Vampire Instinct (46 page)
Authors: Joey W Hill
Tags: #Vampires, #Horror, #Paranormal, #General, #Romance, #Fantasy, #Erotic Fiction, #Erotica, #Fiction, #Occult & Supernatural
It wasn’t the validation Mal was avoiding. He wanted her in the house, far more convenient to him. His bed. When he was in his office at night, he liked hearing her putter around the kitchen with Kohana. After she was done with her chores, she’d gotten brave enough to read in the study while he worked. She’d take one of his books down and read about the cats, learn more about their behavior and the island, sometimes falling asleep on the sofa in the corner. At times he looked over and saw both of his tomcats curled up on her, one under her arm, the other behind her legs. They kept her suitably pinned and slightly uncomfortable in that position, but not enough to disturb them, that unique and diabolical method all domestic felines seemed to inflict on those willing to appreciate and indulge them.
Sometimes, when she was helping Kohana, a favorite song came on the radio and she sang along with it, as she was doing now. Her voice was a mix of cultured Brit with a spicing of Aussie colloquialism, probably because her parents hadn’t been a big part of her life and Lady Constance’s education had been top-notch. But every once in a while, he thought he caught the sound of her Irish blood in the pleasing notes.
Reaching her doorway, he found it a pleasure to focus on the pretty tableau before him. Several of the books she’d borrowed from his library were stacked next to the bed. A mending basket sat in a chair, a torn skirt spread over it. On the bed were some papers, and he saw she’d been scribbling, drawing some rough sketches of his cats, making notes about them, details she wanted to remember about their care and personalities when she helped out at the habitat area. In another corner she had a sewing project going, new clothes for the fledglings, using fabric Kohana had given her from their stores.
Right now, though, she wasn’t mending, studying, reading or sketching. The new record player he’d gotten for her was placed on the dresser. The Eddie Fisher selection swelled in volume, filling the room. She was dancing to it, twirling now and again, swaying back and forth as she studied another record cover. She was wearing one of her maid outfits, the calf-length skirt and delectable apron, a clean and pressed blouse. As usual, the button over her ample bosom was straining a bit, giving his fingers the wicked desire to slip it. It would reveal a deeper view of that tempting valley of cleavage, one that even the severely proper brassiere couldn’t quell.
He’d done that recently, in fact, surprising her when she was cleaning the back porch. He’d backed her up against the wall, slid that button free and nuzzled that valley, making her breath shorten and her hand catch in his hair. He’d been on his way out for the evening, and had been strongly tempted to say the hell with it and take her up against the wall, but managed to curtail his baser urges. She was like a drug, his little maid whose eyes went opaque with desire as she clutched him with real, honest need in her body.
Knowing his Irish flower, when the record player came in and Kohana told her it was hers, she’d probably said she’d run it up to the room and then come right back down to continue her wide array of self-imposed chores. However, she’d obviously been unable to resist playing just one record. He wondered if she knew the song or if it had been random, the top of the stack.
When she made another twirl, she saw him and gave a start. “Oh. I usually know when you’re around. I guess”—she hurried toward the player—“I was too busy listening.”
“Leave it on; that’s fine. Or put on that next one you’re holding.”
“It’s a wonderful gift.” She paused as the current song faded. The gaze she gave him was slightly apprehensive. “Were you picking on me?”
“What?” He stepped into the room. “What do you mean?”
“I mean . . . what you said the other night, about any other young girl would be pining for the mainland, and record players, and such. I just . . . Oh, never mind. I really like this. It shouldn’t be just for me, though. I’m going to take it down to the bunkhouse so they can enjoy it, but I thought it would be all right for me to have it to myself for just one night. I’ll bring it back up to the kitchen for Kohana and me to listen, during the early part of the day when we’re cleaning. It’s so nice and easy to carry around.”
When he took another step toward her, she turned away, busying herself with replacing the record, her head bent so her hair exposed her nape, the line of her shoulder. He paused behind her, knowing she was hyperaware of his closeness.
“No. And yes. No, I wasn’t picking on you, not in a mean way. I was suggesting you can be both. The girl who’d like to wear a pretty dress and go dancing on the mainland, as well as the woman who’s dedicated her soul to helping those nobody else wanted to help.”
She remained in the same position, but he sensed her mind turning it over, trying to figure out what he was doing here, what he wanted. She was imagining a variety of things, some of which were making it hard not to get derailed and indulge in tugging her blouse off her shoulders, releasing her from the bra and filling his hands with those generous curves.
“I was talking to Danny.” He cleared his throat. “You’ll go with me to Lord Marshall’s. I think it would be best if you did that with a third mark. Mine.”
That word had a wealth of meaning, for certain, but he left it at that, waiting to see what she would do and say. As the silence drew out, he added, “While the mark is of course a permanent binding, it doesn’t bind you here forever. Once we get things sorted out with the fledglings, you’d be able to go back to Danny’s station whenever you wished. It’s not a prison sentence.”
“I would never think of it that way.”
Suddenly he wanted to see her face. She was drawing her hand away from setting the needle, and he closed his hand on that wrist, turning her around to face him. Her eyes were serious, mouth soft, worried.
“Vampires require many things of their human servants, regardless of the number of marks, Elisa,” he said, keeping a grip on her hand. “But accepting a third mark is always a choice. You know why.”
“Because ever after, the human is fully bonded to the vampire. You own my heart, mind and soul. I serve you forever.”
“It can be that way. But as I said, I’ll concede your service to Danny, if that’s the way you eventually want it. This has to be your choice.”
Her hand in his hadn’t moved. The variety of thoughts whirling in her mind were too chaotic for him to pick up one linear thread. He caught one entirely random thought—she wished she’d put away the mending before he came in.
“Elisa.” He drew her gaze back up to him with a faintly impatient tone. “I know you’ll do anything for the fledglings. Any number of foolish, hazardous things. But you don’t have to do this for them. It will certainly help them, and me, but we can accomplish something similar if it’s not something you want.”
“But the chances of success won’t be as great.” Her shrewd eyes studied his face. “You need my help, mind to mind, the way Danny and Dev are.”
“Damn it, I don’t want you to do this just for them.”
“Who do you want me to do it for?” Those blue eyes were intent. “For you, Master?”
His jaw tightened. That quiet word, the curl of her hand on his arm. He could be in her mind, but for some reason at this moment she was mysterious, unfathomable. “I want you to do it for you,” he insisted.
The music started playing, a lovely, strong female voice, and her eyes softened. “I guess she’s saying it all, isn’t she? A sign, maybe?”
The woman was singing about traveling to exotic places. However, with every sight, every marvel, every dream, she exhorted the listener to remember one key thing. Elisa mouthed it, her breath whispering over the syllables.
“You belong to me.” Then the corner of her mouth quirked. “Or is that your line? Do you like to dance, Mr. Malachi?” Her slim fingers twined with his.
Mal wondered if the floor had dropped two feet beneath him, because his ground had definitely been shaken. “It’s been a long time. I was taught . . . waltzes, things like that.”
“Is it painful to remember?” Her expression said Chumani had told her some of his past. Still, he answered the question.
“No. Because it was the first time I got to touch girls.”
That quirk became a tiny smile. “Boys do tend to remember that fondly.”
“What do girls remember?”
“The first kiss. The first time a boy holds her hand. The first time a man says, ‘I love you,’ and really means it, not just as a way to get . . . you know.” She pressed her lips together, hesitating, then removed both her hands from his, but only to lay them on his chest, gaze up into his face. “I know I’m being a bit forward, but . . . will you dance with me?”
It was more than being forward. In this moment she was acting as if they were simply man and woman, circling each other, accepting bond and attraction, no worries or reservations. He should be disabusing her of such a notion, knowing its dangers, but she looked directly into his eyes, and there were no fledglings, no cats, no one watching, just the two of them standing in her bedroom, enjoying a song.
Sliding his arm around her waist, he closed his hand around one of hers, but left it on his chest, warming it between those two parts of him as he moved her into an easy three-step rhythm, mindful of the dimensions of her room. It had been a while since he’d done it, but it was easy with her moving with him, her body close from the cinch of his arm.
“Do you know the waltz was thought scandalous when it was invented, because it allowed men and women to stand close to one another, and required the man to put a hand on the woman’s waist?” Elisa tilted her head, an innocently coquettish gesture. “When I was younger, I remember riding the train from Perth. There was this young boy and young girl, teenagers, on the train. I don’t think their parents knew they were sweethearts, but I could tell. They were sitting in the seats behind their parents and I was across the aisle. I remember he put his hand on the dividing armrest and she put hers next to it, and for so many miles, as the train clacked along, they kept their hands like that, no more than a half inch between them. You could feel the heat between them, and not touching made it even more powerful. There was all that yearning in the air, and it just got heavier and heavier. At last, when I think they could bear no more, he moved his hand, so slightly. For just the barest second, he put his smallest finger over hers. The look on her face . . . it was as if he’d kissed her soundly and . . .”
Her cheeks flushed then, but he saw it in her mind and finished it. “And made love to her, with that one gesture.”
She nodded. “Sometimes, when I’m with you, it feels that way. You give me one look, or you touch my back when you head out for your evening’s work, and the heat lingers inside of me, unfolds there.”
“Elisa—”
“I’m being foolish.” She gave a quick smile, her hand flexing on his shoulder. “It’s that song, so romantic and . . . full. Don’t pay any attention to me. So when do you want to do the third mark? Right now?”
27
H
E stopped, dropping her hand so he could put both at her waist, his fingers flexing. During the dancing, she’d become as appealing and romantic as a pink rose. Now, though, she was practical, flatly reasonable.
E stopped, dropping her hand so he could put both at her waist, his fingers flexing. During the dancing, she’d become as appealing and romantic as a pink rose. Now, though, she was practical, flatly reasonable.
“Would that work for you?” he asked curtly. “Get it off the to-do list, and then you can go beat rugs with Kohana, or cook eggs?”
She blinked. “Since you came to tell me, I assumed you wanted to go ahead and get it done.”
He did, damn it. Then he caught a stray thought from her mind, and it helped, made him understand. Lowering his brow to hers, he gave her unexpected tenderness. As a result, her blue eyes flitted up to his, uncertainty replacing that veneer of efficiency. “I do. But I want you to feel, Elisa. I want you to feel all of it. Even if you choose to go home afterwards, I’ve bound you to me the way no other vampire ever will. In the eyes of the vampire world, you will be mine. It’s significant.”
“I know.” Petulance gave her tone a snap. She closed her eyes. “I want you to just do it. I don’t want to feel, because it’s not real, you know. I belong to you, but you’ll never belong to me.”
It made something tighten in his gut, even though she wasn’t saying anything he hadn’t already known about her, about what she truly wanted. “But someone will. I told you, there will be other men at your station with gentle hands—”
“I don’t
want
another Willis. There was only one of him, and he’s here, in my heart. I don’t need another man like that. I don’t need—” She drew a breath, tried to back away, but he held on to her arms. Began to back her into a wall. He could feel her struggle, see it, but he saw what was beneath it as well. When he saw her answer, his vampire senses sharpened like a blade, his bloodlust stirring to take, claim. The protests on her lips froze, then dissolved altogether as she became all wide blue eyes and parted mouth, her heart pounding up into her throat. When her back hit the wall, he lifted her up against it, sliding an arm around her waist and cupping her buttock so her legs naturally curled high on his thighs to hold on.
want
another Willis. There was only one of him, and he’s here, in my heart. I don’t need another man like that. I don’t need—” She drew a breath, tried to back away, but he held on to her arms. Began to back her into a wall. He could feel her struggle, see it, but he saw what was beneath it as well. When he saw her answer, his vampire senses sharpened like a blade, his bloodlust stirring to take, claim. The protests on her lips froze, then dissolved altogether as she became all wide blue eyes and parted mouth, her heart pounding up into her throat. When her back hit the wall, he lifted her up against it, sliding an arm around her waist and cupping her buttock so her legs naturally curled high on his thighs to hold on.
“Elisa, do you want to be my third-marked servant, bound to me forever, subject to my will for you, whatever that may be? If you answer no, it will change nothing about what I will or won’t do for you and your fledglings. This is your choice. Is it what you want, or not?”
Other books
Byzantium by Ben Stroud
A Call to Arms by William C. Hammond
The Mongol Objective by David Sakmyster
The Taming of the Wolf by Lydia Dare
Save for Shardae by Raelynn Blue
The Englishman's Boy by Guy Vanderhaeghe
Andrée's War by Francelle Bradford White
Under Suspicion by The Mulgray Twins
Blood at Bear Lake by Gary Franklin
A Christmas Memory by Capote, Truman