Call Her Mine (15 page)

Dane stood, unsure what
to do. The male, although caged, was immeasurably stronger than he’d ever be.

Cybil seemed unaffected
by his sudden irritation. She simply rubbed her face over the man’s knuckles
and purred like the animal she’d become.

A deep masculine rumble
came from Isaiah’s throat. He turned his wrist and Cybil’s jaw swiftly
unhinged. Her sharp teeth sunk into the male’s flesh and he grunted.

What the hell?
Torn between getting the
bishop and staying to see what would happen, he gaped. Never before had he seen
them interact, touch.

Isaiah’s hips jerked
forward and his breathing filled the quiet basement. Disgusting slurping and
purring sounds came from his sister.

“Cybil! Cybil, stop!”

She didn’t even flinch.
Isaiah’s head tipped back as if he were drawing insurmountable pleasure from
Cybil’s touch.

“I said stop!” Dane
shouted.

He reached down to the
floor and snatched up the heavy pewter cup and lobbed it at them. Horror
registered a split second later as he realized his poor aim sent the heavy cup
soaring at his sister. He tensed, but just before it struck her Isaiah’s hand
shot out and caught it mid-air.

A deep, angry growl
snapped through the air and Dane flinched. The male glared at him coldly,
holding the cup where he’d caught it an inch from Cybil’s small face.

With what could only be
interpreted as extreme tenderness, the male withdrew his wrist from his
sister’s mouth. She panted and Isaiah gently touched her jaw before extricating
his arm from her cell.

Dane’s stomach clenched.
There was something very wrong with the way the male touched his sister,
something not right at all. He looked at the male who was glowering at him with
hard, threatening eyes. Unblinking, Isaiah held out the pewter cup and crushed
the metal into dust.

No way. No way could he
be that strong. He’d been in isolation for over a year living off rationed
blood. How could he have possibly kept up his strength? And if he could crumble
the cup into nothing more than dust than how much were those bars really
keeping him in?

Cybil still panted. She
was like an animal in heat at times, the way she simply stared and breathed
hard through her teeth. Dane hated it, hated seeing her so debased.

Again, he pointed the
blame at Isaiah. If not for him, they never would have come here and Cybil
never would have been hurt. She could have been a normal, happy teenager, but
now, because of Isaiah, she was nothing more than an animal.

Isaiah growled as if
demanding his attention. The bars to his cell rattled and Dane’s spine went
stiff. Plaster fell from the ceiling and he knew then and there that the only
reason Isaiah remained in that meager cell was because he chose to. What kind
of joke was this? He needed to tell Eleazar. If Isaiah escaped again it would
only lead to more of a massacre than what had already been.

Refusing to let the
monster see his fear he straightened his shoulders. “The council says your last
days are soon,” he lied. “It’s only a matter of time before they decapitate
your ass and when they do I’m going to mount your head on my wall so I have
something to spit at every day.”

Isaiah didn’t growl or
snarl. He laughed, low and manically as if he knew Dane was lying. Strangely
embarrassed, Dane turned and walked toward the door. He tried to keep his steps
steady and measured, so not to give away his discomfort, but that laugh only
grew more outrageous. It was the laugh of a lunatic and Dane hated it, hated
him.

Chapter Six

Warmth filled her veins
and awareness swelled deep within her. Good. Hot. Fulfilling. Delilah’s mind
slowly came into play as her mouth worked and her soul became revitalized. She
was in a nest of comfort, snuggled somewhere between a dream and reality.

No, wait…

Her eyelids snapped open
and she screamed.

Christian jumped back as
she wailed at him, flailing in his grip. Sticky moisture coated her chin and
tongue. She gripped her belly and gagged, dry heaving over the side of the bed.

Her shoulders were
jerked back and she fought his touch. “Don’t. Touch. Me,” she wheezed. The
cold, metallic taste of death was everywhere, in her sinuses, down her throat,
filling her belly like bile on a rocking ship. She vomited.

Christian’s exasperated
voice filled the background behind her sobs. She wiped the back of her hand
across her mouth and her eyes caught on the smear of crimson that matched the
puddle on the floor. Blood. Her breath came fast, yet she could not draw in one
useful gasp. She vomited again.

“Delilah, be still, you
are making a mess.”

She jerked weakly away
from his touch. Her body convulsed with shivers. How had this become her life?
She wanted her old life back. She wanted to be away from this horrid place and
in her old apartment where normal people existed and did normal things. She
hated it here.

No matter how much she
fought off his touch, he would not leave her be. He overpowered her, pinning
her flailing arms at her sides and drawing her onto his lap where he held her
tight and rocked them both.

“You needed to feed,
pintura.
You were beyond weak. Please stop fighting me. I was only trying to help.”

The desperation in his
voice should’ve meant something to her, but it didn’t. This was all his fault.
She hiccupped on a sob and nearly gagged again at the putrid taste of blood on
her tongue. “Water.”

He lifted her off the
bed and carried her to the dresser where he poured a glass of water. Her hands
couldn’t seem to stop shaking long enough to hold the glass. Returning to the
bed, he drew back the blood streaked sheets and sat her down. Her eyes focused
on the copper soiled linens tossed in the corner on the floor. Blood.

He tipped the cool glass
to her lips and she hated needing his help. She drank slowly, but greedily,
sputtering as too much worked its way down her throat. His large hand gently
cupped the back of her hair.

“Easy,
pintura.
Do
not make yourself ill again.”

She swallowed and he
pulled the glass away. Her eyes watered and her chin quivered. She looked at
him. His expression was pained with concern. She hated that beneath that
stubborn façade she saw compassion.

He lifted the glass
again, but she feebly turned away and lowered her face to the pillow. He
sighed.

“You need to get over
this revulsion you have toward feeding, Delilah. It is your nature and there is
no use fighting what your body needs in order to sustain.”

“I’d rather die.”

His slow exhalation told
her how much he thought about her confession. “You do not mean that.”

She laughed without
humor. “Yes. I do.”

He stood. The glass made
a quiet click as he placed it on the nightstand. “I will get clean sheets for
the bed.”

She ignored him.

A few minutes later he
returned with folded linens that smelled of fresh air and sunshine. She slid
off the bed and sat on the floor, refusing to look at him as he redressed the
bed. Without asking, he lifted her off the floor and sat her back on the
freshly made bed, staring at her for several long moments, but she withdrew
into herself. She wondered if vampyres could kill themselves.

* * * *

Christian sighed and
stood. This was an absolute disaster. With every passing day she seemed to hate
him more and more. She was doing the silent performance again. He didn’t know
what he hated more, when she was a disrespectful banshee or when she ignored
him completely. At his wits end, he was running out of ideas. The idea of
failing where she was concerned was unacceptable.

The sound of someone
approaching his home caught his ear. So not to alert her, he simply kissed her
forehead and stood. His jaw tightened when she shied from his touch. Turning,
he marched out the door and shut it with a little more force than necessary.
Let her sulk.

Christian stepped
through the front door and onto his porch. Dane was coming. Great. The young
male seemed agitated and frightened. His paces were frantic as he approached,
as if he wasn’t sure how he happened upon Christian’s doorstep.

“Dane?”

The boy’s eyes were
frantic. “He touched her.”

“Who touched who?”

“That fucking beast,
Isaiah, touched my sister. She fed from him!”

Christian frowned. Why
would Isaiah do that? And how? “You saw this?”

“Yes, I fucking saw it!
He fed her! She’s sixteen! You have to do something!”

The boy was irate.
Christian kept his voice calm. “It is not my place—”

“Bullshit! You’re an
elder. You’re also her brother in case you’ve forgotten.”

“The girl is merely my
kin by blood. I have no personal interest in her.”

Dane gaped at him. “Wow,
you really are a self-serving prick.”

Christian bristled. “Be
that as it may, I will remind you that you are standing on my land. Not a wise
place to toss out insults, especially for a half-breed of only twenty years.”

The boy threw up his
hands and turned. Pivoting back toward him he shouted, “Someone needs to do
something! Isaiah should be dead! He killed my mom and twenty or more other
innocent women. Why isn’t the council doing anything?”

Contrary to the boy’s
outraged tone, Christian calmly said, “Be careful what you set into action,
Dane. If the council focuses their attention on those occupying the cells of
the Safe House, it may not only be Isaiah’s presence that is brought into
question. Do you wish for a decision to be made about your sister as well?”

“She’s no longer my
sister,” the boy surprised him by muttering.

Christian frowned.
Dane’s presence on the farm had never made much sense to him. He’d arrived one
day and the Hartzlers had taken to him and the girl as if they were their own.
Yet they were not immortal. True, years later a genetic link had been made to
their kind—Christian’s blood specifically—but their presence still did not
agree with him.

They were not like the
rest of The Order. Dane was more mortal than anything else. And while Cybil was
now a full-blooded vampyre, she was off. Her transition had not been a natural
occurrence and therefore her sire should have been punished. Yet Bishop King
never seemed to mete out any kind of consequence to the Hartzler twin for
bringing the girl back to life. For as much as Christian had stood on the
elder’s council for nearly three hundred years, the decisions regarding the
Foster children were beyond his comprehension.

“I suggest you take your
concerns to the bishop. I am occupied with more pressing issues.”

The boy all but growled
at him. His outrage amused Christian. His anger reminded him of a kitten
standing up to a bullmastiff. “I also suggest you rein in your temper before it
gets you into trouble. Do not forget who you are speaking to.”

“And who is that?” the
boy snapped. “As far as I can see, you’re about as useless as the rest of
them.”

“Because I do not care
about your sister? I have other worries that demand my attention more than some
deranged transition’s feeding habits. Better you acknowledge that she is as
much your sister as she is mine, and move on with your life. There is no
mending a mind as broken as hers.”

The boy suddenly roared
and lunged at Christian. Christian’s arm snapped out, sending Dane sailing to
his rear in the dirt. “I believe we are finished here.” He turned to the house.

“How’s your mate?” Dane
asked snidely from the ground.

Christian turned and
sneered. “She is none of your concern. Do not be a fool and think yourself
above our laws of privacy, boy. You will find yourself without a home.”

He turned.

“She hates you.”

Christian’s pulse
throbbed. This man-child was growing too big for his britches. Christian would
not be baited by some foolish imp of a half-breed.

“She’ll run again. I bet
every possession I have on it. This time, when I see her, I’ll be sure to offer
her directions.”

A growl snapped from his
chest. He pivoted and bared his teeth. “You will mind your tongue or I will
relieve you of it. She is my mate and as such, your interference is a violation
of our laws.”

“The laws no one seems
to follow through with? Like I care. You’re all a bunch of delusional, peace
preaching disgraces as far as I’m concerned. If you asked half the members on
the farm I’d bet they’d agree it’s time for a new reign.”

Christian’s eyes
widened. The boy was as out of his head as his sister. “I suggest you ask
around, boy. I would be interested to see how that works out for you. Now, get
off my land before I am forced to remove you.”

Without another glance,
Christian ripped open his front door and slammed it shut behind him. He would
be speaking to Eleazar about this.

* * * *

At the sound of the door
slamming, Delilah jumped back from the window and hurried to the bed. Her heart
raced at the sound of Christian’s heavy footsteps climbing the stairs. She
breathed and tried to calm her nerves.

The door opened and he
stilled. “Are you awake?”

She opened her eyes but
didn’t answer.

“I want you to come
downstairs with me. There are things I must show you. Enough time has been
wasted and I am finished with this back and forth nonsense. You are my mate and
it is time you started acting as such. How you deal with that is your business,
but where I am concerned you will start doing your part. Enough is enough. I
will see you in the kitchen in ten minutes.”

The door shut with a
conclusive snap.

Well…

Her mind reeled. Dane
had said he would help her leave the next time she tried to escape. She hated
trusting someone she didn’t much care for, but that seemed her best option. She
should leave right now, but Christian was in a bad mood, worse than usual, and
she didn’t want to press her luck.

She didn’t know what he
wanted to ‘show’ her, but she would play along for the time being until she
figured out her next plan of escape. It may be in a day, it may be in a week,
either way she was blowing this popsicle stand the first chance she got.

She crawled out of bed
and scowled at the door. Her hands tugged on her stupid clothing. She missed
her
clothes. Taking her time, she wondered through the hall and paused at the
front door. Her hand reached out—

A throat cleared and she
quickly drew back her hand. The next time she made an escape it would be a
successful one. She’d go see what he wanted to show her. Time seemed to stand
still in this house so there was no harm in humoring the prick for a bit while
she thought out her getaway.

Delilah stepped into the
simple kitchen and almost laughed at the stern set of Christian’s expression.
She looked around to see if they had company, expecting that to be the only
cause for his stiff mannerisms, but they seemed to be alone.

“Good, you are here.
Now, let us begin,” he said.

Something was incredibly
put on about the way he spoke to her. He was being weird—more so than usual.
She silently waited to see what he had to say.

“As I told you, the
roles of male and female on the farm are strictly defined. It is a wife’s duty
to tend to the household, bear and manage the children, and abide her husband’s
will.”

Oh boy.

“The female’s tasks include
cooking, cleaning, sewing and the general wellbeing of the family. I expect you
to rise when I rise and become familiar with the way of our home. The husband
is the patriarch of the family and as such I have final say in all matters
pertaining to kinfolk and spirituality.”

The sharp shrill of
brakes screeching sounded in her head. She laughed. “Whoa, whoa, whoa,
whoa.
Christian, I am not your wife.”

He grimaced. “You will
be.”

“Yeah, about that…I’ve
decided that’s a no.”

He was silent for a
moment and then pointed to the chair at the end of the table. “The husband sits
at the head of the table as he is the head of the household. For now, I will
limit your responsibilities to inside the home. However, if you do not get with
child soon, your responsibilities will extend to those outside the home such as
the milking of cows and—”