Immortal Wounds: Book #1 in the Immortal Wounds Vampire Series-Paranormal Romance/Vampire Romance/Romantic Fantasy

by Nicole Grane

  “I’ll thank Richard later.” I grasped his shirt and pulled him back to me.

  He could have easily resisted. He was much stronger than I was. But he fell on me, his chest pressing into mine, while his mouth took my breath away, swallowing the soft moan that escaped me. His kiss was heady. He reached his arm around me and hefted me up, allowing him to push away the blankets that separated us. I could feel my body getting warmer still. I didn’t know if it was from desire or my fever returning. His touch alone was enough to heat my blood to boiling.

  “Phoebe . . .” his voice was soft in my ear. “You’ll have to let me know if I’m hurting you, I might not be able to tell.”

  His eyes met mine—they were red, like the ruby that still hung around my neck. “I’m not afraid,” I whispered back.

  I couldn’t feel any clothing between us any longer. The soft bedding beneath me was nothing compared to the way Marcus's skin felt against mine. My body trembled at the touch of his fingers moving over my skin.

  I held the back of his neck, pulling him to me. I kissed him fiercely. Never had the need been so great. I needed him as if he were my last breath of air.

  “Careful darling,” Marcus warned as he tried to pull back a little. I wouldn’t let him. I felt desperate, like we could be separated at any moment.

  An image of Marcus and I, making love—in this very bed, surfaced from deep within my mind. The room was darker then; the flames from the fire were our only light. I remembered how their shadows flickered and danced across his face . . . I remembered how he held me . . .

  The urgency of my kiss struck him. He fisted my hair, pulling me harder against him. “Are you sure?” he breathed. While his lips moved down my neck and over my shoulder.

  “I’ve never been more-sure of anything.” I closed my eyes, savoring the soft kisses that cascaded down my arm, electrifying it. I’d never felt so alive . . .

  “Phoebe, will you marry me?”

  My eyes popped open. “What?” It was an all stop.

  “Will you marry me, and be my wife until the end of time?” he asked again, a little more fancifully.

  “Now?” I could feel my cheeks flush. They were getting hotter by the minute. I don’t know why his question took me by such surprise, perhaps because we’ve only been reacquainted again for such a short time, although our life together was not to be compared with the normal course of an ordinary relationship. Marcus and I seemed to be old souls, forever intertwined. I guess I felt like Marcus and I were already married. Clearly we weren’t—that was the old Phoebe—lost over seven hundred years ago. Or maybe the old Phoebe wasn’t so lost after all? Maybe she was right here with him now. Maybe she’s always been here. Maybe the reason I never committed to anyone else was because there was no one else—no one but Marcus, that is.

  “Phoebe.” Marcus claimed my attention, drawing me from my reverie. “I never made love to you before we were married. I won’t dishonor you that way now.”

  “Marcus . . .”

  He smoothed the hair from my forehead, pinning me with a penetrating stare. “I will promise you now, and before God, that I will marry only you and love only you. I will care for you and protect you, putting your life and happiness before mine, always! Until the day I perish from this earth, all that I have is yours.”

  My mouth gaped open. I stared at him—speechless.

  “You only have to say yes . . .” His eyes, a soft shade of amber, stared hopefully into mine. He held my bandaged hand, kissing the palm of it—proof that I was safe with him.

  Never could another love me as much as Marcus did. He would die for me in an instant if it meant sparing my life. He loved me with every fiber of his being. He would always love me. And I would always love him.

  My eyes filled with tears. I tried to think of something wonderful to say. Something that would be as poetic, and although all I could manage to say was a simple “yes,” the look of joy that filled his face told me it was enough.

  His lips collided with mine. I could feel the excitement in his kiss as he held me close to him, rolling over so that I was now on top. I lifted my head back to look at him.

  “Did I hurt you?” he looked momentarily panicked.

  “No.” I smoothed his face with my hands. “I just wanted to know if we’re officially engaged now; or was that a private wedding we just had?”

  “I guess you could call it both,” he said with a smile.

  “There was a time when a man and woman could declare themselves to each other . . . and they’d be married. It’s what we did centuries ago,” he added. His eyes sparkled as they stared lovingly back at me. “Do you remember?”

  I searched every corner of my mind. My breath caught. “On the bluff, when we first kissed!”

  “Yes.” The smile had spread across his face, touching his eyes.

  The day Marcus first kissed me was the day he’d married me. I smiled at the memory. He’d said, at that moment, he knew he wanted to spend all of eternity with me—and I couldn’t imagine ever wanting to spend it without him.

  “So we’re sort of . . . married now?” I bit my lip, suppressing a squeal. I couldn’t hide my excitement.

  “I can have the official paperwork here before the end of the day if you’d like.” He lifted his head, his mouth moved along my shoulder, nibbling gently, but never breaking skin. He laid his head back, his eyes searching mine. A look of worry now filled them. “What is it? Have you changed your mind?”

  “Are you sure you want to pledge your love to a . . .” I closed my eyes, trying to swallow the lump in my throat. “ . . . Half werewolf . . . disaster zone?” I asked lifting my hand for him to see.

  He took it gently, kissing it once again. “As you have proven, you heal rather quickly.” His fingers now traced along the side of my ribs. They were still a little tender, but nowhere near as distressed as before. “And you are not a werewolf!” he added firmly. A smile hung on his face

  I half-smiled, still not trusting in those words. “But you’re still afraid to make love to me . . . aren’t you?” I wiped my forehead with the back of my hand. This conversation was making me sweat. My whole body felt clammy now.

  “Yes,” he admitted flatly, his eyes looking squarely into mine. “I am afraid to make love to you.”

  “I understand.” I gave him a small smile as I moved to get up.

  “Oh no, you don’t,” he teased, flipping me onto my back. My breath caught as I hit the mattress. “I believe we were in the middle of something when I’d asked you to marry me?”

  “But, I thought you were afraid?” I protested.

  “I’d be a fool not to be.” His voice was husky now. “I don’t ever want to hurt you.” His lips kissed mine gently before they moved over my neck. My heart jumped into motion, pumping faster for him. “I’m doing it again aren’t I?” I could hear him grinning, “Making your heart call to me.” His teeth barely grazed my skin, causing me to shiver. “I never said I didn’t want to make love to you,” he mused. “Or that I wasn’t going to try, now did I?” He looked at me with a somewhat devious expression on his face. “You didn’t think I could say no forever did you?”

  “I hoped not,” I said in a sultry tone. I nipped at his lip, causing a frustrated groan to escape him.

  I giggled, flinching away from a well placed kiss. A moment later, I was sweating profusely. My ears began to ring as I watched the room spin around me. My eyes were going in and out of focus.

  “Marcus.” I gripped his shoulders tightly, trying to center myself. “Something’s wrong with me.”

  His face came back to mine, his features were still out of focus. His hand rested on my cheek, and then my forehead . . .

  I moaned, the coolness of his touch, relieving the fog momentarily.

  “You’re burning up again!” he exclaimed. His eyes wandered over me, pausing at my shoulder—I didn’t think it was possible for him to turn so pale.

  “Marcus?” my voice sounded far away, muffled
even.

  “Phoebe? Can you hear me?”

  I read his lips. I shook my head no. I couldn’t hear a thing over the loud ringing in my head. My eyes, so heavy, started to close.

  “No! Phoebe, don’t go to sleep. Stay awake.” He shook me lightly.

  My head swayed from side to side—my eyes out of focus once again.

  He jumped up and began dressing.

  “Where are you going?” I asked sleepily. “Did I do something wrong?”

  “No, I did!” he growled.

  “Marcus.” I rolled over, as I tried to sit up. “Ow!” My hand clutched onto my throbbing arm.

  Marcus rushed back to me. “Phoebe I’m sorry! I don’t know how—my tooth must have—I was being so careful!” he hid his face in his hands.

  “You bit me?” I gasped. I released my shoulder and stared at my fingers, small traces of blood now stained them. “I’m bleeding!”

  I jumped up. The room whirled around me, distorting itself so I didn’t know which way was upright. I didn’t want to leave an open wound, no matter how small it was for Marcus to see. I pulled the sheets around me and started toward the bathroom. I staggered about seven steps when I crumpled to the floor like a house of cards.

  “PHOEBE…!”

  Chapter 21: A Close Call

  I could hear a soft buzzing around the room. The whispers were getting louder as it turned into bickering. I left my eyes closed for the time being, hoping to avoid any disapproving stares.

  “Well, what were you doing to cause her to overheat like that?” Charlotte snapped. I could picture her right now. Her hands balled into fists atop her large hips.

  “I can assure you, Charlotte, I wasn’t the instigator,” Marcus tried to defend himself.

  “No one blames you, Sir,” Richard spoke—always the peacemaker. “I’m sure it was bound to happen. She isn’t quite over this yet,” he added sympathetically. “Any exertion whatsoever would have caused her to relapse and overheat.”

  “All the more reason to mind your manners! Honestly, the things you men say to justify . . .” Charlotte’s voice trailed off as she walked out of the room.

  “Can I get you anything, Sir?” Sarah’s small voice asked kindly.

  “No thank you Sarah. All I need is for Phoebe to come back to me . . . and forgive me,” he added under his breath.

  Forgive him? For what, I thought.

  “I’ll go and see if Charlotte needs any help,” Sarah offered.

  My eyes fluttered, slowly opening to see Marcus sitting beside the bed with his hands over his eyes. “Marcus?”

  “Phoebe. Thank God!” He took my bandaged hand in his, kissing it gently. His forehead had long creases from worry. I’d have thought he’d been crying if I didn’t know any better.

  “Marcus, what’s wrong? Are you alright?” I looked him over quickly. My mind instantly jumped to all sorts of horrible conclusions.

  “Darling, I’m fine. It’s you,” his voice cracked. “I was so worried about you.”

  “Me? What’s wrong with me?” I could hear the panic in my voice.

  “How are you feeling Miss?” Richard joined us, his tall body looming over Marcus's. His thoughtful eyes fixed on me.

  “Just tell me Richard: how bad is it?” Marcus asked impatiently, not bothering to wait for my answer.

  “How bad is what?” I looked back and forth between them. I began to prepare—anticipating the worst.

  “I was being so careful,” he growled. His eyes glanced at my shoulder. I followed. A small bandage covered it. I looked back at Marcus with a look of confusion.

  “It’s only like a scratch,” Richard offered quickly.

  I couldn’t help but laugh.

  “Phoebe, I don’t find this funny at all,” Marcus scolded.

  “I’m sorry,” I tried to compose myself. “I thought something serious had happened.”

  The two of them stared at me blankly as Charlotte burst into the room with a big bowl of chicken soup. The smell of it, reached me before she did—my stomach growled.

  “Oh you’re feeling better,” she beamed. “Now you just finish this up and rest . . . quietly!” Charlotte fixed Marcus with a stern stare before she left the room.

  I roared with laughter, almost tipping my soup. “She does think you’re a cad!”

  “Just . . . eat your soup!” Marcus growled. “If you can?” He watched me nervously. I ate the soup, every bit of it, under watchful eyes.

  “I’m not a vampire!” I laughed. “Besides, wouldn’t I have some sort of vampirish smell that you could detect if I were? Is that even a word . . . ‘vampirish’?” I mused thoughtfully.

  Marcus shot me a disapproving stare. “No. It is not a word,” he answered sharply.

  I grinned. “Let’s just call that a love nip,” I suggested playfully.

  “You really must be more careful, Sir,” Richard spoke. “Had that been any deeper—”

  Marcus lifted his hand up, stopping Richard in mid-sentence. “It won’t happen again, I can assure you.”

  I dropped my spoon in my bowl with a loud clatter. “What? Exactly what won’t happen again?” All humor was gone. “The love nip, or . . .”

  “I think I’ll let the two of you finish this conversation in private.” Richard hurried from the room—a wise man.

  “Marcus?” I pushed the bowl aside and sat up. I held my forehead in my hands, trying to keep the room from spinning—I’d moved too fast.

  “Lay back down,” Marcus sighed. “You’re not well.”

  “Not until you tell me what you meant by that.” I lifted my chin in determination.

  Marcus narrowed his eyes. “I’m not going to allow myself the opportunity to hurt you again. Richard’s right, had that been any deeper . . . I simply won’t chance it.” He turned and walked toward the door. This was a pattern for Marcus. When something he deemed as reckless happened, he’d try and put as much distance between us as he could. Not this time.

  My first thought: be tough. Fight him with logic. My second thought . . . was a bit more . . . emotional. I went for the latter. I felt weak anyway. I started to cry. He rushed back to me in a panic, trying to comfort me—as I hoped he would.

  “I thought you loved me,” I sobbed. “You said you wanted to marry me!”

  “I do love you. I do want to marry you. I did marry you! Phoebe, I don’t understand?” He looked bewildered.

  “If you loved me, if you want to be my husband, you won’t push me away,” I cried into my hands. Real tears. I couldn’t stand being pushed away any longer.

  “I’m not pushing you away—”

  “You are!” I insisted. My tear streaked face, meeting his. “You can’t tell me that you won’t ever hold me like that again. That I won’t get the chance to ever really love you.” I toppled over onto the bed in defeat; burring my face in the blankets. “Just let me die,” I moaned.

  “You are not dying.” Marcus growled in frustration.

  “I will if you say you’ll never hold me like that again,” I promised. “If you won’t make love to me because you’re always afraid . . . there’s no point in you staying with me.” My voice was flat, lifeless. “I may as well leave.”

  “Phoebe, I said I’d protect you, not hurt you! And you aren’t going anywhere without me.”

  “Well you are hurting me!” The tears continued to flow. Why couldn’t he see that?

  He was yelling now. “Phoebe, don’t you realize that by accident, I could have ended your life today?”

  “Marcus, it’s just a scratch. You’d never really bite me. I know it!”

  He sat quietly, deliberating his position. I didn’t dare look at him. His hand settled on my lower back, lightly rubbing it. My blood started to heat again.

  “Perhaps when you are well . . .” His voice cracked.

  I smiled into the blankets.

  “I’ll leave you to rest now,” he said, sounding a little tired himself.

  “Marcus!” I reached out
, grabbing his hand before he’d risen. I rose to my knees and gingerly put my arms around him. “I love you.”

  “You will be the death of me,” he smiled crookedly as he playfully tussled my hair.

  “Oh no, not me . . . you won’t ever die because of me.” My demeanor had changed.

  “Why does that make me nervous?” His guard was up again. He observed me carefully.

  I shrugged my shoulders, trying to look as meek as possible. I hadn’t meant for that to come out so adamantly.

  “I promised to protect you, and I will—no matter the cost to myself. You will not put yourself in danger to spare me.”

  He’d somehow figured me out. “Marcus be reasonable—”

  “Absolutely not!” he thundered as he rose from the bed. “Didn’t last night scare you?”

  “Yes it did. It terrified me! I couldn’t stand not knowing if you were dead or not. If I had only stayed with you—”

  “NO!” He faced me squarely. “I can’t worry about your safety when I’m trying to stay alive myself. I can’t protect you if you’re taking unnecessary risks!”

  I got up slowly. It felt strange to stand, like I hadn’t been on my feet in days. I fought the dizziness. I held my head in my hands as I made my way over to him.

  “You shouldn’t be out of bed.” His voice was softer now.

  “I’m alright.”

  “You are not alright.” His hands gripped my arms, steadying me, I was glad for the support.

  “Marcus. Please understand. I just want to help you. I’d do anything to keep you safe with me.”

  He brushed a lock of hair from my face. His fingers lingered as they grazed my cheek. “I understand better than you know. But darling, you wouldn’t have lost me. Richard was there.”

  “Richard was there?”

  “Yes. The one that was running up behind me!” he prompted.

  “That was Richard?” I gasped, trying to remember. My face had to be a brilliant shade of red. “Sorry,” I winced in embarrassment.

  “I know you were trying to protect me, and I love you for it.” He lowered his knees, looking me squarely in the face. “You do know that had Rain not been with you, you’d have never gotten away. Neither of us could have got to you in time.”