Vampire Mistress (31 page)

None of that mattered. He would do whatever was necessary to make sure she survived this.

The dark clouds she turned toward him now made it clear her anger against him was only compounding, as the pleasure of the climax was washing away. Of the three of them, she’d had the most sleep, though it had mainly been due to unconsciousness after her seizure. It made him take a firmer grip on his self-control, bracing himself for her next words.

“Once I get in some semblance of a routine again, with control of who and what I am, I intend to make some decisions about my life.”

Daegan met Gideon’s dark blue gaze, then shifted back to her face. “You will have latitude to do that eventually,
cher
. But it’s not that straightforward for us. Vampires are not like humans. Our society is not as free. There are too few of us, and we live in the shadows.”

“So you’re saying yet another person or persons is going to be trying to control my life?”

“We will speak of this later. Not right after something like this.”

He didn’t need Gideon’s visible wince to know a command had been a poor choice.

“So that’s your decision, hmm?” Her voice, velvet and breathless moments ago, was now brittle, acerbic. “When to tell me something, when not to? When to decide that I need a servant, when I need you in my fucking mind, without asking me? For five years, you tried to get me to believe you respected my independence. But it was never that, was it? You always thought you owned me. I only saw the pretty, sparkling collar, not the leash attached to it.”

His face went completely expressionless. He knew it, because Anwyn registered it in her mind. She recalled it from times in the past when she’d pushed too hard for something he wouldn’t give her. Couldn’t give her. In her mind, he saw her remind herself that was why she’d sworn to herself, years ago, that she would never beg him for anything, never let him see that she couldn’t stand on her own, away from him. Never give him her heart fully.

Only now he could get into her head, see the truth. Her head jerked up, eyes meeting his as she recognized that everything in her mind could be read like a book, and was being read, right now. He told himself to pull out, to shut that wall between them, but it was too late. Her next thoughts were shots right in the gut.

What makes you so different from Barnabus? How is this different?

He took a step back from her, might have even backed over the tub wall if he’d gone any farther, the first time in centuries he’d been in danger of tripping. The understandings of the past few moments, when sensuality and need were all that mattered, were gone.

“Anwyn . . .” Gideon began.

“You don’t need to defend him for my well-being, Gideon. You don’t even like him.” Her voice was low, strained, as her gaze met Daegan’s head-on. “Last week, my life was entirely different. I don’t know whether to wish I’d never met you, or that Barnabus had just killed me in that alley. I’m too tired, too numb, to decide. Please don’t disturb me until I come out of my room. I don’t want to be or think of anything.

“And before either of you says it,” she added, “if I go into a seizure, my mind twists open like a bubble gum wrapper. To you both now, I guess.” She shot Daegan a hard look. “So I’m sure you’ll know if I need help. Until then, fuck off.”

Turning on her heel, she left the two of them standing there.

20

G
IDEON caught the brief flash of pain in the vampire’s eyes, an anguish so strong, it was as if she’d taken out a poisoned stake and stabbed him in the chest with it. Then it was gone. No matter how much he wanted to hate the guy, Gideon couldn’t help the sympathetic pang that bound all males together in the face of female scorn.

He’d been unbalanced himself by what had just happened here. Hell, all of them were dealing with too much shit. He, being her servant and throwing in his lot, however temporarily, with two vampires. She, being raped and becoming a vampire. And Daegan, having to ride herd on both of them, and deal with the pain she was suffering, even as she kept him at a straight-arm distance, blaming him for myriad aspects of all of it. Maybe he wouldn’t have seen that if it hadn’t been for Mason, working with him and Jacob over those several months, having to deal with a lot of the same kind of shit.

He didn’t know what to say, even if he’d been inclined to do so, but he was saved from the effort. With an impassive nod, the vampire left him there.

Great
. With a lack of other options, Gideon threw his towel in the hamper and straightened up. For him, cleaning up a room meant checking out and not leaving a noticeable amount of blood on the floor. But once, a long time ago, he’d had a civilized home with his aunt and uncle, and he did know some things.

Going back to the cell, he straightened that area up. After some consideration, he moved the sofa and other furniture out of it. It looked as though she wouldn’t have to go back in there again unless it was unavoidable. Progress, though of course those last few moments in the bathroom had felt like anything but.

Though she had a right to be pissed off about all of it, he already knew when she came down from those attacks, she was typically attacked by feelings of despair, a sort of postpartum baby-vampire-blues thing. Though this time she’d had the pleasure of an orgasm tangled with the seizure, and the episode itself hadn’t been one of her worst ones, that aftermath may have remained the same.

He wanted to comfort her, but knew she probably needed some space. And he didn’t want to be in the personally uncomfortable position of finding himself apologizing for the guy. Particularly after he’d put his fucking mouth on him.

He did touch her mind periodically. She’d come back into the bathroom after they left and did those things that women did—powders, lotions, brushing, et cetera. Then she’d slid on a summer dress and lain on her bed. As she’d said, she was incredibly, painfully numb, and almost as tired as he was. Hell, he should probably sack out somewhere until she needed him again. But it was hard not to reach out, to say something that wouldn’t infringe on her need for solitude. Before he could decide one way or another, she drifted off into a dark, whispering sleep.

As he sank down on the couch in the sitting room, he sat quietly in her mind, oblivious to his immediate surroundings, just getting the lay of the land. He wanted to stroke her in some way. Fortunately, he found a way to be useful.

Those hateful shadow things were there, slithering around like street predators in the alleyways of her brain, waiting for the reappearance of her awareness to prey on her again. He examined them more closely, was disturbed by how formless and yet integrated they seemed to be in those passageways, suggesting any treatment for them would have to be a muting strategy, nothing that could be extracted. It made him wonder if someone like Lord Brian, the vampire scientist who had worked with Jacob after his unexpected acquisition of Lyssa’s powers during his turning, might have something useful to help her. He wondered if Daegan had ever interacted with the vamp geek, and made a note to mention it to him.

In the meantime, in the anonymity of her dream world, he decided to send things through that might keep those gremlins down to a dull roar. He recalled songs in his head, a way to sing lullabies to her without offending her ears. Though he hoped Daegan wasn’t squatting at the fringes of her unconscious, listening, he also sent images he remembered as a kid, short home movies to go with the songs. A trip to the Grand Canyon was coupled with “Sand and Water,” a song his mother had sung to Jacob when he was younger. After she died, Gideon had continued to sing it to him, though the meaning of it had often caused a hitch in his throat. Now the notes drifted like wind currents over the wide expanses of red rock.

Then he moved onward to the California redwood forests with the strains of the Goo Goo Dolls; “Better Days” spiraled around and around that awesome girth, all the way toward the heavens.

After that it was the beach, with the smell of salt and sand, the sun reflecting off the waves, so bright and sparkling. He had no song for that one, because he always got lost in the music the wind and waves made together. With deep satisfaction, he saw the shadows melt into those corridors, stilling so that her mind could slip deeper into dreams, far beyond their reach, and the reach of her worries and fears. It amazed him to be there, to be inside her mind as if he’d walked hand in hand with her somnolent mind and escorted it to Sandland himself.

The vampire connection aside, it was one of the most awesomely magical things he thought he’d ever experienced. It gave him the fleeting, disturbing thought of how he’d ever do without such a connection once he’d had it. It also made him wonder at what he’d heard from Jacob, how the third mark was an even more profound bond.

Surprisingly unable to give himself to dreams, he rose and examined the music selection at the entertainment center. He wondered whose music was whose, as well as the movies. In light of all the things that had happened, it was bizarre to see the mundane details of their life together. Or perhaps this was all Anwyn’s.

He mused on the two of them having separate rooms. They were certainly having sex, but perhaps one or both didn’t encourage the intimacy of sleeping together. Only sex and companionship when needed. Friends with benefits, she’d said.

Yeah, right.
The relief and sense of balance he’d felt from her every time Daegan joined them suggested something way beyond friendship. While Daegan also didn’t show much of what he was feeling, it was obvious, at least to Gideon, that what he was holding back had the force of a category-five hurricane. He remembered what Daegan had said.
A warrior’s courage and the fool’s sense of when to use it.
When it came to pushing the vampire, he thought his Mistress might be wise to ease off a bit.

Maybe that was why, when Daegan touched her, Gideon didn’t feel the same sense of possessiveness he’d experienced at the thought of another male servant, or even an imaginary blood donor. He’d occasionally felt like a third wheel, but he’d never questioned Daegan’s right to share her, except for the wisdom of being tangled with a vampire. Gideon wasn’t sure he even wanted to explore why deeper than that, though. Maybe it was the circumstances.

She’d wanted to dance. He’d have to see if he could remind her of that later, make her smile. Sighing, he ran a hand along the back of his neck. In truth, he felt at a loss here. When he had spare time, he worked on his weapons, went out and wandered the street, watched people as his television. Their lives were far removed from his, but their stories held his fascination regardless. All those small dramas and happinesses, things like car payments and Sunday dinner with the parents, squabbles over whether the kid was going to get a PlayStation, or Xbox, or whatever the hell it was kids wanted now.

He could think about the good things that had happened in the shower, the way her body had felt, the wetness of her mouth and clutch of her hands, but there were some disturbing things about the sex, too. Specifically, the number of participants and how his body had responded to that. So he pushed it away for now.

But weapons . . . He found he’d shifted to the cabinet holding Daegan’s cache. Opening the wooden door and examining the safe’s combination lock, he spun it, wondering. Twelve. Seventeen. Thirteen. Ten.

As the lock made that whoosh noise, Gideon shook his head. Daegan really needed to work on his password security. Course, in all fairness, the code he’d given to Gideon had apparently never been given to anyone before. Which suggested again that Daegan had given Gideon a level of trust he hadn’t granted to anyone else, like the uncontrolled access to Anwyn’s mind. Another mystery.

Nonplussed by that, but suffering no guilt at breaking into the safe, Gideon opened the door. Holy mother lode. Crossbows with beautifully engineered draws and balanced arrows. Guns, of quite a few types and sizes. But of even greater interest was Daegan’s ammunition. Gideon lifted one of the capsules to the light, looking at the dark movement of liquid inside. There were knives, of every possible description, weight and curve. He picked up a misericord, examining it. Hanging behind the knives, on another backboard, was the collection of swords. He expected he was looking at weapons that might have belonged to warriors of old. Of course, if Daegan was born in 1310, they could be his—

Gideon dropped and rolled a second before the vampire reached him, his precog sense alone helping him avoid that snatch and grab. He was able to get the sofa between them, made a well-aimed jab with the misericord that almost snagged Daegan’s shirt, but that was as far as he got. Daegan had him against the wall, another weapon against Gideon’s throat. A nice six-inch wooden blade that could punch right through the neck.

“It’s good manners to ask a man before you handle his weapon.”

Before Gideon could think of a suitable retort to that, Daegan backed off and tossed him the knife. When Gideon caught it, he realized it was his own wooden knife. “It served the purpose you wished,” the vampire said briefly. “I took Barnabus’s blood with it, though I am keeping him alive in a holding facility until we are certain we no longer need him.”

“Good.” Gideon hadn’t expected him to honor his request, but Daegan had taken it seriously, warrior to warrior. While he couldn’t bring himself to say thanks, Daegan seemed indifferent to his response. The vampire had changed clothes, now wearing faded blue jeans, the cuffs worn and frayed with age, and a white muscle shirt. His feet were bare. The casual, contemporary look might make him seem as approachable as a Gap commercial, except for that stalking-game walk and his closed expression.

“You’ve got an impressive amount of hardware here,” Gideon observed, returning Daegan’s daggers to the safe. “What’s in the bullets?”

“Acid.” Daegan moved to join him. “They explode in the vampire, eat away flesh. It won’t kill him, but it hurts. Works for a distraction, slows enemy response time.”

“Hmm.” Gideon grunted. “And these?” He reached out, touched a small metal capsule.

He yanked his arm back as it became a whirling dervish at the pressure of his fingers, catapulting out of the box with a pinwheel of lethal blades. Daegan caught the ball in a move too fast for Gideon to follow. Whatever he did retracted the blades and saved his fingers, though he noted a stripe of blood across three of Daegan’s knuckles.

“A version of a throwing star. It handles somewhat like a boomerang, and you release the trigger as you throw.”

“Can it decapitate?”

“Nearly. It’s more effective for removing limbs. It’s difficult for a vampire who has suffered an amputation to fight back immediately. As you know, several seconds are usually the only advantage you need, if you’re doing it right.”

Gideon looked at the array of weapons again.
Fucking awesome.
He cleared his throat, shrugged his shoulders. “Pretty good arsenal.”

“Mmm.” Daegan replaced the capsule and slid his hands into his pockets, heedless of the blood spatter he might put on the denim. He stared down at the weapons. “With these, with my hands, with my body, I can kill anything. But I have no ability to turn back time or to heal her body, her mind.”

There it was, the thing that had Gideon wandering, and had brought Daegan back out again, both of them acutely aware of the woman in the other room, the many things she might be suffering, and how she’d shut them out.

“You think she really wanted us not to be around her, or was that the female way of saying, ‘I want you to insist’?”

Daegan arched a brow at Gideon. “Anwyn is not like normal women. She says exactly what she wants, when she wants it. The games she plays are clear challenges, as straightforward as a knight throwing down a gauntlet. As wonderful as that sounds”—his gaze returned to the weapons—“it means that she does mean what she says. She doesn’t want us near her.”

“Son of a bitch.”

Daegan made a grunt of acknowledgment. Then he glanced at Gideon again. This time his look was penetrating and far more personal, reminding Gideon of earlier, when Daegan’s mouth had been on his shoulder, only Anwyn’s hands between Daegan’s and his ass. He’d tried not to think about that much, because it didn’t bear thinking about. It had been what they did for her; that was all.

“Becoming her servant was very noble. She may think I planted the decision, influenced you unfairly, but even she knows that’s wrong. You despise my kind. Only a true belief that it was the right thing to do would have moved you. That, and your feelings for her. I hope you don’t regret it, because regardless of my motives, she needs a man like you as her servant.”

Gideon shifted, not wanting to get into that. “You’ve been watching us both like you’re waiting for another shoe to drop.”

Daegan lifted a shoulder. “You know a lot about our world, Gideon. I may have to take her before the Council to have her validated as a made vampire. Either way, they will have a hand in deciding how she will be integrated into the vampire world. She can’t exist in a territory as a loner. You know this.”

“Shit. Yeah, I know.” But he hadn’t thought that Daegan would broach it so soon. “If she has to appear before the Council, I’m going with her.”

“That would be the height of folly.”

“Yeah. I’m going. If the seizures keep happening, she’ll need me. We both know it.”

“We will speak of it soon. Not now, though.” When Daegan continued to stare into space, Gideon felt that unwilling twinge of male empathy.
Fuck.