Love At First Bite Part 27

must be here. But if the emba.s.sy had been evacuated, how would she find him? She took hold of herself and gave herself a

mental shake. Let them panic. She had a purpose. She had to find Davie.

The man behind the desk looked around wildly at the crowd rushing for the door and simply deserted his post. Good, Emma thought. She grabbed a key labeled "106." That might be on the first floor. She dragged her trunk upstairs. She didn't stay long in the room, though. She pushed out through a lobby now nearly empty and into the heart of the city.

What few people were left all seemed to be hurrying this way and that with bundles on their backs or chickens under their arms or carts full of rugs or furniture or pots, whatever they had. Panic crept into Emma's soul. She tried to stop several people to ask them if they had seen a tall, blond Englishman, but they shook her off and hurried on.

Tears of frustration welled up into her eyes. Had she come all this way only to be denied by a city in panic? She found herself at the open-air market surrounded by stone arches of Romanesque design. Most stalls had already been deserted and their goods

abandoned. Some were being looted openly. Others had their wares scattered and broken. Shouts echoed around her. As she turned, she saw in the harbor below a ship weighing anchor, its sails flapping into place. Only one ship remained. Retreat was being cut off even as she failed in her purpose. A man with very bad teeth leered at her and said something unintelligible. He grabbed her arm. She twisted away and ran farther into the market, ducking under cloth hung over ropes for display.

Her breast heaving, she crouched under the fabric. Her breath slowed. She looked up. They were burnooses. That would cover her blonde hair. She pulled one that looked smaller off the line and over her head, twitching up the hood. There, that was better. Now what to do? She peeked over into the next stall. Canva.s.ses stretched across wooden frames were stacked neatly against the tables. She spotted charcoal. The stall belonged to an artist...

Emma had an idea. She slipped into the stall. A charcoal... canva.s.ses, and a knife.

Very well. If she could find some nails and a hammer, she had the beginnings of a plan.

They swung through the empty streets, silent, senses pushing out into the night, searching for the ones who would be waiting. Davie saw clearly in the dark now. He no longer wondered why Fedeyah and Rufford never needed candles. He had been hunting with them for nearly a week. Rufford insisted he act only as backup since he was still so newly made. But that did not make the battles any less horrific. Or his horror at his new condition less intense. He wondered that Rufford and Fedeyah were still sane.

Everything had changed in the last week. Davie could call his Companion and use its power to draw the darkness for translocation or to compel a weaker mind. His strength amazed and appalled him, as did the painful burns sunlight caused on skin and eyes. These were signs that he had left his humanity behind. And the s.e.xual need was so intense it had been a torment during the last days. He clung to Rufford's a.s.sertion that he didn't have to be like Asharti, but privately he had his doubts. Who knew to what he would stoop when the need for blood or s.e.xual fulfillment raged through his body?

Whenever Asharti seemed near enough to invade his thoughts, he would conjure up an image of Emma and let the love he had seen in Emma's eyes the last time they met banish his memory of Asharti's whips and fangs. Images of Emma did not banish the erections, though. Quite the contrary. And thinking of how repulsed she would be by his new nature created bleakness in his belly but didn't counteract the power of her image on his body.

Perhaps worst of all was the strange exhilaration that threatened to overwhelm him sometimes. How dared he feel so alive, so whole, when he was a creature of night and nightmares? Would he burn in h.e.l.l for what he had taken from Rufford?

"We'll have trouble feeding with all the humans leaving town," Rufford muttered as they strode down a winding alley toward a broad avenue lined with jacaranda trees.

Davie still chose to take his blood from a cup filled by Rufford or Fedeyah from the wrist of a donor. He couldn't bear to think of drawing his power to elongate his canines and plunge them into a living throat.

They'd been having trouble feeding at all since Davie couldn't procure for them in daylight hours. They holed up wherever they could, easier in the last few days with so many houses vacant. They'd tried feeding before the nightly conflict began, but often the battle came to them before they were ready, with so many of Asharti's minions about. After the battle, they were in no condition to find what they needed. They'd gone without last night. With no blood, how would they keep their strength up?

Rufford backed against a wall at the corner of the boulevard and peered around. Suddenly he straightened. "Well, Ware, do you happen to have a relative named Davie?"

Davie gave a start. "It's Vernon Davis Ware," he said in a low voice. "My family and oldest friends called me Davie." Why had Rufford grown curious now?

Rufford simply pointed. Davie peered into the night. A canvas was tacked to a building across the alleyway at the other corner of the intersection. On it was written, clearly, in charcoal or some such, "Davie Ware. I'm at the Prince Hotel."

Davie was drawn across the alley, enthralled. Who knew him as Davie that might be here in Casablanca? And what was that stuck over the nail that held the canvas?

G.o.d! It was a lock of yellow hair, bound by a strip of ribbon.

He turned on Rufford. "Miss Fairfield!"

The scent of cinnamon wafted down the boulevard. "They come," Fedeyah said. Davie drew his sword. d.a.m.n!

"Get to the Prince Hotel," Rufford said through gritted teeth.

"I won't leave you two to face them." Shadows drifted out onto the boulevard.

"Think, man! You can't leave her alone in Casablanca now."

Davie counted. Eight? His gut twisted. Rufford was right, but his duty was here. "Why did she come?" he muttered.

"You have to ask?" Rufford's grin was wicked. He motioned with his head. "Lucky dog. Get out of here."

"Four to one," Davie warned.

"We've had worse." When Davie still hesitated, Rufford lifted his brows. "I've got Old blood in my veins, man."

Davie took a breath of night air, redolent with jasmine and ominous with cinnamon. "I'll be back as soon as I can."

"You'll never find us. We'll use the hotel as our safe house." Rufford drew his sword as he scanned the street. "Protect her. We'll see you at dawn."

Davie took off at a run for the waterfront.

Chapter Five.

Emma sat, quiet for the first time in days, and looked out on the night from her small balcony. It wasn't that she wasn't frightened. She was. But there was nothing more to be done. She had posted her signs all over the city this afternoon even as the teeming hordes left town. The harbor was empty. The last ship had sailed on the evening tide. From where she sat she could see several fires burning in the town, but the looting now seemed sporadic. She had gathered lamps from several other rooms to be sure she had enough oil, and locked her door. She was going to sit here day and night with a light burning like a beacon until Davie came for her. She wouldn't let herself think of how angry he would be that she was here or that he might not even be in the city to see her signs. Every piece of common sense said this would work out badly. So she resolved not to listen to her common sense.

The hotel was quiet behind her. The shouting in the streets had grown distant. So she clearly heard the pounding of boot heels taking the stairs up from the lobby two at a time. Her heart leaped into her throat. She would be raped and killed in the next minutes, or...

She looked to the door. He burst through it as though it were made of paper, lock and all. "Davie!" She ran to him without thinking, relief flooding her. The door twisted into the room on broken hinges. He took her in an embrace that was like to break her ribs. She didn't care.

"Emma!" he said into her hair. "Emma, what are you doing here? This is no place for a woman." But the chastising nature of the words was lost in his lips moving through her hair, his breath warm. He was wearing only a shirt open at the collar and trousers and boots. He hadn't shaved in several days, but that didn't make him seem unkempt, only rugged and more male than she remembered. She had never seen him without a coat and waistcoat. The hardness of his body beneath his shirt and the exotic scent of cinnamon he wore combined to a.s.sault her senses.

But he'd asked a question. What was she doing here? And she'd never really thought what she would tell him. He held her away from his body and looked at her with hungry eyes. His gaze roved over her and stopped at her hair. "Oh," she said apologetically, shaking her head, now full of unruly blonde curls. "I cut off all my hair to make the signs."

Davie gave a lopsided smile. "I like it." Then his grin collapsed. "Oh, Emma, it's too dangerous here. You shouldn't have come!"

She couldn't avoid this. "I... I couldn't sit at home and let you face... whatever it was you were facing. And don't you dare tell me I'm only a woman and I couldn't help." She felt a strange anger rising in her breast. What was she angry at? That he put himself in danger? That he hadn't offered for her? That he hadn't had the courage of his convictions...

She gathered herself. "If you don't love me, Major Vernon Davis Ware, tell me straight out and I'll go home. But if you do... then we belong together, no matter the circ.u.mstance. I'll not be a burden on you. And I'll stay out of the way. But I can help you; I know I can."

He looked at her with such intensity in his eyes it made her feel faint. He seemed so... alive. He was magnetic, hypnotic even. Had he been this attractive when she'd last seen him? It must be the air of danger that made him seem to vibrate with energy. "This isn't a diplomatic mission, Emma. It's a war."

"Plenty of women follow the drum." She swallowed. "I'll work in the hospital with your wounded. I've volunteered in the hospital in London, you know. Or I'll cook, or I'll wash for your men. I'm not proud, Davie, and I'm not delicate."

He was running his hands up and down her arms from shoulders to elbows, apparently unaware that he did so. His gaze roamed the room. "Emma, Emma, you don't understand."

She grew surer of herself. "You must tell me you don't love me if you want me to leave."

"You know I love you," he almost snapped. "Or you wouldn't have come here..." He seemed to recollect himself. "Your reputation... did you have a companion? Your brother?"

"I hired two females and a retired officer as escort." He looked relieved. Well, he'd better know the worst. "I dismissed them in Gibraltar. How could I bring them here with all the rumors of blood in the streets?" Now distress furrowed his brow. "I don't care a jot for my reputation, Davie. I love you. I'll bind your wounds, and barter my jewels for chickens for your stew. I can't stay at home going to parties where the worst thing anyone can imagine is that Lady Jersey is with someone else's child again. And don't think I'll ever love anybody but you. You were talking nonsense that day in Grosvenor Square. If you won't have me, I'll go to Paris or Vienna and set up on my own and I'll die without knowing the joys of marriage. I won't settle for some loveless union with a duke or a poet."

He smiled ruefully and sighed. Then he touched her cheek with the back of his index finger and stroked gently. "My brave, rebellious Emma. You always did have more courage than any ten girls put together."

She wished he would take her in his arms again. As a matter of fact, she wished he would do more. She wanted to cross some line from which she couldn't retreat. In spite of her brave words, she needed to put England and home and small social concerns beyond her reach, to remove any risk that she might just run home with her tail between her legs if the going got rough. Today in Casablanca she had realized that the going might get very rough. She wanted to leave who she was behind entirely. She slid her hand up behind his neck and pulled him down to her. He looked... well, frightened. She brushed her lips across his, not quite believing she could be this bold. She really was a rebel!

"Emma," he breathed into her mouth. "You don't know... what I might... do."

"Yes, I do, Davie," she said with more confidence than she felt inside. "At least I know what I'm hoping you'll do." To punctuate her statement, she slid her hand underneath the open collar of his shirt. The skin at the nape of his neck was damp in the heat of Casablanca. "We love each other. You're going to show me how to love you." She was going to give up her virgin state in order to cross her line. All she had to do was convince him.

"You must save that for your marriage bed." He was breathing hard. She sidled into him and felt the shocking hardness under his trousers roll against her hip. He wanted her!

"That can be my marriage bed," she breathed, pointing to the bed in the other room of the suite. "When we can find someone to perform a ceremony, we will make it official." She saw the conflict churning behind his eyes. How dear that he was so concerned for her he would try to suppress his physical desires. But she wasn't going to let him do that. "If you want me, take me," she challenged. "But know I don't give myself lightly. It will be our troth."

A thousand thoughts careened and collided in Davie's head. The thing in his blood shouted down his veins, throbbing with life and a s.e.xual intensity that muddied his thoughts. He shook his head as though to clear it. He couldn't make love to Emma. Who knew what he might do when in the throes of pa.s.sion? And he couldn't marry her either. She didn't know he was a monster. He couldn't let her stay in Casablanca where horror stalked the streets. He'd be dead soon, or, if he lived through this terrible campaign, he'd live forever. Neither would be good for Emma.

And yet... she needed the protection of marriage, at least in name. He could not let her go to some foreign city alone, to fall victim to the first rogue she met. If she bore his name, he could write to Charles. Davie's family would look out for her. Then she could return home to the comfort of England and her own family at least. He'd make up some tale as to why she had abandoned her chaperones. He'd think of something.

Very well. He'd find someone to marry them, if he lived through the night. He swallowed and tried to breathe, and took her in his arms. "I am yours," he whispered. "For as long as I live. My name will be your protection, and all that I have."

"For better or worse, 'til death do us part," she recited.

He swallowed, then nodded.

"Then love me."

The thing in his blood sang out in agreement with her, but that was too dangerous. He couldn't give in to pa.s.sion. He thrust himself away from her and stumbled to the doors open to the balcony. He leaned against the wall. "I dare not consummate our marriage vows," he choked.

She looked stunned and hurt for moment. Then he saw her muster herself. "You won't get off so easily," she chided, her tone deliberately much lighter than his. "You've practically promised me a night of lovemaking, and I shall hold you to it."

He jerked back to her. "I'm not safe," he said through clenched jaws.

"You'd never hurt me," she said, trying to smile.

"I'd never want to." His eyes were wild now. "But people like me, they... they hurt people like you. I know. I used to be like you. Someone... hurt me."

Her brows contracted. "Hurt physically?"

He nodded, a jerky motion, cleared his throat. "You wouldn't think it possible, I know-a woman hurting a man. But it is." He almost choked on those words.

"A woman hurt you when she made love to you?" She sounded incredulous.

He swallowed and looked away. "Yes."

There was a moment as she digested that. Finally she said, "Whatever has happened to you in this G.o.dforsaken place, you are still you. You're a good man, Davie. And you love me. I trust you." She went up behind him and put a hand on the muscles bunched in his shoulder. The water was rising against the dam inside him. She sucked in a breath and put her other hand on his hip. The feel of her hand on his flesh beneath the fabric sent an electric charge straight to his loins. "And whatever happened before, you need a woman who loves you and wants to give herself to you." He turned, tentatively. She smiled. "I think I fill the bill."

Sweet, giving Emma. Her generous nature, her courage touched him deeply. He couldn't let her think he didn't want to make love to her. "Oh, G.o.d, Emma! I want you, like... like I've never wanted anything or anyone before."

"Then take me, because I want you just that much in return." Her voice was calm, though he could see her heart pounding in her throat. The dam inside him burst. He couldn't resist her. But he could resist the thing in his blood. He'd make sweet love to Emma and give her something of a wedding night, in case he was dead tomorrow, and she a grieving widow.

He swept Emma up as though she weighed nothing and carried her into the bedroom. The feel of his hard chest against her b.r.e.a.s.t.s made her shudder. At last! Whatever had happened to him in the past, she knew she could heal with time.

"I'll keep control, Emma; I promise," he said as he laid her across the bed and began to strip off his shirt. It was dim in this small room. Only the light from the lamps in the sitting room cast a glow through the doorway. His pale, muscled torso and shoulders made her suck in breath. His chest was covered with curling light hair. His nipples looked soft She licked her lips and thought what it would be like to kiss them. He sat beside her, pulled off his boots, and began unb.u.t.toning his trousers. Then he stopped, swallowed once, and ducked his head. "I'm sorry. This shouldn't be a rushed affair."

"Then you'll help me undress?" His trousers, partially unb.u.t.toned, gaped over his belly, only just concealing what she wanted most to see. She swallowed.

He did help her undress. He took the pins from her dress one by one as though it was a precious ritual and untied the skirt, unlaced her light corset, pulled off the sleeves until she was standing in her chemise. Her nipples, turned suddenly sensitive, pressed against the fine linen fabric. She felt so vulnerable, unlaced in front of him. She sat and unrolled her stockings herself, as she glanced under her lashes to see him taking off his trousers and smalls with far less ceremony. He turned from her, but not before she had seen his erect member rising out of a nest of hair a shade darker than the blond on his head. It was so much larger than the statues she had seen. Well, that was rather... intriguing. Could all that fit inside her? She wanted to touch it, examine it. And that thought, in turn, made the throbbing between her legs turn... wet.

She let her gaze rove over his tight b.u.t.tocks, strong thighs, the muscles moving in his back as he folded his trousers. His shoulders were wide-wait, what were those marks? She peered at him in the dim light. Scars. Deep furrows where wounds had healed without benefit of st.i.tches.

All his talk of being hurt became real. Someone had hurt him terribly, purposefully, once. Could he mean a woman did these things to him? All Emma could think about was that she wanted to take that hurt away. She wasn't experienced in love-making, had never even seen a man in the state he was in now. But she was a rebel, wasn't she? She would cast aside maidenly shrinking from the act and try to give him pleasure, show him that love could be generous and sweet...

Davie turned away, ashamed at the throbbing erection that must shock her. Lord knows he'd had erections so frequently in the last week he should be used to it. But the thought of making love to Emma had induced a need that was almost painful in its intensity. He'd had those kinds of erections only with... her, but never of his own volition. He wouldn't think of that.

He was having trouble thinking at all. He shouldn't make love to Emma. It was his duty to restrain himself. She shouldn't give up her virginity. He couldn't marry her when he would be dead in a matter of days one way or another. He should send her home. How? The ships had left the harbor. But she must be married, mustn't she? She couldn't return home after traveling unescorted without the protection of his name, even if he himself was dead. Alone in Vienna or Paris? Unthinkable. What to do? Could he keep control? She must never know he was a vampire. He must never hurt her. His breathing grew ragged. How had he let her talk him into this moment, when he was naked and needing and not thinking clearly at all and she was there sitting on the bed behind him wearing only a chemise, her nipples clearly visible, and that halo of hair glowing in the dark... ? He could smell her musk of desire, feel the throbbing of blood in her veins. He closed his eyes, knowing he was lost.

He was going to make love to her, and in spite of the fact that he hadn't had blood in two nights, he would muster control of his urges and give her only tenderness and slow enjoyment in her first s.e.xual encounter. He would find the strength. He had no choice.

He did not lay down his folded trousers but clasped them at his loins before he turned back to her, his unruly c.o.c.k pressing insistently against the fabric. He gasped. She had shrugged out of her chemise and now sat, naked, on the edge of the bed, with a shy smile. She was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. Her b.r.e.a.s.t.s were as full as he'd imagined them, her legs long and shapely, and there, at the vee of her thighs, was the delicate curling blonde thatch that called so to him.

She held out a hand. He could not help but go to her. As he stood before her, she gently took his trousers from him and dropped them. "Would you keep me from enjoying all of you?" she whispered. Even in the dark, he could see her blush. But then, mustering her courage, she reached to stroke his c.o.c.k, gently, caressing the underside, thumbing the tip. He thought he might pa.s.s out. "It's so silky soft," she marveled, "and yet so hard."

"I'm... glad it... pleases you." What did one say to a beautiful woman admiring her very first c.o.c.k? Especially when one was busy wondering how one would avoid throwing her back on the bed and plunging said c.o.c.k into that little vee of curling hair? Her hand cupped his b.a.l.l.s and lifted them gently. They were so d.a.m.ned swollen and heavy they filled her hand.

"I've heard that these are very tender. Does this give you discomfort?"

He took two breaths before he could manage, "No."

"I can feel the stones inside."

"So can I." That was enough. He couldn't bear any more of her gentle explorations, so different from... No. He wouldn't think about her. It was time Emma had some pleasure. And he knew what pleasured women. He had been taught. He had... her to thank for that. He picked Emma up and placed her on the center of the bed and lay down beside her. He must introduce her slowly. She might be frightened if he asked to lick her or, worse, asked her to lick him. And then there was the fact that she was a virgin. She might be in so much pain after he broke her barrier, pleasure might not be possible. That meant he had to hold himself in check even longer. She must be pleasured first.

He brushed his lips across her forehead. His c.o.c.k lay, hard and needing, against her soft white thigh. He willed it not to throb against her, without success. He could feel the blood pulse in the arteries just under her jaw. He put down all thought of blood ruthlessly and moved his lips down to hers. Her mouth opened to him easily. She had been kissed before. Someday he would want to know by whom. He licked the inside of her lips and then caressed her tongue with his. She returned the caress, making a little sound as she pressed her b.r.e.a.s.t.s against his chest. Her nipples, now tight buds, seemed to burn his flesh. He ran one hand down her back to cup her b.u.t.tocks, squeezing gently. She took her lead from him and did the same. Her fingers trailed fire over his body. He had never felt the sensations of lovemaking so intensely. The aroma of her was so layered with complexity! He could distinguish the smell of the charcoal she had used to write the signs, the spices from the market she had been in, the musk of her desire, and underneath, her own sweet signature of scent. And she was alive with blood. But he couldn't think about that.

Now to bring her slowly and inexorably to her pleasure. He laid her back and sucked at first one nipple and then the other. She gave a little moan of pleasure and arched up to his kisses. What a sensual creature she was! As he sucked, his hands explored her body, smooth hip, tight belly, and then the thatch of hair. She spread her legs so that he could have easier access to her. That sweet act of giving touched him. He slid a finger inside her folds and felt the viscous fluid of desire there. Her bud of pleasure was already swollen. She gasped at his touch.

"Oh, Davie!" But she didn't pull away.