Elusive Hero: Invitation to Eden (Vampire Queen Series Book 12) (11 page)

“Oh…” He’d changed the vibration, made it stronger. Her body pulsed with need. She was going to come in no time if he did this. “Garron…”

“Not until I say.”

She opened her eyes, startled to see him standing at the end of her bed. The early morning sun was flickering on the waterfall, and that, plus a nightlight in the bathroom and her enhanced night vision, let her see him, though he was cast in the dreamlike gray of the mostly dark room. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been so absorbed that she’d allowed someone, vampire or human, come upon her unawares. Normally that would have brought her sharply back to earth to marshal her defenses, but as his gaze moved over every inch of her, she saw an unleashed possessiveness that distracted her. Captivated her.

Moving to the side of the bed, he carefully removed the earpiece, caressing the shell of her ear. Her lips parted beneath that stimulation, his intent focus. “Hands over your head,” he said. “Hold onto the bed rails.”

He wasn’t asking any questions now, his mind entirely on domination, not negotiation.

When she complied, he locked his grip over her jaw. His hand was so big his thumb and forefinger slid under her ear lobes on either side, pressed into the base of her skull. He put enough pressure in the hold, she heard her pulse start to pound under the grip. His eyes glittered, mouth in a thin, hard line.

“If I was that lucky stable hand, I’d wrap a bit in a cloth, put it in your mouth. I’d tie the reins around your head, stretching that sinful mouth. I’d wrap the slack over your forehead, your eyes, the bridge of your nose, tie it all tight. I’d use baling twine for your wrists, rough stuff to abrade your pale skin, so soft and delicate because you lie on cotton sheets and your maids rub fancy creams into it. I’d tie your hands over your head.”

Staying still from the waist down took an act of will so strong she was shaking from it. That, and the fierce look that captured his expression, only made the stimulation of the vibrator worse.

“I don’t ever want to let you go back to your manor.” He gathered up the cover, yanked it in one hard pull to the end of the bed, revealing her body in the slick satin of her nightgown. It had ridden up when she placed the vibrator between her legs, when she’d squirmed before he commanded her to be still. The froth of lace at the neckline exposed the areola of one breast. His gaze devoured that, moved down over her hips, her thighs that she was still holding so tightly closed, but oh, how she wanted to spread them. She’d taunted him with the comment about the size of his genitals, but she’d seen and felt enough of his cock to know he wouldn’t be a comfortable fit. He’d fill and stretch her, demand that she take him to the hilt.

The vibration between her legs was driving her lust at every level. That, and his presence in front of her like this. Commanding her. Taking her over. She was under his control, swept along by the fantasy, so immersed she’d let him come into her room without her even knowing he was there.

She wasn’t a vampire who let go of control like this. Had she lost her mind? She knew what she had to do to survive, what she couldn’t allow herself. But Theodosius Vardalos, a man she knew nothing about, had said she could, had produced this male who seemed to know just how to reach inside of her…

Too many coincidences. While one part of her mind had accepted the possibilities enough to get her on the plane, rationality—along with all her caution and fears—surged to the forefront again, a cold shock to her system. How many close calls had she had, when she’d trusted the wrong vampire or person? She knew better than this. Though the rest of her was on this wild rapids ride, her survival instinct refused to believe this could be possible.

When Garron’s grip increased, that instinct seized the reins.

She wasn’t even aware she’d made a conscious decision, which she knew was why she took them both by surprise. Suddenly she wasn’t in the bed. She slammed him to the floor, no matter that he was a foot taller and outweighed her by a hundred pounds. She was going to sink her fangs into him, taste his delicious blood, take over, make it clear she was in charge of the situation, that he couldn’t take advantage of a moment’s weakness, that she was prepared for any contingency…

“My lady.”

Had he said it more than once? She tried to focus, realized the strap of the nightgown was off her shoulder, fully revealing one breast. Her hair had fallen over one eye, and her fangs were out again. She probably looked like a flesh-eating siren, capable of shriveling a man’s testicles with fear.

Her chest was heaving with so many conflicting desires. She already had his wrist locked in her other hand, her fangs against his pulse. She could tear into it, make him bleed out even as she drank, like enjoying the heavy flow of a water fountain against her lips, heedless of the water wasted, splashing to the ground. She’d take what she needed, enjoy the sparkle of crimson, like the sparkle of sunlight on the waterfall twenty feet away.

“My lady.”

It was the lack of urgency that penetrated the howling storm in her head. There was no desperation in his voice. Just firmness. An absolute, unshakable expectation that she’d heed him. The even tone was like a patient but stern father, except the sexual electricity that crackled through her at hearing it was a canyon length away from any reaction she’d ever had to her long dead father.

“You know…” Garron spoke in the same steady way, quieting the roar of bloodlust, though it, and physical lust, continued to pulse through her. “That stable hand knows the consequences of his actions. Once she’s free of his mastery, once she’s back in her big house with her comfortable bed and all her servants, his lady will likely come to her senses. She’ll order her house servants to come and bind him, have him beaten within an inch of his life. Maybe even have him turned over to the local constable so he can be imprisoned for his presumption. He doesn’t care. Primal instinct drives him, along with what he knows lies between the two of you, no matter what heaven and hell throw at them. He embraces it, doesn’t cower from it. Or the consequences.”

As she stared at him, Garron reached up. His knuckle brushed her cheek, then he curved his hand around her throat. A move as easy as when he’d wrapped the collar around it, but just like that, once his hand circled her throat, he constricted it in one decisive move.

“In your world you're taught that it's all force, that the power of the vampire can overcome anything.” His gaze flicked over himself, flat on his back and held down with her one hand on his throat and her knee jammed against his upper abdomen, below his rib cage. “That’s true, to a point. But you came here, even with all the forces in your world telling you not to do so. You took that risk because, in the end, the heart wants what it wants. It’s stronger than any force on earth and will override any power to make its choice. So make your choice.”

Releasing her neck, he closed his hands on her biceps. Drawing her down a few inches toward him, he lifted up, bringing his face close. Now his voice wasn’t even. It was menacing, his eyes sharp as swords. “That’s the last time you manhandle me. You’ll be fed when you learn to ask nicely. And when I’ve had my pleasure. You’re here to serve my needs. Not the other way around. You get only what I give you. I’m the only one in this room who will be taking. So let go of me. Now.”

He’d understood her trust couldn’t be easily won. He’d said he’d expected her to fight, and to keep fighting. He’d also told her she had to give herself permission to make the leap. He didn’t seem to feel those three things were necessarily in conflict, though they left her feeling confused. He wasn’t, however. She saw that in his eyes, along with something else that had her pulse fluttering a different way. But at his direct order, she found her fingers on his throat loosening.

The other strap of her nightgown had tumbled. He caught it on his thumb, tugging it down, her jutting nipple catching the fabric before it dropped, leaving her naked from the waist up. Cinching his arm around her waist, he lifted and pulled her over to straddle his lap. His cock pressed between her legs. Then he did the unthinkable, something so ill-advised yet so ballsy she knew it had to be deliberate. Digging his fingers into her hair, he jerked her head back, and set his teeth to her throat.

All vampires had a visceral level, one that was so far beyond civility a rabid wolf would seem tame in comparison. Every one of them had to learn how to stay above that level, because to fall into that pit meant full blown bloodlust. Combined with all the other drastic changes she’d experienced today, Garron sinking his teeth into her throat triggered it.

She shoved off the floor, taking him with her, and heaved him up against the dresser. The upward thrust bounced him down hard on the surface, knocked him back against the mirror. The glass shattered behind him. She followed him right behind her throw, was up on the dresser with him, her knee planted between his legs, against his testicles. Before he could react, her fangs were buried a half inch in his throat, her hand dug into the hard muscle over his heart like talons, as if she could plunge through his chest wall to take his heart.

She could.

She swallowed the first ecstatic mouthful of blood, such a generous draught it escaped her lips, trickling into the pocket of his collar bone. She had her other hand clamped on the back of his skull, his flesh firm and smooth beneath her palm, except where the scars were. Her nose was against the scar that started under his jaw, where someone had obviously tried to slice his throat and damn near succeeded.

The warrior in him had understood her reaction this time was different. He was fighting for his life, trying to break her hold. He’d realize he couldn’t. The predator in her shrieked with cold pleasure. After years of control, of grief, hate and rage, she could do as she wished. She could kill and take, and feed, and…

She glimpsed his eyes, fierce and intent. Even during this, he was seeking her gaze, seeking to make a connection. His expression was unrelenting, unsubdued. Still wholly unafraid. At least for himself.

Oh God. Oh…

She let him go so suddenly he rocked forward, pieces of the mirror falling around him on the dresser surface, to the floor. She scrambled with no grace toward the corner, toward the best position to turn and put up a fight, but she couldn’t control her own movements. She crashed into the wall, spun against the stone, hands up in defense, fangs bared. Her arousal ran down her legs, dampening the short skirt of the gown. Her nipples were hard and tight, her heart beating high in her throat. Her body throbbed.

She was hissing, a feral noise she also remembered from her first days being turned. Never had she lost control like that…not since she’d been a fledgling. Her sire, Seth, had been there then. Protecting her from herself, protecting others. She’d never thought she’d need that stabilizing influence again. But Garron had awakened something in her so overwhelming, and that, along with that savage bite, had unleashed a primal reaction, the way she’d respond to a threat from another vampire.

Kill him. Destroy it before it destroys you.

What had hold of her now was pure fight or flight, and she didn’t do flight. She wasn’t a big fan of live-to-fight-another-day. Everything was the sharp, bitter, here and now. She could take him down, keep him down. Kill him. She, who’d dealt with a roomful of fifty vampires, was perceiving this one human Master as a greater threat to her wellbeing.

She wanted what he’d been about to give her, but it was everything attached to it that wasn’t simple, the significance of all of it. Damn Theodosius Vardalos. Had he thought about the risks to Garron? Though the Master of Eden seemed to know so much about vampires, he’d discounted how little human life meant to them.

“No. I can’t do this. I’m sorry. You need to leave. Now. I’ll hurt you if you stay.”

He straightened, standing before the dresser. Glancing at the glass scattered over the floor and dresser, he tilted his head, considering the diamond shards littering the shoulders of the T-shirt. Reaching down, he grasped the hem, removed it in a sinuous movement that revealed his lower body to the waist. The man was layers of tough, lean muscle over the large frame. As he turned to drop the shirt on the dresser, she looked at his broad back. There was more scarring there, as well as a stark black and red tattoo between his shoulder blades.

It was a coiled single tail whip, the end split into three barbed tips that spread out in a fan just beneath his left shoulder blade. Inside the coil, between his shoulder blades, was script.

Serve and protect. Master and cherish.

The words were done in red, several of the letters elongated so they looked as if they were dissolving into drops of blood.

He turned to face her again. He had scars on his chest, too. Small, shiny round scars from bullets, more shrapnel scars. Whatever had blown up near him, whoever had shot him, tried to cut his throat—any or all of that should have killed him. She could have killed him minutes ago, because she hadn’t been mindful of her strength at all, hanging onto any level of control by a thread. Yet here he stood, as substantial as Atlas or Hercules, as if he would be standing as long as a mountain stood.

Which was foolish thinking, because she knew how fragile human life was. But this man pulsed with life. Life and lust.

Her gaze coursed down from his chest to the ripples of muscle over his abdomen, to the hint of hip bones and lower abdominal muscles that disappeared into his jeans, so her track led her over his groin, and the impressive evidence of virility there. Nothing indicated she’d cowed him in the least. From his reaction, she thought he might have some Viking in him, threats only rousing the warrior in him. Rousing him, period.

She despaired at the wave of red desire that rose in her to match it, fighting with an emotional reaction that was going to drown her. Serve, protect. Master, cherish. He could offer her all those things.

“You need to leave,” she said again, moving her gaze to the opposite wall, looking anywhere but at what she hungered to have, the need so overwhelming she didn’t think she could move without causing herself greater agony. “I’m not in control.”