Sex, Lies, and Vampires do-3

by Кейти Макалистер

  Now, Beloved. One finger slid into me, triggering an explosion of white heat that seemed to consume the universe. I dug my fingers into his shoulders, trying to merge myself with him so that there would be no him and no me, only us.

  "Oh, God," I gasped what seemed like eons later as he pulled his head from my neck. His hand was withdrawing from me, zipping my jeans as I lay draped across him, my body quivering with little shocks of residual pleasure. "Now I know why women find vampires so sexy. You're the most amazing… that was the best… you are absolutely incredible!"

  He said nothing, just pulled me down so I fit comfortably against his shoulder, but I felt his slow, sensual smile as it stole across my mind.

  Chapter Six

  "Get up, Nell."

  "No. I am not getting off this train until you let me see your chest."

  "I told you before that I do not like to repeat myself. I will this once because I understand you are American, and thus stubborn. My chest is healed. You will get up now and come with me."

  I looked out the tinted window at the bright lights of the Prague central train station. I was tired, hungry, and a little dizzy from the amount of blood I'd donated.

  We won't go into how my body seemed to hum every time Adrian was near.

  "My stubborn American butt is not getting up off this seat until you bare your manly chest for me." I adopted the most innocent look I could muster.

  He muttered to himself in a language I didn't understand, then yanked me to my feet, pulling me close with one hand while opening his shirt with the other.

  "OK," I said, running a finger down the jagged raised white scar line that was all that remained of the wound. "You've impressed me. The next time you get a sucking chest wound, I won't worry at all. So now what do we do? And who was Sebastian? Why was he after you? Is it just a Betrayer thing, or did it have something to do with the reason you were in Christian's castle, which, incidentally, is something you've never explained. There's no time like the present, my mother always says!"

  His hand clamped down on mine as I let my fingers do a little walking. "I can feel your hunger. You will get some food while I arrange for transportation."

  "You think you can just ignore my questions and I'm going to let you get away with it, don't you?"

  "Yes."

  "You don't scare me," I told him as I followed him off the train, more than a little surprised to find that it was true. There was a bond between us that had me worried about him, heartsick because I knew that I couldn't give him what he wanted—freedom from the curse—but I wasn't frightened of him anymore. He might break my heart (where had that thought come from?), but he wouldn't ever harm me. Not intentionally.

  "I am more powerful, more determined, and infinitely crueler than you. You should be terrified of me. Do as I say without questioning me further."

  I thinned my lips in annoyance at his high-handed manner, blinking owlishly in the bright overhead station lights. "What makes you think I'm going to do what you want me to do? What makes you think I'm not going to run to the nearest police station? Or to Melissande? You know, it's really not fair, you running off without telling her where her nephew is. She's worried sick about him."

  "You will not run from me because you know that wherever you hide, I will find you. As for the other—Melissande's feelings do not matter to me," he answered, tugging me toward the lobby of the train station where rows of shops and small food stands lined the walls. Overhead, steel-ribbed glass skylights mirrored the people meandering through the station. I grabbed Adrian's sleeve as he headed for the ticket windows.

  "Hold on a minute, Sparky. You haven't answered any of my questions."

  His frown was a thing of beauty to behold, magnificent in its black irritation. "Sparky? First Ryan and now Sparky?" He shook his head, his eyes a blue so icy I swore there were little icebergs floating around his irises. "I am centuries old. I have sent more people to their deaths than you can possibly comprehend. You will cease referring to me as Sparky."

  I stood my ground. I knew if I let him get away with one single high-handed inch, he'd drag it out to a mile. "Answer my questions, and I might consider the request."

  "I do not have to answer your questions. I am the Betrayer."

  "You are also the Irritator, but that doesn't mean you can't be civil, as well."

  He sighed the sigh of the truly martyred. "If I promise to answer your questions later, will you feed now?"

  "Yes," I said, too aware of the growl of my stomach and the mouthwatering scents of a nearby food booth to deny his offer. "But you have to promise to answer everything."

  His eyes went even lighter.

  I pointed a finger at his face. "And you can just add how you do that to the list of things about which you're going to spill. I'd love to be able to change my eye color."

  "Feed," he growled before turning toward the ticket sellers.

  "Feed. Come. Do what I say. We really are going to have to work at adding some words like 'please do this' and 'I would fawn at your feet in humble gratitude if you do that' to your vocabulary" I yelled after him.

  His head shook again, indicating he heard me. I couldn't help smiling at him as he strode down the long lobby of the train station. Dressed entirely in black, his long wool duster flapping behind him, his hair sweeping down to his collar, he looked like a refugee from an artsy, atmospheric vampire movie.

  "Someone's been reading way too many gothic novels," I mused as I lifted my chin to sniff the air, following the most enticing scent to a nearby sausage seller. I scraped together the remains of the money Adrian had given me and bought three sausage rolls.

  I had consumed one by the time he found me and herded me toward a secluded waiting area.

  "We have two hours before the next train," he said, pushing me onto a bench.

  "You're always pulling me along somewhere or shoving me down onto something," I complained around a mouthful of sausage roll. "We really need to work on your people skills."

  He sat down beside me, a familiar scowl settled firmly onto his manly brow. "I am a Dark One, not a person. I do not need people skills."

  It was my turn to sigh. I held out the last sausage roll, which he eyed with malevolent suspicion.

  "What's wrong, don't like sausage? Or can't you eat food food?"

  "I can eat human food if I so desire, but it provides me with no sustenance."

  "Well, that answers a question I'd always wondered about vamps—whether or not they were biologically the same as the non-bloodsuckers. I mean, why have the plumbing if you're not going to use it?"

  "Plumbing?" he asked, his scowl deepening.

  "Yeah, plumbing." I flicked a glance toward his crotch. "I know you have a belly button, and I figured that you have the usual genital accoutrements unless vamps do that differently, but from what I can tell, you're A-OK in that department—not that I've looked or anything—but then there's the back door, and, well, I've just always wondered. I mean, if you don't need it, why have it?"

  He stared at me like I had suddenly sprouted buttocks on my head.

  I gave a weak smile. "None of the vamp books I've read have ever addressed that issue, so I thought I'd go to the horse's mouth, so to speak."

  His eyes lightened to the color of a robin's egg. "You are the strangest woman I have ever met."

  "Strange in a good way, or strange as in ought to be locked up for her own safety?"

  "I haven't decided yet," he answered, leaning back against the wall, his gaze flickering around at the people nearest us.

  I debated saving the last sausage roll versus making myself a pig in front of Adrian, but decided in the end that if I had to do the blood-donor thing again, I'd need all the nourishment I could get. While I ate I watched the man who in such a short amount of time had become increasingly fascinating to me. Although Adrian's body appeared relaxed, his hands resting open on his thighs, I could feel the tension in him. His eyes never rested as they constantly surveyed our surrou
ndings. It struck me that although he'd fed from me, he had probably used most of the energy he'd gained from my blood to heal his wound. I knew he'd stayed awake while I slept on the train, and now here he was almost on point, he was so alert.

  "Adrian," I said, putting my hand on his arm to get his attention. He cocked an eyebrow in question, his eyes going sapphire. I lifted my hand, about to ask him if he was going to be all right, but stopped when his eyes went sky blue. I blinked a couple of times, then put my hand back on his arm.

  Twin irises of the purest sapphire regarded me with growing confusion.

  "This is so cool! Your eyes change color when I touch you. Look!"

  I lifted my hand again. Adrian rolled his (summer blue) eyes and started to turn away. I leaned forward and put my hand on his chest, over his heart. His eyes turned navy.

  "Hoo! You're like a giant mood ring! I wonder if I can make different colors show up depending where I touch you."

  Adrian followed my speculative gaze to his fly, jumping up to stand in front of me in an aggressive pose, arms crossed over his chest, legs spread. "I am not a mood ring! I am not a toy! I am dangerous and feared by all! You are not to treat me in such a flip, irreverent manner—"

  I put my hand on his thigh, close to his groin, but not actually touching naughty parts. His eyes turned a dark midnight blue.

  "This is so fun!" I giggled, admittedly a bit less than sane after the very strange twenty-four hours I'd spent. "I could touch you all day! I wonder what would happen if I were to kiss you…"

  "There will be no more kissing," he answered on a growl. "Kissing leads to the fifth step, and I refuse to go any further."

  "Why?" I asked, tipping my head to the side as I gave him a once-over, starting at the mid-calf-high black boots, moving up over the tightly fitting black jeans, the caress of silk across his stomach and chest, to the width of his shoulders as highlighted by the long black duster. I smiled into eyes as black and shiny as onyx. "You said that if I was this Beloved person, I would be able to save your soul. Considering I can't charm that curse that binds you, it seems to me that I'm pretty much your get-out-of-jail-free card. So why aren't you kissing my feet and begging me to save your soul?"

  He sighed again and sat down next to me, silent for a few minutes before he said, "You aren't my Beloved. You can't be her. My Beloved does not exist."

  Pain, disappointment, and something very much like regret fought for superiority within me. I put my hand on his, giving his fingers a gentle squeeze. "You mean she's dead? I'm so sorry, Adrian. I had no idea. You must have been devastated."

  He looked down to where my fingers gently caressed his, not saying anything, but I saw the sorrow in his eyes. I looked away, but from my peripheral vision I examined the red pattern that twisted around his torso. Even if I wanted to charm the curse, I knew it would be beyond my embryonic skills, skills that had been stunted before they even had a chance to grow. There was no way I could do what he wanted, but now it seemed I didn't even have to make the choice about whether or not I wanted to bind myself to him in order to salvage his soul.

  Which was a shame, because despite his fierce appearance and gruesome reputation, I was beginning to believe he was a man well worth saving.

  "She did not die."

  "I'm a little confused," I said slowly, still stroking his fingers. "She didn't die, but there is no one for you? I saw into you, really deep into you, remember, and you don't have a soul. If this woman didn't die, what happened to her?"

  "Nothing," he said, his voice rough with emotion. His hand twisted under mine so that our fingers were twined. "My Beloved does not exist because I am not allowed to have one. To have a Beloved would imply that there is hope for me, and I can assure you from many centuries of experience, hope is one grace that has forsaken me."

  "You can't say that," I said again, at a loss as to what I could do to relieve the pain shadowing his beautiful eyes. How could I make him believe I was his hope when I myself wasn't sure I wanted to take on that role? "Adrian, I really wish I could help you, I honestly do. But as I told you back at the castle, I can't charm. You saw what happened when I drew that ward—something I truly didn't know I remembered—but it's pretty clear to me that my brain does not want me messing around with all that woo-woo stuff. I know you're hoping I'll lift the curse, but I can't. I wish I could, but I can't."

  "You have the ability," he insisted, his fingers tightening on mine. "You have the power. I see it in you. You are frightened, but it is a foolish emotion. No," he said, forestalling me as I was about to protest his high-handed dictates. "There is nothing to debate—you must charm the curse. There is no other alternative."

  "You can't make me charm the curse," I pointed out. "I don't remember much from the few times I chatted with my friend's Wiccan aunt who told me I was gifted with special abilities, but I do clearly remember her saying that I had to want to use my skills in order for them to work. You can't force me."

  "I can, and I will. I do not wish to force you to do anything, but about this, I am immovable. It is too important." His grip on my fingers was painful, but the agony in his eyes made my heart bleed. Through the touch of our hands I could feel the need within him, the endless torment that filled him with blackness, a torment that he was confident I could end. I shivered at the silent desperation in his eyes, turning my head so I could look away.

  "Tell me about what a Beloved does." I couldn't charm the curse without destroying myself in the process, and quite likely him as well, but perhaps there was something I could do to help him. Maybe I could help relieve the suffering and anguish that gripped him so tightly. The time had come for a decision, and suddenly there was no choice to be made. I knew what I had to do—what I was meant to do. "And before you say it, yeah, I know, you don't think you're allowed to have one because you're the big bad Betrayer and all, but maybe, just maybe I've been given the nod to pinch hit for whoever your Beloved was supposed to be, but who isn't, because of the whole curse thing. If you understand what I mean."

  I could feel him studying me as I watched people at the far end of the waiting area. We were seated in an isolated corner, tucked away from the hustle and bustle that made up life at the train station.

  "Once a Beloved has Joined with her Dark One, his soul is redeemed. She becomes his lodestone, his reason for living. He cannot exist without her."

  "You mean he's her love slave?" I couldn't help but smile at the thought of Adrian being wrapped around anyone's finger. "Sounds cool to me! Wanna give it a whirl?"

  "He cannot exist, because to drink blood from anyone but his Beloved is poison," he answered with a heated look. "He is not a slave to her, but the two are bound together for eternity."

  "So the Beloved becomes immortal as well?" A wistful desire filled me to be made whole, to be able to use my affected limbs as they were meant to be used, to never have to suffer the stares and quickly averted eyes when the weak muscles on the left side of my face were noticed. Surely such a gift would be worth regular blood donations. My eyes slid to Adrian, who was looking at our entwined fingers. It would certainly be no hardship to have him around me for eternity. I doubted I would ever get tired of looking at him, and the strange tension I felt around him, the promise of something profound, left me yearning for the completion I was sure we'd find together.

  "Yes. She is made immortal once the final step of Joining is made."

  "Hmm." The idea was starting to sound better and better with each passing moment. Adrian by my side for eternity, a body without weaknesses, all the time I needed to study the past… oh, yes, the thought of being his Beloved presented a glittering temptation.

  "Nell, I will not allow you to become my Beloved."

  "Maybe you don't have any choice in the matter," I teased, still mentally picturing myself saving his soul, then spending the rest of our lives together bound in peace and harmony.

  "I do," he answered, his lips a grim line. "I refuse to bind you to me."

  I pu
lled my hand from him, pushing down the pain of his rejection. So much for peace and harmony.

  "It is not because I do not want you," he said stiffly, grabbing my hand and tightening his fingers around mine. I risked a glance at his eyes, and almost recoiled at the anger visible there until I realized it was an anger directed inward. "You have seen into my mind—you know that I desire you, that my body cries out for you. But I will not bind you to one with whom you can have no future."

  Distraught as he was, I knew that this wasn't the time to press him for more information, or to argue my point. Besides, I wasn't absolutely sure I wanted to commit myself to him, especially since I couldn't give him what he so desperately wanted.

  "I feel horribly guilty about running out on Melissande," I said, blithely changing the subject. I gently rubbed my thumb over the back of his hand in order to get him to loosen his grip. He dropped my hand like it was made of spiders, turning away to watch the people nearest us.

  "You didn't run out on her. I abducted you."

  "At first. But you can't really imagine I would be here now with you if I didn't want to be."

  His outraged expression gave me the answer to that statement. Before he could go into his "me Betrayer, you Jane" routine, I added, "Yeah, I know, you're the big, bad wolf and all that, but the fact remains that I'm not a pushover, Adrian. I'm here because I want to be here. I want to help you—within the limits of what I can do. But that doesn't mean I feel any less guilty about the fact that I was hired to help Melissande find her nephew. And since you have information that she needs, I figured it'd be a fair trade if you gave me the info in exchange for my help."

  He thought about that for a moment. "Melissande cannot help Damian."

  "Why don't we let her be the judge of that?"

  He grunted a disagreement, but didn't outright refuse to talk. "What do you want to know?"

  I settled back on the bench, tucking my hands into my coat sleeves to warm them. Funny how they never felt cold when Adrian was holding them. "Let's start at the beginning—what were you doing at Christian's castle?"