By My Side ... (A Valentine's Day Story) (19 page)

"There is wine on the chest.
Bring it here." His voice was still as calm and expressionless as
it had been when he greeted her.

She had no idea why she said
what she did say in answer and in the moment she did speak, she
wanted to take it back: "I am not your servant!"

The silence of the room wrapped
around her like a vice. She could not look at him; instead her eyes
were drawn to the glass on the chest and the dark, red liquid of
the wine -- liquid almost as dark as blood.

"There are three little girls
in the room your brother is entering just now."

He did not have to say more.
The words cut through her, and sh e closed her eyes in pain.

"How?"

"I have known for three
months"

They had arrived in town only
three months ago, and for the whole time, she had been relieved and
happy that they seemed to go undiscovered for such a long time.

"Why?" Why had he allowed her
to have that hope? To be free for another three months when the
outcome had been so clear?

"There had not been any need
before tonight."

No need to bring her in before
the only night each year in which a bond could be effected. She was
defeated.

She had started to move towards
the wine, even before he continued to speak:

"The longer you obey me,
absolutely, the longer they will be safe."

No contest.

The glass was large and her
hands not too steady when she brought it over to him. He took it
wordlessly and placed it on the table, the light of the fire behind
it playing through the liquid, turning it into a goblet of mystery.
Her eyes were caught by it, caught and held, as she stood naked in
front of his chair and felt his eyes playing over her too thin, too
scarred body.

When she finally looked at him
she was surprised not to see his gaze fixed on the marks other men,
other vampires, had left on her - or even on her breasts, which
were the only part of her body where the constant hunger seemed to
leave little sign. No, his eyes were on her face, and met hers with
an expression she could not identify. She could not blame him; a
man like him, she supposed, rarely found himself faced with the
necessity to bed such an unappealing woman. She expected him to
speak, or drink from the wine she had brought him. Instead he
reached for her hands and pulled her closer, close enough for her
feet to touch his and then, nudging her legs apart, pulled her even
closer. When her legs touched the velvet upholstery of the chair,
he transferred his hands to her knees.

"Kneel."

Her mind was not fast enough to
translate the order into action, so he applied light pressure to
her legs and guided them up on the chair. She found herself
straddling him on the chair, his hands around her waist, settling
her to sit on his lap. She noticed that his large hands easily
spanned her thin waist so that his thumbs met over her belly. Not
sure where to rest her own hands she let them come to lay on the
armrests of the chair.

The black wristbands stood out
in stark contrast on her pale skin. He let go of her waist and
lifted her right hand for closer inspection, then he found the
simple closure that held the band and pulled it off. However much
she tried to control her reaction, her whole body still jerked. He
had revealed her ultimate humiliation. These were not the scars
left by countless teeth tearing into her, like those found on her
neck. Her throat she could hide from the world with a playful scarf
and, most importantly, those were marks of her resistance, her
fight. The marks shielded by her wristbands were the scarred gouges
the chains had left on them as she fought, as she ripped her skin
and flesh to the bone in a desperate attempt to escape. They were
marks of shame, of a fight lost against herself. He said no words,
not as he removed the other band, nor as he settled her hands back
on the armrests and his own around her waist.

Only then did he speak: "Pick
up the wine and take a sip."

"I don't drink." She had been
surprised by his words, surprised enough to once again be startled
into speaking without thinking.

His eyes remained
expressionless, as was his voice when he spoke again: "It was not a
request."

One night of absolute obedience
for the safety of the girls.

She reached for the glass and
took a small sip. As she tried to put it back down, his hands
tightened on her waist and her attention was brought back to him
mid-movement.

"I am thirsty, too."

She offered him the glass, but
he shook his head and remarked: "My hands are full."

To illustrate this fact he
began to paint little half circles over her belly with his thumbs.
She tried to offer the glass to his lips but he shook his head
again.

"Not like this." Now there was
a hint of amusement in his eyes and a twitch to his lips. Instead,
she tried to offer her wrist, but that simply made him raise an
eyebrow.

"How then?" She herself heard
the desperation in her voice and tried to suppress it, tried to
make the cold rise further.

"Take a sip and hold it in your
mouth."

She was still not entirely sure
where this was leading but was starting to have an idea. She tried
to lean forward to feed him the wine but his hands still kept her
from him.

"Set down the glass first, then
let me drink from your mouth."

Carefully she put down the
glass before leaning forward. In her haste and nerves she parted
her lips before touching his and spilled most of the wine down her
chin and his neck. She froze in terror, aware of the strength in
the hands around her waist and the sharp teeth entirely too close
to her. His lips parted and his tongue snaked out to lazily lap at
the liquid dripping down her lips and chin. Only as he had cleaned
her thoroughly did he allow her to move back enough to meet his
still expressionless gaze. Her eyes fell to his mouth and the
spilled wine painting his neck and shirt red. She could still see
small droplets caught in the less-even skin of his cheeks.

"Clean it!"

There was not even a hint of a
question in her mind, he meant her to use her own mouth for the
task. The first flick of her tongue was tentative at best, barely a
touch, but when he simply moved his head to allow her more access
she became bolder. The taste of his skin, mixed with the taste of
red wine, filled her mouth - unidentifiable, subtle and strange. As
her tongue reached his neck, his arousal grew impossibly large
underneath her. She shied back - feeling stupid immediately. It was
inevitable where this evening would lead. For an ErGer to bond, the
mind needed to be broken open as only sex did - and her own body
would force it soon enough. In her experience, he had shown more
patience than any other. Every Lord ever acquiring her, either
because her brother had sold her to them or because they had
tracked her down out of their own accord, had taken her blood and
body within minutes of their acquaintance. What was the point
otherwise? A bond with an ErGer doubled power levels for them as
well as giving the Lord and his dependents a more elusive
advantage, a feeling of home, of safety and well-being rarely found
in a predatory society. All, they needed to do was break her mind
with blood or sex.

He had not moved at all as she
shied back, still presenting his neck for her tongue, and holding
her waist between his stroking fingers, but his eyes were not
expressionless anymore - they were hot and burning. Yes,
indubitably, she was being stupid. She knew exactly what this would
lead to, but if she could push the time it would happen in a little
farther away.... Kathryn bent to return to her duty. She had
reached his collarbone, had had to nose the soiled shirt out of her
way when a knock sounded on the door. She gasped and his hands
softly guided her back upright. She could feel her own eyes huge in
her face and her breath coming fast, but she could not help it; she
knew this was it - this was the moment when his people would come
to hold her down, to await the time when they could take their
turns with her body after he was done with her. If she was lucky,
she would not outlive the night - but she was never that lucky and
they were never that careless.

His eyes had turned
expressionless again as he held her gaze and answered:

"Enter!"

She heard the door but did not
dare turn. No matter what danger came from behind, the largest
danger remained firmly in front of her. With every approaching step
she heard, her throat tightened more, the speed of her breaths
increased. She did not want to show fear, but it was impossible to
suppress the rising terror. In those deep blue eyes holding her
capture a new emotion rose, something close to worry, close to
confusion, definitely concern. None of these emotions were even
remotely reassuring. She could feel the tightness of her chest
foreshadowing the rising hyperventilation she could not control,
when a voice sounded close behind her.

"Milord, everything is arranged
to your satisfaction."

Her nerves were so tense, so
frayed, her body jerked at the tenor of the voice, instinctively,
her body cringed away from the pale hand setting a plate piled high
with cheese and grapes on the table. At her reaction, a man stepped
from behind her to the side, into her field of vision, and she
realised it was one of the twins. Only one. One man - she could
survive only one. Her breath calmed, the involuntary shakes of her
body abating almost from one moment to the next. Kathryn felt their
eyes on her, felt their answering tension, their vigilance. Not
even the smallest twitch, the smallest change in her body, escaped
their notice. Only with the minute relaxation of her fear, did the
men relax their intense concentration.

"Thank you, Brandon."

"My pleasure, Milord." He bowed
to his liege and then, to her surprise, to her: "Milady."

She did not hear him leave, but
the sound of the latch was loud and somewhat final as it fell close
this time.

"I am still thirsty."

His demand brought her back to
the task at hand, sharpened her concentration, her mind on him
anew. She reached for the glass anew and took a sip into her mouth.
As she leant close, she was frightened her nerves would betray her,
that she would again spill the wine too soon - but before she had
the chance, he closed the last distance between them and opened his
lips beneath hers. When she let the wine from her mouth run into
his, she felt him swallow, felt his tongue lap at her lips, never
forcing its way into her mouth. When she moved away he did not hold
her back, though his tongue licked over his lips as if to savour
the last drop of wine he could.

"Take another sip."

She did and held it in her
mouth whilst setting the glass down again.

When she turned to him, he
grinned almost boyishly and said: "Now swallow."

The smooth and heavy wine slid
down her throat, pooling comfortably warm in her belly, just
underneath his hypnotically stroking fingers. She was not used to
alcohol. It was not a good habit to acquire when you were
constantly on the run - as Paul was a good example of. Even with
only these two sips in her she thought she felt warm languidness
rising in her joints.

"Choose something."

It was an unmistakable order.
He indicated the plate with a movement of his chin. She wanted so
bad to take some cheese. Cheese was expensive and therefore a
rarity in her world, a rarity which, if found, was normally saved
for the children. But she was afraid, she would not be able to keep
it down so she reached for one of the grapes, but it was taken from
her before she could raise it to her mouth. He held it between his
long fingers, waited for her attention to return to him, before
offering the grape to her lips.

Holding his gaze, her lips
tried to take the fruit from his hand, the cold, sweetness a
counterpoint to the warmth of the fingers so close. She tried to
take the fruit from him without touching those fingers, without
tasting the skin so strangely alluring. His fingers refused to let
go, forcing her to bite the ripe grape in two. The juice spurted
down his hand, the smell an somehow weaving seamlessly into the
basic nature of his presence in the room. She was so mesmerised by
the path the juice took along his skin, she swallowed her half of
the grape without due attention to the delicacy.

He waited patiently, not even
with the bat of an eyelash did he betray any reaction, simply
offered the other half of the grape to her lips. This time she
savoured the taste of the fruit. When she had swallowed the piece,
he held his fingers to her mouth and ordered:

"Clean it."

Her tongue caught the sticky
juice trail across his palm from wrist to fingers. His skin had a
salty taste, almost smoky and, to her surprise, showed signs of
callouses. He was not satisfied with her ministrations.

"All of it."

His hand was warm and heavy in
hers as she took it to allow her better access. The skin between
his fingers was so much softer, his taste so much stronger. It
exploded in her mouth, mixed with the sweetness of the fruit. It
was so easy to get lost in this simple task, to forget what would
come. It was so easy to simply do what she was told, even though
she expected some form of punishment each time she moved. She had
long since learnt not to expect reason for punishments and
cruelties.

But he simply sat back in his
chair, watching her with those enigmatic eyes, the long limbs below
hers spread in studied relaxation. When his hand had lost the last
traces of stickiness, his eyes were blue slits and it was
his
breath coming in pants. She had no
idea what she should do, what reaction might provoke him, so she
simply froze. Gently, he extricated his hands from between hers and
returned them to her waist.