Darkness Embraced (5 page)

“Epiphany?” he said again, this time with a questioning tone to his voice.

 “What is it, Dante?”

“The Queen would like to see you.” He’d called her Queen instead of Mistress, which meant he was trying to be formal.

“Then,” Vasco said as he stood, “we will follow you.”

Dante shook his head. “She wishes to see Epiphany alone.”

“Well, damn,” I said casting a glance at Vasco.

Vasco gave me a sympathetic look. He knew I wouldn’t want to pay Renata a visit. It wasn’t just that I was scared of her. No, I had other, more complicated reasons.

Dante might as well have been leading me into the inferno. The hate I kept trying to convince myself to feel was swept aside in a tide of nervousness and fear. I kept my arms crossed over my chest, trying to feel secure in myself and failing. I was too nervous. After fifty years of love and passion, the past one hundred and fifty seemed void and meaningless.

I followed Dante to a door at the back of the banquet hall. He held it open for me, and I entered the narrow room beyond. The small room led to one of the many winding hallways within the Sotto. Yet, it’d been years since I’d been in this area. The torches flickered as we passed to emerge into a long, narrow hall with two heavy double doors at the end of it.

Have mercy.
If I didn’t think Dante would pick me up and haul me over his shoulder kicking and screaming into that room, I might’ve tried to slip away. Worse yet, I didn’t know what kind of reaction Renata would have. She was the Queen. I couldn’t exactly refuse to meet with her.

Dante placed three solid knocks on the door before opening it.

He held it open and waited. I didn’t move to step through the doorway.

“Enter, Epiphany,” he prompted me in that deep voice.

If he was trying to scare me, he was failing. There wasn’t anything in that moment that scared me more than stepping into that room. Dante was downright adorable compared to Renata, or maybe that’s just how I felt.

I stepped into the room.

“Epiphany,” her voice was so sweet, so soft, and so hauntingly melodic. It brought back too many memories, memories of her words in my ear, of her mouth sliding hot across my skin.

I hated her for it.

I went to my knees. “Mistress.”

It is strange to say that for a vampire of her age Renata rarely liked to be called Queen. In open court with all of the clan assembled, she did. Which is why, unless we were all being formal, most of us just called her Mistress. Though some of the Elders made a habit of calling her Padrona, the Italian equivalent.

The soft glow of candlelight sent shadows dancing across the floor. I kept my eyes lowered, watching as the edge of her shadow drew near. I felt her touch on the back of my neck and shivered.

“It has been too long,” she said.

Unsure what to say, I was silent.

“Epiphany,” she said, “look at me.”

I raised my head obediently.

I knew what I would see, knew what she wanted me to remember.

Her beauty made my heart ache. Her hair tumbled to her waist, rich and black, except when the light caught her tresses…

I shut my eyes to block out the sight of her, remembering the candlelight flickering on her hair, picking up the dim midnight blue highlights.

“Renata,” I whispered. “What do you want?”

“To see you.”

“Why?”

“Is it your place to question me, Epiphany?” Unlike Vasco, Renata had years of practice to perfect the English language.

I bowed my head again. “No.”

“No. Come here, Epiphany.”

I didn’t want to go to her. She moved to sit on the edge of her bed, watching me with a remarkable intensity. It wasn’t just her eyes that were fascinating. It was the force of her personality burning in them that called to me.

She put a hand out and I took it. Her skin was warm as she twined her tapered fingers with mine.

“It bothers you to touch me?”

I averted my eyes, not because I had to, but because it hurt too much to look at her. The memories sang through me, piercing my insides like sharp and invisible thorns. “It reminds me.”

I could tell she was smiling when she said, “Of something that transpired a hundred and fifty years ago.”

“I know.”

“And yet”—she trailed her other hand down the side of my body—“it feels as if it were just yesterday.”

It wasn’t unusual for Renata to tease me, but this time there was something different in it. She’d never actually touched me after sending me away. There were looks and words, but it was always so subtle. Other times that I’d been in her presence, there had always been someone with us, whether it was Dante or Dominique or an Elder.

Now, we were alone. For the first time in over a century, it was just her and me.

The realization unnerved me.

“Renata,” I said trying to pull my hand away from hers.

She didn’t like that. Her fingers dug roughly into my skin as her other arm hooked my back. She held me closer.

“Renata,” I said again trying to move back while she barely even broke a sweat holding me captive. She was older and was my Siren, which meant she was stronger.

“Stop,” I pleaded, vainly trying to wriggle free.

She laughed. “Oh, you do play the captive well, Epiphany. I’d nearly forgotten how well.” She gave another fierce jerk and I lost my balance. My hands caught her shoulders as she pulled me down into her lap. I used the grip I had on her shoulders to try to hold myself away from her.

She smiled brightly, her eyes lit with humor like the moon lending its light to the darkened sky.

“Epiphany,” she said grabbing a handful of my gown and inching it upward.

My heart was pounding. One of the side effects of being well fed was that my heart was about to beat its way out of my chest like some trapped and angry bird. That bird was currently hitting my ribcage. I gave up trying to hide the panic.

Renata licked her pale lips, eyeing the tiny drum in my neck.

Distantly, I heard the whimper that fell from my mouth. It sounded weak and pathetic, but I didn’t care…that look on her face.

It had been so long since she’d looked at me like that, since I’d felt the line of her heat so close.

I shut my eyes, digging nails in where my hands clutched her shoulders.

Renata gave a little satisfied moan that ended with a laugh.

“Surely”—I pushed on her shoulders—“this isn’t a part of your test.”

“If it is?” Renata asked, pinning me to her with that one long arm. “Do you think you are strong enough to resist or evade me, Epiphany?”

Her hand swept between my legs, caressing the inside of my thigh with a touch as soft as a feather’s brush.

“Answer me, Epiphany.” Her breath was warm against the side of my neck.

I couldn’t move. I froze. If I moved, it wouldn’t be away from her. If I moved, I would’ve offered my neck to her. She was my creator, my Queen, and had once been my lover. It was an intimate thing, the sharing of blood between vampires, and I had spent too many years knowing the joy of her mind and body to be able to forget it.

“No.”

She laid a gentle kiss upon the pulse in my throat.

The muscles in my body clenched tight as I battled a century’s worth of memories.

“You couldn’t, could you?” She squeezed my thigh over the leggings, whispering in my ear, “So tense…more tightly strung than an archer’s bow.”

“Why are you doing this?”

Renata’s distracting hand moved to my hip, her thumb playing over the jagged bone. “I have missed you.”

“You should’ve thought of that before you cast me out.” I glared at her, at her damned beautiful face.

For a moment, I thought I had startled her, that I’d shocked her by having the courage to say such a thing. It wasn’t courage. In part, it was stupidity, but mostly, it was anger. The anger tainted everything, all my qualms, all my worries. Any other emotions I had were suddenly paper thrown in a fire.

Her eyes darkened, and my anger was eclipsed by fear. If the anger had been fire in my veins, the fear was ice.

Renata grabbed a handful of my long hair and pulled until she exposed the long line of my neck. “Your blood,” she whispered, and her fingertip traced the vein in my throat, causing my heart to beat faster against my skin, “is mine. You may have grown bold, but you are not bold enough to challenge me, Epiphany.”

“I am not challenging you.”

She touched my cheek and I flinched, looking away from her. Her thumb slid across my lower lip. “So much anger. I never knew that casting you from my bed would breed such resentment.”

I felt it then, beyond the tides of my anger, a small wisp of remorse went through her. I never understood why she’d cast me out. I still didn’t understand it.

“What did you think it was going to breed in me? Did you think I’d come groveling at your feet, begging for your touch, begging for one more night with you?”

“Yes.”

I laughed then, bitter and sour. “You’ve always known me so well.”

The room reeled in my vision. My back hit the mattress. Renata used her lower body and hands at my wrists to pin me to the bed.

I didn’t fight her. If I fought her, she’d only overpower me.

She smiled softly, almost sweetly. “I know you better than you think I do, Epiphany. I can break your anger. You may show it to me, but I know what lurks beneath it.”

“And what is there, Renata?”

“Love,” she said in a silky voice. “You still love me.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No,” I tried again.

“Your anger is only a mask.”

She bent at the waist, bringing our faces closer together, her hair an onyx canopy.

“Epiphany,” she whispered against my cheek. “Do you miss me?”

Her lips brushed my cheek, seeking my mouth. I turned my head and forced myself to stare at the stone wall. “I don’t understand.”

“What is there to understand?” She tried to catch my mouth and again I turned my face away from her. Her fingers dug roughly into my jaw. “Look at me.”

This time I refused, gazing fixedly at the stone wall. “You may be Queen, but you can’t rape me. That is against our laws.”

“Rape?” She said dryly. “Epiphany, you are fooling yourself. It wouldn’t be rape, cara mia.” Her hand slid down the front of my dress. I shuddered both at her touch and at hearing those words from her, words that were once spoken so deliciously. “Beyond this mask of protective anger, I know you are willing.”

She started pulling up my dress.

“It would be,” I said, watching her with a look that was probably more hungry and scared than angry and defiant. “As I have not given you consent.”

“I am your Queen,” she said, “your Siren. I do not need your consent.”

“Now you are the one fooling yourself.”

The skirt of the dress was bunched up over my hips. The tips of her fingers slipped beneath the waistband of the leggings. “Oh no, Epiphany.” Her fingers played under the tops of my undergarments. I tried to find that anger that had been such great aid earlier, and couldn’t.

I didn’t want to fight her. It was true. In some part of myself, I was willing, more willing than I wanted to admit. Every facet in me ached for her.

So many years, and the true battle was against my own feelings.

Her fingers dipped lower, low enough that I pressed myself into her touch.

“You may lie to yourself,” she whispered, “but not to me, Epiphany. You may never lie to me.”

She lowered her mouth and traced the line of my waist with her lips and tongue.

A sound close to a whimper escaped me.

I watched as her mouth opened, and knew what she intended to do before she bowed her head.

Her fangs pierced the skin of my stomach and I cried out at the fiery pain and pleasure. Her power fell over me like a warm cloak. I was cold, so cold, and only her touch could keep me warm. My blood filled her mouth and I writhed for her, writhed as her hands moved up my torso. She locked her mouth around the wound and sucked. I was floating, aware only of her mouth on my stomach, of my blood rushing out and into her, of her jaw working at me, of her tongue like velvet against my skin.

It had been a long time, too long. My heart ached for her, ached for this sharing. I wanted more. I wanted so much more. I wanted her to tear my clothes off, to take my will, to bend me to hers as of old.

In that moment, I would’ve done anything she asked.

Distantly, I heard the loud clatter of the door hitting the wall on the other side of the room, but I wasn’t really aware of it. No, what I was aware of was the woman lying between my legs, of her tongue lapping at the two circular wounds she’d created. Her hands held my waist, and I was small enough that her nails tickled my back. The wounds were beginning to heal. I didn’t want them to heal.