by Michele Ryan
“At no time was I afraid, Jonah,” she assured him. Even though he seemed to worry about it, she knew deep down, he would never hurt her.
“You are well?” He held the back of the chair in a death grip if she went by the stiffness of his fingers.
“More than.” She crossed to his desk. “Omer came to see me.”
“To warn you off?” He released his hold on the chair then sat.
“No, quite the opposite in fact. He felt it would be smart to have a conversation with me about caring for myself after a feeding.” She paused, waiting till his gaze finally found hers. “He was very nice and reassuring. He said if I should have any questions, he was more than willing to help.”
“Are you taking care of yourself?” Worry flickered through his gaze.
“Yes. His instructions were very simple. Plenty of fluids, make sure I eat several meals a day with perhaps an extra serving of red meat and rest.” Nervous by his cold reception, she rubbed her moist hands down her pants. It wasn’t going exactly how she thought it would. He hadn’t even kissed her and his icy demeanor worried her. “All of which I have already taken care of.”
“Excellent.”
“Jonah, is there a problem?”
Determined to not allow him to remain so remote, she stepped around the desk to be closer to him. He pushed the chair back and scrambled away, using the furniture almost as a shield to keep her from him. Was he afraid of her? She paused and watched him intently. His lips were compressed, his arms hung at his sides and his fists were clenched. He looked almost pained.
“I know you said you obtained your elixir.” She cocked her hip and crossed her arms below her breasts. She swore he growled. “Did you actually take it?” she asked.
“Yes. I did,” he hissed.
“So why are you avoiding me?” He opened his mouth, and she knew he was going to deny it. “Do not try to tell me you are not.” She gestured to the chair he continued to hold in front of him.
He sighed. “I was fine, damn it. The elixir seemed to be working. Until I stepped in here and scented you. Heard your heart beating, loud and strong. It is almost like I didn’t drink the damn potion ten minutes ago,” he admitted.
“You could have simply mentioned this, rather than avoid me,” she gently admonished him. “How can I help?”
“Keep your distance?”
“Is that the opposite of what you require?” She moved from behind the couch over to the settee, where she sat and patted the area next to her. “Come sit beside me.”
“Not a good idea at this moment, Annabelle,” he bit out.
Her gaze dropped to his fists, where he was clenching and unclenching.
“I am fully recovered from our previous activities. If you need to drink, you should drink. Fighting the craving will do you no good. I suspect it will just increase it.” She made it a point to keep her voice calm. Not because she feared Jonah. She didn’t. But she could sense, even see the beast lurking in his eyes.
“I am only allowed to feed from humans once a month. Omer’s rules,” he stated.
Made sense, but those humans weren’t his Beloved. Omer had explained it to her when he informed her of her care. Jonah might need to feed from her more often in the beginning. Omer thought Jonah’s need would ease off, and he would require less and less as time went by to sustain his need. His body would adjust, just as hers would.
“I refuse to allow you to suffer.” She patted the area next to her again. “I trust you. You will stop when you’ve had your fill.”
“Feedings usually go hand in hand with fucking.”
“Omer also informed me of this,” she stated.
“Is there anything Omer did not bother to inform you of?”
“Yes. Your need makes you combative. I am well trained. Would you prefer to work off your aggression in a fight?” she asked.
“Do you plan on staking me through the heart with those silver tipped stakes?” he inquired.
She stood up, watching him as he moved to her. “Are you always this bloody mad? Or is it when you’re at your hungriest? You know they’re silver tipped, but you’ll put them to your chest. Daft, old man.”
“Are you quite done?” He stopped in front of her, studying her face intently. She knew what he sought. A sign of fear. Well, she had none. “You never answered me. Do you intend to stake me?”
“Only if you don’t get out of your foul mood.” She smiled sweetly up at him. “You need to feed from me. We both know it and it will help you focus.”
“My focus is fine.”
“Your focus is on my heartbeat, and the sound of my blood pushing through my veins, calling to you.”
“Christ.” He groaned when she moved her hair to the side, offering up her neck to him once more. He hesitated. “You are too damn trusting.” He bent down, scraping his canines against her neck.
“I want this, Jonah,” she whispered. “It is my right.”
His sharp teeth sunk into her. The pinpoint of pain had her hands gripping his arms as she felt him draw from her. Her pussy ached and moisture gathered on her sex.
All too soon he released her and she felt a trail of blood run down her neck before he lapped it up, closing the wounds on her neck. She knew from the last time the wounds would be gone within hours.
“Better?” she asked.
“Indeed,” he muttered against her neck as he began to remove her clothes, one item at a time.
“I hope you remembered to lock the door,” she teased.
“Shite.”
Releasing her, he hurried to the door and clicked the lock into place.
He had only taken a small amount of blood, but she could see the hunger was easing. The tight look around his mouth was gone and he was no longer clenching his fists.
Craving him with an urgency she had never experienced in her life, she removed her vest and her shirt, and then kicked off her boots before discarding her trousers. Unashamed she stood before him naked, offering herself to him.
“You are beautiful,” he said.
In a blink of eye, he stood before her as naked as her with his manhood erect, bobbing between them. He wrapped his arms around her and together they went to the floor.
Chapter Twelve
Mortui non resurgunt…
Detener el corazón que une la mente…
Jonah gasped, and grabbed for his chest. The spot where his heart lay ceased to beat. He glanced down at Annabelle, who lay blissfully unaware of what was happening to him. He shot from the couch, putting distance between them.
Mortui non resurgunt…
Detener el corazón que une la mente…
No. Not now.
He cut his gaze back to where his Beloved lay. He wouldn’t hurt her. He couldn’t. Making love to her had been the single best thing he’d done with his pitiful life. The sugary perfume of her lifeforce clung to him, wrapped around him in a blanket of acceptance. Something he didn’t think he deserved.
La muerte es infinita…
Blackness slammed into his chest, fisting his heart. Squeezing it till what blood flowed through him had been staunched. His back bowed as he fell to knees. He opened his mouth to scream, but nary a sound came out. Paralyzed he knelt there, unable to move.
“Ah, finally. We meet.” The black mass became a body standing at the door to his office. The figure was indistinguishable. It swirled. Became a blob then returned to a thin translucent wisp of nothing.
“Who…are…you?” The sheer will it took to form the words, let alone speak them, astounded him.
“You know me,” the shadow stated. “You all do.” He lifted Jonah to his feet. “Don’t worry; she has no clue I’m here.” The mass expanded, growing near Jonah’s Beloved.
“Don’t…touch…her,” he spat.
“You are in no position to command anything from me.” The sensation of talons digging into Jonah’s heart assailed him. “I am your master now.”
Never. He’d never allow this…being…
to control his thoughts or his body. Yet, as hard as he fought against the rising tide of subconscious command to follow, the more difficult it became to keep the shadowed man out of his head.
Leave his Beloved behind, he couldn’t.
However, he found himself doing the exact opposite. Each step he took drew him farther away from her and out of the house. The blackened hand stayed within him, directing him like a marionette puppet. The strings were his innards. In the pitch black of night, nary a person dared to exit their home. Nor would they take the chance to stop them.
Jonah glanced skyward and found a thick cover of clouds obscuring the moon. Seemed appropriate for the actions unfolding. Had Lucian figured out a way to manipulate the weather? As they traveled farther away from the bowels of London, Jonah understood where they were going. The cemetery. The mausoleum lay before him, door open, torches lit. What in Gods…
The shadows of the fire danced along the cobblestone and brick walls, creating abstract patterns, almost putting him into a trance-like state. His gut tightened. Fear gripped him. Even if he wished to scream, he couldn’t. Plus, it wouldn’t do any good. Who would save a vampire?
The closer they stepped toward the tomb, the thicker the putrid, oppressive air became, gagging Jonah. The stench of death clung to the air. Recent, sick, diseased. Whoever had died had been in pain—sick for years. If he had to guess, consumption. Horrible disease. It destroyed the lungs, causing the person to drown in their own fluids. Jonah curled his lip in disgust, the first real expression he’d been able to attempt since being taken over.
“Get in there.” The dark shadow shoved him into the opening, causing him to stumble and sprawl out on his belly. Bits of rock, glass and things he didn’t want to contemplate dug into his skin.
“Ah, you’ve arrived.”
Jonah glanced up at the man and snorted. A dandy’s hair had been styled perfectly, his mustache trimmed and curled as a proper man of society should have. His suit, tailored to his lean form, fit him perfectly. In his left hand, a walking stick with an ivory topper carved into a skull.
“You don’t have to speak,” he said. “In fact, it’s a requirement.” He pulled out the small wooden stool then sat on it. “You really shouldn’t be surprised I snuck into the mansion. I did live there once a long time ago.”
Lucian.
His lips compressed. Blood dripped onto his tongue at the force Lucian exerted on him. He had to break this spell, enchantment, whatever the bloody case might be. Yet, the more he struggled, the tighter the bindings on his vocal cords became. Lucian meant to kill him. He should accept it. He would be leaving his Beloved behind, but at this point, so early in their relationship, Annabelle would be fine.
“None of that.” Lucian tsked. “If you think I will allow you to walk into the sun, you’re completely wrong.”
“What…do…you…want?” Jonah gritted out, fighting back against the compulsion.
“Your head on a pike. I want to see the streets of London covered in your blood. I want eternal night.” He laughed. “What does any man want, Jonah? I want to rule the world, and with my zombie horde, I will succeed.”
No, he wouldn’t. Not without Annabelle putting up a fight. Not without mass casualties to the horde. “You…won’t…win.” He scratched at his chest as excruciating pain burned through him. It went from the tip of his toes to the ends of his finger and up to the follicles of his hair. His head felt as though it would implode, or as if his skeleton would be pulled straight from his skin.
Lucian laughed. “I enjoy manipulating your mind. With a snap of my fingers I could kill you.”
But, he wouldn’t. He needed Jonah.
“Ah, so you hear me.” The man pointed to his temple while his black eyes swirled with insanity and doom. “Then I’ll make this simple. I’ll show you everything you’re about to do.”
He lifted his fingers and instantly Jonah stood. He tried to brace his mind for what would come. Instead, it shot through him. Death. Destruction. Rivers of blood coating London in its sticky slickness. He saw each member of his team fall before him as bloodlust rushed through his veins. He had to eat. To feed. He was so hungry. Desperate.
Jonah’s body grew heavy. Weary. How many days had he been stuck in the tomb? How long had it been since he’d tasted fresh, warm blood? His teeth popped through his gums. His nails grew into the shape of sharp claws. He stood hunched over, more creature than man. He had to find the exit. Get out of there and drink. Take his fill and grow drunk on it all. Nothing would sate him now.
“Perfect. You’re almost ready,” Lucian remarked; however, Jonah had been too far gone to understand his words.
Lucian snapped his fingers and Jonah pivoted, facing the man. A cruel smirk twisted his features. An evil glow settled in his gaze. The man motioned for him to come closer, and he took a step, then another until he was mere inches from Lucian. Jonah inhaled deeply, but could smell no blood nor hear a heartbeat.
No life resided in this meat suit. Jonah recoiled. How could it be? A living man not living. Even a vampire had a scent after its death slumber—no, this undead who sat in front of him, didn’t straddle the line between immortality and death. Jonah tried desperately to shake off the effects of whatever spell controlled him, but it was no use.
Lucian was too strong.
“Won’t…help.”
Lucian wrapped his hand around Jonah’s neck and snatched him closer. “You will, because I command it.”
The walls of Jonah’s psyche shut down, trying to keep the man out, but he destroyed them with a snap of his fingers, shoving images of pain and torture into his mind. The conditioning wore on Jonah, bringing him to his knees. He would beg if he knew it’d bring him peace. Instead he continued to fight. To rage against Lucian. To return to his home.
But he was so tired. So hungry. So weak. He’d been there for months now, hadn’t he? Been tortured every night when he woke? Had even slept? Not eating. Not sleeping. Oh God, let him go. He wanted to die. He wanted to feel the sun on his cheek one more time. Hear the song birds sing their morning tune.
“See what I can do to you within minutes, Jonah?” He chuckled. “How I can warp the hands of time, and make it endless, until it loops in your mind, repeating the same day—the same emotions, over and over again. You cannot get away from me. I own you.”
An overwhelming sadness crushed him. Jonah felt it settle in his heart like a lump, causing the muscle to cease to beat. He was dying. No one had to tell him. This time instead of receiving eternal life, he grew closer to death.
“Uh, uh.” Lucian shook his finger in front of Jonah’s face. “Not yet. Not till you see what you’ve done.”
A snap of electrical current rushed through him, jolting him back to the here and now. “You…will…p-pay.”
“I’m sure you believe such. You were always an arrogant man, after all.” Lucian shrugged. “However, it won’t happen this time, ol’ boy. Once I am done here, I will catch the next boat to the Americas. Perhaps, I’ll spare the lovely Annabelle, and take her as my bride.” He tapped his chin and gave Jonah a devilish grin. “I wonder if she’ll scream for me.”
Lucian stood, and dragged Jonah along as if on an invisible leash. The rush of cool night air hit his too-sensitive skin. Mist blew sideways while they continued down the lane, back to the city. The darkness of night lightened, not due to sunrise, but as if the spell weakened over time. Jonah tugged on his unseen chain, trying to find the chink in it.
“Jonah? I-is that you?” Jack.
“Mr. O’Keefe. How nice of you to join us.” Lucian stopped, and turned to Jonah. “Feed.”
He had no choice. He had to do what Lucian told him. He reached for the specter. His fingers scored the invisible flesh, leaving a line of blood in its wake. Grabbing the man with a quickness Jonah hadn’t expected, he pierced Jack’s skin and began to drink. So good. So tasty. So hungry. Each pull he took from the man he called friend caused Jack’s heart to flutter. He tried in vai
n to push Jonah off, yet he stayed.
When his heart grew impossibly slow, he closed the wound. “Hide. You won’t die.” Some of the zapped strength he experienced retreated. The muddled mess of his brain cleared, allowing him to decipher what was true and what was false.
Jack tapped his hand twice, scurrying away. Jonah hoped someone would find him in the interim. Now, he had to deal with the Summoner. “You aren’t as bright as you believe, Lucian.”
“No? Do tell.”
“You’ve given me my strength back,” Jonah growled.
“Did I?” Lucian chuckled; the maniacal sound grated across Jonah’s nerves. “Detener el corazón que une la mente.”
Jonah gasped, falling to his knees once more. The whoosh of his blood filled his ears. Again, the skin on his body stretched too tight. His lungs collapsed. His heart beat once, twice, then stilled.
“Much better,” Lucian said. “I feel alive.”
Lucian snapped the metaphysical leash, forcing Jonah to follow him. The roughened cobblestones and rocks tore at his fragile skin, breaking it open. What was left of his blood seeped out onto the walking path. Oh how he’d welcome death now. To see the sun come up over the horizon.
“Bloody hell, not this again,” Lucian snapped. “You have work to do, Jonah. You’re going to feel right as rain after you’ve killed everyone.”
Jonah closed his eyes. He didn’t care. He had to preserve his energy, keep what mental fortitude he had.
When he woke, they were on the dock once more, not more than a few feet from where the woman had been found. He blinked at the ripples forming on the water, unsure if what he saw was a hallucination or reality. Grey, bony figures climbed out of the water and stepped onto the dock. Each being had been fitted with cog and wheel hearts, steam appendages, and with some, bellows.
Horror filled him. No wonder why they hadn’t been able to find the horde. They’d been under them the whole time.
Row after row came out of the water and assembled in front of Lucian. There were more than Jonah had expected. There were easily over two hundred zombies. How long has Lucian been building this horde?