by Jess Haines
Wesley nudged me so hard I stumbled. Before I knew it, I was over Royce’s shoulder, my hair dangling in my face and his collarbone digging into my stomach. Off-balance and gasping for air, I flailed briefly, then clutched at his jacket, wrinkling the expensive suit. Then moved my hand when I realized I was grabbing his butt. Eek!
“Take those with you and put them somewhere safe.” There was a rustle of leather and jangle of metal as Royce toed my discarded weapons. “I don’t wish to be disturbed during the day. Field anything that requires immediate attention to Angus or Jessica.”
“Yes, sir,” Wesley said.
I gave a breathy yelp of protest as Royce turned around, with me still slung over his shoulder, and stomped toward his bedroom, leaving me to stare longingly after the weapons the other vampire was gathering from the floor. Royce soon cut off my view by kicking his bedroom door shut behind him. The only illumination came from tiny, twinkling lights in the ceiling. They bathed the room in gentle light, but made for deeper, more threatening shadows in the recesses. There were no windows or other means of escape, either, unless I could barricade myself in his (from my recollection, windowless) bathroom until he died for the day, or whatever it was vampires did when they weren’t stalking the night.
It was clear there was nowhere to run. The only way out was the way we’d just come in.
Before long I was back on my feet, nearly spilling to my knees at the wave of dizziness that washed over me. Royce barely paid any mind, his fingers quick and sure as they closed on the hem of my shirt. I gave him a bit of trouble once he pulled at it, yelping in fear and protest as he yanked the body armor up. He did it so swiftly that I didn’t have time to tense against it. He ignored my squirming and my muffled curses, though he laughed when my rapid retreat backward as my head and arms popped out ended with me sprawled on my ass on his futon. The hardwood floors might have provided a softer landing. Yeowch!
Blushing furiously, I covered my chest with both arms, mortified at this treatment. Thank God I’d thought to put on a sports bra under the armor, the stretchy fabric covering more than the lacy numbers I used to wear for Chaz’s benefit. It did nothing to hide the myriad scars on my stomach, though.
Still chuckling, he shucked off his own jacket, letting it pool on the floor behind him, and stepped out of his shoes.
“What the hell are you doing?”
He gave me a look I didn’t like at all. “Something I should have done a long time ago.”
I gasped and kicked at him when he knelt down in front of me, only to have one hand latch firmly around my ankle, the other working the laces to my boot.
“Royce, stop it!”
“Not yet.”
“Stop!”
He ignored my command, tugging off my shoe and dropping it with a heavy clunk to the side. Though I fought to pull out of his grasp, he made little work of divesting me of the other boot, then hooked his fingers in the waistband of my armored pants. My struggling only made it easier for him to tug those down. My underwear would’ve gone with them if I hadn’t made a grab for the elastic band at the last second. I took advantage of the few sparse seconds I was free of his hold to scramble back on the futon, intending to make a run for it.
Before I got very far, his hand shot out, circling my ankle again like a cold vise. He pulled me to him as he crept up on the sheets, the smooth, predatory way he moved reminding me of a panther.
Gone was any sense of stupid bravery and invincibility. In its place was nothing short of raw panic as the realization set in that, this time, he wasn’t stopping. This went far above and beyond any scare tactics he’d used with me before. I had no weapons, no armor, and no hope of escape. He’d dragged me into his bedroom. I was nearly naked on his bed. And he was well on his way to having me pinned beneath him.
That could only lead to one thing.
Though I knew it was useless, I cried out in terror, forgetting about modesty as I threw my hands up to shield my neck and face as he settled over me. For a moment, I had an irreverent thought that the least the bastard could have done was remove that freaking tie tack that was now digging into my stomach before putting his weight on me.
Though he was gentle about it, he ignored my tears and my breathless pleas for him to stop as he tugged my hands away from my throat.
“Don’t—” he ordered, gently taking my wrists and pulling my hands from their protective position to pin them over my head. “Don’t hide yourself from me.”
“Please,” I cried, tugging fruitlessly at his iron-clad grip. “Please, Royce, I don’t want to do this—”
“Hush. I’m not letting you out of my sight until I’m certain you won’t do something more to hurt yourself. Gods, just look at you ... You and I are going to have a long overdue talk.”
I quieted, but turned my face away, hating the blushes and bruising that I knew reddened every inch of my normally ghost-pale skin from hairline to navel. He was staring down at me, but had stilled, watching me as I fought not to have a breakdown, still squirming and tugging at his hold in hopes of getting free.
A deep sigh escaped him, and he released my wrists. I pressed my hands to his chest, pushing at him, but he didn’t give, remaining a stolid wall of cold marble trapping me beneath him. He leaned in, his cheek brushing against mine, satin-soft strands of coal black hair drifting across my skin as he whispered oh-so-sweetly in my ear.
“Your struggling makes it more tempting to bite you, not less. Relax.”
I withdrew my hands from his chest with a gasp, and satisfied myself with shivering uncontrollably as I clutched the bedding at my sides as though it could protect or hide me from this blood-drinking predator looming over me.
Though it was a marginal improvement when he withdrew from my ear, I flinched when his jaw brushed against mine. He kissed away the tears staining my cheeks, the touch of his tongue like the gentle flicker of an ice cube pressed to my skin. It only made the tears fall faster.
“Shiarra, I’ve told you before. I’ll never hurt you. I don’t give my word lightly; you know that. What are you so afraid of?”
“Please don’t bite me,” I whispered.
He paused, unmoving, not speaking. I didn’t dare open my eyes to look at him, to see what thoughts might be passing through those black eyes. It took a moment for him to reply, a thoughtful “hmm” that vibrated against my hypersensitive skin.
“Shiarra, look at me. No tricks, no games. On my honor.”
I was slow to comply, but he waited patiently until I was squinting up at him through tear-soaked lashes. I could see plainly he was now quite serious and thoughtful. His trademark smirk was nowhere in evidence, and I felt no sense of compulsion behind his words, despite the unwise eye contact we were making.
“Your tears are sweet, and under other circumstances, I might well have enjoyed them—but you and your partner are under my protection. Do you understand what that means? I’ve pledged to keep you safe. I won’t allow you to run off on your own again until I am assured you are no danger to yourself or others. And while I would like nothing more than to taste your warmth, sink inside you, and make you mine in every way you deny me, I’m not about to hurt you or claim you against your will. It would be a poor way to repay you for saving my life only to take yours from you.”
“Then let me go,” I screeched, squirming to escape him. “Let me go, Royce! Don’t do this to me!”
He held me fast, his hands suddenly holding my cheeks, though I hadn’t seen him move. Trapped, I stared helplessly up at him, rage and fear warring for dominance as he arched above me and stared down.
“Is that why you fight me now? You think I intend to rape you, feed from you, make you my slave ... ? Gods, but you are a foolish, irritating girl!”
“What did you do with Sara, you son of a bitch?” I hated that the question sounded so weak, that I couldn’t push him away.
He glared down at me, expression hardening for the first time. “You think I harmed her, do you? Did it ever occur to you t
hat the police might come to me in search of you?”
I glared back, saying nothing.
“She is safe, as she always was while in my care. Dawn agreed to let Sara stay at her home until I could make other arrangements.” He pressed closer to me, those dark eyes sucking me in like quicksand, giving me no way to escape the weight of his presence or look away. “As for you—what have I ever done to make you think so ill of me, Shiarra? I’m tired of being seen as no more than a monster. This misguided attempt at removing me from your life doesn’t change that we are bound. My blood flows in your veins, like it or not. Many have killed for that privilege; you have no concept of what an honor it is. It’s unfair to me and to yourself to continuously deny that we have an unbreakable connection.
“Yes, it is true, my kind survives on blood. I’ve taken it by force when I needed to—but the current circumstances hardly warrant such behavior. I have no intention of forcing you to give any part of yourself to me.”
“Then why won’t you let me go?” I whispered.
A thrill of shock ran through me when he sat back on his heels, his hands briefly brushing over the sides of my breasts and my ribs as he pulled away. He didn’t reach for me when I scooted across the bed until my back hit the headboard, nor make any move to stop me as I tucked my knees under my chin and wrapped my arms around my legs.
“I didn’t let you go immediately because you might have run or made some foolish attempt at attacking me and mine again. You wouldn’t have listened to reason. Now that you are listening, I have no need to use force.” That’s when he smiled, the familiar wicked grin showing a hint of fang, sending a shiver through me.
“Stop doing that!” I demanded, hating the shrill waver to my voice, but unable to do anything about it.
“Doing what?”
I pointed a shaking, accusatory finger at the one visible fang. His smile widened, revealing both extended canines. “That! Put those away!”
He laughed. “Would that I had the control ... Until you calm yourself, it’s unlikely I’ll manage. Now, to business. You are not to wear that belt again—ever.”
I latched onto the anger that flared up at that statement, liking it more than the quivering terror I’d been subjected to only a moment ago. “You don’t own me!”
“No, but whatever is inside that artifact would have if I hadn’t intervened. It wasn’t until tonight that I realized just how much it was altering you. I won’t have that.”
That gave me pause. It had a ring of truth to it that I didn’t like at all. “What are you talking about?”
“As I mentioned the last time we met, I have been quite aware of your emotional state these last few weeks. When you finally calmed, I knew you hadn’t turned Were, and that something had changed. Yet, hours later, you were back in a murderous mindset. And where did you go? Back here, to me. I gave Wesley instructions to detain you so I could see for myself what was causing the problem. Most of that rage has faded with the dawn, leaving the logical conclusion that the belt has been responsible for your inability to think rationally or control your need to hunt. I had put it down to the unfortunate events you’d had to deal with during your little vacation, but it seems there was far more to it than either of us had guessed.”
That was a very terrible thing to consider. Had my actions really been mine this month? How much of what I’d thought and done had been the result of Isaac’s manipulations?
Chapter 30
Royce said nothing while I sat there, second-guessing everything I had said and done for the last several weeks. His words seemed to have shed some light on memories and feelings that had been hidden behind the blindness of rage and hatred that had driven me for so long.
Though I was still frightened of and angry at the vampire, he was right. When I concentrated on it, I could recall moments of doubt and a desire to stop that had faded away like smoke on the wind once I put the belt on. The need to hurt and kill had grown stronger over time, fueled by my fear of change.
“Isaac,” I said, my voice a faint whisper, then paused. “The belt. What will you do with it?”
“I trust Wesley will find some convenient place to bury it. You are not to go looking for it under any circumstances. Once I am assured it has lost its hold on you, if you wish, you may have your guns back.”
I didn’t say anything, breath hitching in my throat. Seeing my expression, his softened.
“I understand you want to right the wrongs done to you, and that you want nothing but safety for your friends. However, I won’t let you do it at the expense of your own life, or at the risk of my people. Not if I can prevent it. Did you know that the belt was infecting you? That it would have taken you over completely if you had continued to wear it?”
Dull horror pierced through my shock, and I choked out a few words. “I knew it was doing something to me. Changing me. I didn’t think it was that bad.”
“No. No, you wouldn’t have. I do hope you don’t mind ...” He waved a hand at me, and I blushed anew at my lack of clothes. He shifted on the bed, and I pressed harder against the headboard—but all he was doing was settling on his side, knuckles tucked under his cheek as he regarded me. His expression was bland and his mannerisms were casual, but the sparkle in his eye and the way he watched me made it clear he was getting quite a kick out of my current state of undress. “Putting you at a disadvantage seemed the most expedient way to shock some sense back into you.”
“Oh, gee, thanks a lot,” I muttered.
“You don’t have to keep fighting me, you know. We could consummate this twisted relationship of ours, put an end to all of the difficulties between us.” He smiled again, one fingertip tracing down my bare leg, making goose bumps rise on my flesh. I jerked back, slapping at his hand. “I would not be averse to using baser methods to prove to you how foolish these notions of yours about me are. That wasn’t my intention when I started, but I know you’re curious.” He closed his eyes and inhaled, deeply, so there was no mistaking what he was doing. Creepy bastard. “I can smell it on you, taste it in the air. There’s nothing quite like the scent of a woman’s desire. It suits you—far better than that rubbish from The Circle you’re using to hide your emotions.”
I scowled at him, flushing all the way to my toes. “You—you sick—”
“Now, now—no false accusations. Am I wrong?”
I didn’t answer, glaring at that shiny ruby on his tie again, my hands clenching into impotent fists.
“Fight it all you want, but you know you’re attracted to me. We’re contracted, yes, but I won’t do anything to harm you. I find it difficult to believe that you have not realized this by now, particularly as this is not the first time I’ve had to reassure you that I do not now, nor have I ever, meant you any harm. You no longer have the moral dilemma of your boyfriend in the way. So, what is it that is stopping you? What are you so afraid of?”
It took a moment for me to find the words. When I met his eyes, I did nothing to dampen or hide my rage and frustration and fear of the situation. “You. I’m afraid of you. You’re—sort of—nice to me now, but what will you do with me after you get what you want? What do I do when I’m left with nothing but need for you, a slave like ...”
I stopped, thinking. Who in this household would match that description? Who did I know who was like those kids screaming and crying for their lost, dead master in the police station some—what was it? Three years ago, now? It bothered me that, though I knew that some of the people in this household had to be bound and that all of the humans in this building were donors, not a one truly fit that mold.
It hung me up long enough that Royce finished my sentence for me. “A slave like the unfortunate Renfield in Mr. Stoker’s fairytale? Like you were when Max and I bound you to us by blood?”
I said nothing.
“Shiarra, I could have forced you to remain by my side when I bound you the first time. Use your head. You must think very little of me if you think I have pursued you only to make you
some mindless puppet. I’m not Max Carlyle; I don’t intentionally set out to hurt those weaker than I am. What value would you be to me, broken and without that vital spark that makes you so precious to me? Just because you’re afraid you couldn’t stop me doesn’t mean I’m about to take advantage.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, though I wasn’t entirely sure what for. Since when had I been precious to him? And hadn’t he been on the verge of “taking advantage” of me only a minute or so ago? “I don’t trust you. I don’t know how. You’re”—a monster. I left the rest unsaid.
He sighed. “I’m not about to make you do something you don’t want to. What I don’t understand is why you keep denying yourself. You know as well as I do that I won’t force the bond or anything else on you. Really, what are you afraid I’ll do to you?”
“You’ll bite me,” I said, small voiced.
His brows arched, and he sat up, leaning toward me. “Is that all it is? You don’t want to feel that again?”
“No!” I cried, the admonishing finger I waved at him trembling, even as anger rose up to quash any lingering sense of desire or curiosity I might have been harboring. “I won’t go through it again, Royce. Not with you, not with anybody. It’s bad enough I wonder sometimes what it would be like, what you could make me feel—I’ve already lost everything else. If you touch me, I won’t be me anymore. Don’t you understand? I don’t want to lose what little is left. It’s all I have.”
He studied the tears tracing down my cheeks, the way my other hand rubbed at the ghost of bite marks on my throat—which I stopped as soon as I realized what I was doing—and his unruffled visage shattered into a deep frown of concern. I hated so much that he could look so calm and sincere, when all I could think about was that night when I had been trapped under the weight of a vampire who had only waited long enough to hear me scream in terror before stealing the life from my veins.
When Royce spoke, his composure grated on my nerves far more than it should have. How could he be so collected when I was falling apart right in front of him?