by CC MacKenzie
Just please Lord, God, Baby Jesus, please let her live.
Chapter Six
New York.
"You think you are so clever, don't you, my wee darlin’? You might have unmanned me and then where would we be?"
Anais couldn't help but wince as Marcus stepped into their bedroom, a towel wrapped low on his lean hips, while he towel dried hair the color of jet.
She lay back against a waterfall of down pillows and looked her fill at a face that could make angels weep, never mind a woman. His eyes were such a brilliant blue, and so filled with love for her they burned right into her very soul. Wide shoulders, golden skin pulled taut across sculpted pectoral muscles and a torso that was all male delighted her. She couldn't get enough of him. And now she wondered how she'd ever thought to live her life apart from him.
As ever, he caught a glimpse of her thoughts.
No matter how hard she tried to shield her deepest most thoughts and fears from him, he seemed to instinctively hone right into her mind.
He sat on the edge of their bed, his hand lifting to catch the end of her hair and gently pull.
"Tell me, where did you learn to fight like that?"
She grinned, a cheeky curve of her fabulous mouth and a twinkle in her dark eyes.
"Krav Maga. I have serious skills."
"You do," he agreed. "You do indeed. So tell me, why did you not use those skills on Eleanor or the Legionnaires?"
Her grin slipped as she frowned.
She shook her head.
"When Eleanor confronted me, I couldn't move. I couldn't think. It was as if I was stuck, like a statue. And when the Legion took me I remember nothing except the sheer terror of being thrown from a balcony." She shuddered. "I'll never forget it."
Twice, she'd been bespelled, he realized.
"Magic," he nearly snarled the word.
His tone made her turn into him and wrap her arms around his waist.
He loved the way she always tried to make him feel better.
"My love for you weakens me. As it should. I am a lawyer, but I'm also a warrior. A warrior you brought to his knees today."
"Sometimes I don't know my own strength these days," admitted Anais as her hand lifted to stroke his thigh. His response tented his towel. Her relief was instant. "And it appears I didn't break anything important."
His smile was quick and real and it stole her heart.
"Wanna kiss it better?"
"It's the least I can do."
"You won't catch me by surprise again." She watched his vampire rise as his eyes changed from blue to the color of the finest, deepest claret. His torso, his muscles (every muscle) grew bigger. Now his vampyre growled the words she loved in a language all but forgotten in the modern world. 'Tha gaol agam ort.' I love you.
The sincerity in that gravelly tone speaking in an ancient Gaelic dialect was heartfelt.
Emotion made her eyes sting, the room blur, as she reached for him.
"I love you, too, my vampyre."
He kissed her with tongue, with teeth, and when he fisted her hair and pulled her close, with bloodlust filled with a passion that made her weak. Only he could do this to her. Only Marcus.
With both hands in her hair, he raised his head and watched his fingers brush through silky strands from her scalp right to the ends. He brought a fistful to his nose and inhaled as if scenting his favourite flower.
"I love your hair. I love how it smells, how it feels against my skin," he murmured an admission that was not news to her.
She couldn't help but smile.
"If it carries on growing like this it'll be down to my knees soon. I'll look like Cousin It."
The dimple in his left cheek flashed.
"I enjoyed the black and white television show of The Addams Family very much. My brothers and I never missed an episode."
"The hand used to freak me out," admitted Anais. "If I only knew then what I know now about the real monsters in our world, The hand wouldn't have bothered me."
His smooth brow creased as he watched his fingertips whisper down her flushed cheek.
"If you had done what you were told and stayed indoors, you would be none the wiser about the real monsters in this world."
Marcus's tone was like a blade across her heightened senses. Lethal and sharp.
And she knew it would take him a long time before he got over the real fear of losing her.
"I needed to breathe fresh air," she tried to explain her reasoning in the night in question. A night when she'd been tossed from a balcony hundreds of feet above the ground, and caught by a Legionnaire who'd used his magic to render her unconscious. Even now the horror of it made her shudder.
"You nearly lost your life."
The way he snapped at her had her draw back and pull the comforter up to her chin.
"Do you really believe French windows would have stopped Ezekiel or the Legion from taking me?"
"Yes." He decided not to tell her about the charms and spells of white magic his kind used to keep enemies at bay.
Not yet.
"What was all that Consort business before?"
"You are my Consort."
Now her brows lifted.
"So you said. What does it mean?"
"What do you think it means?"
"Oh no you don't. Do not start answering a question with a question, Marcus. You know it only annoys me."
His vampyre relaxed and now brilliant blue eyes held hers.
"It means you are my mate, my wife, my partner. I am a prince."
She hadn't given a thought to the fact he was vampyre royalty.
Her brow creased.
"Does that mean I'm a princess?"
Marcus had to admire his wife.
For months, while he'd worked closely with her, he'd analysed and examined and increasingly tested her patience. All the while probing her thought processes, stretching her intellectually. And she'd passed all with flying colours. Yes, Anais was going to make a very fine consort for a vampyre prince.
In his mind, his vampyre grew restless and had the temerity to disagree with his analysis.
'She is weak. She feels too much, cares too much, and worries too much about things that cannot be changed.'
The words were a low growl in his mind. Marcus could always rely on his beast to tell him the truth. While he didn't exactly disagree, he didn't agree either.
'Anais has courage, too.'
'Just as well,' came the response. 'She will need every ounce of it.'
"I'm a little bit worried about next week," said Anais, unwittingly plucking the thought from her husband's head. Next week, after dusk fell, she'd attend her first vampyre enclave. She was vampyre made. A human with vampyre DNA. Apparently she was an empath, too. A rarity. An oddity. A thing, she'd been told by Saira, that pureblood vampyres would find... interesting. She wasn't worried about humans, not yet, since they didn't know vampyres existed. How that state of affairs had lasted in the day and age of cell phones and social media, she'd no idea. It couldn't last, she told herself for the tenth time.
"You have nothing to worry about. You are bonded to me. You wear my bloodstone, my ring on your finger. You are under the close protection of my family, my clan and my Centuri. Nothing will harm you."
Easy for you to say, she wanted to say, but remained silent.
Someone, Eleanor Pattullo, had already tried to kill her once.
What was to stop her trying again?
"They still haven't found Eleanor?"
His blue eyes went dark as he shook his head.
Jaw tight, her husband rose and began to dress.
As he pulled on soft blue jeans, a cashmere sweater as black as his hair, Anais had the feeling she'd spoilt a very special moment between them, and could have kicked herself for it. She watched him slide on a pair of soft suede Mocs.
He turned to her, held out his hand.
"Wanna go flying with me?"
Two nights ago, he'd taken her flying
.
Actually, he'd scooped her up in his arms and jumped off the penthouse balcony.
The scream had lodged in her throat along with her heart, before she realized he was able to glide through the air. She'd never for a single moment imagined such a thing. Then the reality had hit her that in her mind she'd somehow managed to humanize him, when he wasn't human in any way shape or form at all. He was a creature of the night. A creature of the supernatural. And what did that make her?
Now her husband's blue eyes glittered preternaturally into hers.
Daring her, because he knew she'd hated flying.
They didn't even have wings for God's sake.
How was it possible?
"I can hear your deep thoughts from here. Sex or flying. Your choice."
Cheeky bastard.
Her dark mood lifted as her mouth curved.
She read a sharp intelligence as he studied her carefully.
He saw way too much.
"My deep thoughts are my own."
"Not when they place dark shadows in your beautiful eyes, and in your heart. At times you tremble when I touch you. Will you ever be able to forgive me? Truly? For what I have done to you?"
Would she?
"Maybe. One day."
He gave a weary and heartfelt sigh.
Now his eyes went soft with something like regret and a hurt that speared her heart.
"Every single day we worked together for all those months, I had to stamp down hard on my need for you, my wee darlin’. Every. Single. Day. It was the only way to contain my vampyre. More importantly, I wanted you to finish the longest trial period in our company's history to make a junior partner I've ever experienced. I knew your career was important to you. I didn't want to take that away from you, too."
"Are you saying I should be grateful to you for permitting me to have a career?" The edge to her voice was keen and cutting.
He shook his head and now those brilliant blue eyes went sharp and a little cool.
"No. I am not a raving misogynist, darlin’. I believe in equality between us. In most things. But as a vampyre I will always be superior to you in strength and endurance. Our culture is strictly patriarchal. There is nothing I can do to change that. It is what it is."
"So, I'd just better get used to you ruling the roost?"
"Do I rule our home? Do I?" he responded, the tone telling her very clearly that his temper was fraying around the edges.
She had to be nothing but truthful with herself, and with him.
"No. You've let me organize our home pretty much the way I want it. And I'm working remotely. But I cannot wait for the day when I can return to my own office and my duties."
"You need to learn patience. You're a new born. And don't make a face like that, wife. Facts are facts. You have not been around a human since you were made. We must make sure your vampyre remains stable. The last thing we need is you snacking on an unwary human. The fallout of such an event could be a disaster. And the punishment for revealing our species to humans is death. You either trust me to know what is best for you or you do not. Which is it?"
Stung by the attitude as much by the demand, Anais found her temper flash.
Just who the hell was he to talk to her like that.
"Did I ask for this? Did I?"
He glowered at her.
"I believe I have been too soft with you. Too easy on you."
"That's not you speaking," she shot right back. "That's your vampyre. And he can bloody well butt out of this discussion. We're not in the dark ages here, for goodness sake. These days women are equal to men. And in business we're sometimes more than equal. So your beast can just suck it up."
"You do not fear me, Anais," he said in a silky voice.
Was he kidding her?
"Yes. I do. At times I'm petrified of you."
He rolled his eyes and her eyes narrowed into slits.
There were times when his arrogance knew no bounds.
"According to legend, a newborn can take a few months to become accustomed to the change. You, however, are dealing with your transition very well.”
"It's all a big act. There are times when deep inside I'm screaming. And right now I'm still really pissed at... you."
His eyes went soft and gentle and filled to the brim with nothing but love for her.
"Yes. But you're controlling your fear, your... anger."
Her emotional response was instant, and temper leaked away to be replaced by a sort of weary despair that she couldn't seem to help herself but to love him right back.
"I don't have a lot of choice," she admitted.
"True."
The way he said it, so sure, so confident, of her and of her reaction to him, made her eyes narrow into slits.
"One day you'll pay, Marcus, very dearly for this."
He caught her to him and kissed her hard and fast.
She couldn't help but respond.
When he lifted his head, his mouth kicked.
"I have chosen well."
His voice was a seductive hum through her system, her blood.
"I will see my parents die," she said, speaking her darkest thoughts.
"Yes, but you would have in any case."
"Logically, I know. But still..."
Grief was a frantic and wild savage inside of her.
"It hurts to lose a loved one. I understand."
"Do you, Marcus?"
"Yes. I am not a monster."
"You are not a man, either," muttered Anais. Now her eyes held his as determination gripped her heart. "No matter how long I love. No matter what you to do me. My heart will always remain a human heart. So suck that up, vampyre."
Her words didn't appear to faze him.
"A human heart that belongs to me, Anais. You are mine. I look after what's mine. Never forget it."
No woman would hear those words of possession and not thrill to them. Even as his arrogance made her want to punch him right in the mouth.
"I belong to me."
Those blue eyes seemed to light up from within.
And again she was reminded that this man was not human, so she would be certifiably insane to even seek to change him.
"Wrong, newborn. You are, and ever will be, mine."
He'd been married for less than a week, and already Marcus couldn't imagine life without his Anais. The woman never failed to surprise him. He couldn't help it, in spite of the ache of need between his legs, his face split in a wide grin. Watching those sulky dark eyes, that petulant mouth, he realized that he was truly happy for the first time in his long and varied life. He'd had happy moments in his life, of course he had. But this happiness was different, it was soul deep and true. The grin slipped from his face. If anything happened to her, or if he lost her, the mere thought made him shudder. He knew he'd never recover. He'd be broken in ways he daren't even contemplate.
His vampyre's protective instincts rose within him.
No matter what it took, he'd always ensure her safety, her security.
The key would be to manage it in such a way that wouldn't offend her perceived right to self-determination, to make her own decisions. At the moment she was in no fit state to make any decisions. These days the only place they truly became one was in bed. And right now Marcus figured bed was the best place for make-up sex.
His plan to make wild and passionate love to his wife was rudely interrupted by the ringtone of his cell phone.
With a reluctance that made his wife press a kiss to his neck, Marcus reached for his cell and listened to his brother James' disjointed words. He listened with mounting horror at what had happened to Charlotte.
He released Anais, fired questions and found his heart in his throat.
Dear heaven.
"What is it?" asked his wife, her dark eyes glued to his face.
He ended his call and simply stared at her.
"It's Charlotte. James took her vein. And something has gone terribly, terribly wrong. She's in theatr
e and fighting for her life in a specialist vampyre hospital in San Francisco. I must go to him."
Anais had a lot of time for James Gillespie.
She hadn't met Charlotte yet, but she'd heard plenty of good things about her.
"I'm coming with you."
Rushing into her closet, she dragged on black jeans, a matching sweater, black leather boots and jacket. As she quickly tied up her hair, she turned to Marcus and realized he hadn't moved.
The worry and anxiety was clear to see in his eyes.
Oh God, he loved his brother so much.
Stepping into him, Anais wrapped her arms around the man she loved and gave him the only thing she could, comfort, as she hugged him tight.
"Poor James, he was so conflicted about what to do about Charlotte, Marcus. And now this."
Marcus placed a finger under her chin and tilted her head back to look deep into her eyes.
"It might be a very long haul with a bad outcome. Are you sure you are up to this?"
"Of course. James is family. At times like this families stick together."
Chapter Seven
This was hell.
James Gillespie had lived for over two hundred years. He’d seen the worst of humankind and he’d seen the best of it. Human beings never ceased to amaze him with their capacity for pure love and their capacity for pure evil.
But this was pure torture of another variety altogether.
Charlotte was in surgery in the special medical wing built for their kind deep in the catacombs under the headquarters of Gillespie, Pattullo and Hindmarch, in San Francisco.
The journey from their home in the private ambulance had been a living nightmare.
Charlotte's heart had stopped beating twice.
He’d always thought Saira Pattullo was an arrogant pain in the ass. But the medic had fought a bloody battle for dominion with the ‘Angel of Death’ (whisper his name) himself to bring Charlotte back from the brink time and again. By the time they arrived at the hospital James wanted to adopt Saira as an honorary sister. She’d been fucking amazing.
When a person has the potential to live for hundreds of years, the passing of time takes on a new meaning. In many ways time becomes less important. However, now James felt like punching his fist through the loud tick, tick, tick of the black and white clock on the wall. Five minutes felt like five weeks. And Charlotte had been in theatre for almost eight hours.