Dark Promises (Dark #29) (30 page)

He reached up and caught her braid, tugging until she sank to her knees on the ground. He had carpeted the floor in a deep sheepskin so the position was comfortable. She was beginning to forget what they were talking about. It had been important, but right now, there was his hunger beating at her. His desire. His need. She found he was right, she wanted—no, needed—to satisfy him.

His hand in her hair urged her head forward. She licked her lips. Touched the crown right where there were two droplets beading and instantly the taste of him burst through her mouth. Swamping her with that craving.

We can have babies fifty years from now, a hundred,
he said softly, intimately, pushing the thought into her mind.
We need time to explore each other.

I raised my family. I did that already.
He had to know. And yet when she made the protest, mind to mind, and knew he heard, something in her
flinched away from making that a deal breaker. She had never raised children with a man. A strong man. A man who would stick with her and help her. She'd never had that. She'd wanted it in a long forgotten dream, but she had accepted that she would never have it.

She licked at the soft—hard—beautiful crown, savoring the taste of him.
I've never done this.

You do not have to do this now.

His hand remained in her hair, his fist surrounding hers while she glided her hand up and down, watching and
feeling
the shudders of pleasure whipping through him. She loved that she was doing that to him. She loved that she could. He was powerful and large. He was beautiful. And yet it was her making him feel this way. The deeper she was in his mind, the more she knew how he felt.

He let her in. Not a small way, all the way. She saw the darkness in him. She saw his ability to battle. To kill. She saw the cost to him—the bleak loneliness—and she identified with him. He'd done his duty. He'd
chosen
to do his duty—just as she had.

He needed her. She bent her head and took him in her mouth, feeling the rush through her bloodstream and unable to tell whether it was his rush or hers. He wanted her. Her. Trixie Joanes. At her age. He wanted her with every single cell in his body. All of her. He
saw
inside of her. He admired her. Respected her. He liked her attitude and even her outrageous attacks on him. He didn't just like them. He
loved
them. She made him laugh. She made him think. More, she did this for him—created fire. Created paradise.

Want me back, Trixie.
He breathed the invitation into her mind.

She felt his tone, that mesmerizing voice, like the touch of his fingers on her skin. She liked what she was doing to him, liked the way his body shuddered with pleasure and his mind was consumed with it. She knew, as she experimented with her tongue, just what he liked the most. Being in his mind was an amazing gift. She knew what to do. She could follow his mind, the erotic images and the pleasure streaking through him. His taste was so familiar, so perfect, and she wanted more. She wanted it all.

Want me back, Trixie.

She looked up at him as she took him deeper, as she rolled her tongue
beneath the crown and felt his response. Watching his eyes. Those beautiful sapphire eyes.

Say it. Say you will come into my world with me and allow me into yours. Say it. Tell me you want me that much, hän sívamak. My beloved.

She couldn't give him up. She knew she couldn't. He was a gift. He thought she was a miracle and she knew he always would, but what he didn't get was that he filled her. That empty place where she'd been hollow for so long. For all her life. A place where she knew no man loved her or ever would. He did. He would. This beautiful, amazing man.

I want you that much.

The moment she gave him that, he reached for her, tugged her up and over him, so that she straddled his lap. His hand went between her legs to assure himself she was ready for him and he all but slammed her down over his cock. The breath left her lungs and she cried out, shocked at the streaks of fire racing through her. Then his mouth was once again at her neck and this time, there was no haze, no veil. Just his mouth and his teeth, biting down right over her pounding pulse.

She cried out at the blistering pleasure surging through her. At the feel of his mouth pulling strongly, taking her blood. It didn't feel gross. It wasn't in the least frightening. It was entirely sensual, and all the while, his body moved in hers. His hips rose while his hands guided her to a faster rhythm.

Ride me, sívamet. Just like this.

She wrapped her arms around his body, lifting herself up and gliding down, a tight, hot spiral that sent flames racing through her. Through both of them. His pleasure was so acute, she could barely breathe with it. She wanted to give him more.

He lifted his head just enough to swirl his tongue over the pinpricks on her neck. He kissed her neck, her shoulder, and then kissed her mouth. She tasted that nectar, an ambrosia she couldn't get anywhere else. She loved the taste.

Give me more. Give me all of you.

He sounded like pure temptation. Sinful. Beautiful. Heaven. He brought her mouth to his chest.

There, beloved. Take all of me. There is no part of me that is not yours.

She felt the beads bubbling up, those deep crimson drops, better than any wine she'd ever tasted. Him. All Fane. Hers. She drank. Deeply. All the while, his hands dug into her hips and he took over the pace, filling her. Filling the hollow spot deep in her soul. Filling her mind where all that loneliness resided. Taking it all away.

I will cherish you for all time, Trixie,
he whispered into her mind.
When you are ready for another family, you have only to tell me and we will do that together. Anything you want and I can provide, it is yours.

His hand moved in her hair, tugging, telling her she'd had enough, and she did just as he had done—swirled her tongue over the small laceration as if she could close it, or as if she needed one last taste.

Fane rolled them, keeping them connected, her under him so that he could watch her face as he moved in her. She was so beautiful. He loved that she had lived life. That she'd known sorrow and happiness. That she'd lived her life as fully as possible and taught those she loved to do the same. She understood loneliness. She needed him in the same way he needed her.

He took her over the edge and went with her, and then stayed there, deep inside his lady. Feeling her beauty. Feeling her contentment. Loving that she relaxed beneath him, trusting him.

He kissed her over and over before he rolled to his side, tucking her close, his hand splayed over her soft belly. “This will not be easy. Andre told me, the conversion is difficult, but I will get you through it,
hän sívamak
, trust me to get you through it.”

She made a lazy circle with her fingertips on his abdomen. “Conversion?”

“From your world to mine. We cannot be apart. During the day, I cannot be in the sun. A paralysis overcomes me. It is getting close to dawn and we will need to be in the ground.”

Trixie blinked at him. She went very still. “I can't sleep in the ground with you, Fane. I would suffocate.”

“Not if you go through the conversion first,” he pointed out. “You will become as I am. You will be able to see your family, Trixie, have no fears of that. We can make adjustments . . .”

“I want to be with you, Fane. I agreed to that,” she said, “and I don't go back on my word. But I'm not going to have to take people's blood to survive or sleep in the ground like a vampire. For one thing, I'm just too old for that
nonsense. Seriously. You had better listen to me because I'm laying down the law here. I mean this. I'll sleep on a mattress next to you even if you look and act dead in your paralysis, but
not
in the ground. I don't even like camping.”

She was “laying down the law.” He liked that. It was completely preposterous of course, but he liked that she thought she could. A lot. His lady had courage and attitude; he was fairly certain she would try to face down a vampire if the situation warranted it.

“I can see I am going to have to watch you if I go hunting vampires. Clearly you are the type of woman to grab your silly vampire-hunting kit and try to help.”

“My vampire-hunting kit is
not
silly,” she denied. Then she ruined her adamant tone by snickering. “Okay, so it's a little bit silly. Most of the stuff is absolutely useless.”

“I hate to tell you this,
sívamet
, but all of that junk is absolutely useless.”

Beneath his hand he felt her stomach tighten in a long wave. She gasped and clutched his wrist. Her eyes widened in alarm. He immersed himself in her mind to steady and monitor her.

“I'm right here,” he reminded gently.

She breathed through the pain, like a woman might when giving birth. In a way, he could see that. This was the death of a human and the birth of a Carpathian. Still, even with Andre telling him the procedure was difficult, he didn't expect such pain. It burned through her. Agony. She didn't make a sound. Not a single sound. Not a scream, not a cry, not even a moan.

She kept her eyes on his, and the one time he reached to get a cool cloth, her hands tightened on him and he brought his gaze back to hers. He heard her protest in his mind and knew she was trusting him to get her through and that meant his eyes were on hers at all times.

She was sick, a wrenching terrible cost as her body rid itself of all toxins, and the vomiting seemed to last for far too long. It was brutal and ugly and she still never protested. Her body convulsed and she held on to him tightly, to his hand, and when she couldn't hold him anymore, he held her.

Hän sívamak, you are so brave. So very brave. We are almost done.

Fane talked to her using a mixture of his ancient language and her English, holding her to him all the while. Rocking her. Telling her of his life. Of the nights he'd held on to his dream of a lifemate. Of the woman
who would be his someday. He explained Carpathian life to her. The pros. The cons. He kept his voice low and soothing, but mostly, he wanted her to know he was there with her. In her mind. Feeling the brutality of the conversion with her.

When he realized the terrible waves of pain had begun to lessen and he was certain he could do it, he leaned close, his mouth against her ear, even though he spoke in her mind. He wanted her to feel the brush of a kiss there when he spoke.

I will send you to sleep, Trixie. You no longer have to bear this burden. I can do so for you.

She shook her head, her fingers tightening around his.
Did Teagan go through this? Was Andre as good with her as you have been with me?

Fane didn't feel as if he was good with her.
She
was the one who had suffered. He'd tried to bear the brunt of the pain, but it had been impossible. He couldn't send her to sleep until it was safe to do so. Now she didn't want to sleep. He could see and feel her exhaustion and already another wave of pain rushed through her body. Just like in the beginning, she breathed her way through it.

“Yes, beloved,” he murmured aloud, “Teagan was converted by Andre. It is a painful process. We cannot take the pain away as much as we would like to do so. I am certain he was good to her. For Andre, the moon rises and sets with her.”

She was silent, waiting for the pain to ebb away. “You do know this wasn't just painful, it was also humiliating for you to see me this way.”

Her gaze still clung to his. He forced a reassuring smile when he really wanted to weep for the agony he'd put her through. “If you go through something so painful and life altering, I will go through it with you. You will never be alone again.”

Another ripple of pain caught at her. Clearly the worst wasn't over. He smoothed back her hair, and with a wave of his hand, cleaned her, the bed and the floor.

“That will come in handy.” She managed a smile. Her hands clung to his. Her eyes hadn't moved from his. “I never did like housekeeping much.”

“You trusted me,” Fane murmured softly, his hand splayed across her stomach where he knew it felt much like a blowtorch had been taken to her
insides. Her grip on him didn't waver. He leaned down to sip at the tears leaking from her eyes. She didn't need to know they were bloodred.

“You said you would get me through it, and I felt you there with me. I listened to our song.”

“Our song?”

She nodded. “Your song and my song have blended together and I can't tell where yours starts because mine is so completely embedded in yours.”

He still wasn't certain what she was saying. He could see the musical notes in her mind, silver and gold, moving around them in the air, sometimes close, sometimes spreading out. He couldn't see them without looking in her mind.

“That's how I found this place.” She gasped and shuddered, her hands tightening on his wrists while she breathed deeply, breathed her way through the rippling pain.

Fane breathed with her, staring into her eyes. Inside her mind, he could see the musical notes turn to crimson and ruby. The notes blazed brightly, so brightly it hurt his eyes. Intermingled with the crimson and ruby notes were others in purple and black. Sorrow. Pain. He knew her song had merged with his.

“You take my breath away,” he said softly. “Even in this, when pain surrounds you, there is such beauty. Your song is amazing, Trixie. It's all about love and acceptance.”

She moistened her lips. “So is yours.”

“We fit.”

She nodded. “I will not be so easy to live with.”

He heard the warning in her voice. She thought herself so tough. She had no idea of the dangerous man he was. He would never be dangerous to her, but he would guard her fiercely. He wanted her to have her life—the one a young girl had dreamt of. He was the man who would be at her back and catch her every time she might fall. He didn't mind her little penchant for violence—he found it amused him, and most things didn't amuse him.