Demon Mistress
Page 27

“I’ll stay with her,” Chase said. “If anything happens, I’ll wake Camille and . . .” He glanced at Morio and Smoky, both of whom were sitting by her side. “And you guys.”
“I’d feel better if you had somebody in the room who could hop over to the astral without waiting. Vanzir, sleep right outside Delilah’s door, if you would. We’ll fix up a cot for you. That way Chase can alert you before he has to run all the way down to the second floor.”
“No need for a cot,” he said. “I’m fine with a sleeping bag.”
“I’ve got one in my room,” Delilah said. “It’s got a lot of padding.”
Once we had things sorted out, Bruce and Iris, both of whom had listened silently to the whole discussion, slipped away to her bedroom. Smoky gathered up Camille and carried her up to her room, followed by Morio. Delilah and Chase headed upstairs behind them, Vanzir swinging in behind.
Rozurial sat there, watching as the room emptied. After a moment, we were the only two left in the kitchen. I had hoped it would work out this way. I looked over at him. Without a word, he stood and took off his duster. He draped it over one of the chairs, then put his hat on the table.
He looked so good—not terribly tall, but dark curls draping down his back, his pale face dusky with the faintest shadow of stubble. His muscles gleamed under the black tank, and his jeans fit snugly around thighs that promised they could wrap around me like no one else’s could.
Roz opened his arms, and I walked into his embrace as he leaned down, letting his lips linger against mine, holding me firmly.
“Take me,” I whispered, wanting to wipe away the images of the dead Sabele and the ashes that had been Claudette. “Take me, carry me away from myself. Get me out of my head.”
“My pleasure,” he whispered. And he led me into the parlor.
Though Rozurial knew I was scarred, as I slipped out of my jeans and top, I wondered what he would say. Would he grimace in that polite, concerned manner that people had when they caught sight of the marks Dredge had carved into my skin? Would he still want me? I folded my jeans over the edge of the sofa and turned around, ready to get it over with if he suddenly changed his mind.
But there he was, staring at me, delight and desire playing across his face. He slowly licked his lips, a twinkle in his eye cluing me in to the fact that, oh yes—despite my scars—Rozurial was going to lay his hands on me. And I wanted his hands on me. I wanted him to touch me.
He took a step forward, then paused. “Is there anything I should know?” he said quietly. “I’ve never bedded a vampire before. And I’ve never . . . I don’t know what triggers might bring up bad memories. Tell me what I shouldn’t do. Then tell me what you want me to do.”
His restraint surprised me. The scent of his pheromones was musky and overwhelming. I wanted to race across the room and straddle him, taking him down below me. I felt for my fangs, checking to see if they were extending, but all I felt were teeth. Normal teeth. Could it be that Vanzir was right? If I slept with demons, would it help me hold back my instincts to bite? I’d kissed Roz before, and I remembered wanting to drink from him, but something had shifted—something was different.
I thought over what he said. When I was with Nerissa, she knew instinctively what to do, and her instincts were very, very good. But I’d only been with one man since Dredge, and that had been during a ritual, so this was new territory for me. Almost as new as my very first time.
“Let me be on top until I’m comfortable with you,” I said. “Don’t ever hold my hands down. I can’t let myself be bound.”
“Okay,” Roz said, gently moving another step toward me. “What about touching you? Anywhere off-limits?”
Tilting my head, I swallowed as he ran his gaze over me. “Don’t trace over where he carved his name on me. Don’t give it importance.”
And I showed him, then, where Dredge had used one intensely sharp fingernail to write his name in my flesh across my mound of Venus. He’d laughed and said, “I own you. You belong to me,” and I’d known that I’d never be free from him. The scar was eternal, and there was no way to get rid of it. If I’d been alive, perhaps plastic surgery, but it wouldn’t work on me in vampire form. Nerissa had suggested a tattoo, and I was researching the idea to see how tattoos reacted on vampires.
Roz glanced at the scar, his gaze lingering for a moment before he shook his head. “He’s dust and ashes, in the grips of his master. Nobody owns you now. No matter what scars you bear, no matter what world you walk in. You belong to yourself, Menolly. That’s one of the things I love about you. You’re a warrior. You don’t flinch. You do what you need to, and you answer to no one.”
And then he slid off his boots and drew his tank over his head. His chest gleamed with a thatch of curly dark hair running down the center, lightly dappling his abs. I had never seen him without a shirt, and his wide-set shoulders were honed, tight and rounded with muscle.
He reached for his belt buckle and shook his head when I would have helped him. “Let me undress for you.” He unbuckled the silver latch and drew the belt out of the loops, the sound of leather sliding on denim sending a shiver through me. He dropped it next to his shirt. And then his fingers were on his fly, and he unzipped, pushing his jeans down his thighs to the floor before stepping out of them.
I found myself suddenly shy. If I could have blushed, I would have, but instead, I chanced a look out of the corner of my eye. Rozurial stood there, a bodybuilder without extremes, his V-waist perfectly balancing out his shoulders and thighs, and at that tip of that delicate V, his cock stood ready, at attention, thick and throbbing. Mesmerized, my gaze climbed to meet his eyes. Passion rolled off of him with the promise of sweet honey wine on a warm night.
“It’s true what they say. Even I can feel it. No wonder men hate you.” I could see it in his eyes. Women would throw themselves at his feet, legs open, welcoming him in. And they wouldn’t regret it. “How many women have pined for you, after you left them?”
Roz shrugged. “I don’t know. I won’t lie to you. You know what I am. Over the past seven centuries I’ve had thousands of women. I’ve kissed them and fucked them and left them begging for more. I love women, Menolly,” he said softly. “All types of women. Tall, short, thin, fat, young, old . . . it doesn’t matter. I crave them. That’s what I am. That’s who I am. I have no choice; this is my nature. The only kind of women that I don’t find attractive are those who are timid, who wait for a man to make them feel whole.”
“I know. Just like . . . this is my nature.” I opened my mouth slightly and willed my fangs to unfurl. He watched, unafraid, unmoving. “I drink blood. I charm and seduce my way into feeding on my dinner. Vanzir was right; all demons are takers, aren’t they?”
“But we also give,” Roz said, and then he was standing only a few inches away, his breath soft against my skin. “Let me give to you. And you . . . I want you to give yourself to me. Let’s find out where this takes us?”
I nodded, then. He wrapped me in his arms, lifting me up, and my lips were fastened on his. I retracted my fangs and fully kissed him, my tongue sliding into his mouth as he pressed against me, his cock a rigid soldier. Roz lowered me to the ground, and the world blurred.
He darted across my body with his lips, butterfly kissing me as he swung around, lowering himself to let me fasten my mouth around him. I sucked deeply, the shaft of flesh sliding in and out between my lips, the taste of salt lingering in my mouth. As he moaned, a surge of power raced through me, and I licked harder, teasing the tip of his penis with my tongue as he forced himself to keep a steady pace.
Roz kissed my stomach, my chest, my nipples, between my thighs, his tongue cajoling me to fly. He was so different from Nerissa—not better, not worse—just different.
With a quick turn, he was suddenly above me, hands on my waist, flipping me over as he rolled beneath me. I climbed atop him, clasping his hands in my own to balance myself.
“Menolly,” he whispered. “Ride me—ride me hard.”
And so I did, my hips grinding down on him, as he thrust up to meet my descent. In silence, he bucked, raising me up, and I let my constant control slip away. I couldn’t hurt him the way I could Nerissa—at least, not nearly so easily. My fangs stayed safely put. I closed my eyes as we rocked on the floor, my knees scraping the rug. And then, we were there—poised, ready for flight, and I realized that whatever else might be true, Rozurial and I were well-matched.
I shook away the thought and let myself slide, and the slide became a cascade, which became a raging river that raced to the edge, tumbling into the chasm. And for once, I let the current claim me without a fight.
CHAPTER 21
I shot to a sitting position, suddenly waking to sunset as the realization that someone was in the room with me filtered into my thoughts. Her heartbeat echoed with the continual pulse of the blood in her veins. Every scent was heightened, her pheromones, her passion, the scent of the hamburger she’d had for lunch. A ravenous thirst welled up in my throat, and the craving for blood swirled in my thoughts. I wanted to chase, to hunt, to—
“Hey, you’re awake.” Camille was sitting in the corner, reading the paper. She flashed me a big smile as I shook myself out of my thoughts and forced myself to take a long breath, holding it for five beats as I slowly settled into myself. She must have heard me, because she said, “Thirsty? I’m sorry—I didn’t know when you last drank, or I wouldn’t have waited for you.”
As I brought myself under control, I gave her a wan smile in return. “I should have had a drink before I slept this morning. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you.” I smiled. I’d been so occupied with Rozurial, I’d forgotten to take a drink before sleeping—something I always tried to remember. Because what had happened years before might just happen again if I wasn’t careful.
A year after the OIA helped me regain my sanity, they decided that I’d developed enough self-control and allowed me to return home to live. Father wasn’t pleased, but he’d allowed it. Where Delilah and he tiptoed around me, Camille accepted me back like nothing had happened. Or rather, like something had happened, but it was time to move on.
When I first returned home, none of us were used to all of the changes that were happening to me. Transitioning into a vampire takes time. Oh, the initial change is fairly quick, but learning the ropes can take years, especially when your sire’s kicked you out into the world on your own.
One evening, Camille came in to see if I was up yet. She was standing right near the bed as I woke, thirsty and longing for the taste of blood in my mouth, and in my passion and thirst for blood, I didn’t recognize her.
I grabbed her arm, dragging her toward me, raking the snowy white skin with my nails. As she screamed, I lowered myself to her wounds and began to suck hard, lapping at the sweet and salty taste of her life force.
“Menolly! Menolly!”
All it had taken were two cries to pull me out of my trance. The sight of her, bleeding and terror-stricken, stopped me short. Camille had saved me from killing the family. Camille had done her best to make me feel like part of the family still. And now, Camille was in my grasp, long gashes ragged and red on her arm and my chin was wet with her blood.
I dropped her wrist and slowly scooted back, cowering on my bed.
“Stake me. Just stake me now, before I hurt one of you.” The smell of her blood was still calling me, but I pushed it away.
She wouldn’t listen. “No. You can learn control. And I should have known better,” she said, crossing the room to wrap a linen towel around her wounds. “Next time, I won’t stand close enough for you to grab. How long do you need when you wake up?”
“What are you talking about?” I asked dully.
“How long do you need before you remember where you are?”
I thought about it, eyeing her closely. She looked nervous but not repulsed. And her expression told me she still loved me. “I don’t know. A couple minutes. But I can’t jump out of bed immediately. By the time I can stand up, I know where I am.”
“So if I stay across the room, by the time you can get out of bed, you’ll know it’s me,” she said as if it was all settled. “I’ll tell everyone that the OIA let us know this would be safest. That way we don’t have to explain how we found out.”
I tried to protest, but she waved me off.
And from then on, nobody ever stood next to my bed when I was due to wake. And I’d never hurt anyone I loved again.
Camille still bore the scars from where I’d ripped her forearm, but she never used them against me. She told Father that she got them on the fence he erected to keep the deer out of the garden. The fence came down the next day. Delilah knew better, but Camille threatened to take away her catnip if she said anything. And to this day, Father still didn’t know that I’d attacked Camille.
“How are your burns?” I asked.
She shrugged. “Healing. Most were superficial, and while they ache, I’ll be fine. Sharah’s tegot tincture works like a charm.” As she spoke, she shifted her skirt so I could see her legs. They still looked bright pink, but she was healing up quickly. “Nerissa called,” she added.
I glanced up at her, my heart thudding. I waited for a wave of guilt, but none came. What Roz and I’d done together didn’t negate my feelings for Nerissa, just as I knew what she did with Venus the Moon Child or any other male lover wouldn’t negate her feelings for me.