Mistwalker (17 page)

“I’d rather have her somewhere where I can keep an eye on her,” Simone snapped.

He leaned forward, his large body tensed, looking ready to pounce. “What about food?”

The silken texture of his words made her shiver, but she refused to show how the smooth hypnotic tone affected her and smiled in the face of danger. “I’m alive, aren’t I?”

A muscle flicked angrily at his jaw. He waved a hand at the others in the room. “Leave us.” Which they did immediately.

Simone couldn’t believe the haste at which everyone filed out of the room.

Finally, he turned to her, a determined look in his glowing eyes. “You do not know who you are up against. I want you to seriously think about marrying me.”

Chapter
Nineteen

Simone closed her eyes, squeezed them tight, and held them like that for seconds, then opened them again to the sight of his arresting, expectant face.
Oh no
. He didn’t drop it on her like that. She laughed. The longer she sat there, the more she doubted her hearing. And the harder she laughed. Her stomach hurt, and she started wheezing.

“What? Get married? Did I hear you correctly?”

His lush mouth set in a grim line. “Yes. Stop laughing.”

Shock bound her chest so tight she couldn’t breathe.
“Marry you?”
she choked out. “That’s a good one.” Her heart became a speeding rollercoaster, reaching crazy peaks, plummeting to the bottom of her stomach, then climbing all the way back up to her throat.

He disintegrated, taking form far too close to her, nearly touching her thighs. “Why are you laughing at me, Simone?”

She withdrew the .44 in a heartbeat, aimed for the concave between his eyes. “You’re a smart guy. You’ll figure it out.”

“And this is your answer?” His words were clipped; his hot glare scorching across her face. He didn’t even glance at the gun, didn’t pull back or look worried.
Pissed off, definitely. “A laugh and a gun pointed at my face. After everything.” He seemed to run out of breath. “I suppose I deserve that, but I have never…proposed to another. I have been
waiting
for you
.”

Her mouth dropped open. Confusion made her lower the gun slightly. “What? Why?”

He closed his eyes and seemed to shut down all expression on his face. “I cannot tell you that now.”

“Why not?”

“Because you wouldn’t like that answer, either.” His smile was wicked and dark. “Will you consider my proposal? No need for an answer now.”

“No. There’s your answer. You know the aggressive tactics aren’t helping your cause so much.”

His jaw clenched, eyes ever so slightly narrowed. “Meaning what?”

She lifted her chin, struggling to hide her bewilderment. “Meaning you’d think that after living so long, you’d learn to recognise when someone doesn’t like you. Your actions so far have not been of someone in love. You have taken what you wanted, changed me and stolen my life. You are the last person on earth I would ever marry.”

He stepped back and flinched as though she hit him, stopped, then took one step forward again and leaned down to her; far too close for comfort, reminiscent of their time when they first met.

His large, capable hands came down and rested solid and sure on her shoulders. His dark hair fell in a curtain around him, gleaming blue-black in the light, contrasting to his glowing eyes. “But now you know of my intentions.” His fangs flashed in the light. The scent of his spicy aftershave surrounded her.

Her mouth parted. Disbelief raged. He wanted her for his wife? He was crazy. After turning her into a vampire and kidnapping her? “You’re crazy. Flat-out, stark raving mad. It’s out of the question.”

His skin stretched tight across his cheekbones, nostrils flaring, every inch of him proud and autocratic. “We will see.”

She inhaled a breath that did nothing to settle her; it was like the heaving breaths when she’d trained too hard and every inch of her body felt like rubber. Her stomach burned. “Let’s not. Listen, I didn’t come here to play silly little games like,
‘I’m going to marry the prince of darkness,’
all right? I want my friend safe.”

He still leaned over her. Why hadn’t she fired the gun? He wasn’t using the mist to blur the edges of his body. In fact, her hand lay on her lap as his fingers drifted, warm and firm to her exposed skin of her collarbone, scooping the pad of his thumb in a butterfly’s kiss between her neck and shoulder. He touched her scar in the lightest
caress, and his gaze arrested hers in a sudden yearning so clear and deep she felt shocked to witness it.

His eye colour softened to a light daybreak, a new dawn, beguiling her to proceed and let go of her old life, and she shivered beneath its mesmerising message. He stretched both hands around her waist, pulling her to her feet like a doll, moving so fast, his firm cheek brushed against her face, and she stiffened.

Stunned, she pressed the gun against his ribs.
Damn,
she told her brain to function.

That spicy smooth aftershave of his wafted over her, plus the hint of blood he’d consumed somehow combined with his personal, masculine musk. A frisson of sensation rushed through every cell of her body, tingling wherever he touched.

He rested his chin into her hair, pushing the red strands with his breath as he uttered, “This is no
game
, my love. We ride the night together.” His voice accentuated the words, sending quivers down her spine. “You and I.”

Millions of goose bumps spread out across her throat, arms, and she clutched the gun, praying for reality to return and sting her back to life. “I like Lissanne too much to shoot her son, but I wouldn’t push your luck.” Her voice sounded breathy.
She was not enjoying this.

Lie.

Looking up at him her heart beat double time.

His eyes were openly amused, and a smile curved his firm lips. “You have so much fire,” he said with reverence.
“Plenty to burn away the coldness.”

She struggled against his hold, but he held her with arms that seemed to be made of iron. Then he faded in a wash of black and reappeared in his chair.
“Something to look forward to.”

She folded down to the lounge as if someone kicked the back of her knees and couldn’t even think up a decent comeback. His presence overshadowed every male she’d ever met. Why was she even here, dealing with him? Was it for Tammy or because they were both vampires? That instinct to always find a way to survive had dictated so many choices in her life. Her nails dug into her palms, the biting pain a sharp, deliberate reminder of who and what she faced. What she’d come here tonight to discover. She mustn’t
lose sight of that, and she willed her traitorous heart to stop pounding.

A fierce expression carved his face. “You now have my protection.” He lifted a blood-filled glass in salute.
“Forever.”

A dense vibration in the air pushed out at her. She swallowed and imagined as a prince he never went back on his word. Even if she didn’t want him watching out for her, she would have no choice.

Her heart grew tired of the struggle sometimes, of having no control, no respite. She needed space, not trusting that she wouldn’t give in to him when all she wanted was help with Tammy and figuring out how to survive. Simone choked down the remainder of her blood and rose on trembling legs.

“I need some air,” she said, and followed the path to the writhing, gyrating bodies beneath the strobe lights to the dance floor.

A strange weight settled over her chest. The blood warmed her body from the inside out, and she couldn’t decide whether to wait and set up a time to see Tammy before leaving the club or escape Juliun right now. Safety had an allure all of its own.

She edged the outer perimeter of the dance floor, skirting the predatory vampires who cast glamour over mortals so they wouldn’t run as fangs sank deeply into their skin. The techno-rap mix pumped faster and harder than the humans’ delirious heartbeats.

Danger
, the air whispered.
Come closer and taste
. Tremors of energy washed over her skin. The musky scent of heat and sex blossomed amongst the twisting couples, the throb gathering momentum, thumping out the tremble in her fingers.

Juliun could never participate in the raw energy of feeding from another and neither could she.

It was something she’d always taken for granted, believed without thought. The myth of vampires: that they could drink from a vein.
She had to drain the blood.
To have such effort linked to feeding herself would be annoying at least. She wanted to put the pieces of Juliun’s family history together in the hopes it could shed some light on her future. Were these rules based on some dark and terrible past? Of course, transference was probably enough of a deterrent that made vampires with the mist follow the rules.

Could he drink from her?

The thought froze her to the spot. Terrified and thrilled her.
Would she let him, and was that why he’d offered her marriage, to escape the bonds of the mist?

What kind of life had he led for centuries never drinking from another? She couldn’t imagine such a dire duty and his easy willingness to undertake it. He had no person devoted to him whom he could drink from, no wife or lover that could offer her blood other than by dripping it into a glass.

How sterile.

His will to resist must be paramount, and to pacify his hunger, he never once slipped up, until now.

There was something missing, and she couldn’t figure out what it was because those actions appeared to be in total contrast to the vampire she thought she knew and witnessed—someone who attacked women in the street and kidnapped Simone from the hospital.

But he’d done that for a reason, hadn’t he? He lived with the constant responsibility of hard choices, saving immortals and living with all the blame.

In many ways, he was more trapped than she would ever be.

“Oh Juliun,” she said sadly, then clapped a fist against her lips, but too late, his name filled the air. She hadn’t meant to speak it out loud and hoped he hadn’t heard.

The nape of her neck tingled, and she closed her eyes and straightened in response to her awareness of him. She waited without turning. Once his nearness caused an unbearable tightness to claw down her spine, she asked, “Do you miss feeding from a vein like every other vampire?”

“How can I miss what I have never had?”

She forced herself to appear unaffected by the intensity of his aura and inhaled slowly. His spicy, musky scent filled her lungs inadvertently, and she longed to move closer to him, maybe offer a bit of comfort. How did he have the strength to deny his true self? She’d only lived with the mist for days and longed for the lifeblood of another. No doubt he’d been deprived of a vein for centuries.

“
Tell the truth.
Like you say, we’re in this together now.”

She turned to him and steadied her gaze, seeking honesty. He blinked.
Then stilled. His breath wafted across the sensitive skin of her neck, or maybe she was imagining that. She stepped away from him, wanting to stay and ask for his help, but the fear in her heart told her to maintain a clear distance. He was the vampire who’d turned her; he’d utterly changed her life, and she mustn’t forget that.

They were at opposite ends, bound by a gift or curse.

Her thoughts tumbled and twisted against themselves.

“You could drink from me if you wanted to, right? I already have the mist,” she said in a low voice. “You could feed directly from my veins.”

Dead silence.

The atmosphere thickened. Silence lingered and
lingered,
and wanting an answer to her question, she looked up, but the hard planes of his face quickly smoothed out and formed his customary poker façade.

But she’d seen a flash of his dark profile cast in the nightclub lights—a sight she’d never forget. His square jaw clenched, lips parted, dark brows knotted over clear, deep set eyes that stared straight into hers, his flawless skin whiter than old marble. His cheeks somehow were still slightly hollowed out as though the thought made him exhale all the air in his lungs. His fangs descended, and his throat worked as he swallowed hard.

“I could not do that, Simone.” His words were a little twisted and slurred. He trembled. The wall beneath his right hand crumbled into dust. He didn’t seem to notice. “It would not be enough. I could never let you go if I drank from you.”

“But you tasted me when we first met.”

He basically flew at her, materialised until their noses touched. She gasped as his soft breath washed across her lips and cheeks, and every hard line of his body pressed against hers. “You want to remind me of that now? Are you crazy?”

“Maybe,” she murmured. “The jury’s still out.”

The thumping music filled the tableau. Did he mean that he couldn’t let her go if she decided to leave him after giving him a taste of her blood? She felt sure that was the real reason behind his offer of marriage. Not real love. He didn’t even know her.