The Vampyre Legal Chronicles - James (13 page)

James stalked his wife around the bed.

She was on her feet and matching him step for step.

No fucking way was she going to use her witchy woo woo stuff on him.

No way.

However, he’d learned a lot by watching her show off her new-found skills.

She’d used her hands to create her...
spells
.

Not a problem, sister.

The rise of her vampyre triggered his and James let it go.

"You wanna take me on, baby vampyre girl?" he taunted in a low growly voice and made
a come on then
sign with his fingers as he bent from the knees in a stealthy pursuit of her around the bed.

She turned keeping pace, step by step.

Somebody needed to tell her to wipe that smirk off her face because it was seriously pissing him off.

He made a dive.

She feinted, dancing on her tip toes.

Her bouncing breasts distracted him for a millisecond.

That was all it took as James found himself flat on his back on the floor.

Stunned disbelief had him stare up at the ceiling.

His vampyre roared like a lion and leapt to his feet.

Charlotte howled with laughter, holding herself as tears streaked down her cheeks.

James wrapped his arms tight around her as he flew backwards with her onto the bed.

Even as he rolled her under him and caught her wrists above her head, she was still sobbing with laughter.

"What’s so funny?"

Her green eyes danced into his and his vampyre immediately took a back seat.

"Your face. It was priceless. I’ve never seen you look so shocked."

She blinked frantically, but then her forehead creased as she shook with silent laughter.

Christ, he adored her.

His aching shaft twitched against the silky skin of her thigh.

She opened her legs to let him settle right into the cradle of her pelvis.

With one hip thrust, he entered her.

She was so hot, so wet and so tight he gasped into her mouth with the shocking pleasure of it.

"Kiss me again, vampyre. Don't stop," she urged him on as she gyrated her pelvis.

He couldn't help it, his mouth curved against hers. His wife was commanding him. So he kissed her with all the passion he'd long withheld from himself, with all the hope and longing returning. Now he was losing control. Dark needs came for him to do wild and wicked things to her body, and he knew he must obey those needs.

"I'll never stop. Never, until the day I take my last breath."

For the first time in over two hundred and twenty five years, James let himself go.

Slowly, slowly his hips rotated and her moan vibrated through his whole body in a way that made him even harder. Every nerve in his body was centred on the ache that was both a pleasure pain and he shuddered as they found a rhythm that had him groan against her throat.

God, she smelled
fantastic
and his fangs shot through his gums.

Now she arched against him, pulling his head closer to her carotid artery.

"Yes," she hissed. "Take me, James. Take all of me."

He sank his fangs into her tender flesh and drank.

The addictive flavour of her, dark rich honey, made him shudder as he took his fill. And all the while pounding into her tight, slick heat.

A tiny part of his mind registered that the taste of her blood held something exotic, an alluring, tantalising flavor of something his instincts told him was strictly...
forbidden
. But his vampyre simply growled a warning that he would no longer be denied
his
woman.

With the flat of his tongue he sealed the pin pricks in her neck.

Her hips strained to meet his as he stared into the strange amber eyes of her vampyre.

"Bite me," he commanded.

The strength in her arm was impressive as she gripped the back of his head and pulled his neck towards her exposed needle sharp incisors. And they sank into his vein like a hot knife through butter. This time she didn’t feast, but took a small taste, as if she was unsure or scared to take too much, before her tongue slicked over his flesh to heal the tiny wound.

Their love making now slowed down to a delicious beat, a joyous ache, as their inhales and exhales merged. As she kissed him, she was pulling the breath from his lungs as if she owned him body and soul.

Again he experienced the faintly tingling, pin prickling sensation over his flesh that warned him something fundamental was shifting inside him. He'd felt it before, but was so far gone he couldn't remember when.

And in his mind his vampyre, suddenly anxious, asked the question,

‘What is this?’

Charlotte’s vampyre responded with a soft, an almost breathy, whisper,

‘We are as one, my love. Heart to heart, breath to breath and soul to soul.’

Alarm now swept through him.

‘What is this?’

‘Magic.’

With a roar of utter fury James withdrew from her.

As if she'd been thrown off a cliff from a great height, her emotions all over the place, Charlotte keenly felt the loss, not just of his body, but of the connection from her mind and her heart. Dread, delight, desire, and an indisputable sexual hunger fought within her. Her mind was spinning, bewildered. All she knew for an absolute certainty was that her body so badly needed the release, she whimpered. Why wasn't he kissing her the way she wanted it? Possessive, fierce and loving. Now she couldn't think, couldn't begin to reason why he'd stepped away from her. Incomprehensible wants destroyed her - to sample his skin, to have his heavy body crushing and grinding into hers.

She took a shuddering breath to try and clear her mind.

Okay.

Her vampyre had made a mistake by telling him they were as one and that their blood carried magic.

A big mistake by the look of things.

Panting, heart sprinting with alarm, she lay on her back.

And stared up into searing eyes the color of molten lava.

Into the eyes of one very angry, very aroused vampyre prince.

"How
dare
you use magic on
me
while we make love. How dare you?"

He stood over her on the bed, legs spread apart. His heavy sac hanging low. His huge erection glistening with the evidence of her arousal stood to attention against his rock hard belly. It occurred to her that he had the body of a Deity. Strong. Divine.

His fist thumped his chest once, twice.

"I am
vampyre
!" he roared and threw his head back.

The whole apartment shook as if hit by a sonic boom.

She hadn't used magic on him, on them.

Didn't he understand her magic, her white magic, was in his blood now that he'd fed from her?

Her vampyre was confused.

Charlotte was confused.

What had she done wrong?

Taking great care not to further enrage the beast standing over her, Charlotte slid up the bed until she found her bare back pressed against the fine silk of the padded headboard.

Since becoming vampyre she’d developed heightened olfactory, auditory and thermoception senses so when the temperature outside on the balcony plunged along with the sound of heavy feet landing, she realized they were Centuri guards responding to James’s fury.

"Leave us!" he bellowed like a raging big bull.

The Centuri left as fast as they’d arrived and now his eyes dropped to her.

And what she read there, an outraged ferocity, had her vampyre whimper.

Oh my God.

"I don’t know what I’ve done wrong, James. But I’m very sorry if I've upset you," she said with a sincerity even he couldn’t mistake as anything other than genuine.

His eyes narrowed fractionally.

He jumped from the bed to land on the floor and those eyes burned a possessive path up over her body until they reached her eyes.

"Kneel before me, wife."

She opened her mouth but before she could utter a syllable, Charlotte found herself lifted, dumped unceremoniously on her feet and forced to her knees.

James stalked around her.

His vampyre had full control.

He knew he was frightening her and couldn’t be sorry for it.

The time had come for him to complete her education in the ways of his people and if she so much as uttered a sound she was in deep shit.

"Ezekiel tells me you are a white witch."

She went to open her mouth and his finger point silenced her.

Just as well.

"Do not say one single word, darlin’, or your arse will be crimson by the time I’ve finished with you. Do you understand me?"

She took a shaky breath, nodded, her eyes glued to the floor.

Excellent.

His vampyre was very happy as he kept his deep voice low and spoke nice and slow so she couldn’t misunderstand him,
"We do not mate with your kind... witch. Ever. And the reason for that is very simple. Our species are not compatible. There are laws, there are rules, all laid down for excellent reasons, which must be obeyed. I am in the unfortunate position of being married to a witch. A witch I love."

Now her vampyre rose and took control.

Her head snapped up and vivid amber eyes searched his.

He read hope, relief and something else which looked very much like triumph.

Well, he was going to shatter that little illusion.

"If you
ever
use witchcraft on me at any time or in any way I will walk out of that door and never come back to you. I am hanging on to our marriage by a thread here. As you know I’ve been in New York. The vampyre Jurastic Council ordered me to annul our union. Do you hear and understand me, Charlie?"

She closed her eyes and swayed.

Hell, he hadn't meant to tell her the bad news that way.

He'd planned to take his time, to discuss their situation like the adult he was.

The way her face went too white too fast told him he had her full and undivided attention.

"I gave them an undertaking, a firm promise, that you loved me too much to ever use magic on me and they have agreed to keep an eye on our... situation. Do you love me?"

Her amber eyes opened, riveted to his and he read the truth even as she whispered the word,

"Yes."

Silence.

Those big eyes, imploring, anxious and alarmed never left his.

And what he had to do next made his mouth feel as dry as the Sahara.

It would be a test of endurance and a test of the depth of their love and if she failed it, it was over.

His vampyre took his erection in his fist and stroked in a smooth rhythm.

"On your hands and knees, wife."

Anais and Marcus were back in bed, too.

His wife stared up at him, her almond shaped eyes filled with worry and alarm.

"What on earth would the Order say about me? I'm an empath."

Under the flat of his hand her heart rate sped even faster.

He understood, she couldn't help but be alarmed.

"Empaths are not magical creatures. You are safe."

The way her thoughts raced across her expressive face, he could see the penny dropping as she realized becoming vampyre was a complicated business.

If it wasn't one thing it was another.

According to Anais, Charlotte was growing physically stronger every day. She was even taking daily self-defence classes with Saira and Ian Macpherson. The sheer physicality of exercise was lifting her spirits.

"Vassili and Voltaire might be priests, but they sound diabolical to me. Explain the Dyunik Monastery and where it is?"

"It is an ancient monastery deep in the mountains of the Northern Caucasus between the Black Sea and the Caspian Sea that forms part of the traditional border between Europe and Asia."

"And what do these priests do there?"

Marcus wondered how much to tell her. He didn't want to hide the brutality of vampyre history from her, too, but neither did he want to scare her. He held her close, enjoying the sensation of running his hand down the silk of her nightwear, caressing her tight little bottom. He loved these intimate moments and looked forward to them more and more every day. They were a first for him and he was making the most of it. Three days and nights away from her had not been fun. Next time he travelled, he promised himself, he'd take her with him.

"During the time of the great magic purge, witches, wizards, all magical creatures were taken to Dyunik to be tested, to see if their magic was dark. If positive proof was found, they were sent unto The Fade. Usually by fire."

He felt her tremble in his arms.

"They burned them? It sounds like the witch trials in Salem."

"Yes. Who do you think led those trials?"

She blinked as she stared into his face. "Vampyres?"

He nodded.

She heaved a great sigh. "There is so much I don't understand, so much I need to learn."

True.

But she didn't need a history lesson this night, she needed love.

"You have plenty of time to learn, hundreds of years. Dinnae fash yersel, my wee darlin’."

"Pardon?"

He smiled. "Do not worry yourself."

"Don't know why you couldn't have said that in the first place," she grumbled.

In a smooth move, he rolled her onto her back and caged her between his arms and legs.

"Did you miss me while I was in New York?"

Her dark eyes went wide as she studied him, her mouth pouty.

"Might have."

He dipped his head to inhale the scent of his woman and to let his mouth nibble on her full bottom lip.

"I missed you. Every second. Every minute. Every hour. Every day."

He took the kiss deeper and she was with him all the way.

"Show me," she whispered.

And he did.

***

Meanwhile, Duncan Gillespie was holding a meeting with Cristophe and Samuel in the penthouse suite of the GPH building in New York. At the moment he was eyeing his youngest son. Adam Gillespie was pacing back and forth in front of his desk, wearing a hole in the thick rug of ivory wool.

"I must return to Edinburgh, papa, before it becomes impossible for me to travel."

Moving across international borders was becoming tricky. In an attempt to stop the mutated flu-Ebola virus in its tracks airlines were taking temperatures at departure gates. Anyone with so much as a sniffle was barred from flying. He knew Adam was worried about his young soon-to-be mate who was a medic. France was now quarantined after two asylum seekers smuggled into the country from Africa died of the virus in Paris.

"I am thinking of bringing all the family together. Here. Under one roof where we can keep a close eye on the women. Daniel is ready," said Duncan.

Adam's dark brows rose. "Daniel is going to make his move?"

Duncan nodded. "When he returns from San Francisco. He wants to keep a close eye on Charlotte and he's training Anais."

"I cannot believe he didn't tell us his mate was right under his nose."

"She was widowed six months ago. You know he would not touch her while she was married to another."

Now Adam stood still, his eyes a deeper and more serious blue than his brothers, met his fathers.

"Daniel didn't..."

Duncan rolled his eyes.

"Don't be ridiculous. He had no part in the man's demise." That was the trouble with Adam he trusted no one completely, not even his family. Where the mistrust had sprung from, Duncan had no idea. Perhaps it was simply a part of his complex personality. The boy kept things very close to his chest. He thought too much. He felt too much. "Leave tonight. But keep in touch."

Adam's blue eyes went warm as his gaze met his fathers.

"I will. I don't like being away from my city for any length of time."

"Still having trouble with the Order?"

He nodded.

"They are rigid in their thinking and unbending in their religious dogma. Curbing their natural inclinations to feed from the populace whenever the urge takes them can be challenging at the best of times. Now the Elders have accepted their challenge for authority, I have a feeling things in the near future are going to become interesting."

"Cristophe will cut the head from the snake," muttered Duncan.

He rose to refill his glass of heavy Edinburgh crystal with the water of life, Scotch whisky.

Now he turned to his old friend who was sitting back in his chair, all relaxed, coiled like a big black cat, watching and listening to their discussion with a lazy interest.

"Si,"
he said now, Italian accent rumbling in his vast chest. "This is true. In Rome we already have six priests under close guard. I burned one church, as an example you understand. If the Order cause you a moment’s concern in Edinburgh just let me know. Vassili and Voltaire are promising retribution. I find the timing of their uprising more than... suspicious."

If Adam wanted to catch his flight, he didn't have time to debate religion or politics.

He bowed politely to the three princes and took his leave.

After he left, for a long moment an uneasy silence dominated in the room.

Eventually Cristophe broke it.

"You have fine sons, Scotsman. But I sense your concern. What troubles you?"

"Apart from the flu-Ebola virus and religious bigots stirring up trouble. What do missing baby boys, vanishing in the middle of the night, remind you of?"

Cristophe plucked a slim cigar from his suit jacket pocket, patted another pocket to find his lighter. He sat back, lit his cigar and puffed. Once he blew a smoke ring in the air, he narrowed his dark eyes as he watched it dissipate.

"There is one creature who needs the juice of the innocent to grow in power, who thrives on pain and suffering. You think
he
is still contained?"

"If I was a pessimist I might believe all the signs reveal the possibility
he
has bypassed the seal." Duncan stopped, gazed deeply into the liquid in his glass. His eyes lifted to stare hard at his closest friend. "Or someone or something has broken the seal on his behalf."

Cristophe took a deep inhale.

He shook his head.

"No one would dream of releasing such an abomination. What would they gain except instant destruction?"

"A valid point," said Duncan. He turned to the silent Englishman, Samuel the pirate, brooding in the corner. "What say you?"

Cold eyes, so devoid of emotion they made the hair on the back of Duncan's neck prickle uncomfortably. He rubbed the spot.

"Until I have proof the seal has been broken, I do not have an opinion. I deal in facts, not impressions or hunches."

"Fair enough," said Duncan.

Cristophe sucked in air through his teeth. "Who among us will be brave enough to open a portal and find out?"

"I suppose it must be me, since I am the one who imprisoned him there in the first place."

"You are no longer young, Duncan. You are no longer a Celtic warrior."

"True," Duncan admitted. These days his bones ached. Although he hadn't, yet, lost his zest for life.

"You could always ask Sorcha for help," Cristophe offered the idea.

It sat uncomfortable in a chilling silence.

The chill came from Samuel.

Duncan took a deep sip of his whisky, and thought of his ex-wife. Thought of the myriad of reasons why he could never reach out to her and ask her for... anything, never mind assistance.

"You would have me break the law?"

Cristophe puffed on his cigar, blew another couple of smoky rings. "You broke the law as soon as you lay with her. And broke another when you married her. And yet another when she carried your babes."

"Exactly. I think I've broken enough laws to last a lifetime."

Cristophe's dark eyes stayed on his. "We do not know for certain The Maker is behind our... troubles."

"Who else is there?" Samuel demanded to know, forgetting that he'd just said he wanted facts not fiction. "Who else had the means, the power?"

"
Si
," agreed Cristophe. "But he cannot enter this world. Even if he has managed to escape confinement, he cannot enter our reality. We are safe."

Duncan listened to his friends discuss the old arguments with half an ear.

While The Maker existed at all, they were not safe.

And neither was their world.

"The trouble with dealing with an immortal is..." Duncan interrupted his friends. And once he had their full and undivided attention again, he began, "The trouble with immortality, the one thing that makes it a dodgy disposition in the first place, is... ennui. One has to be very careful of tedium. When a sentient being does not care if it (he) lives or dies, it has already lost the ability to experience valid emotional conflicts; love, desire, hate, anger, joy and heartbreak. There is the potential for a callous disregard for life, all life, to set in. And that, is the first step upon the slippery slope to... boredom. Therefore, it is always crucial for those of us who live long, or who are immortal, to have a Grand Plan. A working concept of The Big Picture. The ability to move through time, to travel through alternate realities just adds a complex variety of opportunities into the mix, an endless game with limitless possibilities. Games make existence, well, fun.

"Let's face it, immortals don't have mere worlds to play with, they have entire universes and the peoples and creatures who dwell in those universes. Endless variations and themes for war games with supernatural and sentient beings. In fact, The Maker once had the opportunity to play with many variations of the same universe in seven realities. Mind boggling if you think about it. It really is."

Cue a very stunned silence.

Cristophe rudely levelled his cigar in Duncan's direction.

"My brain hurts just trying to understand the conceptualisation of such worrisome thoughts," he said. "The portals have been sealed for hundreds of years. No one would
dare
defy our laws. We need facts, so we will get facts," Cristophe turned in his chair and pointed his cigar at Samuel. "Who will be prepared to take on such a task? We are no longer young or foolish or stupid."

Samuel's hard mouth kicked an attempt at a smile, that smile relieved Duncan's growing anxieties about his friend.

"So, we need to find a creature who is all three?" offered Samuel.

Duncan's mouth curved.

"Let me think upon it."