Claimed by the Immortal (The Claiming) (13 page)

“No, Caro. No.”

“You mean you can’t?”

“I can, but it’s dangerous.”

“I’m willing, if that’s what you need.”

“You didn’t just go there.” He closed his eyes again, as once again powerful needs surged, trying to break the fragile leash that controlled them. “Just stop it. Don’t provoke me. Don’t tempt me.”

“You look like a man in agony.” Her voice had grown tight with a deep caring he could actually smell. She hurt for him. For
him!

A man. For the first time he wished he
were
just an ordinary man, one whose hungers couldn’t turn him into a ravening beast. He’d been content with what he was for a long time now, and it shocked him to realize he could actually wish for the days when he’d been an ordinary mortal.

She
was doing that to him. Had he been able, in the maelstrom of conflicting emotions, he might have added hatred to the storm.

Except he could not hate her. Nothing in him would allow that.

He studied her gloomily. “You don’t get it and you can’t get it.”

“Then try to explain it!”

“I have. Apparently the words don’t explain well enough, or you simply can’t understand, being a mortal.”

“Then try again. Please.”

“You’ve never been an addict, have you?”

“No.”

He waved a hand. “Then you can’t begin to understand.”

“Try anyway.”

A burst of anger filled him, and in one fluid, invisible instant he attained his feet and loomed over her. “Listen very carefully, Caro. Accept that I am not exaggerating.”

She nodded, looking a little uneasy. Of course she looked uneasy, but she had asked for this.

“There are delights no mortal can imagine until they are experienced. There is a place where vampires can take their mortal lovers, a place between life and death where
ecstasy
becomes a pale word to describe what happens. I can lift you to heights of satisfaction and completion you will never find any other way. If I drink from you, you’ll get just a taste of that ecstasy. More than one human, after experiencing that, has gone on a lifelong hunt to experience it once again. To use your analogy, like a crack addict.”

“How can it be so good to be drunk from?”

“It just is. How in the world do you think we’ve survived for so many centuries? If we had to kill everyone we drank from, we’d all be dead, or you’d all be dead.”

“Oh.” She barely breathed the word, and he could see she was trying hard to understand. “But there’s more, isn’t there?”

“Of course there’s more. I told you about claiming. Maybe you don’t really believe it. But if I were to claim you—and I’m not at all sure that is something I have the power to decide—I’d follow you to the ends of the earth or beyond. The only way I could stop would be to kill myself. You don’t want to risk that, nor do I.”

“Just from drinking from me?”

“Drinking from you and making love to you at the same time. Thank goodness it can’t happen from just one or the other separately. Not for vampires. Not as far as I know. But drinking from you could make you addicted. I won’t hurt you like that.”

“You don’t know for sure that will happen.”

God, she was driving him to the edge of madness. It would have been so easy just then to swoop and take everything he wanted and then, when she looked at him with hazy, amazed and satisfied eyes, tell himself that she had asked for it. Because she
was
asking, whether she realized it or not.

“You’re playing with fire,” he said sharply. “You have absolutely no idea how badly I want to taste you. No idea of the Hunger that is pushing me to do it. Imagine if you had been starving for weeks and suddenly someone offered you food. Would you be able to say no? This is as bad or even worse, because that rotgut canned blood Jude insists on serving may keep me alive, but it doesn’t satisfy my
real
needs.”

She looked down, gazing at her twined fingers. He wished he knew what she was thinking, because a few choice thoughts might be enough to yank his leash back into order.

But when she looked up, she appeared sad. “So offering comfort to me is painful to you.”

“Beyond painful.”

“I’m sorry. I won’t let it happen again. But one more question.”

“What?”

“Would that change if you could drink from me?”

Damn, she was determined to push him over the edge into madness. There could be no other explanation. None. She couldn’t be this dense. No, she was far too bright for that.

So what was she doing? Trying to provoke him into tasting her blood? Or was this a genuine attempt to understand the parameters of what he was trying to explain?

Did it matter? Either way she was seriously testing the limits of his self-control.

“You’re afraid,” she said quietly. “Afraid that one or both of us might become addicted.”

“Basically, that’s it in a nutshell.”

“It would be bad if only one of us became addicted.”

“Extremely bad.”

She nodded slowly. “I can see that. So my question is this. You said you could drink just a little from me without addicting me. Would you still be at risk for addiction?”

“Stop thinking. You’re not making
my
thoughts any clearer.”

She smiled faintly. “I’m glad to know I’m not the only one who has been screwed up by your arrival in my life.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

She stood up. Now they were only inches apart. “You’ve turned reality on end for me.”

“I thought witnessing an impossible murder did that.”

“By now I might have been able to convince myself I’d had a temporary break or something. Witnesses are notoriously unreliable, you know.”

Where the hell was she going with this?

“Damien, I can’t stand this. My very presence is causing you agony.”

He couldn’t deny it.

“So I suggest you sip a bit of my blood, get it out of your system and maybe we can move on.”

“You used that argument once before,” he reminded her. “It didn’t exactly get anything out of either of our systems.”

But there was nothing as seductive, he thought irritably, as the appearance of perfect logic. Sip a little of her blood and get her out of his system? It was possible, of course. But not entirely. Never entirely, because tasting human blood was a primal imperative for him, and hers smelled sweeter than any meal ever served to him.

“You don’t know what you risk,” he said hoarsely.

“I think I do. You said it was possible to leave me unaddicted. The only one with anything to fear, according to you, is you. And if we leave sex out of it, you shouldn’t get addicted either.”

Flawless logic. Enticing logic.

“Are you afraid?” she asked.

It wasn’t a dare, but it came across as one, and when had he ever been able to resist a dare? Or fail to answer a taunt, even though he was quite certain she hadn’t meant it that way?

“What are you thinking?” he demanded even as he closed the last few inches between them.

“Some things need settling. There’s a threat out there and both of us are distracted. We need to clear our heads somehow. The easiest way to clear yours is to let you drink from me.”

“And you?”

“The last time I tried that, I just got more confused.”

In spite of his heightened predatory state, and the feeling that he could lose it at any moment, a crack of laughter escaped him. “So you
do
recognize the dangers,
Schatz.
”

She shifted from one foot to the other. “Well, yeah, but...this is nuts, Damien. I’ve got a little blood to spare. I’m tired of torturing you without intending to. So have a little drink on me and then we’ll get back to business.”

He hoped it would prove that easy because he could no longer resist. She was so close, and she turned her head a bit, pulling back the neck of her sweater to reveal the veins that throbbed so enticingly in her throat.

Not there,
he warned himself.
Too much too fast, less control.
He drew a deep breath, filling himself with her scents: the perfume of her blood, the delightful aromas of human, the dizzying scents of her tamped-down desire for him. A saint couldn’t have refused this offer, and he was no saint.

Seizing her hand, he drew her down on the floor beside him so she was sitting beside him, a much safer position for them both. He looked deep into her warm eyes and saw determination and a hint of fear. The fear might have turned off a mortal man, but he was no mortal man. That fear was as aphrodisiacal to him as it was to any predator.

“Whatever you do,” he said deep in his throat, “don’t move. Do not move.”

“Okay. But why?”

“I’m a predator,” he reminded her. “If you move I may mistake it as struggle, and I’m not going to be thinking all that clearly for the next few minutes.”

Her eyes widened, and for a moment he thought she would withdraw her offer. Instead, she closed her eyes, sighed and said, “Okay.”

Carefully, he tugged at the neck of her sweater when all he wanted to do was rip it off her. With sensitive eyes, nose and fingertips, he found a much smaller, safer vein below her collarbone, above her breast.

Bending his head, he licked her there gently, numbing her skin with the special saliva that came only when he extended his fangs.

He heard her sigh but he was already lost.

Chapter 8

C
aro didn’t feel his bite. She had steeled herself for pain, at least as much pain as an injection, probably more. Instead she felt no pain at all.

In an instant, her world changed. All of a sudden she felt two hearts beating, his and hers, and with each passing second they settled steadily into synchrony. At the same time, pleasure began to flood her, almost orgasmic in its intensity. She felt the blood pound in her own veins, and with that pounding came a clenching between her thighs, sweet, sweet clenching that kept time with her blood.

She dampened in response, wanting touches, wanting to hold him, but only his dimly remembered warning held her still. She could not move. She must not move.

But oh, how she wanted to. Upward she flew, everything vanishing except the soaring feeling that swept her away to a place she had never imagined, a place where nothing existed except her body, a body that ached and yearned and filled with joy at what was happening.

They united. They united more surely than if their bodies had melded sexually. She felt him, felt his pleasure, felt how it equaled her own, and thus multiplied her own.

Oh, heavens, it felt so good!

The last wisps of thought floated away. Never had she imagined such ecstasy, as if her entire being dissolved into the most passionate of delights, all the greater because she could feel his, too.

She hovered at the brink of satisfaction, suspended in pleasure almost too great to bear. Helplessly, she reached for him, wanting to press his face even closer, to keep him drinking until she tumbled over the pinnacle into ultimate release.

Then he was gone.

Drowsy, sated but unsated, she came back slowly from that faraway place. Reluctantly she opened her eyes to see him across the room.

“I told you not to move.”

Oh, lord, she had ended it herself. The realization struck her so hard it hurt. If she had just not moved... But it was too late now.

Her heart was hammering, her body still throbbing with need, and she wanted so badly to finish it. But the way he stood told her it was done. He was stiff, almost angry.

“I’m sorry,” she managed.

“Don’t be sorry. I’m glad you moved. It reminded me of the danger just in time.”

Danger?
He was right. She’d have happily gone on until she hadn’t a single drop of blood left. She closed her eyes, willing her body to calm down, willing her brain to return to the real world. Little by little, the ache eased, the need passed.

“That was incredible,” she murmured finally.

“And now you see why I’m worried about you becoming addicted.”

“It doesn’t seem like such an awful addiction.”

“It would if I left you to the mercies of others to get what you want.”

Ouch.
She almost winced, but had to acknowledge the justice of what he said. Even though it felt like a knife wound. “I’m stronger than that,” she said, choosing anger over pain.

“I hope so.”

Though her legs still felt a bit rubbery, she rose to face him. “You may have taken me to the moon, Damien, but you sure as hell didn’t take me to the stars. I can live without it.”

“Good.” But she noted he didn’t exactly look either relieved or happy.
What now?
she wondered. They’d gotten absolutely nowhere with the looming threat or solving the murders, so it wasn’t as though they could go their own ways. Not yet.

Well, she’d wanted this issue settled. She was sick of feeling as if she were a constant thorn in his side, and sick of wondering what it would be like to give him what he wanted. She already knew he was practically unparalleled in his sexual skills. Now she knew that being drunk from by a vampire was at least as good as any sex she’d ever had.

Where did that get them? Nowhere, except maybe
he
could relax a little around her, which would make it easier for her to relax.

What a mess.
“Look,” she said a little sharply, “we need to get back to work on identifying this elemental and who summoned it. Before I get killed. Unless you
want
to spend the rest of my life guarding me. For my part, I’d like to be able to get back to my regular life as soon as possible. I’m a cop, for God’s sake, not some woo-woo mage. I want to get back to the real world.”

At that, his stony facade cracked a bit. The corners of his mouth tipped up, and he relaxed visibly. “So you want to get back to the
real
world?”

She didn’t like his sarcasm, but she couldn’t blame him for it.
The real world?
She wasn’t sure anymore that she even knew what it was.

He bent and picked up the talisman Alika had given her and held it out. “Figure out what this is, cop. Focus everything you’ve got on it. Once we know what it is, we’ll know something about both you and Alika.”

“How so?”

“We’ll know some of her intentions. We’ll also know what she thinks she was protecting you against. Or what she was trying to draw toward you.”

She accepted the pouch gingerly. “What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to sit here and remember. My skills may be rusty, but they’re not completely forgotten.”

* * *

She sat cross-legged on the couch, closing her eyes as she held the pouch. It occurred to Damien that they had shared an awful lot of intimacy for two people who had never gotten as far as removing their clothes. Not that his imagination failed him. It was easy in these modern days to imagine what lay beneath a woman’s clothing, and he had little trouble imagining Caro naked. He had no doubt he would find well-toned perfection. For just a short while, he let his imagination travel that path.

He waited a few minutes, then settled himself on the arm of a chair. He had to admit, drinking of her had settled his impulses down, although it hadn’t killed them. The taste of her lingered in his mouth, and he wanted more of it, but for now those clamoring desires were quiet enough to let his mind wander elsewhere.

And wander it did, over roads trodden centuries ago, over rites and rituals he hadn’t needed in a long time.

* * *

He was sitting in one of the temple gardens in the shade of a tree, reclining on pillows, thankful he could no longer feel the heat of a Persian summer night. A woman walked toward him, clad in the loose white gown of an offering.

Once such women had brought him plates of figs and olives, or succulent bits of fish or lamb. Now they brought themselves, prepared to serve him in any way he chose. Once they had seen him as a powerful priest. Now they saw him as a god on earth, filled with powers and strength they could not comprehend. They feared him, but once they had served him, they yearned for him always.

Such was his power.

But he had other powers as well, powers that went beyond being undead. He could feel that power tingle in his fingertips, and when he allowed it to build, the tingling filled him until he could cast bolts of lightning, or make things levitate, or even kill without touching.

That was one of the reasons the priesthood had changed him—to take those powers and put them in an undying body. He sometimes wondered if the spells he chanted actually worked, or if it was merely a way of focusing some ability he had that most of the other priests did not.

But he rarely entertained such thoughts because there were so many delights to enjoy, and so many things the temple demanded of him.

Sometimes he felt caged in his priesthood, in the way he existed to serve his masters when he knew full well he could destroy them all and rule the temple alone.

But he never gave voice to those thoughts. They were evil thoughts, and he more than anyone realized how important it was that he never be without constraints.

The things he might do
....

* * *

Like a kaleidoscope, memory took him down the paths of centuries, through changing times where adaptation had required other things of him, when his powers had been useless or even dangerous to himself.

All the way to the present day.

* * *

Damien’s eyes snapped open. He saw Caro across from him, either asleep or still concentrating on the gris-gris pouch. No, he didn’t smell the hormones of sleep around her, so she must be doing as he asked.

Then he looked down at his own hands and examined them, noting that they tingled faintly as they had not in so long a time. Had the spells and rites really been necessary? Or was his power inherent?

Given the times and how long it had been, he didn’t know. He wasn’t sure he should trust something he hadn’t used in so long. Would he have the focus to control it? Could he summon it without remembering the right incantation? Damned if he knew, but he didn’t want to discover his limits at exactly the wrong time.

But the tingling felt good, like the embrace of an old friend he hadn’t seen in forever. Cautiously, he focused on it and tried to strengthen it.

It grew. Just a bit, but enough to bring back all his old questions.

He glanced again at Caro, inevitably remembering the gift she had just given him. Once such gifts had been meaningless to him because they came by order of the temple authorities. When times had changed, he had changed with them, learning new ways to entice willing donors. But since coming to this town and staying with Jude, he had for the very first time developed a true appreciation for the kind of gift a woman bestowed upon him by sharing her blood.

Especially this woman. With his needs temporarily quieted, but not at all somnolent, he studied her, thinking about what his attraction to her meant. That she was attracted to him wasn’t the question. Nor, except for that first night, had he tried in any way to seduce her, and her reaction then had set him back on his heels.

But it had started something between them, something that disturbed him deeply. He should be able to walk away from any woman, and he couldn’t blame his inability to walk away from Caro entirely on their current problems.

No, she called to him in a way no one ever had. Through all his centuries, no one woman had ever meant more to him than a delightful feast for the senses, pleasant to dally with but not missed once they left at the end of the night. Delightful creatures, but he had never felt any desire to stay with even one of them. They satisfied his needs, sometimes repeatedly, and then he let them go. A few had tried to linger, but he had never permitted it.

So what was it about Caro?

Even as he asked the question he knew there was no answer. As he had said to her, there were cosmic mysteries beyond understanding. The only thing he could be certain of was that he needed to be careful. He sensed danger, the danger of involvement.

Perhaps even the danger of a claiming. Wouldn’t that be ugly, because he was quite certain she had no wish to spend the rest of her days with a vampire. She might be drawn, she might feel sexual desire, but none of that was enough to ensure a long-lived relationship.

A sigh escaped her and he watched while she opened her eyes and sought him out.

“Anything?” he asked.

“I’m not sure how to interpret it. I’ve never done this before.”

“Go with your feelings. Just tell me what it makes you feel.”

“I don’t feel any threat.”

“That’s a good start.”

“But...” She hesitated, biting her lower lip. He closed his eyes for an instant, resisting the urge to bite that lip himself. How quickly she roused the Hunger in him.

He waited, knowing this all had to emerge in its own time. Just as the tingling in his fingertips remained faint, nowhere near any level of true power.

“This is going to sound crazy,” she said.

“I doubt it. You’re talking to a mage. Go on.”

“I feel... It’s like it makes some kind of bubble around me. Nothing I can see or feel. Something I just sense.”

“That sounds like protection. Maybe that’s what pushed you back at that second place.”

“So that would mean the old shopkeeper is the problem?”

He shook his head. “I can’t say that. Not based on a single feeling you had. The elemental may have gotten too close to you.”

“Oh.” She looked down at the bag in her hand. “I guess this is safe to keep with me then.”

“It would seem so. But stay in tune with it in case something changes.”

“How do I do that?”

“Just do what you’ve been doing. With practice it’ll take less effort.”

She nodded, then stretched to put the pouch in her jeans pocket. “Now what?”

The answer was there in the prickling of his neck. “It’s getting near dawn. I need to go to ground soon, so I suppose I should get you back to Jude’s.”

“But he warded this apartment.”

“I don’t want you to be alone, Caro. At all. It’s better where you can wake us if something happens, where Chloe can help keep watch.”

“Well, at least there I can keep working the case.”

He waited while she packed some more clothes, then he bundled her into the car and drove her back to Jude’s.

Sometimes the limitations of being a vampire got to him. Not often. But tonight they were driving him crazy.

It didn’t help to remind himself that an ordinary man would need sleep, as well. Yes, he could wake in an emergency, but for how long? Probably not as long as a mortal could if necessary.

The sleep of death, which for him passed as if it never happened, suddenly seemed like the worst of curses. He needed to protect Caro, yet for hours he would be almost useless to her.

In that alone there was plenty to regret.

* * *

At Jude’s office, they found things hopping. Garner, mostly. He could barely hold still, and his excitement seemed almost triumphal.

The blackout curtain still covered the window of Chloe’s office, so the two vampires could manage awhile longer. Jude leaned against the edge of Chloe’s desk, arms folded. Terri, looking tired herself, sat on one end of the couch. Caro joined her. Chloe sat behind her desk, frowning. Damien took up station near the door.

“Settle down,” Chloe snapped at Garner. “I’m up too early. You’re giving me a headache.”