Blood Eternal

by Marie Treanor

  The wonder of that joined the sweetness induced by his hand turning on her breast. He held his palm flat, only just touching her nipple as he brushed it back and forth. The pleasure was exquisite. She wanted to thrust her breast fully into his hand, yet she couldn’t bear to change what she felt now.

  With an effort, she said, “I sensed something. Round about the time of the earthquake. It felt like you. I was frightened for you.” Reluctantly, it seemed, his gaze lifted from her flushed, elongated nipple to her face. “Were you still there? In danger?”

  “A little, perhaps. It’s a foolishness I can’t resist. I love to feel the power of the earth. I like to feel one with it when it shakes.” His hand closed suddenly on her breast, and she moaned, pushing into his palm at last. “I wanted you when it did. I wanted to be loving you and share two climaxes at once. Perhaps that is what you felt. Or perhaps it was Luk’s awakening immediately afterward. Because that’s what truly scared me.”

  “Why?” She gasped as he lowered his lips to her other breast and began to tease the nipple with his clever, sensual tongue.

  “Because he should have remained at peace. Wakening him was a cruelty that amounts to sacrilege. Sometimes the dead have to stay dead.”

  His mouth closed beguilingly on her breast and began to suck. With an almost superhuman effort, she caught his head in her hands and tugged until he released her nipple with a reluctance that fed her desire almost more than the act itself.

  “Why didn’t you kill him the other night? Why did you let him go?”

  Almost angrily, he said, “Because there was a moment—” His eyes closed. “Just one moment when he looked at me with Luk’s eyes. With friendship and love.”

  Her fists closed involuntarily, tangling in his hair. His eyes opened. “And then he kicked me into the dirt, and the moment passed. He hates me and is protecting Dante.”

  She touched her forehead to his. “Saloman. Can you kill him now?” She didn’t mean his physical strength, and they both knew it.

  He moved, covering her body, and she felt his hardness slide against her inner leg. “Yes, I can kill him now. You are very wet between your thighs. Perhaps there’s something else I can do for you.”

  She pushed at his chest, and he let her dislodge him and roll over until she lay on top of him. “And I for you,” she said, laying her hands flat on his chest to lift herself. She found his shaft without difficulty, captured it between her thighs, and adjusted her position. Then, her gaze never leaving his, she lowered herself onto him and moaned as he filled her. He thrust upward, grasping her hips, and in the frantic, sensual fight for control of their loving, all else disappeared. There was only Saloman, and love, and fierce, hot, unstoppable pleasure.

  Saloman bit into Elizabeth’s throat, loving the way her body jerked beneath him in mingled pain and delight. He would climax again very soon, and wanted to do so with her blood rushing into his body in an endless cycle of pleasure. No one tasted like Elizabeth: power and sweetness, passion and . . . her. Simply her. He drew harder on her wound, feeling her buck under him with helpless ecstasy. She loved the blood drink, and he let her see in his mind how much sensual joy it gave him, doubling her enjoyment.

  Hammering into her in strong, forceful thrusts, he took her, body and blood and mind, until a climax roared through him. One more twist and she was with him. He wanted to drink from her forever, feel that hectic, drumming heartbeat slow to match his own, feel her teeth in his veins, drawing his blood into her as he drank and made love. It was the one most exquisite of pleasures that he had never enjoyed with Elizabeth and never would.

  He was taking too much. He had to force his mouth to loosen, to heal her wound before the pain intruded. As her convulsions eased, he rolled onto his back so that she lay sprawled across his body while he savored the last waves of physical ecstasy.

  “I must trust you,” she whispered, so quietly and muffled into the skin of his chest that he barely heard her. “I wouldn’t let you drink from me if I didn’t.”

  Saloman listened to the sound of his own heart, forcing it to slow down. “To be fair,” he said calmly, “there is nothing you could do to stop me.”

  For an instant she lay still, as if surprised to have gotten an answer, as if she hadn’t realized she’d spoken out loud. Then she raised her head and propped her chin on her hand to look at him. “But there is. I could say no, and you wouldn’t. That is trust.” She gave a quick, wry smile. “Of course, I couldn’t trust you not to bite anybody else who says no—”

  “Be easy. They hardly ever do.”

  “Only because they don’t know it’s happening.”

  “You know it’s happening.”

  “I love you. That’s different.”

  Saloman twitched lazily inside her. “To each his own. Have you been talking to Mihaela?”

  “She said something last night that bothered me. She said I didn’t trust you. And I do.”

  Clever Mihaela. Perceiving the seeds of dissension and watering them. He said, “There are levels of trust. We can’t reach them all at once.”

  She slid one of her hands up his chest to touch his lips. “We walk a bit of a tightrope, you and I,” she whispered. “I overbalance and overcompensate. . . .”

  “But you don’t fall.” Never fall . . .

  She smiled. “Not yet.” Her lips parted again, as if she’d say more; then, as if changing her mind, she kissed him instead. Saloman had no objection to that. He held her buttocks, caressing and kneading until she slid out of his hands, tracing kisses down his chest and belly, and reached, inevitably, the rigid obstacle of his cock. Apparently it was no obstacle, for it received more than its share of kisses. Closing his eyes, he tangled his fingers in her hair and let her have her way. It was sweet and intense and left him momentarily helpless.

  Afterward, he drew her up the length of his body to lie with him in the afterglow.

  Greetings, Saloman.

  He froze. Although the waves of orgasm still clouded his mind and his self-control, he was certainly not imagining the clear, mocking voice in his head. He shouldn’t have been so surprised; he’d left the door open to communication that hadn’t, until now, been initiated.

  Luk, he managed, with an effort at urbanity. How are you?

  Angry. Vengeful. Gathering strengths, old and new. All the things you expect. And fear.

  I don’t fear you, Luk.

  Luk’s laughter was mocking, too loud and too much for whatever amusement had caused it. It echoed around Saloman’s head, chilling his warm, sated blood.

  You should, Saloman. You should. You know I’ll come for you.

  I know.

  Another burst of manic laughter. Look forward to it, Saloman.

  Luk’s huge, disturbing presence slipped away. Saloman didn’t try to prevent it or to follow. Curiously, what he chiefly felt wasn’t anger or even the fear Luk was trying so hard to instill. It was loneliness. The massive presence of another Ancient in his mind was something he had never thought to feel again, and even threatening and full of hate, it had made him yearn for more.

  “Saloman. Saloman!” It was Elizabeth, lying across his chest, her large hazel eyes dark with anxiety as they stared into his. “What is it? What’s happening?”

  “Nothing. I was talking to Luk.”

  Her eyes searched his. “What did he say?”

  “Nothing. He just wants me to know he’s strong. Which might mean he isn’t yet as powerful as he would like to be. Support from Turkish vampires doesn’t come as fast as he expected.”

  “You know that?”

  He moved, rolling her under him. “I know there will always be a few vampires tempted by the return of chaos. I know who is still loyal to me. And outside of Istanbul that is the vast majority, at least while I’m known to be in Turkey.”

  “Maybe you should stay until he leaves.”

  You should stay. Always “you,” never “we.” Why did he want that? Why did he always want more when she wa
s already everything he needed? When he could feel with every glance, every touch, that she would die for him?

  He veered away from that thought, banishing it ruthlessly. He said, “Perhaps. But I have too many other things to do in too many other places. I can’t afford to let this rebellion spread beyond Turkey. And we both know he’ll come to Budapest eventually.”

  “You can’t really know that,” she objected.

  “I know it as well as I know Luk. He’ll remember the prophecy he made centuries ago. That in Buda and Pest would begin the new age, when I am supplanted and the new dawn of the vampire breaks.”

  Her eyes changed, fear whipping through them, swiftly chased by skepticism. “That’s bollocks,” she said roundly, and he smiled with genuine amusement, kissing her mouth.

  “It’s not bollocks,” he said judiciously. “But I’d say it’s open to interpretation.”

  “Wasn’t he ever wrong?”

  “Not that I can recall. But then, he doesn’t see everything, and doesn’t tell everything he does see. And many things haven’t yet happened that perhaps never will.” He released her, and she sat up.

  “I’m hungry,” she said, reaching for her clothes. “I’ll just get some coffee and breakfast.”

  “And then come back to bed,” he said, rising on one elbow to watch her dress. It was an experience he always found peculiarly erotic.

  “Why?” she teased, pulling on a short, provocative top. “Do I need more sleep?”

  “You need more fucking,” he said, and before her blush had properly begun, he reached out too fast for her to see and dragged her back onto the bed.

  At which inconvenient moment, a brief rap sounded on the bedroom door, swiftly followed by Mihaela, walking in with all the ease of friendship.

  “Elizabeth, are you awake? We want to—Oh.”

  It could have been worse. She could have been naked in his arms, lost in the throes of simultaneous orgasm. At least she was fully dressed, and although Saloman loomed over her with intent, he wasn’t actually groping her. Nevertheless, she couldn’t help her agitated shove on Saloman’s restraining arm.

  He released her without comment or obvious embarrassment.

  Mihaela said, “I see you are. Awake.”

  Elizabeth mumbled something as she scrambled off the bed.

  “I’m sorry; I didn’t expect you to have company. Stupidly enough.” Mihaela’s gaze flickered to Saloman and away. Her golden skin began to flush as he swung his naked legs off the bed and reached down for his pants, which had been flung carelessly on the floor, but she kept looking determinedly at Elizabeth.

  “What’s happening?” Elizabeth said, as calmly as she could. She understood this was difficult for Mihaela. It was one thing accepting that her friend had a vampire lover; it was quite another to have the reality flung in her face, especially when that reality was a large, naked Saloman, all smooth skin and rippling muscle. It wasn’t just his male, alien beauty that was overwhelming; it was his very presence.

  “We’ve spoken to Mustafa and we think we should stay here for a few days.” Again Mihaela’s eyes flickered in quick alarm as Saloman rose from the bed and walked across the room to find his shirt. She dragged her gaze back to Elizabeth. “Mustafa and his people will come here as secret backup. We hope you and Konrad—and Saloman, if he hangs around—will prove bait enough to bring Luk and Dante this time.”

  Saloman picked up his discarded shirt and looked thoughtfully at Mihaela, who struggled, but managed to meet his gaze as he crossed the room, donning his shirt as he came. “I suspect I am the only bait that will count for Luk. And he won’t come for me until he’s ready. I need to be in Istanbul, but I can make my, er, signature? . . . linger a little longer. It might fool Dante, at least.”

  Elizabeth said, “Without you, are we strong enough to kill Luk?”

  Saloman looked at her. “You are.”

  Her breath caught. “Because I’m the Awakener?”

  “Most probably.”

  “Then I could have—” She broke off. I could have killed you in St. Andrews. Physically. Emotionally, she’d been completely incapable, because already her unacknowledged and unwanted love had been too strong. She couldn’t do it; she could never do it.

  “Yes,” he said, understanding at once. “You could.”

  For an instant, she wondered what her life would have been like if she’d done it: if she’d actually plunged the stake all the way down into his flesh and pierced his ancient, incomprehensible heart. Just as she’d planned then, her internal conflict would have been over. She’d have avoided all the subsequent soul-searching and divided loyalties. And always, through whatever excesses of grief and guilt she suffered, she’d have wondered. . . .

  She blinked away the fantasy. It was unthinkable now. She stood by her choice and regretted nothing.

  Mihaela said to Saloman, “When are you going?”

  “Today.”

  Elizabeth’s gaze flew to his impassive face. There was a short, curiously pregnant pause. She had the odd impression that it was not she, but Saloman, who waited for the suggestion neither would make. And then his lips quirked and he moved toward the window. “The market has good carpets. I shall buy one for Dmitriu.”

  Chapter Ten

  One day, Saloman thought, hacking his way through rebel vampires like a vandal in a moonlit wheatfield, he would bring Elizabeth to this amazing city. He’d show her where the market had been before the Christian army sacked the city during the fourth crusade. He’d show her where he’d lived when the Ottomans had finally taken Constantinople and Byzantium fell. It was a cosmopolitan city of many cultures, and Saloman still loved it. He’d enjoy showing it to Elizabeth one night when the streets weren’t strewn with the blood of friends as well as enemies. Not that Saloman minded the blood. It was the clouds of undead dust floating in the air that sickened him.

  Without looking, he knew that Volkan, the rebels’ chief leader, still watched proceedings from his vantage point on the Galata Tower balcony, surrounded by his bodyguards. As if he imagined he were safe up there, while his foolish followers did the work of dying. It was a pointless fight, used by both sides as a mere demonstration of strength. And yet, now that Luk’s presence in the city was inspiring the rebels, it had to be done.

  Saloman laid about him with his sword, carving a path through the street toward the great fourteenth-century stone tower that overshadowed it. From habit, the vampires fought in grim silence, but there was little hope of keeping a major street fight from the humans who lived in the many apartments lining the vampires’ battlefield. Twitching curtains, agitated voices, darting shadows at windows and balconies all told Saloman the police would soon be on the way.

  One brave man stood in a doorway near him, as if protecting his family from the mob. Or perhaps he was just insatiably curious. Either way, he paid the price as a rebel snatched him up in passing and bit into his throat. A piercing scream rent the air, as someone, perhaps the victim’s wife, witnessed the attack. Matters were about to escalate. Humans would intervene, even before the police got here.

  Saloman had had enough. Sweeping his sword around in a wide arc that cut the flesh of several vampires at once, he leapt, jumping over the heads of friends and foes alike to reach the human-killer, who, with a snarl at Saloman, let his victim drop to the ground.

  Too stupid to live. And too greedy to tolerate. As quick as thought, Saloman used the stake he’d been saving for Volkan and leapt through the fool’s remaining dust to land facing the rebels’ back line defending the tower. It was an unexpected move that placed his enemies between himself and his allies, and he could feel Volkan’s alarm filtering down from above. The rebel leader even stepped backward on his balcony, out of Saloman’s vision.

  Unworthy, Saloman mocked, and knew he heard.

  The rebels began to surround Saloman, deserting their individual fights to close in for the big kill. And Volkan moved forward again, urging his followers on with excited
telepathic commands. He imagined he was safe, because now, so close to the tower, Saloman’s angle was wrong for a massive jump. Nor could Saloman move back because of the rebels closing on him. Or so Volkan must have thought.

  Saloman jumped anyway. He reached the smooth stone wall only a few feet above the vampires’ heads, and heard more than one laugh of ridicule. Those didn’t last either. Even as an enterprising rebel jumped after him, no doubt with the intention of knocking him off his precarious hold, Saloman swarmed up the tower. It was a mixture of running and jumping, with barely any hand-or footholds, like some huge insect, fast enough to stun both sets of fighters below him.

  Above, from the observation balcony, Volkan’s bodyguards reached down with their stakes and swords, hacking so wildly that the sound of steel clashing on stone echoed around the street. Saloman simply shoved through them, jumping over the railing at last and hurling the first bodyguard he encountered over the side.

  The others rushed him in panic. Even Volkan went into action, but there was no time to drag this out. Vampire deaths were already high enough, and if the hunters and the police arrived, then the human death toll would climb.

  Saloman brushed aside the thrusting stakes with his sword, and with one of his lightning movements, faster than any modern vampire could clearly see, he simply grabbed Volkan by his collar and swung him around so that he acted as a shield against the remaining bodyguards.

  Below, he knew the fight had tailed off as everyone gazed up at the tower to see what would happen next.

  Saloman gazed at the spitting rebel vampire leader with more despair than anger. Unworthy, he observed. In every way. Why on earth did they choose you?

  Volkan knew he was going to die. Fear as well as resignation stood out in his defiant eyes. “Because I’m not you,” he said aloud. “You can’t rule us. You’ll never rule us.”