Caressed by a Crimson Moon (Rulers of Darkness) (21 page)

Eva was floating, completely weightless. Light enveloped her. Warm. Welcoming. A hazy figure dressed in white approached. She blinked, trying to clear her vision. It came closer, taking the shape of a woman. Dark hair floated about her waist in waves of curls, her smile was bright, and her eyes soft.

“Mom?”

Her voice echoed in the expanses of nothingness. The woman waved. Eva felt tears gather in her eyes. The figure spoke, but she heard nothing. Eva wanted to run to her, to throw her arms about her, to never let go. She tried to step forward, but something tugged her back. A deep, husky male voice called to her, the words distant and garbled. She ignored the strange voice and struggled to move. Her limbs were weak, her body suddenly aching, her skin felt as if millions of tiny needles pricked her all at once. Eva brushed at her mouth with the back of her hand. Blood colored her lips. She braced herself for the taste of copper, but all she could smell was cinnamon and taste warm spices.

Her mother’s figure began to fade into mist as the bright white light slowly dimmed.

“Live, my Eva.”

Eva slammed back into her body as if she had fallen ten stories, broken and twisted, everything hurt. She cried out, her scream muffled as another rush of that cinnamon spice taste flooded her mouth. She swallowed reflexively. The liquor burned deliciously as it slipped down her throat. God, she had never tasted anything like this. It warmed her cold body, chased away the pain and brought beautiful peaceful quiet to her mind.

More. She needed more.

Hadrian carefully adjusted their position. He now leaned back against the headboard, tilting his head to the side, allowing Eva better accesses. Her lips pulled at his flesh as her tongue swept along his pulse, her draws grew more demanding almost frantic as she fed from him. Closing his eyes, he willed himself to remain calm, relaxed. Her hair spilled about him, covering his chest. He stroked her arms, her shoulders as he whispered encouragements. He did not know if she could hear him or if she was even aware of what was happening, but that did not stop him from becoming hard. Gods, he had never experienced anything as erotic as Eva’s mouth working at his pulse.

Her skin began to heat once more beneath his touch, with every swallow her heartbeat grew stronger.

“Thank the gods,” he sighed, staring up at the ceiling.

For precious seconds he had lost her, tears still stained his cheeks, but he had brought her back. He had saved her. He had pulled her from the brink, just as she had done to him the first night they met. Madness was ripe in his mind, poisoning his thoughts, fueling his bloodlust, but she was the light amongst the shadows.

He rolled his eyes, when had he become a romantic. He was being ridiculous. Lust was all that existed between them. Sure, he cared for the girl. Eva was nice, gentle, sweet, and good, everything he was not. And she deserved to live, even if he did not. He would suffer through an eternity, baring his curse so that she may live a happy, fulfilled life.

Hadrian felt his heart begin to slow. He had allowed her to take too much.

“Eva,” he whispered, “No more.”

She nipped at him. Hadrian’s body jerked as a spike of need hammered into him.

Eva was not free of danger yet. The effects of his blood would only work for so long. The pain would return and so would death. He had to complete the bonding.

Forcing his lust aside, he gripped her shoulders and pulled away. Eva growled in protest. She reached for him. He caught her hands with his, lacing their fingers together. Her body still weak, she collapsed to her side, Hadrian followed her. Leaning over her once more. Eva’s eyes fluttered, but she was unable to keep them open. She swallowed hard, her lips moving, but she could not speak.

Hadrian pressed his lips to her brow. Her skin was warm, clammy, the fever had returned. She began to shiver, her skin covered in goose-bumps. He kissed a path down the line of her nose. Again, she tried to talk, but all that passed her lips were whimpers and sobs as the pain began to take hold.

A kiss. The priestess had suggested a kiss. He could nip her lip and draw the tiniest bead of blood. Their blood, mixed together, it flowed through her veins, giving her life. Pride swelled within him. Hadrian frowned, banishing the odd feeling.

She managed to groan his name, her lips trembling. Tears slipped from the corners of her eyes and fell like tiny diamonds down her cheeks to soak the pillow.

Summoning all the will he possessed, Hadrian bent his head. He traced her bottom lip with his tongue. His fangs sharpened as his stomach clenched. His throat was suddenly dry and rough like sandpaper. Gods, he craved another taste. He bit her, his fang slicing through her plump, tender lip. Eva flinched. He whispered apologies as he watched the perfect bead of crimson well. Hypnotizing.

“Eva,” his breath caressed her cheek.

She was falling fast. Her body cold as electric shockwaves of agony pulsed through her. Just one kiss, her last kiss. She could think of no better way to part from this world.

Hadrian’s lips were hot, searing, as they pressed against hers. His tongue swept at her, demanding as he delved into her mouth. Luscious vanilla and spicy cinnamon swirled together as he deepened the kiss. His fingers tightened on hers. Fire burned her wrists. The flames spread up her arm, weaving through her veins and arteries until striking her heart, her soul.

Hadrian threw his head back. The scent of burning flesh stung his nose, white-hot heat sliced through him, so intense it branded his soul.

Eva convulsed. Her teeth gnashed together, her breaths came in harsh pants, her lungs franticly expanding and compressing. Her head fell back as her back arched, her eyes opened, glowing a vibrant yellow. Her nails extended to claws as a long and pure animalistic roar tore from her throat.

Then all went silent. Still. Calm still.

Her muscles relaxed, her breathing and heart rate mellowed to an even, healthy pace. But he did not let her go. He remained by her side for hours, their fingers locked together.

Her claws had retracted and the bright light faded until her eyes became soft amber once more. She had not taken jaguar form, but it was clear she now possessed some features of the jungle cat.

Hadrian vaguely recalled the clock chiming four A.M. He carefully extracted his hands from her grasp. She mumbled, but remained asleep. He stood and drew the sheets up, tucking her in. He knew he looked like hell. Stress streaked his face, worry furrowed his brow, and he still wore nothing but the shorts Falcon had generously tossed at him. He should shower, dress, and prepare her another meal. He knew she would be starving when she awoke. Yet, he was reluctant to leave her.

He rubbed his hands over his short hair, the stubble a welcome prickling sensation. The slightest aroma of charred flesh wafted in the air. He dropped his hands, palms up.

Terror rose like bile, burning his throat as the chilled grip of realization crushed his windpipe. His eyes flamed red as rage ripped through him like a firestorm.

“No,” he hissed past his fangs.

Hadrian stumbled to the bathroom. His hips collided with the counter as he fumbled with the
faucet
,
his hands shaking from anger or…fear, he did not know. His heart thundered so loud, he could hear nothing else.

He cursed as the warm water ran over his wrist, despite the sting, he scrubbed at the raw flesh.

This could not be happening. It was impossible. He, the mad king everyone whispered about, could not the Rightful King of legend. He could not possibly be the monarch chosen by Fate to bring about peace and reign over his clan forever. This was wrong. A mistake. A hallucination. Anything but true.

Hadrian snarled as he rubbed at the wound.

Once, long ago, his people believed he was their savior, that he would finally bring an end to the strife that plagued his clan. His land had been divided by civil war after civil war, his subjects, vampire and humans alike, endured the reign of numerous tyrants, all driven by greed and bloodlust. They deserved peace, stability, and security. But how could he provide for them what he did not possess? His mind was still afflicted by madness, his soul fractured. He could snap, lose control at any moment.

Blood rinsed away with the water as he frantically tried to scrub his skin clean. But he was branded, a circle within a circle, the mark of a mated vampire.

Until Dorian’s success, Hadrian had believed the stories of the Rightful King and their mates to be nothing but falsehoods, legends created by past vampire nobles and rulers who sought hope, who longed for peace and the freedom of death.

Hadrian’s hands curled, his fists shaking as he battled to contain the inferno of rage that violently ripped through him. The demon snarled, demanding blood of the one who betrayed him. The one who had tricked him.

The witch.

Silvie. The Shaw priestess, the seer of all, she had known. She had arranged this scenario nicely and played him perfectly.

Like a typical Shaw witch.

She could have warned him. She could have told him what Eva meant…His shoulders shook with a dark laugh. He knew. He had always known what Eva meant to him. He had been blinded by his stubbornness and self-loathing, but deep down he knew. His soul had recognized her for what she was. His mate.

Mate. The word sounded so foreign as if belonging to some ancient, forgotten language.

A dark laugh shook his shoulders as he met his gaze in the mirror. Dark crimson eyes stared back at him. His lips curled into an evil smile, peeling back from his fangs. Shadows twisted the contours of his face and slashed across his chest. The demon glared at him. Taunting him as it always had. It had not changed, not in three and half centuries since he last met its gaze.

Hadrian lashed out, releasing his imprisoned rage. His fist slammed into the glass, shattering the mirror. Splitters of glass cascaded down, covering his arms, coating the white marble countertop and clattering to the floor. Blow after blow delivered until he could see his reflection no longer. Bloody knuckles pounded against the stone, cracking the wall as a roar filled the room.

Hate was not a strong enough word for what he felt. He loathed the demon, despised the bastard with every fiber of his being and yet, it was a part of him, attached to his very core.

It
did not deserve Eva.
It
did not deserve happiness and it could not be a bringer of peace and prosperity. All his demon brought was death and pain.
It
murdered.
It
raped.
It
tortured, and laughed with twisted delight at his victims’ screams. And because of the abomination he carried inside him, he could never have Eva. It did not matter that she was his mate. He would never allow the monster within him to have her. Never.

The slightest sound of footsteps drew his attention to the entrance. Eva gripped the door jam so tightly her knuckles were white. Her hair fell in a tangled mass about her, floating about her breasts and her hips. Her legs shook from the effort of standing.

“Hadrian,” she said, blinking. He had not turned the light on in the bathroom. Could she see him? The moon shown through the window above the shower, it’s rays glittering over the glass that covered the counter and floor.

“Wait there,” he ordered, not wanting her to cut herself.

Eva nodded. Whether or not she could see him did not matter. She obviously had heard him.

He watched as she slowly slid to the floor, sitting just outside the bathroom, her knees drawn to her chest.

Hadrian closed his eyes and cursed. He had lost control. He potentially put Eva’s life in danger. He forced his muscles to relax, flexing his fingers. Then he focused on his lungs, which had stopped. It was not necessary for vampires to breathe, but he found it soothing. Inhale. Exhale.  He concentrated on keeping his breathing even.

When he had calmed, he opened eyes. Eva was resting her brow on her knees, her arms wrapped about her legs. He listened to her steady heartbeat, normal pulse and her breathing until it matched his own.

“You shouldn’t be out of bed.”

“Shower,” she whispered, her voice low and weak. “I need a shower.”

Hadrian nodded and stepped to the counter. Brushing the glass into the sink, he pulled the hand towel free from its chrome ring on the wall, spreading it out, creating a place for Eva to sit.

The showerhead hissed to life as he crossed the small room and gently lifted her into his arms. He placed her on the counter then stalked into her room, quickly returning with a tank top and pajama pants in hand, the pair she had left on the armchair by the fireplace that morning.

She tried to smile, but found even the muscles in her face hurt. Her gums ached, her throat was raw, and her eyes watered, suddenly too sensitive to the light. Blinking, she tried to track Hadrian as he moved about the room. He had set the clothes beside her then opened the glass door to the shower and checked the temperature with his hand.