Entwined With the Dark (9 page)

For now that was progress and it would just have to do.

Marie executed spin after spin, her body flying through the air a foot above ground. Spin fighting is not an inherent Nosferatin skill, but because of our abilities, our speed and natural grace, we can master the movement and make it look beautiful. Nero had been exquisite when he danced through the air, like poetry in motion. It had taken some time for me to master the move, but I used it frequently now with great success. It could go wrong, and it had on occasion for me, but it was a sight to behold. Often one that caught your opponent off guard, stunned them enough to give you the upper hand. And when performed with our preternatural speed, it
was
stunning.

Marie hadn't quite reached that stage but she was making definite progress. Her feet left the grass, her ankles crossed, her body spinning with a grace she didn't normally possess. Her arms outstretched like a ballerina. She needed more practice on her landing and that would be where her opponent would attack. But for now, she was making steady progress and I felt for the first time a sense of pride. I hadn't considered that would be possible. Until now she had been nothing more than annoying side-kick I had to suffer under the orders of Arthur Pencarrow.

All of a sudden I felt invested in her success. All of a sudden I wanted to see her be the best she could possibly be.

After fifteen minutes of this we moved on to spin fighting under attack. I played the role of attacker, Marie had to avoid my assault by spinning away. Nataliya sat by watching with interest, while Sergei had a quiet conversation with Matthew inside. He could see us through the kitchen window and could respond to a genuine problem immediately should one arise. Marie was nervous having an audience, but considering the type of situations we find ourselves in as hunters, I thought a couple of
friendly
vampires watching was a good idea.

I am particularly fast for a Nosferatin. I'm not sure if that is because of who I am, the Prophesied, or just that I have been doing this longer than Marie. But I did have to temper my speed, to allow Marie an opportunity to escape. Boosting her confidence wherever I could. But, a rogue would not be as reasonable, so after half an hour of this, I picked up pace. The more pressure I put on her, the more errors she made. It wasn't long before I conceded she was tiring and we took a short break.

We'd been at it an hour and normally I'd call it quits at that. Marie had done admirably but still needed a lot of work if she wished to survive. Her attitude had also improved, was that because mine had? I wasn't sure. But she was willing to push herself further and insisted we try a reversal of roles. She would be the attacker, spinning to land a blow on me.

"OK, but just for five or ten minutes," I conceded, when she'd brow beaten me mercilessly for quite some time.

I smiled at her enthusiasm and prepared for her first attack. It wasn't smooth and she gave her intentions away, so I offered critique and instructions on how to improve and she lapped it up with eager grace. I couldn't believe the change in our relationship, from yesterday to today. Had I really had that bad an attitude? I cringed at that thought, knowing it to be unfortunately true.

It was because of that, that I was distracted and she managed to land an excellent blow. Mid stomach, winding me and causing my body to fly backwards through the yard. I landed with a thump, unable to catch my breath. I was stunned, but ecstatic at her progress. I couldn’t find the breath to tell her so.

"What the fuck?" Nataliya exclaimed, rushing to my side. "Mistress!" she rolled me over and helped me sit up. She looked alarmed and concerned in equal measure. Her gaze covering my face and lingering on my belly.

My heart missed a beat at the realisation of why she was so upset. If I was pregnant a blow to the stomach, like I had just received, would not be good. Bile rose up my throat as nausea took a hold of my body, then without even realising it, I cradled myself. The image of a mother protecting her unborn child within.

I registered the shock on Marie's face, mixed with a dawning horrific comprehension and before I had a chance to explain, to cover, to misdirect, Michel appeared at my side.

At the sight of my one true kindred I lost all hold on my dignity and burst into body wrenching sobs. The last 48 hours catching up with me. His absence. The fight lost to the rogue. The confrontation with the
Nathair
-
Sgiathach
. The All Mighty Master of London City. Arthur Pencarrow's ultimatum. Aliath's return with news of Lutin's escape. And the Prophesy.

It was the new Prophesy and the consequences of it being true that made me sob harder. Lost dreams found again, tainted in the filth of that fairy.

Michel knelt down beside me and wrapped me in his arms, his face nestled in my hair as he inhaled deeply, whispering, "Hush," over and over again. I clung to him for dear life. I clung to him in case he left again. I clung to him and refused to let him go.

He lifted me easily in his arms and carried me inside, pulling me onto his lap as he sat on the sofa in Samson's front room. Marie hovered nearby, Nataliya flashing the odd look of anger in her direction, but I could neither reassure Marie nor chastise Nataliya at all. I was lost to my emotions, lost to my grief and fear and confusion, and I couldn't find my way out.

Finally Michel said something to Marie, who left with her bottom lip firmly clenched between her teeth. Nataliya took a seat in the corner, surreptitiously ignoring Michel and myself, and purposefully ignoring Michel's request that she leave altogether. Sergei was nowhere to be seen, but I knew he wouldn't be far. And Matthew and Kathleen were doing what they do best, following their Master's desires and needs without having to be asked.

I don't know how long I sat there, but I finally managed to register something other than Michel's Armani suit lapels fisted in my hands. His scent wrapping around my body. His warmth coating me in comfort. His hands running through my hair, down my neck and over my back, in a repetitive motion designed to soothe.

I noticed his pale skin first. He had not fed recently. Then I noticed a mark on his neck, hidden at first by the collar of his crisp white shirt, but with my attempts to attach myself to him bodily, the collar had slipped and there it was. A jagged mark that could only mean one thing. He had been injured and he hadn't had the time or adequate
Sanguis Vitam
to heal it yet.

I pulled back and quickly undid his tie, releasing the top button of his shirt. He tried to stop me, but I refused to let his hands slow me down. With panic and utter fear I searched his torso for more marks. There didn't appear to be any, just the one on his neck, but that was enough. It was six or seven centimetres long and in a puckered, pink line. Whatever had sliced him had not been smooth nor sharp. I dreaded to think what it could have been.

My eyes lifted to his, a small smattering of amethyst and violet swirled in their beautiful depths. He held my gaze but didn't say anything, the moment stretched. I cocked my head and raised my eyebrows in a questioning manner, but he still remained tight lipped.

"Are you better,
ma douce
?" he asked in an even voice.

I shook my head at his obvious refusal to discuss his injury, yet another thing he wouldn't or couldn’t confide. I had no way of knowing what transpired on these
missions
he carried out for the Champion. I had asked and been met with a blank wall time and time again. He suffered it all in silence, refusing to let me in. But there was something in his reactions that made me think it was more a case of couldn't, than wouldn't, let me in. Still, my suspicions were just that and so far I had been unable to confirm or deny them.

I was not about to give up though. We had been through a lot, he and I, and part of that was because I had been too concerned with my own emotional wellbeing to break down his barriers and lead him back to the Light. I had also thought him dead for two months. Nothing could compare to
that
time. So no, I was not going to give up on this, but I also knew Michel would not discuss a thing with Nataliya still in the room.

I turned to my vampire who raised her head and met my eyes instantly.

"Can you wait outside the door please, Nataliya." She hesitated, but must have seen something in my eyes, because she nodded silently and glided from the room. The door clicked shut softly behind her.

I turned back to Michel to be greeted with a frustrated sigh. He lifted me off his lap and placed me gently on the couch and then made himself at home at Samson's drinks cabinet.

"You prefer it here, do you not,
ma douce
?" he asked, once he had filled his glass with whiskey.

I ignored his effort to divert the conversation and stood on still shaky legs and walked towards him. The look on his face could have been considered comical under any other circumstance. It was a mixture of wariness, stubbornness and resignation. He looked like a cornered animal, determined to fight to the end, but aware it would probably do him no good at all. Michel knew I was like a dog with a bone when I got an idea in my head. And right now I wanted him to talk to me, to share his concerns, to share the burden that the Champion had placed on his shoulders.

"It will do you no good,
ma douce
," he said between sips of his drink. He'd obviously decided to address the issue head on. I smiled a knowing smile, one that I was sure matched his when the roles were reversed. He wasn't leaving this room until he confessed.

I ran my finger slowly over his new scar. It wouldn't be permanent, as soon as he fed it would heal and disappear. I had every intention he would feed soon, but not before I got some answers.

"Don't fight me, Michel. You know you have no chance of a win."

His lips quirked slightly at the edges, his eyes flashed a little magenta, but he just took another sip of his drink and watched me steadily.

"I need to know, Michel," I said softly, still stroking his scar, back and forth. "I can't stand being kept in the dark." I smiled at my use of words. If there was one being in the universe who couldn't stand the Dark, it was me.

My finger left his scar and of its own accord traced a path to his pulse point. Its steady rhythm leapt at my touch, his eyes closed briefly, a look of longing mixed with pain graced his handsome face, and then his free hand - the one not wrapped around a whiskey glass - came up and stilled my fingers.

"
Ma douce
," he pleaded, a sound full of pain.

I swallowed past the lump in my throat, closed my own eyes to stop the shed of threatening tears and willed the part of me that is Michel's vampire mate to behave. I could no longer drink his blood, even though we both wished for that exact thing, I was not Bonded to him now. His blood would be detrimental to me. But I wasn't sure if his plea right now was for that, or for me to stop this current line of attack.

I stifled a sob and took a quick step away, placing distance between us that only seemed to amplify that which already existed in our attempts to communicate of late.

I watched him down the last of his drink and fill the glass again in vampire speed. I was tempted to join him, but for some reason abstained. Finally he lifted his eyes to mine and I sucked in a breath at what I saw in their depths. Longing. Pain. Hunger. It didn't fail to register that those were the same emotions that were rioting through me. Add confusion into the mix and we'd be mirror images. Locked in our tortuous existence, unable to escape.

I sat back down on the couch, suddenly all fight within lost. I loved this man more than life itself. I would fight to the end of the world for him. I would give up everything I possessed, everything that meant anything to me. I would do what he needed without a second thought. I would lie and cheat, steal and beg. I would deny myself Light, if it meant he would stay and would be OK.

But I would not push him on this. He had his reasons for not confiding in me, although it angered me - and I admit, hurt - I would not push. Maybe he wished to keep me safe. Maybe he wanted to protect me from the evils that now existed in his world, in the role he performed for the
Iunctio
. Maybe he couldn't open up at all. Whatever the reasons, I would honour him for a little longer, but I would not let go without at least making sure he knew I was here. He is my lifeline, I plan on being his when the need arises. And I had a feeling that need would definitely arrive one day.

"I'm here if you need me, if you change your mind and want to talk. It doesn't matter what you say, I will not run, I will not turn away." My voice cracked a little at the end, his face fell. I shook
my head and blinked my eyes rapidly, determined to get it all out. "I don't care when, or even how, but I will always be here for you. Sometimes sharing the burden eases the load."

There I'd said it and I had no idea if it was what he wanted or needed to hear. If I had even interpreted the situation correctly. Maybe he'd just had a charm placed on him and couldn't discuss the experiences he'd had. Maybe they weren't nearly as harrowing as I had thought. I could have got it all completely wrong. Michel has lived a long time without someone to share his life with. Maybe he just has no need of my assistance, my unconditional love - like I do his.

I didn't know and suddenly I felt unsure. I placed my hands in my lap and started wringing them, my head down staring vacantly into space.

Michel's weight on the sofa beside me made my body shift. He didn't say anything for a moment, he didn't reach for me which only made my heart weep. Then after several moments of unwelcome silence, he leaned over and ran a finger down my cheek, then followed it up with a soft caress of his lips. His nose resting against my face, his finger continuing its movement down over my lips, my jaw, my throat, to finally rest above the mounds of my breasts.

Then taking me completely by surprise he lifted my T-shirt neckline forward and peered down my top.

I let a huff of breath out. Michel had always been a boob man, right from the start. He clearly couldn't talk to me about all of this, all of what I had been trying to get him to reveal, so he handled it in the only way he knew how. Distraction. For himself and for me.

"Lovely," he murmured burying his face in the crease of my breasts.

His arms wrapped around me, one around my waist, the other up into my hair. He lay kisses across my décolletage, up towards my chin. Then he fisted his hand in my hair gently and tilted my head to the side.

"It has been three days,
ma douce
. Are you well enough for me to feed?"

As with me drinking from him, there were restrictions now for him feeding from me. He could now only feed from me every two to three days. Any closer together and I would become addicted to his bite. Usually he would allow me to visit Avery before feeding from me again, I was always stronger when the joining was reinforced. But right now I did not think of caution. I did not think of taking care. I threw my head back exposing my long neck and pulled his body in next to mine.

He moaned, licked above my pulse and slid his fangs in. The first pull of my blood brought a sense of happiness and wellbeing, along with his desire to keep me safe. I think he intended to consolidate his reasons for not communicating with me. Enforcing the safety line through his emotions that poured down the connection of his bite. I was momentarily relieved to feel that excuse, if he was trying to keep me safe, then it wasn't because he didn't need me. On the contrary, it was because he couldn't bear the thought of me being harmed.

Then I became aware of my responding emotion, determination to break through this barrier he had set and get him to confide. I was sure I could help him; ease his worries, share the load. I wanted that connection, that total open communication that would mean there was nothing left to hide. I yearned for that closeness with him, that trust, that dependence. He knew everything there was to know about my life and me, I wanted the same from him.

He groaned as if in distress. Perhaps he was receiving my emotions back through the bite, and then he changed the pace of the feeding, ramping up the intimacy of the moment. Spilling it over into a lust and hunger for my body that was very much wanted. But also a little familiar, when he was trying to divert my attention from a place he did not want my mind to dwell.

Sometimes I felt like Michel used his body to sway me. Hell, he definitely could sway me with a simple look or touch. But it was at these times when delicate conversation was under way, that he would blind-side me with my body's natural reaction to his. He would use my desire against me and steal all cognitive thought, making argument an impossibility and my memory of the topic lost.

His hands roamed freely and without a defence. I succumbed to his touch, his influence, his desire. I moaned and writhed beneath his ministrations, I floated in the euphoria of his bite. I longed for more, my body burning, my breaths uneven, my heart beating at an altogether ridiculously rapid pace. I was so lost to this man. I craved him. I lusted after him. I wanted him with every fibre of my soul.

Until he stopped feeding, licked the bite wound closed and his influence evaporated like rainwater in the sun.

Anger rushed back in, cleansing my body from the recent onslaught of delicious emotions, causing confusion and further upset in my mind. Every single time we tried to talk lately, he'd steer the conversation to this. Not really steer, he'd rail-road it, obliterate it, attempt to divert all thought from what we had just been trying to discus. I was so tired of not making headway on this. And, actually, a little irate that he'd resort to sex to distract me from my goal.