Do not touch. Or, even more starkly, Mine.
“Be still,” he murmured in her ear. Her blood lingered on his tongue, and with it a rush of chaotic emotion. Raw, untinctured terror, defiance, a concentrated sorrow too large for words, all bursting like a pierced artery. “It is done. A little sting, and all is well. Everything else will be much more pleasant, I promise.”
She coughed weakly, hanging in his grasp. Had he taken too much? Barely a taste...but she was so thin, and mortal besides.
“At least tell me your name,” he continued, soft, so softly. Sooner or later, she would—or the searches already deployed, electronic and otherwise, would turn something up. She had covered her tracks rather thoroughly, though he was keeping in reserve the questioning of a certain petty criminal she had apparently purchased services from. Tracking her from the fellow’s warehouse-hideout had been enjoyable but not, in the end, very complex.
Still, if she kept to the fiction of Sarah Monroe, unraveling the lie would be an interesting game. Lukas allowed his arms to loosen, bent to place her gingerly upon dainty feet. The night-dress was far too long, though its clinging—like the towel—left very little to be imagined.
He did not straighten, did not let go entirely. A delicate situation, requiring concentration and care; it was a joy to have something so deliciously complicated to absorb.
“You...bit me?” Dazed, slightly slurred, the words blurring together beautifully. She did have a lovely voice, even roughened from terrified cries. “Oh my fucking god you bit me.”
“I will do much more than that.” A heady promise, indeed. “Be reasonable, little leman. I can and will explain whatever you like, but you must help me.”
“Help you? Help you?” At least she was hissing instead of screaming; she sounded positively incensed. If this were her anger, he could not wait to see other states of excitement. “You murdering vampire fuck, you think I’m going to help you do anything, I swear to God?—”
“Do not,” he interrupted sharply, “make an oath you do not intend to keep.” For a dogsbody, the command would be more than enough; it was an effort to think of what else to add, what a leman might require. “Please.”
The single taste of her did not entirely satisfy. As distracting as her physical closeness now was the mounting, blurring buzz of desire, and her shivering infected him as well.
She had slept in this room; the bed was saturated with that intoxicating fragrance. He was in the thrall very badly now, and hoped she would not move.
At least, some fading restraint in him hoped that. The rest was longing for her to take a single step, attempt escape. Any move would break the stasis, and he would give in.
“If you’re going to kill me, do it now.” Brittle defiance, at what had to be the extreme edge of her courage. Were all leman so determined? “Because I’m going to avenge my brother, even if you do turn me into a bloodbag slave.”
I never did that, not even in Venizia. There was no need, and besides, at that point he had already been rather jaded. “I have no desire to break you, little leman.”
She was silent for a few ragged breaths, shaking, safely caged. “So, what?” A forlorn question, expecting nothing good. “What are you going to do?”
“Take you to bed,” he heard himself say, in a soft, musing tone. “Unless you would prefer to discuss matters without moving, so I may regain some control. Whatever you choose.”
“Oh, now the monster wants to discuss. Why not pop my head off like a Pez dispenser? Did I not stake you hard enough?”
“The blow would not have entered without help.” He was doing rather well, Lukas thought. His shaking was nearly imperceptible, and though the end was assured he could postpone true fulfillment some short while. “I thought it polite to let you try, in order to discern what precisely you desired.” The blur-buzzing intensified pleasantly, a hum settled in reinforced, thicker sanguinant bones.
The Gift would render her far stronger and more robust, but she would never match an elder’s strength or speed, let alone his. An edge to be thankful for, since he suspected this leman would swiftly learn how to use his absolute craving to gain anything she wished.
Another wonderful prospect.
“I want you dead.” Fierce and clear. “You murdered my brother, you bastard, and I want you dead.”
And of course, since it was clearly not in her nature to be reasonable, she attempted to elbow him rather viciously, twisting in his arms and scraping her bare heel down his shin as well. She had trained in some manner of self-defense; had he been mortal she might have had a chance.
Finally. The leash snapped, and Lukas found himself momentarily free.
CHAPTER 7
Her wrists were trapped, stretched overhead and crushed against pillows. The bed was suddenly there, sinking underneath her, without any intervening time or movement. A yelp of surprise was effectively smothered by a feverish, insistent mouth fastening on her own, and not only was she flat on her back again but he had somehow settled between her legs. He still had his clothes on; wool burned against her inner thighs and Bea panicked afresh, her jaw cramping as she bit savagely. The monster made a muffled noise, not precisely of pain, and a metallic taste coated her tongue.
Oh, Christ, no. Maybe it was adrenaline, or some kind of alcohol lingering on his breath? But it was hot, and smeared on her lips; after a moment the taste shifted. She tried her best not to swallow but an odd, unfamiliar sweetness trickled down the back of her throat—and he kept going, pressing into the bite.
Then he stilled.
Her jaw loosened; he eased away, his cheek resting against hers, hatefully intimate. The shadow over her exhaled, a long shuddering sigh.
Did he…
