She looked over the ground for a sharp rock. Finding one, she held it up for his inspection, and said, “It’s really neat. I jumped out of the bed, um, coffin earlier and stubbed my toe. Anyway, watch.”
Taking the rock’s edge, she cut into her arm. She winced slightly at the sharp pain, and then held up her arm for his inspection. Servaes smelled her blood, his eyes instantly filling to attention. His stomach lurched. His heart sped slightly. Hathor didn’t notice his discomfort. She waited for the throbbing to stop and the wound to heal itself shut. It didn’t.
“I don’t understand it,” she frowned in frustration. “It did it earlier. The skin closes on its own so fast that you can see it heal and there is no scar left. It’s like it never happened.”
“Have you been up here doing that all night?” he asked painfully.
“Ah, I was bored and it was…entertaining,” she admitted sheepishly. Hathor studied him at the sound of his hoarse voice. His eyes were drawing red, his lips snarled to show the tips of his fangs. He was staring intently at her wound. Instantly, she drew her arm away and placed it behind her back. “I’m sorry. Please don’t eat me. I didn’t think it would bother you.”
By slow degrees Servaes’ eyes cleared, his mouth closed. He shut his eyes as he retorted, “That is why you were so tired as to fall asleep again. Healing takes much out of you. You have expended your energies.”
“Servaes?” Hathor looked at him through the scared eyes of a woman who didn’t understand what was happening to her body. Her face paled dramatically, her lips edged with an icy blue. Thin purplish lines began to crawl across her face, starting at her hairline and trailing like little rivers across her flesh. She swayed on her feet, stumbling forward toward him. Her eyes rolled in her head as he caught her to his chest. “I don’t feel so well.”
“Your body is going through withdrawal. You need the power of my blood.” He lifted her into his arms and carried her to the coffin. Hoisting the lid, he placed her unceremoniously inside. Her head reeled back, stiffening in pain. Her mouth opened with a gasp, working desperately to stifle a shriek.
“What—” she began, unable to continue as a wave of pain crossed over her body. Her hands found the material at her sides, ripping it into shreds as she thrashed about.
“You used too much of the energy I gave you playing around like that. You were too close to death when I saved you. Your body isn’t ready to be without the power of my blood. But if I give it to you now, I will not have the strength to get us to your house. Do you understand?” Servaes looked at the drastically changed pallor of her features, turning a deeper gray under his gaze. Her cheekbones became more prominent under her skin, stretching inward as her body began to cave in on itself. Death was coming to try to claim her. Hastily, he tried to shut the lid.
“Servaes,” she called, desperate to stop him. When he looked down at her, she gasped, “your trunk.”
Servaes groaned in dismay, grabbing the small trunk with lightning speed. She smiled slightly before convulsing in agony. Her chest lurched forward, her head digging into the satiny cushion. Her mouth parted with a high, piercing scream. He placed the small trunk at her feet in the coffin before shutting her in.
Servaes felt her violently agitate the coffin as he hauled her behind him. He towed the coffin into the tunnel, trying to keep a firm grasp on it as it shivered and shook. The muffled sounds of her screams reverberated around him, torturing him. He managed to lower her to the floor, awed by the strength of her resistance. Then, as he lifted the coffin up on his arm and grasped it tightly to his shoulder, he tried not to let it fall.
The sound of her pain tortured his blood to filling with an unusual fire. His body sought to heal that which it had saved as she called out to him. With grim determination, he sped faster into the night, hoping he wasn’t too late.
Chapter Eighteen
The hollow shell of night lessened, bearing witness to the travelers as they sought refuge from the threat of day. The moon drew closer to the earth. Its pull sent chills of warning through Servaes that he needed to find his rest. Desperation overcame him, a burning need to fight against time as he sped under the weight of his coffin. Hathor slashed and tore beneath the paneling of wood. He heard the satin lining rip with each excruciating tug as she tried to dig herself out of the box. Her short nails pawed and scratched violently at the lid, threatening to open it against his hold.
Servaes grunted as she kicked viciously. Her graying fingers slipped out of the side. The thin hand looked almost skeletal as she reached threateningly for him. She wasn’t in her right mind. The primal hunger overtook her. The tiny remnant of vampiric power fought to save its host body by seeking more vampire blood. This was a primordial influence none could control. Unless he was the one to drain her, and give her own blood back to her, she would not turn. Some called it genetics, the ancients called it magic. Perhaps it was both. Either way vampires could not be made by accident, which kept victims from rising from their graves unbeknownst to sires. With a heavy force, he pushed her hand back in and readjusted the lid so she was trapped.
With solemn relief, he came through the iron gates of Kennington House. Servaes didn’t notice the silvery moonlit treetops or the gentle glowing of pathway lights that led back to the gardens. His feet raced over the cobblestone drive, up the sweeping arch of front steps.
With a wave of his hand he unbolted the locked house easily, not needing to touch the old wood. The front door flew open under the direction of his will. Servaes hauled the coffin into the front hall, setting it on the floor as tenderly as he could manage in his haste. Then, opening the lid, he let the wild screams of the woman inside echo in the barren room.
“Hathor,” he soothed, motioning his hand over his shoulder to slam the front door shut. He reached down to touch her thinning, corpselike hair. Her eyes popped open, ringed completely red with the last of his blood to stare at him from sunken depths. Her blue lips, thin lines that were held back from her yellowing teeth, trembled as agony racked her frail body. Ripped satin surrounded her. Had he not known, he wouldn’t have recognized her with the deathlike pallor of her skin and the gaunt, skeletal appearance of her once beautiful features.
At the sound of his soothing voice, she calmed from the scream. Hathor gazed at Servaes’ face, listening to his hushed murmurs as he spoke to her in the low words of his native tongue. Her lungs wheezed in horrible pants, loud and raspy, the breaths seeming to seethe, “help me.” She didn’t move within the coffin, her weakened limbs without muscles beneath the sagging, wrinkled flesh.
Once he had her attention, Servaes quickly bit his arm, slashing it open with his fangs. He winced at the shot of pain the needlessly deep gash caused. Blood dripped on the white satin of his coffin, staining the tattered material with little red trails. Hathor smelled the blood and her nose twitched.
Like a demon possessed, she shot out of the coffin, smashing into Servaes’ body. She landed on top of him with a thud, her thighs straddling his waist to keep him from escaping. Her emaciated fingers clutched his arm, pulling the wound greedily to her lips. Her starving mouth clasped around him, sucking hard at the life-giving nectar of his blood.
Servaes let out a moan, half in pleasure and part in pain, as she drank against his flesh. Blood streamed over them, staining their shirts. The hot rivulets pulled erotically at his skin, making it tingle. Her lips slid easily against him. She took his offered life into her mouth, lapping and tasting. His eyes closed, his back arched as she endeavored to drain him. Pleasure akin to that of a light orgasm coursed through him.
“Enough, Hathor,” he growled in a weak pant, forcing her mouth away. Her face filled with life, and her eyes glowed with an unearthly beauty. For a moment her lips followed his wound greedily as it healed shut. He grabbed her wrists in his hands and stretched her arms out to the side, stopping her easily with his superior strength. The motion pulled her stained shirt tightly against her breasts. “Enough. You take too much.”
<
br /> Her eyes began to clear. The blue slowly moved to dominate the red. She swayed above him, her lips stained crimson with his blood. A red current flowed over the corners of her mouth, down her chin and throat. Suddenly, she leaned over with a mighty groan and pressed her lips to his.
Servaes stiffened, taken by surprise. His body was too weak to fight her, not that he wanted to try. Her lips moved against his with a fervent longing. He could taste himself on her, the salty tang of blood sweetened by fear and desire. Her mouth parted, drinking in his moans of delight and matching them with her own.
Her hips rubbed against his midsection, prompting his member to rise from within the folds of his clothing. Servaes pressed intimately into to her. Keeping hold of her wrists, he turned quickly to roll her onto the hard marble floor. His mouth released her lips, only to trail over her throat in dangerous kisses. His tongue licked her flesh, tasting his own essence marking her skin. He brought her pinned wrists above her head, holding her beneath him with one palm. His free hand began to explore her body, gliding over warm blood with urgency to her breasts, ripened with desire.
Hathor pressed frantically against him, helpless with craving. When he massaged himself into her parted legs, she howled in approval. His name came from her lips in a panted whisper. Suddenly, she gasped. His gaze met with hers. She stared up at him in confusion from the depths of her cloudless eyes. Her slender arms remained motionless, trapped above her. Her mouth worked, but didn’t say the things she meant to. Hathor’s eyes fluttered into blackness as she passed out.
Servaes groaned, his gaze glowing strangely in physical pain. His body lurched in denial. Slowly, he rolled from her, his heart racing wildly as he lay next to her on the stone. He refused to look at her, blacked out and oblivious to the passion she aroused so daringly within him. Soon he wouldn’t be able to control it. He would take her. He would claim her body and find his release within her. He couldn’t stop it now even if he wanted to.
He sensed the rising of the sun. Weakly pushing himself on his hands and knees, he crawled to the coffin’s opened lid. Grabbing Hathor’s motionless body by the leg, he dragged her across the marble floor to his side. Then, weakly gathering her up, he dropped her within the coffin and went forth, crawling to the basement, dragging his bed behind him.
Chapter Nineteen
Again when Hathor awoke, Servaes was gone. She knew he went to hunt and tried not to think about it. He’d thoughtfully left the coffin’s lid open and a hall light on to shine into the dim basement bedroom. Her body was relaxed as she crawled from his bed. She barely recognized the room he picked for them. It was close to the basement stairs, an old servant’s chamber with no window. A single bed was in the room along with a dresser. Servaes’ coffin sat atop the bed’s sturdy mattress.
Moving to close the lid, Hathor frowned. Inside, the white satin was torn and had traces of blood. Vaguely, she recalled being trapped within darkness, unable to see through her fading eyes, fighting to be free of an intense pain that had sunk into her rotting flesh and turned her bones to dust. The pain had been terrible, all consuming. Blinking heavily to erase the memories, she pushed the coffin’s lid down and shut the bedroom door behind her as she left.
The basement was less lavish than the upstairs, but its pristine halls were well kept. The hallway was painted in a very serviceable caramel color, with matching tiled floor. Inside the bedrooms were a variety of beds and dressers. Some of them had small windows peeking up from the basement, though most didn’t. The hall wove around a large central kitchen, which was completely equipped to handle catering for large banquets.
She turned off the lights as she walked until her path was scarcely lit by the moonlight coming in through the back door. Quietly, she wandered upstairs. Her stomach growled for food and she realized she hadn’t eaten for over a day. Everything she felt seemed three times as intense. Taking a pastry from the counter, she ate it in slow bites. The rich food tasted bland and rolled in her mouth like a rock until she forced herself to swallow.
Dreams, seductive and wild, had filled the day hours while she slept. She could only imagine the erotic tendency of them was due to her altered state. Never before had dreams of one man left her aching with a need she couldn’t comprehend. Everything she felt was passionate. Her skin jumped, alive at the barest brush of softness, her toes curled longingly into the thick carpet. Even her fingers stayed too long in her hair as she scratched her scalp. Servaes’ life flowed through her veins like a euphoric drug. Her breasts ached and tingled. Her stomach throbbed.
Leaving the house dark, she moved up the stairs, intent on taking a shower. Her clothes smelled horrible, of musty earth and sweat. As she stripped out of them, she frowned at the red stain covering her breasts and shoulder, where her bloody shirt adhered to her flesh. The linen was glued to her, and the shirt resisted when she tried to pull it off. Yanking the stiff material, she tore it from her skin.
She quickly showered, scrubbing roughly at her skin and hair, shaving her legs and armpits. Then, wrapped in a warm towel, she padded barefoot across the hall to her room. Shutting the door behind her, she looked around slowly. Her bedcovers were still rumpled from sleep. She had only been gone a few days, but so much had happened that she felt like a stranger standing in the middle of the plush carpet.
As she slid into a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt, part of her wondered if the ones who wanted her dead would come for her. Servaes seemed convinced they wouldn’t, but she wasn’t so sure. She had seen death in Jirí’s eyes. He was not a vampire she would trust. Although, she couldn’t help but wonder if she was foolish in trusting Servaes as she did. She’d seen the bloodlust in his gaze when he eyed her open wound. Besides, what chance was there for a human and a vampire?
Taking a brush to her hair, she smoothed it away from her face to hang about her shoulders. She wasn’t tired, but she made her way to her bed anyway. Lying down on it, she spread her limbs, liking the feel of the soft coverlet beneath her and the wideness of the space. Then, seeing the balcony doors, she sat up and crossed to open them.
The night was cool with the fragrance of fall. The wind blew around her in lonely wistfulness. Looking up into the beautiful night, she couldn’t stop herself from pondering what it would be like to never again see daylight. The idea left her cold and hollow. Quickly, she shut the balcony doors, not wanting anyone to see her—alive or undead.
“I wondered where you had gone to.” Servaes’ words were light as he watched her from the bed. Running his hand over the soft material as if he had been there for ages, he said wistfully, “I almost forgot what a bed feels like. Though this is much softer than the one I had so long ago. Sometimes I hate the fact we vampires must find our rest in places of death. I heard of a vampire in France who put a bed in the city’s underground crypt, only to have it discovered by explorers. Besides, coffins are so much more portable.”
Hathor eyed him nervously. “How did you get in here?”
“Surely, you must realize by now that we vampires can travel without being seen.” His hand motioned to her bedroom door, which had been shut a moment before but now was cracked open.
She nodded. “Where were you tonight?”
Servaes read the meaning in her eyes and didn’t like it. She was once again becoming more human and less placated in her curiosity.
“You know what I was about,” he answered smoothly, his dark accent illuminated by his baleful meaning. “Or were you searching for details? Shall I take you out and show you?”
“Why are you getting angry at me? I didn’t force you to be whatever it is you are.”
“I am a vampire. And now that I have finished my lunch, it is time for you to come and get yours.”
“I ate a pastry,” she said with a wave of dismissal.
His eyebrow raised slightly in amusement.
“I don’t want your blood,” she said. It was a lie. She did want it, and it disgusted her that she could lust for something so forbidden.
Frowning, she opened her mouth and widened her eyes expectantly. Servaes chuckled. He watched her, never taking his penetrating gaze away from hers. Slowly, he lifted his arm to his mouth and bit into it. A trail of blood crossed over his pale jaw as he held the wound out to her.
She slowly leaned forward, remembering all too well the pain her withdrawal caused. It was a searing fire that tore through her to her bones. She had felt her skin pulling apart, deteriorating with years in only a moment. She recalled leaping out at him with a hunger so intense it shook her to the core. But that was all she could remember. After that she went blank. Eyeing the wound, she asked, “Am I going to pass out again?”
Servaes tilted his head to the side, as if to say, “who knows.”
Licking her lips, she watched his face as she leaned over to him. Looking at his wound, she bent to taste it and hesitated.
“It won’t change you. Now, hurry,” he commanded, hiding his smile, “before it closes.”
Shooting him an angry glare, she put her mouth on his arm. The sweet flavor of him filled her instantly, forcing her to swallow or gag. But as she tasted him she found she liked it. He felt so close to her, her body felt alive with the fire of him coursing throughout. She heard the beating of his heart humming inside her own. His scent whirled around her head. Her lashes fluttered dreamily, closing with rapture.
Servaes moaned at her gentle movements, not as greedy as before, but like a deep caress against him. Closing his eyes, he tilted his head back. “Stop.”
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