5 - Together To Join

by Jackie Ivie

  Good thing he hadn’t taken that bite.

  CHAPTER SIX

  He didn’t know how it happened. One moment he was looking at her and feeling his heart squeeze, and the next, she was in his arms and he was holding her close; cradled there like a small hurt thing and not the monster she was. Clouds of blond hair haloed a sweet face; her eyes were wide and surprised, glistening with more unshed tears that spiked her lashes. Her lips parted just slightly before she slipped a tongue onto them, highlighting their plumpness and wetting them with moisture. He rocked in place, locking his arms about her and then his knees to keep upright. She didn’t weigh more than a buck twenty, she was soft and sweet-smelling, and everything about her was infinitely desirable. And dead. She’s dead, Garrick.

  Then, even that thought failed him.

  Garrick moved his shoulder, lifting her closer…bringing her mouth within a hairsbreadth of his own, shuddering with every touch of her breath as every one of them seemed to match his. She breathed? She couldn’t be dead if she breathed…could she?

  “Garrick?”

  The name was whispered, wrapping around his ears with more sensations he could do without. Damn that fantastically cooked meal. Damn that mug of ale he’d guzzled. Damn her beauty, and his reaction to it. And while he was at it - damn testosterone, too!

  “Don’t say anything.”

  The voice didn’t sound like him. It was too guttural. Reflecting not only the hunger and need and pure want he suffered, but the stricture he was still fighting to maintain. He wasn’t just a hunter, he was the best. The most callous. The strongest in body and in mind. The one man nobody could reach. He didn’t suffer from emotions because he didn’t have them. Period.

  “But…I don’t know what to do.”

  She hadn’t finished the words before he had her mouth, filling his senses and overriding every principle with the first touch of sweet lips, and when the full suction became grasping, needy kisses that didn’t need instruction. And then she slipped a hesitant tongue into his mouth. Garrick lost every hope of containment on a feeling so vast he hadn’t any experience with it. A riot of sensation flew from every flick of her tongue as the body in his arms turned into pure quivering female.

  Damn.

  The sound rising to the height of the chamber wasn’t her moan. Nor was it a groan he hadn’t managed to staunch. It was a blending from both their throats and it resonated up to the rafters of the place before getting another one added to it. The satin and lace coverlet on her bed met his forearms and then her back as he placed her there, her lips shooting sparks of energy that might as well be weapons. She had both arms tightly locked about his neck, as if that would guarantee their connection. She needn’t worry. He wasn’t going anywhere except right into her. And there was a lot of fabric in the way. Garrick twisted and maneuvered his shoulders and arms out of the tweed jacket, keeping his lips locked to hers.

  A slight pain hit the inner section of his lower lip and with one portion of his mind he realized what she’d done. All the rest was in an encapsulated wonder of sensation that sent his world off axis as she sucked at his fluid. It was better than a good whiskey drunk, more beautiful than a first flick of dawn light upon his face, sweeter than the adrenaline rush at taking a kill. He vibrated in place to every lick, and then he tasted what could only be her life fluid. The instant reaction nearly flattened her with the release of control hitting every single cell of his body before he caught it. He hovered above her, his entire body shaking with such a complete infusion of ecstasy, he nearly sobbed with it.

  And he wanted more.

  Hesitant fingers touched at his button placket. He let them. Garrick didn’t have much thought left. There was only the feel, and visceral experience, and fire of ache that needed quenching. More. He needed more. And he needed it now. His hands were at the shoulders of her gown, stretching unforgiving fabric until somewhere it gave, and then he slid away from her kiss, and trailed his lips in absolute homage…down a perfect throat that throbbed beneath his touch, and then to the perfection of a breast tip.

  The upward lunge of her body connected her to more of him, capturing her hands against his chest while her cry seemed to unleash something even more primitive in him. And this time when she fell back to the mattress, he went with her, rolled onto his back, taking her with him, grabbed both sides of her dress and finished ripping it down the center, giving him a solid view of exactly how perfect she was,

  The woman was more than beautiful. Small, pert breasts fit nicely in his palms. He cupped and caressed, and watched the surprise and awe flit across her face as she locked gazes with him. There wasn’t a hint of the green to her eyes now. They were solid black obsidian, absorbing light and then shooting it back at him while ripples of goose bumps rippled from his fingers all along her exposed flesh.

  Garrick couldn’t get enough. Somehow she knew it. The shirt wasn’t an obstacle anymore, as she gripped the opening and pulled it apart, the buttons making minute clicks as they landed somewhere on the floor about them. And then she put both hands along his abdomen and slid them upward, gaining him minute pain as she gouged a cut with the combination of the razor she’d found, and her weight. But before he could react, she launched at him, flattening all along his front, so she could suck and lick and send absolute heaven with every passing moment.

  Garrick rocked with a rush of adrenaline, infused with an effervescence that sparked, and then singed. And then it shot right to his rod, where everything was already primed and pulsating. He had to be in her, and soon. He no longer cared what she was, who he was, and what he was doing. All he knew was a primeval lust for copulation. Now.

  Both hands grabbed at her shoulders, bringing her from feasting on his chest wound, and then he slammed his mouth to hers, mingling their juices with such rage, it wasn’t a groan any longer. It was a throaty rumble that matched the shudder of his entire frame. She had a voluminous skirt, and no zipper. No hooks. Not even a seam he could pull. Trust a woman. There was no way a man would construct such a thing. Garrick was beyond puzzling it, and way beyond stopping. His hands shook as he shoved up fabric, bunching it all along her waist before gripping her fully to him and lunging back atop her.

  He knew exactly how to get these pants off, though, even with a side opening. Garrick twisted side to side as he shoved them to his knees. The mound of her skirts made a perfect incline for him, too, and Garrick took one look, before reaching, and touching, and stroking reaction after reaction from her. Every cry caught at his chest, tightening the muscles and making his fingers even shakier as they quested for, and then slid into her. Perfect! Sweet heaven, this Angelique was perfect, and moist and quivering beneath his touch, sending dew where he most longed to be, and—.

  She hadn’t lied. She was a virgin.

  Garrick stopped, arched his head upward to connect their gazes, and couldn’t prevent the grin. Premium pleasure melded with a feel of absolute male domination and power. She was going to be his. Just his. Everything about her looked ready, and swollen, and needy. From the small gasps coming between her open lips, to the series of pulses her hips made against his hand. She was prepared and then she was begging.

  “Please Garrick? Please?”

  Garrick lunged upward, connecting his mouth to hers, using a hand to guide and then hold her in position for his penetration and thrust. At the first try, she unlatched from his mouth and arched backward, sending a cry of rage and pain and shock into the air about them. Garrick transferred the kiss to her throat, sucking along the skin as her cry sounded now like it contained tears. That’s when he slowed his movements to a series of smaller shoves, going yet deeper and deeper until he was completely and solidly encased, and getting massaged by what felt like a plethora of undulating coils. He did his best to hold still, giving her time to absorb his size, locking every muscle to withstand the motions being made against him, until everything shook at his efforts. And then he was losing.

  “Oh…hell.”

&nb
sp; There wasn’t any way to stop it. The need was too massive; the knot of pressure at his lower back too great; the undulations about him too heady. Garrick placed both hands at her hips and pumped, making the bed rock with it. Sweat coated his palms, making them slide, and he moved them. Her legs slid up his back and he moved to latch her ankles at the base of his spine. Her arms trailed along his, reaching his shoulders, before gripping and holding and then massaging in an ever-increasing motion. Nothing about her looked angry anymore. Or pained. Satisfaction filled her cries, too, each coming in bursts from her throat. Tendrils of hair stuck and clung to him, like hundreds of strands linking them. And still he pumped, experiencing a thrum of sound that matched his heartbeat, growing in intensity and stridency in his ears, until one beat connected to the next in a cacophony of power and force.

  More. Harder. More. Deeper. More. As much as he could take and then more still.

  Garrick plunged deeply and continuously into her, taking and giving and absorbing and experiencing, gaining momentum with every thrust. Her eyes held his, deep and black and bottomless, as if she somehow knew and strove with him. His hands slid again. He moved them lower, grabbing her thighs and lifting and watching the pleasure she derived from it as well.

  His release came closer, going from teasing along the edges of this physical realm, to taking over it completely. Nearer. Gripping his heart, and squeezing. Slamming into his back and claiming. Roaring through his veins and burning. And then he was exploding within her. Garrick arched upward, his groin mashed to hers, sending a throat-tearing cry all the way to her ceiling where it hovered before echoing back at him. Everything in him rioted until fireworks might as well be rocketing through the chamber. It was like no sensation he’d ever experienced: too wide to absorb, and too vivid to endure. For a moment he thought he’d died, and then the hammering of his heart interfered, slamming within his chest while the feeling consumed him. Encased him. Fed him. And slowly dissipated.

  Garrick collapsed beside her, his arms useless and limp - a mixture of wet noodles and air, while the rest of him trembled and worked at absorbing the all-over sensation of absolute bliss and ecstasy. He no longer cared that this incredible experience came at the hands and body of a vampire. It was enough that he had it.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  She had really high ceilings in this place. Garrick contemplated the gloom far above him, where what looked like moonlight filtered in to catch on the wisps of what was probably candle smoke. He’d never felt better. Ever. She’d upended his world and then turned it back around in a skewed fashion, and he’d allowed it. Oh hell. He was an adult. Trained. He knew what he was doing. He hadn’t allowed her to do anything. He’d commanded and then overseen it.

  Garrick pulled in a deep breath; eased it out in small increments; pulled in another. Everything on his body oozed satiation. It was like an opera of bliss. Every muscle twitched in a non-rhythmic cadence, while his heartbeat seemed to be orchestrating the entire thing into a rush of sound.

  He wondered where his conscience had gone to, and then sent the thought away. The last thing he wanted was to soul-search. He’d dredge up guilt and remorse and regret later. Maybe. He had to get this euphoria conquered first. Wait until this feeling dissipated. Or he got some much-needed sleep. This was a body sapped and he wasn’t at all unhappy about it. He yawned, and then just like a woman, she started talking.

  “Oh, Garrick.”

  Her voice trembled on his name. He swallowed, wondering if he feigned sleep, she’d allow it to him.

  “I didn’t know.”

  Nope. She wasn’t letting him off. Garrick pulled in another deep breath and eased it out, too.

  “What?” There. His voice was gruff and low. Not giving a hint of what he felt.

  “That making love was so…”

  Her voice drifted off, sounding like it contained all sorts of wonder and awe. Garrick took another breath, but it came out quick, like a sigh.

  “So…what?” he asked.

  “Miraculous. Magical. Amazing.”

  Every word thrilled. Her voice thrilled. Garrick concentrated on the ceiling until the sensation muted. It didn’t disappear, but he hoped it wouldn’t carry over in his voice. Then, he chickened out and decided just to grunt.

  Coward.

  “No wonder there is so much sin in the world.”

  Surely she was joking. He rolled his head toward her. She really was something. Her beauty seemed to capture the glory of the sky and radiate it outward toward those lucky enough to be in her sphere. He’d thought her angelic when he’d first seen her. It was even more marked now. Almost like a Renaissance angel had fallen from above by mistake. Or been kicked out of heaven for some evil deed. No. That wasn’t true. She didn’t look capable of anything approaching wrong-doing.

  She’s a dead thing, Garrick. A corpse. An ugly, rotting, decaying…

  The words failed. Nothing about her matched the descriptions he marched through his head. She was propped on one arm, and with the other hand she held the remnants of her bodice to cover herself. As if he hadn’t seen and enjoyed every delectable inch already. He flicked a glance to perfect, creamy flesh carrying a hint of cleavage before focusing on her lips. He didn’t dare look into her eyes again. He wasn’t strong enough to fight the pull of her. But at least he knew it now.

  “I should have known it wasn’t true. Nothing this glorious could be sinful.”

  “What?” His voice cracked. He should’ve stuck to another grunt.

  “Making love. It can’t be sinful. Or evil. But that’s all they seemed to speak of all the years I spent in the Convent St-Pierre-les-Dames.”

  “The convent of what?”

  “I hated it there. Didn’t I tell you?”

  “You hung out at convents, too? Waiting for an occasional blood fix?”

  “Non. I was sent there for punishment.”

  “Do you ever tell the truth?”

  The hand that had been covering her touched his wrist. He didn’t move. He didn’t blink, either, and his eyes were starting to burn.

  “All the time. I swear.”

  “I thought you were married.”

  “Oui. But he died.”

  “And I suppose you helped? Sucked him dry maybe?”

  As an attempt to put her firmly back in vampire territory, which might put his feet back on terra firma, it didn’t work. Not much did, actually. She shook her head. He watched the mass of hair on her shoulder move with it.

  “They blamed me for Jean-Claude’s death. Merde! How could it be my fault that he choked to death? I was barely fifteen and had no training in how to respond!”

  “So…you let him die, and his family sent you to a convent, and there you ran across a vampire who just happened to turn you into a creature of the dead. Is this the story?”

  “It was the plague.”

  “Why does this feel like I’m reading a really bad book where the author tosses in every plot thread from history? Now you’re talking the Black Death? Aren’t you off by few centuries?”

  She sighed heavily. As if he was being an insubordinate pupil. She sighed, Garrick. Vampires do not sigh. It takes breath to sigh. The train of thinking wasn’t working again. She still looked and sounded and seemed real. Too real.

  “Pandemics happen all the time. Throughout history. 1790 was another year full of plague. I attended a death. And then I caught a cough that seemed to burn through me. And when I prayed, an angel came to me and offered me life instead. Eternal life. What would you have done?”

  “An angel. Right.”

  “I thought that’s what she was! I didn’t find out until later – much, much later – that I’d been turned into this.”

  “Whatever you say.”

  “You don’t believe me? But why? I swear to you that is what happened.”

  “You don’t have to defend yourself to me. I’m a hunter. I kill vampires. Remember?”

  There was a long silence. He could feel his body tensing an
d barely managed to keep it hidden.

  “That didn’t feel like death to me. More…like life being renewed. Exactly as I always dreamed.”

  ”Why do you act like a real woman when we both know you’re not?”

  “I am a real woman, Garrick.”

  “You’re dead. Ancient. Decayed.” There. He said the words. They did about as much good as keeping them in his thoughts. None.

  “Me? Oh, no. Not me. I feel reborn! Alive! And totally womanly. I have been mated! I’ve found my soul-mate! Not only is it fated, but it’s miraculous. Amazing. Magical. But I have used those terms already. I shall think of other words…once you give me more to describe, of course.”

  He barely caught the groan. She licked her lips, putting moisture on flesh that already looked plump and mauled. His body reacted, in a lurch that wasn’t remotely graceful, although it did make the bed sway for a bit before it settled.

  “Oh…my.”

  He moved his glance to her shoulder. Then past it to the alcove where he’d left his half-eaten meal. He’d been warned of their abilities; trained against their allure; immured to their sensual nature. And all of it was absolutely worthless. A red light started blinking from somewhere behind him, reflecting off the walls.

  “Oh. It appears I have a message. I have to answer it.”

  “That’s a message light?” She had the capability of sending and receiving messages. He stored the information.

  “Oui. And I cannot ignore it. You won’t try and escape again, will you?”

  He shook his head.

  “Truly?”

  “I don’t even know where I am.”

  “Canada.”

  She said it quickly and then there was the slightest pause, as if she just realized what she’d done. Garrick glossed over it as if there wasn’t any bit of meaning.

  “Canada, huh? Great country. Large. How did we get here from Louisiana?”