Blood Wyne (34 page)

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Authors: Yasmine Galenorn

Tags: #Romance, #General, #Paranormal, #Fiction

BOOK: Blood Wyne
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“You . . . uh . . . Menolly?” Camille shot me a pleading look.
I let out a sigh. “To save your life—you were terribly sick with an infection—Sharah injected some of my blood into your wound. You have a little bit of me flowing through your veins. And it appears to have created a link between us.”
He let out a sharp yip, but I didn’t kid myself. It wasn’t a compliment. “I was
that
sick?”
“Yes, love,” Camille said quietly. “You were
that
ill. We stood a good chance of losing you.”
“But do you know what vampire blood does to my kind?”
“No, that’s the point. We didn’t. We still don’t, though I’m getting the impression it’s not a good thing. Not entirely.” Camille slid into a nearby chair, and I joined her in the one next to it.
“Tell us,” I said. “What do we have to expect now?”
“Vampire blood creates a bond between the giver and receiver, a lot like siring a vampire but without the subservience. It also . . . I’ll be a whole lot stronger for a
long, long
time, once I’ve healed up. And . . .” He glanced at Camille. “Don’t worry, my love—I won’t forsake you for your sister. But for the next few weeks, it’s best if Menolly and I aren’t left in the same room alone. My demon nature will be at the forefront a lot . . .”
I didn’t want to admit it, but I knew what he was talking about. I wanted to strip down and join him under the covers, to push my sister out of the way and tell her to leave the room. Apparently Morio wasn’t feeling quite so possessive, or he wasn’t showing it, thank the gods.
“He’s right. You’re my blood, my sister. And I don’t know how long this will last. Morio will be in the hospital for a little while longer . . . I’ll just try to keep out of your way,” I said. I had no intention of stealing my sister’s husband.
As I headed for the door, the bond threatened to snatch me back, to prevent me from leaving. Pushing the feeling away, with an abrupt jolt, I launched myself into the hallway, ignoring the urge to return to the room where Morio lay.
This was a fine mess, but my guess was that it would be temporary. Until it wore off, we’d just be cautious and avoid being caught alone. Because I knew, were we in the same room, the pull would be so strong that we’d be in each other’s arms. And the last thing in the world I wanted to do was interfere in Camille’s affairs.
 
As I hurried out of the medic unit, I didn’t know where I was going. I just knew that I needed to put some distance between the fox-demon and me. I found myself roaming down to the Wayfarer, which was open and busy.
Derrick was behind the counter, and the drinks were flowing. I watched him from the back for a little while, satisfied that he was doing a good job. On a whim, I called Roman.
“Hey dude, how would you like to see my bar?” I asked when he smoothly answered the phone.
With a low laugh that set me on edge, he whispered, “I’ve seen it before, so no, but I’d like to see
you
. If that’s an invitation, I’m in the car now. I’ll be there in five minutes.”
As I hung up, a shiver ran up my spine. The pull to Morio had been strong. I needed to blow off steam and I didn’t trust myself with Nerissa right now. I was too set on edge. I wanted to feed, even though I wasn’t hungry. Roman was my best choice at this moment.
I wandered over to the jukebox and slipped a few quarters in. “Tainted Love” by Marilyn Manson, “Sister Midnight” by Bowie, “Personal Jesus” by Depeche Mode . . . all good dance songs. And sometimes dancing was the only way to get some of the hunger out of my body. I understood why Camille liked the pounding rhythms she listened to—
ear sex
, she called her alternative grunge-goth music.
I began to sway to the music. I might not be curvy, but my hips knew what to do, and the tightness of my jeans accentuated my hunger, making me ache for someone’s touch, for the feel of hands on my body. I’d finally accepted my sexuality and it had come through like gangbusters.
A few of the other customers joined me and we rose and fell to the music, letting it move our bodies as it raced from speaker to speaker around the bar. The beat throbbed through the walls and floor, reverberating in my stomach. And then I looked up to see Roman standing at the door.
Everyone fell back as he entered the room. His hair was long and sleek, and he was wearing a pair of leather jeans and a jacket the color of crimson. He took one look at me, and the next second, he took me in his arms. As we danced, weaving and spinning to the music, everything else fell away and I began to transfer the hunger I’d felt for Morio to Roman. Before I knew it, we were kissing, my arms draped over his shoulders, his pelvis pressed against mine, as he wrapped his arms around my waist.
I rolled my head back, fangs extended, and let out a long hiss. He echoed the greeting in return and his eyes flashed as he nuzzled my neck. “We need to fly,” he whispered. “We need to run, to own the city.”
Without a word, he led me to the door and we raced into the darkening streets. We explored the city via the rooftops, running so fast, so hard that the lights were a long, neon blur, streaks of time-lapse photography. Cars passed by in slow motion, the cacophony of a hundred conversations all blended into one. Building after building fell beneath our feet as the hiss of silent snow fell around us and we claimed the city rooftops for our own.
And still the music echoed from behind me. I could hear it; it had worked its way into my system. Then we were standing atop a rooftop, and his lips were on mine.
I returned the kiss, hungry and fierce. “I need to drink from you.”
He stripped the jacket away from his neck. “Please, my sweet. Drink. Drink deep, drink hard.”
I sank my fangs into the cream-pale flesh, and a shudder ran through my body as they slid easily into his neck. Blood welled up, sweet liqueur in my mouth, ambrosia of the damned. No longer metallic, but like a fine port, thick and heady. I swallowed, coaxing more into me, and then felt Roman unzip his pants.
Struggling to keep control, I pulled away and stripped out of my jeans and shirt. His gaze followed me, like a cheetah stalking his prey. His cock rose thick and pulsing and I throbbed deep inside, wanting to impale myself on him.
With a shriek, I wrapped my legs around his waist as he cradled my ass and thrust into me. As his delicious length and width spread me wide, I plunged my fangs back into him and he propped my back against a wall for leverage, fucking me hard.
As he drove into me time and again, I coaxed his blood, drawing my tongue along his neck as I sipped on the violent wine. His mother was the Queen of Vampires, Blood Wyne, and the royalty rang in his life force—a dusky, rich, ancient taste of power. He was a god of ice, a god of heat, a god who had witnessed history come and go. He was Roman, and he wanted me.
“Come, Menolly, come, beautiful one.” His left hand slid off my butt, around to finger me, driving me further into the blood lust.
“Ivana Krask calls me
dead girl
,” I whispered.
“Oh, but you are
my
dead girl. My consort. You may have all the playmates you wish, and you may marry your girlfriend and I will dance at your wedding, but I have chosen you to be my consort. I am the son of Blood Wyne. And at the cocktail party coming up at the Clockwork Club, I will unveil our pairing.”
And then he began to thrust in earnest. His lips met my neck as his fangs pierced my flesh, and I lost myself in the haze of blood and passion, sliding into an orgasm from which I did not know if I could extricate myself. At last my mind stilled, with only the sound of the falling snow to sing to us.
CHAPTER 20
 
 
“Roman, what did you mean about unveiling our pairing at the Clockwork Club?” The pressure off, I slid back into my clothing, then leaned against the railing that overlooked the street twenty stories below. The lights of the city were soft against the blanket of falling snow. Silent cars trailed slowly through the streets, hesitant ants slipping over the ice.
He hopped up to crouch on the lip of the building. A foot wide, the concrete walkway offered no handholds or supports. A balance beam, a game of Russian roulette, and yet he was rock steady.
“They’re having a pre-Solstice party, just a cocktail affair. I want to announce you then.”
“What does that mean, exactly?” I wasn’t sure what to expect.
“We will attend the party as a couple, and I will announce that you are now my consort. I have a standing in the community—”
“You mean your will
is
the community’s will.” I was beginning to sort out and understand the nature of Earthside vampire politics and wondered how I’d managed to stay so aloof from them until now. Though, to be fair to myself, we’d been rather busy with Shadow Wing and his retinue.
“Well, yes. I control the vampire community on this continent, for the most part. And once I announce you as my official consort, you will wield far more power than you do now. You will almost be a queen in your own right. And I think you shall need that power during the coming months.” He paused. “I have foresight, to some extent. I am aware of your war against the demons.”
At my jerk of the head, he laughed. “Oh, Menolly, I’m aware of much more than you think I am. Being my consort means you will have that many more resources to call upon. Should the Demon Lord decide to come through the portal himself, it means the vampire community will rally to help you if you demand it. As my consort, you will wield that power.”
I stared at him. “You mean that if you snapped your fingers, the vampires around here would come running? Wade’s been trying to establish a communal effort for years with Vampires Anonymous, and he still can’t get them to work together. Oh, and speaking of . . . What about Terrance? He tried to frame Wade for the murders our serial killer is responsible for.”
“If you become my consort and lend Wade your backing, he will have a much easier time. You think the vampires of the Clockwork Club wield authority? They kneel to me. We who live in power can exert a great deal of influence.
If we choose.
Which is another reason Terrance must die. He refuses to bow to our demands. He would set himself up as a petty general. We . . .
I
. . . am the power behind the public face of the vampire community in North America.”
“Who decided to create the Regencies? Wade led me to believe he had a hand in it.”
Roman shook his head. “No. Blood Wyne—my mother—decided it was necessary. It cements the family power, while offering a chance for nonroyal vampires to help decide local policies. Each continent will be divided up into several Regencies and the sons and daughters of Blood Wyne will oversee the Regents. The times are changing. As much as I fear my mother, she has finally convinced me of the necessity of an active monarchy.”
“So how will this work?” Wade had told me one thing, but when I thought about it, his explanation had never been very clear.
“Blood Wyne will emerge from the shadows for the world to know. However, she will speak through her children, who will speak through the Regents on each continent. And the Regents will form the treaties with the breathers for vampire rights in exchange for certain concessions. The Regency was planned to be an elective office, but that is proving problematic so we are scrapping that plan and choosing the Regents for our mother, making sure they are powerful but balanced, and not terribly bloodthirsty. Neither Terrance nor Wade would do the job right.”
“So you will be appointing the Regents?”
“Ostensibly they will be elected, but yes, in truth, the Regents will be vampires from the Old World, who already possess the strength and authority to make policy.”
I snorted. “You’re rigging the elections.”
“If you like, yes. And Terrance’s death will be a statement to all vampires living within the Northwest Vampire Dominion. They will know that Blood Wyne and her children are taking control, regardless of whether this be the New World or Europe.” He laughed. “Even I knew that my mother would make her move one day. There is no question of her allowing power to be diluted too far from the throne. I may not like her, but she is the queen and I will obey.”
It occurred to me that Roman and Wade had something in common there. Only, Belinda Stevens was pretty much relegated to queen bee of her family. “So, when will you take Terrance down?”

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