Calling for a Miracle [The Order of Vampyres 2] (Siren Publishing Classic)

by Michaels, Lydia

  As Larissa slept, her chest slowly rose and fell with each breath. Her breasts swelled beneath the covers. Soft. He wondered if the tips of her breasts were dark like his own skin, pale and pure like a lily’s petals, or deep crimson like the natural shade of her full lips. The thought had his body hardening and he became aware of his male scent filling the empty room.

  Larissa’s lashes fluttered and he wondered if she was waking. Would she be disgruntled to find him there? Most likely. He casually stepped back, not wanting to alarm her with his presence. She stretched, long and slow like a cat. Her feminine fingers fisted and pressed high above her head. He thought she would wake, but she simply snuggled deeper under the warmth of the covers. He suddenly felt oddly jealous of the blanket covering her flesh. He would bet her flesh was warm and soft, hot in her most secret places.

  His arousal began to grow and he shifted uncomfortably. He was not accustomed to his body’s baser urges. Yet in Larissa’s presence, they seemed to override his better judgment. A kaleidoscope of images began to wheel through his mind, each one more arousing than the last, each one featuring the beautiful Larissa. He swallowed. Perhaps he should wake her with a kiss. She was bound to discover sooner than later that he was her true mate. Why not inform her of that fact now?

  He shut his eyes and imagined leaning over her soft body and kissing her warm, supple lips until they opened under his. Swallowing back a groan, the bishop breathed deep as his arousal ratcheted up another notch.

  Suddenly, there was a hiss and a flash of movement. He opened his eyes. Larissa was no longer sleeping soundly under her covers, but standing on her small bed, her back pressed to the far wall, her arms splayed wide and defensive as her bare chest heaved. She was completely nude. Nude and petrified.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked accusingly.

  At the sight of her exposed flesh, Eleazar had a difficult time convincing his brain to form words. Her downy-soft curves stole the breath right from his lungs. Her breasts were peaked with pink, the same shade as raspberries. The same shade of her lips. There was a soft patch of dark hair between her full hips and thighs.

  She made an offended sound and Eleazar pried his gaze from her beautiful breast and met her stare. She was not pleased. As a matter of fact, she appeared outraged. She looked as though she was prepared to attack him if it came to that. “I told you I would return in the morning,” he offered lamely.

  “Do you not possess the ability to knock?” she shouted.

  “I—”

  Before he could answer, she bellowed, “Get out!”

  “Larissa—”

  “Now!”

  “Perhaps we could talk. Why don’t you cover yourself? I am not here to harm you. You need not be frightened.”

  As if it just occurred to her that she was still completely exposed to his view, she quickly reached down and snagged the white sheet from the bed, bunching it over her more private parts. “Get. Out,” she gritted at him.

  He sighed. This was not how he hoped to begin his day with her. As much as he wanted to soothe her, he was also growing tired of her defensiveness. Sooner or later she would have to come to terms with his presence. He was her mate! “I will not leave.” He decided it was time he began asserting his authority.

  What he was not prepared for was the lone tear that trickled down her cheek. “I can scent your arousal. Why are you doing this?” she asked in a small voice, no longer able to meet his gaze.

  Ashamed that he was not able to veil his reaction to her until a more suitable time, he shifted uncomfortably. “I apologize. You do not need to fear me, though. Larissa, please, I will never harm you.”

  “I am married. Your presence here is unforgivable. You are my bishop, the speaker of our laws. You, of all immortals, should know better. Please leave.”

  If she only understood his purpose for finding her, she would understand why he felt entitled to shrug off their laws of propriety. Her body was his. She was his mate. “We must talk, Larissa.”

  “I have nothing to say to you, Bishop King. Your presence offends me. You are violating me by simply standing there.”

  He gritted his teeth. Her accusations infuriated him. He urged himself to exercise patience, yet he felt his patience dwindling by the second. “Watch how you speak to me, young lady.”

  She then looked directly into his eyes. Although he felt her fear, noticed the way her body trembled, he had to admire the way she gazed at him with the fierceness of a warrior. She was of an obedient nature. She always had been, yet she made it perfectly clear, in the hateful way she scowled at him, that she would not submit easily. She set her jaw and raised her chin, but still lowered herself to the bed. Eleazar breathed a sigh of relief. Headway.

  “We must discuss certain things, Larissa.”

  She sat haughtily on the edge of the bed, her spine stiff and her chin lifted. One could choke on such thick arrogance. She offered him her profile, but nothing more. She made no motion of acknowledging his words. He found it amusing, the level of superciliousness she employed as she sat before him as if she were not naked below a transparent, white sheet. She appeared a haughty duchess amongst the peasants. Her pride was vain, yet he admired her for it. She had dignity in spades, dignity as a bishop’s mate should.

  “Would you care to dress yourself?” She did not move or even acknowledge his words. “Very well. As I told you, I would allow twenty-four hours to pass before we began our journey home. Make no mistake, Larissa, you are returning home today.” She did not budge or even flinch so he continued. “We have approximately sixteen hours until it is time to leave. I expect us to discuss certain things in that time.”

  The longer she sat regally before him, the more irritated he grew. He could not spend the next sixteen hours speaking to a statue. “Will you look at me,” he said, frustrated that she was able to affect him so. She did not move. Stubborn as a mule! “Fine! You are angry. I understand that. However, I think you will feel differently if you actually listened to what I have to say. You have already sentenced me to being the villain in all of this. So sure you are that I am here to betray you rather than help. I never knew you to be ignorant and closed-minded.”

  She blinked and he took heart in that small movement. Perhaps his words were penetrating that icy exterior. “I had hoped we could each employ a level of diplomacy and have a mature discussion. I suppose I overestimated your maturity, assuming we could speak as equals.”

  She huffed and turned to him. He fought the tug of a smirk at the corner of his mouth. She was thawing.

  “Whatever would you do if we females actually were entitled to some level of equality? I believe you, and the rest of the males on the farm, would be terrified, running around, worrying that we females may actually have something to add to the way of things in The Order. Do not fret, Bishop, you and I both know I am not entitled to speak as your equal nor will I ever be.”

  “I permit you to speak to me as such.”

  “Ah, but if we were truly equals, I would need no one’s permission.”

  “Touché. I invite you to join me in a discussion where we will speak as equals.”

  “And then what, Bishop? I am no fool. I would not be wise to accept such an offer only to be punished for my words later when your edict has expired.”

  “You are stubborn.”

  “And you are pious!” she insulted back. Then in a softer, almost sarcastically syrupy voice, she asked, “There, was that equal enough for you?”

  “No. I find your tone disrespectful, where mine was simply stating the facts.”

  “Pious! I am disrespectful for meeting your insult with my own, yet you are the epitome of manners and propriety, breaking into my private quarters and allowing your filthy thoughts to wake me from sleep.” She practically spat the last few words.

  “Did my thoughts awaken you?” He could not dismiss his curiosity. Had she dreamt of him while he was there watching her? Was she hiding this from him?

  T
aking on an expression of complete disgust, she snapped, “Your arousal did! I find the scent suffocating.”

  He needed a moment to think. Was this why she claimed to be a light sleeper? “Do you sleep well at home, Larissa?”

  “I have not slept soundly since I became Silus’s property.”

  “You are not his property.”

  “No? Try telling him that.”

  He was beginning to hate the existence of Silus Hostetler and his link to Larissa’s life. Would she ever cease tossing her marriage in his face? “No individual, male or female, is the property of another. If Silus has informed you otherwise, he has lied.”

  “And how exactly does one contest the lie of a husband under the bounds of family law, Bishop?”

  He pressed his lips together. His jaw clenched so tightly, he prepared to hear the muscles pop. “The law was created to protect members of The Order, not infringe on their rights as individuals.”

  “Well, pardon me if I find fault with your theory.”

  “Our intentions were good when we wrote the law, Larissa.”

  “And I believe the saying goes, ‘the road to hell is paved with good intentions,’ Bishop King.”

  “This is getting us nowhere.”

  “Nor will it ever, Bishop. You see, Bishop, I may not be as wise as you in all of your years, but I am wise enough to realize that reality is not in word, but in deed. So you will excuse me if I do not want to play your little game of make-believe and converse as if we are equals. You are male and I am female. You are our bishop and I am but the wife of a farmer, generations back from ever being anything more. It is how things are and ever will be.”

  He found himself momentarily distracted by the way the sheet had slipped down the slope of her creamy shoulder and exposed the crease below her arm where her full breast rested over her abdomen. As her words set in, his frustration returned. He needed to clear his head. Without uttering another word, he turned and left her bedroom.

  After several minutes of pacing her living room, Eleazar heard the sound of movement from within her room. He had not made any headway, nor had he thought up a better approach. He was completely unprepared for Larissa’s inflexibility concerning her views of their way of life. He needed to convince her that he would not be a male of absolutes, but rather a mate of compromise. After several minutes and before he came to any conclusions on ways to better convince her, the door to the bedroom opened and Larissa emerged.

  All moisture left his throat. He swallowed and felt the dryness of his mouth scrape along itself. She, although dressed now, was more tempting than she had been unclothed.

  Her long, ebony hair was still slightly tousled from sleep, yet somewhat tamed by a band that kept it away from her face. Her shoulders were bare, touched only by a meager string that held her dress in place. “Dress” was a term Eleazar used loosely. The garment appeared to be more of a chemise, not even, a thin slip of white eyelet cotton. It formed a V at her chest, exposing the natural swell of her breasts and the cleft in between the full globes. The fabric pulled tightly over her curves and fitted like a second layer of skin over her trim waist, then fanned out at her hips. Her knees were exposed and her feet were bare.

  “I see no reason for us drawing out our return. If you don’t mind, I would like to be on our way shortly.” She moved to the chair in the den and picked up something rose colored draped over the back. A sweater. He watched as she fed her thin, exposed arms through the sleeves and swallowed hard. Why was it so difficult to ignore her appearance? He had seen her many times, but since he had acknowledged her as his mate, it was almost impossible to not look at her as such.

  She moved to a door in the hall and slid it open. On the floor sat shoes of various styles. She mulled over the selection and picked up a pair of tall boots made of leather with paisley stitching swirling up the sides. He stepped back, mesmerized by this production of watching her dress, as she returned to the chair her sweater had rested on and sat down. She lifted one long leg and pointed her toes, slipping the boot over her petite foot. The toe of the shoe was pointed and there was a small heel on the sole. When she lifted the other foot, he caught a glimpse of the soft flesh between her thighs.

  She patted her lap once she had the shoes securely on her feet and looked up to him. The curved tops of the boots reached her knees, leaving only a bit of exposed skin peeking out from the hem of her dress. He was suddenly breathing heavy.

  She stood. “Are you ready?”

  He seemed to have lost the ability to even blink. He simply stood there, dumb, watching her. She flicked her long hair over her shoulder impatiently, the motion causing her breasts to jiggle slightly. When he still did not answer, she said, “Bishop King?”

  “Call me Eleazar,” he rasped. His fingers twitched at his side. He wanted to touch her.

  She frowned. “Excuse me?”

  “I want you to call me Eleazar.”

  “I—”

  “Please.” His voice sounded gravelly even to his own ears. “Say my name, Larissa.”

  “Bishop—”

  “Eleazar. Say it.”

  She leaned back slightly, as his gaze traveled over her long form. She still frowned. “Fine, Eleazar…are…are you all right?”

  “No.” His name on her tongue did erotic things to his mind and body.

  She tilted her head at him in concern, but made no move to approach him. His chest rose and fell with each deep breath, her scent filling his lungs with each pull. “Is there something you need?”

  “Patience. I need patience.”

  Her brow creased even more. “Bishop—”

  “Eleazar.”

  She shook her head. “Eleazar, perhaps you should sit. You’re acting a bit Unfershtendich.”

  He supposed he was behaving a bit absurdly. She shifted uncomfortably before him. So feminine, even the simplest movement seemed that of a proper, well-bred lady when coming from her. She was completely female. Tall, beautiful, delicate, soft. She was breathtaking.

  “Larissa,” he whispered, simply needing to say her name, needing to feel some part of her on his tongue.

  “Yes, Bishop?”

  He swallowed. “I need…”

  She leaned in, prompting him to continue. He could tell she was eager to help him if he was not feeling himself.

  “I need…” He shook his head. He could not seem to stop himself. “You.”

  Her body pulled back suddenly, her spine ramrod straight, her expression completely frozen. She looked to the door then back to him. The slight panic coming off of her only aroused him more. His beast wanted to play, his animal instincts exciting at the idea of a chase. He watched the thin column of her throat where her pulse fluttered. She stepped back and he stepped forward. They stood, squared off, and he watched, wondering how she would proceed.

  Her hand slowly lifted, holding him off. “Bishop, you are not well. Whatever is happening here, you need to stop it. You are not thinking clearly.”

  “I asked you call me by my name.”

  “I am not comfortable with that.”

  “I suggest you become comfortable with it, bellissima.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I would not want my mate to call me anything else.”

  She frowned and then comprehension dawned and her eyes widened. She stumbled back. “You’ve made a mistake, Bishop.” She shook her head frantically.

  He stepped forward. “No mistake, Larissa, you are mine.”

  “No,” she breathed.

  “You see, I will take you home, but I will not be returning you to Silus.”

  She frantically shook her head, denying his words. “This cannot be. I have not dreamed.”

  “Because you do not sleep.”

  “I sleep.”

  “But never soundly. I assure you, if you allowed yourself to truly let go and gain a restful slumber, you would dream and discover the truth of my claim.”

  “No.”

  “Do you not feel i
t? This connection we share. It cannot be one-sided. There has been no mistake. You are my mate.”

  “You’re upset. You’re upset with the way I spoke to you. You’re confused. Let us be on our way. When we get to the farm, I will send for the healer and he will fix whatever ails you.”

  “What ails me is lust.”

  His words had her stepping back another two steps. She was terrified of intimacy it seemed. Her hand trembled as it extended in front of her, a meager attempt to ward him off. “Please don’t do this, Bishop. You are mistaken.”

  “It is you who are mistaken, Larissa. You will see. When we come together, it will be nothing like you have ever known. It is God’s will and as such it will be beautiful and right. There shall be no wrongness between us. Nothing like your past experiences.”

  “What do you know of my experience?” she spat. “You know nothing!”

  “He should have never had you.”

  “Then why did you give me to him?”

  “He will never touch you again.”

  “Neither will you,” she declared, extending her neck and straightening her shoulders in defiance. He growled and saw the flicker of uncertainty trip across her face.

  “Not wise, Larissa.”

  “I am not afraid of you.”

  “Good.” Before she had a chance to predict his move, he lunged at her. She shrieked as he caught her in his arms, her cry stifled as he sealed his lips over hers. A jolt of pleasure soared from his mouth directly to his loins. The force of his advance had them flying across the room until he held her pinned against the wall. He pressed his body ruthlessly into hers. Her palms pressed into his shoulders, her nails digging into the muscled flesh below his shirt.

  He forced his tongue between her stiff lips and as he began to lick at her mouth, he felt her resistance slip. He purred at the first taste of her sweetness and her spine relaxed slightly. He kissed her long and hard and while she made no move to return his affections, she stopped fighting him. He ground his hips into the cradle of her thighs.