In the Dark (12 page)

They stood and turned, blades still raised, showing no emotion. Every man and woman in the hall clapped wildly, and she happily joined in as they moved past her, their swords still before their faces.

Once the new Guardians had left, the crowd came together in a crush, talking and raving about the ceremony. Some bantered with each other over who had known the new Guardians the longest. Fame through association.

Flexing her fingers at her sides, Faith chased away the tingling sensation from clapping, and couldn't stop smiling. She'd seen the work Soren had put in with them, known how hard those men must have struggled to get to this point in their lives. She was proud of the three men.

Soren shook hands with several men as he pushed his way through the churning crowd, headed in her direction. He caught her watching him, and smiled. She responded with an instant and unfading smile. Cutting conversations short, he kept moving until he stood before her.

“You shouldn't disappoint them. They want to talk to you.” She looked behind him to the clusters of men nodding and chattering in a lively manner, and occasionally pointing in his direction.

“Then they can come to me. I didn't want to leave you alone.” He practically grinned from ear to ear. “What did you think?”

“It was quick, and strange, like a marriage ceremony.” Parents had given them away, and they had each been given symbols of their new rank.

“I suppose it is a marriage of sorts,” he said, tilting his head to the side as he thought it through. “They bound themselves to the city, swearing to protect it with their lives. It might be a quick ceremony, but it's a life long and life changing commitment.”

“How often are Guardians accepted?”

He positively beamed, eyes alight and looking more handsome than ever. “Not as often as you might think. On average, only one is accepted in three years. Occasionally we'll take one per year, but that's rare. This is the first time I've ever given Captain Savard two at once. He's not pleased, but he doesn't know them yet. He'll change his mind.” His short, confident nod would have convinced anyone. He pointed the new Guardians out in the crowd. Swords now sheathed at their sides, they received congratulations from their families and noblemen of the city. “Do you remember them?”

To her, that particular group had been a blur of fighting men. In their exhausted state, they blended together in her memory. Not to mention, Soren was the one who had her full attention. “I think so. I remember they stuck together.”

Soren nodded. “That they do. I've never met two men who were such opposites and yet such good friends. Somehow they're always tuned in to what the other is thinking.”

“What are their names?”

“Titus and Dyre. Titus has the short hair, Dyre the long.” Proudly Soren watched them, his chest puffed.

“You look forward to the moment you get to see them make their vow to their lord. This is what you work for every day, isn't it?” she asked, though she saw the answer on his face.

“It is.” He wrapped his arm around her and hugged her to his side. She stilled, though not wary of him or uncomfortable. Sharing this achievement with him made her a part of him.

Several men and women came and congratulated Soren. Some teased him, saying the new Guardians had better be damn good since he'd passed two at once. Soren had no doubts, and that seemed to placate them. Faith hadn't said a word to those who approached them, and no one spoke to her. Her lack of conversational participation left her free to observe.

A man stood in the middle of the crowd, staring her down, his harsh, ice blue gaze shaded by lowered eyebrows. Shivering, she broke eye contact. The urge to run surged, but instead she breathed even and deep to calm the unreasonable desire. He must have someone else in his sights, because she'd never met him.

She glanced at him once more. He now marched toward them, and she remained the focus of his sharp gaze.

She tugged on Soren's sleeve until she caught his attention, then whispered, “Who's that man? He's staring at me.”

Soren zeroed in on the man approaching them and pulled her behind his bulky frame. From here, she couldn't see a darn thing.

“Is that her?” the man asked, his rigid voice growing ever closer.

Staying in the shelter of Soren's body, she peeked around his shoulder. Something dark and angry bubbled under the surface of this man, and he scared her. She squeezed Soren's hand and put her trust in him.

“Yes,” Soren said slowly. Head dropped slightly, he tightened his hand around hers, and studied every move the man made.

Her breath caught. Soren had this kind of focus when he fought. Oh God. No!

“She might be remaining in our city, but this is not the place for a servant,” the stranger said, top lip curled as he swept her from head to toe with his gaze.

Soren stepped forward, but Navarre gracefully placed himself between the men and addressed the hawk-eyed man. “Vidor, my friend,” Navarre cautioned. “She is Soren's guest. In fact, I think she is the loveliest addition tonight. Now, gentleman, I will remove the object of your disagreement.”

Navarre reached around Soren, took her hand, and pulled her away from the feuding men. When she glanced back at Soren, he stood with clenched jaw, watching her go, helpless to argue against his lord.

Not exactly a delight for her either. No one would bother her at Navarre's side, but since he'd whisked her away from Soren, she had a nagging sense of being exposed. Vulnerable. “I'd rather stay with Soren. Please.” She twisted her hand to free herself from his grasp. The attempt failed.

“Now is not a good time. Let those two stare daggers at each other without you in the crossfire. Trust me when I say that spending a few minutes with me will put to rest any question of whether or not you are accepted among us.” His grip loosened and Faith nodded, let him guide her across the room. The crowd parted for them, or more accurately, for Lord Navarre.

“Would you like something to drink?” he offered eagerly.

Soren seemed miles away on the other side of the room, too far away for comfort. “I need a drink.”

Navarre let out a short laugh, then handed her a goblet. She took it and swallowed the limited contents in a few good gulps. The alcohol burned for a second, then warmed her belly.

“Don't let Vidor shake your confidence,” Navarre urged.

“You're the one practically encouraging them to fight it out.” She shook her finger at him. “Why not just tell him to back off?”

“It's not that easy. Vidor helped my father build this city. It's been hard for him to see many of the laws he wrote altered or abolished.” Navarre ducked his head, releasing his breath in a huff. “He needs confrontation, and not only from me. The more who oppose him and force him away from the past, the better he will be able to cope with what our lives are today.”

“Why does it have to be Soren?”

“My dear, you are the root of their disagreement.” He paused, then said low, “This isn't the first time they've had words over your presence in our city. Soren defended you then, and I believe he always will.”

When she searched for Soren in the crowd and found him, he stood alone and looked aggravated. Her first instinct screamed to go soothe him, but being the topic of his recent argument, would she be welcome?

He scanned the crowd, and when he'd found her, the worried crease on his brow lessened. They were connected, had been since the alleyway above. She couldn't pinpoint the moment he'd become vital to her, but she understood the subtle pull between them. She missed him. He was right in front of her and she itched to get closer.

The orchestra startled her as they struck up their first song of the evening, a peppy, unfamiliar tune.

“Would you like to dance?” Navarre asked.

“Oh, I don't think I will.”

She gave up. He'd already pulled her to the center of the floor.

Navarre expertly spun with her, weaving around other dancers and gliding across the marble floor, and she followed his lead. Her feet struggled to keep up with him, and she stumbled several times. With each bobble, heat scorched her face. A simple dance shouldn't be embarrassing. Navarre didn't seem to notice her distress and carried on, comfortable in his skin. Over and over he compensated for her mistakes.

Their dance ended abruptly as Bareth stepped into their path. This time when confronted by his intimidating size, she planted her feet, refusing to shrink away.

“I'm cutting in. You're going to need this,” Bareth said, handing her a glass of wine and motioning for her to drink.

Faith sipped deeply, then lifted her eyebrows delicately. “How did you know?”

Bareth snatched the glass with a grin on his face. Shoving the half empty glass into Navarre's hand, he then took hold of her and spun her around the room. The warm wine buzzed inside her head and threaded through her muscles, loosening tension.

Regardless of Bareth's complete lack of grace, she had more confidence with him as her partner, largely due to the fact that they weren't actually dancing. The man flung her around like a rag doll.

“You don't have any daughters, do you?” she asked, catching her balance.

“Yes,” he said with a nod, then shook his head. “Well, not exactly.”

How did that qualify as an answer? “You'd better explain.”

“I have a son. Gretta's pregnant with our second. For her sake, I hope it's a girl,” Bareth said, grinning from ear to ear.

“Congratulations. But boy or girl, promise me something?” She gripped his arm when he made yet another harrowing turn.

“What's that?”

“Let your wife teach the children to dance.” Eyes closed, she battled a wave of nausea.

“What's wrong with my dancing?”

“I'm getting dizzy,” she admitted.

Bareth's laugh was plotting, unapologetic, and without a doubt the most nerve wracking thing she had ever heard.

In the blink of an eye, he sent her spinning away from him. With nothing to hold on to, her balance failed, but instead of landing flat on her face, she crashed against a solid wall of man. He instantly wrapped his arms around her and she tensed, ready to yell for Bareth.

But it was Soren looking down at her, and she couldn't help but smile. “There you are, my protector.” She leaned forward, rested her head on his shoulder. “Want to dance?”

“No,” he said stiffly. “I don't dance.”

“Thank God.” She took a deep breath, grasped his arms for support. “Don't let him spin me anymore.”

“Never again,” he said as if it were an absolute fact. “Should we head home then?”

“Not yet. I think I'm still spinning.” She squeezed her eyes shut and melted against him, relying on him to keep her standing.

She felt him shift as he tried to get a better look at her face. “How much did you drink? Our wine is strong.”

“Now you tell me.” She sighed into his shirt.

“Are you going to be sick?”

“Maybe. What's wrong with him? Why would he spin me so much?” She lifted her head, took a deep breath, then patted his shoulder. “I'll be fine.”

He skimmed his thumb over her cheek, slid it down and stroked the edge of her bottom lip. “I've got you.”

“I know. That's what I love about you,” she said, leaning into his gentle touch.

Their gazes locked. He'd heard the shocking word
love
slip past her lips. Her heart pounded furiously. What would he say?

For that matter, how would she respond? Just because she loved something about him, didn't mean she loved him. But the word had a life of its own, and it hung between them.

Waiting for his reaction was like teetering on the edge of a cliff. Her gaze dropped to his lips, and as it did, the warmth of his hand settled on her exposed back. Flesh on flesh tumbled her barriers and jacked up her heart rate. She bunched the fabric of his shirt in her palm, dragged him closer.

Soren's hand engulfed her shoulder, then he slid it to her wrist, untangled her hand from his shirt. Tense and wary, she held her breath. Was he pushing her away?

“Not here,” he whispered, then a blast of cool air separated them as he stepped back.

He clasped her hand, and before she could sort out what had happened, they were headed out the door. Laughing, she raced along with him.

Chapter 11

Faith stirred, consciousness slowly returning. She had no interest in waking up. If she did, she'd only brood over what went wrong. They'd come home at a brisk pace and she'd had every intention of ending up, well, with him, right where she lay now. Three steps in, she'd tripped over the stupid gown. Not her most graceful moment.

She'd changed quickly, emerged from the bathroom and discovered herself to be alone. What had gone wrong? He'd had her. She was a sure thing, and he'd walked out. Disappointed and confused, she'd climbed under the covers to keep warm, certain he would return soon. Somewhere between then and now, she'd fallen asleep.

A groan escaped her. It was too late to avoid that emotional ride. She'd just relived the whole day, or was it night? Morning? Oh, whatever.

She opened her eyes slightly. Soren's chair was parked several feet from the bed, abandoned. She didn't know the time, or how long he'd been gone. Eyes shut against the large, empty chair, she rolled over, burrowing under the covers until they brushed her chin.

A soft snore broke through the rustling blankets. She stopped moving and listened intently. Had he come back? Maybe he had, but the sound seemed different, misplaced.

He snored again, this time louder and closer. Her eyes snapped open and she stared at him, stunned. Soren lay stretched on his back beside her. Sometime in the night he must have joined her under the covers.

She flipped onto her back. He couldn't sleep in a chair forever, she understood that, but a warning would have been nice.

His silhouette was just visible. Only his chest moved, his breathing deep and even. Above that mesmerizing rhythm, the shadow of his whisker-dusted jaw. Soren had a habit of being clean-shaven and ready to face the day. She hardly got a chance to catch him like this, all rough and rugged.

What if he didn't shave tonight? On second thought, it might be a bad idea. The temptation of skimming her sensitive palm over those coarse whiskers would be too great. She'd already caved once.

The desire to put her hands on him had been present and screaming at her since she'd watched him spar, bare-chested, with the Guardians.

She flopped onto her side, facing away from him and once again confronting the empty chair. She very much needed to redirect both her mind and body.

Her efforts might have worked, but the weight of Soren's thick arm curled around her middle and he dragged her to him. His chest pressed against her back, his muscled thighs warmed the backs of her legs. Unprepared for the full contact of his body against her spine, she flinched.

“You move too much,” he mumbled, his words slurred by sleep.

His heat seeped into her, and little by little, she relaxed in his embrace. Content in the tender cradle of his powerful arms, she sighed. She needed this from him.

He'd become comfortable to her, familiar in this strange world. Safe. She slipped her hand in his. Within minutes, she'd matched the cadence of his breathing, and the steady rise and fall of his chest lulled her ever closer to sleep.

Then he burrowed his face against her neck, pressing his chin on her shoulder. She gasped, shoved her hand between her neck and his face. Would he bite her? Hurt her? He could, easily. From his lesson to the youngest class, if a demon's teeth could damage skin horribly and painfully, then by sound logic, so could a vampire's.

Soren moved behind her, lifted his head. She squeezed her eyes shut. Her heartbeat thumped in her ears.

“I am not the animal you think I am. I will not drink you dry in the night.” His harsh whisper in her ear sent a volley of shuddering chills spreading over her arms and down her legs.

She'd upset him, but it couldn't be helped. The man sported a set of fangs. She had ignored the facts as much as possible. After all, he possessed several wonderful qualities. He was considerate, a gentleman, and she genuinely liked him.

Being bitten again had held a certain amount of intrigue, but no longer. In the dark of night, when it might actually happen, fear had crept in and overwhelmed her. Soren was right. She'd assumed instinct would take over and he'd lose control.

The mere placement of her hand had cut him deeply. Pain had laced his voice and proved she'd hurt him, but she couldn't bring herself to bare her neck.

“Take your hand off your neck.” His agitated demand had come out in a growl. “I won't bite you.”

“I know that,” she whispered, but didn't move her hand.

“Then why cover your neck?”

She swallowed her pride and told him the truth. “I don't remember what it felt like.”

One long, deep breath came from him, and for several moments he said nothing. “It's hard to describe,” he said in a low half-whisper, not sounding irritated, “but being human, it would probably feel different to you anyway. For the most part, it's enjoyable.”

“I can't remember if it hurt, and I certainly don't remember anything being enjoyable.”

“You wouldn't. The blinding pleasure we are capable of giving is like a sedative to humans,” he said softly. “You only recalled my bite because adrenalin pumped through you.”

“Oh.” She had no idea how to respond to his unexpected answer.

Soren pressed her shoulder to the mattress until he loomed above her, but he didn't crowd her. “I have no need for blood now, and unless I'm injured, I won't feed for several months. When the time comes, I promise to ask your permission.”

“You will?” Then she asked tentatively, “But what if I say no?”

“I'll go to another.” The statement fell lifeless, flat.

“I have your word?” she whispered. He nodded, and she wrapped her arms around him, hugged him close.

Stretched out on the mattress, he kept her tight against him, locking her there in his strong embrace. She didn't protest. In fact, she clung to him, molding herself to his side. He gave her the freedom to make a choice, and she adored him for that.

* * * *

Groggy, and not exactly awake yet, Soren rubbed his face with both hands. The pillow beside him had been abandoned. Letting out a deep moan, he rolled onto his stomach, and stuffed her pillow under his. He'd missed his bed. No more kinked neck and stiff back.

The bathroom door opened and Faith stepped out. Smiling, he watched her lazily, and tilted his head to keep her in his line of sight. Her hair strayed left and right, and her cheeks were flushed.

She carefully placed her clothes in his bureau. No more suitcase on the bathroom floor. Each time she opened those drawers, he took it as a sign that she accepted being his permanent guest.

Now she folded the black robe and tried to place it in the drawer, but the slippery satin wouldn't cooperate. It simply refused to remain folded. After several attempts, she stopped, huffed out a frustrated breath, then dropped the thing in a crumpled heap inside the drawer.

His smile spread to a grin. He couldn't stop the snowball effect, and his grin morphed into an all-out laugh.

With a yelp, she shut the drawer and spun around, eyes wide. “I didn't know you were awake.”

This woman had wrapped her arms around him last night, slept at his side. Then she'd thanked him for a promise he would keep, if only because he wanted her willing, eager, and...

That damn turtleneck again. Her cozy cotton illusion of protection had been a barrier against him from the beginning. Did she think him the kind of man who would forget a promise overnight, a beast who took what he wanted? Fine. If she held such a low opinion of him, who was he to disappoint her?

He threw off the covers and rolled out of bed. The hunter inside him had awakened, and he had a target.

“Soren?” Her voice brimmed with uncertainty. She had nowhere to go, and in two backward steps, collided with the wall.

Picture frames rattled around them as he slammed his palms hard against the wall on each side of her head. Her lips parted, and a panicked gasp escaped. Head ducked, he took her lips in a searing kiss. He held nothing back, pouring his desire, yearning, and his very soul into kissing her, loving her.

Her hands touched his chest hesitantly, and he growled low in his throat, taking a step closer. She pulled away, but only for a second. Sliding her hands over his chest and around his shoulders, she kissed him back. Tugged greedily at his lips with hers, pulling him closer.

Afraid of what he would do if the slow burn she ignited got out of control, he kept his hands on the wall. He'd never shared a kiss this wild and consuming. Desperate to touch her, he curled his fingers against the wallpaper. Had he already gone too far?

She pressed herself flush against him, and he hissed, grasped her hips, fingers spread wide. The heat of her skin beneath his fingertips nearly did him in, but regretfully, he collected himself enough to pull away from her.

She gripped his shoulders, struggled to bring them together again. He was able to keep their bodies apart, but unwilling to break the frenzied kiss. He had to end this, and fast.

As he slid his hands over her hips and up her ribcage, he took her shirt, moved higher with his hands. The heels of his palms grazed the sides of her breasts and she gasped for air only to take in his tormented groan.

Tearing his lips from hers, he pulled her shirt over her head, returned for one more delicious kiss then turned on his heel and walked away.

“I'm burning this damn thing,” he growled, holding up her turtleneck as he left the room. The door slammed shut behind him.

Wearing only her bra and jeans, she stood in his home. He had to put distance between them, but he'd only made it through the door. With her shirt wadded in his hand, he'd stuttered to a halt. He'd kissed her. God, how he'd kissed her, and he wanted to march right back in there and do it again.

With a curse, he strode to the nearest trash basket. The soft thump announced the turtleneck had reached the bottom.

* * * *

Faith tipped backward, and her shoulders met the wall with a thump. She let the wall support her and stared at the closed door. He'd walked away. How could he kiss her with such passion then leave? Maybe it meant nothing to him, but she'd put her heart into that kiss.

After her neck had had a close encounter with his teeth last night, she'd needed the false security of the turtleneck. It concealed the part of her that he desired most. Now she wasn't sure it was her blood he favored. He hadn't touched her neck.

Shivers skittered over her skin. He'd kissed her completely, intimately, and not once had she considered his fangs as he'd devoured her lips.

The excitement inside her mellowed, and nervousness crept in, spurring her into motion. A step, then two, and she walked aimlessly around the room. She pulled her hair away from her face and up in a ponytail. Time to get serious and sort out her emotions instead of letting them run rampant. But at this point, recognizing logic would be difficult. She lived with a vampire in an underground city. The whole situation was nowhere near logical.

Did that mean her former life had made sense? No. The constant solitude of home and work had been grating on her for a while. Come to think of it, home hadn't crossed her mind until now.

She dashed to the bureau, tugged open the top drawer, and dug under her clothes. Her hand wrapped around the cool plastic cellphone. It had a low charge, and a poor signal. No messages and no missed calls. In the past she might have been angry, or even cried, but the blank screen killed what little compassion she had left for her parents.

She grabbed a random T-shirt from the open drawer, threw it over her head, stepped into the hallway, and retraced the path leading to the chateau. The first night she'd taken this same path, escape had been on her mind. Tonight was no different.

She opened the heavy door, pushed her way through. The chilled cement floor permeated her bare feet as she hurried through the cellar and up the stairs. Guardians would be at the gate, but she had no plans to venture further.

Again, she checked the signal. The cell had great reception at the top of the stairs, not far from the kitchen windows. Soft beeps echoed through the kitchen until she found her dad's number. It rang several times, then his voicemail snagged the call. He never answered his phone, not even for her.

If she'd had any doubts about her intentions, they were gone now. Her parents wouldn't change, but she had.

“Hey, Dad. I found a place and a job in Paris. I'm not coming home. Tell Mom for me. 'Bye.” She didn't have any more in her. Neither of them had bothered to find out where she'd disappeared to, or called to make sure she hadn't been killed. No more waiting for them to genuinely give a damn.

She marched down the stairs to Balinese, and tossed her phone into the first wastebasket she passed. The resounding clunk left a satisfied smile on her face.

Soren cared for her. She refused to throw that away because of his fangs.

Her search took her past his home to the end of the hallway. She found him, arms braced on the balcony railing. He stared out over the pond. Standing there in his pajama pants, he bore no resemblance to the monster his kind had been portrayed as over the years.

“Soren,” she said quietly, tiptoeing toward him.

“Go back, Faith,” he growled.

She stopped, tilting her head slightly. “Are you angry with me?”

“Yes, I'm angry. You think the only thing I want from you is blood.” His ribs expanded with each deep breath.

Okay. Point taken. “What is it you want from me, then?”

Soren turned, pinned her feet to the floor with the sincerity of his gaze. “Everything.”

“What?” she asked, and rocked back.

“I won't lie to you. The urge to bite you beats at my skull when you're near, but not for blood. I want you in every possible way a man wants a woman.” He clamped his mouth shut and turned away from her, looked over the water again. “Why were you in Paris?”

“Is it important?”