret Carter

  His eyes followed her while she perched on the arm of the couch. "Okay, what's the plan?"

  "You can enter my mind." She felt his instant recoil. "At your own speed, as deep or shallow as you want. We can drop our barriers, but I'll stay passive and let you do all the exploring." If he saw her as invading and overpowering him before, maybe this contact would make up for the indignity.

  He gripped the arms of his chair. "Sounds reasonable. Go ahead."

  She opened her mind and stretched an inviting tendril toward his. The gesture met a blank wall. "That won't work," she said. "You have to relax. Can't you trust me a little?"

  He sighed, closed his eyes, and unclenched his hands. She closed her own eyes to concentrate, visualizing her inner self as an ivy-festooned mansion with the door ajar. Come in, she silently whispered.

  She felt Paul's mind open with the creak of an unused gate. Then his thoughts brushed hers. He stepped into the entry hall of her mental house. She held very still, afraid of scaring him away.

  Little by little, he inched his way to the inner rooms. She imagined his footsteps on the carpet of parlor and stairs. Quivering with her own kind of anxiety, she didn't make a move or a sound while he roamed through the bedrooms to gaze out the gable windows, up to the attic to survey her childhood memories. He caught glimpses of her confusion as a part-human girl, struggling with her vampiric urges, powers, and limits.

  Step by step she guided him to a niche in the farthest corner of the attic. He opened a door upon a spiral staircase. With confident strides, he ascended. The stairs wound up, higher than Gillian herself had imagined, until they opened into a tower room lined with bookshelves. Paul roamed from shelf to shelf, taking down slim volumes and ponderous tomes to skim through them.

  Leading him up a ladder, Gillian placed his hand on a brightly colored picture book. When he opened it, he saw a painting of tigers on a hillside behind a fence, one half-asleep, one pacing an endless circuit of the enclosure.

  The picture cast Gillian back into the moment it portrayed. Volnar's fingers clutched her shirt and dragged her to the edge of the tiger pen. Midsummer sun beat down on her, only partly relieved by her baseball cap and polarized sunglasses. In contrast, Volnar's icy touch made her skin prickle. "You were careless," he said, his voice emotionless as ever. "You disobeyed me. You let yourself be seen."

  "He was only a kid—"

  "A child your own age. But human children prattle, and their parents sometimes listen. You let him see your strangeness."

  She squelched a cry when his nails gouged her shoulder.

  "Do you want to end up like them?" He pointed to the tigers. "A curiosity in a cage?"

  The child Gillian shook her head.

  "Then never let an ephemeral know what you are."

  She snapped back to the present. Paul bent over the open book with moisture gleaming on his cheeks. I see, his thoughts murmured.

  You're the only human being who's seen my true self, she silently replied. I've put my life in your hands.

  She felt his dawning comprehension of her need for him and her longing to share the kind of love she'd witnessed between other bonded couples, as well as her fear of repelling him with her desperate craving.

  His thoughts drifted through her brain like mist, no longer chill: Then I'll put my life into yours. It's only fair.

  He clasped her hand and led her into his own mind-fortress, now with the gate open and the drawbridge down. She saw the depth of his affection for her and his hurt when he thought she'd been using him. Sweet warmth flooded over her.

  Chapter Thirteen

  She disentangled her thoughts from his, maintaining only a light sensory link, and opened her eyes to find him beside her on the couch. His aura pulsed with desire, tinged with a mixture of wonder and bewilderment. "I feel through your skin," he said, "the way I did this morning." A hot blush suffused his face. "I can even see myself through your eyes, if I concentrate. Weird."

  "Yes, that's how it's supposed to work." She gently took his hand, ready to withdraw if he resisted. Instead of retreating, he drew her into an embrace.

  "That feels great," he said, nuzzling her hair. "I'm already not sure why I fought it."

  "I understand why," she said, "and I mean it when I promise I won't override your will ever again. Uh—I hope you don't mind some sensory ‘encouragement’ now and then, though?"

  "You mean in bed?" His blush stirred her thirst despite her physical and emotional fatigue. "Or does no estrus for the next few years mean no sex?"

  "Not at all." Her tongue lightly flicked his earlobe, then the side of his neck. "I get my satisfaction from your excitement. I'm looking forward to having you make love to me when I'm not in heat."

  He stared intently at her. "Will you really enjoy it as much that way?"

  "Sure. It's a different kind of pleasure, but just as intense, maybe more so because it involves my whole body, not localized."

  "More intense? Are you sure I'll survive?" But this time he smiled, clearly teasing.

  She answered the underlying doubt that remained, though. "You can go at your own pace, not mine. In fact, as soon as you've…recovered…we can try it. I won't make a move without your permission. You can guide me through the Kama Sutra page by page." She paused for a long breath, afraid he would hear the invitation as pressure. "Only if you want it, of course."

  "You mean I could do this all night long?" He fondled her breasts. "Or this?" He kissed her throat, then nipped her earlobe. "How about this?" His fingers tickled between her legs.

  "Yes." She drew a tremulous breath. "As long as I get my turn to choreograph…when I'm thirsty."

  "Oh, yeah, I want." She heard his pulse quicken. By extending her senses only a little, she could feel the blood pooling in the dilated capillaries of his erogenous zones. He lightly brushed the tiny hairs in her palm. "Hey, that makes you thirsty, doesn't it? I can feel it in my own body. Incredible."

  "Yes, so you'd better slow down."

  "Why slow down? Why not give it a try?" Now he sounded only half teasing.

  She stared at him in astonishment. "Now? Are you sure you're up to it?" When he laughed, she realized her unintentional pun.

  "Oh, I think I might be up to it." His hands crept under her shirt. Warmth radiated from his open palms to spread over her breasts and make her nipples tauten before he even touched them. She stretched her arms above her head, and he slipped the T-shirt off her. With a purr vibrating in her throat, she lay back on the couch and luxuriated in the play of his fingers on her body. His tongue circled each nipple in turn. Each one caught fire, a flame that spiraled out to envelope every inch of her skin.

  Opening her thoughts to him, she felt his mind leap to merge with hers. This time, rather than drowning in his passion, she swam in it as in a blood-warm river. She felt the glowing brand of his caresses. Yet she also felt her own curves under his hands, along with the satin coolness of her flesh. When she eased off his shirt and stroked his chest, the curly hair made the cilia on her palms tingle with delight. Through his senses, she thrilled to the way her nails skimmed down his torso and under the waistband of his jeans. The scratches burned him like impossibly painless razor cuts. There she stopped, waiting for his cue.

  "Yes," he whispered. Pressure built in his stiffening organ. His pants felt tight. He guided her fingers to the zipper and lifted his hips to help her remove the rest of his clothes.

  She withdrew slightly from the current of his sensations to savor his slow progress in peeling off her shorts and bikini briefs, inch by inch, nibbling his way down her flat stomach on the way. Waves of pleasure washed over her. Her clit throbbed, but the same electricity vibrated in her nipples, the erect cilia in her palms, and her lips and tongue that yearned to taste him. The ache between her legs and in the pit of her stomach, as well as the dryness of her mouth, felt like pleasurable anticipation rather than desperate need.

  "Cover me," she murmured. He spread his body over hers, his blood-warmed
skin like a silken blanket against the chill of her own. "Kiss me," she sighed.

  His tongue parted her lips and fenced with hers. You taste like spiced wine and something metallic, came his bemused thought.

  And you taste like salt and ripe fruit. The flavor thrilled her taste buds without slaking her thirst. Every nerve quivered with eagerness to melt into him and draw him into her.

  She slid from her half-reclining position to lie flat on the couch. Without words he heard and accepted her invitation. He nudged at her portal, not quite entering. The moist petals opened to him.

  A new thirst tantalized her. "Paul—I want to drink you." With his lips nuzzling her neck, he projected a silent question. "Not your blood." She sent him an image of what she wanted.

  He gasped. His erection twitched as if zapped by electricity. While Gillian lay on her side to make room, he stretched out beside her, head to foot. The curves and hollows of their bodies fitted together, his heat branding her flesh, her chill sending delicious shivers through him. His pulse reverberated in her deepest core like the bass notes of an orchestra, and she transmitted the echo back to him, making his excitement soar higher and carry her to the heights with him. His lips nestled into the damp curls at the apex of her thighs. She closed her mouth on the head of his penis. His hips trembled with the effort of holding still while her tongue swirled around the swollen shaft. She ached with gratitude for the gift he gave her, allowing her razor-sharp teeth in such a vital spot without an instant of fear.

  His tongue flickered like a flame over her throbbing bud. This time, instead of concentrating in that one place, her pleasure expanded in ever-widening circles until it was no longer inside her, but she was inside it. Her whole being melted into a scarlet fog of sensuality. With Paul, she tasted her metallic-tinged love-juice and felt the explosion ready to burst from his straining cock. With her, he plunged into the ecstatic whole-body rush of tingling heat that his embrace gave her.

  Screaming out loud, he shot into her mouth. Her own body echoed the tremors that rocked him. She swallowed his salt-sweet essence. Yes, it's like your blood! Oh, God, Paul, I do love you!

  With their senses still merged, the taste lingered on his tongue, too, blended with her intimate flavor. For both, the combination held the richness of vintage wine. I love you, Gillian. Don't ever think of leaving me.

  Finally, he raised his head and wiggled around until she nestled against his chest. Long minutes later, their breathing calmed, and he could speak again. "Gillian, after all this, I really hate the idea of you drinking anything, even blood, from anybody else."

  "Didn't I make that clear? No, I guess not. Part of what `addiction' means is that I can't stand any other human blood. I need yours. Animals provide the bulk nourishment, but for real satisfaction, I depend on you."

  "Will that work? I mean, how much do you need?" The question carried no overtones of fear, only concerned curiosity.

  "A few sips at a time," she said. "Your passion flavors it. Quality makes up for quantity."

  "I just thought of something else. Pregnancy…did you ovulate?"

  She turned inward to study the ebb and flow of the tides in her womb. "No. There's no pregnancy."

  Paul hugged her closer. "Strange, I'm almost sorry. But with all the other adjustments we have to make, we're better off without that complication."

  "True." She snuggled almost into his lap. "You know, most of my kin would say it'll never work. You'll get tired of serving as my ambulatory blood bank. Our circadian rhythms will clash. You'll want me to join you in daylight activities and lavish restaurant meals."

  "So? You'll have to watch me turn into an old man, while you stay young and hotblooded forever. Right, it'll never work."

  She heaved an exaggerated sigh. "Well, nobody ever accused me of obeying rules or acting sensible. Do you want to stay with me anyway?"

  "Just try to stop me." Their lips met, and their hearts and minds echoed the union.

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