by Tl Reeve
Miss Craig would have been the distraction none of them needed.
“As you can see the house is just a home,” he said, from where he stood. “We have no trap doors, hidden compartments or leg irons lying about.” Their cages remained at Dr. Brew’s laboratory. It kept their home and duty separate, something Omer insisted upon.
A crease formed between her brows. “Obviously. The bigger question is, what would I find if I went on my own?” Her bottom lip stuck out in a slight pout and a thread of humor wiggled through him. How intriguing she was. An enigma. She surprised him at every turn, exposing a bit more of her personality.
Nevertheless, she was trouble. He could tell. Standing in her presence, watching her calculating mind churn, she’d end up stuck between the walls if given half the chance. “A home, Miss Craig. Nothing more. Nothing less.”
She straightened her shoulders, lifting her chin just so. The haughty expression on anyone else would have annoyed him. On her, he found it enduring. What the bloody hell is wrong with you?
“If you expect me to believe you don’t have secrets here—”
He advanced on her, pinning her to the wall. The aroma of her fear laced with heated excitement caramelized into a confectionary delight sure to make one’s teeth ache. Only this one threatened to pull the beast from his invisible chains to wreak havoc amongst the mortal plain. “I do.”
Jonah glared down at her, determined not to inhale her heady feminine perfume or sink his fingers into her dark, wavy tresses. If he did such now, they’d both regret what would happen next. Her breath hitched. Her pupils dilated, almost engulfing the beautiful shade of her blue irises. The incessant throb of his gums intensified, threatening his sanity—of which he had little left.
No other woman had affected him so. Admittedly, no other woman had the pleasure of being so close to him, unless they were a three penny upright. Chattel, to feed his hunger once a month.
“Personal space, Mr. McRae.” She placed her hand against his chest, the heat of which radiated over his sluggish heart, quickening its pace.
He raised his hand, bracing it just above her head, before leaning in. “My home, Miss Craig,” he snarled. “Is not a museum or a freak show. You don’t get to stare at us as though we’re oddities or something to experiment on.”
Her soft pants brushed over his bottom lip. Saliva, and the venom used to help turn those who accepted the bite, pooled in his mouth. What would it be like to feed from a Beloved—to have a Beloved? To allow her to partake from him while their bodies were entwined, racing to the pinnacle of their love making?
“I’d never,” she whispered. The slight tremble to her voice did nothing to push his beast back into its cage. “I’m not so cruel, I’ll have you know.” Again, the stubborn edge entered her voice, reminding him how much he loved a challenge.
“You would.” He tracked her gaze, watching the play of emotion flicker within the depths of her eyes.
She swallowed hard, and shook her head. The rushing sound of her blood surging through her veins had his prick hardening to the point of pain. The tension in his frame tightened to the point he thought he’d snap in two, like an overstretched elastic band. Her chest rose and fell in an anxious flutter. He enjoyed this much more than should be decent, especially when the tops of her breasts were exposed to his carnal gaze.
“I came here to understand!” Her nostrils flared and anger darkened her eyes. “I came here because I wanted to be here, not because you summoned me.”
“So you say, Miss Craig.” He nuzzled her cheek with his. “But, if you remember, I offered to join up and you rebuffed me.”
“You’re the enemy.” The aroma of her rage darkened, becoming a silky ribbon wrapping around him.
“On the contrary, Miss. I’m trying to protect those who need it most. You’re interfering in such.” He inhaled again, savoring the coppery tang of her blood as it sang through her circulatory system. His body hummed to life, desperate for a drop of her ambrosia.
She smacked his chest in an attempt to shove him away, drawing him back to the present. Jonah held his ground. The deep, all-consuming craving burned through his veins. The red haze coloring his vision heightened his perception, as his teeth pushed through his gums. She pushed him into a crazed bloodlust, the likes of which he hadn’t experienced in close to three hundred years.
“You’re scaring me,” she murmured. The zap of sickly sweet arousal, soured, turning bitter. She didn’t quiver out of need now, but fear dominated her emotions.
“Look at me,” he coaxed. “Don’t be afraid.” He forced the compulsion from his voice, sealing it in a box, so not to terrify her any more than he had. If he could get her to trust him of her own volition, not through the compulsion, the better off they’d be.
Her gaze stayed fixed on the floor in front of her feet. The pulse at her neck increased, forcing blood through her veins. He waited. He’d give her all night. At some point, she’d have to learn to trust him and he’d have to trust her. Jonah reached into her jacket. His fingers skimmed along her side as he reached for the stake he knew she kept tucked at the small of her back.
She gasped. “What are you doing?”
“Proving myself.” He retrieved the stake and placed it to his chest. “Look at me.”
Finally, her hesitant gaze met his. “Why?”
“I’m not the enemy you’re so ready to prove I am.” He shifted his position before taking her hand in his. He savored her warmth, allowing it to seep into his frigid body.
“This is…this is…lunacy. You’re quite mad, Jonah.”
He might be. However, it took the stink of fear out of her smell, allowing the edge of sugar to seep in. “I have been called worse.”
Her grip tightened on the piece of wood. “I should kill you now, put you out of your misery.”
“A misery I would happily leave behind for eternal rest,” he replied, adjusting the hold of her hand.
“Why aren’t you attacking me?” The honest curiosity in her tone surprised him. She believed he’d take her life.
“I’ve told you, Miss Craig. I think we should work together, figure out what this darkness is surrounding our city.”
“A hunter and a monster?” She scoffed. “I highly doubt it would be proper.”
“Who gives a damn about propriety?” He lowered her hand and took a step toward her, closing the distance between them once more. “I couldn’t care less what others might believe.”
“Jonah,” she pleaded.
“Trust me.” He cupped her cheek and groaned. The heat of her natural body temperature and the flush creeping into her cheeks had a shiver running down his spine. He dipped his chin. “My oath. It’s unbreakable.” His lips feathered over hers, before he struck, scraping her bottom lip. He lapped at the beads of blood there, savoring every drop.
“What…What are you doing?”
He smirked before nipping his bottom lip. “Take.”
“No.” She scowled at him. “I won’t be bound to a vampire.”
“I assure you this isn’t a binding. It’s an oath. Take.”
She seemed to consider his offer, and when he thought she might not do it, she licked his bottom lip. A groan escaped him. In an instant, he pushed her flush to the wall. His mouth slanted over hers. His hands went to her hips; the clawed tips of his fingernails bit into her flesh as she wrapped her leg around his hip.
His shaft pressed to the juncture of her thighs. Heaven. Hell. He didn’t know and right now he didn’t care. He ravished her mouth, taking her in a hard, carnal way. Their tongues tangled. Her hand fisted in his hair. She rolled her hips against his. Intense pleasure surged through him. His dick thickened even more as the red haze returned. His senses spiked. Every inch of his skin prickled with awareness.
He broke the kiss and stepped back. The strength it took not to gather her in his arms and take her to his bed left him clenching his fists while taking several deep breaths. The whispered thoughts of her being h
is beloved ravaged him. He didn’t deserve her. She could be his undoing. She could be his death. He’d chuckle at how ironic their situation was, if he weren’t trying to rein in the yearning to claim her.
“Pardon me,” he muttered. “I didn’t intend for this.”
She didn’t say a word. Nor did she move. Wispy ends of her hair had come loose from the carefully arranged plaits. Her lips were swollen and smeared by their blood. Poised to pounce on her, he held himself in check. The surge of yearning slammed through him. He had to get away. Find the concoction Dr. Brew made for him. If it meant drowning himself in the synthetic blood to gain control of his erratic behavior, he’d do it.
“Truly,” she murmured.
“Explore, Miss Craig. Don’t get lost.”
She inclined her chin while rubbing her arms. “The sun will be rising soon.”
“Yes. You are safe here.”
“I find that hard to believe,” she snorted. “A deal is a deal though, and I won’t renege on it.”
He grunted. “If you need anything, Miss Jemmy will be waking soon. She will assist you. Good evening, Miss Craig.”
“Mr. McRae.”
Using his vampire speed, he dashed away, heading for the basement of the home. Nothing like he’d experienced with Annabelle had ever happened before and the thought of his whisperings being true rocked him to his very foundation. A Beloved. A fairy tale. A boon.
Omer met him at the stairs; the apprehensive look on his face matched the uneasy feeling seeping into his bones. Jonah marched past him and began to pace the length of his chamber. How in the bloody hell did he explain this to anyone, let alone the woman who hated his guts?
“Interesting evening you’re having,” Omer stated, trailing behind him.
“Indeed.”
“Perhaps, this is the way of the fates.” The ancient one floated towards him. “A chance to right more wrongs.”
He scoffed. “I cannot control the beast within me.”
“Then don’t.” Omer gave a nonchalant raise of his shoulder.
“And when whoever is calling forth those things happens to do so while I am with Annabelle?”
“She is capable. More so than you give her credit for.” He sat in the chair across from the small, musty leaded windows. The gas lights still burning like a beacon in the night, cast shadows on the man’s face, giving him an eerie appearance.
“It must be so easy,” Jonah snarled. “To offer advice and never step from your prison.”
“It’s never easy, Jonah. I do not limit myself to protect the world. I limit myself to protect my soul. The minute I step from this home, I will be hunted. You have a chance to change your path, and you refuse to grab hold of it.”
“I will always be this monster.” He motioned to himself. “Without the synthetic blood, I am as good as feral. Lost to bloodlust. With Annabelle, it is worse.”
“Because the demon part of your soul knows who he belongs to and you are denying him.”
“Bah,” he muttered. “A human is not meant for a vampire.”
“Is she staying today?” Omer cocked a brow.
“I have offered.”
A small smile played on the ancient man’s lips. “Very well. Enjoy your slumber, Jonah.”
“Somehow I doubt it will be peaceful.” He stormed out of the chamber and climbed the staircase to his room. Thankfully he didn’t run into his Beloved. When he stepped into his room, he closed the door, and headed for the elixir bottle sitting on the small table near his bed. Tonight, he’d get drunk on fake blood, and push the memory of Annabelle’s savory taste out of his mind. Good luck with that.
7
Annabelle stood in front of the large lancet window in the main parlor, overlooking a massive rose garden, as the sun rose. Burnt umber mixed with hints of purple and light blue, pushing back the darkness of the night sky and welcoming a new day.
Poor Jonah. How long had it been since he’d seen such beauty? The idea of never seeing another sunrise filled her with such sorrow, her heart ached for the vampire. Immortality, it would seem, had its shortcomings.
Legends might not always get it right, but the majority did. Monsters did not come out during the day; they lurked under the darkness of night. They played on human fears and phobias, something she’d lost a long time ago. However, even with horrors prowling in the shadows, Annabelle took the time to appreciate the little things, like the sunrise. It gave her hope.
Something she so desperately needed with her job.
Once the sun crested the horizon, she stepped back inside the house and started her exploration of the grounds. There were several thousand square feet to wander around, and she wanted to see the majority of it before Jonah rose with the setting sun.
The heavy gold drapes covering the entry windows had been opened, allowing the early morning light entry, showcasing the art hanging on the walls.
Someone, most likely a maid, recently added wood to the fireplace located near the parlor on the left. The fresh wood hissed and cracked as the flames licked at it.
Fire always fascinated her. In her mind, it was a living, breathing entity. Always moving, changing at a whim with its many colors. She did her best thinking while gazing into a fire, entranced with its beauty.
Her gaze moved from painting to painting, stopping when she recognized several by Renoir, Monet and even da Vinci’s Vitruvian Man. It also did not go unnoticed that many of the paintings were of landscapes depicting the day.
Many of them were unsigned by the artist and several were so old the paint was cracked and peeling from the canvas. Every single one of them were breathtakingly beautiful and showed a wide range of periods and artists. Perhaps Jonah came to this room, gazing up at the bright, cheery pictures, reminding him of what it was like to be human.
Leaving the gallery, she made her way to the music room. Like the gallery room, some instruments she recognized, most she had no clue what they were called or even where they came from. Though some were old, they were well taken care of and well loved.
She spent more time in the study than she meant to. It smelled of Jonah, the dark musky scent mixed with a faint hint of clover. The large oak desk, situated in front of the bay window, surprised her. What didn’t surprise her was its tidy condition. Nothing was out of place. She frowned. For a space he enjoyed, nothing personal existed in there. No extra books or knick-knacks. No writing instruments or sheaves of paper. No light source besides the window. Why?
Confused by the lack of personality, she stepped out of the cold room and followed the hall to the last door on the right. All of the mansion layouts were pretty much the same, so it had to be the library; however her suspicions weren’t confirmed until she turned the knob and stepped inside.
“Oh my,” she gasped, as her gaze flitted around the immense library.
Dead center sat a massive table made of the same quality oak as Jonah’s desk, with a rope beside it. She traced the length of rope to the ceiling, where it had been attached to a containment box on an intricate pulley system. Judging from the size, it could fit completely over the table. She knew what it was used for, since she had a practicing witch on her team. Spells and incantations would be said within the box without worry of contamination or hurting anyone who might be within range.
The two-story library also boasted plenty of light, and there were places to sit around the room. Open books were laid out on several of the tables as if the last person who had been in there was looking for something specific, but had either been interrupted or hadn’t been able to locate what they were looking for.
The scent of ink, leather and paper filled her nose, comforting her, making her feel safe and secure in a place where she would normally be on guard as she crossed to the table closest to her. Her fingers trailed down the text written on papyrus.
What her team could do with a library like this. Books, especially those that were hundreds, if not thousands of years old, filled with spells and ancient folklore cou
ld aid her team. The research alone could give them answers to other questions or situations they might have.
“Good morning, Miss Craig.” A slightly husky voice called to her from the entry.
Startled, she slammed the book in her hand, as if caught doing something she wasn’t supposed to be doing. Tiny dust particles, thrust from the aged pages, floated through the streams of sunlight from the giant window.
“Good morning, Mr. Enright.”
“Feel free to call me Emmitt,” he stated as he stepped from the dark shadows by the door. “Do you know the type of book you hold?”
She glanced down at the ornate, gold laden book. “I believe it is the Book of the Dead.”
“You are correct, but it’s not the only one. Most royalty or the elite of Egypt had scribes write one for their tombs. It was said the book was to be used as a manual on how to achieve and maintain a full afterlife. This one,” he lifted the book from her hands, “this book is rumored to have been done for Ramesses II.”
“I had not realized his tomb had been located yet,” she replied while he placed the book back on the table with reverence.
“Officially it has not.” He reached into his waistcoat and removed a handkerchief, which he then handed to her. “But we have a very good source who knew where to look.”
Unsure why he offered his handkerchief, she took it and wiped at the dust on her hands.
“It was for the blood on your lip and chin.” He motioned to her mouth. “Although, I suspect at this point it has dried and that will not be of any assistance.” He gave her a knowing look. “I suspect Jonah left it there for his own reasoning.”
Slightly embarrassed to have him see evidence of the intimate moment between Jonah and herself on her lips. Annabelle pressed the white linen to her mouth. Licking at her lips, she tasted a hint of salty, metallic copper and Jonah. She couldn’t be the first woman Jonah brought home or made a blood oath with.