“Do you live forever?”
“No. We eventually age and die, although it usually takes centuries and centuries.”
Meg stared at the flames, her mind spinning. “He’s fast, so very quick. Strong. Those glowing eyes….”
“It all comes with being a Vampire.” Millie strolled toward the windows. “As well as hating the sunlight.”
Hating the sunlight. Startled, Meg jumped. The room spun, her heart hammering so loudly she could hear it in her ears. Hanna hated the sunlight. Hanna’s mother had obviously been a vampire. Which meant Hanna…. sweet, lovely Hanna….
*****************************************************
Scotch was good.
Damn good. Scotch never lied to you, never wanted more from you, never made you believe impossible dreams. Grayson frowned. Well, he supposed that wasn’t true. Lieutenant Miller had certainly sworn he could fly when he’d been off his knocker with the drink and look how that had ended.
Still, there had to be something wonderful about an alcohol that could numb your feelings, make you forget beautiful blue eyes. Grayson swirled the glass around and around, watching the amber liquid catch the lamp light. Eyes that seemed to pierce one’s very soul.
“Rather purty,” he muttered.
Yes, he should most assuredly drink more scotch. He tipped the glass back and the warm liquid burned a path down his throat. He closed his eyes, wallowing in the numbness, welcoming the fuzziness to his head. He rarely drank alcohol. He didn’t need to, for blood could make him feel more than any other drink or food. And Meg’s blood… Merde, Meg’s blood had been better than any aphrodisiac. But he had hoped scotch could numb the memories tormenting him. Memories of Meg. Memories of War. Memories of his family. But the alcohol wasn’t enough. Never enough.
Emma’s face flashed to mind and his heart squeezed. He’d been so hell bent on escaping the pain produced by his parent’s murder, that he’d abandoned his sister and joined a human’s foolish war. And while he was helping those ridiculous humans with their asinine problems, his sister had been murdered. Silly him, he’d thought his sister was protected in that home of hers. Protected by her husband. But he had forgotten than her husband was only human. As useless as a babe.
And now, since meeting Meg, there were times when he’d forgotten his mission, forgotten Emma and his promise to protect her child.
“Merde,” he whispered, pressing his hand to his head. Would the ghosts of his past never leave him in peace? He tossed his glass into the hearth, feeling a perverse sense of satisfaction when it shattered against the brick back. The flames burst to life. Suddenly, the memories he tried to keep at bay ran free and he was back on the continent.
Sweat trailed down the lieutenant’s face, dripping into his eyes. He swiped the dampness from his forehead. “Sir, a letter. Most urgent.”
Grayson lowered his rifle and opened the paper. Although the writing was shaky, he recognized the elegant scrawl as his sister’s. “Gray, please come home. I fear something is greatly wrong. I fear for my family.
Promise me, Gray, promise you’ll return and if it’s too late…promise you’ll take care of Collette.
Yours,
Emma
The wind rattled the glass panes jerking him from his past. He’d left as soon as he’d gotten the letter, but it had been too late.
His clothing felt suddenly too tight. Stumbling to his feet, Grayson tore open his shirt, the buttons clattering to the floor. The garment hung loose, open. He moved to the windows and pushed the panes wide. A crisp breeze swept inside, cooling his fevered skin. He raked his hands through his hair, his fingers trembling.
Her blood pounded through his veins, bringing with warmth and sunshine…desire, need. He wanted to rip the skin from his body, to drain his own blood to be rid of her once and for all. Grayson stumbled to his desk and leaned his palms on the flat surface, intent on thinking of anything other than Meg. He could have killed her. Drained her dead. The thought sickened and horrified him. He needed to stay away from the woman, yet couldn’t. Leaving her would be like leaving behind a vital part of himself.
A soft knock rang through the room. He spun around, and swayed when the walls continued to twirl. “Ce qui?” He shook his head, realizing he’d spoken French. “What?”
The door opened and Millie peeked inside. She looked clean, smooth, perfect. “I sensed you were awake.”
“Va-t'en.”
Millie sighed and swept further into the room. “I will not go away, as you so elegantly put it. You’re still obsessing over Meg? Obsessing about being a monster? Obsessing over the fact that you’ll never be normal? Really, this brooding Gothic hero act is getting old.”
“Go to hell.”
Millie strolled to his small desk and trailed her finger over Emma’s letter. “She’s gone, Gray. You’re not. You can have a life.”
He hissed, his lips lifting. “A life? As what?”
Millie picked up his glass and sniffed. “Ridiculous. It’s practically impossible to kill us, yet we can get foxed. You’re drunk.”
“Course not. I’m never drunk.” He slumped into the chair and covered his eyes with his hand. Her shrill voice was giving him a pounding headache. Or maybe it was the alcohol. Or perhaps the blood…yes, too much of Meg’s sweet blood thrumming seductively through his body.
“How is she?” he couldn’t help but ask.
“She’s fine. As they always are. You know as well as I that often when they are first fed upon, they develop a reaction, a fever. She’ll be well in the morning.”
He’d done this to her. Made her sick. He could have done so much worse.
Millie sighed, a long drawn out sound that raked his nerves. “Go to her. Explain.”
He clutched the arms of his chair until the wood cracked under his strength. “Merde, let me be, you blasted woman.”
“Truly, it’s shocking you haven’t married yet. Such a gentleman, you are.”
He didn’t respond, merely stared into the flames, hoping she’d give up and leave. What did she know? How could he bring a family into this world when he couldn’t even protect the one he’d been born into? He was a monster. He didn’t deserve a normal life.
“You fed on her, didn’t you?” She settled into the chair across from him.
He didn’t respond. How could he? He hated himself for tasting Meg. Hated himself even more for wanting her still, even now. He’d barely been able to stop himself from draining her lovely body. He could have killed her.
Millie latched onto his arm. “You’re warm. You fed. I saw the marks on her neck and I could smell her on you the moment you entered the house.”
He jerked away from her touch. “Go to hell.”
“According to your beliefs, I have no other option, being what I am.” They fell into a tense silence. He was perfectly content to merely sit there in silence until she admitted defeat.
Millie sighed. “Gray, you fed on her. You did what we’re supposed to do. You didn’t kill anyone, so stop acting as if you have.”
He surged from his chair, his lips lifting into a snarl. “Stop it. Just stop.” He spun around and moved to the windows. He leaned his hands on the cold glass. His skin was so warm, his body so hot from her blood, that the glass began to fog. “I could barely stop, Millie. I wanted her so badly, as if I was newly turned, with no control. The way Collette will be soon.”
Millie didn’t say a word, but she didn’t need to say a thing. “I’m supposed to be thinking of my family, of Emma’s murderers. Instead, I’m obsessing over Meg, her loyalty, her honor, her selflessness. The way she tastes.”
“Gray, it doesn’t have to be this way. Why must you torture yourself?”
He released a humorless chuckle. “Fine, I can admit I want her. But the question I fear is when she realizes what I’m truly capable of, will she want me?”
“Gray, I think she’s already had a hint of what you’re capable of and she hasn’t run screaming out the door as of yet.”
But her words offered him no comfort. He paced across the room, his movements restless, his need intensifying. “I can feel her inside of me. If I had a soul, I’d swear she’d taken hold of it.”
Desperate, he turned to Millie, his oldest friend. The one woman who knew him better than any other. “What the hell is wrong with me?”
She sighed long and loud. “Tis simple, Gray. You, my friend, are falling in love.”
Chapter 15
Sleep was calling…calling… Yet, something tapped at the edges of her mind and told her she wasn’t alone. Something shifted through her consciousness; something that tore her from slumber. A whispered warning that broke through the silence of her world.
Meg lifted her lashes just enough to see the hearth. The fire burned brightly although the house was still and felt as if it had been for some time now. But someone had been in her room recently, stoking the flames. And she swore someone was there now. Oddly, she didn’t feel afraid, but … comforted by the stranger’s presence.
With a shiver of awareness, she understood why. Grayson.
She didn’t know how she knew it was he, but she did. Grayson was in her room. Meg tucked her elbows into the soft mattress and sat upright. The room didn’t spin this time, her head didn’t ache. Rest had done wonders for her body, as Millie had said it would. Meg scanned the dark, waiting for her eyes to decipher shadow from shadow. She found Grayson easily, her gaze drawn to the far corner where the windows met. He sat in a wingback chair, just out of reach of the firelight, a glass in his hand. He looked like a lazy lord, relaxing. She knew better. A shiver of unease raced through her body.
“Are you here to toss me from your home?” she asked, her voice husky with sleep.
He was silent for a moment, a heavy, horrible silence that made her nervous when she didn’t want to be. She was tired of being afraid and refused to be intimidated by this man.
“No, I’m here merely to understand why it is you have such a hold on my soul.”
Meg sucked in a sharp breath. His words should have been romantic, instead they sounded almost like a threat. “You’re drunk.”
He set his glass on the side table with a soft thud. “I was, but no longer. We burn alcohol much more quickly than humans.”
We. There it was again, the admittance that he was different. She couldn’t move, she was too afraid, as if they were standing on a thin layer of ice and even breathing might crack the surface and take them under. “You say human as if you aren’t.”
“Some say we were spawned from demons.”
She shivered despite herself. “You’re not a demon.”
He appeared in front of her bed in the blink of an eye, so fast she hadn’t seen him move. Meg gasped and surged back. Her heart hammered madly, yet she refused to cower under the hard glare of his gaze.
“Do you really believe that?” he asked, his lips lifting slightly, those sharp teeth glaringly white.
Staring up at him, she knew she must keep her wits. She knew she must not break eye contact, even though those beautiful green eyes glowed and even though she knew he was doing his damnest to scare her off.
“Yes, you’re not a demon, Grayson.” She was rather proud of the fact that her voice didn’t quiver.
Something shifted within him, something she couldn’t see on his person but could feel in his soul and the very atmosphere that surrounded them. “Then what am I?”
It wasn’t a rhetorical question, and she knew in that moment he needed her much more than she needed him. Slowly, she settled her feet on the cold floor. Before she lost her nerve she stood. The hem of the silky nightgown she wore slithered down her legs, pooling at her ankles. The material was thin, providing little barrier between her body and his. Still, she stepped close, so close she could feel the heat from his form.
Stiff as a statue, he didn’t move as she reached up, cupping the sides of his face in her hands. “You’re Grayson. You’re honorable. You’re beautiful.”
With a low groan he wrapped his arms around her waist and jerked her up against his hard body. She didn’t resist as he lowered his head and molded his mouth to hers. So different this time. He was warm. So incredibly warm. But the sensations he induced were oh so familiar.
Lust shot through her body, leaving her senses spinning. His hand slid into her hair, cupping the back of her head. She was lost in his scent, in his warmth, and the feel of his body against hers. Hungry for more, Meg wrapped her arms around his shoulders, her fingers curling around the cool locks at the base of his head.
Could a person expire from a mere touch? Meg parted her lips on a sigh. His kiss became possessive as he thrust his tongue into her mouth. Heat swirled low in her gut, before settling between her legs. Meg could do nothing but whimper and tighten her hold on the man.
How he frightened her! How he made her want impossible things, sinful things. Breathless, he ended their kiss, his arms still around her waist. “Merde, how I want you.”
The words were honest, almost too honest. Words she’d never heard before, words an honorable man wouldn’t dare whisper in her presence. Instead of being outraged, strangely, the words sent a thrill of desire through her body.
She reached up, her hands trembling as she began to unbutton his shirt. Nervous, anxious, she fumbled with the buttons, worried he’s stop her before they had started. He waited patiently, holding her as she spread the shirt wide and smoothed her hands over the hard planes of his stomach. His muscles quivered under her touch, his breath catching. His reaction urged her onward. He was beautiful; the statue David carved from marble and come to life.
“Lovely,” she whispered.
As if he could wait no longer, he pressed his mouth to hers. The weight of his body forced her backwards. Together they tumbled to the bed. She knew they were in dangerous territory, knew in that moment everything would change, yet she couldn’t seem to stop herself from parting her lips. And when his tongue swept inside her mouth, she eagerly deepened the kiss.
He covered her completely, engulfing her smaller body with his. She felt oddly protected under the strength of him. Meg whimpered, pressing her hips upward. She couldn’t get close enough; wanted to melt into him. His hands moved over her body, his palms cupping her bottom and bringing her hips closer to the hardness between his thighs. Lord, she’d become wanton, yet couldn’t seem to care.
Boldly, he shoved his knee between her legs. She knew the material of her nightgown was thin, but she hadn’t realized how thin until his body pressed to hers. Molten fire erupted within her soul. She felt every inch of his being. She might as well have been naked. She wished she was naked.
“Belle,” he whispered.
Meg nestled his hard erection between her thighs. For years she’d been too busy to stop and feel much of anything. But now…now feelings were washing over her, flooding her body. Feelings so intense she thought she might just float away and drown on the tide. Grayson’s warm mouth moved to her neck. Although she welcomed his touch, her body instinctively flinched. He felt it too, for he lifted his glowing gaze to her.
“I will not feed from you. Rest easy.”
She wanted to tell him that she wasn’t worried, but he started kissing her neck again and all thoughts vanished. She wanted to be lost in him, to forget everything but his touch and she knew he needed the same from her. Lord, she was willing to give herself to this man. Why, when she’d repeatedly evaded Mathew’s eager caresses?
“But I will have you.”
She didn’t understand what he said, but it didn’t matter because he was pulling up her nightgown. She lifted herself just enough so he could tear the gown from her body and toss it to the ground. She didn’t miss the fact that his hands were trembling and the realization surprised and warmed her. She’d done that to him, made him want her with a need that left him shaking.
Naked, she lay under him. She should have been embarrassed under the glowing gaze of his eyes, but instead, she felt only his desire, mingling, mixing
with hers.
“Je t’ador,” he whispered, right before he covered her with his hard body.
Her chest flattened against his, his hips to hers. She’d never been so physically close to someone. His lips brushed hers, and then he moved lower, pressing his warm mouth to her neck. Lower still to the tops of her breasts. Meg shivered. Lower…his teeth scraped against a hardened nipple. Meg gasped as ripples of pleasure wavered through her body.
His warm fingers, cupped her hips, then slid down her sensitive thighs. “You smell so damn good, do you know that?”
He was off her before she could appreciate his words. His shirt was tossed to the floor. With slow, deliberate movements, he unbuttoned his trousers. It was as if he was giving her time to stop this insanity.
Meg bit her lower lip and merely watched. She wanted this as much as he and if Grayson thought she would prevent this from happening, he should think again. His trousers were gone. Naked, he stood before her. Sinewy muscles covered by pale skin. Valleys and mountains of muscles that trailed down his stomach. Muscles that flexed as he moved. Meg couldn’t seem to catch her breath. She knew he was strong, but until now, hadn’t truly understood his power. But it was more than physical, this strength he held, it was deep within his soul.
Finally, she dared to lower her gaze. She’d certainly never seen a man’s erection. The sight left her breathless and hot in a way she didn’t understand. She only had time to catch a mere glimpse of his long, thick shaft before Grayson was stretching out beside her. There was no going back. She didn’t care. She was tired of being careful. For once she felt alive. For once she felt as if she had someone to rely upon, as insane as it sounded.
He wrapped his arm around her waist and drew her close. Side by side they lay, each trembling with need and desire and she was fully aware of his steely erection pressing against her lower belly.
He brushed a strand of hair from her face and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I don’t wish to hurt you.”
Physically or emotional? Why she did fear he meant both? “Then don’t.”