Embrace the Mystery [03] Blood Rose Series (15 page)

He turned her wrist gently, then angled his fangs. He moaned softly.
Your mouth is open, begging for me.

Then don’t leave a girl hanging. Give me something of yours to suck.

He growled softly, then lifted his free hand and rimmed her lips with his thumb. She gave a soft cry as he penetrated her mouth and struck her wrist with his fangs at the same moment.

She suckled his thumb as he removed his fangs and attached his lips to her wrist. He groaned as he drew in her life’s blood.

Desire flowed over her in heavy waves, up through her abdomen and into her chest, gripping her heart. How heavily her heart thudded as he sucked greedily, pulling into his body what she willingly gave.

But it was the level of her desire that confounded Batya. She’d always wanted Quinlan. What realm-woman in her right mind hadn’t lusted after his extraordinary physique, his sexiness, his almost troll-like charisma, and that something very dark of his that spoke of dominance in the night?

I don’t want to give in to you.

He met her gaze once more and his dark eyes flashed in the non-existent light of the tent. But her fae-vision held him in a glow. He sucked harder and thrust his thumb deeper into her mouth.
Then what do you want from me, Cha? Why are you here, in this tent, feeding me and sucking on me?

She pulled harder on his thumb, her sucking sounds almost vicious in the enclosed space.
I want you moving over me and thrusting into me hard, but I don’t want to surrender all that I am to you or to anyone.

He released her wrist suddenly, and in flurry of movement, vampire fast, he threw her onto the bed and landed on top of her, pushing her thighs apart with his knees.

He pinned her arms over her head. “You’re a fool to say things like that to me. You know what I am, the reputation I have. I take what I want where women are concerned.”
And you will surrender.

He kissed her once, invading her mouth with his tongue, letting her feel his desire. But just as she was ready to strip naked, and let him do what he wanted, he flew backward to stare at her hard from the open flap of the teepee, then disappeared into the night.

Batya lay trembling with a combination of fear and desire.

She understood something about herself as she continued to stare at the space Quinlan had just vacated: she’d always had the upper hand in every relationship she’d been in, that the men she’d chosen were, without question, men she could subdue or at least resist.

But Quinlan, sweet Goddess, who could ever command him and what would it be like to truly surrender to him, to be commanded by him, to be told what to do from one moment to the next?

She shivered, desire cascading over her in heavy waves. She didn’t understand why she needed him so desperately, why she craved him, why she wanted him to come back and tear her clothes off.

Though he’d just taken a good portion of her blood, still her heart labored as though she wanted to give him more. Why? What was it about Quinlan that had turned her into such a shivering, lust-laden, heart-pounding female?

* * * * * * * * *

Quinlan stood just outside the open-air tent, his thighs quivering like a stallion needing to run, or better yet, to mount something fast. He worked on his breathing, taking one damn breath in, releasing it, then pulling another labored draw into his overtaxed lungs. He wasn’t sure his cock had ever been so hard.

Sweet Goddess what the hell was going on between him and Batya? He’d never been like this before. He’d wanted to strip her down and plunge inside of her. The scent of her sex still permeated the air, that rich exotic tropical fragrance that assaulted his senses and caused his nostrils to flare then retract, working like bellows.

She’d become life and sex to him, setting a fire in his veins.

The moment he felt he had himself under control, she’d looked at him and begged for something of his to suck. He wanted his cock in her mouth, but his thumb had worked almost as well and he’d been rock-hard for her.

He ached in his groin, a sensation that lit up his abdomen and chest. Even his pecs flexed and un-flexed wanting her large breasts against him, wanting them in his mouth. He wanted to feast on every part of her body for hours, to suck, tongue, nibble, bite, and drink from her repeatedly. He felt insatiable.

Yes, that’s how he felt, as though no matter how many times he drank from this well, he’d come back thirsting for more.

And all the while, he despised Batya for having this kind of power over him, that though he’d ordered his feet to move at least a dozen times since leaving the tent, he remained right where he was.

A shout of triumph from the forest drew his attention away from Batya as several trolls, spears waving in the air, hauled a deer carcass between them.

The spell broken, Quinlan could finally move and he headed in the direction of the main camp, around which most of the brigade had pitched their tents. A waiting spit had been erected, a pot in which beans, onions and savory herbs cooked. The troll in charge of camp meals, as well as his minions, had the venison hoisted up on another tripod of poles and went to work, skinning and carving up the flesh for the brigade’s meal.

Forty feet past the food-prep area, a steady stream of trolls hauled deadfall in and out of the nearby forest, feeding a growing bonfire.

A clearing kept the meadow safe and camp chairs had started appearing along with drums.

He hadn’t been on maneuvers with the troll brigade for some time, but former memories always made him smile. The masculine bond among trolls spoke to something inside him, of what he loved best about realm-life, something apparently Batya didn’t see or hadn’t yet experienced. If she had, how could she have ever abandoned Grochaire in favor of free-clinic work in Lebanon?

A small cluster of trolls had already started up their music, with two guitars, several drums and even one lyre. The sound was magical.

He felt Batya move up beside him. She even took his hand and held it in a light clasp, though releasing a frustrated sigh.

I’m being a pain
, he confessed.

Me, too. I’m sorry.

He turned to her and spoke quietly. “We’ll part, Batya, I promise you that much, then we can leave all this nonsense behind.”

She nodded but he saw tears brim in her eyes. “I’ve never felt so confused before, so overwhelmed.”

“Me, neither.” He released her hand, then drew it around his arm, setting them both in motion toward the musicians. “Have you ever heard bonfire music before, like this I mean?”

“No. It’s wonderful.” She glanced around. “Is it the meadow, with the mountain on one side and the forest on the other, because the sounds echo back and forth.”

“The acoustics are great here, that much is true. But I really think it’s more the musicians.”

She held his arm tight. He felt her apology like a vibration against his skin, which only served to ignite his guilt. He’d started this whole damn fiasco by pursuing her in the first place and all because at his first attempt, when he’d caught her in the corner of her gallery that first night, she’d told him to ‘shove it’.

No woman had ever told him to get lost before. And it wasn’t his pride that made him come back, but rather those words had lit up his animal passion, a latent caveman-like need to possess, that kept him both sexed up and intent on having this woman repeatedly.

He wanted her and the slow, sweet scent of her sex drifted over him, alerting his body that she was ripe for him as well.

But where could any of this end?

* * * * * * * * *

Batya sat beside Quinlan because to be anywhere else gave her the shakes. She needed to be near him, a primal instinct that worked in her like a virus. She ate the savory beans and venison like she hadn’t eaten for a week. Recent events had probably heightened her appetite, the stress of disappearing into a sinkhole, then hiking through an underground river and camping outdoors. Although keeping Quinlan fed also required nourishment.

How’s your blood-starvation? Any cramps?

From the corner of her eyes, she watched him shift a hand to his stomach, then frown.
I almost feel normal, which is really weird. I can’t remember feeling this way in a long time.

She shifted toward him.
So you feel different? Because of my blood?

He shrugged.
Maybe. Not sure. But I do feel better.

That’s a good thing, right?

A wary light passed through his eyes, of doubt and maybe a streak of fear, though she wasn’t sure the cause of it. Whatever was bothering him, he said nothing more so she let it go.

The music never abated, though the musicians changed hands several times. Drums seemed an important component to the brigade, and the rhythm shifted constantly.

A keg of beer made an appearance. Quinlan left her sitting on a camp chair, slightly removed from the group of men. Lorelei had retired early to her tent, bedding down for the remainder of the night and what would become a good portion of the next day. No doubt Margetta would hunt through the night, then take her Invictus wraith-pairs home for the day, so with any luck, they’d have a stretch of peace before having to move through the Dead Forest.

She shivered slightly at the thought of the next leg of the journey. The name, ‘Dead Forest’, would normally have been enough to make her change course, but the realm part of her knew that in order to get to Ferrenden Peace, they had to go through the Dead Forest. All the reasons might not be known, but eventually they’d discover the purpose for the chosen route.

Quinlan would have no choice but to remain in the tent during the daylight hours, but in October, this far north, night came fairly early. Her own faeness also had a strong aversion to sunlight, but she could manage short periods of time without harm. Not so for her vampire boyfriend. He’d be toast within an hour of direct sunlight.

He brought back a tin cup for her, handing it to her carefully to keep from sloshing. She took a sip and a flavor of herbs, honey, and something she couldn’t quite identify, rolled over her tongue. “Very nice.”

He’d finished one off at keg-side and sat down beside her with a cup of his own in hand. As the drums filled the night air, she asked him about his life. “Tell me something most realm-folk don’t know about you.”

He leaned forward, his forearms on his battle leathers. “When I was young, I tracked every vale, gorge, and mountain-peak of this realm. I walked the rugged three-hundred-mile long coastline, repeatedly, searching out ocean caverns, seal beaches, and tide pools. I was crazy for learning every inch of Grochaire, long before I knew I had mastyr-potential in me. That’s one reason I have an extensive map collection.”

“I watched you touching the map.” She sipped her beer, watching him over the turned rim of the cup.

His lips quirked. “Possessively, no doubt.”

“More like love and affection, I think. It’s given me a different view of you, who you are in that decadent core of yours.”

He glanced at her. “Decadent?”

“Oh, yes, you’re at least that.”

He sighed heavily as he wiped the sides of his mouth. He looked serious suddenly. “There is something I want you to know, especially since we’ve been thrown together like this.” He glanced at her. “You know those rumors about me, about killing my father?”

She nodded slowly, holding her breath.

“Well, they’re true.” In a quiet voice, he told her about the years of his father’s drunken abuse, the enthrallment around their home that had kept his mother a prisoner, and finally her death, which had prompted him to beat his father senseless. He’d died not from the bruises, however, but from choking on his own vomit.

He fell silent, staring at the cup in his hands. He said nothing more, perhaps just remembering. She felt the heaviness in his soul and knew that these events had defined his life, set his future. How would he ever truly trust an intimate relationship?

Batya knew how hard it had been for him to talk about what must have been one of the most horrifying moments in his life, especially because he’d been so young, just a teenager.

“But you were innocent, Quinlan. He died because he was a drunk.”

He shrugged. “I tell myself that, of course, but it doesn’t change what happened or that I still imagine a dozen different scenarios in which I prevented my mother’s death and somehow got my father into rehab. Of course, the concept of rehab didn’t exist that many centuries ago. Still.” He turned his cup in his hand over and over.

“Everyone deserves better than to be controlled and hurt. Everyone. I’d tell you not to feel guilty, but that would be as useless as it would be insensitive. I can’t imagine what it must be like to carry that with you.”

He met her gaze. “Thank you for that.” He cleared his throat and straightened his shoulders. “And now, it’s your turn. You never told me why you abandoned Grochaire.”

“I didn’t, did I?”

“Nope.”

Batya knew the time had come, but she hated speaking about the triggering event that had forced her to leave Grochaire. Yet, Quinlan had a right to know, not just because he’d opened himself up to her but because he ruled Grochaire. “I was working in the north, late one night, closing up just before dawn. I was so tired and ready for my bed, but just before I opened the door, two Invictus pairs launched an attack on a passing car. They pulled an elven family out, the mother, father, three children, the youngest a baby.

“I got out my phone and called for help, but by the time your warriors arrived, which wasn’t more than ten minutes, the family was dead. I can’t explain what happened to me, but some kind of switch got flipped in my head, or maybe my heart, and I left. I just couldn’t take it anymore.”

“Was that near the wastelands?”

She nodded. “I’d been trying to set up a free-clinic there. But people kept disappearing or bodies would be found mangled and drained. But the children, Quinlan.”

“I know.”

He reached for her hand and gave her fingers a squeeze. “I’m sorry, Cha. I would have spared you that.”