Broken Heart 01 I'm the Vampire, That's Why (18 page)

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"I fear, madam, that creation is mine." François smiled, his eyes twinkling. "You like?"

"Immensely." I picked up one of the notepads and scribbled out my list.

"So, the first thing we need to do is find Lorcan."

"Oh gawd," groaned Linda. "We're doomed. When Jessie starts making a list, she won't rest until every item is checked off." She fell forward onto the bed and punched the covers. Then she moaned melodramatically.

"Suck it up, woman. You've survived Christmas shopping with me at the mall, you can survive this."

Linda popped back up and rolled her eyes. "I barely survived. The only reason I never collapsed was because you kept me supplied in peppermint mochas."

"Whiner. Next, we need to find the asshole who attacked me and make sure he dies." I bit my lip. "I mean, um, make sure he doesn't try to kill anyone else."

And if he's dead, that problem is solved.

I heard that, a thaisce,
and I heartily agree
.

"Third on the list, is to find a cure for the disease." I tapped the end of the pen against the notepad.

"Then we need to figure out how to take out the Wraiths, too."

"Think you can put something on the list that we can actually accomplish?" asked Linda drolly.

"I need a whole separate list for the town. We have to make sure all the houses are emptied and the former residents are gone. We have to find merchants willing to run the necessary businesses. The most important task, of course, is setting up a school. The kids will need to keep to the same routine and they need an education. Then again, if we train 'em to sleep during the day and stay up all night, they're going to be ill-prepared for college." I thought about that. "Well, maybe it'll prepare 'em for college, but not the real world. They still gotta live in it even though we don't."

"There's alwaysLas Vegas , honey," said Linda. "OrAlaska . Right now, the kids are in the this-is-cool phase as we adjust to the nighttime schedule."

"Good point." I looked at the list. It was basic, but even though the tasks were daunting I felt better.

"Okay. Let's go get Lorcan."

Patrick's hand cupped the back of my head and tilted it back. His eyes were filled with merriment.

"Surely,
a thaisce
, you do not expect to simply go out and find Lorcan when the best trackers in the world are unable to catch his scent?"

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I blinked up at Patrick. "Well, no, I don't plan to go prancing through the woods and expect your brother to be waiting for me. But I thought I would just, you know, do the mind meld thing."

"What mind meld thing?" asked the twins.

I had everyone's attention, especially Patrick's. A knot tightened in my belly. "I showed you my memory.

Lorcan and I communicated mentally."

"Mon dieu! "

I looked at François. "What?"

"No one's been able to reach him," said Patrick. "Not even me. And yet you…" He frowned, obviously pondering why I could connect to his brother while he couldn't. Well, that made two of us.

"It takes a profound connection to reach into someone else's mind and communicate direct thought,"

explained Brigid. "Most vampires use energy to soften the will of others, to make them open to verbal suggestions. True compulsion and the ability to easily glamour are talents usually found in the Family Romanov."

"You mean you can't make people do things just because you're a vampire?" asked Linda.

"Each Family has its own strengths," said Brigid, her thoughtful gaze on Patrick. "A Family's particular powers are passed along to Turn-bloods, but it usually takes a century or two for a vampire to call upon and effectively wield those powers."

"The ability to glamour includes limited telepathy—to put suggestions into the victim's mind. However, it is also true that strong bonds, such as those created by mates, allows telepathic communication between vampires," added Patrick.

"We're not mates," I said, sounding churlish.

"Our bodies do not know that," Patrick said in a low voice. His brogue thickened with every word. "The binding is not yet performed, but the soul knows its other half. You belong to me, Jessica. And I to you."

"Oh gawd! He's such a dickhead," said Linda in a dreamy voice, "but I love the way he talks. So possessive and arrogant and yummy."

"Don't encourage him," I said. "He's bad enough as it is."

"Perhaps," said Brigid, who looked like a queen sitting on a royal throne instead of a garage-sale wing-back, "during the attack, you remembered things differently from how they really happened."

"Are you calling me a liar?" Outrage made me bristle. I sat up and shoved Patrick's arm off my shoulder.

Brigid only smiled. "I refer only to the idea that you were still under the glamour. Sometimes, its lingering effects cause faulty memories."

"Fine!" I snapped. "I'll prove it." I shoved off the covers and rolled over Patrick. I was wearing a decent
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nightgown, which meant Brigid probably picked it out. "Hel-lo. Meeting adjourned." I turned on my heel and hurried into my bathroom. I locked the door and leaned against it.

Patrick shimmered into being in front of me. His finger and thumb gently clamped my chin, tilting my face up so that I would look at him. His eyes were gorgeous. Mercurial with emotion. It amazed me how his gaze could seem so cold, like a sword point, or so hot, like molten silver.

"I like how you think about me," he said. "You make me feel…" He shrugged as if that careless gesture could replace the word he couldn't articulate.

"Actions always speak louder than words," I said. This was a piece of motherly advice I dispensed every day to my children. My mother had said the same thing to me growing up, only her phrase was:
If
you're gonna talk the talk, sweet pea, you better be able to walk the walk
.

Patrick's handsome face descended toward mine. He stopped when he was just a whisper away. "You have a beautiful mouth."

God, he was magnificent. Such harsh, sensual beauty. The luck of genetics and vampirism and gym time?

Who knew?

He watched me watching him and I knew he was probably in my head, listening in on my thoughts, my confusion. He grinned, just a little, and I knew that
rotten, ugly, fat troll
was reading my mind.

He laughed, unrepentant, and his breath plumed my lips. How the hell did he do that? How could he pretend to breathe? Or better yet,
why
did he pretend to breathe?

"You are getting distracted by unimportant details." He flicked his tongue over my lips. My thoughts suspended immediately. I focused on him, on his movements, and nearly died (again) from the want of it.

From the want of him.

His tongue traced the outline of my mouth. He dipped into the seam and licked across… and back again. This light teasing was an artist's rendering, a paint stroke against canvas.

My arms crept up his shoulders to wend around his neck. He gathered me closer still; his hands caressed my sides. Flames seemed to erupt wherever he touched despite the fact he hadn't made contact with my skin. His palms cupped my hips and there they stayed, clenching as if he were afraid to continue on.

Oh wow. Did he know how to make me melt or what?
You make me crazy, you know that? Drive me
stark raving bonkers
.

Then we are even. Kiss me, Jessica. Please.

'
Twas the please that caught my memory
. I sensed his confusion and sent a low laugh into his mind.

The Princess Bride
.

I didn't give him time to ponder the meaning of me quoting my all-time favorite movie. I pressed my lips to his. My tongue darted out, swiping his lower lip. He took the invitation, and apparently weary of skirting our lust, thrust his tongue inside my mouth.

Everything whirled away.

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Everything but Patrick.

He was merciless in his tongue-and-lips assault. He'd had centuries to perfect kissing. It was all I could do to keep up with his expertise, to meet each tender assault with one of my own. After a while, I surrendered to him, conquered by the intensity of my own need.

The man made my thighs quiver and his hands hadn't moved from my waist. An erotic all points bulletin went out to my body. My nipples answered the call immediately, tightening into aching peaks. My nightgown was thin and so was the shirt Patrick wore. He noticed the scraping of my breasts against his chest and let out a half-groan, half-growl.

I thought I knew what lust felt like. But the emotion whipping through me attested that anything I'd felt before this moment was just a shadow of longing, a desert shimmer of yearning. White-hot fire consumed me until I was only craven desperation. Primitive and animalistic.

Our mouths parted and met again and again.

"Just a little taste," he murmured.

"Yes," I agreed, though I didn't know to what. I would've gladly handed him the keys to my car, the deed to my house, the secret location of my Godiva stash. Anything he wanted as long he promised to stay right here and make me feel this way forever.

His lips left mine and I cried out in distress. He scorched a line down my throat. Yes. That's what he should do.
Bite me
. I went dizzy, my fingers digging into his shoulders. My fangs extended in anticipation though I had no intention of taking his blood.

Did I?

Do you see why we must bind? I wore the chains for you, céadsearc,
because I almost mated with you
that first night… I have not taken from you because I burn for you… I wanted you to have a
choice. Every day that I am near you… every day that I share your thoughts… it becomes more
difficult to resist you
.

I heard his words. I detected the urgent tone, too. But I didn't care. Patrick was my world. My whole, beautiful world.

His fangs sank into my neck. I felt pressure, not pain. His snarl vibrated against my skin as he drank. I clung to him, unable to stand, and felt the floor tilt under my feet.

My eyes closed as he tightened his grip. It was almost as if he wanted to join with me. Almost as if we were two halves that needed to be a whole. I tried to laugh away the insanity of that thought, but I couldn't. I had never felt this way. Not ever. This was not lust. Or love. Whatever bound Patrick and me was far greater than any emotion that could be named.

I should've been scared out of my wits.

Instead, I felt pre-orgasmic. My whole body tingled as if he'd spent hours touching and kissing my entire being into a sensual frenzy. An ache throbbed between my thighs and I moaned.

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Patrick knew that I teetered on release. He pushed up my nightie and slid his hand into my panties. He pinched my clit between his thumb and finger and sent a command into my mind:
Come for me
.

I did.

You know how you read in romance novels that a woman saw fireworks? Or stars? I'd never had that kind of orgasm. I figured that kind of delightful explosion was reserved for fictional heroines with perfect complexions and no cellulite on their thighs.

I was wrong.

Pleasure detonated from my core and flowed over me as thick and rich as the sweetest nectar. (I haven't had nectar, but it's a damned fine word to use here.)

Colors blasted behind my eyes. I rose up to the stars, basking in their heat and light and eternal beauty, until I floated back to Earth.

Patrick still had me clutched in his arms. He was trembling, his mouth against the spot where his fangs had pierced me. "Do you see?" he asked hoarsely. "Do you understand now?"

"Yes," I murmured. "Yes."

"Your scent drives me wild," he said. He licked my earlobe. "I smell your sex. Your need. If we were mates, I would kneel before you and worship you as a goddess. I would pierce your flesh and drink from you in a way no other ever has or ever will." His gaze was fierce silver… a warlord's armor glinting in the morning before battle. "I would taste you until your essence filled my mouth and your screams of pleasure filled my ears."

Okay, I admit it. His words were working some good mojo. I was getting wet again and he knew it. If my heart still had the ability to hammer, it would've driven right out of my chest. My fingernails dug into my thighs, a desperate attempt to keep from accepting those wicked promises.

"I have a present for you," he murmured. He held out his hand and a black holster appeared. Inside the loops on each side rested the Ruadan swords.

"Oh Patrick!" I was damned near giddy as he belted the holster around my nightgown.

"How does it fit?"

I did a hip wiggle. The leather stayed put. The swords tapped against my thighs. I walked toward the bathtub, then I turned quickly, whipping out the swords. They didn't snag. They felt good in my hands, like they belonged there. "This rocks!"

"Wear the swords when you go out. And practice!" Patrick chuckled, but his eyes were still filled with the need for the one thing I wasn't ready to give him. "I must go, love. Before I do something…

permanent."

In the blink of an eye he shifted to silver mist and before I could manage a response, he dissolved into nothingness.

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I marched out into the woods with the twins and Mr.-Get-The-Last-Word-In-And-Melt-Into-Thin-Air trailing behind me.

Patrick closed the distance between us; it was wide enough in this section of woods to walk side by side. His expression was bland, but I figured he was still feeling pissy. I know he didn't want me to jump into the binding. But I glimpsed his hunger for me, his need that went beyond anything else anyone had ever shown me. Was that love? Obsession? Infatuation?