by Lori Devoti
She got the feeling he was going to be hard to trick. There was a sparkle of intelligence in his eyes, and something else too. She narrowed her gaze on him and tried to discern what it was she had seen.
It was confidence but not at a normal level. The power he possessed had gone to his head, giving him a maniacal edge to this expression. He clearly thought he was invulnerable. Whatever someone had done to him, it had been too much for his weak human mind to handle.
Jascha had been wrong. It wasn’t his intelligence that made him dangerous, it was this madness she could see in his eyes. He believed no one could kill him. It made him reckless and fierce.
Taking a deep breath, she held it in, letting her own confidence grow. She remembered all the battles she had fought and the people she had killed. He wasn’t immortal. He was just strong and maybe a little quicker than a human. He was no more dangerous than a weakling or a werewolf.
He would die by her hand.
Lunging forwards, Marise swiped at him with her claws and satisfaction and hunger flooded her when she smelled his blood in the air. She turned and blocked his attack, keeping alert and not letting the fact she had hurt him go to her head. The smell of blood drove her on and she countered each of his moves, making sure that he couldn’t hit her with the stake. She rolled when he threw a punch and turned as she came to her feet. Back flipping, she put a little distance between them and then came around again.
She watched him closely, studying the way he moved and his tactics. She had to make sure that she remained alert and didn’t let her guard down. So far, he had done nothing to prove his strength or skill. Was he biding his time and waiting for her to slip up?
She kicked him in the stomach, launching him backwards and smiling with grim satisfaction when he slammed into a headstone and slumped to the floor. She didn’t wait for him to stand, instead she stood over him and kicked him in the stomach again.
He grunted in pain and her smile became a grin.
This was for Jascha.
She went to kick him again but he caught her foot and twisted it, sending her crashing to the ground. She rolled away, avoiding the blur that was a stake and breathing hard as she gathered herself. He had just upped the game.
Baring her fangs, she circled him.
“What are you?” he said, curiosity in his eyes. “You’re not a guard like the others were, but what you’re wearing looks awfully like a uniform.”
“I’m death,” she said, calm and steady, ready for his next move.
He tried to side step her but she punched him hard across the face and followed through with an elbow. He didn’t cry out in pain as she had expected him to. He stumbled backwards, wiped his bloodied nose on the back of his hand, and stared at it, eyebrows raised, and then gave her a stunned look.
Marise flashed him a toothy smile, glad that she could be the one to give him a reminder that he was still human and he could still die.
She was ready for him when he rushed her, throwing his body weight into it. She grabbed his wrists and made it close to biting him but he twisted in her grip and evaded her. She turned with him, pulling him close and wrestling to get the stake out of his hand. He growled with effort, not a vampire growl, but a mere human noise of frustration. He had underestimated her. He was pissed off.
Pushing with all her might, she flipped him over and slammed him into the ground. He pressed his feet into her stomach and propelled her backwards, sending her to the ground a few feet from him. She realised that Jascha was right, he was only as strong as a weakling.
She was almost on her feet when he barrelled into her, knocking her back down, and she felt a sharp pain in her right forearm and then a white hot burning.
She roared and scratched his face, gouging his cheek and kicking him off her at the same time. Shuffling backwards, she bought herself time and got to her feet. When she looked around, he was running, his hand pressed against his cheek. She flicked the blood off her hand and then wrapped it around the wound on her other arm as it stung and burned. Damned holy wood.
Gritting her teeth against the pain, Marise began the short walk back to the mansion. She shifted her hand aside and looked at her jacket. The stake had torn through her sleeve, wrecking it. She growled and then grimaced when her wound hurt, and placed her hand back over it to stem the flow of blood.
He was definitely dead now.
The next time she saw him would be his last day on Earth.
Chapter Six
The walk to his room seemed longer than before. Marise’s arm was killing her, burning fiercely, and blood covered her hand. No one seemed to notice it as she made her way to Jascha, dripping water in a trail behind her. She had to check on him. She had to look him in the eye and see if she was brave enough to do as Tynan asked of her.
Reaching his door, she hesitated for a mere second before opening it. She locked it behind her, instinct telling her that Alyssa would be along as soon as someone mentioned where she was. In a way, she felt sorry for the girl, loving a man who loved another. It was no way to spend eternity.
Her eyes found Jascha. He was awake, sitting up in bed and reading. She walked to the bed and sat down beside him, not caring that she was making the bed damp. Her gaze skipped from cut to cut on his exposed chest and abdomen, checking him. The sight of them still turned her stomach and brought her concern to the surface.
She reached out and brushed her fingers over them, pausing only when she saw the blood coating her hand.
Jascha had seen it too.
He grabbed her hand and tugged it to him before turning gentle and cradling it as though he would hurt her by holding it. She didn’t stop him as he inspected it and didn’t hide the pain from him when he looked into her eyes. She wanted to fall into his arms and feel them around her, holding her, taking away all her hurt and tiredness. She wanted him to make her feel safe as he used to.
“Take it off,” he said with a nod to her jacket.
She obeyed, silently removing the coat and letting it drop to the floor. It was ruined now. The sight of it torn and wrecked seemed to break the shackles and smash the defences around her heart. Reality sank in swiftly and painfully. She didn’t want to spend eternity without Jascha.
Loving him and not having him would make eternity hell and she didn’t think she could bear it anymore.
“Who did this?” His voice was soft, as gentle as his touch.
Her eyes followed his fingers as he rolled her sleeve up to reveal the wound on her arm. He breathed in sharply and she wondered if the cut was worthy of such a reaction. She looked at it, taking in the deep gash and the charred skin where the stake had rested long enough to burn her. She’d had worse injuries but something about the careful, tender way that Jascha was treating it made her feel as though this little scratch was life threatening. He seemed to see it that way.
His grip on her arm was so light, barely touching her as he cradled it and his thumb brushed along the skin beside the wound. Her focus shifted to his face, drinking in the sight of all that concern directed at her. There was so much love and affection in his expression and all of his actions. It melted her heart, releasing the last of the chains around it and leaving her free to accept her love for him.
She couldn’t stop herself from smiling, from feeling light and wholly painless because of how he was acting. It was endearing, beautiful. She had never felt so loved.
“The vampire hunter. I hurt him too. I know I can defeat him now.”
“This needs to be sealed,” he said in a low voice and glanced at her with eyes that clearly expressed his feelings.
Marise nodded and then closed her eyes when he changed into his vampire guise and lowered his head to her arm. She tensed at the first tentative stroke of his tongue against the wound and then sighed when he began to clean and seal the cut in earnest. The kisses he pressed against her arm didn’t go unnoticed. Her chest ached and stomach flipped with each one. She wanted to cry, and laugh, and tell herself that she was craz
y for keeping away for him for so long. Fifty years of robbing herself of this pleasure, of the warmth of his affection and the comfort of his embrace. She must have been insane.
He licked her arm again and then pulled away. She frowned at the loss of contact and opened her eyes to look at him. He was smiling, evidently satisfied by the effect he’d had on her. She smiled in return and then her expression shifted to confusion when his smile faded into a sorrowful look.
She kept her eyes locked on his face as he wrapped a bandage around her arm, pinning it in place. He smoothed it, trailing his fingers down to her hand and holding it.
“I know an apology won’t fix things between us, Mari, but I am sorry,” he said and then looked up into her eyes. She hated all the hurt she could see in them. She had made him suffer for fifty years because she hadn’t had the bravery to tell him, to admit to things and take part of the responsibility for what had happened. “I missed you. I thought about committing some offence so you’d have to come for me.”
She shook her head.
“I’m glad you didn’t,” she said. “If you’d done that, I would’ve had to kill you.”
He smiled.
Reaching over, she ran trembling fingers over the bite marks on his neck. His gaze slid down to watch what she was doing. Could he feel how scared she was? Could he sense how nervous he made her now?
“They always looked good on you,” she whispered.
He frowned and met her eyes again. “They’re my sire’s marks... yours are the other side.”
She hesitated and shook her head almost imperceptibly.
“No, they’re not.”
He frowned for a moment and then a spark of understanding flickered in his violet eyes.
She brought her hand up and caressed his cheek, pushing rogue strands of his long black hair behind his ear. She had missed him so much.
“They’re all mine,” she whispered and dropped her hands to her lap and stared at them.
“What?” His voice was loud in the silent room and it startled her to hear the force in it.
“All mine... that night when Tynan showed you to me, I wanted you, and in the heat of the moment I took what I wanted and then I was scared. Almina offered to take over, to convince you that she was your sire and to train you so I could keep my distance. Only I couldn’t. When you kissed me that day, I should’ve told you who I was. Tynan was right. All this could’ve been avoided.”
She struggled to keep her eyes on her lap. They wanted to meet his, to judge his feelings, but she couldn’t face the idea that he might be angry with her. He might hate her.
The silence ate away at her, stealing a little more of her hope with each passing second.
“You spoke with Tynan? He knows?” His voice held no anger but she still couldn’t find the courage to look at him.
She nodded. “He didn’t speak so much as shout. And yes, he knows.”
“So why the confession?” There it was, that tiny edge of anger she had been waiting for, only it seemed restrained, controlled. Wasn’t he mad at her for never telling him? Didn’t he hate her?
Her heart said it was too much to hope for.
“Because Tynan was right. You deserve to know. I’ll be gone in a few days. Please don’t follow me when I face the vampire hunter. I can’t bear the thought of you getting hurt. If you love me, stay here.” She rose from the bed and stared at the floor.
“You know I can’t do that. It’s my love for you that drives me to protect you,” he said with so much conviction that her chest ached.
Leaning over, she pressed a light, shaky kiss to his lips and breathed in when he responded. She broke away and sighed.
“Thanks for the arm.”
Jascha watched her walk to the door, anger rising inside of him. How could she turn so cold again? He had thought they were on the brink of reconciliation and now she was leaving. He frowned. She was running away.
He threw the covers aside and got out of bed. He was damned if he was going to let her run again. He yanked the door open and followed her out into the hall, not caring that he was naked and that the guards walking past were staring.
Marise was barely a few steps outside his door. Grabbing her arm, he pulled her back into the room, slammed the door and shoved her up against it.
She squeaked.
He silenced her with a kiss.
His lips claimed hers with passionate strength and demand. He parted them with his tongue and delved into her sweet mouth, his heart rejoicing when she began to respond. Her tongue brushed against his and then her hands were on his shoulders, pulling him to her.
He closed his eyes when her fingertips grazed his skin, light tentative strokes that called to him, luring his body into responding. It had been so long since he had kissed a woman, since he had kissed her. Fifty years was a long time to be without the woman you loved, to be without love, and without another’s touch.
Jascha grazed his fingers down her arms to her hands. He held them a moment before moving his hands to her waist and pulling at her shirt to free it from her trousers. She broke the kiss, leaning her head back into the door behind them, and he watched her face as he finally freed her shirt and raised it. She bit her lip at the first brush of his fingers against her soft skin. His stomach tightened with anticipation, his desire escalating as his body responded in the only way it knew how.
She moaned when he pressed his thumbs into her sides below her ribs and ground his hard cock against her crotch.
Her head tilted back, beautifully exposing her milky throat and his eyes dropped there. He stared at the marks on her neck—his marks—and remembered all the times they had spent together.
Running the pads of his fingers over her throat in a light caress, he thought about what she had said to him. She was his sire but she had been scared. What had frightened her enough to drive her into the decision to let another raise him?
He brought his mouth close to her neck and pressed his cheek against hers.
“Why did you run away after you turned me?” he whispered against her ear.
She shivered in his arms and sighed. He thought she wasn’t going to answer.
“I thought you’d only love me because I was your sire,” she said, her voice trembling and betraying her nerves. He could sense it in her, had always been able to feel a trace of her emotions.
“The moment I laid eyes on you that night... across that dance floor... I fell in love with you,” he whispered against her throat.
She pushed him backwards, her wide eyes echoing her shock.
“You did?” Her tone matched her look—surprised and stunned. “When you were human?”
“When I woke to another... I thought I was going insane. I swore I’d fallen asleep with you. I hated what had happened to me.” He pressed a finger against her lips to silence and reassure her when she leaned forwards to speak. He smiled and his eyes followed his fingers as he brushed the strands of dark hair from her forehead. “But then I saw you, and realised you were like me, a vampire, and after that... I did everything I could to make you notice me.”
She smiled but there were tears in her eyes.
“The thought that I had fallen asleep with you the night I died plagued me, but it soon drifted to the back of my mind as I tried to prove myself worthy to you. I used to follow you everywhere. I used to love watching you in the garden when you thought no one was around.” He wiped a tear from her cheek.
“I knew you were watching... that’s why I’d go there, to let you watch, in the hopes that you’d come to me.” Her hand lightly cupped his cheek and then trailed down to his neck. She stared at it and he knew she was staring at the marks on his throat.
She was his sire. He realised that meant she was the only one to ever bite him. He had never allowed Almina to.
“I love you, Mari.” He held her gaze, furrowing his brows so she could see the apology mixed in with what he had said. He had never meant to hurt her.
Her expression rem
ained flat for a moment and then she smiled.
“I feel like I’ve always loved you, Jascha.”
He grinned and pulled her close, wrapping her up in his arms and savouring the gentle pressure of her cool fingers against his bare back.
Pressing kisses to her throat, he steadily traced the curve of it, licking her earlobe as he reached it. He kissed along her jaw to her mouth, claiming her lips again and stealing all her breath away as his tongue tackled hers.
Marise closed her eyes and surrendered to her feelings and Jascha. She ran her fingers down the arch of his back to the smooth globes of his buttocks and smiled as she refreshed her memory of them. She had spent countless hours studying the beautiful curves of his body as he had slept. Sometimes she had wished she could draw so she could capture his graceful, lean but powerful physique on paper so the world could see how perfect he was.
She bit back the tears that wanted to come when happiness filled her and ignored the voice at the back of her head that reminded her of her duties.
Jascha swept her thoughts away for her when he scooped her up into his arms and carried her across the room. Panic that he would reopen his wounds filled her mind, but all sensible thought quickly left her when he laid her down on the bed. His eyes sparkled with love and fire. She smiled back at him and then frowned when he pulled back and she saw all the marks on his body again.
“You’re really in no condition—”
He cut her off with a kiss, rough and powerful, deliciously demanding. She melted into the bed, every bone in her body going limp beneath his persuasive kisses and tender touch. He lifted her shirt up, bunching it around her breasts, and grazed her stomach with his fingertips. She sucked it in to evade him, giggling as it tickled. He pressed a kiss to her chin and then disappeared. She closed her eyes and arched her back when he licked her stomach, running his tongue around her belly button and then nipping at her side with blunt teeth.
She got the feeling that she wasn’t going to be able to convince him that he wasn’t up to making love with her.