Books by Maggie Shayne (77 page)

Attacking her mouth once again, Eric lowered her gently to the floor. She lay on her back, stretched before the fire, and he lay on his side beside her, one arm beneath her, pillowing her head for his plundering mouth. His other hand moved hotly over her body. He cupped and squeezed her breasts, gently pinching her nipples until they throbbed against his fingers. He moved his hand lower, trailing fingertips over her belly, and then burying them in the nest of hair between her thighs.

With a slowness that was torture he parted the soft folds there. She closed her eyes when he probed her, and felt the growing wetness he evoked from her. She wanted him. She parted her legs and arched toward his exploring fingers, to tell him so. She closed her eyes when he took his mouth from hers and lowered it to nurse at her breast. She felt him tremble when his teeth scraped over her nipple, and she pressed his head to her with one hand and fumbled for the fastenings of his trousers with the other.

He helped her push them down, and then he kicked free of them, lying naked as she was. She opened her eyes to look at him in the firelight. She thought him the most beautiful man she'd ever seen. Every inch of him was tight, hard, corded with muscle. His skin was smooth and taut, elastic and practically hairless. Her gaze moved down his body, up it again, and met his smoldering eyes.
Are you certain
? he seemed to ask, though he never said a word.

In answer she fastened her mouth to his, pulling his body to her. He covered her gently. Instinctively she planted her feet, bent her knees and opened herself to him. Slowly he filled her, and she caught her breath at the feeling. This was more than sex, she thought dimly, as he pushed gently deeper. This was a completion of some cosmic cycle. He belonged here with her, and she with him. This was right. He withdrew, so careful not to hurt her, and began to slide inward again. She gripped his firm buttocks and jerked him into her. The fullness forced the breath from her lungs, but she arched to meet his next powerful thrust.

His pace quickened, and Tamara knew nothing for a time, except for the sensations of her body. His mouth moved over her throat, her jaw, her breasts. He suckled and licked and bit at her, setting her blood to boiling. His hands had moved beneath her to cup her buttocks and lift her to him. They kneaded her, caressed her and rocked her to his rhythm. His rigid shaft stroked to her deepest recesses, no longer hesitant, but hard and fast. She felt a tension twist within her. His movements inside her drew it tighter, and she trembled with the force of it. Tighter, and he caused it. He sensed her body's responses and he played upon them, adjusting his movements to draw out the exquisite torture. She bucked beneath him, seeking a release that hovered just beyond her reach, and she felt a similar need in him.

He moved within her more quickly now, his breaths coming short and fast. His mouth opened, hot and wet against her throat, and she felt her skin being drawn into it. She felt the skim of his incisors and the answering thrum of her pulse. She knew a craving she'd never known before, and she arched her throat to him just as she arched her hips to meet his. She screamed aloud with her mindless need, gripped the back of his head and pressed him harder to her neck.

The tension drew tighter, so tight she thought she'd soon explode with it. He withdrew slowly, and she whimpered her plea. "Please... now, Eric... do it now!" He drove into I her, withdrew and drove again, the force of his thrusts beyond control, it seemed. He plunged so violently it would have lifted her body from the floor if he hadn't held her immobile, forcing her to take all of him, with all the strength he could muster. And she wouldn't have drawn away if she'd been able. She wanted this. . . and more. Another rending thrust and she felt herself reach the precipice. He let her linger there, drawing it out until her cries were like those of a wounded animal. His teeth closed on her throat. She felt the incisors pricking at her skin and she clutched him closer.

They punctured her throat as he plunged into her again, driving her over the edge. The pain was ecstasy in the throes of the climax that rocked her. She convulsed around him, and then harder as she felt him sucking at her throat. Her body milked his, and she trembled all over, violently, with spasms of pleasure she hadn't known could exist. He bucked inside her, and she knew he'd reached the peak, as well. She felt his hot seed spill into her as her own climax went on and on. His mouth open wide at her throat, his tongue moving greedily to taste her, he shook with the force of his own release. He groaned, long and low, and then collapsed on top of her with one last, full body shudder. He carefully withdrew his teeth.

He started to move off her, but she quickly wrapped her arms around him. His head was pillowed on her breasts, and she held him there. "Don't move yet," she whispered. "Just hold me."

He pulled free despite her words, and rolled to the floor beside her. He sat up, gazing down at her, his eyes glistening, mirroring the fire. His fingers touched her throat, and he squeezed his eyes closed. "God, what have I done?" His words were no more than a choked whisper. "What kind of monster am I that I would allow myself—"

"Don't say that!" She started to sit up, but his hands came fast to her shoulders.

"No, you mustn't move. Lie still. Rest." He moved one hand through her hair, over and over again. "I'm so sorry. So very sorry, Tamara."

She frowned, shaking her head. "You didn't hurt me, Eric. My God, it was incredible—"

"I
drank
from you!"

"I know what you did. What I don't know is why you act like you've stabbed me through the heart. I've lost more blood than that when I cut myself shaving!" She made her voice more gentle when the pain didn't leave his eyes. She reached up and stroked his face with her palm. "Eric," she whispered. "What ill effects will there be? Will I become a vampire now?"

"No, that requires mingling of—"

"Will I be sick?"

"No. Perhaps a bit dizzy when you get up, but it will pass."

"Then why are you so remorseful?" She sat up slowly, angled her head and pressed her lips to his. "I loved what you did to me, Eric. I wanted it as badly as you did."

"You couldn't—"

"I did. I feel what you feel, don't forget. I understand now why you held back before. It's a part of the passion for you, isn't it? It's another kind of climax." His eyes searched hers, as if in awe. "You see, I do understand. I felt it too."

He shook his head. "It didn't repulse you?"

"Repulse me? Eric, I love you." She blinked and realized what she'd just said, then looked him in the eyes. "I love you."

Two in the morning. She lay staring up at the white underside of her canopy, wishing to God she could close her eyes. Eric had insisted on bringing her home after she'd blurted that she loved him. He had seemed shocked speechless for a few moments. Then he was awkward, as if he didn't quite know what to say to her. She was confused. What did he want from her, a physical relationship without emotions? But there already had been emotions between them, deep, soul-stirring emotions she was only beginning to understand. And she'd thought he loved her. He'd implied it. He'd said he had love for her. Was that the same thing?

She turned restlessly onto her side and punched her pillow. Again she glanced at the cognac on the bedside stand. He'd insisted she take it with her, since she'd remarked on how wonderful it was. No wonder, she thought now. The stuff was bottled in 1910. It was probably worth a fortune. And here she was swilling another glassful in hopes of using it as a sleep aid. If she didn't get some sleep soon she was going to collapse at work, in front of everyone, and then what would Daniel do? Probably check her into a rest home.

She wandered into the bathroom, still wide awake a half hour later. What was she going to do about Eric? Daniel would die if he knew the truth. She loved the old coot. She would hate to hurt him. God, her mind was spinning with too much tonight. She opened the medicine cabinet and rummaged until she found the brown plastic prescription bottle. She'd tried the damned sleeping pills before. Single doses, double doses, even once a triple dose. She hadn't even worked up a good yawn. She twisted the cap and poured four tiny white capsule-shaped pills into the palm of her hand. She popped them into her mouth with a cynical glance at her reflection. Who was she kidding? She wouldn't close her eyes until dawn.

A glass of water rinsed the caplets down. She wandered back to bed, realized she still held the worthless bottle of tranquilizers in her fist and dropped it carelessly on the stand.

* * * * *

"Kill him for this."

Daniel? Was that Daniel's voice tickling the fringes of her consciousness? He sounded angry, and strained. "I tried to tell you." Curt's voice was louder, more level. "She should have been under constant surveillance. If we'd followed her, we'd have had the bastard."

"If your tranquilizer works. It hasn't been tested, Curtis. You can't be certain it will immobilize him."

"And how the hell do you suggest we test it? Send out a notice asking for volunteers? Look, I've done everything I can think of. All signs are, it will work. There's nothing left to do but try it."

Try what? On whom? And why were they both so angry?

"He raped her, Curtis." Daniel's voice warbled on the words. "It wasn't enough to take her blood, he had to have her body, as well. The son of a bitch raped her. . . left bruises on her skin. My God, no wonder she couldn't bear to face us in the morning."

"I never thought Tammy would be the kind to try this way out. Pills and brandy!" Cult's voice sounded harsh on her ears. "Why the hell didn't she tell us and let us handle it?"

Raped? Tamara remembered the pig on the highway ramp. . . his hands on her, his filthy breath on her face. But he hadn't raped her. Eric came and—Eric—my God, they thought Eric had put these bruises on her body. She struggled to open her eyes. Her lips moved but no sound came from them. She had to tell them!

"She's coming around." Daniel's presence lingered closer. She forced her heavy lids to open. Nothing focused and the attempt left her dizzy, with a sharp pain in her head. She felt his hands on her forehead, but it seemed her forehead was not attached to her. Everything seemed distorted.

"Tamara? It's all right, sweetheart. Curtis and I are with you now. Marquand can't hurt you now."

Frantically she tossed her head back and forth on the pillows. Pillows that were too plump and stiff, with cases too starched and white. Not her own pillows. "No. . . Eric. . . not. . . him. . . ." Damn, why couldn't she make her mouth form a coherent sentence?

"
Eric
," Curtis mocked. "I told you she remembered. It's all been an act. I wouldn't be surprised if she went to him willingly, Daniel. We always knew he'd come for her, didn't we? And I always said she'd never be one of us. You brought her right inside DPI. For Christ's sake, I wonder how many secrets she's passed already?"

"She wouldn't betray us to him. Curt," Daniel said, but his voice was laced with doubt.

"Then why did she mix those pills with the booze? It's guilt, I'm telling you! She sold us out and couldn't face it."

"What could she possibly have told him? She doesn't know anything about the research!"

"That we know of," Curtis added, his words meaningful. "He would like nothing better than to murder the both of us, Daniel. We're the leaders in vampire research. He gets rid of us, he sets the entire field back twenty years or more."

"You think I don't know that?"

She struggled against the darkness she felt reaching out to her, but it was a worthless fight. She whispered his name once more before she sank into the warm abyss. The voices of the men she loved grew dimmer.

"He'll come to her ... just like before."

"We'll be ready. Get the tranquilizer and meet me back here."

* * * * *

Eric paced the room yet again, pushing a hand through his hair, adding to its disarray. "Where is she? I attune my mind to hers, and yet I feel nothing!"

"She's probably managed to get some sleep. Do not disturb her."

Eric shook his head. "No. No, something is wrong. I feel it."

Roland's brows creased with worry, despite his feigned sigh of exasperation. "This ingenue of yours is becoming a bit of a bother. What trouble do you suppose she's got herself into this time?"

"Wish to God I knew." He turned, paced away toward the fireplace, spun on his heel and came back. He stopped and met Roland's gaze. " I shouldn't have let it happen. She was already in a fragile state of mind. When she realized what she'd done in the cold light of day she likely felt soiled, infected by my touch, made—"

"Shut up, unless you can say something reasonably intelligent, Eric. If she didn't mind it last eve, she won't mind it now. You think the girl doesn't know her own mind? My interpretation of events is this: your blood, given her so many years ago, altered her to some degree. It sealed the bond between you, and made her feel a natural aversion to sunlight, an abounding exuberance by night. It is a logical guess, then, that she would not be as repulsed by the taking of a few drops in a moment of passion, as a normal human might."

Eric sighed long and loud. "She thinks herself in love with me. Did I tell you that?"

"Only a hundred or so times since we rose a mere hour ago, Eric. . . not that I'm keeping count. What's so surprising in that? You fancy yourself in love with her, do you not?"

"I don't fancy myself anything. I do love her. With everything in me."

"Who's to say she doesn't feel the same?"

Eric closed his eyes slowly, and left them that way. "I hope to God she doesn't. It is enough that I will have to bear the pain of our eventual separation. I wouldn't wish such agony on her." He opened his eyes and met Roland's frown. "It is inevitable."

"It is anything but that. She could be—"

"Do not even think to suggest it." Eric turned away from his friend, his gaze jumping around the room, settling nowhere. "This existence has been my curse. I wouldn't wish it to be hers, as well."

Roland's voice came low, more gruff. "If it is the loneliness of which you speak, Eric, no one understands better than I."

"Your solitude is self-imposed. It's as you want it. Mine is an unending sentence of solitary confinement. I don't interact because I cannot trust in anyone—not with DPI always seeking a way to destroy me."

"My solitude—" Roland cut himself off, and simultaneously closed his mind to Eric's curiosity. When he began his voice was steadier. "Is not the matter we were discussing. Your existence would not be lonely if you had someone with whom to share it."

Eric closed his eyes and shook his head. "I have already considered this question, Roland. I've made my decision."

"The decision, my friend, is not yours to make."

Anger flared within Eric. His head came up, and he slowly turned to tell Roland exactly what he thought of that remark, when the scent slowly twisted around his mind. He gripped it the way a drowning man would grip a lifeline, and he concentrated, focusing his entire being on that one sensation coming to him from Tamara. The scent. . . . he frowned harder. . . . clean. . . . sterile. Sickeningly familiar.

His eyes wide, he faced Roland. "My God, she's hospitalized!"

Eric lunged for the door, but Roland leapt into his path. "A moment, Eric. You tend to lose all sense of caution where Tamara is concerned." He reached for his satin cloak and flung it about his shoulders with a long-practiced twist of his arms. "I dare not imagine what sort of mess you'll end in without me along."

"Fine." Eric paused as he reached for the door. "Roland, you can't wear that to a hospital. You look as if you've stepped out of the pages of that Stoker fellow's book."

"I have no intention of going inside. Can't bear the places, myself."

True to his word, Roland lurked in the shadows outside while Eric followed his sharpening sense of Tamara to the proper floor. He took the stairs, and he sent the probing fingers of his mind out ahead of him, ever on the alert for St Claire or Rogers. Before long he caught a hint of their presence, very near Tamara's, though he felt it nowhere near as strongly as he felt hers.

He glanced up and down the fourth-floor corridor and quickly spotted the room. He'd have known it without help, but the burly man in the dark gray suit posted outside her door made it obvious. Eric didn't recognize him, but knew at once he was DPI. If he was going to see Tamara he'd need to find another way. Already he felt reassured. Her stamina reached from her mind to his, though he sensed she might still be groggy. She was well. He felt it.

His relief was so great he very nearly didn't notice the hinged metal folder on the counter where nurses milled. A strip of white tape across the front bore the words in black ink. Dey, Tamara. Eric stiffened. He had to see that folder. Only then would he know the extent of her injuries, and exactly what had transpired to land her here. He closed his eyes.

Roland? Are you still out there?

Where else would I be? came the bored reply.

I could use a distraction, Eric told him.

Done.

Eric waited for about thirty seconds, uncomfortably watching both directions, half expecting St Claire to appear at any second. Then a bloodcurdling scream came from a room in another corridor and every nurse stampeded. A male voice echoed through the halls. "It was
grinning at me
—right through my window! I swear! And it, it had fangs—and its eyes—"

Eric grinned slightly, against his will. He hurried to the desk and nipped open Tamara's folder. He didn't need to scan it long. According to the physician who'd examined her, Tamara had been rushed in early this morning, unconscious and with vital signs that were barely discernible. She'd ingested a large amount of tranquilizers, combined with alcohol. According to the doctor's examination, she had recently had sexual intercourse. He further noted the bruises on her torso, and concluded that she'd been raped sometime the previous night. The pills and alcohol had been, in his opinion, a suicide attempt.

The sheet swam before his eyes. His stomach churned. Had he been alone he'd have roared like a wounded lion. As it was, he had to hold his anguish in check. It wasn't rape that had driven her over the edge, he alone knew that. It was something far more damaging to the soul. She'd made passionate love to a monster. Hadn't he known it would be more than she could face when the fire died down? Nearly blind with pain, he closed the folder and headed back the way he'd come.

Roland had just leapt down from the ledge. "Did you hear that fool bellow?" He laughed hard. "I haven't had such fun in years." He halted his chuckles and cleared his throat. "So, how did you find our girl? Did you see her? Eric—my God, you look like hell. What is it?"

Eric swallowed hard and forced the words to come. It wasn't easy. His throat was so tight he could barely inhale, and when he did it burned. "I . . . couldn't see her. A guard is posted outside her room. DPI." He spotted a bench nearby and went to it. He needed to sit. It was as if he'd been hit by a train. "She tried to take her own life, Roland."

"What!" Instantly Roland sat beside him, his arm at Eric's back. Eric barely felt it.

"I told you she'd regret what we—what I did to her, when she could think clearly. But I had no idea it would repulse her so that she couldn't go on living!"

"You are wrong!"

The violence in Roland's voice didn't penetrate the wall of pain around Eric. "Sleeping pills mixed with alcohol. It's all on her charts."

Roland gripped both of Eric's shoulders and forced him to look him in the eye. "No. She wouldn't do it."

Eric shook his head. "You barely knew her."

"True, but I know the despondency it takes to drive one to that extreme! Eric, I've been witness to such, firsthand. I've seen all the signs." His voice softened. "I only wish I had known them in time." He shook himself then. "Eric, do not accept less than her own words to confirm this theory. I know it to be wrong. See her. Talk to her."

Eric shook his head for the hundredth time. "I am the last person she would wish to see."

"If so, she will tell you so and you will have your answer. If not, you'd do her a grave injustice to leave her in that room with a DPI guard preventing her leaving."

Eric's shoulders stiffened where before they'd been slumping. "I suppose I could go in through the window. But I fear St Claire and Rogers might be in the room with her."

"Give me a moment," Roland said, dropping his brutal grip from Eric's shoulders and rising to pace away. "I'll think of something."

* * * * *

She blinked the haziness away slowly, and realized Daniel sat close to her, holding her hand. She wondered why she seemed to be in a hospital room, and bits of the conversation she'd heard earlier began surfacing in her mind.