The Mark of the Vampire Queen (26 page)

Lord Belizar's voice. Where?

To your left, my lady. Turn your head no more than an inch or two. Give him a smile with that touch of disdain you do so well. Let him worry whether he's displeased you.

A good tactic. Hoping she did it successfully, she turned her face back to Jacob. She needed to give him an order, something that would make sense, of course. Dispel any suspicion. Her clothes were wet.

None of this was adequate. She couldn't do this anymore. Her skin felt on fire. Jacob's hands were like hot brands. Oh, God…it was not close to dawn, but she could feel the sun as if her skin was anticipating its eruption from the earth. She was responding to it. Suffering for it.

I can't…Jacob. Where…?

I'm here, my lady. Sssh…
Somehow they were in her rooms. It seemed only a few seconds had passed, but it would have taken him at least five or ten minutes to get her there. She could only hear roaring in her head. Her limbs were shuddering and she was overwhelmed by a fear so strong she didn't know how to control it. She was afraid. She'd never been this afraid.

Jacob…I'm frightened. So frightened and no reason for it. Help me…

He'd put her down and stepped back, and she was sinking. Just sinking.

No. He had her. Stripping off her clothes. Leaving her naked and damp, shivering in his arms as he lifted her, took her to the cool touch of the sheets. She clung to his back, seeking him, his life, his presence. Her legs lifted, locked around his hips.

He hesitated. Then in one gentle move he lay down upon her. Sliding his cock deep, he caused her to rise up to him and cry out as the fear and emptiness were severed inside her soul, like a two-headed monster he'd just cleaved with his decisive penetration, driving out everything wrong.

He settled in and stayed there. Pressing his forehead to hers, he framed her throbbing head with his hands, holding her body down, giving her a certain anchor.

She didn't need to be afraid. He was here. Her words or his? It didn't matter. Only this mattered. This sensation of reassurance, his large body covering hers, his cock firmly seated, his arms around her.

“Sssh…my lady. You're fine. I'm here. Hold on.”

Her mind was completely open to him, telling Jacob she was unaware or wholly unable to keep herself shielded from him. Her body now was sweating, her skin so hot it almost burned, but she gripped him to her as if she didn't want a fraction of space between them. A jumble of frightening images of her past and present filled his head, her fears for the future…

Those she protected hunted down. Everything she'd built with the Council destroyed by Carnal and his type of vampire, those who wanted savagery and chaos to rule the world. She thought they were up to something. They needed to be on guard, all of them, because she had no idea from which direction the threat would come, but one was coming. She might be able to protect her fugitives with a Council decision, but how could the Council hold together if she was gone…

It was the first time she'd acknowledged what he suspected. She was perhaps the one vampire capable of keeping order all on her own. Not just with her royal lineage and wisdom, but the enormous power that was hers to command. She was their shield. She was the army that gave them the time to grow in wisdom and strength. While she understood she would not be around forever, she knew her death might be too soon. Far too soon.

Then those images slid away and he was falling into the well of her soul. As he spiraled down into her unconscious, it reared up to meet him, blasted him with the desolation of her most personal fears.

A storm of them, no order or reason. The nightmare stories of vampires being damned and soulless, facing Hell…Ruthless hands on her, Carnal and Rex hurting her, taking everything, leaving her nothing. Her voice cried out to him like a child's in the night with a trembling vulnerability.

The image struck him like a fist, filling his mind so he couldn't deny it had the shape of a memory.

Those beautiful green eyes in a little girl's face, silky dark hair wisping around her delicate features. She'd woken in tears, screaming of her stepfather's death. He'd held her, her favorite samurai guard. Sung her back to safer dreams. While he'd had very different feelings about her then, one thing had been the same. He'd known the small girl child in his lap was the most important thing in his life. The beginning and the end of it.

Jacob was glad she had no ability to read his thoughts right now, for it tore his heart to pieces to feel her fear and pain. But he could and would stand between her and any threat, even this one. Tightening his grip on her, he began to stroke, slow and powerful, reaching deep into her mind in a way he'd never tried before. He'd stumbled into it one time by mistake, and she'd reacted violently. This time he wasn't prying. He was seeking her in that darkness.

'Tis bullshit, my lady. The light of your soul is so strong the sun dims before it. Your heart is so good…There's nothing to fear. We'll protect what is yours with all that we are, and what we cannot do, we must leave to a Power higher than ourselves. I'm here, and I bear your third mark. Wherever you go, I'll be right with you. You are never alone in this. In anything. I love you, my lady. So much I am nothing without you. You have become everything.

She clutched his shoulders, her breath quickening. He slayed her dragons with the sharp edge of his words, giving her truth, not sentiment. Increasing the strength of his thrusts, he encircled her hips with one arm, pressing his palm against one buttock to raise her for a deeper penetration.

The whirl of her thoughts was slowing, focusing, replaced by an undulating red wave of response, clearing the debris of the storm her sickness had brought crashing down on her. It left space for the rippling tide he built within her. When her muscles convulsed on him, he bent his head, covered her breast with his mouth, tasted salt water and sand. Closing his eyes, he let his own tears fall where they'd merge with the dampness of her skin. Her hand touched his head, fingers tangling into his wet hair, her body beginning to match the cadence of his.

Nothing you do shall take me from your side, my lady. You can't hurt me enough to make me leave you.

As she began to climax, her nails pierced his flesh as he knew was her way, drawing blood she would lap from his skin before a drop was wasted. He shuddered in reaction to her body releasing beneath his, allowing him to give her pleasure and peace, restore her and send her flying at once. Even as he felt that miracle, he prayed for another one.

“Jacob…”

He quivered, muscles rippling through his arms and across his back at that soft whisper. He hadn't asked, but she'd known he was waiting. Waiting for his Mistress's command in the way she'd taught him. The way he knew would help her regain her sense of herself.

“Give me your seed. Come inside me.”

It exploded from him, raw and aching as if he had a vise tight around his heart. As it pumped furiously, keeping pace with his release, it was like a heart attack, heralding the agony of impending loss.

S
HE
slept deeply after that. Jacob slept some with her, but when the sun came, he was up and taking a morning run around the castle grounds. It was a different place in its peaceful early daylight solitude and even more beautiful, if that was possible. By happenstance, Devlin was also out and joined him. The Aussie said little, simply keeping Jacob company while he sweated out his demons. As they made their circuit, Jacob noted that with the exception of Devlin, it was primarily the servants of the more highly ranked overlords, Region Masters and Council members moving around this early in the morning, confirming old ties and establishing new ones. Networking. Since that was his purpose as well, with Devlin's help he identified several servants of vampires who had received vital communications from Lyssa in the past few months. He took the opportunity to confirm those communications had been received and understood.

None of those communications revealed his lady's illness, of course, but she was officially verifying the commitment of those vampires to the Council's purpose, as well as unofficially laying the tracks of an underground railroad for her fugitives and even her legitimate vampires if they ended up needing it. Since Lady Danny was loyal to Lyssa's cause, even if she didn't have a lot of influence to lend to it, Devlin was exceptionally helpful, providing Jacob insights and pointing out other servants of newer, younger overlords his lady might want to approach while she was here.

For personal as well as other reasons Jacob had hoped to see Debra, or even Lord Brian, but apparently Seanna was correct. Brian was likely sequestered in his temporary lab. Debra was probably burning both ends of the candle to do his lab work when she wasn't required to serve as entertainment. Had Brian made a breakthrough in the Delilah virus? Or would his news at the Court be about something else entirely, crushing the narrow window of hope Jacob was grimly holding open?

The Australian stayed respectfully silent during the interchanges, but when they made it at last to the back side of the grounds where there was just the stretch of ocean, he slowed to an in-place jog and raised a brow. “Done with wanking now? Or you got anything left?” With a shove to throw Jacob off balance, he was off and running, throwing insults over his shoulder as Jacob raced after him. When he caught up, he found he had to stretch himself to the limits of his body to stay even with the man's powerful stride. They completed the last mile of their run dead out, taking the stairs to the verandah three at a time, lungs burning.

“You're no wuss, are you, mate?” Devlin gasped, his hands on his knees. Straightening, he winked. “I'm off to play fairy godmother on my lady's dress for tonight's doings. She's heard rumors about some of the other outfits and thinks it needs some fussing up. Bloody sheilas. Come find me tonight if you have time and I'll shout you that drink. Hell, since they're all free, I can afford a slab.”

Jacob waved a hand in assent. Although he was fighting to regain his breath as well, the festering ache he'd been carrying had dissipated to a manageable anxiety. When Devlin left him with a slap on the shoulder and a “She'll be right, mate,” Jacob found himself grateful for a friend.

Uneasiness had been simmering in his gut since they'd driven away from her Atlanta home and she'd watched Bran in the rear window until she could no longer see him. While at first he thought he was just anticipating his proximity to so many vampires or the many possible public ways he might be compelled to perform sexual acts for his lady's stimulation, after last night's episode on the beach, he knew it wasn't that.

As the day progressed, he stayed busy with an odd mixture of the political and domestic. The evening's event was an early dinner and entertainments rumored to be as elaborate as an erotic three-ring circus. Normally it would cause him trepidation, but she was his focus tonight.

As it got close to dusk, he prepared her bath, chose the oils he thought would suit her mood best. Ironed the ribbons to dress her hair and selected her lingerie, one of his favorite tasks. A silver-gray bra that was sheer except for a delicate embroidered pattern of swirls that would stretch along the sides and lower portion of her breasts, leaving the nipple delightfully in view beneath the shimmering net of the cup. A matching lace thong, which gave him the welcome distraction of imagining sliding the garment onto her, his thumb caught under the straps curving over her hip bones.

Everything was ready, the sun starting to sink. Sitting by her bed, he watched her continue to sleep, her internal alarm silenced by her body's fight to keep up its strength. He didn't want to wake her.

The need of a lover to protect warred with his duty as her servant, making it difficult to wake her from a sleep he knew might give her the strength to live just a bit longer. When he at last bent over her, he hesitated. Usually he spoke or touched her shoulder to wake her. Sometimes the curve of her cheek.

Instead, he placed his mouth over hers, a kiss he drew out and deepened, coaxing her lips to part, his tongue touching hers. Giving in to desire, he curled his arms around her slim body, heated it with his own. He registered that her skin felt its normal, slightly cooler temperature, though he detected she needed to eat. As she began to rouse, his third mark also registered her strength and vitality had returned. He held on, wanting to savor it.

She needed to be home. But his lady would never shirk her duty. Had her soul been in the body of Guinevere, Camelot would never have fallen. She'd been less than a couple of centuries old when he'd come to her as a knight during one of the Crusades. Yet he saw little difference in her self-possession and confidence between that time and this one. Since she was born, she'd been groomed to be a queen. As far as he knew, she'd never harbored any resentment over that. Scornful of those who eschewed their responsibilities in her own Region of territories, she punished them swiftly and decisively. In a correspondence to one of her young overlords, she'd stated it baldly. “There are those who spend their whole lives wishing they had power, leadership. If you are given it, you live up to it. It's a gift Fate believes you can handle. If you are wise, you don't disappoint Fate.”

Now, in the present, his queen and liege lady indicated by light pressure she wanted him to draw back. He did so reluctantly, but only a few inches as she cupped his face and ran her thumb over his lips, moist from her own mouth.

Lyssa had been in a half doze, enjoying the awareness of him moving around the room. When he sat down, she expected the touch on her face or the quiet murmur of his voice. His brief hesitation had been her only warning before he'd leaned forward and given her the touch of his lips. A wake-up kiss. Something a lover or husband would do.

“It's almost time to join the others for dinner, my lady. I've laid out your clothing.”

He also had hot water and a cloth for her face as usual. Taking her hand, he gave her his strength to lift her into a sitting position so she had to use none of her own. Sliding his arm behind her, he offered her the brace of his shoulder as she got her bearings. She yawned.

“I never used to wake up groggy. Is this what you humans face each day? I wonder that you get up at all.”

His gaze was on her face, registering her skin tone. “You need blood, my lady. May I offer you something?”

She shook her head. She didn't want anything, though she knew she should. Her limbs felt heavy. When he opened his mouth to press the issue, she gave him a quelling look, as effective as a verbal snap. She didn't reach out to his mind, too raw to deal with the worry she knew would be there, and that made her irritable. Merging with Jacob's mind first thing was something she anticipated almost as much as seeing him upon rising.

Turning away from him, she brought one knee onto the bed.

“Do you want your hair up or down today, my lady? Or somewhere in between?”

Closing her eyes to enjoy the sensation of brushing, she didn't respond, but knew he wouldn't repeat himself. He was used to her long pauses, particularly in her “morning” phase. The brush stroked firmly, pulling out the tangles without yanking, massaging her scalp. His hand passed before it to run fingers through the strands. When he'd first begun the ritual, it had been to feel for tangles, but now she knew he did it to touch. She liked it as much as he seemed to, so she never skipped the brushing unless he'd angered her. A smile touched her lips. He did that about one third of the time.

“Tell me how you'd like me to wear it…and call me by my name.”

She'd not made that request ever, even in their most physically intimate moments. His hand stilled on her hair, the brush pausing in midstroke.

Call me familiar. I command it.

“I want you to leave it down, Lyssa. With just a piece here. And here.” He took a lock from either side of her temples. “To hold it back.”

When his fingertips drifted down, she turned her cheek into his hand, holding it there between her shoulder and jaw. “When it's all the way down, like this,” he said quietly, “it reminds me of when you're riding me, all your glorious hair falling around your face. If you wear it that way, I'll think of you that way, all evening long.”

Say it again.
She wanted to hear it.

Rising to one knee behind her, he wrapped his arms around her body, dropping the brush to the covers. He was wearing slacks and a tailored cotton shirt, his hair brushed and gleaming, queued back. He smelled fresh, bathed. She detected the provocatively light blending of the cologne scent of his deodorant and aftershave. His well-groomed beard pressed against her temple now. She curled her fingers around the forearm he pressed across her bosom as his hand clasped her shoulder, holding her back against his solid chest.

“Lyssa.” He murmured it against her ear. “My heart. My soul. My lady.”

She closed her eyes, nodded. She could be what she needed to be. Cruel when she had to be. He would stand behind her.

Always, my lady. I will be whatever you need me to be.

She hadn't meant for her thoughts to be open to him, but she knew her control of that was slipping. She found she could even accept it, at least at this moment. At length, he released her and began to tend her hair again. Reaching back, she put her hand high on his thigh. “Any tenderness?”

“None. I could have used this healing ability when I was a kid, as frequently as Gideon tried to kill me.”

“You fought that much?”

He chuckled. “No, my lady. We did fight, but we were most likely to kill each other during play.” He tugged her around, the brushing done, and guided her touch to a bump on his head just under his hairline. “We couldn't find our baseball one day, so we decided to pitch rocks. Gideon was first at bat. He insists if my head hadn't been in the way, he would have hit a line drive clear out of the field. Since he fractured my skull, our aunt was inclined to agree with him.”

Jacob was glad to see a smile on his lady's lips again. He was having difficulty turning his thoughts from his concerns, and he knew she was likely staying a safe distance from them as a result. Though her strength had returned, he could sense her fragility, an impression he'd never been able to detect this long after an episode.

Do you think I don't know I'm getting worse, Jacob? The disease had to start progressing at a certain point, and of course it's Murphy's law that it would do so here, where it's so important that I appear healthy and well.

“I think I better take that breakfast you say I need, Sir Vagabond,” she said before he could respond to that. “Are you up for it? No weakness from yesterday at all? Before you lie to me, recall I can still hear your thoughts.” Her eyes glinted. “There are many punishments available to me here.”

Yesterday Lady Helga showed me a thick metal collar she'd had made by a jeweler who is displaying her wares at this Gathering. It's nearly three inches in width. I could lock it around your throat and keep the key on a chain around my neck, dangling between my breasts where it would tease you.

“You think you need a key to tease me with that sight, my lady?” He raised a brow, struggling to maintain a mild expression and hammer down the lust her words provoked so easily.

She continued, that sultry half whisper weaving itself among the rational centers of his brain, fogging his ability to think.
There are two tiny spikes on the inside that press against the throat, irritating the skin and reminding the servant of his bond to his Mistress. Their location is marked on the outside with a pair of bloodred rubies. Whenever she wishes, the vampire places her fingers on those two rubies and presses. After the spikes puncture the side of the throat, the lady may partake of the blood by holding a lovely matching goblet against her servant's flesh to catch the flow. But I wouldn't use it. I'd wait until the stream of blood reached your nipple and start there, lapping it up all the way back to your throat.

He closed his hand over hers. She'd effectively driven any thought out of his head but the images she'd created, and he had to bite back a smile at the satisfied gleam in her eyes.

“I can serve your needs, my lady, whatever they may be. Your blood nourished me well. Let me offer the same gift to you.”

She studied him another moment before she nodded. Leaning forward, she bit into his throat, into the area that had begun to show a dual puncture scar because of her repeated use of it. Though she preferred the throat, when her hand brushed high on his thigh, his mind immediately turned back to one night when she'd chosen the femoral artery. His cock had stood hard and heavy as her cheek brushed his testicles, her throat working against the muscle of his thigh as she swallowed the alarming rush of blood that came from the area. When she was done, she'd put her mouth over his cock, and he'd immediately exploded against the back of her throat. She'd tied his hands to the bed rails that night so he was at her mercy. He'd looked down to see traces of his own blood on his genitals, markings from her mouth upon his length.