The Mark of the Vampire Queen (32 page)

She thought of him the previous night, the way he'd closed his hand over hers on the brand at his hip. When she'd taken him back to their room, she'd feathered her lips over it more than once, teasing his cock with the fine line of her cheek before she'd ridden him to climax.

Rex had tried to control and dominate her, but in the end he'd had no ability to do so because she never trusted him enough to let him into her soul. Now she'd put her heart and soul as well as her physical well-being into the hands of a mere human. And she'd never felt safer in her life.

Around him, the ballroom somehow became fantastical with its array of characters. He was surrounded by things that were temporal, no longer her reality, but there he was in the middle of it. The soul who had bound himself to her, even through death. The lights of the chandelier sent out rays that sparkled in her vision.

It occurred to her that he, Bran and Mr. Ingram had become the most real things in her life these last couple of months. She wanted to experience only what was real from now on. She had no patience for anything else. Why had she even come here? The reason seemed to escape her.

She turned abruptly, thinking to leave. Registering the startled look on Daniela's face, she had no chance to make a vague excuse, for Lord Uthe stepped onto the platform. He reached out a hand to her as if he thought she'd turned at his approach. Apparently Danny came to the same conclusion, because her puzzled expression vanished and she respectfully withdrew.

“It's nearly nine, my lady. Are you ready?”

The dance. The male vampires checking their hair and the fit of their trousers. An unwelcome palm hot against her waist, a male body too close. His eyes speculating on thoughts so far away from who she was, had been. What she wanted.

Lyssa made herself rest her hand in Uthe's, her lips pressed together to keep from screaming. That roiling feeling suddenly expanded exponentially. She didn't have stage fright, didn't even know what this was. It wasn't the virus. That was the only reassurance she could give herself, for suddenly her throat was so tight she could barely speak.

Uthe brought her to the edge of the platform and commanded the attention of the large room with a raised hand, projecting his voice as the ballroom quieted. The lights closed in on her, his voice setting off a headache.

“My lady. As our revered queen, we always ask that you lead off the first dance of the Ball. Will you honor us and one fortunate gentleman? That is, unless you've changed your preferences this year and wish to choose a lady?”

There was some laughter, but the male vampires who thought they might be eligible were a palpable energy in the large room. Feeling it, those assembled quieted further with hushed expectancy. The candlelit chandeliers were lowered, other light sources dimming to give the main floor and herself the focus. She well understood the perceived significance of this moment. Back in Atlanta, in the far more casual atmosphere of her study, she and Jacob had reviewed a short list of candidates critically. Brian had been the easy choice. It would be clear she was honoring him for his scientific advances on behalf of their species, but no one would surmise that she had anything but respect for the far more lower-ranking vampire and his well-known father.

The last time she'd been here, she'd been with Rex and Thomas. Her monk had stood in the shadows, the lights reflecting off his spectacles. Now Rex was dead, killed by her hand. Thomas had died alone in a monastery.

No, not alone. Jacob had been with him.

The first time she'd danced with Rex here, he'd been pleased with the prestige of the honor, but more than that, he'd wanted her. He'd believed in the Council she'd built. He'd fought at her side. He hadn't been a kind man, but he'd been a strong leader, a man to respect. And he had loved her. Until he lost his mind.

The lights were dim, but they still hurt her eyes. She wanted utter darkness. Her eyes were burning, trying to fill with mortifying tears.

“My lady,” Lord Uthe said gently. She turned a desperate glance toward him. “We are on par, you and I,” he said. “I have no motives or designs upon you. If it would be easier this first time since your husband's death, I will be happy to…”

He let it drift off, a courtesy.

No. Never in her many centuries of life had she allowed her control to slip voluntarily. Though it was a savage internal struggle, one during which her mind told her she would be wise to take Uthe's offer, she shook her head. She did manage to reach out and clasp his hand in an offering of thanks for his kindness. Then she was moving off the platform, toward the center of the floor where a circle had been opened to allow her room for her dance.

She went to the center of it and let her gaze travel over the arrayed faces as the second hand on the ornate clock over the orchestra reached a minute before nine. Whoever she was looking at when that final ninth chime tolled was her chosen partner. He would come to her, meet her on the floor. Decades before, it was the decisive move that confirmed to all she intended to accept Rex as her husband.

Now she passed over overlords, ladies. Region Masters. Council members. Belizar was missing, oddly. She almost snorted as her gaze passed over Carnal, and he straightened in one self-delusional moment, thinking she might choose him. She would cut his hands off before they ever touched her again.

When she coursed fully over the room, she pivoted on her heel, began the same examination in a counterclockwise motion. Brian was not readily visible. In case of his absence, she had several neutral choices like Uthe, where she could bestow the favor with little expectations beyond the dance. She saw at least two of those choices in the crowd.

But she didn't want any of them touching her tonight. Maybe she was wrong and this tide of emotional response was attributable to the disease, but even Uthe had sensed what Jacob had pointed out to her before, in his quiet, logical way. She was a woman who'd lost her husband and human servant less than two years ago and was now facing the end of her own life.

All these rituals she'd last shared with Rex…It was overwhelming at times.

She wouldn't live to share Christmas with Jacob. That bothered her. She liked Christmas. Would she have made it this far these past few months without him? She doubted it. She needed to tell him that. Be damned any concerns about him getting too full of himself. They'd gone beyond that.

Her skin shivered with desire for one man's fingers to be trailing along the line of her spine in her low-backed dress, one man's thighs pressing against hers in the turn of the waltz.

The clock began to chime. One beat, two beats, three beats. She was measuring the beats of her heart rather than the counts of the clock. She let her gaze linger over the alternate choices, saw the humble appreciation for the consideration in their eyes. It was well-known she often bestowed her second and third choices with a strike or two of the clock before she settled on her final choice.

The crowd shifted as the sixth chime struck, tension and excitement gathering. A few smiles, enjoyment of the moment among those who knew they were not competing for it. Then she altered the direction of her gaze by ninety degrees, turning precisely on her heel. The murmurs died away, bitten off by indrawn breaths.

The last chime echoed in a now completely silent ballroom. The preternatural stillness of vampires had descended, even their servants frozen in the gravity of the moment.

She could tell Devlin, as he stepped back from her choice, was dismayed and not a little shocked. Though he loved his own Mistress well, perhaps he was even a little disapproving. Yes, the Aussies were more informal. But there was a baseline code that governed them all, and she'd quite deliberately decided to grind it under the point of her heel.

Jacob moved forward, the tap of his dress shoes loud on the floor of the ballroom, a beautifully arranged Rosetta pattern done in varying shades of wood. While there was no falter or hesitation to his steps, the set of his mouth was tense. As the chime's final note vibrated away on the air, he reached her, perfectly timing his approach.

Dropping to one knee, he bowed his head, perhaps trying to soften the adverse effect of what she'd just done. But she extended her hand, bade him rise. When he brushed it with his lips and rose, she dropped in a low curtsy before him.

The shocked gasps were audible this time, increasing the swell of mutters.

When she straightened, she used the pressure of his hand to draw her back up to stand before him. It was expected to be adored by one's servant, but the way her skin burned with pleasurable fire when he looked at her as he did now…gods. How could they not see it?

My lady…Brian is not here, but we had some other choices…

I didn't look for Brian, or any of the others.

A pause as he digested that, the light of his blue eyes fierce on her face. A light that did not hurt her eyes in the least. Concerned he might be, but she'd also reached into his soul and touched him. She knew he would deny her nothing. Hadn't he said so from the beginning?

Is this wise?

What can they do? Kill us?

His lips tugged in acknowledgment of the irony.

I will bear no man's hands on me tonight, Sir Vagabond. Only yours. Not just now, but to the end of my life.

He swallowed. When he backed up a step, he took her with him.

It was a traditional waltz, though she'd chosen one of her preferred slow and languid 1920s torch songs as the music for it. He bowed to her again as she dipped into a more shallow curtsy, the formal beginning to the dance. Taking her other hand as she straightened, he drew her into his arms.

There was no music. Lyssa glanced over her shoulder with an imperious, faintly annoyed look. The music director snapped out of his slack-jawed amazement to give the violinist his cue.

The first pure, sad note quivered in the air, joined by several other string instruments. Jacob moved into the four-step count, entirely proper spacing between them. She was having none of that. She moved into him so he had to slide his hand more fully around her waist, his hand on the small of her back and point of her hip as she wished. The dress she'd chosen for tonight was a black sheath with a transparent overlay of jet sequins. The front neckline displayed her creatively raised bosom to give an eye-catching setting for her necklace of blood rubies and diamonds. The back dipped low, the sloping side edges cut in a jagged, lightning pattern held fast by a transparent piece of black net embroidered with the image of a Chinese dragon, matching the ink tattoo of one she'd had Jacob put on her shoulder. She could feel the heat of his hand through that transparent net.

Closing her eyes, she let him turn her, his arms and the press of his body guiding her. He was a good dancer. A wonderful lover. A man she could lean on. She imagined the picture they made, like the top of a music box, the swallowtails of his coat and the fluttering edge of her skirt rippling as they turned, stepped.

She didn't try to listen to his thoughts, but she wasn't closed to him. She was just drifting deeper into him, past the level of words, feeling the mélange of emotions that was Jacob swirl through her soul as he swirled her around the floor.

Once the clock hand changed to the first minute after nine, others could join them on the floor. The Council members did first, tight-lipped and formal, choosing their vampire partners. Soon the floor was floating in multiple colors and faces she blurred out. The only thing she wanted in focus was Jacob. She was flying, the rest like a cherry tree's blossoms drifting around her in the void.

“My stepfather did that once, a long, long time ago. Do you remember? I stood under the branches and he shook them. It was pink snow. Fluttering around me, never ending.”

That's what Heaven was. Cherry blossoms fluttering around her as a handsome man danced her around a wide floor. The petals landing on her eyelids, the tops of her breasts, his hair…

The safety of a protector, the passion of a lover…

When she reached up to touch the hair feathered over his brow, Jacob gently caught her hand, tightening his grip. Pressed his lips to her knuckles.
My lady, I sense you are not yourself. Perhaps we should retire as soon as is acceptable
—

Black and white. In a blink, color became black and white, and Heaven became Hell. Burning heat exploded as rage, scattering the cool, tranquil touch of the memory. Sensual feeling became passionate, irrational anger.

Locking her fingers around his hand without care for her strength, she narrowed eyes that had become filmed in red. “I'm not your servant, Jacob. Don't propose to order me to do anything.”

A muscle flexed in Jacob's jaw as he managed the steps without faltering. Another fraction of pressure and she'd break several of his fingers. That didn't concern him. It would be a welcome distraction from the tidal wave of fear that filled him. They were under the scrutiny of everyone, many of the males already eyeing him as if they'd be happy to tear out his vitals. Devlin's description of what happened to male servants perceived as having undue influence over their Mistresses was uncomfortably vivid. Would they be that aggressive toward Lady Lyssa's servant? He suddenly was all too aware that if an attack came, he was her only protection. If they took him away from her…

The victim's condition will begin to deteriorate quickly. The mood swings will be so sharp they can almost occur midsentence…When that occurs, the physical attack will come quickly on the heels of the emotional…The vampire has entered the final stage, and it will be far more rapid than any of the previous stages…

He should have made the call to Ingram. Earlier tonight, when he'd helped her dress, he knew he should have. He just hadn't wanted to believe…He'd been stupid. The cell phone was in his pocket.

The other dancers were giving them a wide berth. Normally, he knew they would have maneuvered to be close to her, to win the favor of a word. Instead the circle of space they left around her was filled with a buffer of hostility, suspicion.