Nightfall (14 page)

If she second marked him, then eventually left him, and
another vampire stumbled on him, scented the marks…it was a death sentence,
unless the vampire chose to make him a full servant and complete the process.

Her fingers tightened on him, cutting into those crescent
marks she’d already left. It was in these moments she knew she’d become more
vampire than human, because her fangs lengthened with savage intent at the idea
of him belonging to another.
If
she marked him, which she wasn’t going
to do.

“So…no blood drinking tonight? Not hungry for that kind of
food?” He was teasing her. Tired as he was, he’d obviously realized something
had shifted in her mood and was trying to get her in a better place. She gave
him a hooded look.

“I only have to drink every several days, unless something
stresses me out or causes me additional exertion.”

His thumb passed over her lips, her pale cheek. “I’m
guessing you had an exerting day.”

“It’s not your concern. You won’t be my only blood source.”

“What does that mean?”

In an instant her cowboy’s exhaustion vanished. She wondered
if he realized he’d wrapped his fist in her hair. He pushed up to a sitting
position, curling the other arm around her hips.

She knew he worried that he was somehow less a man because
he was discovering he liked submitting sexually to a woman. She wished he could
see his expression and body language now, because the thought of another man
touching her had him reacting like a rutting bull, telling every male around
hands
off
.

She found it far too stimulating.

She laid her hand on his chest, her eyes heating, mouth
firming. “I can’t drain you like that on a regular basis unless you’re marked
in a way to compensate for it. Don’t worry, cowboy. You’re the only one I want
in my bed. If I have to take blood from a customer, they won’t remember much
except a pleasant, hazy dream.”

“Was that what you were doing with Turley in the back room?”

Her fingers curved inward again, a reminder of claws. “Your
spies are a little too aggressive.”

“You could have done that to me? Made me forget it happened,
that first night?”

“Probably. It would have been harder since we’re more than a
passing relationship, now that I’m working for you. It means I make a bigger
imprint on you.” She shifted. It was getting too real. They were having a
serious discussion about the specifics of the vampire world, and she didn’t see
that faint flicker of skepticism necessary to restore him to a state of
disbelief after she left. She couldn’t let him go too far down that road. By
letting herself get caught up in a fantasy, she was drawing him too deeply into
her reality.

“It’s time to change the subject, cowboy. I’ll be tempted to
show you my shrine to Satan and my Dracula movie collection.” She gave him a
half-smile.

Quinn kept his grip on her hair, though it eased into a more
caressing hold. Still, there was enough pressure she remained tight up against
him.

“You’re so strong. Yet, right now, like other times, I get
this glimpse of something…vulnerable.” Before she could stiffen up over that,
he added, “How is it you make me want to be on my knees, and yet I can’t think
of anything but wanting to protect you?”

His bluntness surprised her. “They’re not mutually
exclusive, cowboy.” She touched his mouth, fingertips lingering there. “You
think a man who submits is weak, less of a man? Someone who needs a woman’s
skirts to hide behind? There are monks throughout history who will tell you
there’s no greater courage in the world than that found in full, willing
submission.”

His hand tightened again, his other one curling around her
back, bringing her to his mouth. She allowed it, making a sound in the back of
her throat when he closed his eyes, gave himself to the kiss. And to her, even
as he held her secure in the circle of his arms. She welcomed his strength, her
body melting against his. He spoke against her lips.

“Whatever you are, whatever you need, Selene…you take it
from me. I don’t care what you have to do to make it work.”

She drew back, gave him a serious look. “I can’t mark you
again, Quinn.”

“Yeah, you can.”

“You only say that because you don’t believe any of this.” She
hoped so, desperately, even as she worried just the opposite was true. And
worse, that she wanted him to believe her. Wanted to share all of who she was
with him.

“I say it because the idea of any other guy with his hands
on you, with your lips on his throat, makes me want to tear him apart. It tears
me apart. That’s all I know.”

“Just…shut up. Go to sleep.” She coiled her arms around his
shoulders, pressed his head into her throat, against her chest. He kissed her
sternum, squeezed her, but took them both down, sinking back into the covers,
holding her close. They were still joined, his cock still hard enough to stay
inside her. She stroked his hair, maintaining the embrace. He didn’t say
anything further, but as his hands moved on her, his rhythm eventually slowed,
became more erratic. When his breath evened out, a painful smile curved her
lips. Exhaustion had reclaimed him.

She’d had temporary relationships where she served as a
man’s Mistress without him knowing she was a vampire. It had assuaged the sexual
need while she sought the blood need elsewhere. It was tough to keep the two
separate, but she’d learned it was smarter to do it like that. She could say
her options were too limited in this more rural area, but she wasn’t in the
habit of bullshitting herself.

Sliding off him, she curled up next to his body and
continued to stroke his hair. She wanted the soothing motion to add to his
rest. She
was
young for a vampire, young enough to learn new things
about herself. Taking care of him—giving him the massage, tending his sore
muscles, watching over him while he slept—that was part of having a servant
too. She realized it made her no less dominant or in control to want to care
for him.

What’s more, if he gave her the gift of his submission, it
was her responsibility to care for him. For the most part, she’d always just
taken care of herself. Caring for a man during sex the way a Mistress should
was the beginning and end of it. Now she was on the run from Laurent, a vital
time for her to keep her human interactions limited to just that. Yet here she
was, wanting to tie Quinn to her in a way that might endanger him. She stared
at that vein in his throat, forced her fangs to sheathe. Yes, she was hungry,
but she didn’t trust herself not to give him the second mark if she did feed.

Instead, she forced herself to get out of bed, locate the
pocket knife she knew he’d have on his dresser. It lay there among the other
items he’d tossed down when he stripped. A used bit he’d changed out and
forgotten to leave in the tack room. The sweaty bandanna he wiped his face and
neck with. The thick leather gloves that protected his hands when he fixed
pieces of fencing. She touched those things, enjoying that simple intimacy,
then she recalled herself, picking up the knife. He kept it razor sharp, which
pleased her.

Coming back to the bed, she sat on the edge next to him and
curled her fingers around his forearm. She cut the wrist vein she wanted so
smooth and quick he only murmured in his sleep. Bringing it to her lips, she inhaled
the rich aroma of his blood, but then she closed her eyes, forced all the
churning emotions to shut down and took a quick draught. At least that was her
intent. But once she had the taste of his blood in her mouth, she wanted more.
She wanted all of him.

She broke the contact with an oath, realizing she’d taken
too much. He wouldn’t be worth much energy-wise in the coming day, especially
as tired as he already was.
Nice going, Selene.
Cursing her lack of
control, she clotted the wound, fighting the urge to sink her teeth right back
into him. He was like an elixir she couldn’t get enough of. Forcing herself to
stand, she tucked his arm under the covers, slid them more securely up over him,
then left him sleeping.

It was time to return to her cellar, a reminder of all the
things she couldn’t be to him. She should just take her leave tonight, keep
running. Yet she couldn’t leave him, not yet. She was too selfish to give him
or After Hours up. It was so good to be running a bar again. Almost as good as
having her own place.

Wandering through his house, she absorbed every detail,
seeing the stamp of the man who lived here. The house was a mixture of old and
new, like Quinn himself. He had told her the house had been in the previous
owner’s family for generations. The wood floor was scarred by years of boots
marking it, but it shone with a polished gleam.

Two other bedrooms were furnished simply with a large bed, a
dresser, nightstand and chair. They had the look of guestrooms that seldom saw
guests. Quinn didn’t impress her as a man who entertained much. Comfortable
furniture filled the living room, leather and wood and heavy woven fabric in
all the colors of sunset. It looked new enough that she was sure he’d bought it
himself. He’d done a good job.

She could imagine him in the big armchair wrapped in a burnt
orange color, his feet resting on the matching ottoman. On the lamp table next
to it she spotted a stack of ranch and cattle magazines. The couch was extra
long to accommodate his height when he chose to stretch out on it. A big-screen
television hung on the lime rock over the fireplace.

Men and their toys.

A partially open door off the living room tempted her and
she poked her head inside. At once she realized that here was the heart of the
man. The massive desk covered with stacks of folders and papers and the
computer to one side let her know this was his office, where he managed the
business of the ranch. It also held his memorabilia. Two gold buckles
proclaiming him rodeo champion hung side by side in shadow box frames. Next to
them were framed articles about his rodeo exploits. The paper was worn and
creased, an indication he’d carried them around for quite a while before taking
steps to preserve them. A bookcase against one wall held a combination of books
on ranching and cattle mixed with classics by Zane Grey and Bret Harte. On the
top were other rodeo awards he’d won, most of them statues of a rider on a
bucking bronc with an inscribed plate on the base.

Finally there were the pictures, Quinn as a young greenhorn
competitor, all the way to the mature man she knew now. She saw him on a
bucking horse, his one hand in the air, the horse’s head dipped low. She
suspected that one-handed grip was part of the rules, because she couldn’t
imagine doing something as crazy as holding on to a gyrating horse one-handed.
Reaching out, she touched the image of her cowboy, sure she could smell the
sweat on his body, the aroma of horseflesh, feel the grit of the dust on the
ground. Other photos showed him accepting various awards and trophies.

Most of those pictures had a note in feminine script in the
matting. “So proud of you”… “All our love”. Her lips curved. Of course. He
wasn’t the type of man to put pictures of himself on the wall, but if his
mother had given them to him, she’d expect to have them displayed. It reminded
him who he was, how far he’d come…the things that mattered.

Proving it, on a low table she spotted the framed photo of
an older couple she assumed to be Quinn’s parents. She studied the stern mouth
and lines of hard work around his father’s eyes. Not a giving man, but his arm
was around his wife, and her serene face, as well as the lines on it, told of a
continuing battle between sorrows and joys. It suggested what Quinn had already
implied, that his mother’s strength and enduring love had kept their
dysfunctional family together.

Sitting in the big chair at his desk, Selene smoothed her
hands over the butter-soft leather and inhaled Quinn’s scent. She closed her
eyes, trying to imagine him at every stage of his life. Learn all the things
that had gone into making him the complex man he was now.

When she was satisfied she’d absorbed enough of him—or all
that she could take the time to do tonight—she pushed out of the chair and
passed through the rest of the house. The dining room was furnished in the same
oak as the living room. As Selene ran her hand over the surface of the table
that carried the trace aroma of lemon oil, she could easily see Quinn sitting
at its head, coffee mug in his hand as he chewed over the day with his ranch
hands. She could practically smell delicious aromas wafting from the kitchen.
Chili and hearty stew and soup and other stick-to-your-ribs food that would fill
up his men, things Manuel had discussed with her when she asked about favorite
local fare.

Since she scented a woman, and Quinn, while not a slob,
wasn’t likely to keep a house this clean, Selene guessed he had a female cook
and housekeeper. Fortunately for Quinn’s survival, the scent was that of a much
older woman.

The possessive thought gave Selene a tight smile. Ambling
onward, she found the large window in the kitchen gave a view of the yard and
the barn and the corral beyond, where during the day horses probably gamboled
and played. The peace of it, the serenity, made her wish for things she was
sure she could never have. Laurent would find her and see to that.

But meanwhile…

She’d circled back to the living area, to the chimney.
Dipping her knees, she measured the small crack in the flue. Considering her
exit strategy turned her mind from her unwise thoughts about Quinn back to the
reasons she really should give him up. This was one of the major ones. With all
the complications being a vampire brought to their relationship, she had even
more dangers associated with her than most of her kind.

She was a turned vampire, which already carried its share of
prejudices in her world, but the real taboo in the vampire world, the most
closely guarded secret she carried, was that she hadn’t been wholly human.