A Hunger Like No Other (33 page)

“What of your mother?”

“I know more about what she was doing a thousand years ago than I do about when she was pregnant with me. We do know that she lived in Paris for some time with my father. Just the fact that I insisted on traveling alone should tell you how important it was to me.”

“Then I will help you. When I return and after you see your family, we will solve this.”

He was so assured it would be done.
So says the king.

“What was your mother's name? I know the names of about twenty or so Valkyrie. Even know some legends told around a fire. Was she another bloodthirsty witch like Furie? Does she have a trailing name like Myst the Coveted or Daniela the Ice Maiden? The beheader, perhaps? The castrator?”

She sighed, weary of this. “Her name was Helen. Just Helen.”

“I never heard of her.” He grew quiet, then said, “And your last name? Troy? At least your aunts have a sense of humor.”

Her gaze flickered over his face.

“Oh, no. No' going to believe that one. Helen of Troy was
human at best. Most likely a myth or a character in a play.”

She shook her head. “Nope. She was Helen of Troy by way of the country of Lydia. She's no more a myth than my aunt Atalanta in New Zealand or my aunt Mina, of Dracula legend, in Seattle. They came first. The warped stories come after.”

“But . . . Helen? At least that explains your looks,” he muttered, clearly shocked, then frowned. “Why in the hell would she stoop to a vampire?”

She flinched. “Listen to your disgust. Stoop to
my father,
you mean.” She grasped her forehead with her fingers. “What if he is Demestriu? Have you ever thought about that?”

“Demestriu? I know that is no' the case. I will help you find your father—you will have your questions answered. I vow it. But you are no' his.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“You're gentle and beautiful and
sane.
His issue would be like him.” His eyes grew blue. “Malevolent, filthy parasites that belong in hell.”

A chill crept up her spine. To hate so
deeply
 . . . it would have to spill over to
any
vampire. “We're kidding ourselves, Lachlain. This will never work between us,” she said, in a tone that even she recognized was utterly defeated.

His brows drew together at her words as if astounded she felt that way. But how could he be?

“Yes, it will. We've trials to overcome, but
they will be overcome.”

When he said it like that, when she couldn't sense even the minutest hint of doubt, she almost felt herself believing disparate beings like themselves could make this a go. Almost. She ventured a reassuring expression for him, but didn't think she pulled it off.

He suddenly rasped, “Christ, lass, I will no' argue with you when I've been too long to find you.” He reached forward to cup her face with both hands. “Let's speak of this no more. I have something I want to show you.”

He lifted her from the bed, setting her on her feet, then began leading her to the bedroom door though she was naked.

“I need to put on a nightgown!”

“No one's here.”

“Lachlain! I'm not walking around willy-nilly naked. Okay?”

His lips curled as if he found her modesty endearing. “Then go put on the silk I'll soon be ripping from you. You've no respect for your clothing.”

She glowered, crossed to her dresser, and chose a gown. When she turned back, she found he'd slung on a pair of jeans. She'd realized that about him—he'd begun trying to make her feel more comfortable. Of course, he still often insisted that she “stretch herself.”

He led her downstairs, then past the gallery, until they approached what had to be the end of the castle. There he covered her eyes with his hands, leading her into a room that felt moist and smelled decadent and lush. When he removed his hands, she gasped. He'd taken her to an ancient solarium, but now the light it captured was the moon's, illuminating all that grew within.

“Flowers.
Blooming
flowers,” she breathed, staring in disbelief. “A night garden.”

*  *  *

Emma turned to him, bottom lip trembling. “For me?”

Always for you. All things for you.
He coughed into his fist. “All your own.”

“How did you know?” She ran to him, leaping up into his
arms. As she hugged him tightly—she really was getting to be a strong wee lass—she whispered her thanks in his ear, with little teasing kisses, easing the empty, feral desperation still clinging to him. He'd been stunned to realize how convinced she was that they would end.

After last night and today, he'd hoped their bond had been cemented. For his part, he was lost for her. Yet she dared envision a future without him? When she scrambled down, he reluctantly released her.

He simply had to use every means at his disposal to convince her. As she flitted back and forth among the plants, gently skimming her fingertips down the slick leaves, he wanted to convince her right then and there. When she brought one bloom to her lips and brushed it over them, closing her eyes in bliss, his gut tightened with want. He forced himself to lie back on a long chair, but felt like a voyeur as he watched her.

She crossed to a marble counter lining one of the glass walls and stood on tiptoe against it to reach the hanging plants strung above. Her short shift rose with each of her reaches, flashing him glimpses of her white thighs until he could take it no longer.

He stalked up behind her to clench her hips, and she stilled.

In a breathy voice, she asked, “You're going to make love to me again, aren't you?”

In answer, he lifted her onto the counter, tore off her shift, then pressed her naked body back into the blooms.

“S
o I'm, uh, like a queen now.”

“All hail Queen Emma!” Nïx cheered. “Is your coronation the reason you couldn't call for five days?”

“Or perhaps it was being hung up on repeatedly the last time I tried?” Emma didn't mention that two days ago she had called and found Nïx wasn't lucid. “Besides, I'm serious,” Emma said, shaking her nail polish bottle. The color was
I'm Not Really a Waitress
red.

“So am I. And who are your people? Hopefully not all the other vampire Valkyries, or you'll have no one to tax. Or are they the Lykae?”

“Yep, I'm like queen of the Lykae.” She hopped onto the bed, then stuffed cotton between her toes. “Aren't you going to congratulate me for fulfilling my destiny?”

“Hmmm. How do you feel about it?”

At the surprise fluttering of disappointment, Emma accidentally painted a stripe on her toe. She frowned, feeling as if she should have
done
something. As it was, her fate was no more than a quirk of the same. A quirk that had made her the queen of someone great. “I went from co-ed to queen. I'd have to be happy, right?”

“Uh-huh,” Nïx said in a noncommittal tone.

“So is Annika there?”

“Nope. Out working on, er, a
pet project.”

“How's she taking this?”

“Luckily, she's up to her ears with work. Otherwise she'd be more of a wreck since ‘a dog has her Emma.' ”

Emma winced. “Will you not tell her that I'm here voluntarily?”

“Right. She'll believe that over the other options. A. You're delusional. B. He's terrified you into submission.”

Emma exhaled, then said, “What's going on around the coven?” She hoped Nïx could talk for a while.

Since Lachlain had king stuff to do—land disputes, punishments for bad behavior, overarching improvements for the region—Emma had time, even
day
time. They'd discovered that, like Lachlain, she now needed only four or five hours of sleep in a twenty-four-hour span.

Though the nights were for them alone—each sunset they sent everyone away so they could have the run of Kinevane, literally—the days could get boring. He'd been concerned about that and had asked her if she could content herself by “buying goods via the computer.” She'd batted her eyelashes up at him and answered, “I'll endeavor for you.”

“You're far too far behind, Em,” Nïx said. “You'll never catch up with this soap.”

“Come on, gimme dish.”

Nïx sighed and Emma heard her shaking her own polish. The Valkyrie loved painting their nails, since it was the only way they could semipermanently change their appearance.

Polish shaking meant Nïx was settling down for a long talk. This afternoon Lachlain was taking a break from meeting with Lykae and the Lore creatures that seemed to surround Kinevane and the village in droves, but only to read numerous abstracts on the computer. He abhorred the computer,
and his big hands, which were so skilled with her, were clumsy on the keyboard. He was on his third one.

“Very well. Dish as follows . . . .” Nïx said as though put out, but Emma knew she loved to gossip. “Myst and Daniela never returned from their vampire hunt. Myst could be out tomcatting, for all we know. Now, Daniela is more of a mystery. For her to go walkabout for a while? Odd . . . . Oh! Speaking of walkabout—Kaderin's gearing up for the Talisman's Hie.”

The Talisman's Hie was the equivalent of an immortal Amazing Race, with the winner garnering power for their faction in the Lore. Kaderin the Coldhearted
always
won. “I guess it's silly to ask if she's excited,” Emma said. Centuries ago, Kaderin had spared a young vampire's life and lost her two sisters because of it. She'd wished to be unfeeling, to never let emotion sway her judgment, and some power had unexpectedly granted her wish, thereby blessing—or cursing—her forever.

“No symptoms of excitement. But I did find her at the window, forehead and palm pressed against it, staring out into the night. As though she had feelings. As though she
longed.”

“I used to do that,” Emma murmured. She'd yearned for more, ached for something unknown. Had it always been for Lachlain?

“But no longer. I suppose things are going well with your Lykae?”

“Nïx, I think I . . . like him.” When he wasn't doing king stuff, they watched TV with him propped up at the headboard, her lying between his legs, her back to his chest. They watched soccer, which he loved. She watched the ball, everyone did, but he really,
really
watched the ball—much like he watched her legs whenever she crossed them.

He enjoyed adventure films, but he especially liked science fiction, because, as he said, “Everything in those movies gets explained as if everyone else knows as little as I do.”

So she'd made him watch every
Alien
movie. Most of the goriest scenes were accompanied by his dialogue: “Ach, that's no'—that's just no' right . . . . Bloody hell, this canna be right.”

“He's a bit stubborn and aggressive, but I can wiggle around that. Though I'm not planning on bringing him home for dinner anytime soon.”

“Smart. There'd be all those attempts on his life. Plus, we don't eat.”

Emma edged off the bed to hobble on her heels over to her polish remover. “Why hasn't Annika sent a retrieval party?”

“Now, don't feel slighted—I'm sure she will soon—but right now she's focused on finding Myst. She figures if Ivo is looking for a Valkyrie, it'd have to be Myst. Remember, she was in his dungeon only five years ago? And had that
incident
with the rebel general?”

Like Emma would ever forget. Myst herself had confided to Emma that she might as well have been caught freebasing with the ghost of Bundy.

“See,” Nïx said, “other Valkyrie like the forbidden fruit as much as you do.”

“Yes, but Myst stopped herself,” Emma said.
Unlike my own mother.
“She got past it.”

Nïx chuckled. “Just because you
slept
with the Lykae doesn't mean you can never leave him.”

Emma blushed and tried to say lightly, “Yeah, yeah, I gave it up.”

“So. Do you
wuv
him?”

“Shut it.”

“Would you run into his arms?” Nïx asked. Her aunts believed that a Valkyrie would always know her true love when he opened his arms to her and she realized she would forever run to get within them. Emma had thought it a quaint legend, but her aunts swore by it.

“We've only been together for two weeks.” The only thing she knew for certain was that he made her happy. Because of Lachlain, she could now determine that she enjoyed—in addition to getting gifts from vending machines and popping bubble wrap—showers big enough for two, stripping to his riveted gaze, drinking straight from the tap, and night-blooming flowers. Oh, and daily gifts of priceless jewels.

“Do you enjoy it there?”

“It's a sweet setup, I'll admit. For all that the maids
still
show up each day with jumbo crucifixes, jumpy movements, and eyes red from crying over the short straw that drew them vampire duty.” Yesterday, she'd just stopped herself from raising her clenched hands above her head and chasing one of them around the room groaning, “I vant to suck your blood.”