Hierarchy (4 page)

“Are they all as sweet as you?” he murmured.

A sudden image of the ‘friend’ that had betrayed her so cruelly popped into her mind. She looked away. “I don’t know. I’ve never been interested in girls,” she said jokingly.

He chuckled. “How disappointing! No possibility of a kinky threesome?”

Bronwyn sent him a sharp look but managed a smile. “None. If you’re ‘in’ to kinky you’re barking up the wrong tree.”

He studied her piercingly for a moment and finally took her hand and looped it in his arm. “You shouldn’t issue challenges like that,” he murmured, leading her to the door. “It might tempt me to have my wicked way with you and see just how far I can go.”

Bronwyn felt a warm, tingling inside of her that she instantly recognized as arousal. It chased away the sense of alarm his teasing comment had evoked. “It wasn’t a challenge.”

“Now, I’m disappointed.”

“Better now than later,” Bronwyn quipped as they left her apartment and headed toward the stairs.

“I think we should try the elevator,” Constantine said, guiding her away from the stairs. “I’m not sure you can negotiate three flights of stairs in those heels.”

“I doubt they’ve fixed it yet,” she cautioned him. To her surprise, however, the light came on immediately.

“Ah! Just as I thought. You were merely testing my stamina.”

Bronwyn stared at him blankly for a moment and then chuckled. “I was not! It never crossed my mind.”

“Then I’m rustier than I thought,” he murmured wryly, ushering her inside the cubicle when it arrived and then walking her purposefully toward the back. “And wounded that it hasn’t crossed your mind. It’s certainly crossed mine.”

“It has?” Bronwyn asked breathlessly when he’d pressed her tightly against the rear wall of the elevator.

He dipped his head toward hers, brushing his lips lightly across her surprise parted lips. “It has,” he assured her. “In every conceivable position and some fairly impossible ones, I’m sure.”

As surprised as Bronwyn was, she didn’t hesitate, didn’t feel any doubts or alarm whistles. She’d spent far more time fantasizing about him, she was sure, than he had her, whatever he claimed and she didn’t think an explosion could’ve distracted her at that moment.

His lips were cool and momentary surprise flickered through her, but she lost touch with everything the moment his mouth settled firmly over hers. Pushing upward onto her toes, she grasped the lapels of his jacket to draw herself closer to him as he deepened the kiss, thrusting his tongue into her mouth in exploration. Heat flooded her at
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his first intimate touch. She’d almost forgotten, she thought dimly, how very arousing the intimacy of a kiss could be, to feel his body invading her own, to take his taste and scent into herself.

Releasing a pent up breath, she sucked on his tongue as he began to withdraw, encouraging him to stay with her, inside of her. The arms he’d settled around her tightened, drawing her closer still until she was plastered full length against him, could feel his hard erection pressed almost bruisingly against her belly.

It fired her blood even more than the kiss and for an endless time she focused on memorizing the feel of him surrounding her, inundating her senses with his touch.

Disappointment filled her when the elevator chimed and he slowly pulled away.

She glanced toward the front of the elevator as the doors opened, stared blankly at it a moment, and felt amusement fill her. “We went up.”

Constantine sent her a gleaming look of promise. Releasing her, he moved to the panel and pressed the lobby button. “In that case,” he murmured when he’d scooped her into his arms again, “we’ll have to occupy ourselves a few moments longer.”

Bronwyn was ready for step two by the time the elevator reached the ground floor. She was vastly disappointed when Constantine broke the kiss, however reluctant he seemed, and drew away to look down at her.

She stared back at him with reproach, or tried. It was all she could do to peel her eyelids up to look at him.

His face went taut at her expression. For a moment, he seemed undecided.

Finally, though, he smoothed her hair with his hands and led her out of the elevator.

“Where are we going?” Bronwyn asked in bemusement when he’d escorted her outside and helped her into the back seat of the limo.

He studied her speculatively for a moment. “Have you eaten?”

Bronwyn thought it over. “A few French fries,” she admitted. “That’s one of the perks of working at the restaurant—free food, but I didn’t have much time to eat.”

His expression turned sardonic. “That … establishment where you work barely qualifies as a restaurant and I can’t imagine why you would consider greasy French fries a perk.”

Bronwyn smiled at him wryly. “Because they were very good French fries while they were hot and I was starving.”

Constantine lowered the window between the front seat and the back decisively.

“Take us to the Fontainebleau.”

Bronwyn looked at him curiously when he sat back again and closed the partition.

“It’s a restaurant.” He smiled faintly. “We can’t have you wasting away from hunger.”

Bronwyn snorted. “Not much danger of that! We don’t need a reservation?”

“No. I own it.”

Still warm from his kisses, Bronwyn settled back against the plush seat, closing her eyes.

“You aren’t going to sleep on me, are you?”

Bronwyn grinned. “Not before you’ve fed me,” she murmured. “I’ve heard the food at the Fontainebleau is out of this world.”

“Then you must give me your honest opinion once you’ve tried it.”

She lifted her eyebrows. “I’m always honest … unless it’s impolite.”

When he didn’t comment, she finally opened her eyes. She was surprised to
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discover that he was studying her intently. “What?”

He shook his head. “I noticed that about you right off. And, yet, you’re amazing difficult to read.”

“Am I?” Bronwyn asked, pleased at the notion that he thought she was mysterious. That was particularly gratifying coming from a man as mysterious as Constantine. “Nanna always said I was an open book.”

He grunted. “Not to me.”

Bronwyn frowned curiously. “You’re used to being able to read people very easily, then?”

“Very easily.”

“And you don’t like it that you can’t read me?”

He lifted his brows. “Did I say that? As it happens, I find you a fascinating novelty.”

“Oh,” Bronwyn said, turning her head to look out the window as the limo climbed an onramp to the freeway.

“Uh oh,” Constantine murmured. “What dire thoughts are running through your mind now?”

Bronwyn smiled faintly at his tone despite the plummet of her spirits. “I was just wondering if that was why you decided to ask me out.”

He leaned toward her, hooking a finger on her chin and forcing her to look at him.

“Who hurt you, Bronwyn? Tell me.”

Bronwyn reddened, but she found she couldn’t hold his gaze. “What makes you think that?” she asked as lightly as she could manage.

He expelled an impatient breath, releasing his hold on her chin. “As divorced as I’ve become from the human race, there are some things that are self evident. I can see the hurt in your eyes even when you try to hide it. I understand if you don’t want to confide in me. You don’t know me well enough … yet. But … can you at least accept that nothing I say to you is intended to wound you?”

“Of course! I didn’t think you did. Really!”

He flicked a finger lightly across her cheek. “I meant it a good way.”

Bronwyn smiled at him more easily, chiding herself for thinking he’d meant it any other way. She was too used to the snide remarks she’d grown up with. She needed to put the past behind her and look for the good in people instead of the bad. “I find you a fascinating novelty, too,” she said teasingly.

He chuckled, seemed to think it over, and then laughed outright. “You have no idea,” he murmured at the questioning look she sent him.

“Then tell me,” she demanded. “I want to know all about you … where you come from, for instance. You never did tell me.”

Constantine sobered. “I’ve lived in many, many places.”

Bronwyn frowned curiously. “Really? How old are you anyway?”

Constantine stared at her a moment and found himself struggling with the urge to laugh again. “Centuries,” he said, mock solemn.

“Fine! If you don’t want to tell me!”

“How old do I look?”

“Oh no! You’re not dragging me in to that one! If I guess wrong, you’ll be insulted.”

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His eyes gleamed with amusement. “I’m betting you’ll guess wrong.”

Bronwyn turned in the seat to study him. There was absolutely no clue in his face. He could be anywhere from twenty-five to thirty-five. He looked mature, not baby faced, but there were no lines deep enough to point to the possibility that he might be older than he looked.

His hair wasn’t a clue either. It was a pale blond—but definitely blond. And yet she was obliged to admit there could be any number of gray hairs hiding there for all she knew.

She decided it would be better to err on the side of caution regardless of what he’d said. “Twenty-five?”

He gave her a look. “I thought you were serious.”

She frowned. “Warm, hot, or cold?”

His lifted his brows. “I beg your pardon?”

“How close?”

“I thought you wanted to guess.”

Bronwyn tsked. “Well! I have to have some clues! Twenty-nine?”

“No.”

“Was that warmer or colder?”

“How old would you like for me to be?”

“Oh! That isn’t fair! I like you just the way you are.”

The amusement in his eyes dimmed. “Do you?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Then it doesn’t matter, does it?”

“Of course not! I just want to know about you.”

“I was born long, long ago in a tiny village called Runstadt.”

Bronwyn frowned. “Really? That sounds … German,” she decided.

“Now you.”

She laughed. “I was born in a tiny village called Greenville—long, long ago!”

He studied her assessingly. “Twenty-five.”

“Oh, you wonderful man! That’s so sweet! I’m not going to tell you! Besides, it’s my turn.”

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Constantine had thought he was prepared. He’d found it surprisingly difficult to contain his impatience to claim Bronwyn, but he’d used the time to his advantage. The protection spell the old hag had woven around her, he’d discovered, was beyond his abilities to break, which had enraged him more than anything he could recall in centuries.

Once he’d managed to contain his anger, however, he’d focused on scouring the city, and then the country, for a day-walker with magic comparable to the old witch Bronwyn so fondly referred to as Nanna.

The most powerful one he’d found had merely shrugged and informed him that no one but the witch who’d woven the spell could break it. He’d suggested Constantine seek her out.

His amazement when he’d been informed that the witch had been dead nigh a decade was only surpassed by his amusement when he realized how infuriated Constantine was at the news. If he hadn’t been protected by a powerful spell himself, Constantine would’ve crushed the life out of him.

Damned day-walkers and their dabbling in magic!

Who would’ve believed that, in this day and age, there would be mortals still capable of wielding such powerful magic! He’d thought the knowledge had long since been lost to mortals.

He’d flown into another rage when the warlock had left with the advisement that he work within the parameters the witch had allowed him if he wanted the woman.

“Meaning?” Constantine asked coldly.

“Your powers will avail you nothing in this instance. You’ll have to use your wits to attain whatever it is you’re after. If you’d care to explain the situation, I’d be most happy to advise you in whatever way I can.”

Constantine narrowed his eyes at the old man but, despite his fury and his frustration, he wasn’t the least bit tempted to confide. Thus far only a handful of his most trusted minions had any notion of what his interest in Bronwyn was and even they had no idea of what the prophesy actually portended.

He preferred it that way. She was destined for a progenitor, but there was nothing in the prophesy to say
which
progenitor. Aside from himself, only one other remained to his certain knowledge—half a world away, true, but still powerful enough to create problems he had no desire to deal with—and he had no intention of allowing Mordecai to know the promised one had been discovered.

When the warlock had left, he’d expended his rage in a fit of temper that nearly left his club in shambles and had spent the next several days sulking while he tried to contain his temper enough to consider how to go about taking what he wanted. Marco, whom he’d discovered had taken great pains to make himself scarce, finally came to mind and he sent Stephen to collect him when he’d finally ferreted out his missing servant.

He wasn’t particularly pleased when Marco arrived looking the worse for the
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‘summons’, but after glaring at him in distaste for some moments, he finally cleared the room and settled to probing Marco’s mind for the information he needed. He discovered, to his frustration, that he was very little more informed from having pilfered Marco’s mind, however.

Settling to wait for Marco to recover from the experience, he pondered the surprisingly few successful encounters Marco had that predated his conversion, uncertain that it would prove to be the least bit useful.

“How old are you?” he demanded when Marco had finally regained consciousness.

Marco stared at him dully, frowning as he tried to calculate the answer. “Thirty

… I think. Wait! Twenty-eight.”

Constantine considered that. “How old
were
you when I made you?”

Marco gaped at him. “Twenty-three.”

Displeasure flickered through Constantine. “You have been sexually active since you were fifteen. I find it hard to believe you’ve had no more damned experience than I was able to discern!”

Marco reddened, shifting uncomfortably. “If you’re suggesting I held anything back … you know very well I couldn’t.”

He’d wondered exactly that, but he hadn’t truly believed Marco had gained enough power in the few years since he’d made him to present him with any real challenge. It still confused the hell out of him. “You seemed well on your way to charming Bronwyn when I arrived,” he pointed out dryly. “How did you manage that when you could not have used glamour or enthrallment?”

Marco looked surprised briefly. Finally, he frowned. “She was a little tipsy when she arrived. I was only being friendly and entertaining her until you arrived,” he added a little defensively. “I don’t know. I guess we just clicked.”

Constantine’s lips tightened. “Define ‘clicked’.”

Marco shrugged. “It’s hard to define.”

“Try.”

“It’s a mortal thing,” Marco said uncomfortably. “You meet someone and you’re attracted to them—because you like the way they look—or not. Then, sometimes, you discover it’s more than that. You like their personality and they like yours and then you

‘click’.”

“And that’s being ‘in love’?”

Marco gaped at him. “I didn’t say that.”

“Then I’ve no interest in this clicking thing,” Constantine said testily. “When does the ‘in love’ thing come in?”

Marco blinked at him. “I don’t know. I’ve never been in love. I met plenty of women I was in lust with,” he added with a touch of amusement.

“So I’ve seen,” Constantine said dryly. “And you even managed to ‘nail’ a few of them. How did you go about that?”

He could see Marco was struggling with indignation. “It’s hit or miss,” he said finally. “You try to kiss them and if they let you, and they seem open to the idea, you try to turn them on to the idea of more. If they’re interested in you, they’ll let you. If they aren’t they’ll shove you away and tell you what a low-life bastard you are. I always went by the three-date rule myself. If we got together three times and she still hadn’t let me
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kiss her, much less anything else, then I’d give up and move on. Sometimes they’ll let you take them to bed on the first date, sometimes the second or third, but if you haven’t even gotten to first base by the third date then chances are slim to none that you’ll ever get anywhere at all.

“I’m pretty sure Bronwyn would’ve let me kiss her by the end of the evening,” he finished somewhat defiantly. “We clicked. Besides, pussy lube, you know.”

Constantine narrowed his eyes.

Marco began to sweat. “Alcohol. You work with what you have—and mortals don’t have glamour or the ability to enthrall to get what they want. Alcohol lowers the inhibitions, confuses them, and Bronwyn … well, I could see she’d be an easy mark. For one, she isn’t used to drinking. It wouldn’t take much to put her on her ass. For another

… I think she’s lonely, and I think she’s been hurt a lot. Some girls are like that.

They’re just too … soft. They’ve been treated like shit so many times they’re desperate for affection.”

Constantine eyed him distastefully. “It’s just as well for you that you didn’t try.

You are replaceable, Marco. Easily. There are dozens of hopeful converts in the club any night of the week. You’re dismissed.”

He’d been more frustrated and angry when Marco had left. He’d been so certain Marco would have the key to unlocking the mating rituals of mortals.

It would have to be that or nothing, he realized. The old crone had seen to that, damn her!

He didn’t
want
to become fond of her, damn it all! He had yet to even consider binding himself to a vampiress, and he would be closer to willingness to bind himself to one of his own kind than a mortal! Perhaps the protection spell would be lifted if and when he managed to win her affection and he could convert her, but he had a bad feeling the evil crone who’d manufactured it had intended it as a
permanent
protection from the likes of him. What if he, horror of horrors,
did
develop affection for her—a mortal? He might experience pain and distress when she went the way of mortal flesh! Perhaps for decades! He felt an occasional twinge even now when he allowed memories of his mortal mother to enter his mind, and she had been lost to him centuries ago … because she wouldn’t allow him to convert her. She’d thought of him as a monster and refused to even consider becoming what he was.

Was it really worth the emotional turmoil just to sire a child?

Perhaps he should contact Mordecai after all and allow him the honors? It wasn’t as if he would, himself, enjoy the benefits of becoming a day-walker.

The prophesy had hinted at it, though, and he discovered he couldn’t convince himself that that
wouldn’t
be part of the ‘gift’ even knowing Bronwyn herself had no magic. He was certain of that much. And yet she was a vessel. He was certain of that, too, and he couldn’t probe the magic, couldn’t ‘see’ it to determine the limits of the power.

In the end, he’d been forced to accept that, as much as he disliked the limitations that had been imposed upon him, he couldn’t bring himself to simply back away and yield his good fortune to another. Of the handful of progenitors that had come into the world,
he
had survived the centuries. She had come to him. That could only mean that she was meant for him and him alone.

It could not be impossible for him to learn the way of the mortals and win her if
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she was meant for him!

And so he’d bided his time and made use of it by studying the ways of the mortals he’d been oblivious to up until that time. He’d been prepared to seduce her into his bed to produce the heir to the kingdom of vampires only to discover, after nigh a week had passed, that she apparently had no intention of presenting herself for the feat! He’d been forced to send his minions out to search for her since the damned crone had seen to it that he couldn’t form a link with her.

And he’d had to coax her—with mere words—to come to him!

That
had been an unpleasant experience in and of itself! Of course, he admitted there’d been a certain amount of excitement, as well. He wasn’t accustomed to dealing with doubts—which he discovered he abhorred—but the reward for success had almost made it worthwhile.

She’d invited him into her home! Without any real effort on his part, she’d welcomed him.

Of course, she had no notion that he was a vampire or that inviting him in was tantamount to offering herself to his every whim.

Which, of course, it bloody well
wasn’t
in this case because of the bleeding protection spell! It had given him an unpleasant jolt to discover that!

Even so, he’d made definite progress.

He was almost certain of that.

He’d enjoyed the most pleasant evening in his memory that didn’t include fucking her six ways from Sunday or tasting the sweet essence of her that had begun to claw at his vitals the moment he kissed her. He’d managed to convince himself that it was actually his idea, and his preference, to anticipate rather than indulge immediately. He would taste her soon enough, give her more pleasure than she’d ever imagined, and then she would be putty in his hands—his irrevocably—whatever the old crone had thought.

And then, after wining and dining her, after putting himself out to entertain her all evening long, waiting patiently for the moment she would yield all to him, she’d fallen asleep on the way back to her apartment!

Constantine looked down at the head resting against his shoulder with a mixture of emotions he found difficult to sort. He had
never
had a woman simply fall asleep in his company!

It denoted a measure of trust, he told himself, that he should congratulate himself on, and yet he couldn’t entirely convince himself it wasn’t sheer exhaustion.

And
that
was preferable to the possibility that he’d bored her to sleep, he thought sardonically.

She roused when the car pulled up to the curb at her atrocious apartment building, but she was so groggy he sincerely doubted she’d be able to negotiate the stairs or the elevator and make it to her apartment on her own steam. After bracing her against the car while he collected the shoes and purse she’d discarded from the seat of the limo, he dismissed Marco, scooped her into his arms and headed inside … still convinced he was about to collect his reward.

Ascertaining that no one else was up and about in the building, Constantine ignored both the stairs and the elevator, levitating swiftly to the third floor landing and settling lightly near her door.

“Whoa!” Bronwyn murmured in a sleepy, or maybe drunken, slur, lifting her head
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and looking around owlishly while he fumbled with the keys to her locked door instead of simply opening it now that he’d inadvertently woken her. “That was the fastest the elevator ever moved!”

Instead of commenting since he couldn’t think of a response that wouldn’t carry the potential of alarming her, he merely shouldered his way into her apartment when he’d finally gotten the key in the hole and unlocked it, kicking the door to behind him.

Bronwyn nuzzled his neck as he strode to her bedroom, and his cock, already hard, sent another hard stab of pain through him. “You carried me!”