Something stirred inside him, but before Sorin could concentrate enough to examine it, Grigore returned. Relief flared to life as Grigore returned to Gia’s side. He set a bottle of wine on the floor. After working the cork free, he raised a tiny vial of a thick red substance. A feeling of numbness settled over Sorin as he watched Grigore pour the fluid into the wine.
“Can your alchemy heal her, Grigore?”
His flat tone echoed in the room, quiet save the sound of Gia’s shallow breathing. He sounded more like the dead than the living. As I should, he told himself sadly. I am dead.
“She has lost a great deal of blood, master, but Gia is not a new pup. She is powerful and she can heal this with a little help.”
Traitorous hope blossomed in his chest. “How?”
Grigore lifted the bottle of wine to Gia’s lips, helping her raise her head with his other hand.
“Gia, I am giving you a mixture of Dragon’s Blood and red wine. It will help replace the blood you’ve lost. In order for the transformation to work, you must shift to your wolf form. The magic of your shift will take the potion with it and when you retake your human form all will be well.”
Gia drank the wine, her eyes never leaving Sorin’s face. He wished she would look at Grigore, at the wine—anywhere but into his eyes. He couldn’t bear the look in those golden orbs, the condemnation he saw.
When Grigore lowered the bottle, Gia’s head lolled back. Her body strained as if she were trying to move, but the blood loss seemed to have weakened her too much. She struggled, her body barely twitching in response to her demands. Finally she closed her eyes and collapsed back on the floor.
“M . . . m . . . moon,” she whispered.
“She is too weak to change,” Grigore said, turning to Sorin. “We must take her outside and let the full moon pull the beast from her body.”
The full moon.
Fear iced over Sorin’s skin and his body trembled as the dark shadow inside him began to roll like Leviathan under the ocean. The very mention of the full moon seemed to please the monster who had wreaked this havoc and he was suddenly very certain that letting the glow of the moon caress his skin would be a grave mistake.
“I cannot,” he choked.
With shame burning a trail through the cold fear gripping his body, Sorin fled from the room. Guilt ate at him from the inside, throwing up images of Gia’s bloody body to torture him further. By the time he got to his room, he was near mad with grief. Desperate to escape the scent of his crime, he ripped the clothes from his body and bolted into the bathroom.
He nearly ripped the handle from the faucet as he turned on the bath. The roar of the water crashed over his sensitive nerves, pounding them until the sound faded to a dull cacophony. He stepped into the tub without waiting for the water to warm—and recoiled as the chill bit into his flesh. He shouldn’t feel the cold like this. The amount of blood he’d have to drink to give his flesh that kind of warmth would—
Gia’s face leapt to the front of his mind and he cried out in panic and guilt. He grabbed a bar of soap from the table beside the tub and reached out to snatch a washcloth from the edge. Working up a thick lather, he began to scrub at his body. The soft cotton of the washcloth grated over his skin as he pressed as hard as he could, determined to remove every molecule of blood from his flesh.
It seemed like hours until his skin lost its red coat of blood. He stared at his pale arms and hands as if they belonged to someone else.
“How could I?” he whispered. “So many years I controlled such urges. Why should my willpower fail me now?”
His sire’s voice slithered through his mind. “Do not associate with the lycanthropes. You are above them now, better. Do what you must to maintain good politics, but do not let your interactions with them go beyond good manners or they will drag you down to their level and drown you in their heathen ways.”
She is the one doing this to me. The thought was at once a horror and a relief. It was not his willpower that had failed him. He was a man as he had always been, it was only her heathen influence trying to drag him into depravity. He clutched the thought to him, buffering his battered spirit with the soothing balm of another’s complicity.
The more he thought about it the more it made sense. She had come to his home, interrupted his solitude. It was she who had forced blood to his lips, seduced him back into her barbaric world of flesh and blood. She’d manipulated his hunger—pushed him past the brink of sanity. It was her fault that harm had come to her—her machinations that had led to her near death.
Righteous indignation smoothed the edges of his guilt and torment until his body no longer bowed under the weight of his crime. He shut off the water, straightening his spine as he stepped out of the tub and then strode into his bedroom. It wasn’t—
The scent of dried blood hit him in the face like a hammer. Suddenly it was as if he was standing in Gia’s room, staring down at her limp form as her blood danced in his veins. Horrified all over again, his head swiveled wildly, trying to find the clothes he knew to be the source of the blood. They were gone. He’d cast them to the floor in his mad dash to the washroom and now they had vanished. He backed up, putting a hand to his head. I am losing my mind.
“If you’re looking for your clothes, I got rid of them.”
The tiny female voice froze him in the midst of his growing panic and he frowned. The room appeared empty.
“Who’s there?”
“Me.”
He followed the voice to his dresser. A little green pixie stared at him from the top of his mirror. Her long dark green hair was pulled into a braid and she wore a little dress made out of a filmy material that hovered around her. Sorin blinked. There is a pixie in my room. He paused. Or I am truly going mad.
“Who are you?”
“I’m Morgi.”
He waited, but she didn’t add anything more. The smell of blood continued to assault his nostrils and he couldn’t help but look around the room again. The coppery scent lingered like a ghost, an eerie reminder of his crime.
“I said I got rid of them.”
Sorin ran a hand over his face before turning his gaze back to the pixie. “Why?”
Morgi tilted her head to the side. “The clothes and the blood on your skin seemed to upset you. I thought you’d feel better if I got rid of them.”
She’d answered his question, but ten more popped up to replace it. He slowly sat down on the mattress, trying to shut out the macabre images from earlier enough to concentrate. The world bucked under his feet, threatening to throw him off the bed. The power he’d gained from Gia’s blood affected him more than any wine, any liquor could have done.
Drunk with her blood, he couldn’t block out his emotions, or clear his thoughts. He swallowed hard, wishing he’d thought to rinse his mouth as the taste of Gia’s blood sent a fresh wave of guilt down his spine.
An image of Grigore carrying Gia outside slapped him in the face. He should have helped, should have carried her. He was the one who’d nearly killed her, it was his responsibility to help. And yet . . .
“You are the strangest vampire I’ve ever seen. Why does blood bother you so much?”
Once again, the tiny voice drew his thoughts from his misery. He turned his attention back to his dresser, struggling to focus on the little visitor on his mirror.
“Does the fact that I came in here covered in blood not give you the slightest hint about what annoying me might mean?” he growled. Bad enough his world had erupted into chaos, he would not be mocked by a fey no bigger than his hand. He stood and straightened to his full height, glaring at the pixie. The floor seemed reasonably solid now.
“Yes, it tells me that in addition to not drinking blood, you also don’t like to have it on your skin or clothes.”
He froze. “How did you know I don’t drink blood?”
“Grigore told me. He said I had to stay in the basement because you don’t drink blood and it makes you suck the life out of thing
s around you.” She rolled her eyes. “I kept telling him that I’m just as fey as he is. I’ve got more lifeforce than one mopey vampire can suck out.” She frowned. “But Grigore wouldn’t listen.”
“Master?”
He whirled around as Grigore’s voice sent his heart back into his throat.
“Is she all right?”
Grigore nodded. “She will be fine.”
Sorin’s shoulders drooped, weak with relief. “I knew she was powerful. Her blood—”
He stopped himself, wincing at the sensory memories brought on by the mere mention of blood. Despite his shame and guilt, the shadow inside him still gave off an aura of pleasure at the thought. The fact that he could feel the thing’s emotions so strongly sent a fresh wave of fear over his nerves.
Suddenly he couldn’t stand to be naked anymore. He needed the propriety of formal clothes, the constraint their tailored confines provided. He went to his armoire and began pulling out clean linens.
“I am losing control, Grigore,” he whispered.
“Master?”
“I’ve resisted the call of blood for so long. I have chosen to be a man, not a monster, fed off energy instead of blood. I have lived as I am supposed to and yet I am being punished.” He turned away from his closet to stare into Grigore’s eyes, a growing horror rising inside him. “Her blood and body call to me and I fear I am not strong enough to fight it.”
“Perhaps you should revoke your deal with the lady. If you cannot—”
“No!” The word exploded from his lips and Sorin’s eyes widened in surprise at his own vehemence. Grigore raised an eyebrow, sending a rush of embarrassment flooding through Sorin. He forged ahead, not wanting to dwell on where the passion in his voice had come from.
“Self-control is not a luxury, it is a responsibility. I have made a bargain with Gia—a bargain I have already . . . benefited from. It would be dishonorable to fail her now.” His brain furiously worked to provide a logical excuse for his body’s demands. He wasn’t ready for her to leave. Not yet. “Honor is what separates men from beasts. I will fulfill my end of the arrangement.”
“As you will,” Grigore nodded. “I will arrange dinner.”
“Yes, thank you. She must eat.”
As Grigore left the room, Sorin turned back to his armoire. He had to get dressed. He reached in and began pulling out more clothes. The crisp white shift with the subtle ruffling on the chest soothed him with its formality. The tight fit of his heavy waistcoat reinforced his need for control. As he fastened his trousers around the material of his upper garments he began to feel less like an animal and more like a gentleman.
By the time he’d slipped on his pale grey frock coat and fastened his pocket watch to his vest, he felt like his old self again. The energy that had exploded like fireworks inside him earlier quieted. No longer was Gia’s blood like a raging whitewater river in his veins. Bit by bit his self control regained ground until he was focused and calm.
He looked at himself in the mirror as he picked up a brush from his dresser. He pulled it through the tangled locks hanging to his shoulders, wringing out excess water as he went. Keeping his gaze on his reflection, he watched his transformation from wild heathen to refined gentleman. When he finally pulled his hair back in a tie, he found himself staring into the eyes of a respectable man once again.
“I am a man. Not an animal.”
“That was a really weird thing to say.”
He’d forgotten the pixie. Sorin glared at Morgi where she sat still perched on his vanity, staring at him with open curiosity.
“If you wish to remain in my home, you must learn a degree of respect. Stay out of my quarters.”
Morgi rolled her eyes. With a little leap off the mirror, she flew out of the room.
The fact that she hadn’t actually agreed to stay out of his room concerned Sorin, but he didn’t allow himself to dwell on it. If the tiny female invaded his room again, he would deal with her then. He was the lord of this house and, by God, he would have order. He checked his reflection one last time, making certain there was no fear or doubt etched into his face before striding out of the room.
With every step he took toward the dining room, he reminded himself of his sire’s training. Years of hard and bloody lessons combined with an unforgiving attitude toward weakness floated across time to steel him even further against temptation. He would not allow this barbaric female to take the respectability he’d fought so hard for. Cossette’s face flashed into his mind and he stumbled. He knew the price of disregarding his sire’s lessons. He’d learned.
Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to suffer the pain of her loss, using it to beat back the feelings of attraction ensnaring him toward Gia. He’d already allowed a woman to destroy him once. It would not happen again.
By the time he opened the door to the dining room, he was once again calm and collected. He looked and felt like a man, master of his home and ruler of his destiny. He would put aside his bestial thoughts and show Gia the respect he would show a human woman. Perhaps if he led by example, she would rise above her animal nature and they could proceed—
Black claws dragged down his chest, shredding his flesh as easily as his silken shirt. Agony tore his mouth open in a scream and he threw his head back and closed his eyes. For a moment all he could feel was the fire of his wounds, the hot breath of the pony-sized wolf as it snapped its jaws in front of his face.
Before he could recover enough to fight back, the wolf vanished off his chest. He fought to sit up despite the pain, opening his eyes to find a large wolf watching him, golden eyes alert and shining with animosity.
He would have known those eyes anywhere, fearful as he’d been that they would haunt his sleep for the rest of eternity. Just as she was a beautiful woman, Gia was also a beautiful wolf. From her tail to the top of her head, she was a pale shade of grey with a dusting of black fur, and from her throat down to the pads of her feet she was a stunning white. The grey fur circled down like a delicate muff to cover part of her chest, breaking up the stark paleness of her white fur. The effect was breathtaking.
His oddly-timed admiration faded as a growl trickled from her throat. Her ears stood straight up, her forehead and nose wrinkling as she bared her teeth. Tension crackled between them as her fur bristled and she fixed him with a stare that would have melted iron.
The obvious threat in her body language reminded him of the vicious surprise attack she’d launched on him. His momentary distraction from the pain in his chest ended in the blink of an eye. He put a hand to his chest, staring down at the damage she’d done, even as his skin began to heal itself.
The tatters of his shirt floated about him like little white flags signaling the surrender of his gentlemanly façade. The sight of his pale skin, ravaged by the claws of a beast, made the blood pulse in his head like a heathen drum beat. Warmth spread behind his eyes, the heat of a responding anger building inside him. His eyes widened as the scent of his own blood filled the room. The metallic taste of it coated his lips and he couldn’t stop himself from licking them in hungry anticipation. The motion sounded the death knell of his respectability and his anger exploded.
“Godammit, woman,” he screamed. He shoved himself off the ground, a dark rage coming from somewhere deep inside him. “I realize you are half beast, but I will have a modicum of decorum!” He glared down at her, openly challenging the threat in her eyes. “This is my home! I will not have you turning it into a den of iniquity, staining my honor with your bestial violence and sex. I—”
The wolf growled at him, the sound crawling over his skin and sending a shiver down his spine. Something about the vibration called to him, beckoned him closer. Confusion halted his tirade and he watched in silence as Gia’s body shuddered and her skin began to roll back.
He couldn’t help the swell of appreciation at the smoothness of her shift. It was as though the wolf rose to its hind legs to reveal a woman’s form underneath. He half expected her to turn a
nd show a back still covered with fur and a tail. His gaze roved over her nude form and his cock stirred between his legs. He remembered the taste of her body, the feel of her wet depths as he plunged—
“Decorum? Decorum? You almost killed me! I offered you blood in exchange for your protection, not my life.”
He couldn’t drag his gaze from her body. The curves of her breasts, the dusky brown of her nipples, the patch of auburn curls between her legs . . . it took every ounce of his strength not to leap on her like a starving man. The demon inside him raised its head, flashing bright white teeth. It was hungry too.
Fear wrapped its icy claws around his heart. Already the sight of her naked body, the smell of her soft flesh, melted his resistance. Her sexuality shredded his self-control as easily as her claws had shredded his clothes and the man it left behind was little more than an animal. Any second now he would lose the battle and fall on her like the beast he feared becoming.
Aphrodite's Hunt Page 5