Twice Dead (30 page)

Apparently Gil had magicked me back to the mansion before full dawn. I frowned at the pillow and then looked around. The blankets hugged the corners of Nathanial’s side of the bed, the comforter not turned down until a couple inches from where it pooled around me. At home, Nathanial always made the bed. But never
before
I got out of it. Either he didn’t sleep at all during the day, or…?

“We have been summoned.”

I jumped, my head swinging toward the sound of Nathanial’s voice. He’d been so still, I hadn’t even noticed him leaning against the wall.
Good survival instincts Kita, don’t
notice the predator in the room.
I pulled aside the gauzy curtains and met his eyes. His cold glare spoke volumes.

None of those volumes happy.

“Sorry about…” I waved my hand through the air because I couldn’t apologize for leaving out loud. Besides, I wasn’t
that
sorry. “We found something.”

Nathanial continued to stare, not moving, his arms crossed over his chest. He’d never been mad at me before, not like this, at least. I dropped my gaze, looking for something else,
anything
else, to focus on. My gaze trailed over to the bed. It was my pillow that smelled of him.
Only my pillow.

“Did you—?”

Nathanial cut me off. “Anaya and Clive arrived with an ambassador from Haven late last night.”

“Oh.”
Then we’re out of time.
“How did your negotiations go?”

Nathanial pushed off the wall. His movements were stiff, lacking their usual casual grace. He grabbed a pair of garment bags from a hook in the bureau and tossed them over the edge of the bed.

“The Collector has requested our presence in the grand parlor. Get dressed.”

I raised an eyebrow and frowned at the bag. Nathanial turned his back.
Illusion of privacy, or display of frustration?

“So now what?” I asked as I unzipped the first garment bag. Nathanial didn’t answer as I pulled out an awful, creamcolored skirt covering layer upon layer of tulle. The stiff material practically stood on up on its own. “Uh…”

Nathanial glanced over his shoulder as I stared dumbfounded at the skirt-thing. “You wear it under an outer garment,” he said.

When I didn’t move, he stepped around me and unzipped the second bag. It held a satin emerald gown with enough material on the bottom to use as a tent, but only a small, corset bodice that would leave my chest mostly bare.

“Please get dressed.”

“Not like I have much choice,” I muttered, gathering the clothes. Appearing before the Collector in only the slip wasn’t an option. Speaking of the slip… where had the gown I’d worn last night gone? I frowned, but one glance at the stiff set to Nathanial’s shoulders told me now was not the time to pick a fight.
When this is all over, we’re having a talk on
personal boundaries.
With my arms filled with garment bags, I headed for the bathroom. Nathanial caught the door before it shut.

I rounded on him. “I’m not going anywhere,” I whispered, the words louder than I meant because of the annoyance bleeding into them. “I’m just dressing.”

He didn’t say anything. He just looked at me with his carefully empty expression and stepped inside, closing the door behind him.
Oh hell.

I opened my mouth to protest, and he laid a finger over my lips, silencing me. “I felt you succumb to dawn,” he whispered, moving close enough that his body heat filled the space between us, but only his one, silencing finger touched me. “I felt the distance. I had no idea if you were safe. And I could do nothing.” His hand dropped. “Nothing.”

His expression wasn’t empty now. The fear, the worry, the aggravation at feeling helpless—it was all there on the surface, exposed and vulnerable.

“I’m here. I’m safe,” I whispered because I couldn’t look at him and not say anything. I almost reached for him, almost closed the space between us. But I didn’t, and the moment stretched, turned awkward. I looked away. “The Collector’s waiting. I should dress.”

I struggled into the petticoat, all but swimming through the scratchy layers of tulle. The gown presented the next difficulty. By the time I put on the corset, I was ready to search for fire and burn the damn dress. I fought with the lacing, and warm hands slipped over mine, taking the cords and undoing the mess I’d made. Nathanial’s long fingers worked methodically, gently tightening the corset as he moved toward the center of my back.

Once he tied it, his hands slipped over my shoulder-blades and moved into my hair. He plaited my hair with practiced movements, and I watched as he piled the tri-colored braid atop my head. He didn’t say anything.

“Did you reach a compromise with the Collector?” I asked as the silence stretched sharp enough to abrade my skin.

Nathanial met my gaze through the mirror as he grabbed bobby-pins from the sink. “Not an acceptable one.”

Okay, that was probably bad. But Tatius had sent an ambassador, not just demanded we return. “The ambassador’s presence means Tatius understands we might not have had a choice, right? Returning to Haven might be an option?”

His gaze dropped. “I do not know.”

“You want to stay.”

“I do not want you unhappy.”

That could have meant anything. I frowned at his reflection, but he didn’t look up and he didn’t elaborate. Once my hair was sprayed and pinned to the point I would probably have to shear it if I ever wanted to wear any other hairstyle, Nathanial took a step back to look over his work. I tried to turn, but he caught my shoulders. We stared at each other through the mirror.

The damned awkward silence was back, and I shuffled my feet, but I didn’t look away. “Legend says vampires cast no reflection,” I said, because I had to say something.

Nathanial’s reflection smiled at me. “Legend says mirrors reflect a person’s soul. Our souls are not missing. You said you found something?”

“More like
someone
,” I whispered, casting a leery glance at the walls around us. How could we be sure no one was listening?

Nathanial’s right hand trailed from my shoulder to trace the curve of my neck. His fingers left a trail of blessed warmth in their wake, and I forgot all about the possibility of being overheard. He leaned in, his lips touching the flesh where his fingers had been. A shiver ran across my skin.

“Show me.” His lips brushed the words over my pulse.

I’d forgotten to breathe sometime between his fingers and his lips reaching my throat, so when I opened my mouth, the only sound that came out was a gasp. My reflection looked surprised at the sound, and Nathanial’s eyes pooled with heat.

The glint of his fangs flashed pale against my skin. Broke the flesh. The pinch of pain immediately burned away as his mouth turned blistering hot and my eyelids fluttered. His gaze still held me in the mirror.

I knew I was supposed to remember something. There were things he needed to know. The thoughts escaped me.

There was only his mouth. His hands sliding over my body.

Those warm gray eyes.

Then I lost all that. Lost all sense. I was just feeling. Just pleasure. Ripped apart. Remade. Spinning. Dying. Burning.

Living.

The sensations could have lasted a moment or a million years. I couldn’t tell. Couldn’t care. But, as the waves of pleasure faded, I was left with twitching nerves and the utter feeling of darkness inside, as if I’d held the sun but it had been taken away.

I blinked. Someone was breathing hard. Making soft noises in the dark.

My vision cleared. Nathanial’s eyes—no reflection this time—were inches from mine, his mouth poised only a breath away. I could smell my blood on his lips.

“I should sit down.” The words came out husky.

The edge of Nathanial’s mouth twitched. He was so close I could only focus on one feature of his face at a time. Too close. Some part of me refused to pull away. Or maybe that was due to the fact the floor tiles were under my head.

Apparently a little too late to try sitting.

Nathanial was leaning over me. Close. So close. But not touching.

I wanted to be touching.

His eyes studied mine like he thought they would reveal an answer he desperately wanted. He exhaled, his breath washing his scent over me. His mouth followed the breath until his lips pressed against mine.

His palms, pressed against the tile on either side of my head, held his weight. Our lips were the only place our bodies touched. The world narrowed as I surrendered my mouth to his.

Firm but soft, his tongue parted my lips and filled me with the taste of familiar spices. I closed my eyes, yielding to my other senses as Nathanial’s tongue slowly traced the teeth between my fangs. He shifted his weight, breaking contact as he slipped a hand behind my head. My own hands, suddenly restless, moved to his arms, traced his biceps through his dinner jacket.

I thought he would kiss me again. I wanted him to.

Needed
him to. But his brows creased as he studied my face.

“Are you really you?” he asked.

I lifted to meet his mouth.

Surprise flashed through his eyes. Then his fingers tightened behind my head. His lips pressed firmer against mine, his tongue demanding. I froze.

I don’t know how to kiss.

Nathanial must have felt my hesitance. He eased back, not pulling away, but no longer demanding. He nipped at my lower lip.

A startled sound escaped my throat. Nathanial’s lips pressed a smile against mine, and he nipped again, harder this time. Then he drank down my gasp. The kiss turned gentler, less desperate. His tongue flicked to touch mine before withdrawing. Teasing. Taunting.

Tentatively, I ran the tip of my tongue along his front teeth and discovered the impossibly smooth skin on the inside of his lips. Nathanial moaned into my mouth and my heart skipped a beat.

The next heartbeat crashed loud in my ears. Nathanial jerked back, leaving me cold and floundering until I realized the sound hadn’t been my heart but the door banging open.

The newcomer stood inside the doorway, but my eyes refused to focus on him. He was a shadow against darker shadows. Nathanial had moved away, but even in the dark, I knew where he was. Not by his smell or any other sense I could pin-point. I just knew.

The newcomer huffed under his breath. “The Mistress summons you, and you decide to make out on the bathroom floor?”

I knew that smarmy voice—Jomar. I growled, annoyed by his presence. No, not just annoyed. Angry. An anger so complete, it filled me. Filled every sense. There was no one source for the anger. It was like it filtered into me from outside. Baring my fangs, I hissed at him.

“Hermit, you drained your own companion?”

Nathanial stepped in front of me. “Get out,” he said, his voice deep, dark.

I reached for him as he moved, smiling as he glanced at me. I couldn’t see his features, but I could tell he wasn’t happy. No. No, that wasn’t good. I didn’t want him unhappy.

I pushed to my feet. My legs were shaky, and I swayed as I rose, but I kept my feet. I thought that should have made Nathanial happy—it sure as hell felt like a big accomplishment to me—but as I wrapped my arms around his waist, he stiffened.

“You enthralled her?” the Jomar shadow asked.

Nathanial jumped at the sound of Jomar’s voice, his body sliding out of my embrace.

I turned toward the Jomar shadow.
Damn him.
Everything had gone wrong since he showed up.

Without Nathanial’s body near mine, without his heat, his presence, cold saturated my skin. I shook.

So cold.

So empty.

So… hungry.

Color bled into my vision. Instead of a shadow, Jomar was a red shape, pulsing with warmth.

Warmth I wanted.

I lunged, my fangs extended. I didn’t land. Didn’t get a chance. Arms wrapped around me. Jerked me back. The door slammed.

“Drink,” Nathanial instructed, leaning over me, extending his wrist.

I didn’t hesitate. My fangs sank into his flesh. The first mouthful of blessed heat filled me.

Then I fell into his mind. I blinked, confused, as I stared down at the top of
my
head where I bent over Nathanial’s wrist.

Too deep,
a voice whispered, drawing me away from the confusion.

Emotions tugged at me even as pleasure ripped through me from the fangs in my wrist—
not my wrist?
Guilt twisted through my body. Fear.

Would she understand I had not meant to do it? Would she resent me more?

She who? She me?

My throat convulsed, my fangs retracting. The connection to Nathanial’s mind snapped. I was warm. Sated.

And everything was wrong.

What was I thinking? What did I do? Why did I—?
I backpedaled, scooting away from Nathanial’s crouched body.

My back hit the wall. I pressed myself against it. I hadn’t been thinking. I hadn’t been
me.

I looked at Nathanial. Colors swirled around his head.

Strings of emotions coalesced around him. Emotions turned visual by my mezmer ability. So many colors, so many threads, but Nathanial’s face was blank, his hands loose by his side.

“Kita?” he whispered, but he made no move toward me.

The colors around him dampened, not fading, but becoming too discouraged to shine in bright hues. Only a single, sickly yellow strand kept its color.

I swallowed. The memory of his thoughts tugged at me.

But the memory of his flesh, of his breath against my skin, of his lips, tugged harder. Heat rose to my cheeks. I attempted to hug my legs against my chest. The thick tulle got in the way. I beat at it, taking my confusion out on the layers of material.

“Do you remember?” Nathanial asked.

Did I remember what? Him kissing me? Or me kissing him back? Me reaching for him? Needing him? Did I remember that for a few minutes my world revolved around whether he wanted me? Whether he was happy with me? My teeth ground together. What had Jomar called it?
Enthralling
?