The Passion (19 page)

I was fil ed with joy to hear her say this, to see the light of conviction that radiated from her eyes and glowed in her face. This smal human with her riot of dark curls and her freckled nose, with her big eyes and the smile that was so like her father's, this young female who barely a season ago had tried to kil me in my sleep, became for me in that moment the essence of al that was good and simple and right in the world. I desperately needed to hear her say that. I deeply needed to believe it.

I got to my feet and came around the smal table to her. I took her face in both my hands, tilting it upward to mine, and I looked into her eyes.

"
Chérie
," I said, "
je't'adore
."

I felt the warm glow of pleasure against my fingers, heard the racing of her pulse and the soft explosions of breath in her lungs. Her eyes sparkled with mischief and delight, and a laugh of delight caught in her throat as she returned, "
Moi, aussi!

Je't'adore, Monsieur le Loup-garou
!"

I laughed and caught her hands, pul ing her to her feet. "Tessa, you are right! I was a fool to leave you behind and I wil never do so again. I haven't laughed once since I've been away from you, I swear it. Now, come." I put my arm around her waist and led her to the sofa in the sunny corner of the room. "Come sit with me while I tel you my sorry tale. Let me hold you close and rest my chin upon your head so that I might have the courage to say what should never be spoken."

She sat first, pretty skirts spreading about her with the scent of clean cotton and human musk, lavender water and pale salt sweat. She drew me down beside her, her face gentle with concern and avid with interest. "Tel me," she said. "Tel me what happened to you there."

I settled her against me, there in the patch of sunshine by the open window, her head upon my shoulder, my arms around her waist. I inhaled the flavor of her, and bathed myself in the musical sounds of her body—the rush and swish of blood through vessels; the soft tympany of valves that opened and closed; the murmur of digestive fluids; the whisper of breath. It was the symphony of life, and it soothed me.

I said, at length, "My brother tried to have me kil ed."

And there, once said, the whole story came pouring out, sometimes harshly, sometimes dispassionately, sometimes in slow, painful y chosen words and sometimes in a rush of fury. I told her of the Brotherhood, and of their dark mission to subjugate or annihilate humans. I told her of Denis's bril iant but twisted plan to seize power by seducing our queen, and of the role he expected me to play in it. I told her of my cowardly escape in the night, and of the battle I had fought—and won only by the intervention of sheerest fortune—for my life. I think, until I said it, I was not entirely aware of how deeply the whole of the experience had affected me. And there, perhaps, is the only value that I can see of words.

There were times that I writhed with shame, because I knew that having now heard al that was the worst of our race, she would never look at me quite so starry-eyed as she had before. Yet who else could I tel the whole of it to except a human?

Not even Gault could be trusted with the knowledge of my involvement with the Brotherhood, and to which werewolf could I expect to confess my deep uncertainties without making myself vulnerable to contempt? For a time I even forgot that it was a virtual stranger to whom I was confessing; being with Tessa was almost like having my old friend Stephen back.

"And so," I said at last, heavily. "You see we are not such noble creatures as you imagined. There is a dark side to our nature. And perhaps the darkest of it is that even now I am not certain I made the right decision."

Wafted in on a sun-warmed breeze came the scents of the city: chestnut blossoms and horse offal, burgundy wine and baking baguettes and the flavor of almonds, a woman's perfume, an animal dead in an al ey, the river dark and dank. And the sounds: the shril of a whistle, the jingle of a harness, the grind and grunt of mechanical things from factories far away, the guttural tone of a peasant's curses, music from a Victrola. I thought about trains that could convey humans across great distances, and telephones that could al ow them to hear with an acuity which for centuries had been our exclusive domain.

And then I heard Tessa's heartbeat. Tessa's breath.

Al else was but dim and distant noise. She was my anchor, and I waited, foolish with anticipation and dread, for what she might think of me now.

She said, "Your queen. Is she so weak-minded as to let your brother persuade her against her principles? Or does she agree with him about the role of your race on this globe?"

"No," I said firmly, although I had not the first idea about Elise Devoncroix's personal convictions. I said only what I hoped to be so. "She doesn't agree with him. And she isn't weak-minded."

"Then," Tessa pointed out sensibly, "she would have destroyed him. So you have, in effect, saved your brother's life by turning him down. You made the right decision."

Et voilà
. In the world of humans and young girls, even the most complex moral dilemmas can be reduced to a simple equation. It is thus because she declares it to be. My heart melted in my chest to know such a creature.

My throat was thick was gratitude and for a moment I couldn't speak. Mutely, I kissed her silky tumble of curls. And then I kissed the sweet soft bow of her upturned mouth, and then I pushed my fingers into her hair and I kissed her hard, I kissed her hungrily, I kissed her until the rush and swel of her blood was like a symphony in my ears and she was gasping for breath. And I loved it. I loved the heat of a young girl's sexual passion stirred to life for the first time, I loved the taste of her lips and the moist velvety flesh inside, I loved the flaming heat on her skin and the bright, dazed expectation in her eyes, and I loved that she looked to me, with excitement and trepidation, to have that expectation fulfil ed.

And I loved the way she pretended a savoir faire she did not have. She looked at me for a long and steady time, though her heartbeat stil roared and her muscles stil trembled and breath stil labored in her breast.

"Tel me," she queried at last, in a voice that struggled to maintain an even tone and to overcome her breathlessness, "about this—mating bond you referred to, between werewolves. What does it mean?"

That Tessa was an intel ectual y advanced female for her time was demonstrated by the fact that she would think to ask such a question, and I admired her for it. Though some might fault me for being so frank with a human about matters so close to our very essence, I could do nothing but answer her to the best of my ability. It was not an easy task to put so complex and important a matter into words a human could understand and I had to spend a moment organizing my thoughts.

"There are two times in our existence when a werewolf becomes joined with another, and the barrier between minds is dissolved and thoughts flow unimpeded from one to the other." I frowned with the effort of making myself clear, for language was a clumsy impediment. "At these times the two
become
one another. They live what the other has lived, they know what the other knows, they see what the other has seen—they know each thought, secret desire, grand ambition and low shame of the other—al in the space of moments, mere moments.

But the bond that is formed by this knowing, this touching of the deepest, most intimate part of the soul, is something that never goes away, waking or sleeping, til death and beyond. The first occasion is when a male and female come together in the act of mating, as I've explained. The other is when one werewolf kil s another."

I smiled faintly, exhausted by the effort required to put the concept into cohesive form for her—a concept that was so visceral, so deeply woven into the fabric of our nature, it was not only never discussed but rarely even considered. "So you see why we choose but one mate for our lifetimes, and why there are so few murders among us."

I could smel the excitement on her skin and see the wonder in her eyes, but was unsurprised. It was a marvel ous thing to hear spoken, and even I was awed on such occasions by the miracle that we were.

But when she looked at me, cheeks flushed and eyes alight, I was surprised by the question. "This mating bond, this sharing of thoughts and secret knowledge—could it not be the same between a werewolf and a human?"

My startled silence was fol owed by a soft laugh, and I assured her, "No. It cannot."

She was quiet for a moment, her brow knit in studious occupation. And then her expression relaxed, and she lifted her arms and looped them about my neck. "I think," she announced, "that you may make love to me anyway."

My spirits danced. "Oh, no, you little temptress." I caught her hands and removed them from around my neck, kissing her folded fists. "For I am just devil enough to do it, and I would spoil you for human men."

"I don't care for human men," she told me.

Her eyes were bright and big and sparkling like a thousand stars on a breezy night. How I adored her.

"How do you know? Have you ever lain with one?"

"I have not."

"There, you see? You speak in ignorance,
chérie
." I twisted one of her curls around my index finger and tugged it playful y.

She laughed in a sweet husky way, snatching the curl from my grasp. "See how you have neglected my education?"

"You must have a lover," I agreed. "I shal make finding you one a priority."

"I told you, I'm not interested in human males."

"Then I wil find you a pretty female."

Her gaze was direct and earnest. "I want you to be my lover."

What a darling girl. What innocence and adoration in her face, what delightful expectation. My heart swel ed with affection for her. It would have taken a stronger werewolf than I to resist such sweet al ure.

"My dear, I cannot," I told her, and kissed her mouth gently, tenderly. "But I can show you such pleasure as I am able to give and I can teach you, perhaps, the wonders of carnal love that lie ahead."

I undid the top buttons of her dressing gown, and watched her cheeks grow hot and her pupils grow dark. Ah, this is always the best part, to see their blood rise, to feel them tremble, to hear their little hearts pound to bursting with the pleasure we can give. No, the best part is the taste of soft firm flesh against the tongue, pearly hard nipples swel ing to ripeness, the gentle rising shape of the female breast as it fil s the mouth. Vanil a and honey. That is a combination that always brings back the taste of Tessa to me, and to say there was no joy in it for me would be an untruth.

I pushed back the folds of her dressing gown and massaged her bel y, sliding my fingers down to tangle in that thatch of fur where she was stil as savage as her hirsute ancestors, and lower stil to that center of pleasure between her loosening thighs. Her heat rose with the fast-hot rhythm of her heart, the quick little choking breaths, and her scent was exquisite. I suckled her breasts until she moaned out loud and I felt her smal womb tighten for want of my fingers, which I pushed inside her gently until I felt the resistance and heard her smal high cry of astonished sensation. As painlessly as possible I tore her maidenhead and eased the passage of her pleasure, stroking her, caressing her, licking and suckling her thrusting breasts and drinking in her tight little cries of ecstasy as though they were my own until she lay limp and damp across my knees, utterly spent.

I kissed the wet curls of hair that clung to her face, I teased open her eyes with my tongue. Careful y I withdrew my fingers from her, which were stained with her virgin's blood. I smiled. "There, you see.

Your lover wil thank me for this. It is a service I have performed for others before you, and have not yet had one complaint."

She looked at me with parted lips and unsteady breath, with eyes that were fevered and uncomprehending. I kissed her again and lifted her onto the divan, and I went to wash my hands.

I returned with a cloth wrung out in warm water, which I used to wash the dampness from her thighs.

I loved the smel of her. Sex and blood. It was intoxicating.

When her ablutions were complete I drew the folds of her gown about her and swept her again into my lap, cuddling her in the sunshine. In al this time she had not made a sound or moved at al ; her heart, slowly seeking its normal rhythm, and her breath, whispering and catching, were background music to my ears.

She laid her head against my shoulder and she said, "What wil become of us now?"

It seemed to me a rather odd question, but Tessa was always surprising me with the originality of her thoughts. I answered, "Why—nothing, I suppose.

We wil go on as we have before, except…" And I kissed her forehead, trying to tease a smile from her. "I shal be jealous if you like your human lover more than you like me."

"Never, monsieur," she assured me ardently, and lifted her big dark eyes to me, fil ed with adoration.

I was amused and indulgent. What a great lot of importance these humans attach to sexual pleasure when the act, for them, can be nothing more than a fleeting ripple of sensation. We, the ultimate sensualists, know it for what it is and accord it a proper position in our lives which has nothing to do with love. But Tessa, deep in the throes of the sensate magic our kind inevitably, and too often unintentional y, work upon humans, had no choice but to answer to her nature. And it fel to me to be tolerant of it.