Never Been Bit (16 page)

She knew immediately that she’d said the wrong thing when a muscle began to tick in his jaw.

“I chose my circumstances, Sorcha, but I wasn’t fully aware at the time of what they’d be. Now it cannot be undone.” That was the most she’d ever heard him say on the matter, and it didn’t look as though he planned to say anymore.

“Did ye have more considerations? A four, five, and six, perhaps?”

“Four, I want you.”

Sorcha’s breath caught. “Ye do?”

“My teeth ache every time you’re around,” he admitted, but he didn’t sound happy about the fact. Poor tortured Alec, she’d gladly let him take from her. All he had to do was ask.

“Ye want ta drink from me?” The very thought made her heart race.

A curt nod was his response.

“Five, my existence is a solitary one. For many reasons, some of which I cannot explain to you.”

“Ye mean ta say, ‘Five, I’m still in love with Cait,’” Sorcha supplied.

“No,” Alec said with a brisk shake of his head. “She’s not even on my mind.”

Her heart nearly thudded to a stop. If he was over his infatuation with Cait, could they have something together?

Something real? He did want her, after all. He’d said so.

“What is on yer mind?”

“You consume my every waking moment.” Then he straightened his shoulders and began to lead her toward the dining hall.

She tugged at his arm. But it was like trying to stop a runaway horse. “Alec,” she implored.

“What is it?” he asked, though he didn’t even look down at her.

“I dinna mean ta say ye were less than a gentleman back there. That came out completely wrong.”

He simply nodded, but his jaw tightened again.

When they reached the table, Alec pulled her chair back rather than wait for a footman, and she delicately sat down.

He settled next to her.

“Can ye eat real food, Alec?” she whispered to him.

“No, I can’t,” he whispered back.

“Then what do ye plan ta do durin’ dinner?”

“You’ll see.”

That was it? “You’ll see.” Apparently, their conversation had come to an end, not that she could stop thinking about it. Alec wanted her. She’d already suspected that. But he was too much of a gentleman to act on it. She shouldn’t have questioned his station as a gentleman. Not at all. He still was all that and more.

Now he was obviously irked with her. And she had no idea how to bring back the playful Alec. She should have left well enough alone.

~*~

Had Alec not been required to escort Sorcha into the dining hall, he’d have made an escape. The urge to do so was still at the forefront of his mind. The little witch somehow managed to get too close for comfort, both with her questions and with her body. Damn, he wanted her. There was no need to deny it. Yet his doing so had made her question his very status as a gentleman. Bloody hell.

Gentlemen tumbled innocents every day. And they didn’t have their positions in society revoked. Oh, they’d be referred to as rakes and whispered about by old matrons, but they were
still
gentlemen. But, by virtue of Alec’s vampyre nature, his own status appeared to be in question.

If he was less of a gentleman, he’d have already had her in his bed.

This gentleman facade would be his undoing.

“Ye need no’ be so cross with me,” the little witch said beneath her breath.

“I’m not cross with you,” he clarified. He was in
lust
for her. But certainly not cross. He picked up his wine goblet and lifted it to his lips. But it was all for show. He didn’t swallow or take a sip.

“Ye’re very good at that,” she remarked.

“Very good at pretending to be a gentleman? I do try,” he replied dryly.

She frowned at his words. “Very good at feignin’ yer ability ta eat and drink,” she said, instead. Then she sighed heavily. “When was the last time ye fed?”

“Tonight,” he clipped out.

She choked. “Tonight? Was that where ye ran off ta?”

“I didn’t run off,” he explained. “I was hungry, and I needed to feed.”

“Who was she?” Sorcha’s biting tone took Alec off guard, and he finally looked down at her.

“She?” he asked.

“The one ye took from. I assume ye choose a lady. Blaire said ye always choose ladies. So who was she?”

Blaire again? Who knew the warrior witch had the loosest lips? “The source of my meal would be none of your concern, Sorcha.” She wouldn’t let this one alone, he was certain.

And he was right. She leaned closer to him, so close that her shoulder brushed his. “I wish ye would just take from me,” she whispered.

Alec tipped his head back and closed his eyes. The very idea of taking her had consumed all of his thoughts since he’d arrived at Castle Hythe. Taking from Sorcha as he gave her pleasure would be the quintessential moment. He knew it would be for him. And he’d make it so for her.

“Don’t make offers you can’t fulfill,” he warned.

“I’m a Ferguson, and I would never make an offer I couldna make good on.” She looked mildly affronted.

Good God! As proud a Scot as her father. Alec scrubbed a hand across his brow. “That wasn’t what I meant, lass. Just let it be, will you?”

But she continued as though he hadn’t spoken. “I’m tryin’ ta help ye, Alec. It’s just a bit of blood. Besides, Kettering did it with Blaire. And Blodswell did it with Rhiannon. It canna be all bad.” She shrugged her delicate little shoulders.

Oh, but it
was
bad. A bad idea for Sorcha. Taking blood served a need for Alec. It fed him, and he traded passion in return. But he would never expect a lady he truly respected and admired to be his next meal. “Let it be, Sorcha,” he warned. Already, his fangs were pricking at his upper lip, ready to make themselves known. That was the last thing he needed.

“I’m jealous,” she said quickly.

Alec stared down at her. Sorcha’s face was flushed, her freckles standing out in stark comparison across the bridge of her nose. “Jealous of?” he asked. He must sound like a half-wit. But he wasn’t following her thought process at all.

“I doona want ye ta take from anyone else.” She shrugged her shoulders again. “I doona like the very idea. I doona want ye ta have someone else in yer arms.” She took a bite of her food and pretended they were having the same type of quiet conversation that all the other occupants of the table were having.

“Why not?” Alec prodded. What did she mean by that? If he had a heart, it would be stamping a beat within his chest.

She speared a carrot and ignored his gaze all together.

“Sorcha?” he tried again.

She laid her fork down. “I refuse ta spell it out for ye, Alec.” Then she pointed toward his plate. “What do ye plan ta do with that? Claim a stomach ailment?”

He was much more interested in what she’d almost said, but she didn’t seem likely to say any more. So Alec grinned slowly. “No. Watch this,” he said. Faster than she could blink, he traded her plate for his. She looked up and down the table, but no one even noticed the switch. Alec couldn’t help but smile. Sorcha wouldn’t have noticed it either, if he hadn’t bade her to watch.

“I had no idea ye could move so fast.” She grimaced down into her plate. “But I’m no’ certain I can eat this. I just finished mine.”

She was tiny as a bird. No one would be surprised if she didn’t eat as much as a morsel. “Shove it around on your plate, then,” he groused. “Make a good show of it. Besides, with the gown you’re wearing, I doubt anyone is watching your plate.”

“My dress is just fine,” she complained, but she did finally look at him as she said it.

“Just fine if you want to get yourself tumbled.” He really should watch his tone, but it was blasted hard. Everything was hard. From the entire situation to his manhood. Thank God for draping table linens.

“If I dinna ken better, I’d say ye are also jealous.”

Perhaps he was. That was definitely possible. After all, he didn’t want other men gazing at her, certainly not the way Eynsford’s blasted brothers did.

“Ye canna go and drink from a lass and then expect me ta be a paragon of virtue,” she warned.

That did it. He tossed his napkin onto his plate. Alec wouldn’t have her think him a scoundrel, not for one more second. For some ungodly reason, her opinion mattered to him. He leaned close enough to murmur in her ear. “I didn’t take from anyone. I visited that little butcher shop you mentioned to me. And I had some blasted goat’s blood. Maybe even mixed with something else just as bad.” Vile stuff it was. But it quenched the thirst. Well enough, anyway.

“That’s all I’ve had since I arrived at Castle Hythe.”

“No maids? No widows? No whores?”

What the devil? “Just what do you know about whores?”

Following his lead, Sorcha tossed her napkin to her plate as well. “I ken a great many things, Alec MacQuarrie.” Then she pushed her chair back, nodded to the old codger who had somehow ended up on her left, and stalked from the dining hall.

Chapter Fifteen

Sorcha knew Alec had followed her. She could sense him a few paces behind her, but she refused to turn around. She couldn’t look at him. Not right now.

Oh, she knew all about the gentleman’s club he frequented in London. Though “club” was a euphemism, according to Rhiannon and Lord Blodswell. The club was populated with whores waiting to give themselves up to vampyres, waiting to give themselves up to Alec in exchange for the pleasure he’d give them. That hadn’t bothered her until now.

When she’d first learned of
Brysi
, she had been relieved that such a place existed. Relieved Alec had a sanctuary to escape to when he needed to do so. Relieved that he wasn’t forced to scour the darkness in search of a meal. Of course, Rhiannon loathed the club and all its offerings and had shocked her husband with a slight jolt of lightning for having mentioned the club to Sorcha in the first place.

But now… Well, she had been honest at dinner. She
was
jealous. Jealous of each whore at
Brysi
who had found pleasure in Alec’s arms. She knew she was being irrational. She had no right to be angry about the time he spent at his club. No right to be jealous of women who had shared their life’s blood with him. But she was anyway.

Irrationally jealous. Foot-stompingly jealous. Rip-a-lass’- hair-out jealous.

All things considered, it would be best if she escaped to the safety of her chambers and stayed there the rest of the night. Perhaps under the morning light, her good sense would be returned to her and she could have a rational conversation with Alec, instead of appearing to be a spoiled child who didn’t like sharing her playthings.

“Sorcha!” Alec called after her.

But she shook her head, not trusting herself to utter a word to him. She made it as far as her chamber before his hand on her shoulder halted her.

“Why are you running from me?” He muttered so quietly in her ear that gooseflesh rippled across her skin.

“I doona wish for company, Alec,” she bit out.

His fingers tightened on her shoulders and he stepped closer to her, drawing her back against his front. Sorcha closed her eyes, wishing she didn’t revel in the feel of him as much as she did. When had life become so complicated? She’d come to Kent to capture a Lycan husband, and she now found herself standing in darkened corridors with a vampyre. The same vampyre she was unreasonably jealous over. The same vampyre who loved Cait, despite his protestations otherwise. The same vampyre who had throngs of whores waiting to be taken by him.

“You’ve been tempting me all evening, Sorch.”

Only because the women in his club were too far away.

“You were supposed to save me a dance at least. Remember?”

Sorcha stepped out of his hold and grasped the cold door handle. “Next time, perhaps.” Then she slipped through the door and shut it before she could do something foolish like toss her arms around him and beg to be kissed.

She flopped onto her bed and stared up at the ceiling.

“Congratulations, Sorcha,” she muttered. “Ye’ve made a fine mess out of everythin’.”

~*~

Lying in his bed, Alec stared up at the ceiling, exhausted and more than a little irritable. He’d stayed up nearly half the night, wondering what he had done wrong the previous evening. One moment Sorcha might as well have offered herself to him on a platter, and the next she was fleeing to the safety of her bedchamber. He’d misstepped somewhere. That much was obvious.

Until recently, he’d thought he understood women. Then there had been the debacle with Cait. The insanity of Blaire and Rhiannon both giving themselves to vampyres. And now this, whatever this was, with Sorcha. Apparently, he didn’t understand a damned thing. He doubted he ever had.

He’d just been fooling himself for years.

That was certainly a lowering thought, especially since all he had to look forward to were more years than any mortal could dream of. Was the rest of his existence going to be one unpleasant surprise after another? Would nothing ever make sense?

A scratch sounded at his door, but before he could respond, the door opened and his valet, Forbes, strode over the threshold, looking as cheerful as the sunniest country morning. Alec scowled at the man. How dare Forbes get a restful night of sleep, while Alec had tossed and turned until after sunrise?

“Out,” Alec ordered.

“About that, sir,” the valet began, his voice nearly singsongy happy. Alec hated him at that moment. “Her Grace called for her lady’s maid and gave her strict orders to find me and to make sure I had you ready for a private breakfast. I’m supposed to send you to her immediately.”

The duchess might scare a great many people, but Alec wasn’t one of them. “I said, ‘out,’” he reminded his man.

But Forbes ignored him and opened the nearest wardrobe to remove Alec’s dark grey jacket. “A bit morbid for the country, don’t you think, sir?” He smoothed a hand across the front.

“No.” After all, grey was quite fitting for his mood.

“Well, in any event.” Forbes laid the jacket over the closest chair back. “Her Grace is annoyed that you never have breakfast in the breakfast room.” He opened a drawer and retrieved a snowy cravat. “She must just be there at a different time than you, sir. For some reason, she thinks you take breakfast in your chambers.” Forbes laughed as though that was the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard.