Chaos and Moonlight (Order of the Nines Book 1) (14 page)

“Oh, my…,” Rhiannon looked from Sarah to Taris and then to Sarah again. “Is this her?”

Taris nodded.

It only took a second for Rhiannon to launch herself at Sarah. She didn’t know what to expect, just that there was an incredibly old vampire hurling herself in her general direction. She tried to back away, but one of the barren dogwoods that lined the gravel walkway stopped her. She was instantly enveloped, her arms hanging aimlessly by her side as Rhiannon pulled her in close to her chest and wrapped her arms completely around her.

“Thank heaven for you, dear girl. Thank heaven,” Rhiannon whispered into her hair.

She pulled back from Sarah and looked down into her face, a smile blooming across her lips that bared her fangs. The sight was both intoxicating and unnerving. She didn’t lose her grip on Sarah but craned her neck to look at Taris, who, by the blank expression on his face, was just as confused as Sarah.

“Can she not…talk?” Rhiannon asked, letting out a bit of a laugh.

“Oh, she can talk,” Taris muttered. “At great length, actually. She’s probably just—”

“He told me not to,” Sarah blurted out. Rhiannon jerked her head back to look at Sarah, and then she started to laugh, real deep and wonderful. Even her laugh had a warm brogue to it. The sound made the hard lines on Sarah’s face dissipate, and she couldn’t hold back a laugh of her own. Rhiannon pulled her back in close to hug her, and Sarah returned the hug this time, both women laughing—for what reason, Sarah didn’t know. The one thing she did know was that she liked Rhiannon. She was no shrinking violet, to be sure. Everything about Rhiannon, from the acres of auburn hair to her strange tattoos told Sarah she was safe and that as long as Rhiannon drew breath, she would stay that way.

As their laughter died down, Rhiannon squeezed Sarah one more time. Sarah squeezed her back, and as they both began to pull away, Rhiannon stopped just at the base of Sarah’s throat. She inhaled deeply and jerked back, whispering something so faintly that Sarah could barely hear her.

“I’m sorry,” Sarah asked. “Did you say something?”

“Nothing, darling girl. Never you mind,” Rhiannon flipped around so that one arm was still firmly around Sarah’s shoulders. “Let’s get you inside before you freeze to death. We ladies need to be warm on the outside for us to be warm on the inside. Leave it to this lout,” Rhiannon nodded toward Taris as they walked past him, “to let us sit out here all night.”

“Thank you,” Sarah whispered back. She didn’t make eye contact with Taris as they passed. She was drawn in by the warm light coming from the entryway of the front door. She hadn’t realized just how cold she really was until she stepped into the foyer, her arm around Rhiannon’s waist, Taris tromping on their heels. She focused on the floor, the beautifully waxed marble floor. She only looked up when the marble turned into a wide plank cherry finish. Across the threshold of a doorway was the warmest, most comfortable room she had ever laid eyes on.

It screamed masculine. The walls were a deep blue, sectioned off by pictured frame molding that stretched from ceiling to floor. Everything, from the couches that flanked the enormous hardwood fireplace, to the ottoman, to the wingback chairs, was covered in tightly stretched, deep chocolate leather. The floors were covered with thick, well-worn rugs that had at one time been intricately woven with standout patterns. Now the deep red base was the only truly visible aspect, the swirling vine-like designs pressed into the fabric by ages of traffic.

The air smelled like cedar and cigar smoke. On the far right wall, bookshelves, like the picture molding, stretched from ceiling to floor and were laden with so many books that they weren’t even able to be stacked properly. Above the fireplace sat what Sarah assumed had been, at one time, a large painting. The frame was thick and heavy and made out of wood almost as dark as the flooring. It was relatively unadorned, save for the carved knots at the corners of the frame. The canvas that it held was torn to shreds, pieces of it hanging from the edges.

On the mantel, Sarah found the wayward canvas that had seen fit to fall from the frame. It was obvious that someone had attempted to destroy it. What was odd was that no one had bothered to pick up the pieces or just take the thing down. She was obviously studying it quite intently because Rhiannon loudly cleared her throat.

“Feel free to make yourself at home,” she said. “This is my favorite room in the house. I call it the Man Room.

“That’s original,” Taris mumbled under his breath. Rhiannon turned around so quickly that he didn’t have time to deflect her fist from landing squarely in his gut. Sarah heard the impact and wondered what it was about Taris’ comment that prompted the Rocky bit.

“I’ll deal with you later, Taris of the house of Bhalthair! We have a wee bit of talking to do, you and I, and I think you know what it’s about.” Before he could reply, Rhiannon grabbed Sarah by the hand and deposited her into one of the large leather wingback chairs before pulling it, Sarah and all, toward the roaring fireplace. “Now,” she said, “I’ll get you something to keep your body warm, and then I’ll be away for a few minutes to talk to tall, dark, and stupid over here.”

Sarah laughed as Taris tried to speak up and defend himself. It was funny, watching the stoic leader, the rock, the man who always had the last word, be brought down a few pegs by someone half his size.

“I resent that, Rhiannon. I am your elder, and as such, I demand a little respect,” he said, still lingering in the doorway.

“Shut it. Make yourself useful and get the girl a dram, will you?” Rhiannon winked at Sarah as she walked over to one of the couches and plucked a large blanket from the arm. “This should do the trick.” She fanned out the large black-and-red plaid blanket and let it fall gracefully over Sarah. As it finally hit her skin, Sarah took in the smell of it. It was the same cedar and cigar smell that filled the room.

“Now this,” Rhiannon said as she tucked it around Sarah’s legs, “is honor bound to keep you warm.”

“Honor bound?” Sarah laughed a little.

“Aye.” Rhiannon smiled at her as she tucked the blanket around her arms so she would have them free but still be covered. “Honor bound. It belonged to a warrior, a good man who fought every day of his life to keep those he loved safe and warm and well fed.”

As she spoke, Sarah heard the warm brogue in her voice get thicker.

“He told me, a very long time ago, that there was nothing in the world—save a woman in the bed—that could warm a man’s soul like a well-worn plaid. If it doesn’t keep you warm, then I suppose that would make him a liar, now, wouldn’t it?” Rhiannon smiled again, but this time there was something more behind it. Something sad.

“I suppose it would,” Sarah nodded.

Just then, Taris leaned over the back of the chair, holding a glass in his hand that contained about two fingers of an amber liquid.

“Here,” he said. “You think you can get yourself comfortable while I talk to Rhiannon for a minute.” It sounded more like a curt command than a question.

“Sure, why not?” she muttered. “It’s not like I have anywhere to go right at the moment or anything.”

“I heard that,” Taris said. “Look, just hang tight for about five minutes. Get comfy. And enjoy this,” he said, still holding the glass out to her. “It’s old.”

She brought the glass up to her nose and was amazed at how woody and smooth it smelled.

“How old?” she yelled after him.

“Pre-
Mayflower
old. We’ll be back.”

Taris shut the door, enclosing her in the large room with nothing but the sound of a roaring fire. She was wrapped in a blanket—no, to be fair to Rhiannon and the witty man to whom it had once belonged, she was wrapped in a plaid—sipping on liquor that was older than the country in which she lived, and sitting in a house where at that very moment two vampires were discussing what to do with her, where to put her, and what she could do for them.

She stared deep into the fire and swirled the whisky around in her glass before raising it to her lips and daring to take the first sip. It was smooth and hot. She’d had whisky before, of course, but it always felt like molten lava running down into her gullet. This time, however, it was shocking perfection. It left a warm path from her lips to her throat, and then inching down into her belly. It set in her stomach just right, radiating from the little pool in her insides all the way out to her toes and fingertips. It was addictive, that whisky rush, and she sipped at the drink again, smiling with a sigh as she closed her eyes and felt it drop down into her center.

So, she was in a house with vampires. The concept was still a little awkward, true, and over the last thirty-six hours, she had felt like she was living in a John Carpenter film, but with each passing minute, with each brush of the warm wool of the plaid, with each honeyed sip of the impossibly four-hundred-year-old whisky, she felt herself grow more and more accustomed to the idea that she could be the savior of an entire race of people. She took the last sip of her drink and had the peace of mind to set the crystal glass on the floor before she pulled her legs into the chair and snuggled deep into it.

* * *

“What the hell were you thinking?”

Taris leaned back in his chair and let the tirade fill the air around him. He knew the minute Rhiannon hugged Sarah to her that she would know what he had done. There was no way of escaping it. Any vampire within a hundred yards of Sarah would know that he’d bitten her.

“For God’s sake, Taris, why did you do it?” Rhiannon stood in front of him, her hands on her hips, the rush on her cheeks damned near the color of her hair.

“So are you going to tell me what was going on in that head of yours when you fed from that girl, or am I just going to have to guess as to what the hell you were doing?” Rhiannon’s tirade continued. “You know that this is going to put her at odds with all of us. She won’t trust any of us now that you’ve done this. For heaven’s sake, Taris, how am I supposed to protect you and help you if you alienate the one person we are relying on the most in this world? And just how in the hell did you manage to get her here tonight? Poor lass, she must have been so drained that she didn’t know where she was or what she was doing! Why she—”

“Enough!” Taris stood up and pushed his chair back. His face was tight, his breath heaving as he looked down at her. “I heard this all from Kalin not a few hours ago. I don’t need it from you, too. Don’t question my motives or berate me about my actions. I rule here, damn it—me!”

He had gone from zero to sixty in all but two seconds. When his temper saw fit to show, it didn’t just flare, it raged into an inferno. His body loomed over her, the leather of his trench creaking while the muscles in his arms and back flexed as he tried to get a grip. He turned away from her, still standing in his spot, still trying to get a handle on his temper. He didn’t have a short fuse, not by a long shot, but when it came to Sarah, something was triggered in him that he couldn’t explain.

“Taris,” Rhiannon whispered from behind him. He could feel her drawing closer, and his resolve almost melted the moment he felt her arms slide around his waist and her head rest against his back. “I’m sorry I yelled at you, darling, truly. You need help right now, not another tongue-lashing. It’s just,” she paused long enough to push his torso until he was forced to turn around and face her, “I can’t help but worry.”

Looking down into those oddly colored eyes, he melted. Rhiannon was Taris’ oldest and dearest friend. True, she was a protector and warrior first, but she was always the voice of comfort and the soul of discretion when it came to him. He could tell her anything—everything—and he knew that if there was one person who would always understand, it was her.

He needed to confide in someone that from that first moment, he’d had a strange attraction to Sarah, that he wanted nothing more than to fill her with his blood and his cum and take every ounce of sanity she had left and keep it between his sheets for as long as it would stay there. He wanted to tell Rhiannon that he sank his teeth into Sarah’s flesh because every fiber of his being demanded it, that her smart mouth and cocky attitude fueled him beyond reason, and it was imperative at that moment in time that he have his mouth on her in any way he could, that he taste her in any way he could. He wanted so desperately to put it into words that he was being selfish, that even though his race had waited centuries for deliverance, the few hours or days he spent horizontally with Dr. Bridgeman would be worth sparing.

But instead of opening up to the one being he was confident would sympathize with him, maybe even tell him that being attracted to someone was okay, he opted for the easy answer.

“She needed to believe,” he whispered as he pulled her tight into his chest. “I helped her to believe, that’s all I did. I wouldn’t do anything that would affect my mission negatively, I swear.”

“I know you wouldn’t,” she mumbled into the fleece hoodie. She pulled back to look up at him, and instinctively her fingers pushed a wayward lock of hair behind his ear. As the tips met the top of his ear, she followed the ridge of it down and gently ran her fingers over a thick rope scar that seemed to curve perfectly behind his right ear.

“How’s Kalin taking all of this?” Her question was gentle and heartfelt. For as much as she loved and trusted Taris, Rhiannon adored his sister.

“She’s putting up a good front thus far,” he said as he planted a small kiss on the top of her head before turning toward the sidebar. “Hayley’s death devastated her more than she’s letting on.” He pulled the crystal top out of a decanter and sniffed it before pouring himself a small glass of more of the old whisky that Sarah was drinking.

“I can imagine it would. Losing someone you love like that can be hard.” Rhiannon’s eyes met the floor.

Taris nodded, knowing it was her own loss she was now trying to avoid reflecting on. Around the time he took over leadership of The Nines, Rhiannon had lost her husband. It was a two-hundred-year-old wound that none of them could even attempt to help her mend. Some things were better left alone.