Knight of Wands (Knights of the Tarot Book 1) (17 page)

Outrage over the faery queen’s cruelty erupted inside Vanessa. “She abducts wounded men, forces them to breed with her, and then subjects them to unspeakable tortures if they happen to impregnate her with a boy?”

“Aye, exactly.”

“But, but—that’s madness!”

“Aye,” he said, “and Belphoebe agreed—the reason she helped me escape.”

Remembering what he’d said earlier, Vanessa asked, “By telling the queen you were dead?”

“Aye, and producing the heart of a boar to back up her story. Then, on Samhain, I waited for Morgan and the rest to ride out, assumed the form of a sea lion, and made my way back to Barrogill.”

“Wait a minute,” Vanessa said, surprised. “You can change into an animal?”

“Aye. Using ancient magic, I can turn myself into any sort of creature I choose.”

Remembering her encounter with the lion, she exclaimed, “Oh, my God. The lion I saw in the garden was you!”

“It was…out hunting to reduce the temptation to drink your blood.”

“Drink my blood?” she repeated, intrigued. “What’s that like?”

“Very erotic, actually.”

* * * *

Vanessa, who’d fantasized about giving herself to a vampire since reading
Twilight
in high school, was excited by the prospect of Callum drinking her blood. Crossing to the tall chest, she picked out a corset, a matching thong, and a pair of thigh-high stockings. As she put everything on, he watched with a scorching gaze that made her feel like a gazelle in the sights of a hungry lion. It also made her feel incredibly desirable.

Deciding to put on some high heels to enhance the effect, she went to the armoire, pulled out an especially slutty pair, and slipped them on before parading past him like a runway model.

“Well?” she said, turning to show him all angles. “What do you think?”

“Nothing,” he said, pulling her down on his lap. “I can’t think when there’s no blood left in my brain.”

Vanessa laughed and wiggled on his lap, confirming the truth of his statement. Wanting him naked, she unbuttoned his shirt and pushed it open, exposing his sculpted torso to her view. God, he was sexy. Too fucking sexy for words—and so much more than that, too. If only Sorcha was right. If only he was her immortal beloved. But he couldn’t be, could he? Because there was no such thing, and even if a seed of real feeling sprouted from their affair, he would uproot it like a weed when he took her memories.

The thought gave her pain, so she blinked it away, not wanting to spoil the mood of the moment. She ran her hands over his chest, delighting in the feel of his wiry hairs, and stared into his eyes. She didn’t know what she wanted or how this could work; she only knew she didn’t want to forget him. He gazed back at her in a way that almost made her believe he did care for her. Then, he closed the distance and kissed her softly—a brush of the lips, a nip of the teeth.

He might not be her reason for living, but she still wanted to please him. He’d given her oral pleasure but she hadn’t returned the favor. Not yet, anyway, and suddenly wanted to very much. Moving her mouth to his ear, she whispered, “Would you like me to suck your cock?”

“Oh, aye,” he said, “while I watch.”

Aroused by his answer, she worked her way down his chest, planting soft kisses as she went. When she flicked the tip of her tongue against his nipple, it hardened instantly. He moaned and petted her hair with both hands. After teasing his nipples for several seconds, she moved on, slipping to the floor between his knees as she kissed her way down to the waistband of his jeans. Rather than open his fly, she gently gnawed his bulge through the denim. He groaned with pleasure and rolled his hips.

Ever so slowly, she unbuttoned his fly, freeing his erection, which she peppered with kisses before closing her lips around the head. As her tongue explored every nook and cranny, she attempted to tug off his jeans. To make the task easier, he lifted his ass off the couch. When his jeans were off, she took him deeper and twirled her tongue up and down his shaft while playing with his balls.

“I wonder if this is how a flower feels when a butterfly sucks the nectar from its stamen.”

“I don’t know,” she said, letting go of him, “but it might explain why flowers are always so cheerful.”

Hooking her under the arms, he lifted her with impossible strength. As soon as she was settled on his lap, he claimed her mouth, doing to her tongue what she’d done to his cock moments before. Taking hold of her ass with both hands, he dragged her sex up and down his, hitting her sweet spot with each delicious pass. The pleasure rose from her depths like a shark scenting blood in the water. He withdrew the bait, leaving her trembling and unfulfilled.

“You’re a terrible tease,” she said, breathing hard. “Has anybody ever told you that?”

He let out a small laugh. “I’m only a tease if I won’t give you what you want—and, believe me, I will.”

“When?”

Wearing a devilish smile, he moved his hands to her corset, took out one of her breasts, set upon the nipple with his lips and tongue, and teased her into a frenzy. Then, coming up for air, he met her gaze and asked, “May I,
mo dearbadan-de
?”

She gave him a puzzled look. “May you what?”

“Drink from you.”

Her euphoria evaporated. “From my breast?”

He nodded. “Heartblood is the best.”

She scraped her teeth across her lower lip as she considered his request. “Will it hurt?”

“Only the bite, after which it’s intensely pleasurable. I promise.”

“In that case,” she said, more intrigued than afraid, “go for it.”

He bit down, startling her with the sudden prick of his fangs. As he drew her blood, he flicked his tongue against her excited nipple. As the first wave of ecstasy crashed over her, he impaled her with his cock. Still sucking the blood from her breast, he thrust upward, again and again and again, driving into the core of her being until she broke apart like a germinating seed.

Chapter 9

An hour later, Vanessa awoke to find herself alone in a freezing cold room. Shivering, she cast around for the ghost. There was no shimmer, just the chill and the uncanny feeling of an unearthly presence.

“Don’t leave him,” the ghost said from thin air. “He needs you.”

“I can’t stay. Even if I wanted to, there are too many impediments.”

“What impediments exist that love cannot overcome?”

Love? The word startled Vanessa. Yes, she was developing feelings for Callum, but it was much too soon to be throwing around a word like love. “We live in different countries, for one, and, for another, he’s a five-hundred-year-old faery. He’ll never grow old or die…and I will.”

“He’s a good man,” Sorcha said, glittering faintly. “Better than I realized when I married him. Better than the man I wanted instead.”

Her statement hooked Vanessa’s interest. “You were in love with somebody else?”

“Aye,” the spirit said. “A bonny man I met at a gathering of the clans, but who wasn’t good enough for my parents. As it turned out, they were right. He only wanted me for what I might bring to the union, not for who I was.”

“Couldn’t the same be said of your marriage to Callum?”

“At first, yes. But he always treated me with kindness and respect and took an interest in me. I believe he would have grown to love me, had I opened my heart. But I was too blinded by self-pity and resentment to see my family’s choice was better than my own.”

Vanessa was intrigued. “What happened to change your mind?”

Before the ghost could answer, the door opened and Callum came into the room. Instantly, the temperature rose several degrees.

“Who were you talking to?” he asked, looking around.

“Your dead wife.”

His eyebrows shot up. “Oh, aye? Did she happen to say why she’s haunting me?”

“No, but I don’t believe she bears you any ill will,” Vanessa told him. “On the contrary, I think she’s watching over you.”

“Watching over me?” His forehead wrinkled. “You mean like a bloody guardian angel?”

She shrugged. “Until I learn more, I can only speculate.”

“Aye, well…all things being equal, I’d rather she buggered off.” Cupping his hands around his mouth like a megaphone, he looked toward the ceiling and yelled, “Did you hear that? Why don’t you go into the light? I can look after myself perfectly well, if you don’t mind.”

Could he? Vanessa wasn’t convinced. Evidently, neither was Sorcha.

He gave her a scathing look. “What about you? Has what I’ve just told you made you want to run for the hills?”

“Yes,” she returned with a scowl, “but I’m not going to.”

“Good,” he said, “because the weather’s nice and I still haven’t taken you on that picnic I promised.”

She took a moment to look at him; really look at him. He was so sexy and so sweet in lots of ways; and yet, he lived up here in Caithness like a hermit, alone with his secret, bedding only prostitutes—probably to protect himself from getting involved.

“Do you ever get lonely, Callum?”

Something flashed behind his golden eyes, but was gone the next instant. “Aye. Sometimes.”

“I can’t stay,” she said. “But I might want to, if things were different.”

“If I didn’t live in Scotland, you mean, and wasn’t immortal?”

“Yes.”

“Can you at least stay for a few more days?”

“Do you really want me to?” Mr. Armstrong had given her two weeks to complete her assignment, so it wasn’t as if she had to rush back to New Orleans.

“Aye, stupidly.”

Surprise lifted her eyebrows. “Why
stupidly
?”

“Because things between us can’t go anywhere…especially if I have to take your memories.”

“Then don’t.”

He smirked. “So you can tell the whole world the Vampire of Barrogill is real?”

“No,” she said plaintively. “So I can keep the memory of the best few days of my life.”

* * * *

Later that afternoon, after they’d made love again, Callum took Vanessa back to Dunnet Head, where they picnicked surrounded by seabirds, seals, and stunning ocean views. The day was blessedly clear and dry, though a bit blustery, and the sun felt warm on his face as they enjoyed the bounty of the hamper Hamish had packed at a cliffside table: oak-smoked salmon, local artisan cheeses, a selection of ripe berries, and a baguette still warm from the oven. To wash it all down, Callum had brought along a good bottle of crisp Italian Pinot Grigio he’d been cellaring for ages, kept cool in a special thermal pack especially designed for such outings.

Over lunch and the hiss of the sea, they conversed about the view, the weather, the stars, and the birds. Afterward, they shed their shoes and rolled up their jeans for a walk along the beach. He couldn’t remember a time when he’d enjoyed himself more.

It was late afternoon now and they were standing at the water’s edge. In another hour, the sun would set and, if the good weather held, it would be a perfect night for celestial observation. When they got back to Barrogill, he planned to show her his telescopes and also consult the heavens about running for Parliament. If he was going to leave himself time to campaign, he’d better make a decision.

She set her head on his shoulder with a satisfied sigh. The thought of her going tomorrow cut like a knife, surprising him. At some level, he’d been mildly aware that each day of perfection, each night of passion, each idyllic moment spent with her like this inched him closer to the hour when he must set her free—with little chance of ever seeing her again.

“You haven’t answered my question.”

“What question?”

“Will you stay with me a few more days?”

“Yes, Callum. I will.”

He smiled, satisfied. That must be enough for now. In a few more days, he’d ask for a few more days and, eventually, he’d ask for all the days ever after. If she agreed and they got on well enough, he would consider making her his mate. If she didn’t agree, he’d have to take her memories and try to forget he’d ever met her.

He shook his head to dispel the depressing thought. To the devil with all these vexing ruminations. She was here now and he needed to enjoy her while he could. Getting an idea, he said, “What would you say to a moonlight ride along the beach?”

“When?”

“Now.”

She glanced up and down the shoreline as if expecting to see phantom horses galloping toward her across the dusky sand. It was all he could do not to laugh when she turned back to him with a perplexed expression. “What are we supposed to ride?”

“Only one of us will be riding.”

He began to unbutton his shirt. The wind was cold, but he didn’t mind. His skin was hot and damp with sweat, so the air felt refreshing.

Alarm widened her eyes. “What in the name of God are you doing?”

He smirked. “What does it look like?”

“It looks like you’re taking off your clothes.”

As he peeled off the shirt, he crossed the dune and held it out to her. “That’s exactly what I’m doing. Now, would you be good enough to hold them for me?”