The Mark of the Vampire Queen (31 page)

“An unusual choice, my lady,” the blacksmith said, returning to them. “As a permanent mark.”

It was a Christian cross.

Stepping forward, she ran her fingers lightly over it. Jacob sucked in a pain-filled breath, but because he knew his pain aroused her, she didn't stop, the rising agony in her breast an odd contrast with the gentleness of her touch, the razor edge of her nails. “Perhaps I should have chosen something else.” Her voice was strange to her, almost broken, and Mason's man gave her an odd look.

Jacob shook his head and lowered his hands. Brushing one along her hair, he cupped the line of her face. “A symbol of faith, my lady. You couldn't have picked a better one, for my heart is faithful only to you. You are my religion.”

It was also a symbol of sacrifice. Taking on her sins. The insidious whisper from her own mind had the power to gut her.

She drew her head back from his touch, giving him a sharp look. In response, Jacob returned his hands to his head, dissipating the curiosity of the blacksmith. Taking the edges of his slacks in her hands, she brought them back up, zipped, fastened and belted them, cinching the strap in tight until she earned a grunt of pain. Smoothing her hand over his cock, she fondled his testicles. Knowing the brand was burning fire under the tight yoke of the belt even as he began to get hard again under her touch sparked other needs.

Gods, Jacob was right. She was a piece of work. She knew Jacob had wrestled with the possibility that her brief moments of vulnerability toward him might just be the progress of the disease, not real. She found she couldn't tolerate the idea of that doubt. Or the conflicting feelings he was making her feel right now.

“You're forgiven,” she said abruptly. Nodding to the blacksmith, she handed him a folded bill, a tip for his service. Then she pivoted on her heel with deliberate regal indifference and moved away from her servant.

Jacob didn't know which was worse. The throb of the brand or his continued failure to make her understand. Maybe the two things were the same, one a physical manifestation of the emotional.

Everything she let him offer her was a gift to him, not a sacrifice. Her willingness to let him be with her forever was the Paradise he'd always sought. The emptiness that had followed him throughout his life had dissipated the night she'd given him the third mark, gone as if it had never haunted him. And yet she couldn't accept what that meant to them both.

She'd always been a woman whose relationships were fraught with politics and often peril. Perhaps Thomas's beliefs had gilded their memories, making them believe what they wanted to believe. However, to know his bond to her was true he only had to remember the present, the handful of weeks they'd had since he'd become her servant.

He'd expected her to be a queen, an infuriatingly arrogant female vampire, but there were many things he hadn't expected.

Her watching him when she thought he didn't know. While he was doing repairs, cooking, reading. He'd even sensed her presence sometimes when he napped, a lazy, pleasurable vision at the edges of his dreams.

Finding her fast asleep by a window.
The Secret Life of Bees
had been open in her lap as the rain trickled down the stained glass behind her, painting her pale face in translucent rainbows of color.

Hiking her dress around her knees like a young girl to squat barefoot in a rain puddle. All for the pleasure of catching a frog and holding the creature in the palm of her hand. She'd coaxed him closer to dump the hapless amphibian down the front of his shirt. Then she fished it out to spare the disgruntled animal harm. Her fingers had caressed, girlishness disappearing into a wild sensuality that had them drenched and coupling on the back lawn. He remembered rain drumming on his bare shoulders, her heels clutched over his hips, her body arched so he could suckle rainwater off her throat.

To hell with it. As she left the courtyard, he cursed under his breath and went after her.

The stone defiles that allowed exit from the courtyard were strung with fairy lights to guide the way. Jasmine flowers woven into the cords allowed vampires to be guided by their scent. In this corridor there was an alcove with a wall fountain installed. An elegant frieze had been propped behind the bowl in the hollowed-out area, depicting a medieval lady among a meadow of stone flowers.

His lady had stopped at the frieze, her fingers resting on the lip of the bowl of water. The area was narrow and dim, providing privacy, the shadows protecting them from too close a scrutiny. Good.

He didn't expect his approach to be equally camouflaged, but when he caught her slender arm by the elbow and whipped her around, her green eyes widened in startled reaction.

While she'd felt him coming up behind her, Lyssa hadn't expected this. She'd assumed he would stand quietly behind her, awaiting her cue of where she wanted to go next, what she wanted of him. She'd expected him to try to soothe the tides of her emotions stirred up by his branding, his touching of Debra. Instead, he yanked her up to her toes and took her mouth with his own, giving her a tide of passion so strong it went beyond usual response into the realm of a blood bond. Her hand clutched the edge of the stone fountain, cracked it as her grip convulsed in reaction. Catching that hand, he unerringly put it on his hip, right over where the brand was, squeezing his hand over hers so her fingers dug in, causing a ripple of response to shudder through his body. Even as the pain shot through him, he gathered her more firmly to him with an arm cinched around her waist, so close his fingers wrapped around her hip and grazed the edge of her stomach, pressing on her sensitive navel region beneath the thin silver dress. Through it, she could feel all the heat of him. Every hard, insistent curve of muscle and the press of his groin. When he raised his head at last, his eyes were blue fire, made incandescent by the lights, his mouth a hard line.

“Only you, my lady. I'm all yours.”
Say it to me and mean it. How could any woman take a man away from Lady Elyssa Wentworth? Say it.

“Mine,” she whispered.

“All of it. Not just this.” He increased the pressure of his pelvis against her, making her thighs tremble. “Nor this.” He inclined his head, indicating his mind. “All of it. Now tell me why the hell you would ever get a daft notion otherwise, woman? Just because I chose to protect an innocent girl.”

His kiss had swept away her doubts. Now the impudent comment restored her fully to herself. She pushed away from him, giving him a reproving look even as she let her fingers linger at that place just below his belt.

“I don't have to explain things to you, Sir Vagabond,” she responded, tossing back her hair. “You'll do well to remember your place.”

But he'd expected—no, demanded—that she mark him, place another visible sign of ownership on him. His thoughts were tangled in her mind, giving her images she couldn't ignore. He was hers. He wanted her, needed her. He cared nothing for anyone but her.

I love you, my lady.

Capturing her hand, he brought it to his lips. Then he laid her palm meaningfully over his heart.

“That's all I ask you to remember as well, my lady. My place is with you. Only you.”

A
FTER
that, the temptation to pass the evening tangled in sheets with Jacob was almost too much to resist. There was an animal edge to her lust she knew she couldn't afford to let control her tonight. But as difficult as it was to resist the need to sate the desire he'd roused, she knew it was the emotions he could evoke that had too much power over her. She had to keep herself balanced, so she made them both return to the festivities.

Even so, throughout the rest of the evening, she stayed in close communication with her servant, seeing things through his eyes, hearing his verbal responses as well as sensing his less articulated ones as they worked together as one mind. In its own way, it was as deeply pleasurable as having his body.

She was pleased to find a majority of the Council members prepared to confirm asylum for her fugitives. Not permanently, as she'd wished, but they were amenable to a twenty-five-year moratorium. The formal vote would occur at Court after the Ball tomorrow night.

She also heard snippets of conversations confirming what she already suspected: Carnal and his kind were rapidly gaining support for their belief that immortality made vampires omnipotent and beyond the laws of nature. While it had begun among the younger, made vampires, she was disturbed to hear it gaining ground in more mature ears, those who had not acquired the power or territory they felt they deserved. They believed they could rule the humans and become the dominant species.

At yesterday's Council briefing Belizar had brushed aside her and Uthe's exhortations to address the problem before it got out of control. Feeding on the same arrogance as Carnal, Belizar was too confident in the Council's power.

After tomorrow night, she would no longer be part of that battle. Perhaps it was the frustrated helplessness in that knowledge, or the dwindling sense of her own self, but she found the savage desire to link with Jacob surged up as if it had never been banked when she finally allowed him to escort her back to her rooms.

Almost as soon as the door shut, she tore off her dress, revealing the sheer gray lingerie beneath it. The lingerie he'd picked out and put on her with caressing, teasing hands hours before. When he reached for her, she shoved him down on his back on the bed, tying his hands to the rail with a strip of the dress before she took him in her hand, squeezing the hard, pulsing length of him.

He fought her, perhaps sensing her desire for that and perhaps still riding his own frustration with her earlier mood, but before he could yank against the binding to the point it cut off circulation, she removed the panties and bra and straddled him in a quick, lithe move. As she slammed herself down onto him, her thighs spreading wide to take him in hard and deep, her cunt coming in contact with his pelvis, she watched his eyes go vibrant, his mouth tighten. His muscles strained, his upper torso curving up and making it easier for her hands to touch his chest, his flat stomach. His youth, his strength and pure life. All hers, tragically and miraculously both.

She fucked him, pure and simple, growling as she did so. At one point, she could almost feel that feral part of her wanting to metamorphose, let the talons come forth and slice ribbons out of his skin. Since she'd not completely lost her control, she settled for her fingernails, but she was ruthless with them. Marking his chest, his shoulders, listening to him groan in reaction, feeling his cock harden even further inside her as she bent and licked up the smeared blood, stabbing him with her fangs. He cried out when she raked her nails across the brand. But still he urged her on, the Irish in his voice as he told her to fuck him, fuck him hard, the way she wanted. The way he wanted.

Her flesh spasmed against his rigid flesh, the climax roaring over her. Crying out like a she wolf, long and low, she pounded down on him so her breasts moved generously with her movements. When she craved the press of his fingers on her hips, she shredded the restraint, sparking off the iron headboard with her bloody nails. He was ready, rearing up to grip her hip with one hand, taking possession of her breast with the other, his mouth suctioning over her nipple. As her moan elevated to a scream, Jacob bit and came hard inside her, holding her fast on him, letting her feel the electric shock of those fluids jetting on the sensitive areas inside that only wanted more, more, more. Even as she thought she was going to die from the pleasure of it.

But when his warm, sleeping body curved behind her and she was alone with her thoughts in the dark, the disturbing revelation intruded again.

She had no more battles to fight.

Since she'd realized she had the Delilah virus, all her energy had been focused on bolstering the Council and surviving long enough to see her people and territory protected. There was nothing else she could do now that wouldn't take more time than she had.

All she had time to face was her own death.

As she considered that, over a thousand years of remarkable images pattered against her memory like a quiet summer rain. Rex, Thomas, her parents. The unnamed knight. Jun…So many come and gone. So much she'd seen and experienced. There were vampires here who had fought at her side during the territory wars, willing to kill to see Council rule instituted and enforced because they believed, as she did, that a harmonious balance with the human world would ensure the survival and prosperity of their species.

There'd been vampires, humans and others who captured her attention and remained in her memory because of an admirable action or a simple, witty remark that made an impression. She'd even been intimate with a handful or so of the vampires here, before Rex. Nothing that lasted, but nice memories. Tonight would be the last time she would see any of them. At least in this lifetime.

Such thoughts wafted like fog through her predusk doze and followed her into a deeper sleep where they became vivid dreams. So when Jacob woke her in the early evening to prepare for the Ball, it was perhaps no wonder she woke with a knot of anxiety in her lower stomach. She wondered if he sensed it, explaining why he watched her with such close concern as he helped her dress. He said little, dispensing his lingering caresses and quiet murmurs about mundane things that helped steady her nerves. When he finished helping her prepare her appearance, she told him she would go on to the Ball early. He could join her when he was dressed.

He simply nodded, brushing his lips alongside her throat as he made one last adjustment to her dress. “I'll be there, my lady.”

Reaching up, she pressed her hand against the side of his cheek, holding him still against her neck a moment before she released him and moved quickly away before he could lift his head and she'd see his eyes in the mirror. His solitary reflection.

She sensed there was something going on in his head, but if she was too fragile to look into his eyes, she knew she was far too fragile to look into his mind.

 

So now she stood on an elevated platform where tables and chairs had been arranged so those not dancing could get a better view once the dancing started. Right now there were only monumental amounts of milling. Political positioning, seductive flirting, friendly acquaintances renewing ties…

As she stood there, the nostalgia she anticipated feeling gave way to that disquieting roil in her lower belly again, making for a stew of simmering emotions. She found herself wishing she'd waited for Jacob. She would have liked to feel the reassurance of his presence at her back.

What she really wanted was to be with someone with whom she had a connection. A connection achieved without effort, words or even thought. Who understood where her mind was right now. Jacob was that person, though she knew there was no logic to why she felt that way. He certainly wasn't over a thousand years old. But when she was with him, she felt like he'd always been with her, through every step, every century.

Carnal was talking to a few of the type she'd seen too many of last night. Young, made vampire overlords impatient with things as they were, hungering for change just so they could feel important, a part of something. So much to learn, and yet they would burn down their school before the lessons could be taught. Such was the way of the world, and of youth.

If it were not Carnal standing with them, she supposed she would feel indulgent toward them instead of edgy, wary. She wondered if her uneasy feelings were like a grounded boat captain come to the edge of a river to watch the boats glide past. She'd once been a part of that flow, but those times had passed. The flow might change somewhat because of her absence, but it would still flow forward. She had to believe that.
You are not God, my lady.
Jacob had said that to her once or twice. Everything ended, even her.

“There you are.” Lady Daniela's arm slipped through hers. “Everyone down there assumes you're up here making your dance partner decision, examining us all like we're insects under a microscope. I've never seen so many male vampires preening. Checking their hair, their breath…the fit of their trousers.”

Perhaps Danny was the next best thing to Jacob. They'd met at a Gathering, Danny's first. She'd gravitated toward Lyssa despite their differences in rank as if they were two inseparable schoolgirl friends, and Lyssa had surprised herself by welcoming it.

Lyssa smiled. “Male vampires are far too arrogant to be self-conscious. Even if they could see themselves in a mirror, they'd never use one.”

“Hmm…that's the truth. That overlord from Florence needs a better servant. He's needed to blow his nose for the past two days. Every time I talk to him I want to tell him he has a pea factory growing out of his nostrils.”

“Oh, gods, that's far too graphic.” Lyssa covered an undignified snort of laughter with her hand.

“But so true.” Lady Daniela's gaze shifted, stilled. Her eyes sparkled appreciatively. “However, on the brighter side, it looks to me there's a human servant putting them all to shame this year. The male vampires are fair seething about it.”

Lyssa rolled her eyes. “Danny, if you don't stop fawning over that cocky servant of yours, he's going to be hopelessly spoiled.”

“Cocky is a way to describe Devlin, on several different levels. He's one of a kind, the cheeky bastard. But…” Danny adjusted her stance, and with her arm through Lyssa's, she forced her to turn toward one of the arched entranceways. “Not my servant, dearest. I'm talking about
yours
.”

She hadn't known what Jacob was wearing tonight. After confirming early in their relationship he had the ability to attire himself appropriately without guidance, she'd found she liked being surprised by it, to enjoy the impact on her senses when he appeared.

He'd outdone himself.

The room was filled with vampire males who emanated otherworldly beauty. Some of it was glamour, but most was not. Generating glamour for humans was far easier than for other vampires, and for the most part, it wasn't necessary. Whatever the genetic makeup of vampirism, it was disposed to making their species exceptionally attractive. Perhaps it was evolution, a helpful mechanism for attracting their prey. It was a reassuring indication they were somehow part of the natural world, not an exception to it as legend and nightmare folklore liked to depict.

Jacob was handsome; there was no denying that. But as she'd known from their first meeting, it was more than that. Put physical human beauty against a vampire's and it could not compare. But his charisma, the quiet self-possession, the incredible intelligence and resourcefulness…the many talents he wielded, some of them unexpectedly dangerous and deadly, all somehow integrated into his physical appearance in a way devastating to the female senses. Put that in a tuxedo and Lyssa was sure she wasn't the only woman in the room whose breath had caught in her throat.

He was tall enough to pull off the swallowtail coat he'd chosen. Perfectly pleated dark slacks, dress shoes that shone. Black studded shirt instead of white. He'd chosen a Nehru collar with a white satin ribbon edging that left his neck unencumbered by a tie. His hair, so often tousled at home because of his charming habit of raking his hands back through it as he worked, was brushed to a silk mane that feathered across his high forehead. The trim moustache and beard gleamed copper under the chandeliers, attracting her attention to his lips as it always did, the softness contrasting with the firm manner in which he held them.

She raised a brow at Daniela's chuckle. “What?”

“Nothing.” Danny made an innocent face. “I just asked if you thought Lord Belizar might do karaoke for us tonight.”

Lyssa blinked. She experienced trepidation at being caught so baldly besotted until Daniela gave her a droll look, reminding her that Australian vampires were far more laid-back than their European and Eastern cousins. And that Danny was very young and irrepressible, by vampire standards. “You responded”—Danny cleared her throat and did a credible imitation of Lyssa's manner—“‘Undoubtedly.'”

“My apologies, Lady Daniela.” Lyssa made the attempt. “My mind must have been on tonight's Council Court. There will be many weighty affairs discussed.”

Danny shot her a look. “Undoubtedly, my lady.”

Even as Lyssa elbowed her with a smile, her gaze was pulled back to Jacob.

As if she needed another reason to be captivated by him, he'd found her instantly and waited until she met his gaze to proceed into the room. While every servant in the room had a link with a Mistress or Master, he acknowledged her visibly, first and foremost, and waited for her attention to proceed, to be sure she knew he was there, available to her needs. She had the impression of it like the heat of his body curled at her back while she slept.

Now, glancing at her often, he moved through the milling group with one hand at his back, the other loose at his side. A comfortable pose that allowed him to bow cordially as he made the appropriate level of greeting to each person. His gift for recall of names and status was impeccable. When he encountered Devlin, his teeth flashed in a grin at whatever the man said, showing he'd already developed a comfortable male rapport with the Australian. That smile almost made her forget herself and curl her toes in her open sandals.