“But now we’re here,” she said quietly. A prisoner, not sure if I can trust the Company any more than I can the Knights. She remembered the fortune-teller’s words: death stands behind and before you.
They fell silent for a long time. Mark waited, still as stone.
“Will Jonathan live?” she finally asked.
A look of pain shot through his eyes. “I don’t know. I will do everything in my power to save him.”
She heard the confession in his voice. Mark loves him. The realization brought tears to her eyes. On some level, it was the signal she had been waiting for. Here was the one reason she could trust Mark, at least where Jonathan was concerned.
It didn’t make everything better—her reality had imploded, she’d slept with a vampire and she was stuck in a building full of monsters—but her dragon was guarding her child.
The dragon looked stricken. “Please believe we are doing our best.”
She tried to get her mouth to smile, to take away some of his hurt. It wobbled. “If Jonathan or I die, will we turn into vampires, too?”
He tried to smile back, just about as successfully. “I doubt it. I should test your blood, though, just to be safe.”
She gave a shaky sigh, wondering if she would ever feel safe again.
He wiped away a tear that escaped down her cheek. “Trust me, whatever happens, I’ll look after you.”
Chapter 25
She was hurting. He could see it in those changeable eyes that were now the gray-green of a stormy sea. But there was nothing he could do or say to stop the tears. Bree had fallen into his world of nightmare, and there was no way to undo it. Human or horror, they shared the same shadows now.
He wiped away another tear, feeling the heat of her body in that single drop. Her skin was satin under his fingers, smelling of fairground and dust and sun and that peach-sweet perfume that was her own.
“Bree,” he murmured.
Somehow he was lucky enough to be holding her again, despite everything she’d seen him do. It might have been the white coat. People trusted doctors—rightly so in most cases, but he was a vampire, an assassin trying to wipe clean a few of his sins. Only his conscience kept the predator from his patients. A conscience was a flimsy thing that was easily cast aside. Did the fact that he clung to it count? Did it make him less of a monster?
What did Bree see when she looked at him?
And that thought made him afraid in a way he hadn’t felt for centuries. When she raised her face to his, a tiny frown line between her brows, every muscle in his body tensed.
“What?” she asked softly.
“Are you afraid of me?”
He felt foolish the moment he said it. He let go of her, stepping back. She let out a little huff of breath, as if the question had physically struck her.
“How could I not be?” She lifted her hands apologetically. “I saw what you did.”
“Do you want me to go?”
Her lips parted, that soft wide mouth that tasted like life itself. He didn’t want to know what she was going to say. If he was afraid before, this terrified him.
He caught her arms and pulled her close, roughly stopping her with a kiss before she could answer. He didn’t want to hear that lovely mouth tell him to leave. It might have undone him.
Her fingers found his sleeves and slid upward to his shoulders. The gesture was tentative, as if she wasn’t sure if she wanted to hang on or push him away. The same confusion sounded in her heartbeat, quick and light as a bird’s. It reminded him of wild things that left the safety of the woods, creeping closer and closer to take food from his hand, wondering if they dared trust.
Her fear hit his blood like whiskey, urging him on.
Insistent, he parted her lips, plundering with his tongue, drinking down her hot breath. This time he could not hide his fangs as they descended, responding to his rising lust. He heard the gasp as she found them, felt their sharpness. It turned him on. You’re mine. I will protect you, defend you and yours, but make no mistake. You belong to me.
They were primitive thoughts, straight from the beast-side of his brain. His doctor-side might wrap them up in a more civilized bow, but the burning need to have her wouldn’t change. Bree was in his bloodstream as surely as a fever, and he would not rest until he knew she felt the same.
It was against all logic. The Company all but forbade unions between humans and vampires, but Mark played by the rules if and when it suited him. He had been an independent operator too long. The Company would want him to use his hypnotic talents to erase Bree’s memories before he let her go. She would remember nothing of this, not one kiss.
He’d be damned if he was letting that happen. He was Marco Farnese, nobleman, swordsman, vampire—and she would never forget his touch.
He slid one hand beneath her shirt, feeling the hot velvet of her skin. He traced the delicate bones of her ribs, exploring until he found the softness of her breasts. Bree made a whimpering noise in her throat that made him go stiff. He caught the scent of her desire, smoky and dark. Her body knew him and responded, her back arching to push the peak of her breast into his hand.
“Mark,” she got out, confusion filling the single syllable. “I’m—”
“We’ll go slowly.”
Taking it slow was demanding all the control he had. His teeth had scraped her lip, letting a single drop of blood touch his tongue. His mouth exploded with the taste—salty, but bright as berries. Mark inhaled a shuddering breath, almost a prayer as he surrendered to the sensation. He was lost.
He needed more.
He wanted Bree’s blood—hers and hers alone—as an addict craved his next fix. She was the one woman, the only woman who mattered.
It was rare that a vampire felt this. It had never happened to him before—no, not even with his wife, Anna, so long ago. He had loved her first as a man, before he had been Turned. Of course he had loved her after. But this thing he felt now was supernaturally intense, with the bone-crushing power of all his centuries in its spell.
When vampires truly loved, they loved once only. This was it.
He rose, pulling Bree up with him. Her face was flushed, her mouth plump and rosy from his kisses. She looked so intensely alive. So delicious. “Come,” he commanded.
Blinking, she seemed to bring him into focus. “Mark,” she said softly. “I don’t know.”
She wanted him. He could hear it in her heartbeat. It was pulsing, thick and strong and a little too fast. His body ached in response.
But she doubted him. He refused to let that continue. Mark took her face in his hands, leaving a light kiss on her forehead. “You’re safe with me. Let me prove it.”
Her eyes were lost. “I don’t know how to love someone like you.”
Like a fanged, slaughtering beast. He couldn’t find words to answer.
She dug her fingers into the fabric of his coat. “It was one thing when we were on the road. Everything seemed so simple. But now— I don’t have a good track record. I don’t make good decisions. Everyone always ends up leaving me, or dying, or—”
There was one promise he could keep. “I won’t leave you.”
With that, he caught her in his arms again, lifting until her feet left the ground and wrapped around his body. He would hear no more arguments. She was his.
Bree struggled a moment, pushing away like a cat that doesn’t want to be picked up. Mark refused to budge, remaining adamant. “Bree, stop.”
It was as if something inside her cracked, and she gave in. With a frustrated moan, she crushed her mouth to his, kissing as though she was terrified that he would disappear in a plume of smoke. Mark met her onslaught fiercely, reveling in her greed.
And so he took her to the bedroom, evicting a sleepy Custard and shutting the door. They fell onto
the bed, tearing off their own clothes and each others’ in their desperate haste to find buttons and zippers, a condom and bare, smooth skin. He was hard and full, aching to the point of madness.
“Now,” she begged. “Now, please. Don’t wait.”
He eased himself inside her, slowly. Bree threw her head back on the pillow, moaning in her impatience.
It was all the invitation he needed.
His mouth found the willowy smoothness of her neck and bit. She cried out in surprise, but the sound melted into a sigh. Bree writhed, shivering as the venom from his fangs reached her blood. Rich in erotic stimulants, it sharpened pleasure to an almost painful pitch. Her nipples grew hard against his chest, her body began to pulse around him as her fingers dug into his flesh, scoring his back.
Salty blood welled from the bite, filling his mouth with life. The predator in him roared its triumph, owning her blood and her pleasure. The vampire’s bite could tear and rend, but it could also seduce. Healing agents would seal the wound within hours, hiding it from sight, but the mark it left on her desire would be indelible. He would make this so unforgettable, she would never think of another lover.
Her blood flowed through him, electrifying each cell as it warmed his body. Mark began to thrust, drawing a cry from her with every motion. She rose to meet him, each time more roughly than the last as control gave way to lust. He swallowed another mouthful of hot life, nearly losing himself too soon in the bliss of it. He pulled himself back, stroking, pushing, drawing out the pleasure until he thought he would go mad.
And when he had her at the brink, he slowed, letting the moment hang. “No,” she complained. “No, I need more.”
“Patience.”
She writhed in protest, weaving her fingers through his hair, raking his scalp with her nails. The added sensation of it made him shiver as he lapped the last drops of blood from her skin, closing the wound he had made with his tongue. And then he bent to suckle at her breast.
With a sharp cry, Bree went over the edge, the pulsing of her body teasing him, milking him. He held on long enough for one last, hard thrust, spilling himself as his mind flattened to a white haze.
He had never come so hard before. The moment went on and on, all his preternatural strength sustaining it until he thought his sanity would shatter. When it finally released him, spent and dizzy, he was lost.
Mark rolled to the side, throwing a protective arm over Bree. Her life swirled inside him, effervescent, fleeting. He combed the masses of her tawny hair through his fingers, wondering at the acute intimacy of feeling her within and without. He was too old to need much fresh blood for pleasure—a few ounces at most—and yet it warmed him like a campfire. A woman held everything. Love. Light. The very sustenance of life. How could a man not guard her with every fiber of his being?
She turned to face him. He tried to read her expression, but her eyes were closed, private. Her fingers searched out his face, tracing the line of his cheekbone. Her feathery touch was oddly erotic.
“How did this happen to you?” she whispered.
He never told this story. Ever. “It doesn’t matter.”
He caught her palm and kissed it. He didn’t want to say more. Not about the cruelty of his maker, or the horror of waking up to find himself changed, or the blinding thirst they had cursed him with. There was nothing good in those memories.
Instead, he wrapped her in his arms, holding her. She burrowed into his shoulder, never looking him in the face. Never seeing him. She’d seen enough that afternoon, he guessed, when he’d shown the monster inside.
He was the one with the strength, but she had the power.
Mark closed his eyes then, wishing he could believe she would ever love him back.
Chapter 26
Bree sat at Jonathan’s bedside, unsure of how long she had sat there. She was stiff and cold, as if her blood had congealed from sitting still too long.
Hours, or days, or years ago she had awakened to find herself alone, a key card resting on the bedside table. She’d showered and dressed and then found a breakfast tray waiting for her. The clock had told her it was the next morning. A curiously formal note from Mark had told her how to find her son. This wasn’t the morning after she had dreamed of, but it was the one she’d needed. Somehow Mark had known she had no room to be anything but Jonathan’s mother right then.
Bree reached over, pushing back a stray lock of her son’s hair. He had grown fragile, as if he were one of those leaves she sometimes saw in the fall, with nothing left but a translucent web of connective tissue. This virus that was tearing away at his organs, at the very building blocks of his body, was leaving no more than a shell.
It seemed unfair that he had finally spoken, only to relapse utterly. For a moment she thought she’d had him back again, truly Jonathan and not this tired, silent child. He’d been such a happy, loving toddler—but this was all that remained to her. A bed, a chair and a mass of tubes and machines. The boy was barely there at all.
Fear for her son hummed inside her, but somewhere she’d lost the ability to cry it out. There was no simple relief anymore. The past few days had been too much for both of them.
Mark had been the best and the worst of it. She owed him everything. He’d saved her, he’d killed for her, he’d made love to her—yet she had no idea how to handle what he was. Sleeping with him was—well, it was mind-blowing, but calling that sex was a bit like comparing Custard to Cujo. Mark was bigger, fiercer, just more than any male she’d ever met, and far out of her league. He was deadly. And he frightened her out of her wits.
And he’d bitten her! There wasn’t even a bruise, but she remembered the pain and—Holy Christmas—the orgasm. That had to be some vampire survival thing that kept blood donors coming back for more. She was mad at him for having done it. She was even angrier that he’d been holding out on her. How many times between Seattle and L.A. could they have experienced that mind-exploding sex?
What am I doing with him?
She’d slept with him. While her son lay dying. And she’d lost herself in it.
Guilt nauseated her, making her even more thankful that Mark had not stayed the night. She knew that logically a woman could have a lover and a child, that perhaps she needed both right now, but she wasn’t ready to be reasonable.
She touched Jonathan’s damp forehead, noticing how frail his features looked, his eyes too big for his little face. I would give my life for you.
If only saving him were that easy. She’d slit her wrists in a moment.
“Hey,” a voice said.
She looked up to see Kenyon’s tall form. She felt a slight lift inside. Unexpectedly, she was glad to see him—even if he had locked her in her room. “Hello.”
“I took Custard for some quality time in the park. I hope you don’t mind.”
“No, not at all, thank you.”
Kenyon pulled up a stool and sat down. His bright blue eyes were serious. “How is the kiddo doing?”
Bree shook her head, not trusting herself to speak. She leaned forward, putting her head in her hands. I will not break down. I’m stronger than that.
Kenyon put a hand on her back, rubbing it lightly, the way a mother would comfort a child. It should have been intrusive, coming from a virtual stranger, but it helped.
“Listen,” he said. “I’m not going to say that everything is going to be all right, because I don’t know. I’m not a doctor. But some science guys from Europe have flown in to take a look. If there’s an answer to find, they’ll get it.”
Bree raised her head, horrified at the thought of the medical bill. “That’s a lot of expense.”
Now Kenyon grinned. “Hey, don’t you worry. The Company has deep pockets, and this is as personal to us as it is to you. We insist on organic vampires.”
“I’ll still be in
debt to the Company forever. I could never have done this on my own.”
“But this is why we’re here. We solve problems that are too big for ordinary mortals.” He said it with a sly, tongue-in-cheek pride. “Someday I’ll tell you about the time Mark saved the world with nothing but a pocket wrench and a package of orange drink crystals. They could make a TV series about something like that.”
Despite herself, Bree smiled. “How old is Mark, anyway?”
Kenyon instantly grew cautious. “I’m not sure. He doesn’t talk about the past. Most of the vamps don’t.”
That was disappointing. “Why not?”
“I don’t think the whole undead trip is bunnies and roses, if you know what I mean. There’s baggage.”
“But we’ve all got that.”
“Yeah. And that’s the secret to dealing with them.” Kenyon gave her a searching look. “Let me give you a piece of unsolicited advice. Your baggage is just as valid as theirs. You and I might not have lived as long, and maybe we haven’t been locked up in dungeons or cursed by naiads or whatever undead drama is going that week, but we matter, too.”
Bree didn’t get what he was saying. It must have shown on her face.
Kenyon shrugged. “Vampires aren’t human. They’re part beast, and those beasts are all alphas. They’re great at taking care of others, but they respect people who know their own worth. Insist on being heard. Don’t let them run over you. Act with integrity. Keep your word with them. Once you’ve won their trust, they’ll be loyal to the death.”
She frowned, still trying to grasp what he was driving at. “Loyal in what way?”
“Every way. Vampires mate for life. You just have to see Sam and Chloe together to understand that.”
“The Sam I met? Sam with the human girlfriend?”
“Yup. It’s like every girl movie you ever saw rolled into one big mushy script. Kind of revolting, actually.”
“Aren’t werewolves romantic?” She was sorry the moment she said it, remembering that she didn’t actually know Kenyon at all. He was just so easy to talk to.
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