Beloved Vampire
Page 88

He turned toward her then, and she saw he heard her thoughts. She could also tell he was trying to determine if he could honorably accept her decision. Her old-fashioned vampire. Tears threatened, but for the first time in a long time, they were the good kind.
“You’ve shushed me for the past few days,” she said quietly. “But hear my words now, my lord. Please.” When at last he nodded, she moved into him, folded her hands on his chest. A faint tremor ran through his body, and she saw his hands close into fists as he struggled not to touch her. She raised her attention to his face. “I fought for so long, Mason, so hard. At a certain point, I knew it was hopeless. Training myself to fight, continuing to resist him, it all meant nothing. I gave up on God then, because Raithe even took away the choice of death.
“But I kept resisting, because it became about me, who I am. So after he was gone, there was this void of nothingness. I’d made it all about that fight, and I’d cannibalized every last bit of myself to keep one last spark. But you . . . you stepped into that void.
Maybe in some perfect world, or according to nine out of ten therapists”—a soft smile touched her face—“it would make sense for me to go out into the big wide world and reclaim myself. But I’m not that Jessica anymore. She’s gone. And despite all these horrible things that happened to me, I look at you, and I don’t regret what I endured. Nothing but Jack. It’s in the past.” She held his gaze, let him see it, go as deep as he wished to be sure. “I don’t need to reclaim the Jessica I was, because the Jessica I am now wants you. And she worked too hard, fought too long, sacrificed too much of herself, for me to deny her that prize because of regrets and wishes, for what could have been.”
She drew a breath. “You told me there is a difference between forced servitude and willing submission. I willingly submit to you. I want to belong to you.”
In the fateful, weighted seconds that ticked between them then, she remembered watching him cross the courtyard to come to the study, responding to her call. Everything, from the way the light shirt blew against his body, to the stretch of his riding breeches on his thighs, and the long boots, the severe line of his aristocratic face, the perfect silk of his tied-back hair, had stirred her. But what held her mesmerized was more than the beautiful body and face.
As she’d watched him from the shield of the window’s curtain, she’d spoken the words aloud. “I’ll take care of him,” she whispered. A message to the woman who’d loved him so well, so long ago, as if they were touching hands over the centuries, a tactile oath. “I’ll make sure he has that home.”
Whether she’d been sent by Farida or it was all her own desire, it didn’t matter. A soul could be many different individuals, as she’d become many different versions of herself to be the Jessica Tyson she was now. She loved him. That love was so new, with so many things to learn and discover. There’d be so many challenges to face in their conflicting worlds, she was sure she would be afraid and anxious, often. But she’d also feel eagerness, passion and love. Those emotions would grow and deepen, and help supplant the others. The roots were already anchored.
As his handsome, beloved face continued to reflect his internal war between honor and trust, love and need, she curled her hand around his forearm and dropped to her knees, pressing her forehead against his thigh. “I am yours, my lord. Your third-marked servant, by choice and desire.”
Mason, overcome, turned his gaze away to those vials of flowers. Fey flowers, enchanted so they likely wouldn’t die, not as long as Lyssa lived. A reminder of this moment, of what Jessica had chosen for herself. For him.
He raised her to her feet, tipping up her chin with a hand that had an unmanly tremor, but seeing the love in her face, the curve of her lips, he knew she wouldn’t point it out. “I don’t know if I should accept.” He cleared his throat. “An obedient servant wouldn’t pelt her Master with expensive statuary.”
“I will stay whether or not you accept, my lord. Just to teach you that I am more stubborn than your will.” Jessica’s eyes sparkled, her lips parting as his grip on her body tightened, belying his words. “Admit it, my lord. If you made me leave, you’d end up going back to the desert to brood. And without someone to defy you, your arrogance would grow as rapidly as Lady Lyssa’s forest.”
“Hmm. I can see that I will need to spend a great deal of time training you. Perhaps even resign my advisory position on Council.” Her eyes darkened. “When you must serve the Council, I will go with you. I belong at your side, and I’ll learn to be the servant you need.” Before he could speak, she shook her head. “I trust you to take care of me. You were right. It’s not serving your pleasure, in whatever manner you demand, that created terror inside of me. It was how Raithe twisted my desire to serve a Master. I’ll learn to trust you, my lord, if you help me.”
By Allah, what have I done to deserve her? “Jessica.” Mason realized he was incapable of more than her name, but that encapsulated everything he was feeling. He repeated it, a murmur, and her lips parted, though her eyes remained determined, her chin firm.
“If someone like you had been on Council, maybe Raithe couldn’t have gotten away with what he did. Excesses must be controlled, my lord, and you have a fairly heavy and intimidating hand.” That sparkle again, the hint of a taunt that stirred his heart as much as his groin. Particularly when, her patience with words at an end, she slipped one hand down and boldly cupped him, teasing him, though her lashes fanned her cheeks, his sweet submissive.
“Some excesses must be controlled,” he amended with a wicked smile, catching her wrist and squeezing it, a sensual warning. Then he sighed. “It doesn’t matter, anyhow. As one of the conditions for your pardon, I agreed to serve as a full Council member for the next twenty-five years. If Trenton had managed to kill me, Belizar would have been sure I forced his hand, merely to escape the horror of it.”
Her gaze snapped up to him, face suffusing in shock. Then, her fair brow lifted, her face captured by a full, mischievous grin, more unguarded than any he’d ever seen on her face. “You should have told me that a long time ago, my lord. It would have saved me a great deal of soul-searching. How could I doubt such an enormous sacrifice? Raithe’s torments were nothing next to that.” He was after her in a thrice, she dodging him. Snatching a pair of nunchakus from the wall, she tried to fend him off, but she was laughing too hard. He ducked under her swing, caught her arm and spun her back against him. When he divested her of the weapon and held it against her throat, the chain pressing above the silver collar he’d given her, she turned the tables on him, rotating her hips across his groin, bringing her hands back to scrape her nails up his thighs. While it appeared as if she was his prisoner, he felt like a wild beast in a cage. He’d take her on her stomach, bent over his desk, all those unprocessed bills crackling beneath her, so the vendors would wonder why their invoice stubs were so wrinkled.
The vixen. Those had been her imaginings, her thoughts.
Even as his blood stirred at her teasing, he let the nunchakus drop to the floor, his heart swelling with a different emotion. While her own heart pounded under his palm, he nudged her neck until she’d tilted her head fully, put it on his shoulder. He pierced her slow, deep, and the shuddering breath that left her was akin to a climax. Only it went from mind to heart, and even deeper.
He’d had the grace to be loved by two remarkable women, somehow combined in Jessica. She would survive Raithe’s aftermath, or whatever the world threw at them. He’d make sure of it, while he had breath to protect and love her. Serve her in all ways.
Give her no regrets about her decision. She was his servant, but as he saw the love glowing in her eyes, he accepted what Lyssa had said, and what he’d always known. Some vampire-servant relationships were far more complicated.
He shifted to her mouth, covering her lips. They parted, accepting him, surrendering to his desires, his needs. So overwhelming, he anticipated that they might lead to great, pleasurable excess indeed, because he had a feeling they would never ebb.
Her arms held him closer. Let me be your home, as you are mine.
Jessica knew her thought echoed inside of him, from the way his kiss intensified, his grip on her body growing even tighter. Her greatest fear for the future would be his loss, her only lasting regret not having more time with him, no matter how many years she was granted to live.
He lifted his head then, locked with her gaze, even as his fingers caressed her mouth, a promise.
Then, like the Sahara, may we live forever, habiba.
Epilogue
THE sands whispered over the desert dunes as the sky lightened, anticipating dawn. A camel made a comfortable grunt, settling herself. Mason stood at the entrance to his cave, sensing the sunrise coming. He’d laid her body down on a bed of flower petals and palm fronds, fifty feet away from the cave entrance. Fresh flowers also lay upon her, and she wore her wedding dress.
“Do you want me to go out and be with her?”
Jessica’s soft question. He glanced down at her. She was growing her hair out, and it was already a silky mass past her shoulders.
It waved around her petite features, as she lifted her face to meet his gaze.
He nodded. “I do . . .” His throat felt tight. “Jessica.”
She squeezed his arm, shook her head. “You don’t have to explain, my lord. You don’t want her to be alone. It would be my honor. After all,” she added softly, “it was her love for you that brought us together.” With that simple statement, his servant, his love, his soul, walked out of the cave, down the slope. She wore a full robe, though she’d pushed off the head wrap. He knew every curve of the body beneath the garment, all of her scars as well as the tiger mark and tattoo, both evidence that she belonged to him. When she turned at the bottom of the slope, she sent a thought to him.
I would like to say something to Farida, my lord, but I would like it to be private.