Forever Vampire (21 page)

If he wandered out now, it was likely the Unseelie would find him, and she was in no position to protect him, since they would take her, as well.

But sleep teased. Or rather, some kind of loopy bliss begged her to surrender. She couldn't keep her lids from fluttering, yet the sensation humming across her skin was like tiny kisses, electrifying her nerves and sparking them erotically.

So what if Vail didn't come clean? She could understand the desire for the high that ichor promised. She'd never drunk it herself, no—but she could completely relate right now.

Funny. That seemed…not right.

“You need blood,” she whispered. “So hungry.”

She scanned the room. A pile of sheets mounded in the open doorway. The mattress was exposed, the green satin fabric glinting here and there. She leaned forward and wiped a finger through a smudge of dried ichor and held it before her to examine in the full moonlight that shimmered through the rain.

So pretty, and yet so addictive. Of course a vampire who had lived in Faery all his life could handle the stuff. He had known nothing else. Certainly wasn't a replacement for fresh, hot blood.

It had no scent. It tickled her nose when she got some on the tip of it. Lyric sniffed and a shock of sensation heated the back of her throat and softened her resistance. Licking the dust from her finger, she settled across the end of the bed, allowing her limbs to loosen, and her mind followed.

 

H
E WASN'T SURE
how much time had passed. But the world felt different now. Lying on his back, staring at the ceiling, Vail noticed the hum of traffic outside the open patio door was louder than usual. Bird chirps were sharp and surprising. Clear.

The quilted mattress fabric abraded his skin, and he lifted his arm away from it. Studying the skin on his biceps, he brushed his fingers over it. No dust? Impossible.

And yet, something had changed. The air in the room did not suffocate as it had earlier. His breath sounded plainly, not muted by the fog of ichor. Had he come out of the high?

Impossible. And improbable. But he did feel…different.

He clutched the lily bracelet. One blossom remained. It meant nothing to him right now.

He sat, and his toe nudged a body. Long and lithe, she lay stretched across the end of the bed, the brown hair she hated so much spilling over her face. Green
Snake slithered along her body and aimed for the floor. Her dress had dried wrinkled against her skin, yet it outlined the sexy sinuous form of her.

Lyric Santiago was some kind of dark angel. A rescuing angel. She must be exhausted after nursing him, and had fallen asleep. He owed her so much. He was…yes, he had to be—was he clean?

That was what was different. He didn't feel Faery at all. Gone was the numbing hum of ichor that spoke to him on seductive whispers. The overwhelming knowledge that other sidhe occupied this realm had dissipated.

Gone? And he did not regret it.

“Thank you,” he whispered. “I love you for this. I guess you were right. You can't get love until you give it. You gave it to me, Lyric. Now I want to give it back.”

He leaned forward and stroked her hair down to her waist. She felt feverish. “Lyric?”

She moaned and slid up a knee, curling her hands under her chin. “More,” she murmured.

“More?” He touched her hair. On the curled brown tips, it shimmered. She must have gotten dust into her system after all the contact with him. “No, not this. You can't succumb, Lyric.”

He lifted her into his arms, and at first she lolled, but when he juggled her closer she snuggled against his chest.

Was it already too late? She could not have taken it by mouth, only through skin contact. Would that save her?

“Just a little taste?” she pleaded in a small voice that would have seduced him to his knees had she been clear and lying before him naked.

Hell, he was naked. No time to worry about that. Though maybe he should. The mattress was dusted with ichor, and the floor, too.

He rushed to the closet and pulled on a clean long-sleeved shirt and leather pants to protect his skin from absorbing the dust. He'd take Lyric into the living room, which was probably dusted with residue ichor from him, but it shouldn't be as thick as it was in here.

Stripping the clothes from her body, he then eyed the wet towels heaped in the hallway. They sat in a thick ichor puddle.

From the bathroom he claimed a new towel then held it outside to collect the rain. Tossing it over Lyric's shoulder, he lifted and carried her out to the living room sofa.

Kicking the couch, he managed to turn it upright and lay Lyric on it.

She squirmed and moved sensuously as he wiped the towel over her, getting all the places where she glittered, which was the exposed skin on her legs and arms and neck. There wasn't much on her, so he counted that as good.

“Lover, give me some of that ichor-laced blood of yours.” She tickled her fingers into his hair.

“You helped me get clean,” he said. “There's no ichor in my blood, sweetie. I've never felt better. Ever.”

“But I want some.” She pouted. “It's so good. Makes me tingly. You like me tingly?”

“No, sweetie, not like this.”

How to counteract the ichor's effects? Dust had sweated out of his body. He'd done this to her!

Her clothes glittered with the stuff. He shuffled her arms from the dress and then slid down her skirt, being careful not to brush the skin beneath with more dust.

She hooked a finger around his wrist, below the bracelet, and tugged. “Give me.”

She thought he had ichor in his veins? No, he innately knew it was all gone. And yet…

Vail stood and paced to the doorway, near a window. He could help her. Maybe. He had to know for sure.

Biting his wrist, he held it toward the window to study the blood. It was thick and oozed brightly.

“But no ichor,” he decided. Not a single glint. “It's gone. She did it.”

“Vail!

He rushed to Lyric's side, and eased a hand over her feverish forehead. “You want my blood?” He lifted his wrist to his mouth and touched it to his fangs. “I hope this works.”

T
HE FIRST DROP
of Vail's blood spilled across Lyric's tongue like water to a parched wanderer. She didn't understand how or why he was giving her his blood. The guy refused to accept the fact he was a vampire.

Another drop trickled across her tongue and burst at the back of her throat. Many followed. She pressed her lips to his skin and sucked in his dark glamour. It beamed a heady crimson heat through her system and battled against the loopy dust high.

His blood was not laced with dust, and she could taste it was missing. But what wasn't missing was too good. She didn't want dust—she wanted Vail. Inside her mouth. Streaming through her veins. Filling her.

As she sucked from him, he slipped behind her body and slid a hand around her ribs to cup her breast. He pulled her against him, and she held tight to his wrist.

He nuzzled into her hair and whispered, “Take it all, Lyric. It feels as if you are drawing out my soul. I want you to have it, to bond with me. This is incredible.”

The only way they could bond was if he, in turn, took her blood. She sensed that would never happen. The reason he made this offer was he must still be tracking remnants of the high. Because if he were clear, this would not be happening.

It probably wasn't happening. This strange offering was a whacked hallucination brought on by the dust.

Vail moaned and pressed a kiss against her jaw, his fangs grazing her skin. The tease of his hard tooth against her skin pushed her over a sensual edge and Lyric cried out, as if in orgasm. The blood high—the swoon—rushed over her and she arched her body, lifting her chest and tilting her head back against Vail's shoulder.

She grasped his leather pant leg, disappointed he was dressed, and dug in her nails. “You have to have sex with me right now. That was so good, but it can be better. I want you inside me, Vail.”

He stood and shuffled off his shirt. “You've my blood on your lips.”

She teased out her tongue to lick it off. “You taste better than anything I've ever had.”

“Really?” He unzipped and tugged down his pants, which revealed an erection that snapped up to slap his torso. “I want you,” he said, and then reluctance washed over his face. “I do and I don't.”

He stood there, looking aside, his eyes tracking the floor.

“You don't have to reciprocate,” she offered. “I know—”

“Everything I thought I knew, and wanted,” he said,
meeting her eyes, “has changed. You brought me into the clear, Lyric. I…I do want us to bond.”

“But that means…”

“Yes.” A sexy smirk revealed his fangs, descended and ready for action. That meant he did want her. “But I still need some time. You got me clean. And now you've taken my blood. Everything is happening so quickly.”

She hooked a foot around behind his thigh and toppled him onto her body, wrapping her legs about his hips. “Come inside me, lover. With this.” She grasped his cock and guided him into her depths. “We'll save the fangs for later.”

The thickness of him thrusting inside her brought her to the precipice of orgasm so quickly Lyric could but grasp the couch, while one hand clutched air.

He clung to her, his fingers closing over her breast and squeezing the nipple. His hips slapped hers as his rhythm increased. It happened as if the proverbial fireworks were going off in celebration. His muscles tensed and he growled roughly at her ear. Her body reacted of its own volition and answered the call of instinct.

Giddy with the high, Lyric sought more, and sank her fangs into Vail's neck. He moaned, yet did not pull away as she sucked out the glamorous elixir. The vein pumped hot blood down her throat, feeding her his darkness and the magical wonder he tried to hide. She tasted it now—Vail complete.

Crying out with climax, he collapsed upon her, his lips brushing hers, breaths warming her cheek.

“Was it as awful as you expected it to be?” she asked.

“Never,” he said, huffing and hugging her tightly. “Too amazing when you bite me. Man, I never imagined it could be like that. Your teeth sinking into me when I came? There are no words.”

“Soon, you'll allow me…?”

He nodded and stroked his neck to look at the blood smeared on his fingers. “Yes, but don't push, Lyric, please.”

“I'll give you all the time you need.” She stroked the hair from his face. “Your eyes are so clear. I think the dust is completely gone from your system.”

“It's a giddy feeling.”

She nodded. “Let's not stop the giddy.”

“You want to do it again?”

“And again.”

He swiped a hand over a couch cushion and showed her the dust. “In the shower. It's probably the only clean place in the apartment. And then we're leaving this place behind so we don't risk touching any more dust. Deal?”

“I'll race you to the shower.”

 

O
NE OF THE
L
ORD OF
Midsummer Dark's men had just left the Santiago mansion. Charish sniffed the air, and brushed at her bare arms. She shivered. Felt like faery dust had gotten all over her and her home, but in reality, she could find no trace of a glimmer anywhere. She hated dealing with the sidhe. They
were far more sneaky and malicious than any who had ever served her.

She hustled down the hallway toward the garage. What the faery had told her was remarkable. They'd located Lyric! Yet Zett had commanded his men not to intervene, but rather to merely report back to her. That was thoughtful of the man. So maybe faeries weren't all bad.

Her lover swung around the corner and caught her in his always-too-rough embrace. He smelled brutish and spicy. “Charish, where are you off to? You never leave the house in the daylight.”

“It's raining, so the sun's hiding behind clouds. Connor…” She clutched his shirt.

Just as she was ready to spill the details the faery messenger had relayed to her, something made her pause. Normally, she told Connor everything. Trusted him implicitly with the Santiago finances, despite the mysterious losses they'd incurred lately.

She loved him for his simple desire to please her, for his devotion and his sexy, sometimes overwhelming, strength. But he had never shown Lyric much interest. That bothered her.

“Out with it, my dear.”

“It's…shoes,” she decided. “You know how I adore shoes. A pretty new pair will take my mind off things.”

“She will be found,” he reassured, in a surprising show of compassion. “I've sent a couple tracking demons out, as you requested, though your daughter's scent confuses them when it's masked with perfume.
But you mustn't worry. We'll have that gown back in no time, and hopefully will be able to resurrect the deal with the Unseelie lord.”

“Thank you, Connie. I love you.” She kissed him, and he kept their contact brief. She had decided it was because he was always moving, too busy to sit still, or remain in a liplock for longer than a few seconds, and not because he didn't care to kiss her. Perhaps? No, Connie loved her as much as she him. “I'll see you in a bit.”

“I'll want to see those new shoes on you,” he said, as he strode down the hallway, away from her. “And nothing else.”

Charish blew him a kiss, then turned and raced to the garage and the waiting driver.

 

L
YRIC SORTED THROUGH
the bedroom, looking for her clothes, while Vail collected the things he didn't want to leave behind, such as Green Snake and his Johnny Cash CD collection.

Carefully, she picked up her pink dress and shook it, watching the flakes of dust shimmer as if particles misting out of a thick wool blanket. Finally she decided to hold it out the patio door and give it a good whack against the wall.

“That should do.” She slipped it on and stood a moment, testing to see if she'd feel a tingle. Nothing. “Good deal.”

Noticing the thin green stem on the dust-littered floor, she plucked it up. “Vail's lily bracelet.”

All the flowers were gone, which meant, well, she wasn't sure what it meant.

Stepping outside onto the patio, she propped her elbows on the iron railing and played the stem between her fingers. The afternoon breeze kissed her cheeks and brushed fine hair strands across her nose. In the distance a crowd rushed toward the metro station near the Opéra Bastille and the scents of chocolate pastries and savory meats wafted up to her.

Vail had allowed her to drink his blood. The realization sent a thrill up her spine and a wave of goose bumps rippling across her skin. It had been such an intimate clutch, one she'd never before experienced with another vampire. Vail's blood was sweeter than mortal blood, yet had been thick with darkness, much like a chocolate truffle. If she never tasted any other blood the rest of her life, she could be satisfied.

Now if only he trusted her enough to drink her blood. He did trust her. She sensed he wished to, but he had an entire lifetime of revulsion against vampires to overcome. She wouldn't push him. He had to take things slowly. He'd just gotten clean. They needed to celebrate that.

As soon as they'd ditched the faeries chasing them and returned the gown, Lyric intended to do just that, by taking Vail out and treating him like the powerful vampire he was. She'd take him to the vampire club in the second and introduce him to some of the more honorable vamps she knew, like Vincent LaPierre and Blu's husband, Creed.

“The flowers are gone.”

Lyric startled so frantically at the soft female voice, she slammed a shoulder against the brick wall and slapped a palm to the iron railing.

A petite woman with white hair curled high upon her head in a style that looked set for an eighteenth-century salon, stood beside her looking over the city, as if they'd been having a casual conversation and she'd not just appeared from out of nowhere at Lyric's side.

“Who are you?”

And then she knew the woman was faery. Not because pearlescent wings jutted from her back, between the folds of the shimmery red gown, but because she inhaled the lure of dust that glittered within the woman's hair. It would taste so good…

“Mistress of Winter's Edge,” she offered, without looking at Lyric.

“Vail's faery stepmother?”

“Be quiet, child. I don't wish him to know I'm so close. When did the last bell fall?”

“The bell? Oh.” Lyric looked at the bare stem she held. Vail had called them May bells. “I'm not sure. He's been out of it the past few days, and I—well…it must have happened then. What does this mean? He said the flowers were supposed to protect him. Is he in danger now?”

Stupid question, Lyric
. He'd been in danger since meeting her. Suddenly conscious of her faery mark, she tilted her head to ensure her hair hung over her ear. Would any faery pick up on the mark or did it only attract Zett?

“Has he been quick to anger? Brooding?” the faery asked.

“No. He just got clean. There's no ichor in his system now. He's feeling better than he ever has.”

The faery hissed inwardly. “Has he taken blood?”

“No, he's—”
Afraid
. “—unsure.”

The fairy's wings tightened, then rippled with a shiver.

“Vaillant has a dark hunger that can never be sated, but it can be disguised. All his life I have seen that he is protected. Then you come along, and now, see? He is vulnerable.”

“I didn't do this.”

“He is clean of all ichor?”

Lyric sensed the faery was not pleased. Had she kept Vail addicted to ichor during his life to keep him complacent, a captive in Faery? If so, she was as cruel as Vail had alluded to.

“He is vampire,” Lyric stated firmly, not about to kowtow to this woman regardless of whether she was mistress of something or even a queen. “He belongs in the mortal realm. Blood is his sustenance.”

“He does belong here, but he will never be like you and your breed.”

“He already is. Yet he needs to pull himself free and see beyond whatever lies you've fed him.”

“The sidhe do not lie,” Cressida stated plainly. “It is beyond our means or necessity.”

“Then tell Vail where to find his father.”

“That is not for me to interfere.”

“But you know?”

“Not exactly. Vaillant the Dark has already a means to learn that information here in the mortal realm.”

Yes, Rhys Hawkes, who had been frustratingly tight-lipped with the information, as well. Why deny the man information about his father? What harm could simply meeting him cause?

As much harm as meeting his mother.

The faery turned to face her and Lyric felt her blood chill. Bold violet eyes conveyed a sad sense of disgust as she looked over Lyric's wrinkled dress, and sex-tangled hair. She suddenly felt self-conscious that she had only buttoned one button and her cleavage was revealed.

“I adore my vampire son,” Cressida said. “I, above all others, love him most.”

“You cannot—he said you wanted his brother Trystan, that you were so angry with your incorrect choice you made him feel unwanted. Unloved.”

“Enough,” the faery muttered. “You listen to words, but do not look into Vaillant's heart. Here.” She thrust something toward Lyric. “If you love him you will make sure he wears this.”

It was another lily bracelet. Lyric took it, and the moment her fingers touched the stem, Cressida shimmered away. The air cooled drastically, and Lyric smelled ice and hoarfrost, and then nothing.

 

V
AIL ALLOWED
Green Snake to curl about his arm—then gripped his chest. A unique, ferocious stab pierced at his organs. It attacked so suddenly he could
not disregard it as a simple ache. Staggering, he steadied himself against the back of the sofa.

What was it? He…needed something. Something to feel…what?

“Too much dust in this place,” he muttered through gritted teeth. That was it. The cravings were acting of their own volition. “I'll never be completely clean until I get away from it. Time for us to leave, Green Snake. Today is the day the Seelie will come for the gown. I need to call Rhys.”