Even Vampires Get the Blues (25 page)

“Have you ever thought of piercing your nipples?” he asked, grinning wickedly as he paused a moment while paying equal attention to my second breast. His fangs flashed in the soft light, his eyes glowing with arousal and want and, yes, love.

“No!” I shouted, arching my back so my breast would receive what it wanted. “Yes! Do it! Hurry, before I die!”

The moment before he bit the very tip of my nipple was excruciating, not with pain, but with anticipation.
When his teeth nipped my breast, the sharp burst of pain melted almost immediately into something akin to a drug rush as he sucked off the resulting drop of blood, his tongue swirling over the abused flesh like the softest velvet.

It was heaven, it was ecstasy, it was absolutely the most divine feeling I'd ever experienced . . . until he shifted and his mouth touched my ears at the same time he entered my body. I screamed, my hands digging into his flesh as he filled me with more than steely flesh—he filled the empty spaces inside me with happiness and warmth . . . and love. It was like a brilliant ray of sunshine piercing a stormy sky.

My fingernails raked down his back as I grabbed his butt, shifting my hips and pulling him deeper. “I want you inside me!” I cried.

“Sweetheart, if I was any more inside you, I'd be coming out your mouth,” he said, moaning as I wrapped my legs around his hips and thrust up hard as he bit the top of my ear.

“I want you in me. I want all of you in me,” I begged, the world starting to come apart as a familiar rush of rapture built. Unable to stop myself, I bit his shoulder, not a love bite, but one intended to draw blood. As my teeth pierced his skin his back arched in surprise, pulling away from me. I threw my weight onto him, sending him falling over backward onto his back. I knelt for a moment to drink in the sight of him. He was so beautiful, so masculine, but it wasn't the outside of him that I craved—it was his heart and soul and very being that I wanted.

He growled at me, actually growled as I crawled up his body, my breasts brushing the wet length of
his penis. “Sam, I told you, I like to be the one in charge.”

“Fine,” I said, pausing to bite his hip. He gasped in surprise. I smiled as I licked up the drop of blood that welled from his skin. I flicked my tongue over first one nipple, then the other. He held his breath for a moment, clearly wondering if I was going to bite his nipple as he had done mine. I smiled reassuringly at him for a moment, then leaned down and bit an area on his rib cage. “Order me what to do, then.”

He shivered as I sucked a couple of drops of blood, then without a word pulled his legs up to provide a backrest for me, grabbed my hips, and before I could do so much as utter a gasp of my own, impaled me. “Love me!” he demanded, pulling me down for a kiss, his hands urging me into a fast rhythm. I bit his tongue.

“Sam!” he snarled, pulling back. I leaned forward and bit his lip.

“I love you, Paen. Now fill me! Fill every inch of me. I want all of you!”

His mind flooded me with the emotions and sensations that racked him, the light from his love almost blinding me. I felt the elation he experienced when I bit him, and without considering the wisdom of my actions, nuzzled aside his hair and bit down on the muscle that joined his neck to his shoulder. He groaned something that sounded like an apology, then pain burst hot in me, on the same spot where I was drinking from him. His orgasm exploded to life, sending wave after wave of intoxicating rapture through both him and me, triggering my own as we each simultaneously gave and received life.

He filled me, completed me, made me whole again . . . until I came back to earth, and found myself just as hollow, just as empty as I had been before we started.

Paen held me tight while I wept through the long, dark hours of the night.

“What's first?” Finn asked without any prologue when Paen and I emerged from my bedroom several hours later. “The statue or the manuscript?”

“Manuscript,” Paen said at the same time I answered, “Statue.”

The love of my life glared at me. “We'll find the manuscript first. You need your soul.”

“We'll find the statue first,” I said, ignoring his scowl to pour myself a cup of tea from a lukewarm pot and scrounge a piece of toast from the breakfast remains that Finn and Clare had left scattered over the table. “My soul is already gone, but your mother's isn't.”

“We still have a day left—” Paen started to say.

I shook my head and interrupted him, speaking around a mouthful of cold toast. “You said yourself my soul is tucked away somewhere on the Akasha. It's not going anywhere, but Paen, your mother's is in danger. And my darling, you and I both know how horrible it is to live without it. I wouldn't want her to have to go through this hell.”

His frown deepened until it was as dark as his eyes. Begrudgingly—his reluctance to postpone the hunt for my soul something I cherished close to my heart—he agreed. “But only because it's likely the two things are related, and if we find the statue, we should find if not the
Coda
itself, information about where it is.”

“That makes sense,” Clare said, pushing around a small mound of scrambled eggs with her fork. I looked at Finn, and was struck for the first time by something that hadn't occurred to me.

“You can eat food? People food, that is, rather than just . . . people?” I asked.

He grinned. “I prefer the latter, but yes, I can eat food. Clare insisted I'd fade away to nothing unless I had something other than a liquid breakfast.”

“Oh.” I looked at Paen. “Can you eat something other than blood, too?”

“If I had to, yes.”

I spread a little grapefruit marmalade on a bit of toast. “Good. I was worried that since I was a few quarts low, you'd have to go elsewhere to have your breakfast, but if you can eat real food, that's perfect.”

He shook his head. “Sam, food provides us with no nutrition. Finn and I need blood to survive. I'll just wait until you have fully recovered before I feed.”

You fed off me a few hours ago
, I pointed out.

Just a few mouthfuls.
His voice was tinged with regret.
I'm sorry about that—I didn't intend to take any of your blood until you've recovered from the loss, but you drove me into such a frenzy it was all I could do to keep from taking more than I did.

“I can feel how hungry you are, Paen,” I said, accepting a plate of fresh eggs from Clare. “I don't particularly like the thought of you snacking off of someone else, but this is a bit of an unusual situation, so you've got my OK to round up some breakfast.”

“No, I can't,” he said, going to the window to carefully look through the blinds.

“I appreciate that you don't want to do the fang sink with anyone else, but I have a feeling we're going to need your strength today. So go on out and find someone to feed from. Just don't enjoy it too much.”

Clare rolled her blue eyes and went to get her coat and purse.

“You don't understand. I can't feed from anyone but you,” Paen said, watching out the window.

I moved over to see what he was looking at. It was raining again, a cold, dark, nasty rain that almost exactly matched the cold, dark, nasty emptiness that resided inside of me. “You can't? Is this some sort of a Beloved thing?”

“Yes. When I said a Dark One can't survive without his Beloved, I meant it. Once he finds her, human blood taken from anyone but a Beloved is poison. Likewise, the Beloved's blood is unacceptable to any other Moravian.”

“Whoa,” I said, a chill going down my arms. “So if I had died when Pilar tried to kill me . . .”

“Paen would have died as well,” Finn said, standing to stretch. “Which is one more thing I have to thank you for, Sam.”

“I thought you were immortal?” I asked Paen. “You'd die without me? Really die?”

“Eventually. It isn't a quick or pleasant process, but it is inevitable.”

“Who thought up these rules?” I asked, exasperated. I didn't mind thinking that Paen would mourn me for a long time if I died, but I didn't want to be the cause of his death.

“I hope the answer to that is in the
Coda
,” he said, dropping the blinds to face the room. “Have you finished?”

“Eating or asking questions?” I stuffed a last fork-ful of eggs into my mouth, washing it down with cold tea.

“Both.”

“Yes, I'm done. Let's go find Pilar and get the statue.”

“We must also have our revenge for the dress he shot!” Clare said. “It will never recover, poor thing. This evil Pilar person must pay for that crime, and for shooting you, as well, Sam.”

“Nice to know I come in second to a dress,” I told her as I grabbed my bag and a jacket.

“Well, it
is
a Versace,” she pointed out.

“What's the plan?” Finn asked, waggling his eyebrows at Clare. “I take it you want us to do some investigating?”

I looked at Paen. His eyes were dark with introspection. “I think it's best if they tackle Reuben while we go after Mr. Race and Mr. Green, don't you?”

Paen nodded his agreement, still rubbing his jaw.

“So you're going to meet with Mr. Green while we're doing what with the poltergeist, exactly?” Clare asked as we left the apartment and headed down the stairs to the outer door. We stopped at the
door so the men wouldn't have to stand around outside while we made the last of our arrangements.

“You're going to find Reuben. It shouldn't be too hard—Paen ripped off one of his arms, and there can't be that many five-armed, former faery poltergeists around here. Here's the address of the Guardian we used the other night. You and Finn help her question the poltergeist about the whereabouts of the statue.”

She put her hands on her hips in a faery version of pique. “Why do we have to question Reuben about where it is? You're the one who lost it.”

“Stop being so snippy. Lives are at stake!”

She sighed. “I know. But that poltergeist makes me uncomfortable.”

“I'm sure you'll be able to cope with him just fine. As for why you need to question him, I have no idea where the statue could be. It was taken from me, and could be anywhere in the beyond. I didn't have it when Paen pulled me through the only entrance he knew. But Pilar has no doubt told Reuben by now, so your job is to get that info from him.” I glanced at the watch on her wrist. “We still have an hour before the appointment with Owen Race, so I think it's probably best if we talk with Caspar Green about what he knows first, then go out to Race's house. Does that sound all right to you?”

“Yes. I have a few things I'd like to say to Mr. Green,” Paen said, flexing his fingers.

I smiled at him. Amidst the horrible cold and torment that raged around inside me, he brought a little spot of warmth and happiness that gave me the strength to go on.

“What if they won't tell us what we want to know?” Clare said, her brow puckered. “That poltergeist didn't look terribly smart to me.”

“We'll cross that bridge when we get to it,” Paen said, looking grim, his voice even grimmer. “We aren't powerless.”

Clare murmured an agreement, and with that, we separated, Finn and Clare going off to see what they could find from the poltergeist while we headed to Caspar's apartment. To my surprise, he seemed to be expecting us.

“Good morning, Miss Cosse. What a pleasant surprise. And Paen Scott! Welcome to my humble home. It is indeed a pleasure to see you both again. I take it you have come to deliver the statue to me?”

“Not quite. We've come to talk about a few things with you,” I said, sitting when he gestured toward a peach love seat. “Not the least of which is your choice in employees.”

“Why did you try to hire Sam to find the statue when you knew I was already searching for it?” Paen asked abruptly, every line in his body radiating anger.

“Ah. I thought perhaps you might put things together. Please, Paen, take a seat. There is no need to be uncivilized about this. You are naturally upset by what would appear to be some sort of trickery on my part, but I assure you that there is none intended.”

Paen snorted something rude under his breath, but sat down next to me.

Do you believe him?
I asked Paen

No.

Good. Neither do I. He's lying. All my elf senses are tingling.

Sweetheart, I'm beginning to believe your elf senses are easy tinglers. But I agree—he's not telling us the truth.

“The situation is a little more complicated than I originally led you both to believe,” Caspar said, making another of those hands-spread-in-honesty gestures that I didn't for a moment buy into. His face was blank, unreadable, although he seemed to be watching us with sharp, dark eyes. “In hindsight, I am perhaps a little guilty of muddying the waters, so to speak, but I assure you that everything I told you, Paen, and you, Samantha, was the absolute truth. The demon lord Oriens
has
called the statue due as payment for services rendered to Sir Alec.”

I shot Paen a questioning look.
Your father is a knight?

Baronet
, Paen said, his arms crossed over his chest as he waited for Caspar to continue.

So, someday when your father decides he doesn't want the title, you'll get it?

Eventually, yes. He will pretend to die of old age in a distant location, and I will take over the title until he has passed from mortal memory, then we'll reverse the procedure. It's worked quite well the last few hundred years.

Let me get this straight—you're a brooding, sexy
titled
Scottish vampire?

Paen shot me a quick puzzled look.
What's your point?

Nothing. But remind me to write a book about you someday when this is all over. I bet women would eat you up with a spoon.

“Are you finished?” Caspar asked politely, brushing an infinitesimal bit of nothing off his knee.

“Sorry. I didn't mean to stop you. Please, continue.
This is fascinating,” I said, blushing a little at being caught mind-talking to Paen.

Caspar smiled, and I swear if I had been mortal, I'd have lost a couple of years off my life at the sight of it. “I have been remiss in congratulating you on finding your Beloved, Paen. My felicitations.”

Paen was made of sterner stuff. “What exactly haven't you told us about the statue?”

“So forceful, so blunt and to the point,” Caspar said, the creepy smile still on his lips. Something about him had changed since I last saw him. Before, he seemed like a relatively pleasant, if a bit intense, man. Now I could swear I felt tendrils of dark power snapping and crackling around him, as if he sat in the middle of an electrical charge. “You two will do well together, I think. The information I perhaps unwisely kept from you is in regards to the statue's origin.”

I thought back to our last meeting. “You said that it had been commissioned from a Chinese artist and later given to Marco Polo by the emperor.”

“As indeed it was. But the person who commissioned it . . . well, there is no avoiding this revelation. The person who commissioned the statue was none other than myself.”

Now, that took me by surprise. I don't know what I was expecting him to say, but it wasn't that he was the one behind the creation of the statue some two thousand years ago. “So the statue was originally yours. . . . Wait a minute.” I dug through my recent memories and came up with something that didn't make sense. “You told me that the statue depicted Sun Wukong, the monkey god.”

“As indeed it does,” Caspar agreed.

I looked at him, a sense of dread building inside me until it was so great it spilled over onto Paen. He took my hand in his, rubbing his thumb over my fingers.
What's wrong, love?

So many things, I don't know where to start.
“You also said that the person who ordered the statue created was the god of death.”

Paen's thumb stilled. Outside the room, the normal sounds of Edinburgh traffic faded away until it was as still as the room in which we sat.

“That is so,” Caspar said finally, a tiny muscle twitching in his eyebrow the only sign that he was less than pleased that I had such a good memory.

“You are Yan Luowang, the god of death?” Paen asked.

“It is one of my names.” Caspar made an odd sort of dismissive gesture with one hand. “Not one that I have used for some time.”

“You're a god of death,” I said, stunned. “A Chinese god of death. A real, honest-to-god god. Of death.”

“God of the fifth hell, if I remember correctly,” Paen said softly to me before frowning at Caspar. “But you told me you were an alastor. How can you be both?”