Bound by Blood

by Evie Byrne

  Gregor grabbed onto the last question like the last car on a passing train. “Dead? How could I run a nightclub if I were dead?”

  “Undead, I mean.”

  “Undead. I fucking hate that term. You’re either dead or you’re alive, and the difference is pretty obvious. Being undead is like being a little pregnant. Impossible.”

  “I’d like to think there are all sorts of in-between states, places we don’t know, or understand.”

  “Maybe there are such places, Madelena, but I don’t know them.” As he spoke, he watched the sadness take hold of her again. He would do anything to bring back her smile, but he didn’t know what to say.

  Fortunately, the sadness did not linger long before her curiosity got the best of her. “And your brothers are…too?”

  “Yep, the whole family.”

  “So you were born the way you are? It’s an…inherited thing?”

  “That’s right. We’re all natural. Organic, even.”

  The smile was back. Thank God. “Wow. Just think, bratty little vampire kids. What a nightmare that would be.”

  Gregor rolled his eyes at a few choice memories. Alex projectile vomiting an entire bucket of popcorn on their Aunt Sophie. Or Mikhail dragging a Mormon missionary into their house, the plan being to hide him in their room and use him as a convenient snack dispenser. Gregor had made his own misguided attempts to fly. But that had been Mikhail’s fault. “Talk to my mother about it. She’s a little nuts, and that’s probably why.”

  “When—”

  “Hey, I think I get to ask a question now.” This vamp stuff was turning out to be great Madelena bait, and he wasn’t going to blow his wad all at once.

  “Just one more.” A blush spread up her cheeks. “When we are together, do you want to…I don’t know how to put it.”

  “Taste you.” His voice was so hoarse it was embarrassing, and he knew there was no hiding the truth from her. “Yes. But I’d only do it if you asked for it. And it’s not like I’d kill you or anything. None of that movie crap. It would just be…nice.”

  “I see.” Her blush turned deeper. He ought to have been pleased to see her so shaken up, but he was just as confused, or embarrassed, or whatever it was. It was not pleasant. He felt like a lecher for wanting her as much as he did.

  “Now can I ask my question?” he asked and she made a faint gesture of agreement, keeping her eyes on her beer. “Would you ever consider dating a vampyr?”

  She burst into tears.

  Chapter Five

  “Madelena?”

  Vampire or no, Faustin was like any man, which meant that tears horrified him. She glanced at his face, stricken and helpless at the sight of a crying woman, and knew that in a way he was worse off than her.

  “I’m sorry.” She tried to put a lid on the tears. “It’s just been a long day, and I’m tired. I’d like to go home now.”

  “Of course.” He pulled out his phone. “Honey? Will you have my car sent to a bar called O’Sullivan’s on Madison and East Forty-first? All’s well? Later.”

  When he hung up, a terrible silence fell between them. Why did he have to be so great? Even if he weren’t a friggin’ vampire—subject of many of her erotic fantasies—Gregor Faustin would fascinate her. And the good Lord knew she was attracted to him. The sound of his voice, the grace of his fingers, this new, strange kindness in his face--all these things were devastating. So she cried, like an idiot, over what she could never have.

  “Can we wait outside? I need some air.” More like she needed to move away from those deep-set, questioning eyes of his.

  Outside, the awkwardness continued. They shuffled their feet on the sidewalk, white puffs of breath hanging between them. The tears kept leaking out. She wiped her eyes and nose on her scarf and considered taking the train home. A nasty, cold wind was whipping up the avenue.

  “I’m sorry.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “I know it’s a lot to take in.”

  “It’s not you!” she cried, frustrated, knowing that’s what everyone said when they meant exactly the opposite.

  “Come on, stand here.” Taking her by the shoulders, he positioned her against the wall of the pub and put his body between her and the wind. It was too sweet. She wished she’d just keel over there and then and get it over with. He brushed the hair out of her eyes and tried to tuck it behind her ears. “Tell me what this is all about.”

  “I told you, I’m not dating. I can’t be in a relationship right now.”

  Faustin cleared his throat. “Uh, maybe you should know that vamps are disease proof. We can’t carry or transmit.”

  Maddy blinked through her tears, thinking that was an odd thing for him to say. Then it hit her. “Jesus, Faustin! I don’t have herpes—or worse.”

  He spread his arms. “Well, what am I supposed to think when I know how much you want me? Why the static?”

  “Oh, you know I want you?”

  It was a stupid thing to say, of course, and she should have known what would happen. She recognized that hungry expression—the same one he had just before he jumped her in the cab—and threw out her hand, bracing it against his chest. It seemed a very little thing to stand in his way.

  “No,” she whispered. “Please.” She just couldn’t take it.

  Very gently, very deliberately, he reached over her blocking arm, removed her glasses and tucked them away in his breast pocket.

  “Don’t.” A fresh tear ran down her cheek, hot against her skin.

  “I need to see all of you, Madelena.”

  A fine, answering tremor spread through her whole body. He tugged off her beret and stuffed it in another pocket. With continuing, infinite gentleness he traced his fingers over her face and down her neck. Then he cupped his hands around her neck and drew them upward, gathering her hair up as he went, piling it on top of her head.

  Between the no glasses and the stinging tears she could barely see at all, but his gaze warmed her skin. He turned her face one way and then the other. Her teeth chattered, her insides wound so tight she thought she might be sick all over his shoes. That would serve him right.

  “You look like a queen,” he whispered. Still holding her hair up, he bent down and gave her a kiss. Just one. A prince’s magic kiss.

  Oh God, her poor heart, now it was broken in every way possible. Her entire body ached from shaking. “Gregor, I want to. But I can’t.”

  He kissed her eyelids. He caught her tears on his tongue. But when he returned to her lips, he was not so gentle anymore. Each kiss was like a lapping flame. An answering hunger broke free in her and the trembling stopped. She slid her hands up his chest and looped them around his neck. His cat’s tongue swept into her mouth and she sucked the salt off it. She wasn’t so addled that she didn’t know that she was making a mistake. This would be a disaster, no doubt about it. But it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered when she was kissing Gregor Faustin.

  She had no idea how long they kissed, but gradually she became aware of the polite hum of an engine and the slow blink of hazards.

  Gregor broke from her lips to trail kisses along her jaw to her ear. At her ear he murmured, “The car is here. What do you want to do?”

  While she thought about it, his tongue curled around her earlobe, ensuring that the only sensible answer, which was to have a cold shower and a stiff drink, never made it out of the suggestion box.

  “Hmm?” Now he was nibbling at her throat. “Jammies?” The bastard knew she couldn’t say no to him. She sank her fingers into his hair, which was surprisingly silky, and stroked the back of his neck, so broad and strong, wanting him naked in her arms. Didn’t she deserve one last fling?

  “What I said holds.” How she mustered the brain cells to speak, she had no idea. “I can’t be in any kind of relationship.”

  Oh, he did not like that at all. She reached up and smoothed his brow with her hand. “But I would like to spend this night with you. Just this night.”

  That was terrible. She sounded
like a bitch, but it was all she had to offer. Gregor’s eyes darted back and forth over her face. God knew what he saw in her. Why did he even bother? Maybe this would piss him off, and they’d both be saved. Come on, Faustin, tell me to fuck off.

  “I’ll take it,” he said, and she almost laughed aloud. It was hopeless. “Your place or mine?”

  This wasn’t really happening, was it?. “Where’s your place?”

  “I live at Tangiers.”

  Intriguing. “Take me there.”

  It was easy not to think about the future. Easy to drown in Gregor Faustin. The valet drove them to the club while they made out in the back seat. Maddy didn’t care that this stranger heard her panting, and could see them pawing each other in his rearview mirror.

  The trip seemed to take no time at all, but when they pulled up in front of the club, and someone opened the door for her, she found her legs had turned to jelly. Gregor came around and picked her up, just like their first night together.

  A steady throbbing pulse of music leaked out of the club. She fished in his breast pocket and found her glasses. A line of fashionable kids materialized on the sidewalk, smoking, posing—and staring at her.

  “You don’t have to carry me, really, I can walk.” But she liked being in his arms, and didn’t really give a damn what the undernourished brats thought.

  “I want to,” he said. “It’s traditional anyway.”

  “Traditional how?”

  Two gigantoid bouncers parted for them, nodding to Gregor. He deftly swung her to one side and stepped through the door. The volume of the music increased tenfold, and he shouted, “This is my castle.”

  Inside, her first impression was stars—thick stars above in velvet blackness. These weren’t your tin foil prom stars, these were gorgeous nets of tiny lights, billions of them twinkling and blinking. In the distance she saw a series of graceful Moorish arches, and beyond them an immense, sunken space rolling with fog and heaving with bodies. Through one arch she could see a gilded birdcage swinging above the fog, a girl writhing inside it.

  In her imagination, Tangiers had been a dungeon full of whips and chains, but instead it was a Moroccan fairy tale. Gregor didn’t seem to be inclined to give her a tour, though. He was weaving through the crowd with a purposeful stride, heading for a dark corner behind the bar. As they neared the corner, she saw his destination was an unmarked door, black against black.

  Someone fell into step beside them, just behind Maddy’s shoulder.

  “Honey,” Gregor said. “This is Madelena López de Victoria. Madelena, this is my assistant, Honey Walker.”

  Ah, so her name was Honey. That was a relief. Maddy twisted around to say hi. Honey was skinny as a rail, probably six feet tall, and wore what Maddy could only describe as a short poncho made of peacock feathers, and very little else except thigh high boots.

  “I’m pleased to meet you,” Honey said, her English accent crisp over the music and hubbub. Her face gave nothing away at all. Maybe Gregor made a habit of carrying women through his club.

  “Gregor,” she said, “Martinez is satisfied with your offer. I’ve got the papers when you’re ready. Lily is out sick, Mike is subbing. The men’s loo is backed up and overflowing.”

  “Very good,” said Gregor, throwing his back against the black door. “I’m not to be disturbed.”

  They slipped through the door and it swung shut behind them, muffling the music outside. They were in a smallish room with low lights and a few pieces of leather furniture. Not much in the way of décor. He carried her through another door into another small room, this one containing nothing but a Spartan bed. It didn’t even have a window.

  “This is where you live?” Maddy searched for socks, photos, books, any sign of habitation. “Where’s your stuff?”

  Gregor set her on her feet and answered as he threw off his suit jacket, “I don’t need stuff.”

  Clearly not in the mood for conversation, he began to unbutton her coat. Okay, so maybe she shouldn’t expect to see photos of Gregor’s trip to Disneyland, but still, the place had a heavy, silent, dead quality to it. Distinctly tomblike.

  “What’s with this room?”

  “It used to be a meat locker.”

  He threw her coat on the floor with his and took her glasses away again, leaving her vulnerable. This was really happening. Fresh nerves made her run at the mouth.

  “Oh, that’s nice. Real homey, Faustin. Here I thought you were standing against the crusty old stereotypes, a new kind of vam—”

  He stopped her mouth with a kiss. How long since their last kiss? Five minutes? Far too long. And now that they were alone, he held nothing back. She’d thought his cab kisses intense—she knew nothing. This was nothing less than a decisive claiming, thorough as a fuck.

  Everything in her opened up to him, welcomed him in as liquid lust coursed through her veins. She swayed. Her legs were going soft, conspiring to get her on her back as quickly as possible.

  Gregor tugged her sweater up, stripping her down to the men’s sleeveless T-shirt she wore as an extra layer against the library chill. As Maddy liked to say of her underwear collection, she did not know Victoria’s secret.

  A brush of wool over her face, a breath of cool air up her belly, and all of a sudden she was on her back, on the bed, and he was over her. His mouth was on her throat. Between deep sucking kisses he was testing her skin with his teeth, equal parts brutal and tender.

  “Oh!” Maddy realized he was going to “taste” her, and every part of her wanted him to—except that part that wanted to live long enough to have sex with him.

  “Gregor, stop.” Not a twinge of reaction from him. She wriggled, pushing against his weight, but all he did was hook an arm under her and hold her tighter, his teeth sharp against her throat.

  “Shit! Gregor, wait!”

  Her blood pressure was too low and her O2 levels were crap. She couldn’t afford to lose a drop of blood to him. Not knowing what else to do, she made a fist and boxed his ear.

  He didn’t flinch, but he let go of her neck and raised his head. His eyes had gone flat and his mouth was cruel around the corners.

  “You said I had to want it.” She was scared now, and tried not to show it. “I don’t. You can’t take my blood.”

  For a few horrible seconds she wasn’t even sure if he could understand what she said, because his expression remained the same. Pressed beneath him, she was very aware of her own quick, panicked breaths and the heavy rise and fall of his chest. At long last, he closed his eyes. When he opened them again he looked a little more like himself. Then he spoke, and it sounded like his voice had been dragged through a gravel.

  “I—need you.”

  Maddy stroked his cheeks, trying to revive the more human parts of him. “Any way but that, Gregor. You can have me any other way.”

  His cheek twitched, his entire body quivered, and he rasped out, “Scared?”

  “No, sick. I have a heart condition.”

  That made him sit up and rub his face with his palms. He was straddling her hips, so his erection was right there in front of her face, pressing against his flat-front trousers. She turned her head aside.

  He got off her and started to pace around the room, angry, disappointed, something she couldn’t quite read. “What’s wrong with your heart?”

  Without his touch she was cold, and she was frightened that she’d just lost him. A day ago it wouldn’t have mattered. Now it did. It mattered what he thought, it mattered that he wanted her, because she had never wanted anyone so much in her life.

  Maddy stood up and held her hands out to him. He pulled her close and buried his face in her hair.

  Chapter Six

  He loved the way she folded into him, trusting, even though she’d seen the monster in him. Perfectly sized, and sexy as hell with that wifebeater T stretched tight over her tits. Both fear and desire scented her skin—a heady combination for any vamp.

  “Tell me.”

  “I
t’s not such a big deal.” Madelena’s voice was muffled against his chest. “But my blood oxygen levels are low. I need to keep all my red blood cells for myself.”

  Gregor almost laughed aloud. Scorn Fate and she’ll bitch-slap you back. She’d given him a mate he couldn’t feed on.

  “Is this a permanent condition?”

  “All my life.” She lifted her head and gave him a crooked little smile.

  Something was wrong. Something wasn’t adding up, but it was hard to think, what with half his brain gone to blood lust, and the other half entranced by the way she was looking at him. So much need in her eyes, honest need. Her fingers traced patterns over his chest, played with his shirt buttons.

  “So, should I go?”

  Gregor touched her chin and noticed the slight tremor in it. Her eyes flashed, as if she expected him to toss her out.

  “Stay.” He answered the next question before she asked it. “I’ll behave.”

  Somehow.

  She nodded, solemn, accepting, and began to unfasten his shirt. He held still and let her undress him, because he needed the time to muster his self-control. After she dropped his shirt to the floor she knelt down in front of him. His heart stopped and his cock leapt for joy, but she only removed his shoes and socks, her touch sure and steady. Then she stood again, unfastened his belt with a tug and slid his pants and boxers down his hips, deftly freeing his hard cock from the elastic waistband as she did, her touch tantalizing, but all too brief.

  He stepped out of his pants and stood naked in front of his rather problematic wife-to-be. No woman had ever studied him as boldly as she did now, her gaze raking him from his feet up, disconcerting him. When her inspection reached his cock, she lingered there, her gaze enthralling him like a touch. His cock ached, strained for her. A single drop of pre-come formed at the tip. He imagined he could come for her if she would just keep looking. At the threshold of his hearing he picked up a little noise from the back of her throat. A choked cry. Pure desire.

  In that moment he knew he was enslaved. He may as well be in cuffs and leg irons.