Never Been Bitten (10 page)

Cain’s entire body trembled from the effort to stay still, to not repay the joy of her touch with caresses of his own. Except he could not help but respond. He had meant to hold himself still as marble, but against his will, his hands freed themselves from behind his back, his entire body inexorably drawn to Ellie’s. He jerked away.

“When we were in the kitchens,” she said softly, her face tilting up to his, “I thought you were going to kiss me.”

“I was,” he said, his voice as ragged as his self-control. “I still am.”

“Good.” She smiled up at him, but her voice was more passionate than playful. “Don’t keep me waiting.”

Cain brushed the pad of his thumb along the soft curve of her cheek. When she tilted her face into his hand, he sank his fingers into her glorious hair and pulled her close. He dipped his head, intending to cover her mouth with his, but found pleasure in the sweet torture of anticipation.

He slowly feathered his parted lips across hers. Not quite a kiss, not quite a taste . . . just the lightest pressure, to tease them both, just as he had done this morning in the kitchen.

When he angled his mouth for another pass, she nipped his lower lip between her teeth.

The bite was sweet and quickly over, but Cain was as good as trapped. His muscles locked. His cock hardened. And when Ellie ran the tip of her tongue across the very flesh she’d just bitten, Cain’s whirling brain relinquished all hope of gentlemanly restraint.

Opening his mouth to the kiss, he surrendered to the moment. One hand cradled the back of her head, keeping their mouths firmly together. His other hand slid along the tumble of soft curls to her waist. He splayed his fingers across the gentle curve at the base of her spine. She clutched his shoulders. He drew her even closer, until not even a whisper could pass between them.

With the tips of her breasts pressed into his waistcoat and the bulge of his cock throbbing against the folds of her skirt, Cain expected reason to intrude upon the innocent young lady nestled against him and send her fleeing. Instead, she wriggled even closer as if she, too, found the friction delicious.

A tiny moan of pleasure escaped her lips, vibrating against his tongue and sending chills along his flesh. Her arms twined around his neck, locking their bodies together. Her increased heartbeat, her rapid breath, the delicious sting of fingernails clawing for purchase against the tailored smoothness of his jacket—the sensations were dizzying, invigorating. Unexpected.

She
wanted
him. She wanted
him.

He’d been so focused on battling his own desire that he hadn’t even recognized the unexpected treasure that had been bestowed on him. Rather than his emotionlessly Compelling an equally emotionless blue-blood beauty into the shadows for a nip-and-forget, a young woman whose company he actually enjoyed had sought him, entrapped him, kissed him . . . of her own free will. Her tongue toyed with his because she loved the interplay as much as he did. Her arms locked ever tighter because she, too, had no intention of letting go. And her kisses . . . Lord help him, he hoped they’d never stop.

Cain reveled in the feel of her body against his, wishing he could Compel all this damn fabric to disappear, so he could feel Ellie’s bare legs wrapped tight around his hips.

He was feverish. He was shivering. He was strangely, impossibly
alive.

He kissed her again and again, unable to resist the scent of her skin, the spice of her kiss, the promise of pleasure in the accelerated beat of her heart. He lifted her in his arms, higher, higher, until his kisses fell against the source of the intoxicating rhythm. Each pounding heartbeat seemed to lift the arc of her breast closer, to press harder against his mouth, his tongue, his teeth, until he was no longer aware of anyone or anything except the salty sweetness of her skin and the rich aroma reducing his brain to animal instinct and uncontrollable desire.

Her breath against his neck was an irresistible aphrodisiac. Hot, humid, undeniably human, and erratic enough to expose her increasing passion, if her legs locked around his hips and her fingers digging into his back had not been signal enough. The tip of her tongue touched the sensitive skin hidden behind his ear. In response, he laved his own tongue across the trembling curve of her breast. She pulled the lobe of his ear into her mouth, ran her tongue across the captured flesh, then drove all conscious thought from his mind when she sucked the curved edge between her teeth. He responded in kind and suckled her plump breast, drawn to the beckoning heartbeat beneath that warm, white flesh. This was heaven. This could leave a mark. This could make his—

Oh God. The potent seduction playing out upon his earlobe changed from gentle nibbling to a gasping, carnal bite. Cain couldn’t have prevented his instantaneous reaction if he’d wanted to. In the time it took her human teeth to entrap the lobe of his ear, his fangs exploded from his mouth the way his cock longed to leap from his pants. His upper incisors pierced the top of her breast, impaling her flesh, and finally, finally, tasting that hot, sweet blood.

He tightened one hand on the nape of her neck, the other on the curve of her arse, grinding the full length of his imprisoned cock against the frothy waves of silk protecting her innocence from his lust. He suckled her hungrily, dizzy with desire and the addictive taste of her blood. He would rip this infuriating silk from her frame. He would rend his ridiculous vestments at the seams. And when nothing, not even passion-scented air, was between them, he would lock his teeth to her neck and penetrate her with his shaft and his fangs while she moaned in ecstasy.

Ellie gasped . . . but not in ecstasy. She went from fiery blaze to lump of coal in the space of an indrawn breath. She jerked from his arms before he had time to react—he, a vampire with allegedly superhuman instincts—and because she turned before his fangs had had a chance to retract, the retreating tips scraped across her white flesh, leaving twin trails of raw red where invisible pinpricks might have stood.

She clasped pale hands across her mouth, her shocked eyes screaming her fear and horror. The choked sob from behind her palm extinguished his passion more effectively than freezing rainwater.

She knew the truth.

He was a monster.

And he could not let her leave the conservatory with the knowledge.

“Ellie,” he said, torn between smiling in an attempt to display a normal row of teeth, and the knowledge that his pearly whites were currently stained pink with her blood. He rallied all the power vested in him to do the one thing that would protect them both: obliterate the memory of the sweetest tryst of his life.

Forget,
he commanded silently.
You didn’t see any fangs. You didn’t feel any fangs. I am not a vampire.
Cain hesitated only briefly before adding,
I made unwanted advances. You gave me a proper setdown. Stay away from me, Ellie. Stay far, far away.

He reached out to straighten the drooping shoulder of her gown.

She turned and ran.

Cain blinked. First Ellie had seemed all but immune to Compulsion, and now all of a sudden his unspoken command to stay away lit a fire under her hems as if—

Ah,
hell.
As if she’d just discovered her suitor was a bloodsucking vampire.

Cursing whatever it was about her that had distracted him from performing a proper thought Compulsion—and cursing himself, his infatuation, and his impulsive fangs for getting him into this scrape to begin with—Cain righted his breeches and gave chase.

Chapter Eight

Ellie fled through the halls with both hands crisscrossed over her gaping mouth. The warm stickiness adhering to her fingers and the telltale coppery sweetness coating her throat were further evidence of the two-pronged proof currently distorting her lips:

She had
fangs.

“Oh God, oh God, oh God,” she panted as she ran, the syllables coming out muffled against the pressure of her hands. Her rational, orderly world had turned completely upside down in the space of seconds.

Batty Miss Breckenridge had been right. Vampires absolutely existed. Mártainn Macane was an incontestable example. She’d kissed the beast. Who had then
bitten
her. The spread of infection was instantaneous. And now she, Elspeth Ramsay, self-professed bluestocking and scholar of all that was mundane and logical, was a godless, soulless bloodsucking monster with razor sharp
fangs.
They protruded from her mouth, for the love of science.

She had to get out of the open. Fast.

Bad enough if someone would have entered the conservatory and chanced upon her and Cain in a compromising position. Unimaginably worse, if someone were to stroll down the corridor and happen across the lowest-born houseguest with a brand new set of
fangs
to augment her perpetual queerness.

Mama would know what to do.

Well, no, Mama would have no inkling what to do. Ellie hadn’t the least spark of a plan, and she was the analytical one. But her mother had been Ellie’s sole confidante since she was a baby, and as there was no one else to confide in anyway, they would just have to figure it out together. Along with how to rid Ellie of her recent yen for warm blood.

The hope of devising a working plan provided such a rush of relief, Ellie’s hand closed around the guest chamber’s doorknob before she realized there was no call for the other hand to keep covering her mouth. The strange fangs had retracted as quickly as they’d appeared.

Before she could even begin to puzzle out the reason, the sound of rapid footfalls spurred Ellie back into motion. She pushed open the door, flung herself inside, and very nearly bowled over her own mother as if playing a human game of skittles.

“Mama—” was all Ellie managed before she glimpsed the identity of the approaching observer.

Cain
.

She slammed the door shut, slid home the lock, and leapt away from both as if she half-expected him to burst through anyway. He did not. When his footsteps finally receded, Ellie let out her pent-up breath and turned around. The sight of her mother’s blanched face sent Ellie’s heart into a panic all over again.

“Elspeth.” Mama’s voice was low, but each syllable thrummed with icy resolve. “You stay
away
from Mártainn Mac Eoin! Do you think he saw me?”

“Macane,” Ellie corrected automatically, then blinked to realize her reclusive mother had recognized a ton rake on sight. “And, no, he was looking at me.
I
didn’t even see you. How would you even know who he is? Had you met before?”

“Yes.” Mama shook her head. “No.” She jabbed a finger at Ellie’s midsection. “I’m not the one who needs to answer for myself. Since no one has seen me, everything is fine. But what about you? Did you join the picnic? Why are you back so soon? Where were you if not with the others?”

Ellie stared at her mother uncomprehendingly until it dawned on her that her mother’s alarm must be of the normal, everyday, overprotective variety. She had no idea anything was amiss. The lace of Ellie’s bodice covered the marks left by Cain’s fangs. Her own had disappeared before she’d entered the room. If her curls were topsy-turvy or her gown a bit mussed, well, when was it not? Ellie was having an existential crisis, and Mama . . . was simply being Mama.

With an inward sigh, Ellie realized that her hope of puzzling out this new twist in reality together with her mother had been a foolish one. Mama believed in the world as she saw it. Her biggest fear was that her baby was not enjoying the house party she’d begged to attend. Mama was safely ignorant of the evil lurking just below the surface of those around her . . . and Ellie was swept with a fierce desire to keep it that way.

Thus unable to confess what was truly bothering her, Ellie smiled as cheerfully as she could. She headed to the tea tray across the room as if she hadn’t a care in the world, hoping Mama wouldn’t notice her shooting covert glances at the gilded looking-glass above the bookshelf. Ellie’s familiar (if ashen) visage reflected back at her. Miss Breckenridge had been mistaken about the mirrors, then. Thank God.

“Everything’s fine, Mama.” Ellie poured herself a half cup of tepid water. Everything was not fine. Things could not possibly be worse. How could she expect to keep a secret of this magnitude? “I came back because I forgot my parasol.”

“So that’s what it is!” Her mother rushed to Ellie’s side and pressed the back of her fingers to Ellie’s cheeks and forehead. “Are you feeling weak? I told you not to go, and now look what’s happened. Do you need to lie down?”

Ellie slid out of her mother’s grasp. “I’ll be fine once I’ve had a sip of tea. I don’t have sunstroke, Mother. I have a dearth of social experience. I don’t know how to interact with Polite Society. Our ideas of what makes for interesting conversation are incredibly distinct.”

Mama stood for a moment longer, squinting down at Ellie as if searching for signs of trouble using microscopic vision. Apparently satisfied at last that her daughter appeared as normal as she ever did, Mama took a seat on a wingback chair opposite Ellie.

“Oh?” she asked as she settled back without partaking in the lukewarm tea. “What sorts of nonsense are the blue bloods mad about these days?”

Ellie added a lump of sugar to her cup. Now that she’d decided to pretend nothing was awry, she needed to come up with a few details capable of convincing her mother that the High Society houseguests were nothing more than a gaggle of inane fops and fribbles.

“Well,” she said slowly. “One gentleman asked me if I’d ever been to Scotland. Twice.”

Mama jerked forward, her eyes suddenly intense. “And what did you say?”

“No, of course.”

Mama’s hyper-focused gaze continued unabated, as if she suspected Ellie of holding back details. “Was that the end of it?”

Ellie shrugged. “More or less. Oh, and he talked about some estate burning to the ground. A castle ... Foulis, I believe.”

“What?
No
. It can’t be!” Mother clutched the armrests with trembling hands and stared at Ellie with too-wide eyes. “Why would they ... When?
How?
Are there survivors?”