Or at least, she tried to, pitching herself aside with every bit of strength she could muster. Her left hand struck his chest, and it was like slapping a concrete wall. The vampire’s grip on her shifted a fraction; a strangebliplike a CD skipping in an old player, and his head blurred forward, snake-quick.
Somehow her back met yielding fabric instead of being propped against the headboard and wall. A brush of hot breath on her sweating neck, then a piercing almost-pain accompanied by spreading numbness.
The vampire’s fangs closed on her throat.
CHAPTER 6
He had intended to explain,to soothe, to calmly lay out the dimensions of her new status. A man devoted solely to war had no poet’s words with which to seduce, even if he longed to try. Yet her sudden doomed attempt to struggle, legs kicking and tender damp mortal flesh sliding under his fingertips, broke the last thread of stringent control.
The soldier’s fangs found the sweetly musical pulse they had somehow always ached for. He drew in a mouthful of singing, absolute sweetness, and it burned every other vein-drink he had taken to clotted, muddy ash.
So many words for what she was—leman, deva, imprima,sangdolce;he quite liked the ring ofaima-glyza, in Greek more modern than Homer’s but still ancient as modern mortals reckoned. Honeyed, ambrosial fire filled his throat, a drug more complete than any glut or mortal opiate hit his own slow, ageless veins. A scrape-stinging edge rippled down his body as sanguinant physiology shifted, discovering an addiction lain sleeping for long centuries until the first drop sank all the way to his marrow, followed by blessed, drowning euphoria.
She tasted like victory, like the memory of dusky grapes from his mortal grandfather’s estate, like a soft fresh breeze upon a fevered brow. And yet, more. The sensation enfolding him was alien, even as he had somehow always craved its warmth and knew he would do anything, commit any crime or savagery to keep it close.
What else did every warrior long for? The removal of armor, the sheathing of all weapons.
Peace.
He drew again, top fangs working another fraction deeper, and the second draught was impossibly somehowbetter. Complex overlapping tastes, a red-purple scorch of devouring fear, deep dusky blue grief, her totality enfolding him in wonder. Her laboring heartbeat fast as hummingbird wings, a shallow breath stirring his hair as her head tipped back on its slender neck-stem. A drooping blossom, shuddering as it was crushed to his chest; he wanted more,more.
But she was mortal, exhausted by terror, flight, a very long and eventful night. His greed met a contradictory, overpowering imperative to protect what he had taken, and candythick tenderness welled from a depth past the beast-lair at the floor of his soul.
One last slow sip, rolled like the finest unwatered wine before slipping down his throat. Now he understood what the rumors whispered of,nowhe understood why any sanguinant lucky enough to find a leman kept the treasure strictly, deeply hidden.
Withdrawing each fang was a wonderful torment, then he paused to lick the marks with infinite care. Change and healing agents were already spreading in her bloodstream, suppressing pain and encouraging initial chemical shifts; now his saliva carried further healing substances from different glands. Slowly, carefully, he gathered every final, marvelous, narcotic drop.
Her scent now bore a trace of burning metal—the residue of agonizing fear, mixed with a dizzying tang he recognized as his own pheromones and markers. A warning, a mark of possession: this is mine.
“Ow.” An adorable, dazed almost-whimper. “Hey.”
He had not felt fear for centuries; now, even that sensation was a luxury. Had he harmed her? It was difficult to raise his head, brace himself on his elbows, peeling himself a few fractions from the slim soft wonder of her body pressed under his, sinking into the bed’s embrace. Her lovely knees were pushed to either side of his hips, and the only bar to his desire was a few layers of fabric.
“Ow,” she repeated, sounding outright aggrieved. Small hands at his shoulders, slipping ineffectually against his sweater as she pushed with no more strength than a starving kitten. Her eyelids fluttered, and her mouth was too entirely succulent to remain untasted for long. “What thehellare you doing?”
Only what I must. He strained to think, to clearly discern the next tactical move. He examined her stunned, exhausted beauty as she struggled to compass the situation, then tilted his head slightly to glimpse the marks over her jugular. Yes, the bite was glaring-fresh—primary and secondary fangs on top, the tertiary on the bottom, all properly sealed. No danger there.
His prize stirred beneath him once more, textures sliding, her softness calling to him. The soldier inhaled sharply. Difficult not to simply rip every scrap of clothing free and claim her, but she…
Shedeservedbetter.
Once the soldier reached elder status he had reflexively, habitually planned for eventual freedom from his Maker’s grasp, though the time was never quite right and rising ossification had robbed him of caring enough to initiate movement. This sudden unlooked-for good fortune was more dangerous than any defeat,for it found him pressed for time—always an invitation to error or disaster.
Not only that, but he was called upon for far, far more than simple rebellion. He must not only free himself, but keep a prize hiddenandadapt to a modern mortal’s comfort.
So far as a creature like himself could, that was.
“I bit you.” Slightly difficult to recall the proper words, to use her modern tongue; even more difficult to force his true teeth away, restoring the blunt mortal variety unquestionably better for speech. “I will again, sweet Leila. For now, rest.”
Surprisingly, her pale eyes flew open and she found enough strength to attempt more pattering, ineffectual strikes. So easy to catch her wrist, pin her arm to the bed; he wanted so much more, but thequietusfolded over her and sank in, careful pressure applied slowly so as not to damage.
Again, her resistance was far more pronounced than many other mortals’, and he found himself charmed by her determination.
But inevitably, eventually, she returned to the arms of sleep—the only other paramour he would ever allow.
“Rest,” the soldier repeated, a tender murmur. He even risked pressing his lips to her cheek, inhaling deeply—dim aroma-traces of her companions remained, as well as the faint fading reek from their dilapidated hideout. Both made the beast in him snarl with possessive rage, and the mating-thrall was becoming unmercifully intense. “I will learn,puella dulcis. I promise you that.”
Extricating himself took a short while, for every brush against her delicate, languid form threatened to break him afresh.His control held by the thinnest hair-fine chain, though, and he retreated to the draped window. Outside, dawn was well underway, the sun’s advent instinctively felt even in the deepest, safest crypt.
