Bittersweet Blood (12 page)

Tara let out a small whimper, and her grip tightened on his shoulders. He was so close she could smell the faint musky scent of his skin. She opened her eyes as a slight smile flickered across his features.

“I told you—normal is highly overrated.”

He gripped her hair and tugged her head back almost roughly. His lips were at her throat, his teeth grazing over the sensitive flesh, and her whole body tensed in anticipation as she waited for the sharp pain of his penetration. He nipped the skin between his teeth but the pain never came. Instead, he released her and she felt the slow almost languid stroke of his tongue against her taut flesh. The sensation was exquisite and without thinking, her head fell back to allow him access.

He ran a finger down her throat, and then took a small step back. “Did you know you have other veins, other places I can feed from?”

She stared at him wide eyed and he picked up her limp hand. He stroked the pad of his thumb across the thin skin of her inner arm. “One here at your wrist. And one…” He dropped her hand and reached down between them. “And one just here, between your thighs.” He stroked his finger down the seam of her jeans. “Would you like that, Tara? My mouth between your thighs?”

Tara couldn’t answer; she’d lost the ability to speak. Her insides were melting and threatening to slide out of her body.

He laughed softly, his hands gliding over her back, sure and firm. They splayed over her bottom and pulled her into him so she could feel every hard inch of him against her. He shifted, and the rigid line of his erection pressed against the softness of her belly. Her body clenched, and she curled her fingers into the hard muscle of his upper arms. He held her against him for a long moment. Then released her and took a step back.

He smiled ruefully. “I told myself I was going to give you time, let you sort out your personal issues before I gave you anything else to deal with. I guess I’m not very good at not taking what I want.”

He stroked the pad of his thumb across her lower lip. She trembled, dropped her hands from his arms then backed against the car and breathed in slowly.

“Er, right. Hadn’t we better get going?” She was proud of how steady her voice sounded. “After all, you don’t want to be on the road when the sun comes up.”

They drove through the almost deserted streets of London. Tara stared at his hands on the wheel, the long, elegant fingers. His sleeves were pushed up, revealing strong forearms, the skin pale with a slight sprinkling of dark hairs. He had a circle of scars, like bracelets, around each wrist, as though he’d been tied up at some time. Was it before he became a vampire?

She had so many questions she wanted to ask. How old he was, where he came from, had he a family? She made a mental note to ask him sometime but just now, she didn’t feel inclined to break the silence. Despite what had happened between them, the atmosphere in the car was comfortable. So she sat back and watched the passing lights.

After a while they left the city behind and sped northwards on the dark motorway. The car was warm and she drifted off into a light sleep.

…

Christian knew the moment she fell asleep. He glanced away from the road. Her eyes were closed, her lush pink mouth slightly open. He remembered the taste of her. He’d almost lost it. All his good resolutions had vanished with the first taste of those lips. She was intoxicating.

He could blame some of it on the demon blood he’d drunk that night. He could still feel it race through his body, intensifying his senses.

Piers had called him with news that another agent had died, and they had gone hunting together. They had caught up with the demons and taken them down, sated themselves on the blood—just like old times.

Still, it hadn’t lessened his hunger for Tara; he was beginning to crave her like an addiction. He’d almost bitten her back there. That was the unfortunate aspect of demon blood—it lowered his inhibitions.

What would they find in Yorkshire? What secrets would the house hold and would it reveal them? An undead guardian and a magical charm. Why? What could she be hiding?

Whatever it was, he was sure Tara was unaware of it. He thought of her desire for a normal life, and knew he had to let her go.

Three hours out of London, snow began to fall.

…

“Tara, we’re almost there.”

A hand touched her shoulder, and she opened her eyes. The car had stopped moving, and the interior light was on. They were cocooned in darkness, a swirling mass of snow outside, and beyond that nothing. She turned to find Christian watching her.

“Are you ready for this?” he asked.

Was she? She nodded. “Of course. It’s only a house.”

He switched off the light and turned the ignition. They drove slowly. A layer of snow crunched under the car’s wheels, and the dark trees on either side were shadowed in the headlights’ beam. Tara stared straight ahead.

“I guess you know this road well?” Christian spoke into the silence.

“Not well. We didn’t leave very often. In fact, I don’t remember Aunt Kathy ever leaving.”

“Probably the magic that kept her alive was tied to this place.”

“What? So she would have—” She’d been going to say died, but that didn’t seem the right term for someone who was already dead. “I used to cut across the moors to get to the village, so this track wasn’t used much. Just deliveries and things.”

Up ahead she saw the wrought iron gates at the entrance to the house. “There it is,” she said. “I have the keys, just a moment.”

She found the big old-fashioned keys in her bag and opened the car door. Swirls of snow entered the warm interior and she shivered. “I need my coat, it’s freezing out there.”

Christian took the keys from her and exited the car. A minute later, the gates swung open, and he climbed back in and drove through. He halted the car at the midpoint through the gates.

“The gates are warded.”

Tara could see nothing unusual. “Warded? What does that mean?”

“More magic. My guess is it’s a cloaking device. Hiding what’s inside.”

“But there’s nothing there to hide.”

“No, but there was…you.”

She rubbed at the point between her eyes to erase the tension. “Why would anyone want to hide me? I can’t do anything different. I’m
ordinary
.”

“You’re not ordinary. I don’t know what you are, or why someone should feel the need to hide you away, but there is something about you, something I sensed straight away. Your scent is exotic, deliciously intoxicating.” He breathed in deeply, his eyes half shut. “I’ve never come across a human or a supernatural being who smells quite like you. No, whatever you are, you’re different.”

“I don’t want to be different.”

Christian shrugged. “We rarely get what we want. We just have to learn to accept what we are. Come on, let’s get you inside before you freeze.”

Chapter Eleven

The building appeared out of the darkness. Half hidden by the swirling snow, it loomed gray and huge.

“You need to drive round the back,” Tara said.

Christian pulled up in the shelter of the house, and Tara got out of the car and hurried to unlock the door. It opened straight into the farmhouse kitchen. After stepping inside, Tara was amazed at the feeling of welcome that washed over her. She pressed the light switch just inside the door, hoping the power was still on, and relaxed as light flooded the room.

This had always been her favorite part of the house. For a moment, she stood and let the feeling run through her. She’d built the place up into some sort of nightmare, when in fact she had been happy in the only home she had known for twenty-two years. While from the outside the house had appeared grim and austere, the inside was warm and welcoming. It was only as she grew older that she felt hemmed-in, trapped.

A noise made her turn back to the open door. Christian stood on the threshold, snowflakes settling like stars in his dark hair. He was so big he filled the doorway.

“You need to invite me in,” he said.

She remembered he’d asked the same thing at her apartment. One more vampire lore confirmed. “Come in,” she said, and he stepped over the threshold.

“How does it feel to be back?” he asked.

“Actually, it feels good. I never hated the house. I just wanted to see something of the world.”

“I’ll go get the stuff from the car.”

He returned a few minutes later with her small case and a box. He put the case next to her and the box on the table. “Graham said you might need some food, coffee and so on. This should keep you going for a couple of days at least.”

“I think I may be in love with Graham.” She opened the box. “You want some coffee? Do you even drink coffee?”

He nodded.

Tara put the coffeemaker on; everything was exactly where she expected. She puttered around the room, putting things away, stroking her hands over the comfortable, familiar furniture. She found Christian watching her. “What?”

“You seem at home here. I thought you hated this place.”

“So did I. After Aunt Kathy died, I wanted to get as far from here as possible. A lot of it was guilt. I sort of promised her that I would stay here.”

“When?”

“When she was dying, or whatever she was doing. She made me promise to stay here and to keep the rules. And I did—promise I mean—then as soon as she was gone, I packed up and left.”

She poured the coffee and sank into one of the chairs, cradling the hot mug in her hands. Christian drank his coffee fast. “I’m going to take a quick look around outside, then I need to find somewhere to spend the day.”

“There’s a cellar.”

“Sounds good.”

She watched as he went out the door, closing it behind him and leaving her alone.

…

Outside, the snow had stopped falling. A couple of inches lay on the ground but Christian didn’t notice the cold as he walked around the house. The clouds had also cleared, the black sky was studded with stars, and a sickle moon shone overhead, reflecting off the snow.

The house had a strange, timeless feel, and he knew there was magic at work. Powerful magic, as though they were in a bubble cut off from the outside world. He searched the area, trying to get a sense of the source.

A wall ran around the entire property. He walked toward the nearest section and put his hand to the cold stone. The hum of magic ran through it, sending a frisson of shock up his arm and down through his body. It was the same magic warding the gates. He strolled the perimeter, touching the wall with his fingertips. The circle was unbroken.

It was probably safe for Tara to remove the talisman inside the wards. He might get the chance to discover what she hid under there. Someone had paid a high price to give this level of protection, and he was betting the cost wasn’t only money. Dark magic was stronger but always demanded a blood price. Whose blood had paid for this, and why?

About time they found out.

He turned back to the house. In the kitchen, Tara was slumped over the table, another cup of coffee in front of her, and a pile of blankets and pillows at her feet. She wasn’t moving, and a flash of alarm shot through him. He touched her arm lightly and she shifted under his hand, moaning softly. She was fast asleep.

He sat down opposite her. Her head rested on her folded arms, one side of her face turned toward him, and his eyes ran over the pure line of her cheek, the arching curve of her brow. There was a slight shadowing beneath her eye, and one hand clenched the talisman as it lay, still around her neck, on the table.

Someone had done all this to protect Tara. Would she still be here if the aunt had not “died”? What had gone wrong? Had the magic binding Kathryn Collin’s soul to the earth failed? Or had the spell been deliberately broken? Was someone, even now, hunting for Tara?

An overwhelming need to protect her rose up inside him, hitting him hard in the gut. Tara was his to care for, and whoever came after her would have to go through him first.

Mine,
the word screamed in his head.

He couldn’t ever remember feeling this way—he wanted to keep her close and safe. The thought pulled him up short. It wasn’t in his nature to care, certainly not for a human because a relationship could only be fleeting. He should find out whatever was after her, destroy them, and afterward, he would find the strength to walk away and leave her to her normal life.

He stroked the hair from her face. Her eyes fluttered open, and she sat up.

“Sorry,” she mumbled, “I didn’t sleep much last night.” She took a sip of coffee and grimaced. “Cold,” she muttered putting the cup down. “So did you find anything out there?”

“The whole place is warded. In effect, we’re inside a spell that I believe stops anything on the outside from sensing the presence of anyone within its boundaries.”

“But why?”

“I don’t know, but it’s probably safe to take off the talisman here.”

“Then why did Aunt Kathy always insist I wear it here.”

“Probably just being extra cautious. So are you willing to try?”

“It’s what we’re here for, but do you think we can leave it until tomorrow night? I’m tired and… Maybe I just want to forget about it for a little while.”

He nodded. “It’s not long until dawn.”

“Do you have to sleep during the day?”

“I no longer have to sleep, but it is preferable.”

She hesitated for a moment then asked, “Do you sleep alone?”

She watched him out of those enormous expressive eyes. And he knew she would spend the day with him. All he had to do was ask, and he could have anything he wanted from her.

Her body and her blood.

A wave of heat washed over him, and for a moment his resolve weakened and a slow fire started in his belly. He shook his head—this would only make the inevitable parting harder. Only minutes ago, he’d decided they could have no future. Most of his existence, he had taken what he wanted and not thought about the price. Now he found he didn’t want Tara to pay.

Did he sleep alone? He rose to his feet. “Always.”

Chapter Twelve

Tara woke up in her old bed. Snow was falling again, swirling against the glass, obscuring the outside world. Chloe hadn’t been far wrong—perhaps the snow would strand them together, cut off from everything. It should have sounded romantic, until she remembered the speed he’d shut the door in her face the previous evening.