Forbidden Drink (23 page)

Finally, I was begging for him to enter me, to fill me up, to take me now. I needed him inside me like it was the solution to all my problems, like it was the answer to all my prayers.

“Now, Michel, now!”

He growled against my neck, where he had been placing gentle fang marks all over the side of my skin. The pierce of his fangs, followed by the rush of his desire, only to be repeated again and again. He had me at such a high, on such a sharp edge of hunger for him, for this, that I was shaking all over, unable to breathe, unable to think, but managing to whimper all the same.

“You are mine.” He said it, like he had earlier in the evening, as he entered me. Slowly this time, laboriously slowly, teasing me, tempting me, frustrating me, making me shout out in desperation and then do something I had not had any intention of doing now, or if in fact ever. I gathered my Light and I held it close, letting it build, like he was letting my body build with sharp delicious sensations and then thrusting it out towards him, surrounding his shields, climbing his walls, wrapping around his protection, until he could hold against me no more. And then I let it pour from me to him while all I could hear in my head was
mine, mine, mine, mine
. But, it wasn't Michel's voice, it was mine. It was me. And I was marking him.

He hesitated in his movements, realising what I was doing, shocked, with a little flash of sorrow there as well and then he couldn't help his shout of victory as he began to claim my body in return, in hard and fast thrusts, pumping himself as far and as hard as he could inside me.

My Light flowed through us, his hips moved against me, my legs wrapped around him and we moved as one, riding the wave of elation and rapture in a frenzy of sounds and sensations. His body pounding into me, while my Light flooded into him and eventually they both met in the middle in an orgasm like none other I had ever felt, making us both shout out in alarm and then collapse against each other in triumph.

We both lay still, unable to move because of the tight spot we were in as well as the total inability to physically command our limbs to respond. I felt like jelly, so liquid and replete, so safe in his arms and so sure that he was mine as I was his.

Shit. This wasn't meant to happen. I was meant to stay in control, not lose it like this. Damn. This had not been the plan.

I felt Michel's hand stroking my face, pushing my damp hair out of my eyes, his lips kissing the side of my neck. When he spoke, his hot breath against my sweat soaked skin sent shivers down my spine.

“This is only between you and me,
ma douce
. No one need know, this is a dream. Nothing more, it is not real. You have not given up your control, or anything else this night, only here, only now, not in reality.”

I felt a little part of me sink at that statement. I know it was silly, I didn't want to lose myself in such a total and irretrievable way as I had just done now, but then, part of me obviously did and was disappointed that it wasn't over. My capitulation wasn't yet achieved. It would have been easy to just accept it, to think I had made that step, the final act had been done, that I had given him my
Sigillum.
B
ut now, the question still remained, didn't it? Would I ever give myself to Michel completely?

When rationale returned the answer would be no. And I wanted to cry at that.

“Sleep,
ma petite lumière.
All will be back to normal in the morning.”

I felt him lifting off me, but not as though he was standing up, but more that he was becoming less and less substantial, the dream disintegrating around me, the world starting to shift. I reached out for him desperately, not wanting this moment to be gone, not wanting it to return to normal at all, but to cling to this, what we had just shared and to never let it go.

His fingers brushed mine and right before he and the car and the smells and sensations of the moment were lost forever, he whispered, “
Je t'aime, ma douce. Je t'aime.
”

I woke up in bed sweating, and rolled over to curl up in a little ball and cried.

I spent the next three days avoiding him. I didn't go near
Sensations
, spending my time divided between work and home. And practising with the Svante sword and Erika, or out hunting with Amisi. When not training or fighting, we watched a selection of old vampire T.V. series on DVD, spent time eating decadent and indulgent treats and worked off the calories in the gym. I was surprised at how fast the time sped by and how much fun I had with both girls.

I was getting good with the sword. Much better than I think Erika had thought I would be at this stage. We had progressed to practising in the back yard under the moon with real swords, no more
bokken
for us. The clang of steel on steel filled the still night air. Amisi was in awe of the skills Erika had taught me and even had the odd training session with her using the
bokken
. She was agile and a quick learner, but she didn't take to it like me. For me, it was as though I had used these instruments of war in a previous life. They felt so familiar, so right in my hands, that every move I made was natural, not forced, completely ingrained.

By Friday, I was wearing the Svante sword Michel had given me in its holster against my back, under my jacket when out and about. I had mastered unsheathing it, swiftly and cleanly, as well as getting it home again and switching to my stake. The holster was amazing, it fitted like a glove and felt so snug and comfortable against me. It also had the ability to shift the angle of the sword slightly, meaning I didn't have to withdraw it out vertically from behind my head. When I reached for it, the sword simply slid to my left shoulder and with my right hand I could reach across my body and pull it free. Getting it back in position was just as smooth and once re-sheathed, it fell back into its vertical hiding place automatically. Sheer brilliance. I practised that un-sheathing and re-sheathing again and again and again, until it was one fluid motion, something so natural I didn't have to think.

I couldn't imagine not wearing the sword when I hunted now, it was as much a part of me as the silver stakes and silver knife I wore in my jacket.

By Friday evening though, I knew I'd have to see Michel. So many days apart and I was starting to notice the effects. It started out with just the odd shiver, a tingling in my hands and fingers, then progressed to shakes whenever I thought of him. I felt weak and couldn't stomach any food, I hadn't eaten for twenty four hours. It took me a while to realise what it was I was experiencing and why. It was Amisi who spoke up first.

I had just walked in the door from work. She'd had the use of one of Michel's Land Rover Discoveries during the day - one Erika used in the evening if she had to do something without me - and had made it home at about the same time as me, having spent her free hours exploring Auckland and getting used to Kiwis and their habits. Erika was working out in the gym, but the shutters were all still down, the sun hadn't yet set.

I came in and stripped off my uniform jacket, chucking it unceremoniously on the sofa and landing flat on my face on top of it. Unable to think about moving again. Amisi followed me in from the garage and just stood inside the door to the lounge.

She cleared her throat softly and I managed to shift my head to the side and look at her from my prone position on the couch. She looked concerned and determined. Great. Lecture time.

“
You need to go him, Lucinda.” At first I didn't quite get what she was talking about, who she was talking about. She must have seen the confusion on my face, because she continued. “You need your kindred, you're drained, you haven't had contact with him for close to 72 hours, it's too long. He will be suffering too.”

Shit. I hadn't thought of that. He could not afford to feel drained, he was Master of the City, he needed to stay on guard always. Hell, I couldn't afford to feel drained. I groaned and buried my head in the seat cushion of the couch. I so did not want to face him.

“Come on, let's go now. I'll drive.”

I sat up slowly and shook my head. “Let's wait for nightfall, I need to get changed anyway and Erika can come with us then.”

“OK.” She nodded and started heading towards the kitchen. “But, I'm making a snack, so you better high tail it back down here and eat it before we go. OK?” She looked at me pointedly.

How had she got so good with English? And so bossy?

I showered quickly and when I came down, Erika was freshly dressed in the kitchen and a beef and salad sandwich was waiting on the bench. I sat down quietly at the breakfast bar and forced it down, following it up with a
Diet Coke.
We sat silently like that for another half hour until the whirring of the shutters retracting broke us from our meditations and I stood and stretched out some of the aches that had taken up residence in my body.

“OK, let's get this over with.”

Amisi shook her head in disbelief. She probably wasn't used to having a Nosferatin so reluctant to see their kindred Nosferatu. Where she came from, joinings were expected and carried out as part of a normal routine. Not necessarily as intimate or complicated as mine, but more as a means to an end, strategic and platonic.

Michel and I just had to be different, didn't we?

I was determined I would stay in the public area of the bar, not go to Michel if he was in his office. That would just be asking for trouble. So, when we arrived, we headed straight out into the club itself and commandeered a table once my senses told me he wasn't even there. I was momentarily unsure of what to do, I had expected Michel to be waiting for me, but he was nowhere on the premises. I could have sent the sense of our Bond out to him, to locate him, but I really didn't want him to be aware of my need to be near. I had to keep up a strong front, I couldn't lower my guard.
Never show fear. Never give an inch. Always stay on guard.

It was hard to concentrate on my surroundings though, his absence was like a hole in my heart. Erika and Amisi, on the other hand, were having a blast and before long their antics couldn't help but draw my attention. They both looked stunning tonight. Erika was in her usual tight, tight black jeans, red knee high leather boots, red singlet and this time a black fitted leather jacket. Her Svante sword was invisible under the tumble of her blonde hair. Every eye in the bar was on her, well every human eye that is, the vampires were fixated on Amisi. Tall and elegant in tight fitting black trousers and a tight fitting black shirt, her stakes hidden in a bolero style jacket, this time black with gold detailing, her long brown hair loose down her back. And those big brown eyes, pools of liquid on her perfect golden brown skin. She was lean and feminine, but also deadly. And the vampires could practically taste it.

I had to stifle a laugh, their desire was rolling off them in waves. I realised just how important my role as her chaperone was going to be. And how hard. She was playing it up like a pro. A swish of her hair here, the cock of head there, the soft laugh, the poise, the presentation. Good grief, did they train them like this in Egypt? She was a vampire disaster waiting to happen. Sooner or later a brawl was going to break out over who had rights to approach her first. So much for me being the Forbidden Drink, the vampires in the room right now were licking their lips in anticipation of tasting her, to hell with me. Jeez.

It was Dillon Malone who approached first, which kind of took me by surprise, he was usually someone who played things very close to his chest. Being Michel's spy, the one who was always travelling here and there throughout the country, coming back to give brief and quietly whispered reports now and then. I wasn't really familiar with him, like the rest of Michel's gang. He had always been courteous to me, but aloof. I don't think I had ever had one decent conversation in the entire time I had known him.

He was good looking of course, they all are, but he wore his hair short, unlike most vampires. I often wondered if that was because he spied on humans throughout the country, if he was spying on vampires, wouldn't he have needed long hair to blend in? I'd never asked Michel, somehow I just intrinsically knew Dillon was off limits, a topic not to be discussed. His hair was thick and sandy blonde, but he wasn't covered in freckles like you'd expect, just a pleasant cream complexion that seemed to complement his hair colour, not drain it. It was his eyes, however, that made you notice him, they were a stunning shade of Periwinkle. A pale blue with a dusky overture, stunning despite its lack of depth. It was as though his eyes held more power than just the colour differentiations of vampires. It was as though when he gazed at you, he could see right through to your soul.

They were trained on Amisi's now and dammit, she had been caught by his gaze.

She should have known better, even with Nosferatin anti-vampire skills, we can get caught by their glaze. Dillon wasn't trying to glaze her now, thankfully, but he might as well have been, she was already breathless and unable to pull her eyes away from the approaching predator that he was. He was, of course, in full vampire predator mode, gliding towards her, enticing her with his body, the fine lines, the broad muscles, the hunger in his look. God, even I was having trouble looking away. For some inexplicable reason I couldn't open my mouth to warn Amisi, I just sat there and watched it all unfold without lifting a finger to stop any of it.

He didn't ask to be invited to sit, he just grabbed a chair from a nearby table, turned its back towards Amisi and sat down across it, legs spread either side, his gaze never leaving hers. He rested his chin on the back of the chair and just looked at her, almost a little lost boy look, just taking her all in and waiting for her to talk. I'm sure that look had worked for him in the past, it was doing a number on Amisi now, her smile very friendly back at him.

“So, do you have a name?” His Irish accent was lost some time ago, probably 100 years or more, he just had a slight Kiwi twang. He really would fit in anywhere in this country.

“Amisi.”

“That's beautiful. What does it mean?”

She blushed slightly. “Flower.”

Out of nowhere he produced a single red rose and handed it to her like a magician. I couldn't help laughing out loud, but neither of them heard me. I flicked a glance towards Erika, she was on guard. Which made me sit a little straighter in my own chair and take another look at Dillon. Erika would only be on guard if she felt a threat towards herself, me or Michel. I was wondering now if she had extended that blanket of protection to Amisi too.

Dillon looked harmless enough, but he did hold Amisi spellbound and now that I'd had a shot of adrenaline go through me from the look on Erika's face, I felt removed from the situation and able to actually speak.

“What do you want, Dillon?” He was surprised I had spoken, which made me think my reticence before was no doubt due to some vampire mojo he had surreptitiously been spreading.

He glanced over his shoulder at me and smiled, turning slightly to face me, as though he wanted me every bit a part of the conversation. I had no doubt that wasn't the case though.

“Lucinda. A pleasure, as always. You know, you can't keep her all to yourself, she will be snaffled up by one of us.”

Oh, now didn't that just make me bristle.

“Back off, Dillon, or I'll make you.”

Amisi chose that moment to enter the discussion. “It's all right, Lucinda, he's just talking to me, that's all.”

I gave her a really good hard stare, one I think Nero would have been proud of at that moment and turned my attention back to Dillon.

“She is my guest and as such a guest of Michel's. Do not overstep your mark Dillon Malone.” The use of his full name carried the weight of Michel's command behind it. It was a natural thing for me to do and obviously something he was either channelling into me right now, or the joining/Bond was forcing me to do in his stead. Either way, Dillon got the message, stiffening slightly and pulling away from me.

He looked back at Amisi and she blossomed under his attention. “Perhaps, little Flower, you and I can meet again without your chaperone.” I growled, an actual, honest to goodness, vampire growl. Either Michel was really channelling me right now or I was way more Nosferatu than I had previously thought. Dillon stood up quickly, I think he may have been scared I was about to do something, like grow some fangs and bite his neck, who knows, but he definitely wanted space between me and him. His chair was now in front of him, between us and he was closer to Amisi than he was to me.

I didn't think he'd be stupid enough to do anything, so I just stood there and waited for him to move. But, I obviously underestimated his attraction to her and his desire to test a theory, because the next thing I noticed, was his hand taking hers, their eyes meeting and
Sanguis Vitam
filling the air as he said, “Such a beautiful Nosferatin.” The emphasis and power on the word Nosferatin.

I knew what was going to happen next, but not what shape it would take. All immature and unjoined Nosferatins have one massive failing: their name. Or more to the point, the name of our kind,
Nosferatin
, can be used against us. It's not designed as a weapon as such, but more a tool, to help Nosferatu and Nosferatin who are suitably matched as kindred recognise each other. When a vampire knows how to wield that power they can elicit a response from a Nosferatin. The response is usually an indication of how well matched they would be should they join. My response to Michel was to fall asleep. Anti-climactic I know, but Michel had been visiting my dreams for some time by then and in them I had already fallen for his charms. When Enrique, a master vampire with an accord with Michel, tried that line on me, he got a silver stake. So, yeah, our reactions to the power behind that word can vary, from one vampire to the next.