Limerence II (7 page)

Slowly, as the minutes tick by, I feel him relax under me, his tense body becoming softer while still feeling full of hard, rigid muscle. A finger slowly brushes across the top of my shoulder, and then gently trails down my back. I try not to move, not wanting to break this spell that we have both been put under, both opening up for the first time, and at the same time finally. Both giving a small piece of ourselves to the other. I sigh as one arm wraps around my back, and I feel instantly warmed from his touch, and as his other arm comes around to hold me tighter I groan, deep from the back of my throat, not being able to contain it any longer. I feel his body abruptly stiffen around me and then soften as his arms squeeze me closer, pressing my body harder against his.

His nose moves to my hair, his lips pressing a gentle kiss against my temple, and the feeling is as good as anything I’ve felt so far in this life. His hand moves to my legs which are haphazardly thrown over the arm of the chair, and then his hand is strong on my thigh, and I can feel the impulse he has to roam higher, his fingers touching places that he has promised himself he wouldn’t touch.

I look up to him, unable to stare at my own legs any longer, needing to see his eyes—his expression. He looks from my legs to me, his tongue darting out across his lower lip.

“Mia, I…” His words trail off, not for the first time in so few minutes. But I know what he is saying, I know what he is imploring of me. That this is all he can do, this is as far as he will allow himself to go. Even my inner vampire looks furious at that fact, and I reach up, wrap my arms around his neck, and bring us nose to nose.

“Evan, I will only ask you this once, and then I will never ask you again, because I can’t play these games with you. You’re breaking me with your back and forth. I just need to know, for the sake of knowing.”

His pupils dilate, and it’s like staring into deep abysses. “What?” But the way he says it, the way his body stiffens, makes me aware that he knows exactly what I’m about to ask. As if to prove a point, before I can ask the question he reaches out, takes my face in his hands, and kisses me.

It starts with my lips.

A small jolt of electricity shooting from my mouth to his, and back again. I jolt in both shock and the hunger for more, and he reciprocates by kissing me harder. His hands cup my face, holding my mouth to his whilst his tongue separates my lips and pushes inside my mouth. It moves across mine in a slow, seductive dance, and our mouths melt together, our lips fiercely devouring one another’s.

His hands roam over my body, moving over my hips and squeezing my waist before lifting me up and pulling me onto his lap in one quick movement so that I am straddling him. I can feel him hard beneath me and I move against him in an attempt to find some friction, driving us both crazy with wanting. His mouth moves to my neck, kissing it from one earlobe to the other and leaving me panting and desperate for more. His mouth moves back up to mine and he expertly sucks on my lip before pushing his tongue inside. His mouth is hot and desperate and I grind harder against him, wanting him like I’ve never wanted him before.

“Evan,” I murmur between urgent kisses, my fingers running through his hair.

His kiss becomes more urgent as I say his name, his hand cupping the back of my head and bringing us closer together until my breasts are against his hard chest, and the need to have him undressed is frustrating. I grab at his clothes but he clasps my hands in his, so I grind against him more, receiving a frustrated growl from him.

He stops kissing me abruptly, his hands releasing mine and clasping my hips, stilling me in place. He presses his forehead against mine and closes his eyes, a low rumble deep in his chest.

“Mia, I can’t . . .” His voice is deep and gravelly, and I know I’m close to getting what I want, what
she
wants—hell, what
he
wants, if we’re going to be completely truthful. But I respect him enough to stop, and I can hear
her
going crazy inside of me, her fangs flashing as she hurls a tirade of abuse at me.

I move my hand up to stroke his face, moving along his rough jaw, my thumb rubbing along his lower lip, which he kisses.

“It’s okay. We don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

His finger touches my lips, silencing me on my words, and he tsks. “It’s not a matter of not wanting to, Little Mia. Of course I want to, what man wouldn’t?” He smiles at me.

“So it’s her?”

“Our queen.” He frowns. “Yes.”

I roll my eyes, feeling irritated once more that the woman is controlling my life, that once more someone else is controlling my life. My inner vampire rolls her eyes back at me as if saying that’s what it’s like for her, and for the first time, I feel sorry for her.

“Don’t,” he says darkly.

I look at him, questioning his words.

“Don’t feel sorry for her, not ever. If she could destroy you and live, she would.”

How the hell did he know what I was thinking?

I stare at him in confusion, cogs starting to click into place before he adds: “Not unlike our queen, I guess.” He looks sad and guilty as he says it, but then something stirs inside him and he looks into my face, indecision warring within him. I know that I’m on to something; I’ve stumbled upon Pandora’s Box and I only need the key to open it up and figure out the complexity of this man. I need to. Because my feelings for him are growing daily; and yes, it’s partly to do with my vampirism, but it’s also to do with him: the fact that he cares for me—though he fights against it, the fact that he’s trying to do the right thing . . . whatever that may be. The fact that he has saved me from myself—from her—on more than one occasion, and I know that he will always look after me. I want to know him, both good and bad. More than this hard exterior that he puts out. More than the warrior, the slave, and the trainer, I want to know who he is: the vampire man within the vampire servant.

Before I can think another thing, he presses his lips to mine again, destroying all rational thought. He may not take things further today, but one day he will be mine; one day I will have him and he will have me. My thoughts tumble over themselves as he kisses me deeper, biting down on my lip gently and making me gasp.

And like that, my thoughts are stolen away.

I stand back
from the canvas and push a tendril of black hair away from my face, poking it back into the loose bun at the base of my neck and feeling the smudge of green paint across my cheek.

My eyes go wide as I take in my painting, and joy fills my chest. It’s perfect, just as I had hoped it would be. The painting of our coven and its surrounding areas—from what I have seen of it, anyway—are vivid, and without a doubt an accurate interpretation of the world as I see it. That doesn’t mean it’s beautiful in the traditional sense of the word, but it is accurate.

Deep greens and greys with light brush strokes of vivid colours intermingling between the trees and stone walls. The auras of so many vampires, each feeling something different. Anger, lust, hunger—every colour holding a different meaning. Our world immortalized in a painting. She’ll both love it and hate it. How I know this, since I don’t know her, is bizarre; but I know it to be true.

I drop my brush into the glass jar at the side of me and place my palette down before climbing on top of a table and sitting, letting my legs dangle over the edge and swing back and forth while I further examine it. I know it will get her attention, and that’s what I want, what I hope for. I have barely seen the woman—our queen of oh-so-powerful-vampires—since my arrival so long ago, and she has never requested me personally, but this will get her attention. I smile at the thought.

I grab my paint palette and brushes together and head to the small bathroom across the hallway to wash them all. The painting needs a couple of hours to dry before I can take it to her anyway. Realistically it needs until tomorrow, but I know I can’t wait that long. The excitement of seeing her is all-encompassing.

I say ‘excitement’ like I’m going to be meeting a famous celebrity, and I guess in some ways I am, but part of that excitement is also fear. From what little I remember of her, she was pretty terrifying, but apart from that one meeting in Mr Breckt’s home, I have not seen her. It’s almost as if she is purposefully staying away from me. I smile as I turn on the taps in the small basin and begin to rinse the brushes underneath the water, the colours swirling together and draining away.

I make my way back across the hall, and upon entering I see a man waiting for me. He’s broad-shouldered and dark-skinned, with thick black dreadlocks running down his back, which are tied by a black ribbon neatly at the nape of his neck. Despite the less-than-formal hair, he is wearing a steel-coloured suit. Everything about him makes me feel anxious and intimidated. He is staring at my painting but turns to look at me when he hears me come in and it’s only when he fixes me with his piercing blue eyes—which are even more of a stark contrast to his dark skin than the suit and the hair are to each other—that I begin to feel more relaxed. He smiles warmly at me, and I force my shoulders to relax, not realising that they had jumped up around my ears.

“You are the lovely Mia that I have heard so much about?” His voice is smooth and deep.

“I guess I am,” I say, walking towards him confidently and placing my palette and brushes down with my paints. I hold out a hand, but he only smiles at it before raising his hand in the air between us. His hand is covered by a thick black glove, and I look back to his face with a small frown.

“I have the gift of touch, the gloves help but it’s best not to touch unless we have to.” He smiles again, his beautiful blue eyes piercing into mine. “Our queen has requested your presence. She would also like to see this painting, if that is okay with you.”

He poses it as a question but we both know it is an order and not a request. I’m not surprised—only startled by how quickly this has all come about. I expected the painting to be at least dry before she wanted to see me. The Queen likes us to stay in line and obey, do as we’re told and never question any of it. To so blatantly express my power to her would not only infuriate, but intrigue.

“I am Harley, and you only needed to ask to see her to get her attention.” He turns to the painting. “May I?” he asks as he places a hand on either side of the painting to pluck it from the stand.

“Sure,” I say, more confidently than I feel.

“Come with me, Mia,” he says and heads towards the doorway, stopping to wait for me when he reaches it. I slip on my boots, zipping them up, and catch him up and follow him down the hallway towards Great Hall.

Silence, other than the noise of our footsteps, wraps itself around us. My brain worries over if I have done the right thing, if perhaps this was completely stupid of me, and that maybe I should not have…what? Painted a picture? I almost snort out my annoyance. I glance sideways and see Harley watching me again, his smile still handsome and wide, his blue eyes still shocking.

“She will love this, Mia. Fear not.” His voice is like velvet, thick and luxurious with only the faintest of an accent.

“I wasn’t worried.” I hold my chin up.

“It is okay to feel fear, just do not be ruled by it,” he says mysteriously.

“How did she know I was painting anyway? It’s not like I told anyone.”

“She is your queen. She knows everything, always.” He smiles again, but this time I have a feeling that he is more of a smiling assassin than anything else.

We pass the training rooms and I hear Evan inside with someone, and I’m happy to hear that he shouts at them as much as he shouts at me. I almost smile, but manage to keep my poker face in place, knowing that this isn’t the quickest way to the Great Hall, and merely a way to garner a reaction from me. I stare straight ahead, feeling the icy blue eyes of Harley on the side of my face and, smiling or not, I know he’s deadly and not my friend in any way.

At the end of the hall, we turn right and come upon large, ornate wooden doors. I have passed these doors plenty of times but I have never been inside, and now that I am about to, I can’t help but panic even further.

Stupid, stupid me.

Harley doesn’t skip a beat, but walks confidently towards the doors, and when we are within reaching distance, a vampire from either side opens the doors and we walk right on in, with the doors clicking closed on our heels.

I take in as much of the room as I can, but there’s not an awful lot to see. Mainly it’s just diamonds and marble, fine cut crystal chandeliers—yeah, she’s not a show-off bitch at all. I resist the urge to roll my eyes at the obnoxiousness of it all. That would not be a good way to start the meeting.

Harley bows down on one knee when he reaches the centre of the room, and I follow suit, though I feel ridiculous. Plus, the last time that I saw
my queen
I had promised myself that I would not do this, that she would not rule over me. And yet here I find that after nearly a full year, she has been doing that anyway. Nevertheless I stare down at the floor, waiting to see what happens next.

Harley stays bowed down and so do I, and a deathly silence befalls the room—all waiting upon the words of one person, our so-called queen of vampires. My back would be aching by now if I were human, and the more I am forced to bow, the more irritated I get. I can also feel
her
glaring at me from the inside, almost like she is daring me to stand up straight before I’m authorised to. I can hear her words ringing in my ear, that we are better than this, that I shouldn’t be forced to bow down to anyone. And while I know that she is right, still I bow. And why? Because of Evan. Because I want him like I want blood, like he is my life source, like he is my beginning and end, and I can’t ignore the feelings any longer. I want him, and I know he wants me, but his loyalty to this woman—our queen—prevents him from acting on anything. I want to call him pathetic for not standing up for what he wants, but I know that there is some misplaced loyalty towards her for the life she gave him, and who am I to come in and say that he is wrong?

So I won’t force him to do anything. But I will ask for my own freedom to explore this with him; I will try to fight for us. Because she didn’t make me what I am, I was born from obsession and pain, and my only loyalty to her is one small promise that I made when I was half out of my mind.

“Mia.”

Her voice is unnervingly close, and I look up and see her standing directly in front of me.
How did I not hear her coming towards me?
I glance over at Harley and see that he is still bowed down so I also stay down low.

She seems pleased with that and glides back to her chair; though it’s more of a huge throne—made from sticks, from what I can see from this ridiculous angle.

“Where is it?” she says. Her voice is like ice, frozen and cold, sending needles through me.

Harley stands up and I follow suit, watching as he goes back towards the entrance to retrieve my painting. I hadn’t even seen him putting it down I ponder as he struts forwards with the painting in hand, making me feel nervous. More than nervous, I feel anxious, and realise that I want her to like it; I want her to approve of the painting. He stands next to me as another vampire seeps from the shadows carrying an easel for the painting to be placed on. Harley positions it at an angle for both myself and the Queen to see and then comes back to my side.

She looks at me for a long moment before letting her gaze slowly lead to the painting, where she stares blankly. Moments pass, silence filling a void until she stands, and just as quietly moves effortlessly towards the painting. Her hand reaches out to touch it, coming back with the faintest amount of green on her fingertips. Up this close, I can see how the past year has changed her—or perhaps I have forgotten how truly terrifying she is.

Her face is colder, paler, and more frozen in place. Her hair is whiter, paler than snow. It’s as if the colour is being stripped from her body and she is slowly turning albino. Her eyes move across to me, and I see that they are stripped of colour now too. Thankfully I am still under control of myself; even
she
has quietened down, either waiting to see what happens or biding her time. I daren’t believe that the wild vampire inside of me is actually frightened by the Queen.

“This is what you see?” Her voice hisses around me, the words not seeming to come from her mouth at all, but they do—they must, for her lips open, revealing a jaw full of the shiny, pointy teeth that I remember so well.

I nod numbly, not trusting myself to speak just yet. Her eyes look back to the painting, and then down to her fingers, to the smudge of green upon her otherwise flawless white skin. She seems mesmerized as she rubs her thumb and forefinger together. The paint smears, giving her fingers a sickly colour to them, but one which is only an improvement upon her impossibly pale complexion. More long minutes pass before she raises her hand and a vampire is by her side in an instant and cleaning the colour away from her hand with a damp cloth that smells of turpentine.

She looks back to me, her opal eyes drinking me in from head to toe slowly, as if taking her time to absorb my colour. She seems dissatisfied by what she sees and moves back to her chair for the second time, sitting, and continues to stare at me. I feel like perhaps I should say something, speak up about what I have been doing this past year or what the painting means, and then maybe open up the conversation to what I really want to talk about.

She cocks her head to one side, her lips parting slowly. “You may leave.”

I stare at her dumbfounded, a frown slowly working its way across my forehead. I look at Harley, who is still smiling, and he moves towards me but I step away from him.

“But I want to talk to you,” I splutter indignantly.

She blinks, the rest of her face unmoving, before slowly speaking again, her words not like splinters of ice now at all, but like daggers as they scrape inside my veins. “Evan is mine. Forever. That should answer your question.”

She waves a hand around and then Harley has his hand wrapped around my bicep and I’m screaming, because he wasn’t joking when he said that he had the gift of touch. His fingers are burning my skin and leaving blisters in place, and it only hurts more as I pull and tug to get away from him, but I can’t stop myself from doing it, and then entire time all I can think as I’m dragged from the room is
Evan and I will never be
.

“You can’t do this!” I plead on a sob. “We’re not objects for you to keep.” I grip on to the doorframe as Harley commands me to let go. Three more vampires are standing in front of the queen now, as if guarding her from little me. “Please,” I beg again.

She watches me silently, her opal eyes following me, watching every movement, but she does not comment on any of it. She glances at one of the vampires in front of her, and without hesitation he stalks towards me. He wears simple attire: black pants and a black T-shirt that is stretched across his broad chest—and as he gets closer I see his muscles contracting as if preparing for battle. I let go of the doorframe and stare in horror as he gets close enough to touch, and when his arm reaches forwards I flinch and close my eyes, waiting for the impact of his fist on me, but nothing comes.

I open my eyes just in time to see the door slam in my face, and then Harley is dragging me away. I stop fighting him and shrug out of his burning grip and scowl at him. But he doesn’t care; he smiles and continues walking me back to my chamber silently.

I had wanted to fight for Evan and I, but it seems that I have let us both down—or at the very least underestimated the Queen. Because I realise now that I never stood a chance. Evan and I never stood a chance, and the thought is soul destroying.