12
THE Scot was looking for a campsite, too far away from home to get back tonight. Evan followed his human scent to a rocky glen, a deep creek running through it. There were a few soft spots near the bank to roll up in his plaid and sleep. Evan didn’t detect a fresh kill, so it seemed the man hadn’t had any hunting luck, despite ranging so far afield. If he had caught something, he’d be on the way back home with it, no matter the distance or time of night. His family was starving, like so many others in his village, the result of failed harvests, illness and the indifference of the few who held rents over the heads of the many.
Though it was dark, Niall—Evan had learned his name during these past few weeks of watching him—wasn’t willing to give up yet. He’d apparently been trying to get a fish interested in biting, despite the cold. Evan maneuvered up into the cradle of a tree overlooking the glen, a good perch to watch the desperation mount on his face. Niall was a big man, even though he was barely past twenty.
“Well, piss on ye, then,” the Scot snarled, leaping up from the bank and throwing his fishing gear away from him. “If ye cannae provide me any help, maybe the Devil is listening.” He shouted out a few more things in Gaelic. It was probably a good thing Evan was here, because no telling when English dragoons might be on a patrol. They’d cut down a strapping male like this no questions asked, assuming right off he was a Jacobite.
Unlike many of his fellow villagers, Niall was no Jacobite. But he didn’t support the current English rule, either. Evan had been in the village shadows the night of a community bonfire, when talk had led to politics and hunger, matters closely linked for men trying to care for their families. Pushed a little too hard for his viewpoint, Niall had tartly remarked that not all Scottish problems were to be laid at English feet. “Our landlords can take their fair share of the blame. Ye dinnae need tae English to starve and beat us down, when the sons of the auld clan chiefs will do it.”
Like most of them, Niall and his family worked their rocky land and scraped together what living they could to barely cover the rents on their crofts. But unlike most, he had a keener grasp of where to lay the blame. It wasn’t the first time Evan had been impressed by the man’s intelligence.
Though most didn’t see the appeal of the rocky Scottish terrain, Evan saw a harsh beauty in the unforgiving land. He saw the same in the grooves of the young Scot’s face. In the privacy of this glen where Niall didn’t have to put on a brave face for kin or stranger, Evan watched the rage and frustration build into sorrow, helpless incomprehension . . . Every emotion strong men experienced when they confronted a terrible possibility: that scraping on the edge of survival was likely the most they would ever be able to do, for themselves or their families.
Many in his village had already accepted that. Evan had seen the hopeless resignation in their faces. Niall didn’t know what that was. No matter what the morrow brought, he wouldn’t come home to his family empty-handed, even if he had to cut up a dragoon and call his edible parts venison. Evan would lay money on it.
Ripping off his plaid and ragged shirt with another oath, Niall discarded his worn boots and plunged into water that Evan knew had to be frigid. The man disappeared beneath the surface. With his vampire hearing, Evan could hear him screaming his rage. Perhaps he’d become mindful of an English threat. Or, in the slim hope that a higher power might help him, he’d tried to at least muffle his invective toward it.
He shot back up, water sluicing off the broad chest and wide shoulders, his hair whipping back like an angry lash as he tossed it out of his flashing eyes. When Niall slogged back to the water’s edge, his jaw showed granite resolve.
“Bollocks on all of it,” he spat. Then he froze, his gaze snapping up to pin Evan where he perched in the crotch of the tree.
Remarkable. He hadn’t given away his position with even a twitch. Dropping to the ground from the ten-foot height, light as a cat, he moved toward the water. Niall’s attention went to whatever he could use as a weapon, but they both knew it was too late if Evan had a pistol or sword and was any good with either. Evan could have told him he meant him no harm, but he had other priorities. Making them clear, he stopped and gave the Scot a thorough perusal.
Skin of pale marble, bluish from cold. Though he needed feeding, his knotted muscles were ropes along his arms and thighs, his chest powerful and deep, the stomach a hard plane that arrowed down to his pubic region. The water lapped at the snarl of dark silky hair, revealing a hint of thick cock. He was half turned, so the slice of taut backside gave Evan all sorts of inspiration. But the young man’s reaction was the real gem.
His initial wariness gave way to an equally intent scrutiny, aware of how Evan was looking at him. What he was thinking, wanting. The man’s lip curled, but it wasn’t derision. It was angry challenge.
Having no desire to soil good linen, Evan pulled off his shirt. It showed the Scot he carried no weapons of merit, an odd thing for a man alone, but Evan wasn’t introducing the why of that into the conversation. Producing his knife from its scabbard, he tossed it aside so it lodged in the ground next to his shirt.
“I have a cow for your family, and a job offer,” he said. “Impress me, and they’ll both be yours.”
A cow’s milk would feed the Scot’s children, and her calves would be a source of income or meat. The job offer would ensure he could care for the animal, as well as give his family a steady diet and keep a roof over their heads. Evan saw disbelief replaced by calculation, and then sheer determination.
Nakedness didn’t hamper him. The man had pride, but it wasn’t wasted on modesty. He charged out of the water like a rutting stag, and Evan was pleased to note adrenaline had already made him half hard, despite the cold water. Ready for the initial grapple, he let Niall take him to the ground, but after that it was a simple matter of breaking the grip, working the man out to his full capacity, testing his holds, his strength, his staying power. Given his physical state of near starvation, it was more than impressive. It was bloody phenomenal.
The Scot had tremendous heart, which just made the picture grow in Evan’s mind as they grappled, dodged punches, broke holds. He could see the way he’d paint the stark lines of this man’s body, portray the character and perseverance in his face. Noble desperation, honor without hope, the most miraculous type of honor there was. This man was all of that.
He was capable enough to land a few good blows. Evan had to focus now to avoid dislocated limbs, a crushed rib. Having his balls kneed into his throat. The bastard would pay for that one. He could feel the tide turning, though. The Scot had been given something tangible to fight, something that understood his rage . . . and with understanding came a different sort of reaction.
This time when he flipped him, Evan unleashed his vampire strength. He made Niall fight harder and harder, until his breath was sobbing in his throat. It took longer than expected, but Evan finally had him down on his knees, face to the muddy bank. Niall heaved, but couldn’t buck him off. He tried a couple of times, but then he had to take a breath, and when he did, Evan slid his hand beneath him, closed it around the fully turgid cock. Holy blessings of God.
The man went utterly still. Disbelief emanated off him, a protest dying on his lips. As a vampire, Evan detected the sexual preferences of humans as easily as the rush of blood through their veins. This man had his wife regularly. He was a generous lover, giving her pleasure as well. Evan had been outside his tiny sod house, heard her bitten-back cries, inhaled the gush of her orgasm and the spill of her man’s seed. The Scot had given her the side of his hand to bite down upon as he pushed her to climax, and she’d broken the skin, bringing Evan the sweet smell of passion-fired blood.
So yes, Niall enjoyed women, but there was that within him that also enjoyed males. His ass was provocatively virginal, given that there was no acceptance for sodomy in his world. Beyond that, he was the type who would be faithful to his wife, no matter the temptation provided by man, woman or fetching sheep.
He wanted that cow, though, and Evan knew if he was ruthless enough, the Scot would allow himself to be used to get it. He explored the feeling, pushing his own hard arousal against the bare, wet backside. The muscles flexed in apprehensive anticipation.
“We’ll leave that alone for now, I think. I don’t f*ck with a man’s honor unless it serves a better purpose than my cock.” Tightening his hand in Niall’s long hair, he enjoyed the thickness of it. “You impressed me, Scot. Get your clothes, and we’ll get your cow.”
As he eased off, Niall slammed his elbow back into his face, knocking him to his back and straddling him. Evan could have put him back down, but he was curious. Niall was panting, staring down at him in confusion. Blinking through the agony ricocheting from the bridge of his nose, Evan let his gaze slide down the bellows of his chest, to the shaft jutting over his bare rib cage. “Wouldn’t mind a taste of that. Now that you’ve washed it off.”
A muscle flexed in Niall’s jaw. “I’m no whore.”
But Evan could easily make him one. That wasn’t his intent, however, so he pushed the shallow temptation aside. “No. But you’re interested in how my mouth would feel. Bring it closer.”
Niall swallowed, shook his head, stood and offered his hand. “Your mouth’s bleeding.”
He’d love to see Niall taste that blood, but he’d scrambled the poor chap’s brain enough. So he licked it off himself, suppressing another surge of desire when Niall couldn’t take his eyes off the movement. “I gave you the one shot, but if you take another, you’ll have the broken nose. I only tolerate so much.”
“You’re nae English.” Niall yanked his shirt over his head, rewrapped his plaid around waist and shoulder. Evan catalogued the graceful power for later replay and sketching as he retrieved his own shirt.
“Raised in Italy, with my great-grandparents coming from Spain. My home base now is in the Colonies. I have some property there. Since I’ve traveled most my life, most people assume I’m English when I talk. It seemed intelligent to cultivate the accent of the currently most powerful nation. You have a good ear. I’m impressed.”
“If that’s all I had to do to impress ye, we could have skipped the wrestling match.”
Evan lifted his head from the laces of his shirt, gave him a slow smile. Niall was braced on the bank with one knee bent to manage the incline, a hand on his belt. It was a solid, thick thing, quite capable of striping those taut buttocks. “Yes. But that would have deprived me of the pleasure of handling your cock.”
Niall shook his head. “I’m no sodomite.”
“Only for lack of opportunity.” He’d love to bind Niall over the edge of a bed and rut on that fine “arse” until the man came against his belly a dozen times, wrung out like a dishrag. He’d fight being f*cked at first, but then he’d give himself to it with shameful pleasure. As Evan adjusted his erection, he was pleased to see Niall unable to look away. “But you like women too. As do I.”
“What’s a landowner from the Colonies doing here?”
Evan decided to let him change the subject. It wasn’t his main reason for following him, anyhow. Just a pleasant fantasy. “Painting.”
At Niall’s perplexed look, bordering on astonishment, Evan managed not to bare his fangs in a grin. Instead, he clapped him on a tense shoulder. “I need a scout.”
Not every man born into mean circumstances realized there was more and longed for it. Niall did, but his world had little room for such things. He’d pushed it down as something of no matter, knowing he’d live and die at that croft. But it would churn in his gut like a poison.
On those surreptitious nighttime visits, Evan had sometimes come inside, blending in the shadows as vampires could do. He’d seen Niall make love to his wife, taste her everywhere. They explored each other in the uninhibited way only sexual innocents could. Nothing was considered taboo, but even so, Evan sensed the Scot holding back with her. He had a savage hunger for a rougher, more demanding sexual desire. During their wrestling match, Niall had recognized a match for his true needs. He had enough sorrow and fury to take pain, respond to it with rage, and release it through passion.
As Evan let his hand linger on Niall’s shoulder, slide down his back, possessive desires dug into him like thorns. He wanted this one, and it had been a while since he’d wanted one for more than food.
However, vampires observed certain inviolate rules when it came to taking servants. This man wouldn’t abandon his family, and Evan would respect that, help him if he could. As for the rest, he’d channel the fantasy into his canvases and move on.
Unless Fate decided it had different plans.
Meeting him was like that first kiss. A delicious energy sweeps through the muscles, makes the heart leap, brings to life a special kind of hunger where the mind isn’t a part of it. You wonder when you’ll next get to touch him that way again, and how quickly you can make it happen. But there were things that had to heal first. We had to get to know each other. We shared women during that time, but they were a buffer between us as well as a passing pleasure. Not kissing him, not claiming his body for my own, for all those years, was hellish.
Alanna nodded against Niall’s chest, hearing his steady heartbeat. She’d been stroking her hand across the muscles of his stomach for a while now, tracing that silken arrow of hair that pointed to the groin area. She felt it beneath his shirt. His arm tightened around her again, but this time the movement was more deliberate. When Niall put his other hand over hers, he slid it down, making her wet her lips as she covered a cock experiencing the hardness men carried out of dreams. He pushed against her, like a man stretching the rest of his body after a good nap.
“Aye, that’s nice,” he murmured. “Nothing like pressing against a pretty lass’s grip when waking. Though ’tis even nicer to press against her arse. Unless of course, she puts those fingers tae guid use.”
“I’ve a better idea.”
Evan was standing above them, with a glint in his gaze that suggested her two hours of “free time” were over. “Roll over, Niall. On your knees, over her.”
When Niall met his gaze, she anticipated conflict between the two. Hoping to head it off, she wriggled to give Niall room to obey, tugging on his arm, showing her desire that he follow Evan’s order and prop himself over her.
“Kiss her senseless, Niall. But stay on your hands and knees, your knuckles pressed into the ground on either side of her. Alanna, you can touch him however you desire.”
“Evan, what the hell—” Niall grunted as Evan leaned over him, stripped the belt out of his pants, reaching under him to open them. With the familiarity of long practice, he reached in, gripped Niall’s cock, making him groan. “You were having good dreams, neshama.” His other hand slipped into Niall’s side pocket, coming out with the lubricant oil most male servants, especially those serving male vampires, carried with them, knowing the carnal nature of their Masters.
“Alanna?”
Her view was incomparable, seeing the vampire take hold of the rigid cock at close range. But at Evan’s admonishment, she snapped out of her distraction to place her hands on Niall’s strong face. Bringing him down to her, she pressed her lips to his. She’d been studying his mouth for an hour, so deep pleasure thrummed through her as she kissed him deep, teasing his mouth. Triumph surged when he growled against her lips. He took over, pressing her back to the ground, his elbows bending so he could devour her lips, tangle with her tongue.
Kiss her senseless was what Evan had said. Niall surpassed the challenge. Even without him touching her body, it was lifting up toward him, nipples tingling, sex dampening, muscles quivering as he seduced and plundered, so every nerve ending was attuned to his demand, surrendering to it.
He jerked, a groan vibrating against her lips. His body rocked forward against her double-handed grip on his T-shirt, her fingers digging into his sides. Evan was kneeling behind him, and had yanked Niall’s trousers down out of his way.
She couldn’t see Evan’s cock, but when he thrust it into Niall’s ass, she felt it all the way to her womb, her need intensifying as he put his hands on the Scot’s hips and drove deep, making Niall groan again. Sharing the memory of their first meeting had obviously stirred their Master, giving him an urgent need.
The intensity in the two sets of gazes that met hers was enough to take her breath away. “Kiss him, Alanna,” Evan ordered.
She was trying, but Niall was so overwhelming, she was just along for the ride. She ran her hands up his solid biceps, clutching as he teased her lips, bit her, moved to her throat to bite as Evan rammed into him. Being this close to the two males f*cking was as primitive and mysterious an experience as watching that mountain lion in the wood.
Finding the hem of Niall’s shirt, she raked it up so she could run her nails over his chest. Evan’s thrusts were plowing Niall a little farther up her body, so she could close her hands on his bare cock, the wet tip trailing her stomach. When he came, he would come on her skin. Following her desires, she pulled open her shirt. She arched to release the bra, flushing with sexual heat under Niall’s avid gaze. He knew full well why she was doing it, and that shared knowledge just aroused her further. His facial muscles were tense, flexing with Evan’s movement inside him, his lips tight against the desire.
Her legs were spread to make room for his knees. It wasn’t practical, but she wished she’d worn one of her skirts. In this position, it was likely he would drive into her if given that opportunity and . . .
No. I want to see you soak the crotch of your jeans just from watching us. Your scent is intoxicating, Alanna.
“Bastard,” Niall muttered. Evan chuckled maliciously, giving him a harder thrust.
“Your own fault, neshama. You woke needing to be f*cked.”
Alanna reared up, took Niall’s mouth again. She wanted him to know how wet they were both making her. When Niall groaned and kissed her back in his overwhelming way, she raked her fingers over his chest again, then up his rib cage, over his sides, to his back. Evan’s hands overlapped hers, capturing her there, holding her tangled fingers with one hand as he braced himself against Niall’s buttock with the other.
Niall was grunting with each thrust, and his cock was pushing against her belly. Yet the movement of his mouth over hers held her prisoner as much as Evan restraining her hands. Her p-ssy was throbbing, hungry for attention, but she put everything into the kiss, as her Master had required.
With a snarl, Niall came, jerking against Evan’s hold, his heated seed spraying across her stomach, her breasts, her throat. She quivered from it, continued to kiss him long and deep as he groaned into her mouth, muttered expletives. He kept kissing her back, though, with passionate ferocity. Evan came right then as well, and she opened her eyes to see the concentration of his face, the dangerous light in his eyes, the gleam of his fangs.
She was quivering, needy. It was one of the most erotic things she’d ever experienced, despite a long list of far more elaborate sexual scenarios. Even though they hadn’t f*cked her, she was shaky from head to toe. When Niall put his face against her neck, breathing hard, she shuddered. It seemed natural to put an arm around his shoulders. To reach up toward Evan. He captured her hand, his chest rising and falling with deep breaths as he bent his head to her palm and kissed it. When his lips passed over her InhServ tattoo, on the soft skin under her forearm, she quivered anew. With his second mark, the InhServs’ cut had healed, leaving only the sign of her service there, caressed by his mouth.
“It’s time to return to the cabin,” Evan said at last, stroking his other hand down Niall’s back. “You’ll sleep with us, Alanna. And dream good dreams, because Niall and I are here. We’ll be around you.”
On the way back to the cabin, she told Evan about the correspondence. “You were invited to a wedding, scheduled for next week.”
“Did you RSVP?” Evan directed the question to Niall, who’d been quiet since they left the clearing.
“Aye. I kept the invitation so we’d have the details.”
“You should mark the invitation,” Alanna said primly. “That way there’s no confusion about what’s been handled.”
Evan shot Niall a look. “Sounds like you’ve been replaced as my secretary.”
“Thank the gods.”
“No, I didn’t mean it that way. I was just—”
She stopped when Niall bumped her hip in affectionate amusement. Evan was pleased to see she was learning. Pressing her lips together, she shook her head. “Are you attending the wedding?”
“Yes.” Niall answered for them both. “So are you. If you’re still . . . Unless they’ve resolved things and reassigned you.”
Niall fell silent again. Alanna gave him a peculiar look, but little else was said. When they arrived in their cabin clearing, Evan put his pack on the picnic table. He studied his servant’s brooding profile as the Scot did his usual check of the grounds to ensure the precautions, like the shotgun, were still in place.
Alanna intercepted Niall, retrieving the empty picnic basket he’d insisted on carrying down the mountain. “You don’t have to spare my feelings, Niall. I know what will happen when the Council kills Stephen.” Clearing her throat, she added, “Though I want them to achieve their objectives, I hope the wedding happens before then. I’ve never been to one.”
Carrying their empty picnic basket, she disappeared inside. Niall stared after her.
“Does it even matter to her?”
“Of course it does.” Evan sighed. “She’s been trained to accept a vampire’s will without question. Her life can be taken for no other reason than her Master desires it so, and she accepts that.”
“Bollocks,” Niall snapped. “She’s afraid. I can feel it, every time she lets herself feel.”
So could Evan. He knew it fought to take hold of her every waking moment, but she wouldn’t let it. “Her training ensures that every unpleasant emotion can be controlled. She treats her fear as an insult to her submission, her total acceptance that the Council dictates whether she lives or dies.”
“And ye have no problem with that?” Niall gave him an incredulous look.
“Vampires are what vampires are, Niall.” Evan set his jaw. “But training alone can’t make a person stand fast on a battlefield where they know they’ll be cut down. Honor and courage are required. Training only works if strength and integrity are already part of the mold.”
Niall met his gaze. “This isn’t about that.”
“The way a man—or woman—sees the world, is all about who they are, Niall.”
“She expected something different from her life. You made her admit it.”
“Yes, but one admission won’t change a lifetime of conditioning.” Evan lifted a brow at Niall’s sour expression. “First you criticize me for pulling her out of that shell. Now you’re full of moral outrage over the shell itself. Make up your mind, Niall.”
As the vampire turned toward the cabin, Niall stared at his unyielding back. Damn him. He was at the end of his life, and aye, he had a normal man’s anxiety about what happened in the hereafter, but she’d barely had a life at all. Twenty-nine years old. Bloody, f*cking vampires.
He wasn’t ready to go into the house. He’d get a drink from the well, maybe chop some more wood. Instead, he pivoted and kicked the picnic table. The force of the blow was enough to flip it, and to bring Evan to a halt. Niall clenched his fists at the cool gray gaze that was judging, assessing. Waiting.
“She was a vampire’s ideal little Barbie doll. The moment she wasnae, her mind and soul were torn apart, and every day is borrowed time. She’s standing on the front lines like a lad at his first fight, only there’s nae telling when the horn will blow to have it done with. She has to hold that fear inside her every moment. No one even gives a shit. It’s all about catching Stephen.”
“Not for me.”
“No. She’s the same as everything else you encounter in your life. She’s a blank canvas.” Niall sneered at him. “When it happens, will you capture it all on film?”
Niall didn’t even see the blow coming. One moment he was facing the vampire, the next he’d been punched soundly, sending him rolling. Niall sprang back to his feet, a red haze across his vision. Throughout their lives together, Evan had inflicted pain for pleasure, because like all vampires, Evan enjoyed that. He’d even taught Niall to understand and embrace it. But he could count on one hand the times Evan had struck him down for crossing a line.
He was still vibrating from that hard f*cking in the glade, the way it felt to be subjugated while over Alanna. She’d kissed him like she couldn’t get enough, pulling him in, twisting things inside of him. The unfairness of it all filled him with fury. With a bellow, he charged.
Evan could have let him crash like a bull into the cabin wall, but he met the frontal assault, and they went down together. He was sure Evan was pulling punches, else he would have knocked his sternum into his spine. It pissed him off further, but he was in the mood for a fight, dirty or fair.
He landed several hard blows, which Evan returned, driving the wind out of him with a fist to the gut. F*ck, he could fight, he’d give him that. Before Evan had been a vampire, he’d been a skinny Jewish kid, and his father had taught him to defend himself. Just as Niall’s da had taught him.
Did Evan remember what it was to be human? To feel all the futile weight of mortality? Niall roared and plowed into him again, taking him off his feet, but Evan somehow brought them to the ground again, hard.
A cold blast of water hit Niall square in the face, because he was on top, but Evan got the resulting waterfall in the same place, blinding and dousing both of them.
They broke apart in reaction. Christ, the water had to have come from the creek, because it was frigid enough to freeze his lungs. As one, they saw Alanna standing several paces away, holding the empty bucket. She was deathly pale.
At Evan’s regard, she fell to her knees, bowing her head. She gripped the bucket like she couldn’t let it go. “I’m sorry, Master. It seemed the only way to stop it.”
Evan swiped the water from his brow, considering her. Niall couldn’t read his expression, such that when the vampire stepped toward her, Niall tensed. However, Evan dropped to a knee, covering her clenched hands. “Alanna, it’s not your place to stop an argument between me and my servant.”
She nodded, keeping her head down, her nose almost touching his knuckles. “But you were fighting about me. My fate. I don’t wish to cause anger between you. It’s . . . upsetting to me.” Lifting her face, she gave Evan an earnest searching look, then turned that expression toward Niall.
When she’d told him so calmly that she knew her time was limited, there’d been a flat deadness to her gaze. He expected she’d looked the same when she made the decision to betray her Master. She’d known there was no going back, that her fate was set. She was standing on the cusp of Hell, and the ground would give way under her feet in short order, plunging her into an eternity of torment, and the only way she could manage it was by feeling already dead.
That was not the expression she had now. She wasn’t dead at all, so full of life it made everything in him hurt. He didn’t know if he believed the idea that a servant followed her Master into the afterlife, but, as he’d told Evan, at one time he hadn’t believed in vampires. He could say he didn’t know how she dealt with the possibility that she might spend eternity with the Master she’d betrayed, but he was watching her do it, every day. With grace and strength, as Evan had said—and nightmares that plagued her dreams.
“You’ve been with each other so long,” she continued. “I am so honored, so grateful to have the chance to see . . . to be a part of what you have with your Master, no matter how long my time here lasts. Please don’t fight about who or what I am.”
Niall stared at her, unable to summon any words. Evan touched her face. “Go inside,” he said quietly.
Nodding, she rose. She left the bucket. Evan straightened, watching her disappear back in the cabin. He had his back to Niall. His shirt had been torn, and there was a trickle of blood below his left ear, diluted by the water so it stained the collar. When Evan turned at last, the gray eyes swept over Niall, his own dripping hair, the tense lines of his body.
“You still look fair scunnered, neshama. But I don’t think her nerves will take another round.”
Evan knew a great many languages, and could pull off a Scottish accent passably well, as he proved now, with a faint smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “I know you’re frustrated about the girl’s situation. But stewing about injustices that result in the astonishing conclusion that life isn’t fair is pointless.” He lifted a shoulder. “As for the rest, you know certain things about me, Niall. If a man doesn’t accept a wheel is round, then it does no good for me to tell him it is. He must come to the obvious truth himself.”
The vampire closed the gap between them once more, placed a hand on his shoulder. “But I will tell you what you need to hear. She matters to me. As do you.”
A quick thread of his fingers through Niall’s wet hair, then Evan was gone, likely headed for the bowels of the house. A good thing, since the sun would be showing its dawn rays over the mountain’s edge far too soon.
“Fair scunnered.” Niall snorted to himself, shook his head. As vampires went, Evan had more compassion than most. Niall could usually pick up the vampire’s moods, but there was a different dynamic with Alanna in the mix. Harder to pin down. Of course, he was honest enough to admit that could have as much to do with where he was at this point as the vampire’s own state of mind.
He didn’t know what it all meant, but he only had the choice Evan had given him, to wait it out.
As always.
Since they’d been derailed by their argument, Alanna didn’t have the opportunity to sleep between the two males as Evan had intimated would happen. Her body was aching to be used after watching Evan take his servant right over her body, and letting Niall spend his seed on her flesh. If she closed her eyes, she could feel the heat of their lust wash over her again, the short gusts of Niall’s breath against her collarbone as Evan thrust into him.
She was sitting on the edge of her bed, reconciling herself to taking a short nap alone, when Niall appeared in the doorway. He had a towel and was drying his hair, a reminder of her unthinkable transgression. Yet she would have done it again. She couldn’t bear them fighting about something as irrelevant as her situation, even if it brought punishment on her.
“If you’re nae too tired, we’re going to Asheville.” At her blank look, he added, “You’ll need something to wear to the wedding, aye? Evan and I keep things stored that can be shipped to us, but we have no reserves of women’s clothing.” He shot her a faint smile. “Evan’s never tried to dress me in women’s clothing, or had the urge himself, thank God. Him in a bra and heels is an image I wouldnae want burned in my brain.”
She blinked. “Are there cross-dressing vampires?”
“I met one in Amsterdam. When he shaved his legs and wore fishnets, he could compete with any starlet I’ve seen. Decent lad. His female servant was a professional wrestler. Six feet tall and the most bonny head of red hair you’d ever see. Damn near beat me in a caber toss.”
“Do I have time to get a shower?” She almost wished he’d say no, because she liked his scent on her skin. When his gaze slid down her throat, over the modest cleavage exposed by her cotton shirt, she knew he was thinking along the same lines. As a third-mark servant, he could smell himself on her even more vividly than she could.
“Aye,” he said. “Take off the clothes, muirnín. All of them.”
She swallowed at the heated command in his voice. Her body needed no awakening, but apparently his own had recovered quickly. Standing, she removed the shirt, let it fall. Unhooked the bra and watched his eyes flicker with lust over her bared breasts, the nipples already tight peaks under his gaze. When she toed off her shoes and removed the trousers and underwear, he was two steps closer. She held her breath as he closed the gap, brushing his fingers over her arm, her waist, her upper thigh, and then she caught hold of his arm for balance as he stroked her *, her wet labia.
“You’re hurting for it, aren’t you, muirnín? Selfish bastards, we didnae do a thing for ye. Evan says for me to take care of that.”
It might be true or not, but she didn’t want the risk of asking Evan herself. She wanted to be touched, to be held and filled, hard, the way Evan had filled Niall. She was already trembling when Niall opened his trousers, releasing his cock, full and thick. Catching her around the waist, he lifted her onto him with effortless strength, standing in the middle of her bedroom, one hand palming her ass, the other snarled in her hair as he lowered her onto his erect cock, filling her inch by blissful inch. She was already spasming around him when he reached the hilt. As he lowered them both to the bed, him over her, she clasped her legs around his hips, not wanting to let go of him until this scalding need eased.
“There you are, lass. You’re such an eager wee thing.” He shoved himself deeper, and she made a soft cry that pleased him, for his eyes flamed hotter, and he did it again. “Hold on tae me now. I want to take ye to climax so fast you’ll feel ye stepped on a roller coaster.”
Fast or slow, she wanted this. Wrapping her arms around his shoulders, she buried her face into his chest and bit down on his flesh as his hips pistoned between her legs. Slow then fast, then slow again, making her work her hips against him in response.
“Please . . .” She whispered it against his flesh, tasting him. He lifted up enough to push her down flat on the bed, hold her there with a hand on her throat, his other hand tracing the dried tracks of his come over her breasts, her abdomen. She kept her legs clasped tight around him, her inner muscles milking him, begging him to move again, because watching him touch her like that, idle tracings of his seed, his cock still and full inside her, broke her into pieces.
“Shhh. Be still, muirnín. Feel how hard you make me. I loved marking you.” Then his fingers brushed her hip and something cold touched her heart. No, she didn’t want that to intrude on this moment. She put her hand over his, but he made a reproving noise.
“Arms above your heid. No interference with what I do to ye.”
She didn’t want to interfere, but Niall was studying the third mark she carried as Stephen’s servant. “Please . . .” She didn’t want him to say anything. At the time she’d received it, she thought it was evidence of what she would do for her vampire Master. Take her own life if needed, a mockery now. But the mark was shaped like a dagger, the universal sign of betrayal.
Niall said nothing further. He slid his arm back under her waist, moved them up the bed, which changed the angle of his penetration, making her whimper with pleasure. He’d told her to keep her arms above her head, but when she reached for his face, he didn’t stop her. She traced his jaw, his brow, lingering on his nose and mouth. She didn’t get to touch many of those who’d touched her. Not this way. Not with the time to consider what emotions might be passing behind his brown eyes, the words held back behind the firm lips.
“If I could save ye a moment of pain, lass, I would. We both would. We’d fight dragons for ye.”
It made things hurt inside of her, so badly she couldn’t speak. She was afraid of what might happen to her when Stephen died, but she hadn’t anticipated having something she might regret leaving. Someone. Letting her hand drift to his shoulder, she drew close to him once more, burying her face in his neck. He could make her lie back, look at him, but instead he increased the constriction of his arms around her, cradling her like a child while he stayed deep inside her, caring for her with his compassionate silence, the demands of his body, nurturing the emotional and physical both.
“I want you to come for me, lass,” he whispered in her ear. “I want tae hear you cry out. Let our Master hear your pleasure.”
He started moving once more, and this time she caught on fire within only a few strokes, as if by words alone he’d brought her to that pinnacle.
Come for us, Alanna.
Evan’s voice, and all she needed. The two of them around her, even if it wasn’t in the same room. They were both in her mind as the cleansing fire swept through, carrying her with it. She moaned against Niall’s flesh as he thrust deep. Curving his powerful back, he latched onto her nipple and suckled it, drawing out the orgasm in an excruciating roll of pleasure that kept on and on as he worked his hips against her, her body arched up into his, wanting to fuse every inch of her flesh against his.
“Sweet lass,” he muttered against her. His hips pushed her legs wider, and she drummed her heels on his tight backside, in rhythm with his thrusts, her nails digging into his shoulders, drawing blood.
He rolled them then, putting her on top. He stayed in charge, controlling her descent, his gaze latched onto the quiver of her breasts with each solid downward impact. She was riding his aftershocks, but he wasn’t done. She clenched on him, dropping her head back, crying out with pleasure when he reached up, caught her throat to hold her upper body straight. It made her feel owned, possessed, the mere thought sending her over another pinnacle. One that became even more intense when he released himself, jetting hot seed into her welcome heat.
In the aftermath, as she sprawled over him, he brushed a kiss over her forehead. “Now ye can take that shower. But we leave in the next half hour, so no lingering over female nonsense.”
The teasing smugness in his voice made her think about getting onto her knees and whacking him with the pillow. Then he added, “You’d be lovely if I took you tae town just as you are. Though I’d much prefer to stay here and do this all the day.”
She wanted to stay here, too, just like this, for the next decade. However, the past few minutes were gift enough. She couldn’t ask for more, nor should she. As she slipped from the bed, she sensed his gaze on her. He rolled out the other side, zipping the pants only enough to hold them on his hips. “If we had a larger shower, you wouldnae be getting away from me so soon. I’ll take the outside spigot.”
“Oh.” She bit her lip, realizing she should offer to take the colder outside water, but instead she yelped as Niall’s shirt landed over her head, where he’d tossed it. By the time she removed it, he was striding down the hallway. She watched the play of the dragon on his back and the way those pants, low enough on his hips to show the upper rise of his buttocks, drew the eye to their movements. Then he disappeared out of view.
If she had three marks, she could have showed that view to Evan. She was sure he would have appreciated it as much as she did. Artistically, of course. She imagined taking that shower with Niall, her skin flushed anew. He’d pleasured her, but she was nowhere near sated. They’d unleashed a hungry monster inside her, and she wasn’t sure if she should thank or curse them for that.
With her fingers digging into the soft stuff of Niall’s shirt, she lifted it to her face, brushed it against her cheek. He’d let her sleep on his body in the glade, held her. Then he’d been so angry, arguing with Evan about her. That part had felt so horribly wrong, and not just because of her worry about them. All the terrible things she was having to contain, the worry and fear, the guilt and failure, could be cracked open so easily by such stress.
When she looked up, he’d returned, was studying her. She still had the shirt up to her face, making it obvious what she was doing. She lowered it, discomfited. “I’m hurrying. I was just—”
He shook his head, crooked a finger at her. She came to him, still holding the shirt against her. Putting his hand to her waist, he brought her full against him. He kissed her, long and slow. She made a noise in the back of her throat and stretched up on her toes, reaching for more of him. Sexual energy stirred, but something else, too. Her chest was tight as her arms circled his neck, fingers curling there, tangling in his long hair. His hand roamed downward, over her buttock, stroking, slow and easy. Soothing.
When he lifted his head, he was holding her weight with his solid strength. He squeezed her buttock. “Aw richt, then?”
The warm affection in his tone helped ease some things. She nodded. “I was fine. Am fine.”
“Okay.” He brushed her lips with his again. “Go get ready, then. We’re behind schedule.”
Though she hurried, he checked on her a couple of times while she was doing her hair. Apparently, Evan had also given him additional things for their “town list,” and since it was obvious going into the city wasn’t Niall’s favorite thing, her bear became more gruff and impatient.
She expedited hair and face preparations, not wanting to cause him further delays. It was a good decision, because as soon as she emerged in the main room, he had her out the door and bundled into the Rover. When she hesitated with her foot on the runner, looking back at the house, Niall touched her shoulder.
“Don’t worry, he’ll be fine. He always is.” That touch of acid suggested their fight was preying on his mind again. It had been frightening to watch, like savage dogs, but she understood men could be like that. Niall discouraged any conversation about it, however, maintaining an otherwise companionable silence with her until they reached the main highway.
He nodded to the console. “You can play some music if you want.”
She chose a playlist titled “Niall’s Theme Songs.” When it started with the powerful drum and guitar notes of “Eye of the Tiger” by Survivor, Niall gave it a disgusted look, hit the button to take it to the next selection, a more general rock tune. “Wiseass vampire. Oh, Evan wants ye to choose things for your daily two-hour deal. Skateboarding, macramé, beading, cookbooks, whatever.”
“I think you added the last one,” she said. “You want me to cook more.”
“Aye. Your cooking is far better than mine. Evan agrees.”
She smiled. “Do we have time to buy groceries? No offense to Henry, but there are things I can get in a city that he might not have.”
“We have time for that,” Niall decided. He shot her a teasing glance. “So what else are ye going to get? More romance stories?”
“Maybe a good spy thriller,” she said evenly.
“Pity,” he said. “I liked how the romance stirred ye up.” Reaching over, he stroked her hair away from her brow, passing his fingers through the ponytail she’d done so hastily. She leaned into the touch, quietly thrilled with such affection. When he took his hand away to adjust the music volume, she studied him. He had one knee comfortably propped against the driver’s door, an attractive look in his jeans, a button-down shirt loose over them, casual clothes that accentuated a body and presence that would catch any woman’s eye.
“So do you think about it?”
“What?” He changed lanes, moving smoothly around a slower car.
“When you . . . You’re three hundred years old.”
He cocked a brow. “You’re terrible at small talk, lass. ‘So, lad, have ye been thinking about your impending death?’”
She was torn between a smile at the exaggeration of his accent and her chagrin at the truth of it. “If you don’t want to talk about it—”
“Hmmph. Doesnae matter much, does it? It can happen anytime after the three-hundred-year line. Somewhere between one to three years for most, but some have lived tae see three-ten.” He shrugged. “Not much different from any other day with a vampire. It’s not the safest way to live your life, aye? Especially with Evan. He gets through other vampires’ territories on his charm and Lord Uthe’s sponsor letter, but plenty places are less respectful of that. He also takes plenty of risks for his camera shots. He’ll be barbecued one day, trying to get in that one extra moment, and that’ll be the end of me, right alongside him.”
“I’ve never known a vampire like him,” she admitted. “Or a servant like you. Who was he, before he was turned? If it’s not inappropriate to ask.”
“Not inappropriate to me.” He flashed teeth at her. “We’re all servants here, ma’am. He was an artist then as well. Showed a remarkable aptitude for it even as a wee lad, a child prodigy. He’s a Sephardic Jew, born in Italy. His da was a merchant and would ha’ had no patience for it, except Evan was bedridden most his life. They called it a wasting disease back then, nothing the doctors could do with it. The family business fell to the second son, because they didnae expect Evan to live. It went into remission for a few years, giving him a chance to travel about, but it came back with a vengeance by the time he turned twenty. He was dying when Lord Uthe discovered him. He’d stumbled on a few pictures Evan had sold, and tracked him down. When he found out Evan was near the end, he offered him immortality.”
She’d heard the various stories of made vampires, but she’d never heard anything as remarkable as that. She thought of how Evan could be so patient, remain so still. How he saw miracles in the most minute details. It was easy to imagine that skill being cultivated by an invalid child whose only changing landscape would have been through a bedroom window.
The Council was required to approve all turnings, but four hundred years ago, they hadn’t been in existence. Lord Uthe had acted on his own desires, which she found intriguing. The formidable right-hand member of the Council was an austere born vampire who’d served as a Knight Templar, a remarkable thing itself.
“I never realized Lord Uthe was a patron of the arts.”
Niall gave her a wry look. “He told Evan he wanted to see what a truly gifted artist would do with immortality. Ye know vampires are eternally curious about things like that, like little gods. He wanted to know whether mortality, the sense of the finite, gives an artist his talent, or if immortality would take it tae heretofore unknown heights.”
She digested that. “Perhaps it’s wrong of me to ask this, but . . . Evan. He doesn’t seem as strong as most vampires his age. Regarding the sunlight, I mean. Did his childhood disease somehow cause that?”
“Aye.” Niall took his time expanding on the answer, giving Alanna the sense that it was a question that preyed on the servant’s mind as well. “Uthe had Brian take a look at Evan a couple decades ago, when Brian first got their attention with his research. That’s how Evan knows him. They’ve stayed in contact, became friends. Evan respects Brian’s field.”
“It makes sense,” she observed. “His focus is different from that of most vampires, much like Evan’s.”
Niall inclined his head. “Brian thinks Evan’s mortal wasting disease, how close he was to death at turning, affected him. The abilities that grow with a vampire’s age mature slower for him. His sensitivity to sun is like a hundred-year-old vampire’s. Same with speed, agility, the whole package. Since a vampire can sense the strength of another vampire and estimates his age based on it, Evan’s often taken for far younger than he is.”
Alanna now fully understood Niall’s concerns about the risks their Master took, but he gave her a reassuring look, a wink. “He’s far stronger than us humans, of course, but in the vampire world, he’s the gym class runt.”
At her disparaging look, he held up a hand. “That’s his description, not mine.”
“And yet he travels across territories where he might run afoul of vampires far stronger than him.”
“What he lacks in strength, he makes up for in intelligence, diplomacy. Sheer cleverness. He’s also got a hell of a poker face. Not much rattles him. Even when things should,” he added darkly.
“You worry for him, but he’s brave.” She considered it. “Most vampires don’t have to be brave. They follow the political path, fall in line with the hierarchy, and rely on their age and strength to make their way.”
“That’s not his focus.”
“You admire it,” she realized. “Even as his motives elude your understanding at times. To a brilliant man, the complex is obvious, leaving the rest of us searching for answers.”
“Didnae swell his head too much. He’s aggravating enough already.” Niall switched gears on her. “Is psychotherapy part of the whole InhServ training?”
“Somewhat, yes. I’m supposed to anticipate my Master’s needs, understand those around him, anticipate their moves and feelings as well.”
He sighed. “Can ye turn it off awhile and be a lass all aflutter about dress shopping?”
Alanna had no clue what such a person would act like, but she nodded demurely. When he reached over and squeezed her knee at the ticklish point, making her jump and pull away, he winked at her. In retaliation, she took the playlist back to “Eye of the Tiger” and fended off his attempts to change it. His pokes at her side to tickle her and get the player controls away from her had her laughing in no time.
She’d hit a few raw nerves, but seeing the grin that covered his handsome features and stayed there, the earlier shadows driven away, proved that his playing with her successfully turned his thoughts to a better place.
It gave her a sense of satisfaction, the feeling that she’d served both Master and servant well. For the moment, that was enough.