His voice softened. “What is it? Is something wrong?”
Her pulse raced at his tone, and when he reached out to touch her shoulder, she thought her heart would leap out of her chest. Emboldened by this show of affection, she said, “I found something, someplace in the forest, deep in the trees, that I think you should see.” A small voice inside her head sounded an alarm at this change in plans, from a straightforward seduction to . . . something else. A deception that Xavier might take very badly once he discovered it.
But it was too late.
He was already telling Chuy to go on without him, his arm held out wide in invitation, indicating she should lead the way and saying, “After you.”
“Yes,” she agreed, afraid if she said anything more that he’d hear her voice quake with nerves. The walk through the forest was quick and quiet. She’d already plotted out the best route to the chapel, and though he attempted once to ask questions about where they were going, she’d said only, “It’s not far,” then put her head down and concentrated on not tripping. She had her small penlight, which she kept aimed at the ground in front of her, as much to light her way as to avoid blowing out his night vision. She did that instinctively, something every child in the Fortalesa was taught, once they were old enough to understand. In a nighttime emergency, it was important not to get in the way of the vampires who might well be fighting for everyone’s life.
When the chapel was close enough that she could catch glimpses of it through the trees, she slowed, wondering if she should say something before they got there or—
“Is that the place?”
She jumped at the sound of his voice, but kept walking.
“That’s just an old shrine or something, Layla. It’s been there for . . . hundreds of years. From before I took over the Fortalesa.”
“Yes, but—”
“Why are we here?” he demanded, suspicion suddenly blooming in his voice.
“It’s inside,” she insisted. “The thing you need to see. It’s inside.”
He studied her a moment. “If you were not the daughter of someone I trusted, I’d think you were trying to set me up for some mischance, to put it kindly. But as you are, and since there is no one inside that crumbling bit of stone. . . . Let’s see what you have to show me.”
Walking ahead of him, she ducked through the low opening and spun to look up at him as he straightened to his full height. She saw his eyes take in the lit lantern, the wine bottle, and the blankets.
“What the fuck—”
“I just wanted to talk to you, and I knew you wouldn’t come if I’d asked you plainly. You won’t even look at me anymore. It’s as if I have a disease or something. But I know it can’t be that—” She hated that she’d begun to cry, but couldn’t seem to stop. “—because you’re a vampire and you can’t get sick.”
“Layla—”
“Laylita,” she corrected, fighting back a sob. “You used to call me Laylita.”
“That was before,” he muttered, so low that she didn’t think she was supposed to hear.
“Before what?” she cried. “Is there something wrong with me?”
“No, no.” He took her in his arms . . . finally. “It’s just . . . you’ve grown so much, and . . . you should be talking to boys . . . young men your own age. It’s not right for you to—”
“But I don’t want them. You’re better than they are, and I miss you.”
He was holding her so close now that she could feel his penis. Not hard, not yet. But she hugged him back so tightly that their bodies touched, and it began to grow.
“Layla,” he whispered. “Princesa.”
Her heart soared at the endearment, especially given the physical proof of his attraction, which was now blatantly obvious, despite his weak attempts to put distance between them. He was a vampire and could have pushed much harder, if he’d really wanted to, she reasoned, ignoring the obvious argument that he was trying not to hurt her.
“This isn’t . . . I’m sorry, but—”
“I know I’m a lot younger than you,” she persisted. “But I’ll be older soon, and it’s not my fault I was born when I was. Besides, all those women I’ve seen you with are younger than you too, and—”
“But they’re older than you are,” he said firmly, then set her away from him, so their bodies were no longer touching.
She looked up then, studying his face, trying to think of something, some way she could salvage this. Make him realize . . . hell, make him admit his feelings for her. “All right,” she said finally. “Just . . . sit down and have a glass of wine with me. Just a glass. So I don’t feel like a total loser. Like a monster or something that you can’t stand to look at.”
“Stop,” he snapped. “You’re not a fucking monster. You’re beautiful and smart and—”
“Then sit with me,” she demanded, taking his arm and pulling him down, putting all her weight into it. She didn’t look at him when he sat, or when he put enough distance between them that their legs didn’t touch. She simply poured the wine and handed him a glass, then raised her own in a toast. “To love,” she said, meeting his eyes.
“To friends,” he amended sternly.
She smiled and drank, her gaze never leaving his. “You have the most beautiful eyes,” she said quietly.
“I shouldn’t be here.” He drained his glass in one quick toss down his throat and started to rise, but before he could get there, she took his hand, slid it inside her open jacket over her breast, and fell backward, pulling him with her. He was strong, she reminded herself. If he really wanted to stop, he would. More determined than ever, she reached down, quickly unzipped his pants, and wrapped her fingers around his cock with a surprised gasp. He was so much bigger than she’d imagined, and growing even larger as she shaped it with her fingers, feeling it respond to her, reveling in the press of his hand on her breast. She moaned, overwhelmed with unfamiliar sensations, dizzy with joy, wondering if he’d—
“Fuck!” he snarled and shoved himself away, clearly furious.
She didn’t understand, didn’t know why, because she was still floating on a cloud of delicious sensation. Her whole body was tingling with a pleasure she’d never known was possible. She’d sure as hell never felt anything like this before, which only proved she’d been right about everything. She raised her head and smiled . . . only to find Xavier on his feet, his back turned as he zipped himself up.
“What—” The words caught in her throat when she saw his face. He wasn’t trying to be gentle anymore. His eyes were so cold that she shivered and pulled her jacket closed over her naked breasts.
“I apologize, Layla,” he said flatly, although his eyes didn’t reflect his words. “This was . . . reprehensible on my part. I never should have permitted it to get this far. You needn’t be concerned, however. You’re in no danger from me in the future. I’m sure you can find your way back,” he added. “Good night.”
Then he left her there. Cold, half-naked, brokenhearted and thoroughly humiliated.
The next night, she looked, but couldn’t find him. Nor was he around the night after that. Until finally, in between bites of breakfast cereal, she asked her father casually, “Is Lord Xavier in town?”
He shook his head without looking up from the reports he was reading. “No, he’ll be away for a bit, I’m afraid. One of his people, a good friend, called for help. He’s in danger of being overrun by his enemies, so Lord Xavier took several fighters with him. I think he’ll be gone a few months. That’s what it means to be a vampire lord, you know. He defends the entire territory—all of Spain. He’ll probably bring home some new fighters when he comes back. He usually does. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if he finds a wife this time.”
“A mate,” she whispered, staring at her cereal. “That’s what vampires call it. B
ut . . . why do you think he’ll do that? Get a mate, I mean.”
“That’s not something I want to discuss with la meva nena,” he said, stroking a hand down her hair. “Xavier is a man, mija. He needs a woman to share his life, just as I have your mama.”
Her mother snorted her reaction from where she stood at the counter, chopping meat and vegetables for the stew she’d serve for dinner. “Xavier needs a vampire woman,” she said. “Someone who’s a fighter, not a cook. And not one of those silly women he takes to his bed, either.”
Layla hiccupped as she fought back a sob.
“Is something wrong, mija?” her father asked. “Are you sick?”
She put down her spoon, convinced she’d throw up if she ate one more bite. Xavier was looking for a mate? “No, I’m just . . . not hungry this morning.” Standing, she kissed her father’s cheek, then her mother’s, and managed to get outside before they could ask any more questions.
She didn’t go to school that day. She went to the chapel instead. The wine was gone. She’d thrown the bottle against the wall in a fit of rage after Xavier had left, something she now regretted, since she wouldn’t have minded a little help forgetting what he’d done. What he was probably doing right now. The blankets were still there, so she laid down on top of the pile, pulled one over herself, and cried long and hard, unable to stop, even when her chest hurt and her eyes burned from tears that were long past dried up. She’d never known such pain, had never known it was even possible to hurt that much. And she’d never, ever expected Xavier would be the one to cause it.
Approaching Barcelona, Present day
LAYLA WOKE WITH a start, embarrassed to find her cheeks wet, angry that Xavier still had the power to make her cry. She’d left the Fortalesa soon after that, had gone to California and UCLA, where she’d met Brian Hudson. He’d been Army ROTC—Reserve Officer Training Corps. It was how he’d managed to attend university. The Army paid his tuition in exchange for him enlisting upon graduation. Layla had been intrigued by the idea, not just the free tuition, but the training. Learning to fight. She didn’t like to admit Xavier had anything to do with the choice she’d made to enlist, but she couldn’t deny, to herself anyway, that she’d experienced a visceral satisfaction with every new strategy she learned, every tactic, every weapon. And when she’d proven to be better than the others, better even than the men—stronger, smarter, a better leader—she was promoted above them. Some of them even followed her out of the army and became the core of her own fighting unit. They were respected throughout the world, fighters who garnered the highest price, who took the toughest assignments and always came home victorious. Brian had gone with her, too, without a whisper of reluctance or resentment that she was their captain. He was her partner, her lieutenant, her best friend.
But never her lover. Layla hadn’t found her mate in all the years she’d been gone. Had never managed to silence the soft voice that whispered from her soul, telling her she’d already met the only man who could be hers. A vampire, who didn’t want her.
She jolted upright, angry that Xavier had intruded on her dream, her thoughts, when she’d considered him gone years ago. It must be the situation—the fact that she was returning to Barcelona, to the vampire lord’s Fortalesa, where she was bound to run into him. She could always stay in the town instead. There were plenty of motels . . . though she’d have to come up with something to tell her parents, some excuse for not sleeping in her old bed, in the room they still considered hers.
Damn. She crossed and uncrossed her legs, trying to get comfortable in the lumpy airline seat. She could feel every metal brace and spring in the damn thing, but not an inch of padding, and it pissed her off. Couldn’t they at least give her ass a cushion?
Okay, so she was in a foul mood. She loved her parents, but hated going back to the Fortalesa. Xavier was the reason she’d left Spain all those years ago, and now she had no choice but to go back. She only hoped her heart could take it.
Barcelona, Spain
LAYLA SEARCHED the terminal gate area, convinced she’d find her parents waiting eagerly, though she’d told them not to bother. At one point, she was certain she’d heard her father’s booming voice and had spun, expecting his arms to enfold her. But no, it was some other poor soul’s family who’d shown up en masse to greet their returning scion. She breathed a sigh of relief and kept walking, but couldn’t shake the perverse feeling that their absence worried her. Her father had always come to pick her up. Sometimes her mother wasn’t with him, but he was always there. Damn it, maybe something was seriously wrong with his health. The idea had her chest tightening with worry. Her parents were the only constant in her life. They’d always been there for her. Hell, they worked with vampires. There was no reason they couldn’t always be there, if they wanted. Surely the great and powerful Xavier could spare the occasional ounce of blood to prolong the lives of two people who’d devoted their lives to him? Selfish asshole.
She marched down the rows of rental cars and schooled herself into the right mindset for this visit. Xavier wasn’t the asshole who’d charmed an impressionable young teenager just because he could. He wasn’t the arrogant jerk who’d broken that teenager’s heart without so much as a casual thought. For this visit, he was someone her parents respected and probably loved nearly as much as they loved her. Someone they’d served for their entire adult lives. A good man, an honest man.
Hah!
She slammed the trunk on the mid-sized rental sedan, already missing the big SUVs her team used. But it made no sense to get anything bigger when it was just her. Still, she felt as if there was a target painted on the flimsy vehicle door, with a big sign that said “Hit me!” in bright red letters.
She made a sound of disgust, as much at herself as the situation. She was a grown ass woman with a grown ass job, and a kick ass team of her own, every one of whom considered her the kick ass-iest of them all. So what the fuck was wrong with her?
She managed a smile for the nice man standing watch over the garage exit, and turned toward the Fortalesa. Toward home. But was it really that, after all this time? She rolled her eyes in disgust . . . at herself. Of course it was. Her parents were there. Hell, why else had she been pushing them to join her in France? Because they were her home.
“Suck it up, babe,” she muttered, then veered onto the highway that would take her to Xavier.
LESS THAN AN hour later—and far too soon—Layla turned onto the long narrow road leading up to the ancient hillside fortress that housed Spain’s vampire lord and a good part of the country’s population of vampires. Her parents had been living there when she was born, although thankfully, the blessed event had taken place in a Barcelona hospital. When she’d been a child, she’d assumed that was because the vampires would have been drawn to all the blood from the birthing and endangered her life. But she’d discovered later that it was simply due to the absence of a qualified physician in the Fortalesa, and nothing to do with blood or vampires. She’d found that vastly irritating in its simplicity. Talk about perverse thinking.
She’d only been back here once in the dozen years she’d been gone, and that time was only a single daytime visit after she’d graduated university. Since then, she’d persuaded her parents to meet her at one elegant hotel or other—some in Barcelona, some not. And after she’d contracted with Clyde Wilkerson to live on his French vineyard and theoretically protect it from she didn’t know what, her parents had visited France twice.
But this time . . . this time she’d have to suck it up and stay at the Fortalesa. It was the only way to ensure she learned what was really happening with her father’s health. “Don’t be a coward,” she muttered as she rounded the final curve of green forest. “It was more than ten years ago, for fuck’s sake. He probably doesn’t even remember it.” It being the night she’d humiliated herself. The night the fucking vampire had made it clear she was noth
ing special.
“What did he know?” she muttered and shoved aside all thoughts of “that night,” while she looked up at the huge fortress in front of her. She automatically scanned the Fortalesa’s walls, taking in the thick walls and battlements, the modifications to accommodate modern weapons. The solid merlons of the battlement walls had been built up to form a series of square bunkers which surrounded the defending shooters, and provided two windows suitable for weapons up to and including machine guns. Her eye caught on some work being carried out on the portion of wall alongside the road, and closest to the surrounding forest. A three-man team was up there performing repairs of some kind. She squinted, trying to see more clearly in the morning glare, and frowned. That sure as hell looked like fresh damage, as if the wall had been struck by something heavy. Her frown deepened. It could be old damage that had recently become a problem. The Fortalesa was very, very old, after all. But it sure as hell didn’t look old. She’d seen enough fighting, including the kind of heavy bombardment that could inflict that sort of damage to a strong wall. She also recognized fresh stone when she saw it. And this was damn fresh. It made her reconsider her mother’s warning, and her father’s easy cheer in response. Had her father been injured in battle? Had the Fortalesa been attacked? Was that what her mother had been warning her about?
She drove the final fifty yards to the entrance, expecting the huge gates to open before she got there. But they remained solidly shut, and she didn’t like that any more than she did the damaged wall.
A man on the wall above the gate watched her approach and stop at an electronic call box that hadn’t been there on her last visit—which admittedly had been years ago. Without saying a word, the guard studied her through her windshield as she pushed the intercom button and announced her name.
“Layla Casales. I’m here to see my parents, Ferran and Ramlah Casales,” she added deliberately.
Xavier: Vampires in Europe (Vampires in America Book 14) Page 5