Immortal With A Kiss Part 18

"He was here!" I cried.

"Hush. I know. I followed you from the village. I saw you talking to someone."

"Did you see him? He wants to . . . He tried to take me, Valerian." I was sobbing, unable to calm my racing heart, my stomach sick with revulsion and fear.

"He cannot now," he said, yanking off his crucifix and placing it over my neck. "I am here." He dragged me down from the trap, the exertion nothing to his extreme strength, and he bore me away. I did not know where he was taking me, and I did not care. I buried my head in the curve of his shoulder and inhaled his scent, ridding my lungs of the sickening stench of Ruthven's perfumed presence. I pressed my cheek, my lips, and my temple against his skin, wanting to fill my senses with as much of Valerian as I could get.

When he laid me down, I was amazed to find I was in his rooms. He had carried me all the way to the inn, I realized. "I will get Serena," he whispered.

I pulled at him, preventing him from leaving. "Do not leave me!"

He grasped my hands, freeing himself, and folded them in his warm, strong palms. "I have protections here. You will be safe while I am gone."

"No. I need you," I gasped. "He tried to do to me what he did before. Eustacia said they liked it, but she was horrified by it as I was. He is the Cyprian Queen, do you not understand? This is what he does to them!"

"To whom, Emma?"

"The girls. He uses . . . desire. He makes them want him. He fools them into thinking he is their demon lover, but he is a vampire, Valerian. He makes them think it is all some kind of a wonderful adventure when it is simple l.u.s.t, and he controls them with it."

"We have discussed this," he told me calmly. "No manner of vampire craves sensual pleasure."

"It's not that. He used the Irish boy. That was why he sent him . . . before. It's . . . It was power. It is all about power. He talks of being a G.o.d. It is a game to him, to move these girls this way and that, manipulate them and twist them. They are mere amus.e.m.e.nts."

He bowed his head and brought my fingers to his lips, squeezing his eyes shut as he kissed them. "Your hands are cold."

He was trying to distract me, calm me. I was touched, and I realized that my faith in him, which had been so sorely strained, was restored. I suddenly had the impulse to trust him with the deepest horror. "He speaks of me as the one."

"The one?"

"His mate," I choked.

Valerian's dark gaze glittered. His fingers stroked my skin. The fluttering pulse in my wrist lay under his fingertips, and I had an acute sense of connection to him. It was like a balm, this small caress. "Why is he doing this to me?" I whispered.

I do not know why I asked him, when I knew the answer. The blood of my mother, the vampire who had made her, bound me to Ruthven. He thought me a sister, and as the G.o.ds of Olympus had lain with each other, sanguinity notwithstanding, he believed that blood connection would satisfy something he'd been searching for all of his existence. Something his s.a.d.i.s.tic games only soothed for a little while but never fully satisfied.

He expected me to revel in the pleasure he inflicted on me. To him, he was offering a great gift . . . "I am going to retch!" I exclaimed, mortified that I was so weak.

"I am here."

"No, you . . ." Valerian gathered me into his arms and the swell of nausea subsided. I clung to him desperately, taking everything I needed to breathe, to exist, from him.

"Is it possible for a vampire to be mad?" I whispered.

"There is much that is possible," he murmured soothingly, stroking my hair.

My breathing eventually slowed under his calming touch. My thoughts unlocked, and I realized something. "The sick game, it is all a puppet play for his vanity. There is more than the evil of the vampire in him, Valerian. There is something else, something twisted and . . . wrong. He craves being all-powerful, toying with these girls as G.o.ds play idly with the fates of mortals."

Valerian sat back, but he still held my hands. My thoughts were falling into place quickly. I could scarcely speak fast enough to keep pace with them. "Yes, a G.o.d. That is how he sees himself. And so he seduces the girls. But it is not s.e.x that he craves. He wants for them to admire him, adore him, make him their everything. If you could sense what I did, the sickness in him to be acknowledged as superior, even supreme."

Our bodies were pressed intimately against one another. I knew it was improper, but I could not bear to break contact, wanting every inch of myself entwined with his lean strength.

"He did not make my mother. I thought perhaps . . ." He squeezed my hand. I said, "Yet we are made both from Lliam. And I do not even know who that is."

"Enough for now. You have been through an ordeal." Valerian reached for my face, gently molding his palm to the contour of my cheek. "You will find the answers in time. We will search together."

"I cannot go through another attack," I said. I noticed then how my fingers were biting into his flesh. The ghost of Ruthven's putrid touch still shivered along my skin. I felt better here with Valerian. More than better. I felt safe.

"Then I will protect you," he said tenderly. "You have only to let me, Emma."

Could he do so? I believed that he would. He had always given me courage. That was why I had felt his absence so keenly. I had not wanted to accept how vulnerable I was where he was concerned. But I could not fight it any longer. I no longer even wanted to.

He was a part of me in some way, a stranger in many others. But our connection was real, tangible almost-elemental, essential. And as I lay with him, shivering as my flesh twitched in the aftermath of Ruthven's invasion, I turned my face to his, my hands pulling him toward me. I sealed my lips against his.

This was nothing like the kisses we'd shared before. This kiss flared instantly, filled with pa.s.sionate need that was unapologetically carnal. Everything the abhorrent Ruthven had tried to stir in me now flowered, flowed, flooded. I could do nothing to control it, to stop myself. My fingers dug into the silk of his hair and my mouth opened to invite the sensual kiss of lovers.

He did not indulge me for long. When my hands went to untie his cravat, he locked his grip over my wrists. "Emma," he warned, pulling away.

My fingers wheedled into the knot and deftly undid it.

"No," he said more firmly. He kept his body rigid, and I opened the neck cloth, exposing his secret. Bending my head, I kissed him there, overlaying the old puncture wounds with my own kiss.

Nothing magical happened. They did not disappear. He did not even seem to register what I had done. But I sensed a war within him. Looking into his face, my gaze touched those piercing, sharp cheekbones, then slid down the shadows that stretched like gouges underneath. It was a lean face, a bleak face.

"This is not right," he murmured, but I knew he was weakening. I placed my hands flat on the smooth skin of his chest where his shirt gaped. He was pale, warm, unblemished, devoid of the roughness of a man. I thought him exotic, unspeakably beautiful, graceful, masculine. For all his leanness, power shifted under my questing hands, strength of far more consequence than the most heavily muscled of men.

I reveled in his realness, his pureness. The infliction of Ruthven's touch had been a mere impostor, thin and feeble now that I had the truth in my grasp.

"Emma," he whispered, as if begging me to allow him to stop. He could have extricated himself any time he wished. "Not now, not like this."

I was suddenly afraid his better judgment would defeat me. I could not bear that. I kissed him again.

"I am not strong enough to keep refusing," he murmured against my cheek. "If you knew . . . I've thought of this, of us together. Of making love to you. But not like this. You are not yourself."

"I am at last myself, and it is because of you."

"This is because of him. Of Ruthven."

Coldness gripped me, and such a panic as to make me cruel. "What if it is? Would you condemn me to enduring his filthy touch, to the memory of it alive on my flesh like a thousand devouring spiders?"

His face froze, sealed in a rigor mortis of horror. I pressed forward, my hands frantic, snaking around his neck. "Valerian, do not leave me alone with this . . . thing inside me."

He could not hide his reaction. I was using him, and he knew it. What feeling we shared that might have led us to become lovers was not what made my body burn for him. He was right; I was not myself. But I was in pain, and I needed him nonetheless.

He moved suddenly toward me, surprising me, for I had expected him to turn me away. His hands gripped my waist firmly, locking us together as he pushed me back onto the bed. He made to undress me, but I could not tolerate his patience. Our clothing was discarded in a flurry, without gentleness. What feeling he tried to bring to it, I would not abide. In the end, our lovemaking was swift, fed by my desperation and l.u.s.t. The pleasure of it shattered me, breaking apart the grip of the vampire, restoring me, giving me what I sought.

Afterward, however, as I lay in his arms, I felt hollow.

I'd paid a terrible price for my healing. It became suddenly clear to me in the silence, and the cold distance that seemed to seal us apart, that I had bargained away a most precious thing.

"I am leaving when the week is out," I told him. "The term is over. I promised Alyssa I would go see her."

"She has had her child?"

"It will come any day."

"I will come with you."

I wished he had not said that. I selfishly wanted him with me, of course, but I was feeling particularly ashamed of myself right now. I'd cheated us both of something I'd had no right to.

"I think Sebastian and Father Luke should stay here," I said.

"It will be up to them. We are all our own masters."

How untrue. None of us had the least bit of freedom, or so it felt to me at that moment.

"I suppose." I rose to dress. Valerian said nothing. I thought perhaps he was angry with me, or perhaps he felt sorry for me. I did not know which was worse.

He took me back to Blackbriar, this time uneventfully. I said good-bye and thanked him, then winced, for it might seem to him that I was thanking him for taking me to his bed. I had not meant that, but it was true I did owe him. What I had taken from him-from both of us-was a debt that might be forever impossible to repay.

Chapter Eighteen.

Father Luke wanted to go to Rome. He would tell no one what it was he wished to do there. I had great fears on this account, but I could not take the time to question him about it.

The students left the school for the term break, a surprisingly rapid procedure whereupon they piled into the trap in turns, to be taken down into the vale, and on to holiday spots and reunions with their families from there. I had a train out of Penwith to catch, for I was headed to the Peak District, where Alyssa was. Without discussion, it was somehow decided Valerian would travel with me. Sebastian rather reluctantly accompanied a very grouchy Father Luke on his journey, but I could not tell if he was truly put out or merely making a show of it. I suspected the latter.

Father Luke, however, was not pleased with his travel companion. "I will not have you pester me," the priest had warned as they readied to leave. "I will be about my own business. I will have none of your hovering."

"Good G.o.d, man, I plan to be inebriated the entire time." Sebastian snapped his gloves into alignment. "I hate traveling, you know. I do not suppose Rome is known for its parties. All those priests."

I had come to accept their unusual relationship, but even I had to wonder at times how they tolerated the barbs that were so freely flung between them. It seemed, however, they rather enjoyed it.

It was a very different atmosphere with Valerian and me. During our travel, he was dour. I was too shamed by what I'd done to breach the long stretches of silence with anything more than the absolutely most necessary conversation. There was no repeat of our surrender to pa.s.sion, if that was what it had been. In fact, there was more distance between us than had ever existed before. In those long silences, as we rumbled across lengths of rutted country roads, I often found Valerian looking pensive, a dark frown on his face. And I wished I could do over again that which I'd done wrong.

But fate blessed me with a reprieve when I arrived at Castleton, the estate where I had grown up and where my sister and her husband now resided. Alyssa, having just been delivered of a healthy, beautiful son, was too overjoyed to pout very long at my having neglected her. I saw at once that motherhood had changed her. My sister glowed with pride and happiness, and was in such good spirits that she satisfied herself with only a mild rebuke before presenting the most majestic Roderick Alan for my inspection.

I must confess: it was love at first sight. "He is gorgeous," I breathed, taken aback by the feeling that came over me as I held the tiny infant. I adored my cousin's child, Henrietta, but that was an affection that had grown over time, and so my almost violent response to little Roderick took me by surprise. "Absolutely perfect."

"He is handsome," she corrected. "He is a boy, Emma. Boys are handsome."

"He is lovely," I insisted with a smile, "like his mother."

She giggled. Alyssa was partial to compliments. "And his father."

"Indeed," I agreed. "Alan is quite pretty as well."

We laughed, and I marveled how we had at last moved beyond the ill will that had followed her accepting Alan's proposal of marriage. I had been wrong on that account, and had learned a valuable lesson. Though Alan still wouldn't have been my choice of husband, unpossessed as he was of intelligence or personality, it was true he was devoted to her, and that she was mostly happy with her life as his wife.

He was not in the mood for our usual sniping at one another, however, being of good humor in the aftermath of the birth of so perfect a son. When I saw him later, I felt my gushing over the baby made him forget his dislike of me. And so the visit was surprisingly fine, going along with unantic.i.p.ated pleasantness. Valerian and I spent little time together, for I was helping with Roderick as much as Alyssa would allow me. We were all of us getting along immensely well-that is, until the subject of my whereabouts for the last several months was at last broached.

"I think it best," I replied carefully, having rehea.r.s.ed what I would say, "that you not know too much about why, but I am in c.u.mbria in a town near Penwith."

"But what could be so important there?" she demanded.

I paused. It would have been so easy to slip into my old role. When faced with my pouting sister, long habit had taught me that apologies and plat.i.tudes were the quickest way to appease her. I did not think I could bring myself to do that now, however. I certainly could not tell her she had no right to question my whereabouts. That would be going too far.

I found a neutral compromise. "Will it help to know I am doing good there?"

Was I? I wondered suddenly. It did not seem like I had accomplished much. Alyssa watched me carefully. "I still do not understand that business at Dulwich Manor," she said, a hint of accusation in her tone.

"It was my impression you were comfortable not knowing."

Her sullenness increased. "It seemed very unpleasant and I thought it best nothing upset me when I was in my condition."

"A very sound choice," I concurred.

She sighed. "Oh, Emma, why can you not be the normal sort who stays put and takes up gardening or some such hobby? Why do you have to be so . . . unusual?"

It seemed that for all of my life, someone or other was asking that question of me.

"And that Mr. Fox," she added disapprovingly. "What is going on with the two of you? Why have you brought him here with you? I hope you are not intending to marry him. He is very unsuitable, to say the least. Does he ever smile?"

I bit my lip. "On occasion. But it takes a great deal of provocation."

She seemed puzzled, missing my joke. "He is so dark. Much too complicated for my taste."

I secretly agreed and, further, I feared I would lose control of my emotions if we continued discussing Valerian. Forcing a smile, I said, "That is why Alan is such a perfect husband for you. He is simple."

She beamed, missing my unintentional insult. "And we've made a fine son."

Later that day, Valerian found me in the library. It was one of the places, besides my sister's bedside or cooing over Roderick, I was almost always sure to be found.

I had that morning recollected the peculiar habits of the vampires of Greece that I'd been studying at the archive when Sebastian's letter had arrived, and this had inspired me to do some research in my family's library. We had an extensive collection of the cla.s.sical writings from that country's golden age and I had previously discovered a great deal of information was to be gained in literary references of varying kinds.

I'd been at it all morning. When Valerian entered, I was ecstatic to see him, for I had found something. I'd been poring over a work by Philostratus, The Life of Apollonius of Tyana, in which I had found several mentions of vampires.

"These beings fall in love and they are devoted to the delights of Aphrodite . . . and they decoy with such delights those whom they mean to devour in their feasts."

I saw that Valerian was ill at ease as he settled into a chair near mine, but I was too excited to inquire as to why. "I believe I have found something very relevant to our Cyprian Queen," I told him anxiously. I reread the lines for him.

He nodded, deep in thought, but he did not take up the topic as I thought he would.