Drawn to the Vampire (Blood and Absinthe, Book 4) (20 page)

Kit bit her lip. “I never wanted to be a warrior. I never even wanted to be Fae. I’ve done everything I could to forget that part of myself. If I do have instincts, they’re buried pretty deep.”

“I know. That’s one thing we’re going to have to work on.”

“My instincts didn’t help me when you swung at me before. I fell on my butt.”

“That’s a side effect of not trusting your instincts: they can atrophy like anything else. We’ll fix that.”

Kit barely heard him. “And even if I did trust my instincts, you can’t tell me that they’re all I’m going to need. I’m going to be fighting warriors, Luke. You know, with weapons. Are you saying there’s no skill involved at all?”

Luke had brought a large duffel bag with them, setting it down by the wall when they’d come in. He went over to it now, taking out two swords in leather scabbards. He pulled one free and turned to face her.

“Catch!” he called out in a ringing voice, and in the next second the blade was flying at her, its bright metal glinting evilly as it spun end over end. Without even thinking, Kit put up her hand at precisely the right moment to catch it by the hilt.

There was a moment of breathless silence.

When she could draw air into her lungs again, Kit stared at the thing in her hand. The hilt seemed to fit perfectly in her palm. The blade shone like silver, and when she touched the edge with her index finger—the lightest touch, no more pressure than that of a falling feather—a line of blood appeared on her skin.

“This thing could have killed me,” she said shakily.

“It didn’t.”

“You just…tossed it at me. This is a dangerous weapon!”

“No, it isn’t. There aren’t any dangerous weapons—only dangerous fighters.
You’re
dangerous, Kit. That sword in your hand is only an expression of your power. An extension of it.”

Kit’s heart rate seemed to be back to normal. She looked down at the sword again.

“How did I do that, anyway?” she asked wonderingly. “How did I catch it?”

Luke smiled at her. “Instinct,” he said.

* * *

They worked hard all morning, took a break to eat a quick lunch, and worked hard all afternoon. During breathers Luke talked to Kit about the ancient rules and techniques of sword fighting, the thrusts and parries and footwork that make up a warrior’s arsenal.

Mostly they fought, again and again, until even Kit had to see that she truly did have an inborn ability that no teacher could have given her. She acquired skills in hours that should have taken months or years to master.

Luke knew his role was to help her hone the instincts that were already there, to teach her how to get out of her own way. He also knew he needed to push her, to test and increase her endurance.

Not that it was easy. When Luke looked at Kit’s flushed and beautiful face, her expression revealing her fatigue but also her determination to keep going, he had to clamp down on his urge to say
that’s enough, you’re exhausted, let’s stop for the day.

He also had to resist the urge to push her up against the nearest wall and make her his in the most primal way he could.

Fighting Kit was an aphrodisiac. In combat she was all woman, as fierce as Queen Boadicea in a particularly nasty mood.

Their last sparring match of the day was the worst. Kit had abandoned her sweatshirt a while back, and perspiration made her tee shirt stick to her body. The two of them circled each other, looking for weaknesses, and the light of battle was in Kit’s eyes. He must have gotten lost in those eyes, because she caught him completely off guard when she leapt forward, tangling her sword with his and disarming him with a flick of her wrist.

She crowed in triumph, hooking an ankle behind his knee and shoving hard, so he fell backwards and landed on the ground. Before he could react Kit was standing over him, her feet on either side of his hips, the flat of her sword pressed against his neck.

He couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. From this vantage point he could see her perfect breasts, outlined in sweat-soaked cotton, rising and falling as she recovered her breath. He could also see the enticing triangle between her legs, her sweatpants damp with perspiration and—

Not just perspiration. His sense of smell kicked in, and he realized what he’d been unconsciously aware of all afternoon.

Fighting made Kit hot—in more ways than one.

Oh, God.

He was instantly hard, every cell in his body aching with desire.

“You’re mine,” Kit said with satisfaction, and Luke’s threadbare control almost snapped. He knew it was no more than a victory cry for Kit, but to hear her use the words of the claiming ritual, even in innocence, was almost too much for him.

He closed his eyes briefly.

“Lesson over,” he managed finally, willing the tumult of his body to still.

She pulled her sword away from his throat and held out a hand.

“We’ve come full circle,” she intoned. “First you put me on my butt, and now I put you on yours. The student defeats the master.” She was grinning as she helped him to his feet, and Luke was grateful she didn’t notice that her fencing teacher had a raging hard-on.

He held out a hand for her sword.

“Does this mean we’re done?” she asked as she gave it to him, disappointment in her voice.

“Aren’t you tired?” he countered as he retrieved his own sword from the floor. He replaced both weapons in their scabbards before zipping the duffel bag closed.

“Exhausted,” Kit admitted, pulling her tee shirt away from her body and fanning it back and forth to create a breeze against her over-heated skin. Luke tried not to watch as he slung the duffel bag over his shoulder.

“But even so,” Kit went on as they walked through the gym together, “I think I could have gone on all night. I
like
this, Luke. It’s the first time I’ve ever been good at anything except math and computers. It felt…natural.”

“Instinct,” Luke said as he pushed open the outer door.

The cold breeze and light snowfall contrasted sharply with the heated gym they’d just left, and Luke felt Kit shivering beside him as they started across the quad.

He frowned down at her. “You didn’t put on your sweatshirt before we left. Or your jacket.”

“I forgot. It’s okay, though. We’ll be home in two minutes.”

Home
. Luke felt a sudden wave of longing clutch at his heart, this one emotional rather than physical. He closed his eyes against the pain of it.

Soft flakes kissed his eyelids. The silence of winter hung over Snowdon, and he could hear Kit breathing as she walked beside him, hear her strong, steady heartbeat.

He couldn’t think about the future.
Take each moment as it comes,
he told himself,
and be the man Kit needs you to be.

Once inside Luke tended the fire in the bedroom, ordering Kit to take a hot bath while he added wood. When she emerged from the bathroom, a white cotton towel wrapped around her still-damp body, Luke knew there was no way in hell he could sleep down here again.

Kit’s hair was a darker gold when it was wet, like burnished bronze. Her skin glowed in the mellow firelight.

“I’m going to sleep upstairs,” Luke said, getting to his feet.

She paused in the act of rubbing her hair dry. “Why?” she asked.

“Because I am,” he said curtly. Not trusting himself to stay in the same room with her for one more minute, he said an awkward good night and stalked out.

The image of her standing beside the bed, her blonde hair tousled and her gray eyes wide with surprise, stayed with him long after he’d spread blankets by the fire in the upstairs room and laid himself down to sleep.

* * *

Maybe I’m being too subtle,
Kit thought as she lay awake, staring at the dancing firelight on the ceiling. She’d hoped that coming out of the bathroom in a towel, rather than the pajamas he’d given her, would send Luke a pretty clear signal.

Apparently not.

Just my luck,
she thought wryly.
I’m in love with a vampire, seducer of thousands, and I can’t even get him to kiss me.

Of course she remembered all the things he’d said last night, and she knew Luke was just trying to protect her. He was afraid of what would happen if they ever—

Maybe she was afraid, too. But fear was rapidly being overcome by desire.

That kiss they’d shared in the underworld…a bolt of lightning shot through her as she recalled his lips burning into hers, the passion he’d stirred in her body, her mind, her heart. She remembered the feel of him pressing her into the bed in Paris, and the feel of his erection between her legs.

Not that she’d have any idea what to do with it, of course.

Maybe it was better this way. She thought of her own inexperience, and compared it with the carnal knowledge in Hecate’s dark eyes. How could she ever hope to hold Luke’s interest that way?

If they never had sex, she could never disappoint him. She could treasure the feeling of being desired without the pain of seeing that desire fade.

If you never actually have something, you can’t lose it.

Besides, she had other things to think about right now. She was in training, and her brother’s life depended on how well she learned the art of war in the next eight days.

So maybe it was better this way.

Sure it is,
Kit thought resignedly.
Because you’re too much of a coward to make it different.

Chapter Thirteen

The second day was harder than the first, and the third day harder still. Every one of her muscles ached and Luke was distant with her, as if determined to be her teacher and nothing else. Every evening they went back to Luke’s rooms and he built up her fire, brought her supper, and said goodnight, all without looking at her more than he could help. Every night Kit lay awake, thinking about her lessons and Peter and the approaching meeting with the Order of Arthur, and most of all thinking about Luke.

The fourth day they worked on hand-to-hand combat, and Kit was conscious of every moment of contact between them.

Her awareness of him affected her fighting. Luke criticized her again and again until Kit was on the point of tears—tears she’d be damned if she’d let him see. Then, after what seemed like hours of frustration, a moment came when all her emotions coalesced into a fury of blows as she beat off an attack.

She almost jumped out of her skin when she heard a strange voice calling out, “Well done!”

Kit spun around to see a stranger standing ten feet away, his hands thrust into the pockets of his tweed jacket and a thick woolen scarf wrapped around his throat. She felt Luke stiffen beside her.

“Hello, Luke,” the man said. “I see you’ve returned from your journey. Prague, I believe you said?”

“Merton,” Luke said, his voice sounding guarded. “I thought you were in Oxford for the holidays.”

The other man shrugged. “I was. But I had work to do here, so I came back early.” His eyes went to Kit. “Do you care to introduce me to your friend?”

Luke hesitated, moving a little closer to her. “This is Catherine Bantry. Kit, this is my Vice-Chancellor, Merton Ambrose.”

The other man came forward and offered a hand. His palm was cool and dry, his handshake firm.

“Welcome to our country and our university, Miss Bantry.”

“How did you know I’m not from here?” she asked warily. She felt uneasy, sensing Luke’s tension as he stood beside her.

“I know who you are, Kit,” the Vice-Chancellor said quietly. “A friend has told me something of your quest. Is it true you seek the harp of Taliesin?”

“Yes.”

“I wish you luck,” he said, bowing slightly. Then he turned to Luke. “She’s the one in the prophecy. You know that, don’t you?”

Kit frowned. “What prophecy?”

“What if she is?” Luke answered, his voice challenging.

The Vice-Chancellor shrugged. “It’s no business of mine. I merely point out that every action has consequences.”

Kit tensed, looking from one man to the other.

Luke’s eyes were angry. “I’ve never believed in that prophecy, as you well know. And even if I did, I’ve chosen my course.”

“It’s not too late to change your course. I’ll take over for you, Luke. I’ll train your protégé even better than you could. I will ensure that she succeeds in her quest.”

“No.”

The two men eyed each other, and Kit had a sudden sense of balanced power, of equal and opposing forces.

The Vice-Chancellor was the first one to step back. “Very well,” he said shortly. “Court your own destruction.”

Without another word he turned on his heel and left.

There was a short silence.

“Let’s get back to it,” Luke said after a moment, as if nothing had happened.

Kit stared at him in disbelief. His blue eyes were cold and hard, his face unreadable.

“You’re out of your mind if you think you’re not going to tell me exactly what that man was talking about.” She folded her arms. “I’m not budging one inch until you tell me about this prophecy.”

Luke glared back at her. “It’s nothing you need to worry about. In fact, it’s none of your business. Now, let’s get back to your training. We have a job to do.”

Rage built inside her. “Damn it, Luke, you can’t just shut me out! The last three days you’ve been like this, and I’m sick of it! I trust you, but I can’t—”

Luke reared back as if she’d struck him. “You…trust me?”

She started to give a flip answer, but something in his face made her tell the truth instead.

“With my life,” she said simply.

Luke closed his eyes. “Oh, God—”

It was a cry of pain, and Kit stared at him in astonishment.

“What’s wrong with you?” she demanded. “Don’t you
want
me to trust you?”

“No!” he said violently. “I’m the last person you should trust. Please, Kit—just stay away from me.” His eyes opened. “I’ve got to get out of here.”

He stumbled away from her like he was dizzy or drunk, and by the time Kit recovered from her surprise he had crossed the gym and was out the door.

Kit followed, opening the door that had slammed shut behind him. She gasped at the abrupt assault of wind and cold.