Bea swallowed hard, kept her eyes tightly shut. The sweetish taste at the back of her throat wouldn’t go away; the fresh bite marks pulsed uneasily. She was acquiring quite a collection.
Was the monster lying? Mixing real details with whoppers, since she clearly didn’t know what the hell? Or was he gaslighting her, defense-lawyering whatever involvement he had in Jared’s murder?
He couldn’t be telling the truth.
Could he?
Silence gathered, blanketed the room. Had the rain stopped? All she could hear was her own breathing. Did he think she was asleep? The sense of being watched was eerily, hatefully familiar. She had a lot to think about, with no idea of how much time she had for cogitation.
A trickle of rasping, unsteady anger collected in her chest. She lay frozen, quiet, and waited.
After an eternity, he withdrew inch by inch. As soon as humanly possible Bea rolled away, stifling a groan as her hips informed her that no, they did not forgive her, but it had been a helluva ride nonetheless. Her legs were noodles, the rest of her not far behind. Still, she managed to curl up almost pillbug-tight before the monster proved he wasn’t about to leave her alone.
He simply picked her up like a recalcitrant toddler, with frightening ease and no sign of effort. His breathing didn’t even change; she kept her eyes squeezed shut, not daring to peek.
It didn’t matter. The monster carried her into the bathroom, but not to yet another sunken tub. Instead, a glassed-in shower accepted them both—it was certainly supersized enough, and who needed four nozzles? The water pressure was great, though. It was absolutely unfair.
Being washed by a monster was an odd experience, mostly because he was so careful. Scrubbing with a cold trickle and harsh washcloth had become Bea’s habit during the monster-hunting years, always while thinking about the next research subject, the next intel dig, the next bit of careful surveillance or sleuthing.
And it had all ended up here.
He even toweled gently, for God’s sake.
CHAPTER 16
His prize was still mistrustful. Yet Lukas thought it likely some small progress had been made.
Her physical response was sheerly overwhelming, perhaps because fear lay so close to the survival urge in mortals; eventually, the impetus might be replaced as she learned the dimensions of her new existence. Even the mistake of biting his own flesh had a fortunate effect, in that forcing her to drink from the vein was not quite required at the moment. Eventually the thirst would mount to a point beyond palliating with simple traces of his claret, and he almost lost track of his surroundings while contemplating the future pleasure of her soft, avid mouth drawing upon his blood-channels.
He could not tell whether she was inexperienced enough not to notice certain differences between sanguinant and mortal anatomy, or too frightened to ask. Traditionally one hunted down a leman’s previous lovers or mortal encumbrances, if any; modern mores had changed somewhat, and Lukas decided he could indeed set aside that particular custom.
Unless it became necessary. The petty criminal with his podcast might prove useful later; in any case, mortals aged so quickly. Very soon it would be a moot point.
She would be fresh and new centuries from now. Another pleasant thing to think upon.
Beatrice, enthroned in a green velvet wingback chair—a quite agreeable amenity of the master suite’s antechamber, these two wide deep seats with the small table tucked companionably between, situated so as to enjoy one of the bay windows, unsealed, though winter twilight blinded the glass. The view was otherwise an expanse of manicured lawn before a tangled evergreen hedge, an incongruous white gazebo swimming in the middle distance.
He would have preferred a more civilized garden, which could be remedied come springtime. If, that was, he and his leman were still in residence.
He had turned the bedside lamps on, and the soft golden gleam was comfortable enough for sanguinant eyes. The greisoul gem glimmered, full of its own secret fire. Beatrice had chosen more soft, clinging clothing—nightwear, another set of fleece pants and long-sleeved shirt, candy-striped red and white. Large fluffy yellow socks completed the ensemble; he would make arrangements for more of this attire.
Not only did she look very fetching, but the cloth was too flimsy for outside wear. And she consented to pick at a pleasingly arranged fruit-and-cheese platter carried hence upon a heavy silver tray, the housekeeper doing her best to tempt the lady.
Beatrice did not touch the champagne, though. And her gaze kept flickering to the hall door, standing temptingly ajar.
He was not so foolish as to think her tamed, or even resigned. Quite possibly she might never be.
“It all ends in the same place.” He had to speak carefully, for her questions deserved not only clear but appropriate answers, and her understanding of the demimonde was rudimentary indeed. “Attempt escape, inevitably fail, and I will have you. Accept necessity, do not attempt anything unwise, and I will have you. Either way, it will be pleasant.”
She toyed with a dusky grape—seedless, a marvel of viticulture, and not nearly so succulent as the lips it brushed or fingertips it rested against. “So no matter what I do, you’re going to…” Color rising to her cheeks, a charming flush.
“Yes.” As often as possible. Even the thought caused a sleepy rumble in the thrall, lingering in preternatural marrow. “It is an addiction, as I said. Leman are passing rare; you are the only one I have ever encountered.”
“But…” Puzzlement puckering her forehead, she shifted in the chair, wrinkling her nose as well—a wince, tender mortality somewhat unprepared for sanguinant enthusiasm. The Gift, clearly at work, would swiftly ease such discomfort. “What if you’re wrong? What if I’m just some stranger with a grey-man—gryvhen?”
“Greiben.” In the dark Teuton forests they had been called other things, and their halls rumored to contain much treasure. Many things burrowed in the earth’s skin, hiding from mortal scrutiny until pressed, then reacting with carnivorous force.
“Greiben, okay.” She took care with the word, attempting to be a good student. “What if I’m just a rando with special jewelry? What is this thing, anyway?”
