“Your Grace?”
At Grant’s voice, Iain swiveled his head to the other side and glared at the man for daring to witness his Tira. Then he turned fully to face his second-in-command, blocking everything.
“You’d best have a verra good reason for being here, Grant. Damn good.”
“Her Grace is asking for you.”
Iain swung about to see nothing save open deck getting washed with wave water. He blinked twice and still found nothing. That’s when he got the first glimpse of her power.
“Iain. Oh . . . Iain. Iain?”
Tira writhed on the bare mattress, trying to get as much of her skin into contact with the ticking as possible. Her existence was becoming a nightmare. From the horror of that story he told her in that black cubicle beneath this bed to the sip of water she’d taken. All of it was horrid and getting worse. Her skin was too tight, the nightgown she’d donned impossibly restrictive and confining and creating sweat where it stifled her flesh. Tira tore at the material, hearing the rip of seams and clatter of buttons peppering the wooden floor as she worked at it.
She was thirsty, tired, hungry, with a massive appetite nothing assuaged. One sip of the water she’d ordered his men to bring her, and she’d spit it out in disgust, and then agony. Blisters erupted inside her mouth, closing off her throat and sending spikes of pain all through her until nothing assuaged the latest hurt.
“Iain . . .”
Tira yanked the shreds of fabric that had been her nightgown from her, shoving the jagged strips over the sides, seeking succor that only the bare mattress seemed to provide. Tira put her open mouth to the ticking and inhaled, sensing a cool sensation that she knew had no measure of reality to it, but she could have sworn her throat eased slightly, allowing breath. Each tormented breath seemed filled with the same name. Over and over, she’d called to him, and then finally he was there.
“I’m here, love.”
The mattress dented with his weight, rolling her into the well of space created at his knee, and then she was clasping her arms about his neck and arching up into him, willing his essence into her as the only way from this newest torture.
“Iain . . .”
“What have you eaten?”
Tira shook her head.
“What have the fools given you?”
Light from dead candles flared into being at his words or the anger behind them, paining her eyes with the brilliance before it subsided into normalcy.
“They . . .”
“I’ll have his head!”
Daylight wasn’t as vivid as the spear of light accompanying his threat, and Tira lunged up from the mattress to cling to him, holding him even as he went to his feet and breathed with huge heavy movements.
“They wouldn’t bring me anything! Oh . . . Iain . . . it pains.”
“What, leannan? What?”
“Water.”
“They gave you water? ” He strode for the door, one arm holding her to him while the other reached for his sword.
Tira shook her head and started speaking, slurring the words around the obstruction of teeth and not even noting the blend of Gaelic and English. “They wouldn’t bring me anything, Iain . . . and I begged for it. . . .”
“How did you get water, sweet?”
He’d stopped and was still glaring at the door, a pulse pounding in his neck right at her eye level, and Tira narrowed her eyes at it.
“For a bath.”
“You got water to bathe in?”
She nodded, moving her cheek along his shoulder, although her attention was caught and held by the bluish tint of fluid right beneath his skin. . . .
“And you tried to drink it?”
Tira surged upward, opened her mouth, and sank her fangs right into his throat, earning a groan of reaction from the man holding her, as well as the sweet flooding through her mouth and down her throat, cooling the blisters that had been there. And then it got better. Tira trembled with the sensation of bliss, seeming to throb everywhere at once.
“Slowly, love. You must—oh, my sweet!”
The sword dropped, gifting him with another arm to hold and support her. Tira heard the sound of metal hitting plank floor, and the next moment she got lowered onto her mattress again, where the cool feel against her back collided with the warmth everywhere else. And then she felt a prick on her neck and slight suction before he lapped at the skin with a tongue motion that twined her innards into knots. Tira couldn’t contain the sensation. She pulled her teeth free of his flesh, threw her head back onto mattress, and keened a cry into the air about them. And then she latched on to a shoulder, sinking her teeth deep and sucking pure rapture from him. Wool scratched at her skin and she pushed at it, shoving and pushing at his kilt thing until Iain shimmied it out of her way.
That was the catalyst. Tira moved and he let her, rolling so she was astride him, gripping one of his thighs between her knees as she ran her hands all over revealed skin. Her palms and fingers came alive with thousands of sparks of sensation. And then she used her lips. The man beneath her groaned and trembled as she slid her canines along his chest, slicing a thin cut the entire way. She reached his upper belly and teased the ropes of muscles with her tongue, toying and enjoying every movement they made before she shoved her spikes into him to take from there as well.
Iain lurched upward, lifting them completely from the mattress for a moment before falling back, sending flecks of down fill into the air from the landing. Crimson color added to the glow imbuing the chamber. Tira pulled free of his belly flesh and lapped at the holes, watching with narrowed eyes as the puncture wounds sealed slightly with every tongue swipe. The reddish haze he’d put into play gave her full view of hard male, readied and prepared, and aching for what she could give him. If she so deigned.
“ Ah . . . Tira . . . love.”
Iain ran his hands along her spine, his fingers losing contact with every bump, and she felt every one of them as vividly as if it were her fingers. It was another odd sensation and another new experience. And it was getting hotter and wilder and more erotic with every moment that passed. Never had she felt so alive, so urgent, and so violent.
“Don’t you dare stop me, Iain.”
“Stop you? Are you crazed?”
“Then lift your hands from me.”
“Lass . . . please!”
“Now, Iain. Now!”
He answered her command with an indistinct curse, garbled from somewhere deep in his throat, but he did as she ordered and released her. Tira moved lower, suctioning her mouth to his side and tightening her knees about his leg, holding as he turned into a churning creature whose every thrash threatened to toss her. Tira breathed onto flesh slickened with moisture as she moved lower, her tongue grazing goose-bump covered skin. She pushed his rod out of her way, holding from it as if it had little value, and laughed at his snarl.
“I hate you, Iain MacAvee. I hate this.”
“Lass . . . I—”
“I hate what you do. And I hate what you make me do.”
“Then . . . why—”
“Shut up.”
Tira opened her mouth to its fullest, felt her teeth elongating with the strangest feeling, and that gave her weapons to spear him in one side of his buttock. Deep. Intently. Fully. Iain’s resultant yell filled the chamber, followed by the thunder of his heartbeat, and then the pounding of his hands at the edges of the mattress as he hammered full handfuls of it into the bed frame. Tira laughed at his antics, unlatching her teeth. That was just stupid, making it easy for him to move his grip from the mattress to her arms, biting into the flesh as he hauled her up into position, and then lowered her onto a shaft that was thick with need and want. And this time his bellow matched her moan.
“That’s it, leannan. Right—”
“I hate you, Iain MacAvee. I hate you.” Tira crooned the words with each move, matching her rocking motion with the cadence, making a chant of sorts.
“Fair enough.”
�
�You . . . saying I . . . lie?”
Tira’s voice caught with the beginnings of ecstasy and he knew it, for the next moment, he had her in a full kiss, catching the cry with lips that thrilled, teeth that cut, and a tongue that licked and caressed. And the moment he released her, she was pulling away and snarling at him again.
“I . . . hate you, Iain! Fully.”
He grinned and it angered her into beating at him, but he caught her flailing blows with such swift hands she didn’t see the move. And then he slapped them together in order to bring them to his mouth, slitting cuts open on her knuckles in order to lap at them.
“I hate you,” she repeated when he moved his gaze from her conjoined hands and started her heart into such a painful beat he had to feel it.
“So?” The word was ragged and growled.
“Don’t you ken, Iain? I hate you!”
“Prove it. You say you hate me?”
Tira narrowed her eyes and raised her upper lip, showcasing her spikes . . . nodded.
“We’ve . . . got all night. Prove it.”
With that quip, he gripped her fully against him and rolled, changing her angered outburst to sounds of pure pleasure with a torrent of thrusts that melded them. Time and again he slammed into her, warping her into a siren of wanton desire and craving and need. Tira shoved her jaw along his, tangling for position, but the moment she reached a perfect spot on his throat, he did the same. His fangs sank deep into her throat first, changing the scream of anger into mews of delight that built and hovered and surrounded . . . and then received.
Chapter Thirteen
“Iain?”
Tira’s whisper seemed loud. It might be due to the low gut of the candles, the minutes that ticked by without anything to measure them, or the long length of man reclining right beside her, contemplating something on the ceiling. It was probably the latter. She had it decided before he rolled to face her, putting masculine splendor on display with the move. Tira swallowed and waited for him to meet her gaze. But he didn’t. He seemed fixated on an exposed bit of thread from the seaming of the mattress between them.
“Aye?” he finally prompted.
“I don’t understand what’s happening . . . a-a-and I need answers.”
She watched him move his arm to trace circles about the thread that looked to have failed its sole purpose of holding top cover to bottom.
“Are you going to give them to me?”
“Do you still hate me?” He flicked a glance to her, imprinting a flurry of shiver with it, and then returned to his fixation on the thread.
“I . . . should.”
Tira moved into a sit, pushing until she reached the headboard. It gave her stability in a world of cloudlike surface and defense in a realm of fantasy. The mattress shifted with her move, but Iain didn’t seem to notice, or if he did, he covered it over with his continual attention to the loose thread now near her toes.
“Aye, leannan . . . you should. So begin. Ask your questions and I’ll try and answer.”
“Do your . . . men know?”
“The Honor Guard is specially chosen. From all comers. They compete to keep the position when I allow it.”
“Allow it?”
“Brawn is na’ the only mark of an Honor Guard. They must have courage, great fighting skills, and loyalty to their chieftain.”
“So . . . is that a ‘yes, they know’?”
A smile might have touched his lip, lifting it slightly. It was hard to tell since he wasn’t looking toward her and the light had dimmed.
“Grant kens all of it. The rest? Enough.”
“Why Grant?”
“ ’Twas his decision. Grant has nae wife and nae family. He gave up all to become my second-in-command.”
“That’s . . . rather harsh.”
“ ’Tis a position of great honor. Granted ’til death. His great-uncle had it afore him. Grant is emissary for the MacAvee laird, taking my place and issuing my edicts at all functions of the Crown and the land. Especially those held in daylight hours.”
“He’s not a vampire?”
Iain shook his head. Lanky strands of dark hair accompanied the motion.
“None of them?”
“I’ve na’ turned any . . . afore you.” He tipped his head toward her, creating two lines in his forehead with the heart-stopping gaze. “And I fully wish I had na’ done so.”
“Why did you, then?”
Lashes shadowed his eyes before he returned his regard to the stupid thread. She had to wait four heartbeats before he answered. She heard and counted each one.
“I knew the moment you came into being, leannan. The exact moment. The entire earth seemed to tell me of it. My sentence of loneliness had an end. I’d have the mate I’d been promised. All I had to do was find you. ’Twas na’ hard. You have an attraction that pulled at me. Even as a bairn.”
“That’s . . . not possible.”
“Possibility does na’ change this. Naught does. But I swear the truth. I’d been promised by every generation of Clan Fey that I’d be granted my soul mate. It was fated.”
“There’s no such thing as fate, Iain.”
“Just as there’s nae such thing as vampires?”
Tira didn’t have an answer. There wasn’t one. “It was you forcing the betrothal bargain. Wasn’t it?”
“Force is wrongly inferred. My sword never left the scabbard. Na’ once.”
“There are other means of force.”
He shrugged. “They had what I wanted. I had gold. Nae forcing was needed.”
“Then . . . it was you.”
“Of course. I’ve been the second and first dukes, and the earls of Glencairn and Blannock, as well. ’Tis nae hard thing to receive lands, titles, and castles when you’re of use to kings. And I was of powerful use.”
“Powerful?”
“I canna’ be killed and I doona’ lose. If the battle is enjoined on a dark, rain-filled day, I’m invincible. When MacAvee Clan attends a battle, that side wins.”
He shrugged, rippling muscle beneath the skin and drawing a hand she couldn’t stay. The moment she touched him, he went taut, stiff, unmoving.
“You should na’ touch me.”
“Why?”
“Your nearness makes me craven and lustful and filled with need . . . to an impossible degree. I canna’ fight it. I tried. And you already ken how that turned out.”
“I wasn’t going to ask about that.” She lifted her hand.
“I was na’ going to speak of it, either. But there it is. Everything about you is designed for pleasure. To a vast degree.. . . Beyond any other woman.”
“Any other?”
He cleared his throat.
“How many others?”
“That is a dangerous sort of question, leannan.”
“Dangerous?”
“Nae matter the answer, you might make good on your threat to lock me from your chamber.”
“That’s worse than hating you?”
“I could get fully fond of your brand of hatred, love. Fully.”
It was softly said but carried weight like a boulder atop her belly. Tira went concave with it until the heaviness eased. He was right, and no amount of prevaricating changed it. She’d been the one seducing and attacking him . . . despite her hate. He’d called it craven lust to an impossible degree, and that was it exactly. That’s when Tira narrowed her eyes as she realized he was using it to avoid answering.
“How many, Iain?”
He moved his hand from the mattress to hold it out as if studying his fingers held answers. And he’d better not be counting!
“I’ve had three hundred years, leannan. There were always lasses about. I was ever pursued by them. You’ve seen it. Women made certain sure I knew of their . . . interest.”
“How many, Iain?” she repeated.
He blew a sigh that was very visual as it moved most of the muscle beneath all that naked skin. “I have na’ lived this many years and learned naught. T
here is nae number to satisfy you. It would be best if you just simply continue hating me.”
“That many, huh?”
It wasn’t a question. She meant it that way. And then she got treated to the sight of him going to his haunches and lifting a leg, creating a rest position for his arms and then his chin. The way he’d done it put him in shadow, so the golden wash of candlelight lit her.
“That is na’ what you want answers to, Tira. Be truthful.”
“Change the lighting, Iain.”
He smiled, revealing gleaming, pointed canines. “Why?”
“This isn’t fair.”
“Who says life is fair? Or death, for that matter?”
“I asked for answers and you avoid giving them. Now, change the light.”
The candles immediately dimmed as if half of them had been snuffed.
“Now answer the question.”
“You doona’ want a number put to my prowess, lass. What you want is the why of it. The strength of it. And mayhap the reason ’tis so overpowering, you forget things as vast as hatred. This is what you wish to hear.”
He lowered his voice and slanted toward her, cursing her with an absolute blizzard of shiver.
“Give me . . . a better answer, Iain . . . MacAvee.”
His name dribbled into whiffs of sound, driven by goose-bump lifted skin from just the chance of his touch.
“ ’Tis the same with me, Tira love. The exact same. I dinna’ ask for it. I canna’ control it. You ask of women? I canna’ answer. I doona’ note other women. I nae longer even see them. All I see and feel and yearn for is you. Trust me.”
He moved again, scrambling her wits and tying her tongue and starting wetness and craving and sensual longing. She licked her upper lip, caught her tongue on a tooth, and narrowed her eyes at him, trying to mute the view of naked male on the bare mattress.
Born to Bite Bundle Page 71