One With the Night (34 page)

She resisted for a single moment more before she went limp in his arms with a tiny moan. Her hot breath whooshed out over him and she sank her canines gently into his throat. The moment of pain subsided. She didn’t rip, or tear. “Suck now,” he whispered, relaxing against her body. She pulled him into her and began to draw at his neck. He could feel her hands on his welts but that was far away. Her body moved against his in rhythm to her sucking. “That’s right,” he murmured. She might not know when to stop. He should tell her. But the feeling of her suckling and rocking against him was so near to ecstasy he wanted it to go on forever.

She pulled away with a tiny cry and took his head in both hands. “Have I hurt you?” she asked, searching his face. Her eyes faded from red to violet.

“Nae, lass.” He smiled tenderly. How like her to be only concerned for him, in spite of the demands of her Companion. It must have taken all she had to pull away. “I’m a full-blooded Scot, or maybe an Irishman. I’ve more in my veins for ye yet tonight, any road.”

“Oh, dear.” Her pain was palpable.

“Dinnae ye feel better?”

“I do. God help me, I do. The life is bursting in me.”

“And now there’s somethin’ else ye need.” He knew what she was feeling. He had felt it. She had an urge to life inside her that demanded fulfillment. He kissed her. He probed her mouth with his tongue and she kissed him back, still holding his head in her hands, even as he ground his groin against hers. Let her have no doubt he wanted her.

“Callan,” she whispered. It was the first time she had ever said his given name. She said it as gently as she had taken his blood. He liked the sound of it on her lips.

“Are ye wantin’ me ta make love ta ye, lass?” he asked her softly.

She nodded, a wicked gleam in her eyes. Then she collapsed in uncertainty. “If … if you’re up to it. I mean … and it wouldn’t have to be actually making love…”

He silenced her with kisses. “Ye’re th’ one best ta get rid o’ these clothes.”

She raised herself on one elbow, her eyes now gleaming. “Best watch what you begin, Callan Kilkenny. You might not be able to finish it.”

“Ye’re talkative. But I’m no’ seein’ any results.”

She sat up, then took her bodice in both hands and ripped it with a vampire’s strength.

“I dinnae like all the gray dresses anyway. Ye should be clothed in red and midnight-blue like yer eyes, with lace and jewels and silks.”

“When you seem to like worn coats and boots that have seen better days?”

“Then how about us both bein’ naked as babes for th’ moment?”

“I won’t sew buttons on these breeches yet again.” She pulled the shirt over his head, and he unbuttoned his breeches with care. She thrust them down over his hips. He pulled them off. Her eyes widened at the sight of his erection, then darkened into the color of midnight.

All thought of going slowly was abandoned. She needed him and she needed him now. He rolled her on her back. She spread her thighs and put her hands over his buttocks to help him thrust inside her. But she must have felt his welts, for she jerked her hands away and placed them carefully on his waist. He plunged into her. The first thrusts were so satisfying! Then he stopped and lay between her legs, full inside her, propped on his elbows.

“Now Jane, drink again, and ye’ll see what pleasure is.” He turned his head.

He felt her power. She placed her teeth over his artery and slowly, tenderly, penetrated him. He began pumping inside her, in rhythm to her sucking. The feeling of essence being drawn from him seemed to extend from his throat down to his cock. He pushed the pace faster. He mustn’t come before she did, but the pull toward orgasm was like a fast horse galloping, powerful, unstoppable. She felt it, too. She gripped his shoulders as she contracted, and he let himself go, arching against her sucking lips and her clenching womb as he gave his body’s fluids to her body, spurting blood into her mouth and seed into her loins.

She pulled her teeth from his neck with a little moan and collapsed against her pillows. “Oh…” she said in a small voice.

He drew himself out of her. Weakness enveloped him. Breathing was a little difficult. It would pass. She was up on her elbows, bending over him. “Callan? Callan, are you well?”

He smiled at her. Dear Jane. Even in her ecstasy she worried about him. “Aye, lass.”

“I’m so sorry. I took … I took too much.”

“Nae. Did I no’ tell ye there was an ecstasy of givin’ as well as takin’? I would no’ ha’ missed that for th’ world.” He closed his eyes. It hadn’t been the untamed wildness of the sex, vampire to vampire, they had at the castle. His senses had been dulled back into humanity. But the joy of giving to Jane had its own sweetness.

He loved her. That was what all this was. He’d never loved before, so it had crept up on him while he wasn’t looking. He’d thought he just wanted to protect her. He wanted to live just to be with her. But if she required his death he’d give it. He cared about her more than he cared about himself. He was now pretty certain that was what love was.

She lay back and laid his head against her breast. He gave a little moan of satisfaction. “What?” she asked, worried.

“Yer hands are always sa gentle on my body,” he murmured. Maybe that was what made his experience with Jane so fundamentally different than with Elyta or Asharti. He felt Jane’s goodness immediately in her touch.

“Rest, Callan.” She brushed her lips across his hair. Was it just her vampire needs he had felt? Was he only a victim her goodness demanded that she save from Elyta, or did she feel something like what he felt for her?

How could she? He was only mortal now and she was vampire. Worse, he was still tainted with evil from Elyta through Asharti and now round to Elyta again, while Jane was all light and goodness.

“Rest through the day with me … and we will start again tonight on the cure,” she said.

She must find the cure. If they were both mortal, he would know how she felt about him. It wouldn’t be all mixed up with being vampire. He’d find a way to save her from Elyta. He had to. He drifted …

CHAPTER
Twenty

Jane woke tangled in Callan’s limbs. The sun had just gone down. Her blood thrilled through her body. How alive she felt! Sometime during the day he must have pulled the coverlet up over them. Dear Callan. He was lying on his belly, head pillowed on her breast, one arm thrown across her. She longed to touch the muscles in his shoulders. The welts that peeked from under the coverlet still made her angry. She lay still, drinking in his warmth, his weight across her body, the crinkly hair on his chest against her breast, his curling black hair with the twin streaks of gray on her shoulder. His breath was warm and moist on her neck. She felt her loins stir. His thigh was across hers under the coverlet. That soft flesh she felt must be …

They had had intercourse of several kinds in the wee hours of the night. It wasn’t quite so … transforming as it had been in the castle. Maybe that was because he was mortal now. And yet, the feel of taking his blood had been so sexual, it heightened the act itself. The experience was certainly different from her intimate moments with Mr. Blandings. That might not be because of the blood. Perhaps no carnal relations with Callan Kilkenny would ever be like sex with Mr. Blandings, blood or no, vampire or no …

She had drunk his
blood
! How did she feel about that? Guilty. She had lost all control. She had given it over to her Companion and to Callan. She had never believed in giving control to anyone. She was an acolyte of Apollo, not Dionysus. But in return for her lapse, she had been taken out of herself, to another level of
presence
in the moment. Sensation had been overwhelming. Wasn’t that selfish, to have the moment of objective time so infused with yourself and vice versa? But it wasn’t only herself in the moment. The experience of Callan’s body, his sexual and spiritual essence, had infused the moment, too. She ran a finger lightly across that waving mass of black hair. He had given his blood so freely. He was a generous man. A good man. And mortal.

She
had
to find a cure. She didn’t want to be a vampire when he was not. How could he … care for a vampire? True, he understood her. But he would grow old, and she would not. She would drink blood and be burned by sunlight. Who would give up daylight for a lifetime if one didn’t have to? Would any man tolerate a woman with ten times his strength?

“Chalk,” she said suddenly, as the thought popped into her head. That was it!

He stirred. “What?” he asked, groggy.

She eased him off her and sat up. He leaned on one elbow and rubbed his eyes. “Chalk!” She grinned. “Why did I think it had to be a chalky plant? Papa used chalks to write on his slate.”

“Were they no’ burned in th’ fire?” He was wide awake now.

“He had spare chalk in his desk.” She was out of the bed and striding to the wardrobe. She threw open the doors. “Let’s see.” The dresses hung in dreary similarity.

“Some choice.” He stood behind her.

“At least I never have to worry about matching reticules or half-boots, or pelisses or—”

“And ye’ll tell me ye wouldn’t enjoy matchin’ yer fripperies, too, I’ll wager.” He tried to frown at her, but his eyes were wry. “I’d call that a fabrication.”

What? Did he know her guilty pleasure in planning wardrobes she never wore? How dare he laugh at her? “I’m a serious student of science, and working to bring modern medical techniques to midwifery,” she protested as she pulled on her underthings. “Are you going to help me mix a new potion or not?”

“Aye, I’ll help ye.”

“Au naturel?”

He glanced down at himself, seemingly in surprise. It gave her stomach a turn to see his nipples still swollen where Elyta had pierced them. The wound Clara had stitched snaked up his chest. His scrotum must be sore, too, as well as his back and buttocks. But none of these injuries had affected his enthusiasm last night. He picked up his breeches hastily from the floor.

*   *   *

“Oh, dear.” Jane sighed as she watched the mixture turn an unattractive mouse color. It was the fifth time tonight.

Callan squeezed her arm. “I’ll chop more ingredients. Ye revise th’ proportions.”

“Persevere,” Flavio murmured from a stool by the sideboard.

Elyta burst through the door, vibrant in purple silk, and glanced to the bubbling sludge in the beaker. Her eyes flashed with anger. “You’re never going to find the formula at this rate! If I had known you were such a dullard … but what should I have expected from a girl?”

“Give me time,” Jane said, trying not to let Elyta’s barbs take hold, though it was just what she’d been thinking to herself. “I have the ingredients, or nearly. I just need the proportions, the right temperature. I’m close.”

“You have no time! Vampires from Khalenberg’s faction will come back just to make sure they have tied up loose ends. Who knows how many there will be?” Clara came up behind her with her shawl of Norwich silk.

“Elyta,” Flavio soothed. “Shouting does no good whatever.” He smiled at Clara, who returned it shyly. Come to think of it, Clara was fairly glowing, too. They looked happy.

“Science is a matter of patience,” Jane said with more conviction than she felt. “One must work through all the possibilities methodically.”

“There is no point in testing the formula on Clara until it looks right,” Elyta fumed.

“Go away, Elyta,” Flavio said quietly. It was the first time Jane had heard him give her an order. Love must agree with him. “Let them work.”

Elyta turned on Jane. “You know you can’t produce a cure, but you think to buy time to escape. Well, cunning minx, you could not run far enough. I would hunt you down.
They
will hunt you down. As long as anyone thinks you might
possibly
know the cure, whether it’s true or not, your life is worth nothing.
Nothing!
”

“Thank you for making that clear, Elyta,” Jane said. She hoped her voice was cold enough to illustrate that she was in total control. Elyta didn’t have to know how frightened she was inside. “Now if you’ll let me get back to work?”

Elyta narrowed her eyes. She was about to speak when Flavio guided her out of the kitchen. “Clara, just give your mistress a soothing draught and take her out hunting.”

They heard the three moving about upstairs and then the front door slam. Callan went over to the cutting board by the sink and calmly began to cut hemlock.

“Am I really a target?” Jane asked in a small voice.

He turned, knife in hand. “We’ll give th’ formula ta anyone who wants it. When everyone has it, th’ fact that we know it won’t matter.”

“What if I can’t produce it?” she whispered. All her doubt assailed her.

Callan put his arm around her and leaned his cheek against the top of her head. “It’s a matter o’ patience. You’ve said so yourself.”

“Elyta isn’t looking very patient right about now.” She sighed and picked up a paper on which she had listed the last formula. She drew a line through it, and wrote out another with the proportions adjusted slightly. “Cut a bit more hemlock, Callan. I’ll weigh it.”

*   *   *

Callan felt totally helpless as he watched the next trial fail, and the next. It was a long night. He wasn’t vampire. He wasn’t strong, or keen of sense. He wasn’t even a scientist.

And Jane was in terrible danger. Elyta was right. The vampires who wanted the formula destroyed would never let Jane live if they thought she had a chance of producing it. If she did produce it, Elyta would kill them both once she had it. And if Jane really couldn’t produce the formula, Elyta would kill her in a rage. All roads led to disaster and Callan was helpless to prevent it. He was only a human and that had never felt so weak and half-alive as it did now. It would soon be time for the sun to rise, though he could no longer feel it in his veins as he once had. Jane looked tired and dispirited.

“Enough for tonight,” he said. “I’ll cook ye some eggs and a rasher of bacon. I might even be able ta find a pot of jam for yer bread. Safe enough, since it has no’ got gelatin in it.”