Chapter 10
Liam had been prepared to face the Gaudet
brothers.
What he had not been prepared for was
the children. Or his own subsequent rage.
His dreams tonight were shaky and
slightly out of focus, like a black-and-white home movie, filmed
with a sixteen-millimeter camera. He saw the guard he’d killed
lying at his feet and the blood that pooled in a dark puddle on the
floor. He seemed no less dead, even in sepia tones. Liam stepped
over the dead man, wiping his blade on his pant leg before slipping
the knife back into his waistband.
He didn’t know where the brothers would
be, but as he walked down the dark hallway with its ancient arched
ceiling, he could have sworn he could smell their stench. Going on
nothing but instinct, he sensed they were together, Anatolle and
Donat, as he had hoped they might be. That would make things
easier. For him. Unfortunately, his instinct was not taking him
toward the center of the house, where there was a dining room, a
library, parlors. His nose was leading him down another passageway,
this one narrower and built at an incline. The air was cooler at
the end of the hallway where he found a plank and iron arched door.
Through the unlocked door was a staircase leading down. He was
entering the bowels of the palace.
The closer he moved, step by step, to
the Gaudet brothers, the more uneasy he grew. All of his senses
were alive and hypersensitive. He could feel the hair rise on his
arms and on the back of his neck. Somewhere, water dripped and he
heard a faint human sound. For a moment he thought it might be one
of the men’s voices, but when he halted at the bottom of the steps
and listened, he realized it was not a man he heard, but a child. A
soft sob. The clink of a chain.
The journey from the dead guard to the
bottom of the steps had taken less than a couple of minutes, but
now, in his nightmare, each step was drawn out painfully long until
he was trembling with fear of what the next step would
bring.
But he knew. Even though he had relived
this moment again and again, day and night, nothing prepared him
for what he saw in the nightmare when he stepped around the
corner.
Children. Chained to the stone wall.
Shackled. Naked. A boy, asleep on a pile of rags. A girl with big,
bloodshot blue eyes blinking up at him. That night, the girl did
not speak; she didn’t even move. But here, now, in his twisted
dream, she cried out, putting out a hand, begging him to release
her.
“I’ll be back for you,” he whispered in
French, just as he had that night.
Instead of pulling away, she reached
out to him. Her hands became claws and her blue eyes ran red with
blood. Suddenly the dream went Technicolor. “Trop
tard,” she accused. Too
late.
Liam tried to pull away, tried to hush
her for fear the brothers would hear them. Her claws tore at his
neck and face, sinking into his flesh.
“I’m trying to help you,” he cried.
“I’ll come back for you. I swear I will.”
But she didn’t seem to hear. She tore
at his body, ripping his clothes, his skin, her blood mixing with
his. And then he was surrounded by the children, clawing, biting.
“Trop tard. Too late. Too late,” they
cried.
“No! No! I’m sorry. I came as quickly
as I could!”
The little one with the blue eyes sank
her teeth into him and he cried out, as much in emotional pain as
physical. “I’m sorry,” he said with a sob.
“Liam. Liam.”
He shook his head. They knew his name.
They knew who he was. Even though he had set them free, they still
came for him.
He felt her hand on his shoulder.
“Liam!”
Liam’s eyes flew open and suddenly he
wasn’t looking into the haunted eyes of little Marie Randulph any
longer, but into Mai’s warm brown eyes. His bedroom was dark. She
was sitting on his bed, her hands on his shoulders.
“You were having a nightmare,” she
whispered, her face close to his.
Panting, he wiped his mouth with the
back of his hand. He was cold and clammy and shaking all over. “A
nightmare,” he whispered, embarrassed to have her see him like
this. Relieved to have someone there. Someone real to
touch.
He was so fucking lonely.
“You okay?” she asked, her eyes filled
with concern.
“I’m okay,” he said with a sigh when he
could find his voice. “I woke you. I’m sorry.”
She stroked his bare arm, unembarrassed
by his nakedness. “Don’t be sorry.”
She was leaning over him, so close he
could feel her breath on his mouth. Liam wasn’t sure what happened
next. Did he lift his head from his pillow? Did she lower hers? But
suddenly his mouth was on hers, hard and hungry. Desperate for life
when all around him was death.
Maybe there was something inside her
that felt the same way.
One second she was hovering over him,
her soft lips on his. The next moment, he was on top of her,
stretching out his legs, covering her with his naked body, pushing
her into the thin mattress. She was wearing nothing but an old
T-shirt and a pair of panties and he felt her bare thighs hot
against his. He thrust his tongue into her mouth, needing to
possess her, she needing to be possessed.
Their mouths twisted hungrily. She
tasted clean, sweet, of summer berries and hope. He thrust his hand
up under her T-shirt to cup one dainty, round breast. Her skin was
soft and silky.
She moaned.
I shouldn’t be doing
this. I can’t do this. It was forbidden. It was wrong for a
hundred reasons.
But his groin was already throbbing,
his need hard against her leg.
Liam caught both her hands and pinned
them to the bed over her head. She struggled, but with him, not
against him. He kissed her mouth, her chin, her throat, lingering
over her beating pulse. Her blood was hot and pulsing, just under
the surface of her skin.
He felt the vibration of his fangs . .
. the need. But he resisted. Dragging his mouth along her hot
flesh, he kissed her breast through the thin fabric of her shirt,
wetting it as he teased her nipple with his tongue.
She struggled for a second, trying to
pull one hand away, and he took a deep breath. If she said no, he
could not do this. He would not.
He released her hand, shifting his
weight, prepared to set her free. Run, he
thought. Run, while you have the
chance.
But to his surprise, she wasn’t trying
to get away from him. When he let go of her hand, all she did was
grab the hem of her shirt and yank it, baring her sweet, small,
round breasts to him. He needed no further invitation.
Liam grabbed the T-shirt and pulled it
over her head. He covered her nipple with his mouth, licking,
sucking. She moaned, moving her hips against his.
A part of him, the deepest part of him,
wanted her blood, but another part of him wanted . . . needed this
human act, to touch and be touched . . . more than the
blood.
He slid his hand over her flat belly
that had never known a child, to the waistband of her panties, and
she parted her legs. He slipped his hand beneath the fabric and she
was warm and wet and ready for him. “Liam,” she whispered in his
ear.
He shoved down the panties; she slipped
out of them, kicking them to the floor, as eager as he was to feel
flesh to flesh.
He raised his body over her and looked
into her eyes. They were open, gazing into his. She looked lost.
Found. “Mai,” he whispered. And despite his urgent need, he kissed
her tenderly on the lips, his trembling against hers.
He didn’t deserve this. He had no
right.
With one hand, he guided his way deep
into her. She raised her hips, cried out, and for a moment he
feared he was too big for her. She was so tiny, so delicate. . . .
But she began to move against him, and he realized it was not a cry
of pain, but surprise, then pleasure.
He thrust deeper.
She wrapped her arms around his neck,
pulling him closer. He felt her heels dig into his calves as she
cradled his body with hers. Heart pounding, pulse pumping, he
thrust into her again and again.
Generally, he was a controlled lover.
He prided himself in the time he could take to please his partner.
He could bring a woman to orgasm, human or otherwise, again and
again. But he had no control left tonight. He moved faster,
harder.
Mai’s soft moans became louder, higher
pitched. Another thrust and she cried out so loudly that she
covered her mouth with her hand. That was his cue normally to slow
down, give the woman a moment, but Liam was too far gone. He fell
against her, only two. . . three more strokes and he felt the
contraction of his muscles and the final, explosive release. He
came with a groan and fell against her. She clung to him, both of
them hot and sweaty and satiated.
He kissed her cheek, her earlobe. He
had not drawn a single drop of her blood and was as shocked by that
thought as she would have been if he had.
Liam shifted his weight, moving to her
side, against the wall. He feared he was too heavy on her; his bed
was so narrow that he had to lift her in his arms so that she lay
partially on top of him. He let his head fall back on the pillow
and he closed his eyes, still breathing hard.
“Wow,” she panted after a second. “I
didn’t see that coming when I walked in here.”
He smiled in the darkness. “Me
neither.”
She snuggled up against him, laying her
cheek against his shoulder. “Now don’t I feel like the perfect
little hussy?”
He chuckled. “Actually, I think I saw
it coming the second you walked into my shop that day. You did,
too.”
“Yeah, but I could have at least let
you come to me. Then
I wouldn’t look like quite the brazen ho that I apparently
am.”
He stroked her bare buttocks, enjoying
the feel of her skin beneath his fingertips. It was so soft. So . .
. feminine. “I’m not saying I might not have tried it. I’m not sure
there is room in there for me, you, your dad, and the Prince of
Dogs.”
She laughed with him, her voice soft,
warm. She was all his life was not. “I still feel like a
hussy.”
“Don’t.” He kissed her
temple.
She sighed and lay quiet for so long
that he thought maybe she was drifting off to sleep. Then she
spoke. “You have them often? Nightmares?”
“Too often,” he answered, not entirely
comfortable saying so. Assassins weren’t supposed to have
nightmares.
“After my mom left, my dad said mine
were bad. Even in college, I still had them. I always dreamed of
running after her in this vast, scary darkness, but never catching
up.”
She was quiet again, obviously giving
him the opportunity to share what his nightmares were about. He
didn’t. Sharing a bed was one thing, but sharing his deepest
thoughts, that was something entirely different.
They lay there for another twenty
minutes in silence. Liam relaxed for the first time in months,
maybe years, and began to drift off. He was almost asleep when she
sat up. “I better get out of here before I fall
asleep.”
By the light of the moon coming through
the curtainless window, she found her T-shirt and panties. She left
his room carrying them, giving one glorious glance of her tight,
round buttocks as she went through the door.
“’Night,” she murmured.
“Good night.” And he slept a dreamless
sleep at last.
As the sunlight coming through the
window hit Mai’s face, she couldn’t decide if she felt gloriously
alive or mortified by what had happened last night. She stretched
beneath the blanket and yawned. Maybe a little of both? She smiled
to herself.
That was the best orgasm she’d ever had
in her life, with or without the assistance of a man.
She felt her cheeks grow warm just at
the thought of it. Something else grew warm and she groaned, her
thoughts heading back in the direction of mortification again. Was
she out of her mind, crawling into a stranger’s bed like
that?
But she hadn’t lied to Liam when she
said she hadn’t gone to his room to seduce him. She really hadn’t.
She’d never made the first move with a man in her life! She’d only
gone because she couldn’t stand the thought of someone else being
so terrified. His cries had awakened her from a deep sleep and
brought tears to her eyes. She had known he was suffering; she had
seen it in his eyes even after she woke him.
Then he had kissed her. Or had she
kissed him?
Slut. Ho. Hussy.
She was obviously all those things.
But it had been so good.
Mai heard her father stir and glanced
over at the other bed. He lay on his stomach with his dog tucked
under his arm, only Prince’s little head sticking out from beneath
the blanket. Corrato’s hair was so white and thin on his pillow.
When had he gotten so old? And what was she going to do about this
mess they were in? How was any of this even possible? This kind of
thing didn’t happen to ordinary people like her. How was she going
to protect him when she didn’t even know who or what she was
protecting him from or why?
God, why hadn’t she pushed Uncle Donato
harder? Why hadn’t she demanded answers when she had the chance?
She had known. She had known on some level that Donato Ricci was
not the man he wanted her to think he was. A part of her had known,
even as a child, that he was dangerous.
Then she had let him into her home. She
had allowed him to put her life and her father’s at risk. She
wished she had the skinny old man here right now, with his breath
smelling of limoncello. She would demand the
truth or she would put his skinny ass on the curb and let the
Weasel have him. Again.
No, she wouldn’t. She wouldn’t because
she always felt sorry for the old, the weak, the infirm. Whatever
Uncle Donato had done as a young man, he had still been a feeble
old man by the time he came to live with them. His memory had been
hazy, the simple task of tying his shoes sometimes confusing, and
he had begun repeating himself a lot. He had not been healthy
physically or mentally.
Her father rolled over, opened his
eyes, blinked, and gazed around the room. He focused on the slender
crucifix on the wall, the room’s only ornamentation. “We in a
monastery?”
“Nope.” She smiled. “Liam’s apartment.
We left Suzy’s and came here last night.” She slipped out of bed
and pulled on a pair of sweatpants over her underwear. She needed a
shower; she could still smell Liam on her skin. But that would have
to wait. “Remember driving here last night?”
“Yes, I remember,” he snapped. “It was
a joke.” He opened his arms and Prince wiggled free and hopped to
the floor.
“I’ll take him out.” She stepped into
sneakers, grabbed a sweatshirt off the top of her suitcase, and
went to the door. “Come on, Prince. Outside.”
“I want coffee,” Corrato announced,
slowly swinging his spindly legs over the edge of the bed. He was
wearing a pair of blue flannel pajamas that were so old they were
thin at the knees and elbows. Every time she ran them through the
wash, she contemplated tossing them in the trash. But he loved
those pajamas as much as she hated them, so she kept washing them
and he kept wearing them. “And my newspaper. You think they’ve got
coffee and a paper in this monastery?”
She grabbed her wallet out of her bag,
slung over the single chair in the room. “I’ll get coffee,
Babbo. Just don’t insult Liam by calling his
house a monastery.”
“What?” Corrato called after her as she
went down the hall. “You think he hasn’t noticed?”
Liam woke feeling heavy with guilt. The
room was bright and he dressed quickly in the same jeans and
T-shirt he’d worn the day before. He’d overslept. He found Mai,
Corrato, and the rat dog in the kitchen. Corrato was doing a
crossword puzzle in the morning paper.
“A small European fish, five-letter
word, ending in T,” Corrato read aloud.
“Hey,” Mai called when Liam walked into
the kitchen. “We helped ourselves to breakfast. Dad likes Rice
Krispies. I hope that’s okay.” She was wearing a sweatshirt,
sweatpants, and sneakers. Her cheeks were rosy, as if she’d been
outside. Or was embarrassed.
He debated whether he should kiss her
good morning. Some women expected that after you slept with
them.
“Sprat,” Corrato
announced.
Liam decided no
on the good-morning kiss. Maybe she didn’t want her father to know
about last night. Liam sure as hell didn’t. “Not much here to eat.
Sorry. I haven’t gotten around to getting to the store. Busy, you
know, sorting things in the shop.” It sounded lame. He sounded lame. What could a pretty, smart human woman
see in a loser vampire like him? It was a good thing he’d enjoyed
last night, because he knew it wasn’t going to happen again. If she
had any brains, she’d go now.
“I went across the street and got
bagels and coffee. There’s a cup there for you.” She wrinkled her
nose. He thought it was the cutest nose he’d ever
seen.
“Not very friendly over there, are
they?” she asked.
He shrugged and got a carton of OJ out
of the fridge. He didn’t do caffeine. He was jumpy enough without
it. “They’re okay. We, um, just don’t have a lot of visitors this
time of year. Things kind of shut down.”
“Royal fur, six letters, ending in E,”
Corrato read aloud.
The dog seemed to be the only one
listening.
Corrato hesitated. “Ermine.” He scribbled the word.
“I thought I’d run to the store later,
get a few things my dad likes. I thought I could make dinner for us
tonight. If that’s okay.” She looked at Liam
hesitantly.
So, apparently she was staying, at least until dinner. He took a drink of
juice from the carton, then thought better of it and went to the
cupboard. All he could find in the way of a glass was a plastic cup
from the local minimart. He poured half a cup. “Sure. Dinner would
be nice.”
She leaned against the counter and
sipped coffee from a paper cup. “Your kitchen is beautiful. A
little sparse, but beautiful.”
“Guess I just haven’t gotten around to
getting dishes, silverware . . . stuff.”
She laughed. “Liam, you’ve got boxes of
dishes and silverware and pots and pans downstairs. How can you not
have any dishes in your kitchen?” She met his gaze. “I know, you’re
not here that much.” She took another sip of coffee. “So what do
you really do for a living?”
“I told you, I buy and sell
antiquities. For myself sometimes. I also act as a broker for other
buyers. I’m gone for months at a time. All over the world,
really.”
She narrowed her gaze. “You really deal
in antiques. Hmm. And I thought maybe this was just a cover-up. I
thought maybe you worked for the State Department. You know, CIA or
something.”
He frowned and took a drink of juice.
“Nah. What makes you say that?”
She was still watching him. Making him
feel uncomfortable. “I don’t know.” She pointed her finger. She
still didn’t quite believe him. “Something. In your eyes. In the
way you move. The way you observe everything going on around you.
You’re not the kind of man I would want to meet in a dark
alley.”
“Five-letter word meaning ‘friendship,’
” Corrato interjected. “Fourth letter, a T.”
It was on the tip of Liam’s tongue to
ask Mai why if she would be afraid of him in a dark alley that she
was willing to meet him in a dark bedroom, but he didn’t. Instead,
he finished his orange juice and headed for the door leading
downstairs. He had a lot of work to do in the shop. A lot of
thinking to do. “I’m going downstairs to get to work. Make yourself
at home. Let me know when you’re ready to go. Maybe I’ll tag along
with you, get a few things.” The truth was, he wasn’t exactly
comfortable sending them to the grocery store alone. The owner,
Hannah, could be . . . unwelcoming, this time of year.
“Five-letter word meaning ‘friendship,’
” Corrato repeated. “Fourth letter, T.”
“Sure. And maybe I can come down and
join you. Help you out.”
Liam rested his hand on the doorknob.
He really liked her. He really had to get her out of here. “You
don’t need to do that. It’s my own fault I let it get away from
me.”
“Liam, I’m not offering for altruistic
reasons.”
She smiled at him mischievously and he
remembered the taste of her mouth on his.
“It’s my polite way of saying I want to
pick through your stuff.”
He shrugged, opening the door. “Suit
yourself.”
“Five-letter word meaning friendship,”
Corrato said again, louder this time. “Fourth letter,
T.”
“Amity,” Liam
and Mai said in unison.
Liam closed the door behind
him.