Dominion (Book 1 of The Dominion Series) (13 page)

"What does that mean?"

"Take it whatever way you want, but if you want to understand Michel, remember that he feels a lot of guilt for things that have happened, even if they weren't his fault. And they weren't his fault, but he bears the guilt regardless."

We drive through the streets towards my apartment block and I'm happy once we arrive. I hop out and am upset when I hear him turn off his engine.

He gets out and follows me to the door to my building.

"Let me come up," he says, taking my arm. "I'd like to see your place."

"I don't think so, Julien."

"Why not? Fix me a cup of that chai tea you like so much."

"Julien!" I say, angered that he knows things about me. "This is complicated enough without you trying to get involved in my life."

"In case you were under some misunderstanding, I'm already
involved
in your life."

"Well, no more that you already are, then."

I put my key in the lock and open the door. Julien stays on the step as if he can't cross the threshold. At least I can keep
him
out. I let the door close and smile at him through the glass.

"Sorry. Can't let you in."

"That's OK," he says and shrugs. "I'll just compel someone from the building to let me in. Eve, you can't keep me out. You might as well let me in. We need to talk."

"We've already talked enough."

I turn and start up the stairs to my apartment. I glance back and see him bending down to check the names on the buzzer outside the door.

"I can answer your questions, Eve," he shouts at me through the mail slot. "Michel won't because he has a conflict of interest, but I will. Ask me anything and I'll tell you what I know. No funny business. I promise."

I stop at the top of the landing. I can see his feet on the step outside the door.

"Go away, Julien," I say.

I climb the other flight of stairs to my apartment.

CHAPTER EIGHT

"It's not a death that man should fear, but he should fear not ever beginning to live."

Marcus Aurelius.

I hide the manuscript under a pile of dishtowels in my linen closet, determined not to read on until I know how Michel responds. I think of ways to make a copy and keep it so I can continue reading in case he comes for it, but am at a loss. He can always just touch me and discover where I hide any copy I might make. I can't deceive him as long as I have no ability to put up mental walls against his telepathy.

I could send a copy to someone I know and get them to put it somewhere safe, but he'd be able to compel anyone and force them to tell him where it was…

There's just no way out of this except to give him the copy.

I've been home for less than an hour and have just had a warm bath and am in my nightgown and fuzzy socks when I hear a knock at my door. I've been searching my mother's work trying to find something on how to block others from reading my mind, but so far, no luck. I put down one of her files and tiptoe to the door and peer through the peephole.

Of course, it's Michel, staring straight at me, his beautiful blue eyes just inches from the door.

I panic, my heart starting to speed up at the thought he's here to take the translation from me to prevent me reading any further. He was so upset back at the SCU. I tiptoe back to my bedroom. I'm not sure if Michel can enter my apartment in some strange vampire way or whether he has to enter the normal human way but whatever the case, I want to hide. I suspect he left the conference room earlier because he was angry. I've been waiting for him to come and demand the translation. I don't want to give it to him.

I take one of the swords off my wall and hide in the corner of my armoire, pulling the door shut behind me, holding the sword straight up in front of my face. Maybe he'll get sick of waiting outside and leave. I'm determined to wait here all night if I have to. Unless he can resolve into a fog and creep in under the door, he'll have to break it down to get in and then at least I'll hear him coming.

Besides, he'll have to go before dawn…

Then I hear a key in the lock and the latch clicks open.
Damn
. Where'd he get a key?

"Thank you," I hear Michel say in a soft voice. "Now, give me the duplicate and forget that you gave this one to me. Tomorrow, you'll go and make another one. Do you understand?"

I hear the building Super reply, kindly old Mr. Williams, his voice monotone.

"I understand."

Oh,
hell
. Now Michel has a duplicate key to my apartment? At least that tells me he can't actually become a fog and vaporize into my place through an open window…

The door closes, and I sit in the darkness of my closet, the sword grasped between my hands, anxiety building inside me. He'll find me by smell alone. Vampires are like bloodhounds, able to track humans long distances by scent – especially one whose blood they've tasted. Which just happens to apply to me and Michel.

I grip the sword more tightly. Can I really attack him? If he threatens me, I will. I know I can kill him if I get a chance.

I hear his boots on my hardwood floor as he paces around my apartment, hear the rustling of papers, the opening and closing of drawers.

"Where's the translation?" he says, and his voice is so angered.

I don't say anything, my heart thumping in my chest. I can't help it – fear engulfs me and my throat chokes up. Tears bite at the corners of my eyes.

Then he enters the bedroom and stands across from the armoire. I can see him through the gap between the two doors and he's wearing his cassock coat and his hair is mussed, and he's breathing fast, his jaw clenched.

A long moment of silence passes.

Finally, I hear a heavy sigh from him – it sounds of exasperation. It's not the sound a vampire hell-bent on torturing and killing me would make. I wipe my nose, which is running due to my tears.

Stupid
stupid
… I should
never
have read that manuscript.

"Are you
that
afraid of me?" he says in a voice edged with frustration.

Finally, he sits on the bed across from me and watches the armoire, his elbows resting on his knees. It's as if he's staring right at me. He can't see me, can he?

"I'll wait all night, Eve. I'm a very patient man."

"Wait for
what
?" I say and I think how stupid it must sound for me to be speaking to him through the closed doors of the armoire.

Oh,
damn
… this is a nightmare.

"For you to bring me the translation."

I should do what he says, because this stand-off is stupid and I know it.

"How do I know that you won't go all vampire on me and kill me once I give it to you?"

"
What
?" he says and I can see him shaking his head, his frown resolving into a look of disbelief. "Why on Earth would you think I'd want to
kill
you? Jesus, Eve. Are you that unaware?"

"I don't know what you'd want, Michel," I say, feeling a bit foolish now. "I don't even know you."

"Eve, right now, I'm more in danger from you than you are from me. In case you forgot, you can beat me. If you had real weapons when we fought, if you'd have had a stake, you could have
killed
me."

"You can kill me as well," I say and sniff. "All you have to do is get close enough to mesmerize me."

He smiles at that and rubs his eyes.

"Well, then I think we're evenly matched. I promise not to
mesmerize
you," he says, a grin on his face, "if you promise not to try to decapitate me with that Samurai sword."

"How did you know I have a sword?"

"There's one missing from your wall."

I scrunch up my face. Of course. He knows about the swords because I told him,
pointedly
.

"The manuscript's in the linen closet in the bathroom," I say. "It's under some tea towels."

He nods but doesn't get up.

"Thank you," he says and waits, watching. "Are you coming out now?"

I don't say anything for a while. I can't face him.

"No," I say, wiping my eyes. "Just go get it and leave."

He runs a hand through his hair and makes a face of some kind. I can't quite see it because he moves briefly out of my field of vision.

"But I want to
talk
to you," he says.

"I'm listening," I say after a moment.

"
Sacristy
…" he says, hitting his forehead with his fist. "Eve, I want to
kiss
you."

Oh,
God
…

That admission sends a rush of warmth through my body, right to the deepest part of me. I close my eyes and try to breathe, my face hot. Here I thought he was going to kill me or torture me. Now, he wants to kiss me?

"You
can't
," I say, barely able to speak over my breathlessness, my heart fluttering.

"Why not?" he says, his own voice soft.

"Because my nose is all red from crying."

And then he's at the armoire opening the door, and he reaches for me, taking the sword out of my hands, throwing it onto the floor so that it skitters across the hardwood. He takes my arms and pulls me up, restraining my hands behind me, holding them firmly so that I can't resist. With the other hand, he wipes tears off my face with gentle fingers, his expression all concerned, his brow creased.

"
Eve
…" He doesn't kiss me. Just looks at me, his gaze moving over my face. "I don't want you to be afraid of me." And then he leans down and kisses me. Softly. When he pulls away, he examines my face, touches my cheek with a finger, running the tip through my tears.

He seemed so
angry
when he came into my room, but now, he seems sad. I
do
fear him, despite the knowledge that I could kill him. The thing is, I feel far too much desire for him, far too much empathy for him, far too much admiration for him after reading the manuscript.

I
want
him – so much. I don't think I've ever felt this way for any man and I barely know him. I've never felt this much desire, this much lust, this much human sympathy, and it chokes me. But he's far too old and experienced and powerful and I feel like a small child compared to him. Like he could just overwhelm me and I'd lose myself, drown under his power like a swimmer caught in a riptide.

"What
do
you want?" I say, so confused by him and his actions.

He shakes his head. "You."

And then he kisses me hard, his eyes closed, and a wave of desire floods through me, making me dizzy and I realize it's that connection thing again. I'm feeling both our desire. My legs tremble, threatening to give out so that he has to hold me up. He picks me up and carries me to the side of the bed, laying me down across it, leaning over me, pinning my hands above my head, and I feel as if I'll pass out from the intensity of the emotions that rush through me.

He rests on his elbows, his body between my thighs, his hips pressing into me, his face directly above mine. I can barely breathe as I wait for what he'll do. He does nothing – just looks at me, fingers brushing hair off my cheek, then tracing my mouth. I close my eyes, unable to keep looking into his too-blue ones, and just lie there, not sure what I think
should
happen despite what my body and heart tell me I
want
to happen.

My body aches for him and I want him inside of me, right
now
.

He exhales heavily, making a sound in his throat, and leans his forehead against mine.

"This could get
very
complicated."

Then, much to my shock and confusion, he releases my hands and rises up, standing at the side of the bed, his hands touching the bare skin of my knees which are spread wide. I'm sure he can see everything by the way my nightgown is hiked up around my hips but I'm unable to move and he just stands there, looking at me, watching me, his eyes so intense. My body is so ready, my mind – the thinking part of me – completely silent, not caring what happens or what it means. I just want to feel him inside of me.

He runs the back of his fingers along the inside of my thighs and his touch sends a jolt of pleasure through me, my back arching, my eyes closing from the intensity. Then, somehow he's on top of me, his naked body pressed against mine and he's inside of me, and he's so nice and thick and then he's thrusting, his mouth on mine and I gasp as waves of pleasure surge through me, my muscles clenching.

But then I catch sight of him from under my lashes and he's still standing there at the side of the bed, fully-clothed. His fingers touch the skin on my inner thigh, and his own eyes are closed, his lips parted.

He fucked me in my
mind
and made me orgasm with just a touch of his fingers...

He opens his eyes, blinking.

"I have to think," he says finally. Then he leaves the bedroom, me panting from what he's done to me, my face hot.

Horrified
.

I sit up on the bed and watch him through the open door, my heart only now starting to slow. He gave me some kind of fuck fantasy and made me orgasm. I still feel as if I need to fuck him, but it's no longer as intense. I feel humiliated.

He goes into the bathroom and I hear him open the linen closet door and then shut it. He's found the manuscript. He returns to the bedroom and stands beside me, flipping through the pages as if he's looking for specific parts. He finds something and then rips the pages out, one after the other, placing them on my nightstand. He moves on further and repeats this process, selecting pages and tearing them out of the manuscript.

"There," he says, handing the manuscript back to me, and it feels much lighter – half of its original size. He gathers up the loose pages and folds them, then tucks them into the inside pocket of his coat. "I think that's all of it. You can read the rest if you wish."