Flesh And Blood: House of Comarre: Book Two (House of Comarre 2) (34 page)

But more than that, he wanted
her
to kiss him. For the intimacy to be her idea. Even now, he could see the temptation playing in her eyes.

She put her hands on the edge of the pool and lowered herself into the water, then planted her hands on his chest. ‘You’re smoother than I thought you’d be.’

She’d thought about what he would feel like. Knowing that made standing still a test of his control. Not pulling her into his arms was nearly impossible. He shivered with pent-up energy but let her do as she wished. Her fingers mapped the hollow of his throat, the crevices of his collar-bone, the valley of his chest.

‘Turn,’ she directed him.

He did, feeling the weight of her gaze on him, on the words branded into his skin. He stood for her, letting her look her fill.

After a bit, her fingertips found the raised lines and began to trace them.
‘Omnes honorate,’
she whispered.

‘Honor all men,’ he answered back.

‘Do you?’

‘The ones who deserve it, yes.’

Her fingers traveled on, sending small electric shocks through his body.
‘Fraternitatem diligite.’

‘Love the brotherhood,’ he translated, knowing full well she could read the words.

‘Have the Kubai Mata been good to you?’

‘They’ve brought me to you.’

She sketched the next phrase.
‘Deum timete.’
A smile played in her voice.

‘Fear God.’

‘What else do you fear?’

More things than he could count. ‘Nothing.’

‘Regem honorificate.’
Her fingers stopped there, making the rest of his body ache for the same attention.

‘Honor the king,’ he responded.

‘Who is your king, Creek?’

He turned to face her. ‘Who’s yours?’

Her eyes held a rebellious sparkle. ‘I have no king. Now answer the question or I’ll alert the KM that you don’t uphold your vows.’

No longer willing to wait, he pulled her into his arms. ‘You glitter like a king’s ransom. That should satisfy them.’

He kissed her, the way he’d been longing to. He was not disappointed.

She kissed him back.

‘I
see you’re busy.’
And not with you,
the voices taunted Mal. If thoughts could kill, Creek would be headless and missing his genitalia. The pair sloshed apart and Mal noticed the flush of pleasure across Chrysabelle’s very exposed upper body. She was not the innocent in this situation as he’d first perceived, but certainly Creek had kissed
her
, not the other way around.
Guilty, guilty, guilty …

Creek looked like a cat fat with cream. Chrysabelle looked like she’d just accidentally drop-kicked a kitten. Mal fought a tempest of emotion, none of it good. The voices laughed at him, told him this was what he deserved. What he should have expected from any woman in his life. Betrayed. Again.

She fiddled with the strap of her sports bra. ‘I didn’t expect you.’

‘You asked me to come.’ Had she meant him to see this?
Yes
. Fine. He’d seen it.
Remember it.
He didn’t need to be hit with a sledgehammer to get the hint. She liked Creek.
Anyone but you.
He was human, Mal understood that. He couldn’t compete with
a human. And apparently, his answer to why he liked her hadn’t been enough.

‘I did, didn’t I? I remember that now.’ She nodded as she waded toward the steps. ‘Let me get a robe.’

‘You do that. I’ll wait here.’ As difficult as it was not to watch her exit the pool, dripping wet in only a sports bra and a pair of small white underwear, Mal found it even harder not to dive in and hold Creek under until he stopped breathing.
Kill him or he’ll kill you.
What kind of a truce was this? Had it been some kind of plan to wheedle Chrysabelle away from him?

As soon as the sliding glass door closed behind Chrysabelle, Creek leaped out of the pool and scooped up his clothes. The movement put him toe-to-toe with Mal. He shook his head with a degree of condescension that made Mal’s fists throb with inactivity.
Hit. Drain. Kill.
No, for Chrysabelle’s sake, he wouldn’t kill Creek. However … Mal hauled back and nailed him across the jaw.

The punch took Creek to the ground. On hands and knees, he shook his head, popping his jaw to one side. ‘I take it you’re not happy.’ He pushed to his feet, clothes in hand.

Mal scraped his gaze down Creek’s body, stopping at his groin. ‘I hope for your sake the water was just cold.’

Creek tugged on his jeans and leaned in. ‘Punching me is a pretty jealous move, don’t you think?’ He pulled his T-shirt on over his head. ‘Interesting, considering you told me you don’t love her.’

Mal didn’t answer, unable to deny the words. His hands balled into fists again.

‘That was a lie, then.’ Creek nodded and took a step back but made no signs to retaliate.

‘I can’t love her. I’m not human.’

‘Vampires are incapable of love?’

‘Not the kind she needs.’

‘How do you know what she needs?’

Mal walked away and sank into one of the chaises. ‘I can’t be with her during daylight hours.’

‘Everyone needs to sleep.’

He frowned, fingers flexing. ‘Don’t you get that I’m not human? Not anymore.’

‘Neither am I. Not exactly.’

‘But I’m a monster on the inside.’ And the outside, if he dropped his human face.

‘Most men are.’

‘For someone who was just kissing her, you’re trying awfully hard to give her away. What game are you playing?’

‘No game. And I’m not trying to give her away. I’m trying to keep her happy.’ Creek took the chaise across from him. ‘I think we both could.’

‘You want to share her.’

‘I want to keep her.’ He shook his head. ‘After my father was out of the picture, my mother changed. It was like she rediscovered being a woman. My sister would write to me about all the different men my mother was dating – good men, but men just the same.’

‘You think Chrysabelle’s going to sow some wild oats.’

‘She’s putting her comarré life behind her more each day. Things that have always been forbidden aren’t any longer.’

Chrysabelle, out in the world, tasting what it had to offer. The men who would come after her … Mal didn’t like the idea of sharing her with Creek, but at least he was a known quantity. There were worse choices.
Like you.

It didn’t hurt that Creek could be available during daylight
hours if she needed something, either. He studied the man across from him. ‘She deserves better.’

Creek nodded. ‘Too bad. She’s getting us.’

The glass door slid open. Both men turned as a frowning Chrysabelle strode toward them. She was dressed in a simple white top and pants, her hair tied back. ‘You two aren’t beating the crap out of each other.’

‘Disappointed?’ Mal asked. Because he could start.

‘Pleasantly surprised. And a little befuddled.’ She hugged her arms around her body. ‘Mal, I promised you we’d talk. Creek, if you could give us some privacy?’

‘Sure.’ Then he whispered under his breath to Mal, ‘By the way, I’ve been in the house.’ With a parting smile, he went to Chrysabelle’s side. ‘I won’t be far. Yell if you need me.’

‘I won’t, but thank you.’ She walked past Mal, toward the chaises. ‘So we’re back to this, are we?’

‘I have no idea what you mean.’ Actually, he had a pretty good idea of what she meant, but he wasn’t about to give her that. If she wanted to talk about it, she could spell it out.

‘I mean you being angry at me.’

‘I’m not angry. I’m here so you can uphold your end of our deal.’

‘So seeing Creek and me together like that didn’t bother you?’

Like salt in an open wound. But Creek had a point about the possibilities. ‘He’s not the worst choice you could make.’

Her brows shot up. ‘You feel okay?’

Feelings weren’t something he wanted to discuss. ‘What did you find out from Dominic?’

She hesitated, seeming a little sad. ‘You remember how I was able to open the portal into Tatiana’s estate?’

‘Yes.’

‘I may be able to access the Aurelian through the same means, but it also requires a blood ritual.’

The very sound of that made the voices whine with an eagerness that turned his stomach. The beast clawed to be free. ‘There has to be another way.’

‘There isn’t.’ She looked at him, eyes distant. ‘And I don’t want to keep owing you. You deserve your answer.’

‘If Creek hears about the blood ritual, he’s going to want to know more. And maybe he should. As a precaution,’ Mal said. He hated admitting his weakness, but he’d hate hurting her more.

‘As a precaution for what—’

‘Did I hear my name?’ Creek called out as he approached.

‘Yes,’ Mal answered. Humans didn’t hear that well, but KM probably did. Creek might actually be telling the truth about who he was. ‘We need to talk.’

Upstairs in the guesthouse in one of the few bedrooms not destroyed by the Nothos, Tatiana gazed down at Octavian’s outstretched form. He trembled upon the bed with an ecstasy so palpable it coated her tongue like warm treacle. He seemed on the verge of orgasmic bliss.

That, she imagined, would disappear rather quickly as death took hold of his mortal brain. She would not pamper him through this experience. The vampire that had taken her mortal life had devoured her like food. If Octavian wanted this existence, he must learn its harsh realities.

Her staring seemed to make him twitch. ‘Your mortal life ends tonight. You understand that?’

‘It will be my greatest joy,’ he panted. ‘I am ready, my lady. Take me now.’

She laughed. ‘You are such a whore, Octavian. I believe that will serve you well in the centuries to come.’

Before he could utter another sycophantic word, she fell on him, thrusting her fangs into his tender neck. His breath ruffled her hair as he cried out in pleasure, but those sounds eroded into strangled gasps the more she drank. There was pain now, she knew that, but worse, he would feel the press of death’s shadow upon his soul. The promise of immortality would seem a very distant thing at this moment. She expected him to fight, but he went utterly quiet as the last of his sweet, life-filled blood drained down her throat. She took one last draw to be sure. The mouthful tasted of death.

She spat the bitter draught onto the floor and checked his pulse. Thready and fading. She jagged one fang across the inside of her wrist, then pressed it to his lips.

He came alive so quickly she wondered if she’d taken him down far enough, but there was no mistaking the death she’d tasted in his veins. This was just his eagerness to change on display. He lapped greedily at the blood she offered him.

He drank and drank until a faint buzzing rang in her ears. ‘Enough.’ She yanked her hand away and counted down. Three … two …

With a cry, Octavian convulsed like a bolt of lightning had struck him. His body arced between tense and limp as the invisible currents of life and death surged through him. As with all turnings, death – the permanent kind – occasionally came out the victor. She had no doubts this time. Octavian’s will was too strong.

At last, he lay still. The color drained from his skin. Facial lines smoothed. His slightly crooked nose straightened. The fine polish of nobility settled upon him as though he’d been born that
beautiful. She studied him. A fine creation. She would train him to be the loyal companion she’d always deserved.

His lids fluttered and he opened his eyes. They’d gone from dull brown to a luscious cognac that matched his now-glossy hair. ‘Am I … ’ His chin quivered as if he couldn’t bear to speak the words lest they somehow become untrue.

‘Yes, you are. Welcome to the glorious and powerful Tepes Family, Octavian.’

He sat up, blinking his eyes like he’d gotten dizzy. Running his hands over his face, he felt the new angles and edges of his vampire visage. His fingers went to his teeth. He pricked one on a fang and stared at the pearl of blood shimmering on his fingertip. He turned to her. ‘I’m hungry.’