Zen and the Art of Vampires (31 page)

“Are you so anxious to see me murdered?” he countered.

“Don't be silly.” I recommenced pacing the length of the room. I was getting good at estimating just where the walls were. “I'm not going to let them murder you.”

“And just how do you expect to stop them from trying?”

I paced toward him, absently counting the steps. “They can't do anything ritualistic without a real Zorya, can they? If you're my husband, then I'm not real. At least, not by their standards. And if I am real, then all I have to do is refuse to participate in the cleansing ceremony.”

He gave a disbelieving grunt.

“It's not like they can make me kill you,” I pointed out.

“On the contrary, assuming you were a Zorya, I can think of any number of ways they could force you to do just that, but if you wish to persist with the belief that ignorance will protect you, so be it. Now, what are you doing?”

“It just occurred to me what you said.” While he had been speaking, I felt my way along the wall over to him, kneeling beside him. “You said you were hungry. When's the last time you ate?”

His voice had a slightly surly tinge to it. “You should know; you were there.”

“Last night, you mean? No wonder you're hungry. Here, have an arm.”

I thrust my arm roughly in the direction of his face.

He head butted my offering. “Whatever else you may think of me, I am not a cannibal.”

“Don't be obstinate. You know full well I was intending for you to have a sip of Vino Pia, not eat my arm.”

“I don't need your blood,” he said in a voice that continued to bristle with surliness.

Hunger hung in the air like a thick, red mist.

“Yes, you do. Look at it this way—you'll be weaker if you don't, and frankly, I'd rather have you brimming with health when we have to deal with Kristjana, especially if the ritual fizzles. That woman is just not right in the head.”

He grunted an assent.

“So stop being stubborn, and eat. I had breakfast, you didn't. Eat.” I shoved my wrist in the direction of his face.

“I don't like to drink from wrists,” he muttered. “It's so cliché.”

“Oh, for god's sake . . . fine.” I hauled myself onto his lap and half turned to face him, letting him have the inside of my upper arm. “Better?”

His breath was hot on my arm, sending little pinpricks of pleasure along my back and belly.

“I don't think that would be wise,” he said, his voice sounding oddly choked.

I couldn't help myself. I leaned into him, his curls brushing against my mouth. That faintly smoky scent that seemed to be uniquely his seeped into my pores, making my stomach tighten with anticipation. “It's all right, Kristoff. I don't mind feeding you, I really don't.”

“You know what happened last time,” he warned, his voice getting rougher and rougher. I heard him swallow. “I told you before that to a Dark One, the act of feeding can be arousing.”

“You said there had to be a shared attraction.” My heart was beating madly. I knew I should stop, knew I should back off to the farthest corner of the tiny cell and let him go hungry. I knew that what he was saying was absolutely true—not only was the proof growing beneath my right hip, but I was tingling just from the nearness of him. The scent and feel of him filled my mind, and more than anything, I wanted to taste him, wanted him to taste me.

“Yes.” His voice made me shiver.

“It's all right,” I repeated, too overwhelmed by emotions to listen to my common sense.

“Alec—” he said, choking to a stop.

“I don't think Alec and I are meant to be,” I said, realizing with surprise that it was true. It was a dream, a pleasantly enticing dream, but a dream nonetheless.

“If you're his Beloved, your blood will be poison to me,” Kristoff murmured against my arm, his lips caressing the suddenly sensitive flesh.

“We won't know until you try,” I whispered into his hair, unable to keep from pressing little kisses along the top of his ear. I shifted on his lap so that I was straddling his legs, undoing the top couple of buttons on my blouse so it sagged open. “If it is, we'll have the answer, and we'll stop. If I'm Alec's Beloved . . . well, I'll deal with that.”

“He'll kill me for this,” Kristoff said hoarsely as I arched my back. His head dipped down, kissing a hot line along the upper slopes of my chest. He stopped for a moment, his breath coming fast as I pulled off my shirt and reached behind to unhook my bra, his groan of pleasure echoing mine when his mouth descended again. “To hell with it. You taste too good. . . .”

“Too much talking, not enough biting,” I said, moving restlessly against him. I wanted more, wanted him inside me, wanted him drinking from me, wanted that amazing sensation of sharing that we had the previous time he fed off me.

He kissed a path over to my shoulder, moving a bit down my upper arm, his tongue painting a hot brand along my flesh.

“You're sure?” he asked, his voice sounding as rough as his breathing in the confined space.

I thought of Alec, locked in an identical room just a few yards away, thought about what he meant to me, and what I apparently meant to him. I thought about how he made me feel wanted, cherished, even loved. Kristoff didn't want me, didn't want anything from me but satisfaction for the sexual itch that we seemed to share, and he certainly didn't need me. He was bound to his grief, and I suspected that I simply filled the role of physical relief, and yet I felt closer to him than I did to the man with whom I might very likely spend the rest of my life as his Beloved.

I thought about all of that in the space between heartbeats, and wrapped my arms around his head. “I'm sure.”

The pain was fleeting, a momentary burning sensation that was quickly lost in sweeping pleasure. Kristoff moaned as he drank deeply, the sensation of that winding me up tighter than I had ever been. I moved against him, wanting his touch, mindless to everything but the sensations that were rippling through me like waves.

“Pia . . .” His tongue lathed a spot on my arm.

I felt the need in him, a need not just for my blood, but one that was instantly answered by my body. I was wound tighter than a clockwork, and felt like I might explode at any second.

“Well ahead of you,” I said, sliding back on his legs to find his buckle and zipper. He lifted his hips slightly as I made frantic little noises while struggling with the former. At last I got the zipper down, not at all surprised to find him hot and hard and clearly as aroused as I was. I held him in my hands, enjoying the unabashed groans of ecstasy my touch drew from him.

Another need burned through me, one I couldn't help but give in to. He made a distressed noise as I rose off his lap, but that quickly changed to an unintelligible gurgle as I knelt and tentatively took him in my mouth, the sensation flooding my mind with rapturous images that drove out all other thoughts.

All of them but one—I'd used him for my own satisfaction the night before, selfishly used him even though I knew he was still mourning his lost love. I wouldn't do that again.

“Pia, I don't think I'm going to last if you keep doing that,” he warned, the huskiness of his voice sliding along me like velvet on bare skin.

“I want to give you pleasure, Kristoff,” I murmured against the base of his penis, setting a rhythm that had his hips moving with quickening pace. “To thank you for what you gave me the other night.”

He sucked in a huge amount of air as I let my tongue curl around the sensitive underside of his penis, the muscles of his thighs as hard as cement beneath my hands.

“Stop,” he cried, his legs tightening. “Dammit, I wish my hands were free. You don't owe me any thanks. We gave each other pleasure, and we will do so again.”

There was a command in his voice, an order that had me smiling against the velvety tip of him. He understood what I was offering. “I think it's my turn to ask you if you're sure,” I said, giving him a swipe of my tongue.

His muscles trembled with strain. “Quite sure.”

“Will you be grossed out if I kiss you?” I asked as I rose, quickly removing my jeans and underwear before straddling his legs again. At least I wouldn't have to worry about him seeing all my pudgy parts.

“Try me,” he growled.

His mouth was as hot on mine as it had been on my arm, his tongue the same bossy tongue that immediately charged into my mouth and set about pushing me over the edge of tolerance.

I positioned him and sank down slowly, the movement making us both moan.

“Do you have any idea,” I gasped as he slid in another inch, my body gripping him tightly as he invaded delicate, sensitive parts, “any idea how good that feels?”

“Hrng,”
he answered, his head lolled back as I flexed my hips. I leaned forward and kissed his neck, smiling as I nibbled my way up to nip his earlobe. “Christ, woman! Do that swivel again.”

I swiveled. He made a noise from somewhere deep in his chest, a primitive sort of noise, a mating noise, one that seemed to thrum through me as I moved against him. That was all it took—that noise, and the feel of him so deep inside me, and the wave after wave of exhilaration that wound me even tighter until I teetered at the edge of a climax.

His teeth pierced the skin behind my ear, the burn racing through my body, setting me alight and pushing me over the edge. I clutched at his shoulders, shaking with the strength of the climax even as he cried against my neck, his sensations pushing me beyond awareness into a new place, something made up of the two of us.

I collapsed against him, almost sobbing with the euphoria of the moment, confused about what I'd just experienced. This was beyond normal sex, beyond even incredibly fabulous sex. What we'd just done was earth-shattering, profoundly momentous in a way I couldn't begin to understand, but disturbed as I was, I knew one thing for certain—I would die before I let the Brotherhood people sacrifice the man in my arms.

I had to get him out, get Alec and him both out, and away from Kristjana. Frederic and Mattias might be reasoned with, but I knew with chilling conviction that Kristjana wouldn't be happy until both vampires were dead.

I just wouldn't let that happen.

 

“Heea.”

A voice, muffled and indistinct, reached my ears. I drifted on a cloud of post-orgasmic insensibility, finally realizing that the word spoken was my name.

“What?” I asked, too boneless to move. I had collapsed onto Kristoff, and was draped across him now, his face smashed into my breasts, my knees still gripping his hips.

“Mrrphm reef.”

“What?” I asked, pulling back in order to hear him better.

“I couldn't breathe,” he said, a slight edge of amusement in his voice.

“Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't think about you breathing.” I scooted off him, groping around on the ground to find my clothing. “That is, I didn't think about the fact that my boobs were smothering you. Are you all right?”

“Yes.”

“Full? Or do you need another go-round?” I pulled on my clothing, my face flaming for no good reason. Yes, I'd just had the best sex of my entire life, but it was with a man who saw me as nothing more than an annoyance who could occasionally scratch an itch—or fulfill a hunger. There was no cause for me to be blushing like a virgin.

“That was quite sufficient, thank you,” he said politely, but the humor was gone from his voice, replaced by a flinty note that made me, for some reason, want to throw something large at his head. Or cry. Possibly both.

Sufficient, my shiny white ass! Once again I was left swearing that if that was the way he wanted to deal with the fact that we had quite possibly the best sex in the entire history of the world, then I would certainly not disillusion him.

Sufficient.
The bastard.

I was formulating an extremely cutting comeback when there was a noise at the door.

“Zorya Pia? Are you there?”

A crack of light appeared along the edges of the doorway.

“Mattias?” I asked, astonished.

The door was pulled open a few inches. Mattias's eyeball was applied to the open space. “Has the Dark One turned you?”

“Turned me? You mean made me a vampire?” I rushed to the door, pausing when Kristoff hissed at me.

“My trousers,” he said softly.

A little shaft of light fell across the room, striking him on the leg, allowing me to see that he was still exposed to view.

“Yes. Kristjana said that he would do so in order to keep you from becoming Zorya tonight.” Mattias's eye examined me with calculation.

I moved to block his view of Kristoff, backing up until I reached him. “Don't be silly. Kristoff wouldn't vamp me. Would you?”

“At this moment, I'm considering the very attractive idea of throttling you,” was the answer.

“See?” I told Mattias. “He wants to strangle me, not make me a vampire. Are you going to let us out?”

“I should not,” Mattias said, his eye considering me with unblinking interest. “Kristjana said I was not to come down here. But you are the Zorya, and my wife.”

“Actually, she's mine, but don't let that stop you from freeing us,” Kristoff said.

“Hush, you,” I said, giving a little trill of horribly false-sounding laughter as I squatted awkwardly next to Kristoff, reaching behind me to tuck him away and do up his pants. “He's such a joker. But you know, Mattias, I don't feel that we've really had the time to get to know each other, and as I have a few hours free now, why don't we have a nice, long talk about things? Out of the basement.”