Lothaire iad-12

by Kresley Cole

  Lothaire certainly had no problem drinking from others. So was he illegitimate?

  From what she could gather, he was probably interested in either the Horde or the Dacian throne—or both. But how could he be sure the Daci even existed? Her eyes widened. Was he a real-live Dacian?

  Ellie memorized all she could, repeating facts in her head.

  Forbearers. Kristoff. Oblak. Forbear from the flesh. Clear eyes.

  Horde. Tymur. Helvita. Comprised of the Fallen, red-eyed killers.

  Daci. Fable? Castle in Dacia. The first vampires. Eyes unknown.

  Next, Ellie perused all the vampires’ species-wide traits. Natural-born vampires did in fact get sick if they lied. I’ll be analyzing Lothaire’s deflection techniques. They could trace over the entire world, but couldn’t teleport out of certain mystical traps, chains, or even from the grip of a stronger opponent.

  Male vampires usually froze into their immortality in their late twenties or early thirties, becoming the walking dead—until each male found his Bride and she blooded him.

  Which meant that Lothaire had gone thousands of years without sex.

  Thousands.

  Concentrate, Ellie!

  After studying every word on the subject of vampires, she turned her search to another entry. Hadn’t Lothaire said that Hag was a fey?

  The Fey of Grimm Dominion were masters in the art of poisons. Check. They had their own mystical realm called Draiksulia. Yet Hag settled in North Carolina? They usually warred with vampires and various demon monarchies, or demonarchies.

  So why was Hag working for Lothaire?

  Next Ellie flipped around, reading about nymphs, ghouls, and Cerunnos—massive snakelike creatures that could talk. She swallowed at the hideous illustration of a Wendigo, feeling a grudging respect toward Lothaire for defeating so many.

  Within the Lore, there were power factions, such as the Valkyries, Lykae, and the House of Witches. Sure enough, Wiccans were mystical mercenaries who sold their spells to the highest bidder. Apparently, their leader’s hand would grow back.

  Vampires weren’t the only species with regenerative powers.

  Hag and Lothaire had also talked about La Dorada, a sorceress Queen of Evil, so Ellie thumbed past Sand Devils, Sasquatch, Shifters . . .

  Sorceri. Most of the sorcerers had the ability to control matter or living entities in varying ways. A sorceress was known as a Queen if her particular power was stronger than any other sorcerer’s.

  So Dorada truly could control evil.

  Unable to help herself, Ellie looked for Aliens. Instead she found Accession—a mystical phenomenon that occurred every five hundred years, compelling factions to war while bringing together mates.

  The Accession acted as population control for the undying. And one was under way right now. . . .

  When the sky began to lighten, she glanced up with dismay. The sun would rise soon, and she hadn’t even scratched the surface—

  Suddenly the book was slammed shut, wrenched from her hands. “What do we have here?”

  Lothaire. Standing before her. Covered in blood and bits of . . . skin. His eyes blazed as he clenched the book.

  Shit.

  When he traced inside, she quickly followed.

  Lothaire waved the book in Hag’s face. “Why did she have this?”

  Ellie quickly said, “I saw it and snagged it. I just wanted to learn about this new world.”

  In a seething tone, he said, “You won’t be in it long enough to bother.”

  “She’s impossible to contain, Lothaire,” Hag said, calmly stirring a brew on the stove. “As you know, she’s cunning. Tell me, did you find the vines?”

  He shook his head. As if he could feel Ellie studying him, he whirled around on her. “What?”

  “You’re covered with . . . skin and gristle.”

  He glanced down at himself. “So?”

  She tsked. “Sandbox fight, Lothaire? Did you play dirty with the other little vampires?”

  “Poshyol ty. Fuck. Off. Has Saroya tried to rise?”

  “She’s down deep, all but hibernating. Not even a shiver. Which means she won’t be coming round anytime soon.”

  At that, fury fired in his eyes. He seized Ellie’s upper arm, tracing her back to his apartment bedroom—with the book still in hand.

  When he released her, she cringed at her sleeve. “You got skin on me!”

  As Lothaire began to pace, she snatched one of the crumpled letters from the floor to wipe the gore off. Though tempted to run and take a shower, she had to at least try to get the book away from him.

  “I wasn’t done reading that.”

  He frowned at the book as if he hadn’t remembered that he held it.

  “You should let me read it, Lothaire. I was actually more impressed with you once I saw an illustration of a Wendigo. Almost like you’d bagged a thirty-point buck.”

  He swung his gaze on her, his expression saying, Who are you? Then, with a scowl, he traced to his safe, locking the book inside.

  When he returned, she said, “You can’t be this pissed off just because I read some musty old book—or because you had to play dirty with other little vampires.”

  “They were shifters!”

  “I didn’t get to read about shifters yet, so I can’t appreciate the tussle you must have had. But I’m sure you consider it a big feat.”

  He traced before her, looking positively insane. He clasped her throat, putting just enough pressure to tell her he was to be taken seriously.

  She acted unconcerned. “Or maybe you’re pissed because Saroya didn’t rise.” Considering the heated encounter between Ellie and him earlier, she’d figured he wanted to get busy with Saroya, but then rejected the idea. Surely, he wouldn’t be this hard-up hours later.

  Again, he’d gone half a decade without a glimpse of his mate.

  “Lothaire, why were you so positive that Saroya would rise? She usually doesn’t. Especially if there’s no one to kill or maim.”

  He released her with a muttered oath and shrugged out of his soiled trench coat.

  “Is there something dire you have to discuss with the goddess? A murder to plan or some evil to check off a punch list . . . ?” Ellie trailed off, words failing her, and sank down on the couch.

  Because she could now see his blatant erection straining against his pants.

  So there’s the fire, vampire.

  When she finally stopped gawking at the sheer size of it, she dragged her eyes upward. His shoulders were tense. Blond brows drew tight over hungry red eyes.

  The vampire did need to get busy! And Saroya was nowhere to be found.

  This all came down to lust? Not murders or plots?

  Lust was within the realm of her knowledge.

  She had experience enough with it from all her truck-cab flirtations. And when growing up, she’d learned much by simply keeping her ears open. She’d been raised in Appalachia, for God’s sake.

  Not to mention that the women in her family had made sure Ellie knew how to handle the opposite sex, because in times past, everything depended on men.

  She remembered her granny telling her, “Men are like coal boilers, Ellie. If you find a man you reckon to keep, you got to feed his belly every day, make him burn for you, then release some steam purty regular, or you ain’t ever gonna get him to work.”

  Hell, Saroya could take a lesson from Granny Peirce!

  Ellie watched Lothaire pacing so aggressively, imagining the pain he had to be feeling down there. And in his mouth, too. He kept running his tongue over his fangs.

  His fangs are sharp, yet my skin isn’t marked anew; his shaft is raring to go while my body’s untouched.

  Saroya, that silly bitch—who’d had time yesterday to amass a new wardrobe, wax her privates, and get her nails done—had consigned her vampire to this condition?

  Then left him in another woman’s company . . . a woman who looked exactly like her?

  If she’s stupid enough t
o leave him unsatisfied, Ellie half-jokingly thought, then maybe I ought to feed his belly and release his steam. Turn him to my side.

  She stilled.

  What if she . . . did?

  Could she win him over? Tempt him until he preferred her over Saroya?

  Her eyes went wide. If there was a way to get rid of Ellie, maybe the reverse was true? Then she could coax Lothaire to cast out Saroya!

  I could get my body back. My life back!

  The vampire paced, reaching one end of the spacious room a split second before the next. His movements were as dizzying as her thoughts; for the first time in years, she realized, Maybe I . . . maybe I don’t have to die.

  Ellie could bed Lothaire if she had to. She could close her eyes and pretend he wasn’t evil and that she didn’t hate him to the core of her being. Surely.

  You didn’t seem to mind when he was licking all over your neck, Ellie.

  At the memory, her nipples tightened again, but she forced herself to ignore her reaction.

  Could she let him have her? Risking bodily harm? Pop . . .

  What choice did she have? If all it took was a ring to be rid of Ellie, sooner or later Lothaire was going to find it.

  Then Saroya would win.

  Never.

  I’m gonna seduce Lothaire. Make myself irreplaceable to him. But she knew that would take more than merely seducing his body.

  If I were an ancient immortal, what would I want?

  Energy, surprise, excitement.

  Ellie could keep him on his toes, keep him guessing. She’d win over this vampire’s mind as well.

  Then they’d boot Saroya’s ass to the curb, and Ellie would own her jewels!

  I don’t have to die. My future is in my hands once more. She would use everything in her arsenal, all the lessons she’d ever learned, drawing on all her truck-cab follies, her vices and victories.

  She’d pit her country wisdom against his worldly—and otherworldly—knowledge.

  My fate boils down to making a vampire want me more than he does a goddess.

  * * *

  Lothaire paced, raging inside. Dawn had come and gone, the night over.

  And Saroya was dormant. Which meant she had no desire to see him. Even after he’d explained to her that his lusts couldn’t be quelled. Even when the burgeoning pressure within him had turned to pain.

  That bitch! I’d been right about her, I predicted this. Saroya would wait as much as a month to rise? While he was out battling for them?

  Where was the loyalty, the unity between them?

  His suffering mind could hardly process this situation. He should have forced her into his bed yesterday—instead of buying her goddamned clothes!

  With a bellow, he swung a fist, crushing an antique whiskey service.

  Never had he wanted a woman who didn’t desire him back.

  “Lothaire?” Elizabeth murmured. “I need to tell you something.”

  “Then say it!”

  “It’s embarrassing. I’m not going to shout it across the room.” She twisted her hair up, leisurely tying it into a knot.

  She played with those silky strands as if she knew just how it affected him. Eyes riveted, he imagined she’d bared her neck for him.

  Bared it in invitation. His shaft throbbed harder. “Tell me.”

  She crooked her finger. “Kindly come?”

  He rubbed his tongue over a fang, then traced to stand just in front of her. “What?”

  She stood, going up on her toes. When she laid her delicate hands on his chest, he nearly shuddered.

  At his ear, she breathed, “Lothaire, I can tell you’re stiff as timber.”

  That was . . . unexpected. Another near shudder. “You think I didn’t notice?”

  “Just wanted to let you know that others could too.”

  “Look at it, Elizabeth.” He pinched her chin and pulled her head down. “Would I ever be so deluded as to think that could go unnoticed?”

  She kept staring down at his shaft even after he released her. His own head fell back.

  Can feel her pretty gaze on it.

  He envisioned pressing her to her knees, then feeding his cock between her lips. He’d command her to suck it until there was nothing left of him. . . .

  She murmured, “Maybe you want to come back in here afterward.”

  “After what?”

  “After you go take care of that.”

  “You assume I need to tend to myself.” After the first stroke, he’d be right back with her, roughly groping, desperate to spend with her. Or rather, with Saroya.

  My Bride. Who won’t deign to see me. Then fuck her. He would use this mortal for his own pleasure. And if the fancy struck him, he’d make her luscious little body come, climaxing so hard that the goddess would still be feeling it when she did make an appearance.

  “You are going to tend to me, girl.”

  Elizabeth displayed no fear, no surprise, just took his measure with studying gray eyes.

  “You’re not going to fight me?”

  “No. All I ask is that you shower off the blood first.”

  “What’s your plan?” With a sneer, he said, “Perhaps you’ll try to make me want you more than I do Saroya?”

  Elizabeth raised her brows.

  “I’ve predicted every move on your chessboard, every play you could possibly make. This is the only move open to you.”

  “Maybe that’s exactly what I plan.”

  Another sneer. “Then I’ll give you a chance to demonstrate how badly you want to sway me. When I return from my shower, be wearing the red silk gown and go to your knees before me.”

  Just as he was tracing away, he heard her murmur, “I’ll make sure you’ll be . . . pleased.”

  22

  Ellie masked her shock until he’d traced away.

  The vampire meant to just use her in the most cursory way imaginable?

  Wrong, on so many levels. First, she’d never gone down on a man before. She’d limited her encounters to third base, a soft third—grinding fully clothed to climax. No muss, no fuss, no pregnancy. Ideal for her.

  And second, she needed Lothaire to desire her so much that he would choose her above a deity.

  There’d be no seducing his body and his mind if she was just a vampire receptacle.

  Ellie had suspected he would crave wonder, surprise, excitement. Now it struck her that the surest way to surprise him would be to disobey his orders.

  As she hurried to her own shower, she debated her options.

  On the one hand, Ellie needed to obey him so as not to risk her family. If she were gambling with only her own life, then this would be a no-brainer.

  On the other, if her plan succeeded, she could win the jackpot—her body back from Saroya and maybe a chance to escape Lothaire, preferably with a pocketful of jewels to improve her family’s financial situation.

  After a quick shower, she threw on a robe and sat at her dresser. Since he seemed to be partial to her hair, she pinned it up loosely—just to let it down in front of him. Then she used some of Saroya’s makeup. Mascara, lipgloss, a little eyeliner.

  But when it came to dressing, Ellie wasn’t so sure. She stared with dismay at the red teddy in her lingerie drawer.

  She wasn’t embarrassed to wear it—no remaining modesty and all—but she didn’t want her encounter with Lothaire to go as he seemed to plan it: her in a teddy giving him a mouth hug, then him leaving without a word.

  In the end, she donned sexy undergarments, but chose to wear another pair of jeans and a tank top, a red one in compromise. She even pulled on stiletto boots.

  When she’d finished dressing, she checked herself out in the mirror. Her jeans and her top were both skintight, her high-heeled boots sexy. But even she could see the outfit needed something. . . .

  With a swallow, she yanked off her top, removed her bra, then pulled the top back on. That’ll do it.

  She imagined seeing herself from his eyes. What would I look like t
o a millennia-old vampire? The jeans accentuated the curves of her hips and ass. Her breasts jutted against the thin material of her top. He’d probably want to touch her there.

  Just thinking about his hands on her made her nipples hard. Not gonna beat myself up for desiring a bastard like him. She was anticipating this because she was emotionally stunted—and sexually desperate—from prison.

  The outfit was sexy, but not as much as the gown he’d wanted her in. I’m gambling with chips I can’t afford to lose. She exhaled, about to change—

  Lothaire appeared in her room, his hair still damp, clad in another expensive outfit. She briefly wondered why he’d redressed but figured he would want to intimidate her—or leave directly after his blowjob.

  Showtime, Ellie.

  He looked lustful, his body tense. “I gave you an order.” He traced to stand just before her, gripping her elbow. “You defy me, when I’m already on the verge of rage? I could kill you so easily.”

  “But you won’t.”

  “I might. Though I won’t intend to. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m quite mad.”

  In a deadpan tone, she said, “I think you’re just misunderstood.”

  Double take from the vampire.

  “Besides, Lothaire, could your chess game recover from a move like that? You’re not so far gone that you’d risk losing everything.”

  He cast her an appraising glance; she made a mental note—learn how to play chess.

  “You understood what would happen if you disobeyed me.”

  She forced herself to give him her brightest smile, as if she were delighted with him. “Oh, I didn’t reckon you really wanted me to wear that.”

  He raised his brows. Didn’t I?

  Drawing on every ounce of courage she possessed, she said, “Definitely not the first time we’re to be . . . intimate.”

  “And why not?”

  “You’d want me to feel comfortable. I’m more comfortable in jeans.”

  His grip tightened. “Do you truly believe I give a fuck about your comfort?”

  Courage, Ellie! “I told you I would please you, didn’t I?”

  Dropping her arm, he strode through the connecting doorway to that settee in his room, with no doubt she’d follow. He reclined against the back of it, his long legs stretched in front of him.