Chapter Twelve
I stood on the street
corner, swaying slightly, while bits of snow gathered in my hair.
It’s a beautiful last view, I thought blankly, watching what looked
like Christmas crowds rushing about. The stars overhead were
banners of lights draped across the openings of each street feeding
into the intersection. Other streets farther down had them, too, so
that the whole from the air probably resembled a great, glittering
wheel. Or maybe a wreath. That would be more Christmassy, wouldn’t
it?
They look pretty
against the black sky, anyway, I thought, as water dripped into my
eyes from rain that had fallen however many decades ago. I didn’t
bother to brush it away. It didn’t seem to matter now.
The lights on passing
cars blurred together in long streamers of gold and red,
appropriately festive. I watched them, feeling wobbly and cold and
numb, and waited for oblivion. And waited. And waited.
And then I heard
running footsteps coming up behind me, and before I even had a
chance to turn around, hands grasped my shoulders, spinning me
about. I stared dizzily up at Mircea, who was looking a little
crazed. His hair was wild and so were his eyes, and there was a
smudge of mud on his cheek. “You’re still here,” he said
blankly.
I nodded cautiously,
half expecting not to be at any second.
His fingers tightened
on my shoulders, almost painfully. And then he picked me up and
spun me around, heedless of my filthy dress or my dripping hair or
the safety of the passersby. “You’re still here!” he said,
laughing, and kissed me.
And either it was a
damn good kiss or not fading away into oblivion was a hell of an
aphrodisiac. Because after only a second, those lips melted the
cold shock that had all but paralyzed me, and my hands clenched on
his shoulders and my leg curled around him and the next thing I
knew, I was climbing his body and doing my best to climb down his
throat. Mircea gave as good as he got. His hands found my ass and
he lifted, and my legs fastened around him and he spun us around
again, as snow fell and cars honked and somebody laughed, and I
didn’t give a damn because I was alive to experience all of
it.
We broke apart only
when it was that or asphyxiation. I clung to him, panting and
light-headed from passion or relief or lack of air or all three,
and the crowd we’d managed to collect applauded politely. Somebody
donated a sprig of mistletoe, “not that you two need it,” which
Mircea jauntily stuck behind his ear. And then he kissed me
again.
I think he only
stopped because I started shivering. We were both soaked and it was
freezing, and I’d managed to lose his jacket somewhere along the
way. Even with Mircea’s warmth, the cold, damp night air was
already making its way in underneath my clothes, seeping down my
neckline and slithering up my legs.
And there was no
point even trying to shift back home. I’d be lucky to be able to do
it in the morning, assuming I got some food and rest between now
and then. But that posed a problem.
I looked at Mircea,
who was staring up at the swirl of snow seemingly in fascination.
“Mircea?”
“It’s beautiful,
dulceață,” he said, his tone awed.
“Do you see? Beautiful.”
“What
is?”
“The snow. The
night.” His arms tightened. “You.”
I eyed him warily.
“Thanks?”
Warm lips found my
neck. “You are welcome.”
“Mircea. It’s
freezing.” “I will keep you warm,” he told me, those lips sliding
down to my cleavage.
And, okay, it
was getting warmer out here. “We can’t
stay on a street corner all night,” I protested.
“Of course we can’t.”
And before I fully realized what was happening, we were at the end
of the street, my arm tucked in his as he looked this way and that,
curious and bright-eyed and obviously delighted. With what I didn’t
know, but a second later he laughed. “Oh yes. Yes, that will do
splendidly.”
And then snowflakes
falling around us were caught in headlights. They froze like
crystals hanging in the darkness, a thousand tiny flashes of gold,
as a limo pulled up at the corner. I looked at Mircea. “How . . .
?”
“I borrowed it from a
friend,” he told me, bundling me inside. And then immediately
covered my body with his own.
He kissed me slower
this time, a tender movement of his lips and then his tongue
against mine, deliberate, caring, and carnal. And for a few
moments, I forgot everything, except the silky hair falling around
me, the smoothness of the lips on mine, and the feel of his hands
on my body. Their calluses came from handling a sword regularly,
hundreds of years ago, but vampires stayed as they were when they
died, so they had never softened. They were the only remnant of the
half-barbarian prince he’d once been, except for the hair he
refused to cut.
I took the
opportunity to bury my hands in it now, a spill of deep, silky
mahogany, the color of oak leaves in autumn. And, okay, that was
corny, but Mircea made a girl poetic. Only this so wasn’t the
place.
“Mircea. We can’t,” I
gasped, glancing at the driver, who was watching us unashamedly in
the mirror.
Mircea didn’t even
look up. “Drive,” he said, and smashed a hand down on the button
for the partition.
By the time it was
up, my top was down and things were progressing at a rather
frightening rate. “People can see us through the windows,” I
protested, as the soaked silk was unzipped and my bra unhooked, all
in one smooth motion.
“Tinted.”
“But . . . I’m
hungry.”
“So am I,” he
growled, and pulled off my dress.
Somebody had left a
fur coat on the seat, something black as midnight and soft as a
cloud, and the sensation against my bare skin was a hell of a
distraction. Although not as much as the warm hands smoothing over
me, the hard-muscled thighs pressing against me, or the tongue
sliding over mine, liquid and warm and increasingly
demanding.
I came up for air,
minutes later, to find that Mircea’s coat was off, his shirt was
open and his tie was barely clinging to one shoulder. That was a
little disturbing, because I couldn’t remember how he got that way,
or how my panties had ended up flung against the opposite seat. All
I knew was that I was naked except for that sinfully soft fur coat,
most of which was trapped beneath me.
I tried to tug it
around, to give me some possibility of coverage should any of the
passing cars get too close, but Mircea had other ideas. “Leave it,”
he said hoarsely. “I like the contrast with your
skin.”
And then he proceeded
to show me exactly how much.
“What’s . . . what’s
gotten into you?” I gasped, as that dark head worked its way down
from lips to neck to body. Not that Mircea wasn’t usually . . .
affectionate . . . but he didn’t normally care for public
displays—or even semipublic ones.
It didn’t seem to be
bothering him right now, though.
The lips on my skin
were warm and soft and pliable, unlike the prick of fangs behind
them. But he didn’t bite down, he just scraped them lightly over
sensitive flesh, until I was hard and peaked and desperate. “It has
been a while, so I cannot be certain,” he murmured. “But I believe
I may be drunk.”
I blinked at him.
“What?”
“The blood of those
creatures. It was . . . intoxicating.”
“You mean the
mages?”
“Mmm-hmm.” He rolled
a nipple between tongue and teeth, making my hands fist in his
shirt.
“But . . . but they
were human.”
“Mmm, no,” he said
thoughtfully. And then he bit down.
I gasped and clutched
his head between my hands, holding him as he drank from me. The
sensation of warm lips, sharp, sharp teeth and deep, intimate pulls
had my body tightening, my skin flushing and my pulse pounding in
my ears. I felt my grip on the moment slipping away.
“Then what were
they?” I asked breathlessly, before I forgot what the hell we were
talking about.
“They were human, but
stronger,” he told me, sitting back on his heels. “Like
you.”
“Like
me?”
“Your blood is richer
than normal, due to the power of your office,” he explained,
tossing the tie aside.
“Why does that
matter?”
“It matters because
your power used to belong to a god.” He started to pull off the
shirt, but I put out a hand.
“Leave it,” I said
huskily. He wasn’t the only one who liked a contrast. And the
white, white fabric against the honey-drenched skin was . . .
pleasing.
He quirked an
eyebrow, but did as I asked. Then he slid back over me, grinning
wickedly. “Perhaps that is why you taste divine.”
“You’re saying those
mages were—were some kind of demigods?” I asked as he nuzzled my
neck.
“I do not know,
having never before had the opportunity to sample a god. But their
blood was like yours—thick, rich, like old cognac.”
I had another
question, but then his head dipped and his mouth closed over me
again and I forgot what it was. I pretty much forgot everything as
his tongue laved the small puncture wounds he’d made, the gentle,
tender probing sending shudders through my whole body. I arched up
mindlessly and he sat up, pulling me, naked, onto his
lap.
My lips opened to
protest, because if I’d been visible before it was nothing compared
to now. But then strong hands grasped me and a magnificent hardness
pressed against me and he started to suck not so gently. And my
protest turned into a moan as my legs tightened around him, my skin
flushed a deeper shade of pink, and my body squirmed, craving
friction, craving more. I buried my fingers in the raw silk of his
hair and forgot the passing cars and the curious driver and
everything except the pull of that mouth and the feel of those
hands, smoothing up and down my back and clenching—
And, okay, I thought
dizzily, maybe this could work, after all.
But the next second
Mircea was drawing back. “You’re hungry,” he announced, as if this
were news.
“What? Do I have low
blood sugar?” I asked facetiously.
“Yes.” He rapped
smartly on the partition, which lowered so fast I barely had time
to snatch up the mink. The vampire driver wasn’t a family member or
a high-level master, so Mircea had to talk to him directly. “The
Club,” he said succinctly.
“We are already
there, my lord,” the driver said softly. “I took the liberty of
anticipating your wishes.”
“Good man,” Mircea
said, and before I quite knew what was happening, he’d pulled me
out into the snow.
Even with the mink,
the shock of cold air was a little stunning after the cozy warmth
of the limo. But we weren’t out in it for long. My toes barely had
time to register the frozen sidewalk before Mircea swung me up and
ran with me up the stairs of a beautiful old row
house.
A plain red door,
like a dozen others on the street, gave way to a narrow little
hallway boasting a priceless chandelier, a mahogany welcome desk
and what looked suspiciously like a Cézanne, its bright colors
glowing against the dark wood paneling.
A rotund little
vampire bustled around the side of the desk and then disappeared.
It took me a second to realize that he’d bowed, so low that even
peering over the edge of the mink, all I could see were the lights
gleaming off his shiny bald head. He bobbed back up after a minute,
and then he did it again, like one of those drinking bird toys that
just can’t stay upright.
But eventually he
did, leading the way up the stairs. And I guessed he must have been
a lot older than the driver, because not a word was said until his
slightly shaking hands had opened the door to a magnificent suite.
It was saffron and coral and deep chocolate brown, with a fireplace
in caramel-colored marble and a huge window overlooking the city
lights.
“I—I hope it is to
your liking, my lord,” he murmured, and turned pink-cheeked with
delight when Mircea casually nodded.
“Yes, it’s fine.
We’ll eat up here.”
“Of course, of
course. Right away.” The little vamp bowed himself
out—literally—bobbing three times as he withdrew backward into the
hall. And then Mircea finally let me down, only to get his hands
inside the coat and push me against the wall.
“I’m dirty,” I
protested.
He waggled his
eyebrows. “Promise?”
“Mircea!” I laughed
in spite of myself. “I want a bath before we eat!”
His eyes, glinting in
the discreet light of the suite, met mine. “If you’ll indulge
me.”
“I’m not bathing with
you,” I told him firmly. I’d never get any dinner that
way.
“Of course not,” he
said, in pretend shock.
“Then
what?”
He let a single
finger trace down my cheek to my jaw, to my neck, to my . . .
necklace? “Is your ghost in residence?”
“No.” I hadn’t felt
the need for a chaperone. “Why?”
“Because I have a
recurring fantasy of you dining with me wearing this.” That warm
finger slowly traced the outline of the baroque monstrosity. “And
only this.”
I made a small sound
and closed my eyes.
Goddamnit.
Despite appearances,
I was trying, I was really, really trying, to have a relationship
with Mircea, not just to jump his bones every time we had five
minutes alone together. And I’d been doing pretty well lately,
mainly because he’d been in New York and I’d been in Vegas and my
plans always sounded a lot more doable when he wasn’t pressed up
against me and—
“Stop that,” I told
him, as he rotated his hips sinuously, because the damn man had no
shame at all.
“Then give me an
answer,” he said, laughter in his voice.
I looked up,
intending to say no, but those dark eyes had an unmistakable glint
of challenge sparkling in their depths. As if he thought I wouldn’t
do it. As if he was sure I wouldn’t do it. Because I wasn’t a
vampire, wasn’t adventurous like . . . certain other people. Who
probably didn’t have a problem sashaying around covered in nothing
but that long, silky black hair, those almond-shaped, dark eyes
peeking coyly back over her dainty shoulder as she—
Goddamnit!
But it wasn’t that
easy for me. Not because I had a problem indulging him, although
nudity wasn’t my favorite thing. But because I was human. And
Mircea, like a lot of vampires, had the bad habit of assuming that
whatever he wanted from a human, he would get.
It didn’t help that
he was usually right.
And centuries of that
sort of thing had messed with his head, to the point that he rarely
saw the need for debate with said human, or compromise or
negotiation or any of the sort of things he would do with one of
his own kind. He’d claimed me; therefore I was his. End of
discussion, had there been a discussion, which there hadn’t been
because I was human and some days, most days, that attitude just
really made me want to tear my hair out.
So here I was, trying
to see if a relationship would maybe, possibly, in some sort of way
work despite the fact that the mages were absolutely going to hate
it and the Weres weren’t going to love it and I was also going to
take flak from the vampires after they realized that “relationship”
didn’t mean “ownership” in my vocabulary, and what was Mircea
doing?
Acting like there was
nothing to discuss, of course.
Only there was. There
so very definitely was, like five hundred years of history I knew
next to nothing about. Like the fact that almost all I did know was
that he was fiercely loyal to his family, had a horrible sense of
humor, and when he walked into a room, he made my breath
catch.
And, yeah, that was
definitely something, but was it enough to base a lifetime on? I
didn’t know yet. All I did know was that if I kept giving in, kept
doing what he wanted, kept acting like we were already together and
the decision had been made . . . then pretty soon, it would
be.
And I didn’t know yet
if it was one I could live with.
“Cassie?”
I looked up to find
him regarding me with exasperated eyes. “Do you really have to
think so hard about this?”
“It’s . . .
complicated,” I said fretfully.
“No, it really
isn’t.”
“Yes, it is! It
really, really is, and you know it is and—”
He stopped me with a
hand on either side of my face. “When are we?”
“What?”
“The
year.”
I frowned. And my
power sluggishly called up the date: “Nineteen
sixty-nine.”
“And that means you
haven’t been born yet, doesn’t it?”
I
nodded.
“We haven’t met
yet—am I right?”
“Well, not unless you
count that time in—”
“Cassie.”
“No. Not . . .
technically. But I don’t get what you’re—”
“I’m saying that
nothing that happens, or doesn’t happen, tonight will have any
bearing on our relationship once we return. No implications. No
consequences. Think of this as . . . a night out of
time.”
“A night out of
time?” I repeated doubtfully, because I didn’t get those. Time
caused me problems; it didn’t solve them. Not even for one
night.
His forehead came to
rest against mine. “A night out of time.”
I licked my lips and
thought it over. “The servers will see.”
“And if I arrange it
so they won’t?”
I looked up at him,
and it was a mistake, because he was grinning that little-boy grin,
the one he never showed in public because it would completely trash
his image as big, bad Vampire Senate member. But I got to see it
every once in a while. And it never failed to be
devastating.
“Just dinner,” I
heard myself say, before I could bite my tongue.
“Just dinner,” he
agreed softly, stroking the lines of my cheekbones with his
thumbs.
And then he let me
go.