by C. P. Foster
“Where were you in the hierarchy?”
“Oh, very low. Only the lowest give in to the temptations of the children of the earth.”
“What do the older and wiser ones think of this? Is it something they forbid?”
He shook his head. “We have no laws, but some things are considered to be…sins. The chief of them is coming here. That is a sin against our true nature.”
“Are you punished for it?”
“The act itself is considered punishment enough. They grieve for us when we have gone and wait for us to return.”
“Is that what happens when you pass on? You return?”
“No.”
She hoped he would explain further, but this time he had nothing else to say, or at least nothing he was willing to tell her. Instead, he changed the subject. “Would you like something more to drink? Coffee, perhaps, or a glass of wine?”
“Coffee would be welcome. Iced, if you don’t mind.”
“Not at all.” He left her to consider his evasive response to her question while he made the coffee, or perhaps had someone make it for him. She found it difficult to imagine him doing anything so mundane.
When he returned, she moved on to another of her follow-up questions. “You said you wanted to leave something more behind, that you wanted to be understood. Are you familiar with the Journals of Iphra-el?”
He blinked and raised his brows. “I knew him. We saw each other once or twice a century. He showed me his journals the last time we met, not long before he passed on.”
“You’ve seen them?” She leaned closer but flinched away as tendrils of sensuality seeped from behind his control. “Do you think he wanted the same thing you did, to leave some part of himself behind?”
“I’m certain of it. He would be saddened to know they have disappeared. It would have pleased him much more to have them published.”
“I have a friend who is trying to find them for me.”
“Do you?” For the first time, he eyed her with something other than sexual interest.
“They’ve been sighted at a private auction. I’m hoping my friend can find who has them now, and that I might talk him or her into granting me access. Without them, I’ll probably have to change the subject of my dissertation to elves.”
“If you discover who has them, I might be able to help. I can be very persuasive.”
Of that, she had no doubt.
“I’ll let you know,” she promised.
“Can I assume you would like to meet others of the Fallen?”
“Are you offering to set up interviews for me?”
“Perhaps.” His eyes gleamed. “What would I get in return?”
“What would you want?”
He let his gaze slide over her again, and a smile spread across his face.
Angie flushed. “Right. But I’ve already said that after this interview…”
“Only for tonight, I assume. Or can you stay in town longer?”
“Not this visit. How long did you have in mind?”
“Ideally, years. Your lives are so short compared to ours, and you intrigue me. You wear masks, Angie Clark. Layers, one upon the other. What lies behind this graduate student persona? There is more. Now and then I catch a glimpse, enough to make me curious.”
This was the second time he had seen something she preferred to keep hidden. It unnerved her. What else might he see, and what might he do with the knowledge? “I’m afraid staying years, or even months, is out of the question. But a week might be possible.”
“In that case, I’ll see what I can do.” He slid one hand across the table and nudged her notebook. “Perhaps you can ask me more of your questions the next time we see each other. For now, I think we have done enough.”
He’d just had sex, less than an hour ago. Was he already hungry again? Eight to ten hours a day, she reminded herself. Perhaps he hadn’t had his fill.
When she turned off the recorder, Angie let her arm brush his. The contact sent a shock through her, and she looked up to find his eyes had gone hot and predatory. It startled her to discover she actually felt nervous, like a schoolgirl in the backseat of a car who’d decided she was ready to lose her virginity.
“Come here,” he murmured.
Chapter Twelve
The older legends speak of a goddess who roamed the night and protected the Paiute people. She weakened their enemies and gave them victory in war. Her name, loosely translated, means “She who dances with the Moon.”
—Mary Stillwater, PhD, Native American studies
The Fallen stopped holding himself in check. Once again, she felt that magnetic pull, and this time she did not struggle against it. Rising, she stepped around the table and let him draw her down to straddle his lap.
“Do you know how difficult it has been to sit here, not touching you for hours on end?” His hands slid over her.
Angie curled her arms around his neck and settled her body against his, whispering, “God, yes.”
Aaron kissed her, lightly at first, so she had time to learn the shape and texture of his lips. His tongue slid into her mouth for only a moment before he drew back and made his way down the side of her throat. “Shall you tell me what pleases you?” he breathed. “Or shall I discover for myself?”
Anticipation spread through her, and she closed her eyes. “Explore.”
His fingertips traced paths through her hair, over her face, all around her neck. They paused each time he found a sensitive spot. “There,” he murmured, lingering at her nape, “and there,” drawing a circle just behind her earlobe. Her sweater prevented him from going lower, so she shrugged it off, along with the tank top and bra underneath.
Aaron didn’t start with her breasts, as most men would. Instead, he drew her in close so he could map out the expanse of her back. She’d never paid much attention to that area, and her own responses intrigued her. He trailed his thumb down the length of her spine, and she gasped aloud when he arrived at the waistband of her jeans.
“Yes.” A smile colored his voice.
It was the first of many surprises. The underside of her arms. The back of her wrists and hands. The lower curve of her breasts. He explored every inch of her upper body, then nudged her off his lap so he could unzip her pants. Angie wriggled out of them as he moved off the chair and knelt before her. Again, she learned there were many areas, aside from the obvious, that made her shiver. The backs of her knees, around her ankles, the underside of her feet, the tops of her toes. She trembled with arousal by the time he learned them all.
Aaron inhaled deeply. “You’re wet.”
Words eluded her, so she hummed in agreement, and when she felt his lips glide up her inner thigh she tensed with expectation. He guided her legs apart. The touch of his tongue made Angie cry aloud, and her legs were weak by the time he finished investigating this last part of her.
She opened her eyes when he stood, and watched him take off his clothes. Like his face, his body was sheer perfection, including the part of him that had grown hard and ready for her. As soon as he was naked, she started to move closer, but he held her back and eased into the chair once again. Then he turned her to face away from him, drew her down, and filled her.
Angie gasped. Orgasm hovered only a step away, making inner muscles contract, and she heard him take in a sharp breath. He coiled his arms around her. They tightened to press her against his chest, then he squeezed her breast with one hand while the other found its way to the swollen bit of flesh just above where the lips of her sex clasped the base of his cock. One touch there was all it took. He held her while she came, keeping her in place so he wasn’t dislodged. With one fingertip he stroked gently to prolong the orgasm until she thought she would faint.
“Beautiful,” he whispered.
It was only the beginning. He led her to his bed, where he experimented, learning which angles and rhythms sent her over the edge. Passion waxed and waned. In quiet moments he returned to the places he had discovered ear
lier and tried different touches to see how she reacted. She liked the feel of fingernails grazing the lower slopes of her back, of kisses feathering over the underside of her arms, and, oh, God, the wet suction of his mouth around her toes. After each lull he built her desire back to a fever pitch, feeding on her pleasure, drinking deeply until the cup was empty. Only when she was too weak to continue did he focus on his own need for release.
Afterward, he murmured, “Heavens above, you are a rich dessert.”
She was too spent to reply. Passive, she lay beneath him and answered his lingering kisses until finally he eased away. Within moments she sank into exhausted sleep.
In her dreams, he made love to her again. Or perhaps she wasn’t dreaming. When she came to the surface, not quite awake, he was spooning her from behind, his cock gliding in and out of her. She trembled in quiet orgasm that did not end when she drifted back into sleep, too tired to stay awake, too aroused to stop coming.
With the first light of morning she woke fully, wanting him again. And again. He had to insist they stop long enough for her to eat. She knew she needed the calories, that she had burned up too many and sweated herself into dehydration. Still, she had to force herself to stay off him while she gulped down water and food. It was past noon when at last she remembered she had things to do that night.
Angie clung to him and whispered, “I need you to leave me alone so I can clear my head. I’m sorry.”
He chuckled, because he had to pry her arms off in order to do as she’d asked.
Angie knew little about Soul Killer’s territory, so she researched it before leaving for Reno. This part of the United States was called the Great Basin because water did not drain from it into a river or ocean. The land contained it like a giant bowl. It was actually a series of basins, each butting against another, stretching across the expanse between the Sierra and Cascade Mountains to the west and the Rocky Mountains to the east. The north end covered eastern Oregon and southern Idaho, while the tip of the southern end stabbed into Baja California. Desert made up most of the landscape, broken by smaller mountain ranges and the occasional lake. It had a stark beauty, with many buttes and canyons, stones carved by wind and rain into fantastic shapes, and sky that went on forever.
The Great Basin Territory was not as large as the Great Basin itself. Soul Killer’s southern border stopped at the edge of the Southwestern Desert Territory, which covered most of Arizona and New Mexico. The northern reaches included only a strip of southern Idaho and the smallest piece of Oregon’s southeast corner. It had once been larger, but just as the white man had encroached upon the Indians’ lands, so the European vampires took more and more of what she had once considered hers.
To humans, the military aspect of the conflict between the two cultures was over. It was history to them. But to a creature that had lived more than a thousand years, the war was far from finished. Soul Killer’s people had roamed these lands in freedom much longer than the white man, and a hundred or so years of biding her time did not seem long at all.
Angie went to the hotel room she had booked before going to see Aaron White. She ordered as much food as she thought she could eat and took a shower while she waited for it to arrive. Her body felt sore all over. It was a relief to discover that the intense desire for the Fallen wore off with distance, allowing her to think clearly once again. She still felt deliciously loose and warm, though. It took concentration to slip the mask of Angeline Devereaux into place.
Dressed in a silk suit and low pumps, hair drawn back in a chignon, Angie made her way upstairs to the small conference room she had reserved. She was a few minutes early and expected to use that time to prepare for the meeting with Soul Killer.
Soul Killer, however, had other ideas. The Monarch had already arrived and sat in a large chair in the center of the room. All the other furniture had been removed. Her black hair hung long and loose, and her skin was still a rich copper, though no doubt paler than it had been in her human life. A hint of hot desert sand and burning sage scented the air around her. Exquisite native jewelry adorned her neck, ears, fingers, and waist. It was fashioned out of turquoise and something that looked like silver. White gold, most likely, since silver was as painful as acid to vampires. Her clothing reminded Angie of the buckskin apron and leggings worn by her Paiute ancestors, but it had clearly been updated by a modern designer.
At the Monarch’s shoulder, her human companion stood with his hand resting on the back of her chair. He was just under average height and wore his red hair slicked back from the handsome angles of his face. His skin was so fair he might almost have been a vampire himself. Odd, Angie thought, that Soul Killer would choose a white man as her companion.
“Miss Devereaux.” The Monarch nodded.
Angie returned the nod. “Your Highness. They seem to have forgotten the number of chairs I requested for our meeting. I’ll just have a word with management to rectify that, and we can begin.”
“No need. We will go downstairs to the casino in a moment.”
What was this, more maneuvering to establish control? Surely Soul Killer didn’t intend to discuss their business in a room full of gamblers. “Why downstairs?”
“Because Monarch Rimbeau is here enjoying my hospitality. You said you needed to meet him for yourself. Why make a second trip, when you could do so now?”
Angie did not like surprises, especially from vampires, and there had been too many of them in the space of a few minutes. “I’m afraid you’re getting ahead of yourself, Your Highness. Before I agree to meet him, you and I need to discuss a few things.”
“Such as?”
“You must understand that I may choose not to accept him as a client. My instincts guide my choices in these matters. If something does not feel quite right, I will politely decline.”
“I do not believe this will be an issue.”
Angie narrowed her eyes. “That is my decision to make.”
“Of course.” The vampire gestured for her to continue.
“There are two other things. First, he must have the necessary self-control to enjoy what I have to offer. Second, you must show you are able to meet my price.”
The Monarch stood, revealing herself to be shorter than Angie had guessed, barely five feet tall. It should have made her less imposing. It didn’t.
Soul Killer’s expression did not change. “I will personally vouch for his control, and you will get your money. Evan?”
Her human reached into his jacket and drew out an envelope, which he handed to Angie. Inside was a cashier’s check for her entire fee, plus a generous bonus. She returned it. Soul Killer had left her no reason to refuse. It seemed the plan she and James had worked out was ahead of schedule.
“What have you told Rimbeau about me?” Angie stalled while she considered her options. There appeared to be precious few. If she walked away, she would lose the opportunity to drive a wedge between the two Monarchs. The little melodrama with Rimbeau would have to happen now or not at all, but without James’s protection in place, she was vulnerable to retaliation.
“I didn’t have to tell him anything. You have a reputation, Miss Devereaux. Shall we go now?”
“I’m hardly dressed for the casino. I should change into something more appropriate. I don’t like to look out of place; it makes a bad impression.”
The Monarch studied her with cold obsidian eyes. “Very well. Evan, help her pick out something suitable. I will be waiting with His Highness at the blackjack table.”
There was no way to regain control of the situation. She’d just have to take things as they came and improvise. The man stayed a half step behind all the way to her room, giving her no opportunity to run.
One of the things she’d retained from her finishing school education was the importance of being prepared for any social occasion. Angie was grateful for that. Because of it, she had brought along a couple of dresses, one for daytime and one for evening. They hung in the closet with other items that would
be suitable for a number of situations, depending upon how they were combined. The jeans and T-shirts of her grad student persona were hidden away in a dresser drawer.
As she’d expected, he chose the cocktail dress, a sleek red sheath that left one shoulder bare. Evan tossed it onto the bed, then stood back and folded his arms.
“I’ll need a different bra,” she pointed out. “It has to be strapless. That means different panties to match, and I have no intention of stripping naked in front of you, Mr. Samuels. Please feel free to search the bathroom for escape routes or weapons before I go inside to change.”
Without comment, he did precisely that. Samuels poked through her toiletries and lingerie and made certain there were no windows while she watched with a patient, amused expression.
“Satisfied?” She raised her brows.
“Don’t take long,” he muttered.
“Never rush a woman when she’s dressing to please a man.”
Angie slipped into the bathroom, and the instant the door closed she pulled a cell phone from the inner pocket of her suit jacket. Once she’d tapped out James’s number, she began undressing with one hand while she held the phone to her ear with the other.
Please answer, she thought. Please.
The sixth ring was cut short by a breathless voice saying, “Hello?”
“Ivy.” Angie kept her tone low, glad Samuels didn’t have the supernatural hearing of his vampire mistress.
“Yes?”
“It’s Angie. I need James. It’s an emergency.”
“I’ll get him.”
Ivy, James’s human companion, was not privy to all his secrets, but she knew he valued Angie and would do anything to protect her. Angie heard her moving through the haven, asking others if they’d seen him.