16
SHE was attending a human wedding.
From Niall and his correspondence, she knew Evan was comfortable with humans, but finding he had relationships with them made the whole situation even more remarkable. Tyler and Marguerite Winterman, the couple providing their graceful plantation home for the wedding couple, obviously considered Evan a friend, and his decision to attend the nighttime event seemed to reciprocate the feeling.
Tyler and Marguerite were both Dominants, in the human sense of the word. She recalled Niall’s amusing recap of rules, pain thresholds, boundaries—all that silly stuff. Marguerite, a reputedly formidable Mistress, was submissive to her husband. Brendan and Chloe, the young engaged couple, also had a unique dynamic. Brendan was a dedicated submissive, but his bride-to-be wasn’t a Domme, just a sexually adventurous young woman who was somehow compatible.
In the vampire world, all vampires were Dominants. It was part of the physical makeup of the species, whether born or made. Vampires only capitulated to greater political or physical strength. As interested as Alanna was in the wedding, she was equally curious about the “private party” planned for the following night, where she’d observe human Dominant and submissive practices. Safe words and consensual were not in the vampire dictionary.
Niall had told her they would participate in the private party like any of the human guests, though Evan would restrain himself from any extremes, including blooddrinking. The political pressure that attended vampire gatherings would also be absent, though she could behave as the servant she was. Among a group so immersed in the Dominant/submissive mind-set, the three of them would “blend.” Well, she and Niall would blend. She wasn’t sure a vampire ever fully blended, particularly one like Evan, who didn’t even mesh with the expectations of his own species.
Tyler had given them accommodations in a one-bedroom guesthouse, but Niall’s insistence on what appeared to be the smaller of Tyler’s annex guest accommodations became clear when he told her there was an overflow wine cellar there. They’d arrived well past midnight, traveling in the luxurious RV outfitted like a home on wheels. The vehicle had specially treated windows for Evan, though Niall explained it was for emergencies only. “He willnae turn to ash, but he’ll still cook above ground at the height of noon. All in all, ’tis a nice way to travel, though. Unless he has me drive this behemoth through Atlanta traffic. That’s when he really proves he’s a sadist.”
Upon their late-night arrival at the Winterman estate, which was on the Gulf side of Florida, they went straight to the guesthouse. Tyler had left the door unlocked for them. Her opinion of their host increased when she found he’d already had the cellar rearranged to create a comfortable bedroom for Evan. Niall indicated Evan had visited before, and his preference for underground sleeping quarters was explained away as artistic temperament. Niall’s snicker over that won him a slap on the back of his head before the vampire disappeared into the cellar. Niall was still grinning, though.
She fell asleep in Niall’s arms in the upstairs bed, a situation that was more than acceptable to her, though she wished the bed downstairs could accommodate three. Since she took her injection right after arriving, she was asleep almost before her head hit the pillow.
The sound of hammering woke her. Rubbing her eyes and looking out the window, Alanna saw it was midmorning. The grounds appeared to be overrun with workers erecting pavilions and people dashing about with flowers, ribbons and other decorations. The guesthouse had a pleasant view, angled to see down the lawn toward a stretch of green and blue marsh, framed by an array of old live oaks.
Donning Niall’s discarded T-shirt, she wandered out into the small sitting room and kitchenette to see what the day would bring. The interior décor had a strong Japanese influence. A rice paper screen divided the kitchen from the sitting area, and a polished dark wood table sat in the center of that room, surrounded with sea green cushions. A jasmine scent told her tea had been prepared and laid out on the table, along with a tray of fruit, bread and cheese options.
There were bay windows on three sides, and the one nearest her showed a small outdoor area intended for the private pleasure of the cottage occupants, complete with rock garden, rake and a stone Buddha serenely overlooking a birdbath and feeder, well-attended by the feathered public. Seeing the birds puffed up on the edge of the bath, preening and chirping, the screened windows open to allow their song, she realized the cottage did not fall short in the least. Did Evan have a gift for this, finding places that one never wanted to leave, except for the chance of finding another enchanted nook even more lovely than the last one?
Well, it might fall short in one regard. She gave Niall’s tall form an amused look. He was on his knees on one of the green cushions, his elbows on the low table as he perused what appeared to be a local paper. She nodded to two wicker chairs with silk green cushions. “Wouldn’t you be more comfortable in one of those?”
“Wicker makes me summat nervous. It’s like straw when ye sit in it. From what I ken o’ Marguerite, she buys things for their artistic value, not their practicality.” He grimaced. “Cannae imagine why she and Evan get along.”
Thinking about Evan’s well-appointed room, Alanna expected their hosts had kept in mind the needs of all their guests. Going to the larger of the two wicker chairs, she sat in it, then brought her feet up into the chair, standing and shifting her weight. Niall lifted a brow, his lips curving as she jumped down, exposing a great deal of thigh and a flash of more intimate areas. “I think they’re here for you. See?” She gestured at the room’s arrangement. “Japanese decorating emphasizes central placement of key pieces, not putting things along the walls, like the chairs. They’ve been added.”
“Is there anything ye dinnae know, lass?” Giving her a wink, he pushed himself up off the cushion, letting out a grunt at the effort.
“Do you need help getting up?” she asked solicitously.
He gave her a narrow glance. “My knees are strong enough tae give you a sound thrashing over them, young lady.”
When Alanna smiled at him, he levered to his feet. “Come here.” Snagging her arm, he cupped her bottom beneath the T-shirt and took his fill of her mouth. The flood of pleasure left her leaning into him, heart pounding and body even more restless. He touched her face, thumb tracing her mouth. “You’re in a guid mood today, lass.”
“I think it’s the energy.” She waved a hand at the window. “There’s this feeling . . .”
“A ceilidh’s in the air.” He gave her a wink. “A celebration, a visit of guid friends. And ’tis a wedding, which affects you lasses in peculiar ways, no matter you’ve ever been to one or no. And while I’d enjoy taking advantage of some of that energy”—he let her go with a look of regret—“once you’re up, you’re supposed to take all your wedding clothes up to the main house. The bride wants to spend the day with the female guests, and then get ready all together.”
“Oh. Well, surely she meant her friends and—”
“No.” Niall shook his head. “Marguerite was clear. Chloe has peculiar ideas about things, and today is her day. The bride’s slightest whim commands us all.”
Alanna’s brow creased. “Don’t you and Master need . . .”
“Noooo.” Exaggerating the Scottish sound of the vowel, he pushed her toward the bedroom. “I drove through the night. I plan to get in another hour or two o’ sleep. Once my head hits the pillow, all that hammering will nae be an issue. When we wake, we’ll slap on our pretty clothes, and be all set.”
“Don’t forget to brush your teeth,” she admonished, scowling at being dismissed.
“I’ll eat an onion just for you, muirnín.”
She wasn’t sure why she felt nervous. She’d interacted with many strangers, but they’d always been vampires and servants, with rules she understood. But what if something happened with Stephen . . .
She couldn’t live her life like that. She also wouldn’t shame herself by being timid, too dependent for Evan and Niall to count on her to conduct herself as she should. Putting together the items she would need and donning dark jeans and a tunic top, clothes versatile enough for whatever would be required at the main house, she returned to the main room, finding Niall now comfortably ensconced in the wicker chair.
By the light of the window, she realized he looked tired, not a usual thing for a servant. Then he looked up from his paper. The chair did creak rather alarmingly at his shift in attention.
“You took your injection?”
“Yes. When we arrived. I won’t forget again.” She patted her shoulder bag. “The evening one is in here.”
“You should have called me to help.” His mouth firmed. “I know it hurts.”
She shook her head. “You were already asleep.” Niall, for all that he had the energy of a grizzly when he was awake, slept deep and long.
I plan to get in another hour or two o’ sleep . . .
Her breath caught in her throat as it hit her. How could she have been so caught up in her own circumstances that it had escaped her? She thought of his frequent, impromptu naps on the mountain, how Evan would occasionally glance toward his servant, a pensive look on his face. He knew. She’d rarely been around servants past three hundred, but now she remembered what a visiting servant had said about the one she’d replaced for her Mistress. The old servants sleep more often, and then one day, they just don’t wake up . . .
She moved to him, crawling in his lap and crushing his paper. He began to protest, but she put her mouth on his, her need immediate and sharp enough he closed his arms around her, taking over the kiss, teasing her tongue and lips, stroking her hair, which she’d left loose on her shoulders.
“F*ck, if ye were still in that T-shirt, we could really test this chair.”
She put her forehead against his, holding on to the collar of his shirt. “I think that might be beyond its tolerance. But we could go back into the bedroom . . .” She didn’t care about joining the other women. Her what-ifs until this moment had been focused on her own well-being. But what if she came back and Niall . . .
“Ye tempt me to damnation, lass, or worse. Upsetting the bride on her day. Get on with ye now, and leave an old lad alone. I have to put some salve on my knees.”
He was teasing her, but she didn’t smile. Touching her face, his brown eyes searching her face, he incorrectly guessed what was bothering her. “We’ll be close, muirnín. There’s nae to worry about. I promise.”
She nipped at his bottom lip, daring herself to tease him. “Come to bed.”
“Dinnae order me about, woman.” He gave her a hard kiss, but she locked her arms around his neck, pressing her upper body against him, letting him feel every soft curve.
“Please . . .” she murmured.
He groaned as she shifted so she was straddling him, bringing her heat against his growing arousal. “You’re trying to top, lass,” he muttered.
“No.” She would never do such a thing. She just needed to be with him right now.
He rose, the paper falling to the ground, and hitched her up so her legs were wrapped around him. He narrowly missed hitting the low table, below his field of vision, but Alanna reminded him of it with a whisper that averted their tumble. He chuckled against her lips, and then they were in the bedroom. He had her down on her back and was pulling off her clothes, taking over in a way she welcomed eagerly.
He was right. After a certain point, the hammering all disappeared.
She didn’t want to upset the bride, but she slept with Niall another several hours, her hand on his heart, her head on his shoulder, eyes occasionally fluttering open to look at him. As anticipated, after giving them both pleasure, he’d fallen asleep. Now she noticed, with heart-stopping awareness, how deep that sleep actually was. His heart rate slowed to the point she wanted to keep waking him up. But instead she kept her arms around him, holding him, dozing in and out, inhaling his forest and male smell, until late afternoon came.
It’s time to go, Alanna.
She closed her eyes, her fingers tightening on Niall’s broad, bare shoulder. He’d kicked off the covers, so she was gazing at the beauty of his naked body, the dragon tattoos. Evan’s mark was beneath her fingers as she traced the scales. His thick cock rested on his thigh, and she wished her Master was able to see through her eyes.
On very rare occasions, you’ll get away with topping behavior with Niall. You won’t with me. Don’t make me come up there and get you out of the bed.
Where she would have been mortified by the reproof a few days before, she heard the tenderness in Evan’s voice. But it was still an order.
She took a quick shower, donned her clothes again, and paused at the bedroom door. He didn’t stir, even when she brushed a soft kiss on his mouth. Despite the fact that she knew she was being remiss in her duties, she was unable to make her feet move. It felt like her priority was here.
I’m always watching over him, Alanna. As much as he watches over me. Go take care of the bride. That’s your task for the rest of today.
For all their bickering, she wondered if Evan’s calm presence in his mind steadied Niall the same way it did her. She hoped so. Nodding, she left the room.
When she stepped out on the porch, she took a deep breath. For various reasons, it was difficult to go down the stairs, but she did it, reminding herself of the same thing she’d told herself earlier. She couldn’t live her life on what-ifs. Niall and Evan expected more of her than that.
Making her way across the grounds, she saw the results of the morning preparations. A wooden altar was down by the waterway bulkhead, framed by a pair of sprawling oaks. She saw florists considering different color choices, while others embellished the altar with sheer, sparkling fabric and greenery. Even though it was a life she’d never entertained for herself, she understood the desire to bond, to commit oneself to another. Enough that she indulged her desire to watch for a few moments.
Continuing, she passed pavilions with tables of elegant china and glassware, the floral centerpieces and dance floor for the reception. As she approached the house, she saw a breathtaking garland of pure red roses hung between the large, graceful columns from the upper verandah. The red of the roses was remarkably vivid and deep, suggesting the velvet silk of the petals even without touch.
“Gorgeous,” she breathed.
“Thank you.”
Turning, she saw a tall man standing just behind her. His eyes were somewhat like Niall’s, but with more amber than gold. Perhaps in his late forties, he had a steady attention in his gaze, an alert quality to his body language. That, plus the fit, combat-ready form displayed in tailored gray slacks and white dress shirt open at the throat, told her he was ex-military, since she’d seen those qualities in servants who’d come from military service. Only this man was no servant. The authority he naturally carried on his shoulders, the way he held her gaze, making her want to drop hers, told her what he was.
She knew they weren’t in a Master–servant situation, but since her conversations with humans not part of the vampire world had been short, functional interactions related to errands, groceries, et cetera, it seemed safer to go with what she knew. “You grew these, sir?” she asked.
“I did, though I had a great deal of help and guidance from my gardener, Robert. Tyler Winterman.”
Before he extended a hand, she almost knelt in instinctive subservience, as she would when a vampire made himself known to her. Flustered, she managed to stop midmotion and extend her hand. Rather than shaking it, though, he closed his hand over it, pressing her fingers in warm reassurance. “It’s all right. You’ve done nothing wrong.”
“This is a new situation for me.”
“You’ll do fine. You must be Evan and Niall’s Alanna.”
She liked the sound of that, far too much. So she lied and said what she wanted. “Yes, sir.” I’m theirs.
“Hmm. From what I heard from Evan, I have a feeling that ownership goes both ways. I can see why.” Before she could think how to reply to that amazing statement, he glanced up. A tidy, attractive woman probably a decade older than Tyler had emerged on the veranda.
“Mr. Winterman, don’t delay your guests. We have to make sure all the ladies are ready on time.”
“Sara, my housekeeper. She’s a tyrant.” The amber eyes twinkled, again reminding her of Niall, with some of Evan’s dry humor thrown in. “You better go, or I’ll be in a great deal of trouble.”
“It was very nice meeting you, sir.”
“You as well.” He released her hand. “I’ll look forward to seeing you in the company of your Master later.”
She’d heard similar words from vampires before, if they deigned to speak to her at all, but this was the first time she’d be serving Evan and Niall in front of others. The thought brought butterflies, not at all unpleasant.
He held the door open for her. Niall had helped her understand the notion of male courtesy, and the underlying sense of protectiveness that attended it, not as inconsistent with a Master–sub relationship as she might have initially thought. However, what had been learned over so many years was hard to forget. Tyler helped her past that hitch, ushering her in with a solicitous but firm hand on her lower back.
She had a brief impression of an open sitting room with white furniture enhanced with pale pink Japanese cherry trees before Sara took her up a dual curving staircase. She led her to a large room that had been cleared of everything but what would be useful to women changing for a formal event. Well-lighted, multiple vanities, floor-length mirrors scattered about the room and a half bath as large as a master, complete with several sinks. The room had the overwhelming female scents of lotions, hairsprays and light perfumes, dizzy and pleasant at once. Many had apparently stayed for the night, hence the need to prepare on premises.
Sara was everywhere, prepared to assist the women with any unexpected needs related to hair, fittings, a jammed zipper or lost button. The roomful of nearly twenty women, in various stages of dress and preparation, engaged Alanna pleasantly enough, but not at length. They obviously knew one another, and not her, and of course had already spent most of the day together. The bride was being prepared in another room with her immediate attendants.
Seeing that Sara was being inundated with requests for help, Alanna quickly donned her shimmering gray thigh-high stockings, silver dress and heels, adding the silver braid necklace and earrings she’d bought to accentuate them, and put the final touches on her makeup. Then she stepped in to assist Sara where needed.
The housekeeper was grateful for the help, especially when a harassed woman with bright green eyes and her hair scraped back from her face with a plastic band called her away to deal with a situation in the adjoining room.
Alanna fixed a torn hem and freed a zipper from the organza it had snagged. When she managed it without the smallest tear in the delicate fabric, she was hugged for her trouble. Before she could react to that shock, Sara was back.
“Alanna? You know how to do hair, right?”
She straightened as all eyes turned to her. “Yes.” She had trimmed and shaped both Evan’s and Niall’s hair, Evan taking over at the wheel of the RV to navigate the nighttime traffic while she did Niall’s, but she wasn’t sure how that was general knowledge.
“Great.” The green-eyed woman with the frazzled look pressed up urgently behind Sara. “Chloe—our bride-to-be—just got back from the hairdresser. It being Chloe, something went wrong between here and there, and not only is she forty-five minutes late, we need something to happen fast. Come with me. I’m Gen.”
Her hand was seized. Alanna hurried to keep from being dragged down the hallway. It opened up into a carpeted catwalk that crossed to the other side of the house. The tall windows of the grand foyer provided a breathtaking—and brief—view of the river. Now she was in the bride’s preparation area, an area similar to the room she’d just left. From the panic in Gen’s face, and what she’d heard secondhand of brides, she expected to find Chloe in tears. However, while her russet hair was in shocking disarray, the bride wasn’t. Chloe was a lush pixie with cheerful brown eyes. At their arrival, she hopped off her stool to take Alanna’s hands in her own.
“Thanks so much. Gen is freaking out, but Marguerite said she saw Niall earlier this morning, and had never seen his hair cut so well. That queue and the feathered layers on the side . . . she says he looks positively edible. Of course, he always does. When he said you’d done it, and had done Evan’s hair besides, I knew you could fix this.”
She pointed at her brow, where it appeared a sizeable spot had been hacked out of her bangs. At Chloe’s encouraging nod, Alanna lifted the poor shorn pieces on either side of it. “What happened?”
“Chloe happened,” Gen interrupted. “Tyler said he’d bring Monica here to do your hair, but you had to do it your way. Had to leave in the middle of the day and drive an hour to go get your hair done. And wouldn’t take anyone with you.”
“You all have been wonderful today, but it’s been a whirlwind. I wanted to get my energy straight. I do that best when I’m driving. Plus, Monica had another wedding to do. She couldn’t drive all the way out here and leave the other bride in a lurch. You would have done the same thing.”
Still holding her hands as if they were close friends, Chloe turned her attention back to Alanna. “On my way back, there was this puppy in a ditch. Some total a*shole had obviously thrown him out of a car. One of those idiots who believes if you release an animal in the country, it’s kinder than taking him to a shelter. Poor thing, he was starving and tangled up in trash and cut barbwire. I got into the ditch to get him out, up to my knees in muck, stumbled and went down head first. When I hit the opposite bank, someone had thrown gum out of their car, and it got stuck in my hair. This farmer working in his cornfield saw me. He came over and was trying to help. I guess he figured the best way to remove it was with his pocketknife.”
Alanna glanced at Gen. The woman nodded, pursing her lips. “Yes, believe it or not, these are the types of things that actually happen to Chloe.” She gave the bride-to-be a severe look. “Having unbalanced energy would have been far better than being shaved bald for your wedding.”
“You only say that because you’re not a very balanced person.”
Gen had a muttered expletive for that. Chloe merely shook her head at Alanna. “When I saw it in the car mirror, I cried about it. Wasn’t that stupid? That poor farmer. I’m going to bake him cookies, because I know I freaked him out. It’s a good thing Gen hadn’t done my makeup yet. It was so dumb, because Brendan wouldn’t care if I did show up bald.” She gave Gen a censorious glance.
“The most important thing is the puppy’s safe now. Robert, that’s Tyler’s gardener and Sara’s husband—and oh my God, he’s almost sixty but he’s the sexiest gardener in the world—said he could stay with him and Sara until after the wedding. I was thinking he’d be the perfect dog for me and Brendan, because he’s a rottweiler mix, which is just the best sign for how great this marriage is going to be, because the first gift Brendan ever gave me was a stuffed rottweiler puppy—”
“Chloe.”
Alanna doubted anything could stop the rush of words, but the simple utterance of her name was enough to bring her to a halt. Possibly because the two syllables were infused with the power of a warm, sultry wind, reminding her vividly of Lady Lyssa. A tall woman with moonlight-colored hair now stepped away from the wall, putting a hand on the girl’s shoulder. “It’s all right for you to talk, but we have an hour to get you ready. Let’s see if Alanna can fix it.”
This had to be Marguerite Winterman. Reputably an exceptional Mistress was an additional comment Niall had made about her, and it fit this woman to a T. Obviously in command of her surroundings, aware of every nuance in the room, she was practically a feminine mirror of her husband. When her gaze turned to Alanna, she lowered her own on instinct, barely suppressing the same compulsion to kneel.
“Yes, ma’am. It would be my pleasure to help.”
“It doesn’t have to be anything elaborate,” Chloe assured her. “I mean, look at me. I’m a flower child throwback. My dress is way fancier than I am, but a girl’s got to dress up sometime. Look at you, you’d be gorgeous in a sack. Tyler went running with Evan before dawn—yeah, they’re complete freaks, but Tyler is so hot, how can you argue with that workout schedule? Anyhow, Marguerite said Evan and Niall are so into you, but it’s not just because you’re pretty. They’re not that simple. You have that ‘other’ quality that makes Evan’s gears jam. With the way his brain is, that can happen, but what’s funny is she sees it in Niall the way Tyler saw it in Evan. They’re over the moon about you.”
While Chloe chattered, Marguerite guided her back to the stool and directed Gen to bring scissors, comb, brush and other hair accessories. From Gen’s significant glance, Alanna understood that, though Chloe was normally quite talkative, wedding nerves were taking it to excess. Fortunately, erratic hand movements and head bobbing from animated conversation were no deterrent to Alanna’s hairdressing skills.
She’d handled preparations for vampires in the middle of heated political discussions, including scenarios that had ended in bloodshed. As a servant, she had no right to request stillness, so she’d learned how to make the most of brief pauses of motion and anticipate unpredictable movement where she might otherwise stab her subject in the eye or worse, hack off a piece of hair. A vampire female knew the eye would heal immediately, but the hair would take several days to grow back. In such a situation, a servant paid a higher price for injured vanity.
Since Chloe was unlikely to backhand her in the face and knock her into the wall, this would be easy. She had to quell the inappropriate desire to ask her to elaborate on what Niall or Evan had said, though. Of course, humans engaged in extraneous talk, social niceties to make things flow. But Chloe didn’t seem the type to do that. Over the moon . . . The unexpected heat in her cheeks wasn’t unwelcome. Just confusing.
The girl had beautiful, unruly hair, but Alanna had a lot of experience in dressing hair, as well as a knack for it. Thinning the girl’s bangs so she had a pretty spiked fringe framed by her lustrous curls, Alanna used a silk ribbon for a hairband. It gave her hair an artful wildness. The ends of the ribbon trailed down her bare, soft-skinned shoulder since she was dressed only in lacy white bra and slip right now.
Delighted with it, Chloe hugged her, then was towed off by an impatient Gen and other attendants to put her strapless dress on, since they were in a thirty-minute countdown to the wedding itself. Alanna could see the dark rose and gold streaks of impending sunset out the room’s window. Evan would be up soon, and she’d be able to see both of her males in tuxedos. Her heart beat a little faster, even as she wondered at her possessive thoughts.
Last to leave, Marguerite paused and examined Alanna with pale blue eyes. “Well done. Thank you, Alanna.”
“It’s my pleasure to serve, ma’am.”
“That’s quite obvious.” Another few moments of scrutiny, then Marguerite stepped closer. Placed a precise hand on Alanna’s shoulder. That Mistress quality thrummed through Alanna’s skin, keeping her still beneath Marguerite’s touch, her eyes down. She had an elegant French manicure. “Evan is an unusual friend, but a good one,” the woman said. “Tyler said you are only in his care for a short period of time. I suspect Evan wishes it could be much longer.”
“So do I.” She was getting bad about blurting things out. The two men were ruining her training. The fact that she was blaming them for it, rather than her lack of discipline, underscored it. But she didn’t regret the words.
“Sometimes the deepest wish comes true, even when it seems the most unlikely one to ever be granted.” Marguerite nodded. “I’ll hope that for you. I’m also glad you’ll be joining in our festivities tomorrow night.”
“Thank you, ma’am. I hope I’ll be a credit to my Master, and an asset to the celebration.”
“I expect you never accept anything less than that from yourself, Alanna.”
Another squeeze and direct look—Marguerite really did remind her of Lady Lyssa, minus the sense that she could rip her throat out—and the woman was gone, following the trail of female laughter . . . giggles, even. Women bonding over a rite as old as time itself. It gave her an unexpected wistful twinge.
When she lifted her gaze, she saw Marguerite hadn’t gone after all, merely stopped in the doorway. “If your Master doesn’t require your attendance, Alanna, why don’t you join us? She’s been chirping like a nervous bird since seven this morning, and you can listen to her, keep her centered, while we’re getting her ready.”
Marguerite’s voice was full of affection for the young bride, but Alanna wondered what had motivated the invitation. She paused. Master?
When she sent a quick thought to relay the request, she received a wave of warm humor from Evan. Consider yourself at Marguerite’s disposal until she sends you back to me. Niall said he would appreciate any flashes of mostly naked bridesmaids, but I will try to curb his barbaric behavior. You can send those images to me, though.
She pressed her lips against a smile. I will do no such thing for either of you, Master, and you know it. That would be entirely dishonorable.
I didn’t think a servant’s job was to protect her Master’s moral character.
Perhaps she’s simply trying to make sure he has one.
She was teasing him. Her daring made her wonder at herself, but then she heard his laughter, the echo of Niall’s snort behind it.
I’ll deal with your disobedience later. Marguerite is waiting for your response.
In the vampire world, she was used to others waiting for a mental conference with her Master. At the reminder that this was not that world, she snapped out of it quickly. “My Master says that’s—I mean, I’m sure my Master is fine with that. He holds you in high esteem, ma’am.”
Marguerite arched a brow, cocked an ear toward the hallway. “You better follow me, then. They sound like a flock of disturbed pigeons. We’ve probably experienced another unthinkable horror, like a missing earring, or a run in Chloe’s stockings. They don’t realize we were lucky just to get her to wear shoes today . . . ”
For the next thirty minutes, she held Chloe’s hand, blotting the occasional tears carefully with a handkerchief so Gen wouldn’t murder her best friend for destroying her makeup work. She was told countless times how Brendan was the most wonderful man ever created.
She was barely older than Chloe, yet the girl acted as if Alanna was much older, and she expected in many ways she was. Still, she hoped Chloe wouldn’t ask a question about the nature of human marriage she couldn’t answer. Fortunately, there were others present who could help with that if she did.
Chloe’s mother and sister helped with the dress, snapped pictures, cried as well. When Chloe at last asked them to go check on some other wedding preparations, she leaned forward to speak to Alanna in a conspiratorial voice. “Okay, now it’s just those of us who are going to be at tomorrow night’s thing. We can’t talk about that in front of my mom. I mean, who could?”
When Alanna was ten, her mother told her why she must keep herself pure and untouched. At thirteen, there’d been a detailed discussion of what would be required of her sexually as a vampire’s servant. Being shared with other vampires and their servants, men or women, whatever her Master commanded. If she failed in maintaining the sanctity of her flesh for the InhServ training, the whole family would be dishonored and suffer.
She’d hungered and imagined what that training would be like, blowing it up in her mind the way only a hormonal teenager could. It had in fact been very physical, but that was all. There’d been no bond with the trainers or other servants with whom she learned foreplay, sexual positions and other practices she wouldn’t actually do until her virginity was taken by her assigned Master.
On the day of their departure for the InhServ program, her mother had sent Alanna into the plush interior of the limo with a brief straightening of her collar, a brush at her hair, and the firm admonishment to make them proud. Then she’d hung onto Adam and cried.
You were promised to someone else before you were even born, so she’s like you. She not only has to act a certain way, she has to be that way, feel it. You were never hers. You were hers to train, to guide, to teach, to prepare. If she doesn’t do it right, it could go badly for you, be harder for you. Your dedication, your ability to compartmentalize and focus on one goal utterly . . . you got it from her. Adam had told her that.
Chloe was looking at her expectantly. “Yes,” she agreed. “I’m sure it would be difficult for most mothers.”
Chloe nodded. “Brendan is blood and bone on the submissive side of things, like you, if it doesn’t offend you for me to say it that way.” When Alanna shook her head, thinking it was the greatest compliment anyone could give her, Chloe forged onward.
“He has this desire to serve, to please, but he’s a guy as well. So protective, always thinking about what’s best for me. It took me a while to agree to marry him, because I wanted to wait, to be sure he’d be happy with me. He was such a dedicated sub at Tyler’s club. So many Mistresses wanted him, I was afraid I wouldn’t be enough for him. I can play at it and have a good time, but I’ll always be just Chloe. Never ��Mistress’ Chloe.”
She straightened, doing a credible imitation of an imperious Mistress, an obvious emulation of Marguerite. “But even when you decide you’re sure, you’re not really sure, right? You have to take the leap of faith that it’s going to work out, that you’ve done everything that you can.”
When she stopped and looked expectantly at Alanna, Alanna thought it through before answering. From what she’d learned about Brendan—and she was fairly sure Chloe had crammed everything about the purportedly most wonderful man on the planet in those twenty minutes—she could see why he’d fallen for her. Chloe had qualities that would attract a certain type of submissive male. The kind who was ultimately more interested in service and care, in making a woman happy, than in having a Mistress wield her power over him. Alanna had seen a few of them in the InhServ program. If her evaluation of her soon-to-be husband was accurate, Chloe had been his unlikely and unexpected deepest wish.
“I think you’re right,” she said, and received a grateful look from Chloe, another impulsive hug that warmed her. She really was a genuine spirit, her optimism infectious. Even the stressed-out Gen bent to kiss the top of Chloe’s head.
Alanna thought of Evan, his decision to make Niall a third-mark servant. She was fairly certain that, unlike Chloe, Evan did nothing impulsively. Niall might have been on death’s doorstep, but Evan had weighed the choice, determined if Niall would truly be able to accept the life of a vampire’s servant and find value in it. Though she’d seen friction between the two men, she also saw the synchronicity that existed in vampire–servant pairings. Niall had told her Evan taught him to read; Evan had told her he’d merely improved Niall’s literacy.
As she imagined the two men sitting side by side by candlelight, Evan watching Niall’s profile as he worked through a page of words, she realized every experience they’d shared had integrated their personalities to create that synchronicity. But it wasn’t an automatic result of such a pairing, as Stephen had proven.
There were times early on, when he was frustrated with our arrangement, that I might have released him from his oath. It was before the Council’s restrictions on such an act. But I didn’t. It was the first time I realized I’d truly become more vampire than human.
She hadn’t expected Evan to be listening in. But she thought her Master might be wrong. If a human had the power to hold on to something they wanted, the way a vampire could, she expected they would . . . and did.
Therein lies the issue of moral character.
She didn’t think about morality when it came to vampires. There was what they wanted, and that was it. Mortals were absorbed in issues of right and wrong. In the vampire world, there was no room for it.
That’s not true, Alanna. When Stephen became a traitor to the Council, you embraced your moral character, rejecting his lack of one.
Where was he that he could conduct this involved conversation with her? Of course, vampires could multitask. He might be doing a tango with a wedding guest.
If I knew how to tango. She’s waiting for another response from you.
Case in point. She snapped her attention back to Chloe, but the pause had become too protracted. The girl didn’t seem offended by her apparent lack of attention; in fact, the inquisitive brown eyes were riveted on her face. “Is Evan telepathic? The reason I ask is Niall does that, too. It’s a lot more subtle, but they’ve been together longer, right? You catch it, here and there. It’s like he’s tuning in to something in his head, and then all of a sudden he answers the question you’ve asked him on Evan’s behalf, and it’s always what Evan wants.”
Alanna blinked, but Chloe shrugged, relieving her of having to answer. “Gen says I’m nuts, that I believe in aliens and magic, but why not? If we only use 10 percent of our brains, and some of us way less than that, then there’s 90 percent we don’t know and understand. Everyone who meets Evan can tell there’s something very different about him. There’s this deep river thing happening, as if he’s filing and comparing everything with this vast well of knowledge in his head. I think he’s carrying around the Alexandria Library in there.”
She waved a dismissive hand. “You don’t have to answer. I’ve been around enough subs of über-Doms to know it puts you on the spot if I ask anything too personal. Have you been with him and Niall at the same time? Because, oh my God, what woman wouldn’t die for the chance at that? Niall is just sheer Chris Hemsworth sexy, and Evan has that Adrien Brody intense artist thing happening, sans cheesy goatee . . . I think you’d just die from pleasure, having them both inside you.”
“Chloe.” Gen cast Alanna an apologetic look. “I’d smack you in the head, but it would muss your hair. Do you have any kind of filter?”
“No.” Chloe shot Alanna a mischievous grin. “C’mon, give me a couple details. Brendan and I’ve been apart three days, with nothing to think about but being with him forever and ever. At the rehearsal dinner, he smelled so good I wanted to bite him. When I get him alone, I swear I’m going to eat him alive.” She winked. “Here come Mom and Cherry, but I’m not letting you off the hook. I’ll pester you later on for deets.”
Alanna couldn’t refuse her. Leaning forward, she clasped Chloe’s hand, brought her lips to her ear. The girl, her eyes alive with pleasure and happiness, grinned even wider as Alanna murmured into the delicate shell.
“When they are both inside of me, it’s what I imagine Heaven is. A Heaven I never want to leave.”
As Chloe gripped her shoulder, holding the private, intimate pose, Alanna felt an unexpected but overwhelming desire to linger in the embrace of a girl who knew what it was to fall in love, who lived so exuberantly. Chloe picked up on the desire immediately, her arms encircling Alanna’s shoulders in a gesture overflowing with care and friendship.
“I hope you never do, then.”
Out under the night sky, Evan sat in a folding chair at the back row of the assembling wedding guests. He was gazing out toward the marsh when her words hit him in the chest. And not just him. He’d kept his mind open to Niall, so that he could also track her whereabouts. If she needed anything, it was best to have Niall handle it, because though he could move among humans, Evan knew he had to maintain a certain reserve.
At the moment, his servant was having a discussion with Thomas about proper tires for the RV. Though Thomas was a celebrated artist specializing in male–male erotic paintings, he was an adept mechanic as well, like Niall. The shy yet down-to-earth North Carolinian was also the spouse and submissive of Evan’s current art broker, Marcus Stanton, who was New York to the bone, neither shy nor down-to-earth. Yet the two men were an obvious fit. Marcus was across the room, comfortably talking to a trio of elderly women who looked like they were old Southern money. Every once in a while Evan would see Marcus’s or Thomas’s attention shift, touching base with each other, holding that connection. The two men were so closely bonded it often seemed they could read each other’s minds like vampires and servants.
If the third mark were taken away tomorrow, would he and Niall know each other that well, or did the mark allow an illusion of what Marcus and Thomas had?
Hearing Alanna’s words, the Scot now looked toward Evan, his tawny eyes reflecting the same strong emotions her feelings stirred in the vampire.
We cannae let Daegan kill him, Evan. She’s nae dying with that bastard.
I know. He just didn’t know how to stop it. He’d already been back in touch with Lord Uthe, exhorting him to protect her as much as he could, but for a human servant, only so much could be asked.
Niall shot him a look, but then his face became bland, pleasant, as he turned back to Thomas. His thought came through as sharp as a knife drawn across a major artery. Yet the bloody lot of you dinnae hesitate to ask everything of us.
A human wedding was a fairy tale. Caught up in it, Alanna sat between Niall and Evan. The men had tried to give her the aisle seat so she could see even better, but Niall needed it for his long legs and she insisted. Being on the back row, her view of the bride’s entry would be unimpeded regardless. Plus, she didn’t mind being between the two most handsome men at the event. Evan wore a yarmulke, which surprised her, but Niall explained that Evan still observed certain tenets of his faith, like wearing the small skullcap for sacred occasions. In his well-tailored tuxedo, his hair styled in rakish disarray across his brow, the vampire looked like he’d stepped out of a black-and-white 1920s film. All that was lacking was the cigarette in his elegant fingers.
His eyes gave her a start. He was wearing colored contacts, a vivid green. Niall quietly reminded her that close proximity to large numbers of humans could trigger his bloodlust. “He can control it, but he cannae control his eyes. The gray starts turnin’ red. So he wears the contacts.”
Whereas Evan had the elegant polish and dangerous style of an early film star, Niall carried himself with the self-assurance and raw power she’d expect of a clan chief, no matter how romanticized he claimed her notion of that was. He wore the dress shirt and silk black tie of a tuxedo, but his jacket was what he called a Welsh Charlie, with gold buttons and a fly plaid pinned over the shoulder. Instead of slacks, he wore a kilt and rabbit fur sporran gilded with silver, his feet clad in the long socks and ghillie brogues.
She saw more than one woman give the two men a lingering look. Given that Tyler Winterman and a variety of other handsome men were in attendance, including the groom himself, that was saying something. Brendan was every bit as handsome as Chloe believed, with his swimmer’s physique, silky dark hair and jewel-toned hazel eyes, but Alanna only had eyes for her own escorts. She had an irrational desire to clasp both their hands, to make it clear they were with her.
Then the bride arrived, saving her from that embarrassing impropriety. As she turned for that vital moment, Niall’s arm was on the back of her chair, so she gripped his solid biceps. Chloe was a perfect match for her groom. The upper part of her dress was a glimmering corset the color of old ivory, highlighted by an antique garnet necklace that looked like it had belonged to an Egyptian queen. Alanna suspected it was a “borrowed” item from Marguerite. Her silk ribbon in Chloe’s hair was the color of taupe, and the way the ends trailed over her bare shoulder worked well with it, softening the severe look of the necklace. It also fit Chloe’s softness, the glow in her eyes, the smile on her lips. The skirt had an overlay of lace embroidery that split at the thighs to cut over the hips, etching their shape, before rejoining at the point of the buttocks and tapering down to the train.
Looking back toward the altar, Alanna saw Brendan was overcome by his bride as she came toward him, ready to join together as man and wife. Chloe was no different, her happy eyes glistening with tears by the time she reached him. It made Alanna’s throat thicken, her own eyes sting.
While he’d been waiting for the ceremony to begin, Brendan had been talking to some of the guests, and she’d noted how deferential he was toward obvious Dominants like Tyler. He was clearly in love with a woman who was not a Mistress, so Alanna hoped her first impression was right, that Chloe would be the type of person who could allow Brendan to serve her with his whole heart.
She’d embraced being an InhServ, seeking what this couple hoped to find when they clasped hands. A yearning that became something full and complete, a knowledge that the need would forever be satisfied in that bond.
Finding a handkerchief pressed in her hand, she looked toward her Master. Evan brushed her cheek, revealing the tear there. His touch, the kindness of the handkerchief, made her want to do all sorts of unlikely things. Sink down to the grass at his feet, stay on her knees, showing her devotion and desire, her need to at last be everything to a Master. A Master who wanted what she had to offer.
She closed her eyes as he stroked her hair in response. That tightness in her chest increased as Niall removed his arm to give Evan more access, but he closed his hand over hers in her lap. When Evan stopped stroking, she tentatively turned her other hand palm up, not daring to look down and witness her own presumption.
Barely a blink, and Evan’s hand closed over hers. She gripped them both, that three-way link, and then she brought both hands together in her lap, such that her hand ended up beneath both of theirs, their fingers loosely entwined over them. Two men, and she submitted to both, wanted to belong to both.
Evan had encouraged her to think of them that way. Having that reassurance, having them touch her now, she didn’t question it.
As the young couple made the sacred vows that would carry them through a lifetime, she noted Brendan had no best man. Marguerite stood in that place, a Mistress giving him into Chloe’s keeping. Gen stood behind Chloe as her maid of honor.
She recalled the oath of an InhServ, the words they were required to say first thing upon rising, and when lying down for rest. It was their only sanctioned prayer, their only approved faith.
I will serve my assigned Master with everything I am. Mind, heart, body and soul. No reservations, nothing withheld. My life belongs to the vampire who owns me, and I will never hesitate to give him whatever he desires, be it my last drop of blood or my last breath of life.
The oath didn’t include love. It was the service, the honor of living up to that oath, that had become her identity, not love for her Master.
Her glance flitted to Niall. Was that how he viewed it, his oath to Evan? A debt of honor, he’d said. Maybe that was what rankled between them now, the fact that it had become far more, and yet it was about to end. If she’d found with Evan what Niall had, no amount of time would ever be enough. Was the friction between them as simple as coping with the impending grief of separation? Did seeing her serve Evan remind Niall another would be taking his place before long, such that he was dredging up old angers and resentments to manage his emotions about that?
Evan’s fingers stilled on her nape. When she looked toward him, there was pain in his expression. Had he been listening, and she’d struck a nerve too close to home? If so, she suspected he wouldn’t share the thoughts with Niall, for which she was grateful, since she sensed Niall was dealing with his own private demons. His gaze had shifted from the bride and groom to the river beyond, and his eyes were distant, his mouth tight. Did Ceana’s ghost haunt him here, reminding him of promises he felt he hadn’t honored properly?
Putting her other hand on top of his, she stroked the Scot’s knuckles, a pressure that said she was here. Whether a crofter who’d had to bury his wife and daughter, or an InhServ who’d expected to be everything her Master had ever needed, they both understood losing the right to have expectations. As if they were the dreams of children, embarrassing and painful to recall now.
When he looked at her, it seemed perfectly natural to touch his face, stretch upward to kiss him. Evan’s fingers slipped to her shoulder, caressing her there, keeping the three of them still linked.
“It’s all right, muirnín,” she whispered, adopting Niall’s endearment for her. “She understood. And she loved you.”
She wasn’t sure if it was the right thing to say, for Niall’s expression gave nothing away. She’d swept some of her hair up, the excess a thick, silk tail, and now his hand came under it as he leaned in and kissed her. Not just a brush of lips, either. He deepened it, a slow, lazy exploration of her lips and tongue that made the back row a good decision.
A heavy tide of emotion came with that kiss. Evan’s fingers twined in her hair, taking a firmer hold to keep her head tilted upward as Niall’s fingers overlapped his on her neck, the two of them holding her that way until Niall at last lifted his head. He nodded to her. His tawny eyes were quiet and dark, his expression reminding her of a lone bear, heading for winter hibernation.
Clasping his hand again with both her own, she refused to let him go for the rest of the ceremony. Evan laid his hand over theirs, reinforcing the bond.