Blood Destiny
Page 6
The other vampire smiled...elegantly...and waved a dismissive hand. "Forgive me, brother." He said the word with reverence. "I did not intend such a thing. I overestimated her resistance, and I underestimated my strength. I meant only to discourage her from kicking me in...such an ill-advised way. Not to test you. And certainly not to toss her about the deck like a rag doll." He glanced over at Jocelyn. "I offer you my apology, Miss Levi. It was a substantial and inexcusable miscalculation."
Jocelyn blinked back tears of alarm and scooted even further away.
Apology not accepted.
The vampire looked as if he were actually considering coming over to help her up again, but then he clearly thought better of it and stayed where he was.
"I am Marquis Silivasi, Nathaniel's older brother. Please believe that I intend you no harm." His voice dropped an octave, so that it almost purred. "Know that I will not allow any other to harm you, either." And then his eyes narrowed into two, almost imperceptible bands of warning. "But above all, know this: I will not allow anything to happen to Nathaniel."
It was a clear, simple statement: There was no hint of menace buried in his tone, no overt threat warning her to behave. He didn't even growl or snarl. Yet, Jocelyn read it loud and clear: If she hurt Nathaniel, this one would kill her.
Nathaniel did not look pleased. "Why don't you ease up a little, Marquis!"
The male snarled. "The way I eased up with Shelby?"
Nathaniel frowned.
"Consider this, brother: We allowed Shelby to take matters into his own hands with tragic consequences, did we not? I will not make the same mistake twice. The same outcome will not befall you, no matter what has to be done. It is that simple."
Jocelyn stared from one vampire to the other, clearly reading the promise of enforcement in Marquis's eyes, but she didn't utter a single word of her own. She didn't dare.
The only thing more frightening to her than the male's dire vow of protection was Nathaniel's repeated claim of ownership where she was concerned. What did he mean, So you threw my woman across the deck? Surely, he didn't think she belonged to him—they hardly knew each other.
Jocelyn tucked her knees to her chest and wrapped her body in a tight little ball. With every moment that passed, she began to realize that she wasn't going to get out of this. She wasn't going to just walk away. And Nathaniel wasn't going to just let her go. The realization was surreal.
What were they planning to do to her?
She couldn't allow herself to think about the creature she had seen in the chamber, to think about the fate that had claimed the life of the poor suffering woman. Her sanity would not allow it. As it stood, she was barely holding on.
Marquis turned to face Nathaniel then and held both of his hands palms up in a gesture of peace. "So, are you done thinking you would like to fight me, brother?" he asked, smirking.
Nathaniel nodded. "I'm very relieved I won't have to."
Marquis chuckled. "You know I would never fight you, Nathaniel. I would choose to bind you to the deck first. Allow you to think for a bit. Cool down."
Nathaniel growled. "Don't be so sure you could, big brother. Perhaps you would be the one bound to the deck."
Marquis shrugged. "Perhaps, Nathaniel...perhaps."
He waved his hand as if to dismiss the silly conversation; then he suddenly became serious again. "Now, tell me what's happened. I saw the moon earlier...Cassiopeia...it is hard to believe..." His voice trailed off, and he shook his head, the red in his eyes receding back to the bluest black. He gestured at Jocelyn. "Tell me, how did you come to find this one?"
Jocelyn's eyes were as big as saucers. She made herself even smaller.
This one?
She was nothing to these creatures.
Nathaniel looked at her as if he had read her mind, as if he could not bear to see the fear and resignation in her eyes. He glided across the deck with the easy grace of a swan and gently lifted her to her feet, turning around briefly to glare at Marquis. Then he softly brushed his hand against her cheek and led her to two arched doors, the entrance to his dwelling.
"Jocelyn," he whispered, bending to her ear. "I know you are frightened and have many questions. I will answer them all soon. Please enter my home and wait for me while I talk with my brother alone. Marquis is a bit"—he paused, searching for the right words—"high strung at the moment."
Jocelyn didn't have to be asked twice.
She would gladly enter hell if it would just get her away from the fierce vampire. She immediately reached for the handle to the door, but before she could disappear into the temporary sanctuary of the home, Marquis appeared in front of her. His severe eyes locked unerringly with hers, and his pupils once again narrowed into two tiny slits of menace.
"Do not think to escape this place while we talk." His deep voice was stern and unwavering. "Do not even try." He paused, carefully considering his next words. "Such a thing would deeply upset me as it would place Nathaniel in great danger, and that is not something I would permit...from anyone."
His voice remained steady...smooth...pure as the driven snow. Yet, the crystal clear threat lingered perceptibly in the air, almost alive with electricity and promise.
Marquis shut the French door, with its stained glass and etched crystal panels, behind Jocelyn and turned to face his brother. "High strung?"
"Marquis," Nathaniel sighed with frustration, "I believe you were born high strung! And just for the record, would you please stop scaring the female senseless? Perhaps you should at least allow me to make a few inroads before you convince her that you are the devil, reincarnated, and I am one of your evil minions—here to cast her into the fiery depths of hell.
You are not helping me."
Marquis looked surprised...insulted. "I had no intention of frightening that woman," he said. "I only spoke the truth."
Nathaniel rolled his eyes in exasperation. He rubbed his forehead just above the bridge of his nose and took several deep breaths. "One man's truth is another woman's terror, Marquis. And this man's headache."
Marquis sniffed, indignant. "Vampires do not get headaches, Nathaniel. Is this some sort of metaphor? If so, just make your point."
Nathaniel shut his eyes and hung his head, shaking it back and forth...slowly. This particular conversation was pointless, but one thing was for certain: If he ever did get a human headache, Marquis was going to be the one who gave it to him.
He took a deep breath and regarded his brother with purpose. "We need to concentrate on the subject at hand—how I came across Jocelyn, and what we will need to do to protect her."
Marquis slowly exhaled with relief.
He stretched out lazily in the nearest lawn chair, folded his arms across his chest, and placed his feet up on the matching foot-stool.
"At last," he said, without smiling. "I'm listening."
Chapter Seven
Jocelyn was hunkered over in the corner of a soft beige sofa, hugging her knees to her chest, when Nathaniel entered the living room. Her eyes were bloodshot from crying, and there was a vacant look on her face, as if she'd simply given up trying to reason or think.
"You look cold." Nathaniel sent a sharp bolt of sizzling blue electricity from the tips of his fingers into the fireplace. He focused the steady stream on a small pile of kindling until the logs caught fire and roared into a healthy blaze. He then picked up a green throw-blanket from the back of his favorite armchair and handed it to her.
Jocelyn didn't take it.
She didn't move or even look up. She simply stared blankly ahead into space, numb to the night's events, withdrawn from her fate.
Nathaniel unfolded the blanket and gently wrapped it around her narrow shoulders before kneeling down on one knee in front of her. "Jocelyn," he whispered.
There was no reply.
The crackling of the fire could be heard coming from several different directions at once as the acoustics in the vaulted great room bounced the sound from wall to wall, floor to c
eiling, and back again.
The stunning hardwood floors were laid with large planks of knotted-pine, and the floor-to-ceiling windows offered a breathtaking view of the Northern Mountain Ranges as far as the eye could see. The blood-red moon had vanished, and the now soft-white moonlight illuminated the earth tones of the room, with its ancient pieces of art, like a celestial lantern burning in the night sky.
With another wave of his hand, Nathaniel lit several candles and turned on a large granite water fountain that sat adjacent to the stone fireplace.
Without even trying, the descendants of Jadon often arranged their homes to flow in harmony with the universe around them. They included the basic elements of earth, wind, and fire in the physical structures, and paid homage to the celestial gods by placing each piece of furniture in perfect synchronicity with the natural rotation of the planets.
They were the ancestors of Celestial Beings, the prodigy of humans who had once mated with gods, becoming a race of people ruled by the moon and stars, a culture that had walked in perfect accord with the world around them before they had been corrupted. Before the Blood Curse. And some things had remained instinctual.
"Jocelyn..." He tried again. "Won't you please speak to me?"
She squinted, her eyes narrowing as if gazing through a blanket of fog, and then she just shook her head. "You promised," she whispered. "You promised."
Nathaniel looked away. "I know I did...." He sighed. "And there's absolutely nothing I can say to make up for breaking that promise." He looked back at her then. "But you have to believe me when I tell you; I had no idea this was going to happen."
Jocelyn shifted uncomfortably. "You had no idea what was going to happen, Nathaniel?" She spoke in a tentative voice, looking up at him from behind dark lashes.
"The Omen."
"You mean whatever happened with the moon and the stars?"
"Yes."
She looked down at her wrist and studied it absently, as if she knew it was of great importance but had no idea why.
"Angel..." He took her hand and held it gently in his own.
"Look at me, please; do not just withdraw from the situation."
He brought the back of her hand up to his mouth and brushed a soft kiss against her knuckles. This was his future—his destiny—and she had much to learn.
She frowned and pulled back her hand.
"I know you're scared," he said, undaunted. "And I know you feel powerless. But I am willing to answer any questions you have...if you'll just ask."
She eyed him suspiciously. "Have you calmed down?"
He nodded. "You were never in danger, sweetheart. At least not from me."
"From the other one?" she asked.
"No." His tone was adamant. "My brother would never intentionally harm you."
Jocelyn shrugged and shook her head. "What difference does it make what I say or do, Nathaniel? You've already decided what's going to happen. Even your brother seems to have more control over me than I do." She sighed in despair.
"So, tell me then, what do you need my opinion for? I'd honestly rather you didn't patronize me."
"Jocelyn."
"What?" she huffed, this time sounding more exasperated than resigned. "Nathaniel, just tell me the truth for once: Will it make a difference? If I ask every question I can think of; say everything you want to hear; do everything you ask me to do, will you let me go?"
Ouch. Nathaniel stroked her cheek. His heart was heavy.
"It's not that simple, tiger-eyes." He forced himself to smile, his own gaze deliberately softening as he stared into hers.
Jocelyn frowned and turned away. "Of course not."
A moment of awkward silence passed between them before she spoke again. "And by the way, Nathaniel, I'm not your tiger-eyes or your sweetheart." She sounded amazingly defiant, considering how helpless she looked. "And I'm not your woman either." She said the last statement in a somewhat softer tone, as if she suddenly feared that she might provoke him.
Nathaniel reached out and took her hand a second time, absently rubbing his fingers in slow, caressing circles just above her wrist. He knew she would continue to resist his touch. To resist him. But he also knew that he could impart far more warmth and reassurance through physical contact than with his eyes alone. He wanted her to begin to sense him, to begin to feel who he was, and he knew she had it within her to do so.
He wanted her to become aware of her own attraction—the preordained chemistry between them—to remember who she was.
Nathaniel deliberately made his touch light, like a cooling balm on a hot day, even as he braced himself against the images he was picking up in her mind: distressing pictures of his own eyes glowing in the forest, disturbing flashbacks of him appearing more predator than man, unsettling glimpses of him confronting his brother on the deck...with fangs.
"Don't look at me like that," she said.
"Like what, angel?"
"Like you're reading my mind. Like you know me. Like I actually mean something to you."
Nathaniel shook his head. "I'm not trying to hide anything from you right now, Jocelyn. Yes, I am reading your mind—and your body language—and your emotions. And you mean far more to me than you realize." He continued to caress her hand. "But make no mistake; I know exactly who you are."
"Really?" she said sarcastically. "Who am I, then?"
"You're mine."
Jocelyn winced and closed her eyes.
He found her listening to the trickling sounds of the waterfall in conjunction with the crackling of the fire, simply letting the ambient noise take her over for a time, while blocking out the overwhelming intensity of the moment, and he waited....
Nathaniel waited as she watched the flames dancing and dodging between the burning logs. As she tried to ignore the subtle heat she was beginning to feel in his touch. Her response to their contact was barely noticeable, but it was there just the same—magnetic, undeniable.
The attraction was evident in her scent: the faint smell of fear mixed with arousal, the subtle hint of anticipation behind her anxiety. She must have felt like her body was betraying her, as he sensed her mixed emotions.
Nathaniel purposefully turned up the heat between them.
After some time had passed, she lifted her head and met his steady gaze. "My emotions are not going to override my brain, Nathaniel, no matter what you do."
Nathaniel didn't blink. "And I would never want such a thing."
Jocelyn sighed. "Fine..." She drew in a deep breath. "I suppose it doesn't do either of us any good for you to continue to talk in riddles—or for me to continue to remain in the dark."
He nodded, watching her intently.
"But I'll only talk to you on one condition—or there's really no point."
"What is that?"
He reached up and absently traced the arc of her eyebrow with the pad of his thumb. He tucked several loose tendrils of hair behind her ear and softly brushed her face from her jaw to her chin. And then he waited, while she leaned back and shut her eyes.
When she sat forward, her mouth was set in a stern line.
"What is this continuous need of yours to touch me?" She sounded exasperated, yet the rosy flush of her cheeks betrayed something else.
Nathaniel held his ground without apology. He said nothing.
"It's unnerving," she whispered, even as she tilted her head slightly to the side, leaning in the direction of his hand.
Nathaniel caressed her again then, just beneath her ear...just above her vein. He was sending small bolts of electricity through her body each time he made contact, slowly letting her feel the power that existed between them.
She couldn't possibly understand how strong their connection really was. At least not yet.
He knew she would continue to try and convince herself that it was all him. That he was somehow making her do things she wouldn't otherwise do.
She had no idea that she was drawing him in as forcefully as he was drawing her.
"Your condition, angel?"
She took a deep breath. "The condition is that you tell me the truth."
"Of course," he assured her.
"And don't avoid any of my questions."
"I'll do my best...." His words hung in the air like moisture on a rainy night.
She met his gaze for a moment, and the hazel green centers of her eyes immediately softened as she reacted to the waves of reassurance he was sending her.
"I don't even know where to begin," she told him honestly.
Nathaniel leaned in closer. "Start with something easy."
"Like?"
"Like what we are," he suggested.
"Vampires." She said it courageously.
"Yes."
She drew back, visibly shocked by his directness. He moved then, from the floor in front of her to the sofa beside her. He placed his hand on the nape of her neck and massaged it gently. It was not meant as an advance or to make her uncomfortable, but simply to make it clear that he intended to face this head-on with her. That he would not retreat from the truth of what he was...or what he wanted with her.
Her next question was surprisingly blunt. "Do you sleep in a coffin?"
He bit his lower lip, suppressing a smile. "No, I sleep in a comfortable king-size bed." He knew his eyes glittered with suggestion, so he briefly looked away.
She ignored the comment. "Can you be out during the day...in the sunlight?"
"Absolutely," he answered, "but we are nocturnal beings, Jocelyn. I prefer to sleep in the day and work at night; although, often it is necessary to conduct business during normal hours."
Jocelyn slowly exhaled. She appeared to be gathering her courage. "Do you...drink blood?"
"Yes."
Her hand went instinctively to her throat. "Please tell me you don't intend to drink mine. Please."
The room was silent. And so was he. Unsure of how to respond. He would never use her as prey—just to feed—but the idea of tasting her someday, if and when she was willing to freely offer, was more than just a little erotic. Staring at the soft shade of her caramel-colored skin, the graceful curve of her neck as it rose elegantly above her sternum, he could almost taste her essence now.