Death's Mistress
Page 33

I tried to imagine Louis-Cesare, all six foot plus of hard muscle, in a pair of high heels. And, despite everything, I laughed. “Care to show me how it’s done?”
“I do not think those are my size,” he said, grasping my calf in one large hand. I went a little dry-mouthed.
His fingers were warm on my arch for a moment, as he slid the shoe back in place. He looked up, his eyes suddenly serious. “I suppose it is useless for me to request that you remain here while I attend to this.”
I just looked at him.
“It will be difficult for me to protect you without breaking the truce.”
It was moments like these when I wondered if he truly understood what a dhampir was. “I don’t need protection.”
“Against some of those who will be there tonight?” His jaw tightened. “Yes, you do.”
“I’ll be on my best behavior,” I promised, with a straight face.
He smiled slightly. “Why am I not reassured?”
He pulled me to my feet and drew my hand through his arm in one smooth, natural movement, with no signs of flinching. I didn’t know a single other vampire, including family, who didn’t tense up slightly when I came within arm’s reach. Yet, from day one, he’d never minded getting close, had in fact used every possible excuse to do so.
Strange behavior for someone pining away for his mistress.
But then, maybe I’d just been available, an easy conquest, a creature he didn’t have to worry about offending because our natural relationship was antagonistic anyway. I really didn’t know what he felt, if anything. I just knew what I did.
“Then maybe we should take out a little insurance,” I said, and sank to my knees.
He looked confused, until my fingers went to the button of his trousers. I saw it register, felt when he stilled completely, not even breathing. And then he caught my hands.
“What are you doing?”
“What does it look like?”
“Why?” It was in a low, urgent tone I’d never heard him use.
“Because it helps to take the edge off.” He looked like he didn’t understand my answer. “I’m dhampir,” I reminded him. “We have these fits, remember? Rage-induced blackouts where we kill everything in sight?”
“That is all it takes to control your fits?” He looked incredulous.
“I didn’t say it controlled them. I said it took the edge off, much the way good-quality weed does. If someone provokes me enough, I’ll still go under. But not as easily. Now let go, or are you the only one who gets to touch?”
Apparently so, because he pulled me back to my feet, keeping my hands trapped between us. His were strong, with the warmth of familiar calluses. I felt my breath speed up as I remembered what those hands could do.
Something of my thoughts must have shown on my face, because he flushed slightly. “I was told that you had found a cure.”
“It’s genetic. There is no cure.”
“Lord Mircea said—”
“You asked him about me?”
“He mentioned it in passing.”
I narrowed my eyes but let it go. “I’ve found something that cuts down on the frequency of the attacks, and controls some of the symptoms. But there are problems.”
“What kind of problems?”
I sighed. For a Frenchman, he was the hardest damn man to seduce I’d ever seen. “It brings out dormant magical abilities in humans.”
It was Louis-Cesare’s turn to narrow his eyes. “You are speaking of fey wine? Do not tell me you are still taking that concoction.”
“Okay, I won’t tell you.”
“It is dangerous!”
“So am I, without it!”
“And that is worth risking your life? You do not know—”
“I haven’t had a full-on attack in weeks. And the last time I did, I was conscious.” His expression said he still didn’t get it. “I was conscious, Louis-Cesare!” I repeated, struggling to find words to explain just what that meant.
But there weren’t any. He’d never had to worry about blacking out for days, only to wake up in some unknown location, covered in blood and surrounded by corpses. He would never understand the constant nagging fear that next time it wouldn’t be an enemy I killed. That next time I would wake up to find my hands buried in the throat of a friend.
Something must have shown on my face, because his gaze softened. “I thought your friend was looking for a cure.”
“She was. She is. But so far, no luck.”
“There are other physicians. Have you sought out their help?”
“I don’t need them. I have something that works.”
“Thus far. You have no idea what the long-term effects might be.”
“Whatever they are, it’s a damn good trade!”
He set his jaw, that old stubborn look coming over his face. “There must be an alternative.”
“There is.” I deliberately slid my hands up his chest.
“Dorina—”
“Don’t. Don’t say anything.” I didn’t want to talk anymore. I didn’t want to think. I wanted to drive him as crazy as he had me, wanted to see him lose control, wanted him to feel something when I damn well left.
I cupped his face in my hands and kissed him. His body was a tight wall of muscle, as yielding as rock. Buth is lips were warm and soft as they met mine, asking nothing, forbidding nothing, surrendering to my need as I had known, deep down, that he would.
He tasted like smoky whiskey and Louis-Cesare, an elusive sweetness that had haunted me in odd moments for weeks. I pulled him even closer, and my leg wrapped around him, hunger mounting as I deepened the kiss. I felt a surge of pure satisfaction as his arms went around me, one hand settling on my nape, the other cupping my jaw, the thumb stroking with a terrible gentleness.
It was so easy to lose myself in this, in the searching caress of his tongue, in the silken press of his lips. Running my hands over the broad planes of his back, I traced light fingertips over the knobs of his spine, felt the smooth roll and flex of hard muscle under the soft material of his shirt. So warm…
And so dangerous. A dhampir inside his defenses, at his neck, close enough to kiss or to kill. He had to feel it. I felt it, the usual tingling sensation of a vampire’s presence screaming a warning along my nerves.
Yet his only movement was to draw me nearer, his hands sliding down my sides to grasp my hips. It left us close, so close, as I never was with any of them, never could be, because being this near meant violence, meant fear, meant death for one of us. It always had and it always would, and there was no goddamned other way it could be. And yet he was still there, hard and hot and so close….
So close, the scent of her, wild and comforting at once, enveloped him. He needed to stop this; he needed to leave. If he immersed himself in that scent, grew to depend on it, need it, it would starve him when it was gone.
He was already too hungry as it was.
Shut up, I thought savagely. I didn’t want one of Louis-Cesare’s random memories intruding, especially not of some other woman. Not here, not now. This was mine.
I deliberately slipped, falling backward onto the bed and dragging him down on top of me. “Dorina—”
“You’re breathing heavy.”
“Vampires don’t breathe.”
I pressed up against him, and his breath caught in his throat. “Guess you’re right,” I said, and flipped him.
The high slit made it easy to straddle him. So I did, before running my hands down to the waist of his trousers again, and tugging his shirt loose. I liked the way his hands clenched on my arms as I unfastened his belt, the delightful tensing as my fingers slipped just inside his trousers.
He did nothing to help me, his own hands curved around my waist, softly stroking my skin through the silk. But he didn’t stop me, either. My hands smoothed around his hips, my fingers finding the dimples at the base of his spine.
They were a frivolous feature on such a body, like that overabundant fall of hair that he took such pains to keep in check, or the absurdly long lashes on that strong-boned face. It was as if his body had somehow known that the man was going to be a pile of contradictions, and had woven them into him, skin and bone and flesh. I stroked the small indentations lightly, feeling the muscles tighten underneath my tender exploration, before moving on.
A sweep of sinfully rich lashes against moon pale skin. A coy look, a flash of white teeth, as she slowly backed down his body. He needed to end this. But she was touching him, and it felt so good, just this, even this. More was going to kill him, and he wanted it, fiercely.
Louis-Cesare stared as if mesmerized as I slowly bent lower, close enough that he could feel my warm breath on him, yet he still didn’t move, didn’t try to stop me. I decided that was as much of an invitation as I was likely to get. The dark tailored slacks were skin-warm under my lips as I bent forward, mouthing the soft material and the hardness just beneath.
He wasn’t wearing anything under those trousers, and the wool was so fine that it felt like silk, more an enticement than a barrier. I outlined him with my tongue for a moment, watching with a kind of fascination as the trousers tightened impressively. It was an addictive kind of power, knowing I was doing this to him, shaping his body the way I wanted. I gave the tiniest of bites, and he made a sharp, startled sound and jumped against my lips.
“Dorina.” He sounded a little strangled.
“Don’t rush me,” I admonished. “You had your turn.”
He breathed in sharply. “I was trying to relax you!”
“Oh, is that what you were doing?” I asked, amused.
“Yes!”
“All right.” I let him have the lie. “Now shut up and let me return the favor.”
I wanted to torment him some more, but he was so teasingly close. My throat ached with wanting him; my tongue craved the intimacy of flesh. I slowly pulled down the zipper and peeled back the smooth material, freeing him. The sound he made as the cool air hit him was almost unbearably sensual. But not as much as the sight of him, thick and long and straight and perfect.