Limerence II (5 page)

“Do not apologise, just learn.” He looks at me. “Learn and become strong, Mia. Stronger than her.” Our eyes lock, and for some reason I feel like he’s not just talking about
her
.

I feel like his words are perhaps a warning to me, and I can’t shake the feeling that he is telling me more than he is saying. But then his arms fold tighter across his chest, his body becoming rigid and uptight again, though his jaw continues to grind manically.

“It really is beautiful. Almost potent.” His voice comes out like gravel and I swallow again, my body still leaning towards him, and knowing from his shaky words that he felt it too.

I shudder once more, not even angry that he gives me whiplash from his mood changes or that he just broke the invisible barrier between us yet again. I turn towards my painting, unable to look at him anymore. Every emotion is ten times as strong in this world—even rejection. I need time to myself, to lick my wounds and regroup my thoughts.

The redheaded woman stares back at me, her face contorted into torment, her eyes pools of blood as flames lick the side of her face, giving her eternal torment. Her face offers me calmness and comfort, because even in this state, she is still fighting. She is free, even though she is trapped, and I know that she would and will do anything to kill us all and get away.

“It’s funny how we forget things that we love so easily, yet once we remember, it’s almost impossible to let them go again.” I cock my head to the side as I pick up my brush and smooth over some of the redhead’s hair. “Do you know what I mean?”

“I do indeed. Sometimes the heart and mind try to forget that which makes us happy if we cannot have it. It’s for our own protection, I believe.”

I stop dabbing and turn to him. “Do you really believe that?”

“I do.”

“I can’t imagine not painting. But then I only remembered the joy of it today.” I flush embarrassed by my childish words.

Evan strokes a hand against my cheek, brushing against the warmest part where the blush has risen. “Because your body protected you from your emotions—from your pain, from your joys. It is all as one when you are a vampire, just one large bundle of emotions and feelings, and if you can’t handle one, then perhaps you can’t handle any.” He lowers his hand as if burned. “This shows good progress.”

“That I remembered how to paint?” I laugh.

“No, that you remembered you loved to paint. You are beginning to remember feelings from previous. That’s a good sign that you are winning.”

I roll my eyes again and drop my brush into the now dirty glass of water. “And what, oh master of mine, do I win exactly? A lifetime of servitude? Fantastic, just let me put my good shoes on for that.” I cock an irritated eyebrow and plant a hand firmly on my hip.

“Do you have some?”

“Some what?” I frown.

“Good shoes?” He says it with so much seriousness it takes me a moment to hear his joke. I look down at my paint-splashed feet, and then look up with a smile, knowing I can’t be annoyed anymore. He smiles his wonky smile and laughs loudly.

Avon, the tall male
vampire with crudely chopped hair, comes into my training room, letting the door slam loudly against the wall. The man likes to make an entrance whenever possible. He stands in the doorway letting both me and the new vampire I’m training view him. He’s an extremely handsome vampire, with high cheekbones, deep blue eyes, and a slender body carved with the perfect amount of subtly hard muscles. Like an athlete’s, his body is tall and lean. He’s used to getting the attention wherever he goes, bathes in the response from others, and milks it for everything he can, but other than being arrogant, he’s harmless. Unless he’s trying to seduce you; then anyone is his victim. However, the fact that he is interrupting my sparring session with a relatively new vampire—who at the moment lies in a crumpled heap at my feet and is grunting in pain—does little to appease my irritation with him.

“Get up, David,” I snap at the young vampire in irritation, and crack my knuckles as I glare down at him.

I’ve been hard on him all day; not through any fault of his own—this is my own frustrations being taken on out on him, and that is wrong of me, but I feel strangely off-balance after spending time with Mia yesterday. Her painting was mystifying, and it is all I have been able to think about since seeing it—that and how she had looked while painting it: her arms working in quick flurries of brush strokes, a smile playing on her lips the entire time. I had watched her for some time without her knowing, unable to leave her alone.

Avon strides over without a care in the world, passing the various fighting equipment situated throughout the room. A handsome smile is planted firmly on his face and irritating me all the more. He slows as he passes the younger vampire, looking him up and down with an appeasing eye and no doubt approving of David’s boyish good looks—as so many have done since his arrival.

David stands on shaky legs, brushing his floppy hair from his eyes, and assesses Avon with a grin, his dimples showing in both cheeks even as I hear the telltale
click
of his bones melding back together. I know that it should hurt, vampire or not, yet he takes it like it’s nothing. His power is pain suppression, meaning he can fight harder and train longer, because he feels nothing when he breaks—emotionally or physically. In many ways he is very lucky; in others he is just disposable—to our queen, at least. The first line of defence in battle.

David runs a hand through his hair again as he and Avon continue to watch each other in mutual fascination.
How strangely we react when attracted to someone
, I can’t help but think.

“What do you want?” I ask pointedly, interrupting the staring between David and Avon.

Avon finally tears his gaze away from David and towards me. “You have been summoned,” he says darkly, and I can’t conceal the confusion I feel over this.

I think back over the last month, to anything that I might have done wrong to be summoned to our queen, but nothing stands out. Avon is still staring at me, his smile never faltering, even as he looks between David and me, and back again.

“Now?” I ask.

“Now,” Avon agrees.

I roll my shoulders and walk to the weights in the corner where I left my bag. I would have liked to have changed first—my clothes are tinged pinkish from my perspiration of blood, my skin damp with it—but when our queen summons, you must attend. And quickly.

I stretch my T-shirt over my head, rub it across my arms and hard stomach to remove any excess blood, and then fling it towards David, who is still staring at Avon with lust-filled eyes. It hits him in the chest, and he looks away from Avon, flushing with embarrassment. He looks towards me, and the red in his cheeks rises even more when he sees me topless, and even I can’t control my grin as I see Avon frown, jealousy rising to the surface.

His power might be to seduce, but it doesn’t stop people straying. I smile again as I grab a fresh T-shirt from my bag and pull it over myself, straightening it and zipping up my bag before slinging it over my shoulder.

“Don’t make a mess,” I call out as I leave the room, leaving both men alone. I know they will be in each other’s arms before I’m at the end of the hallway. If nothing, Avon wants to make a point now.

Emotions are strong in new vampires, and almost unrestrainable. But I am not his NewLife mentor; I’m just here to teach him how to fight. If his mentor gave half a damn about him, they’d be here disciplining him for his lack of self-control. As it is, they’re not, and this new vampire will be up to a lot of mischief until he either learns some discipline through trial and error—or he meets with a nasty shock.

Either way, it’s not my problem. I have more than enough to be dealing with. Besides, new vampires are always so…willing to participate, with boundless energy, and the bloodlust is—endearing, to say the least. Something about them just drives the rest of the coven wild. Yet he does nothing for me. His body does not call to me; his pretty face does not attract me. If anything, he turns me off, for all I can think about is Mia.

I huff out an unneeded and frustrated breath, forcing myself to calm down and steady myself before I reach the Queen. The last thing she will want to see is her most proficient trainer on edge and stressed out. And why am I stressed out? I shake my head at my own stupidity.

I took Mia out when I knew she wasn’t ready. That’s why. I took her out, knowing she would lose control, knowing it would hurt her, and knowing that for the first time in too many years I actually care if someone else is in pain. For the first time since I was turned, I didn’t want to just blindly follow orders; yet I did, and I don’t like the sinking feeling it gives me.

I was only following orders, orders I could not refuse, but perhaps I could have been more cautious with her. Perhaps I could have done something more to help her. I frown and grit my teeth, annoyance building in me like a volcano, and I stop and turn before putting a heavy fist into the wall beside me, anger and frustration burning in my veins. What is wrong with me today? We’ve trained together for months, and I’ll admit that there has always been something between us, but it’s taken on a whole new meaning lately. Each night as I lie on my bed, I think of her, see her, can almost taste her on my fangs. She makes my body hungry for something more, something I haven’t wanted for many a year.

I pull my fist from the wall, letting the dust float to the floor. I stare at my knuckles as the small cuts knit themselves back together and the blood dries up.

I need a drink.

That damn woman is going to be the death of me.

She makes me hungry, thirsty, my body wanting more than just blood and lust, wanting more than this life that I had once loved so much. She makes me want to forget. She makes me want to remember. She calls to something deep inside of me, something I have neglected—or perhaps ignored—for too long. And now that it is awake, she is like a siren to me, singing her sweet songs and bringing me to my death.

But she is my job, and I will not step over those boundaries—no matter how much she or I want to. We cannot be more than trainer and trainee.

Not ever.

I arrive at the Queen’s
hall and knock twice on the large, ornate wooden door. Two guards stand outside, barely acknowledging me, as usual. Their job as enforcers is to search out any dangers to our queen long before they reach here. Using their minds, they sense danger before it can happen—a tragic yet important quality for any Bastion to acquire. I can only imagine the amount of self-control it must take to be able to feel every danger before it is happening, and not be allowed to do anything about it. They are the only ones that are requested to wear uniforms—if they can be called that: black T-shirts and black cargo pants that hold a multitude of weapons.

I close my eyes as I hear footsteps coming towards the large door from the other side, and I steady myself, cooling all my emotions as it opens, and I step inside. The room is as always: cool marble, diamonds hanging from chandeliers, and white walls. Our queen is nothing if not glamorous.

She sits upon her throne; her face is still and perfect as if carved from pure white marble. But her ovate opal-coloured eyes are always watching, always seeing, following me across the room until I come to stand before her. I bow down to one knee in front of her, lowering my head to the wooden floor.

“My Queen.” I stare down, waiting for her to speak.

“Evan.” Her voice hisses out quietly, yet unfathomably manages to echo loudly around the room, as if she is everywhere.

I look up at her slowly through my lashes, and when her finger gestures to me, I stand tall and proud, willing my body to still and my mind to remain calm as I wait for further instruction.

“How is my little prodigy today?” She laughs, but there is no humour in her voice, and I can’t help but feel defensive.

“She is well,” I say calmly, and as emotionlessly as I can. Of course that is easy for me.

Our queen watches me for several minutes without speaking. Eventually she stands and makes her way towards me, her head cocking from side to side predatorily as she walks in circles around me, her bones creaking as she moves. She places a long-nailed hand on my shoulder, and my muscles begin to unwillingly quake under her touch. Tremors run through my body—the source, her palm on my shoulder. I long to turn and ask her what is happening to me, but don’t dare. I have only once been afraid in all my many long years, and that was the night I was made. Right now, though, as my body heats and trembles under her touch, I feel that same fear bubbling underneath the surface. Because if she knows my true feelings for Mia, she may kill her. I swallow the thought down, realising my own true feelings for the first time.

“I will allow your disobedience this once, because I have always held a soft spot for you, Evan. But know this: you two, you can never be.”

I stare ahead, a blank canvas ready for inspection. Irritated that I was so easily read despite my great power.

“It is disallowed,” she hisses again, her words next to my ear. A gentle caress as her tongue laps at my lobe. “Remember the punishment of the last person that disobeyed me.”

I nod once, slowly, letting her know that I understand. How could anyone forget that punishment?

“She is not yours, nor will she ever be. Do you understand?”

I nod again, my fangs itching and burning with rage. Still her hand stays firmly on my shoulder, holding me in my place, making my body tremble. And still I stare ahead.

“She is my plaything.”

I nod again. The scorching pain in my shoulder is almost unbearable, but not as unbearable as the pain in my chest—the place where my heart should be beating. Her hand squeezes me tighter and I block out my feelings, thinking of only the pain I am enduring. Our queen has acquired a new skill upon the death of a Bastion, and she is testing its potency on me. I understand that this is my punishment for feeling anything towards Mia. I understand, and I accept it.

“And when I am done with her,” she continues, her hand finally moving from my shoulder, a single nail dragging down my back and cutting through the thin T-shirt I am wearing, drawing blood from me. My fangs drop without my wanting, a side effect of the pain she is inflicting, and my body wants to sag with relief when she stops her slow torture and stands in front of me, her lesson taught, and taught well. She smiles at me, her pale lips never parting, and I stay fixed to the spot, staring straight ahead—staring at her throne of bones. “I will take her head and use it as an ornament,” she hisses, amusement in her tone.

My fangs burn with anger, with thirst, and with the desire to move. To ask her why, to plead for Mia’s life. It all seems so pointless: to train her, to keep her, just to destroy her. But instead I stand as the Queen’s warrior, still and silent and waiting for my orders.

And hating myself for it.

She glides back to her throne, her small feet barely moving beneath her. She sits and stares back at me, a cruel smile playing on her plump white lips. Her two largest fangs hang over the top of her lip, and I know if she were to open her mouth fully I would see a mouth packed with tiny white fangs, something peculiar that no one can understand.

All of her is white these days: another new thing that I have noticed. She wasn’t always like this. True, she was always cruel, but the years have been bad for her, her paranoia growing daily. And with the paranoia, with the anger, comes the kiss of whiteness. But that’s what comes when you steal from others, and we are all just Pawns to her until she is ready to absorb us.

“What would you have me do, my Queen?” I reply darkly.

She smiles at me, and it’s all I can do to not crack my knuckles under her glare.

“Continue to train her. Continue to teach her. Keep her occupied. Mr San is still searching for her, which means he needs her, which means I will keep her.” She gestures around us. “With us, in our home—in her home—at least for now.”

She says ‘in her home’, but I know she means prison—though Mia does not know this. And yet I nod, when I want to say no.

“But I should still train her?” I question, unsure what the point is if she only intends for her to die.

“Yes, you should,” she replies, without expansion on my question but looking irritated at having to repeat herself.

“But why? For what point?”

“I want her loyalty.” She lets the words settle in the air before adding. “There is an old saying about keeping your enemies close, is there not?”

I nod again, wanting to plead that Mia does not need to be her enemy; but I say nothing, knowing better than to ask any more questions or voice any arguments. She continues to stare at me until the door opens up and Amora—a tall, brunette vampire that I have shared my bed with many a time—comes in, a silver platter carried before her

Her heels click softly on the wooden floor as Amora passes me, smiling widely. Her eyes meet mine for a second, and I feel her fingers picking at my brain, discovering what has just occurred. Her mask is better prepared than mine and does not waver once. She bows before our queen, lowering herself while still keeping the tray elevated.

“Lunch is served, my Queen.” She speaks, her voice soft, a gentle caress on her tongue.

Both female vampires glare at me and I realise that my time here is over. I bow once and leave quietly, clicking the door shut behind me. Halfway back to my room, I make a detour and stray to the art studio where I know Mia will be painting again.

I have watched her several times now, without her knowing. Her affection for me is growing, and it pains me that I cannot reciprocate it. So I watch, from the shadows, as her gentle body moves, her arms flying across the canvas as she paints yet another exquisite masterpiece. Barring the redhead on fire, the same element is in all of them, though. A recurring theme, if you will.

A garden, filled with flowers of every shape and style. Yet every colour is washed off each petal and stem. Every colour except blue. I feel some hidden memory is trying to escape through her artwork—some part of her past.

The need to see her is almost overwhelming, especially after learning that I may not have much longer with her. But when I get there she is not there; even her paintings have been locked away in the cupboard using the key that mad bastard Donny gave her.

With a scowl I head back to my room to take a shower, knowing I will have to wait until tomorrow to see her—when I can train her for no reason, because our queen intends only death for her. My scowl deepens. My loyalty is forever, as any good warrior’s should be, but my fear is that I have become so attached to Mia that I will be nothing without her now. But I see no way out of this, for her or for me.

She has already stolen me, but I am not hers to steal.

I still remember vividly the day I realised the strength of my own feelings for her. She was, as usual, behaving in her typical brattish way. Her emotions were everywhere, with no control or care over what she did or how she spoke. Most let it slide, since we are all accustomed to this behaviour from new vampires, but there are some who like to take advantage and manipulate these heightened desires.

I strip naked and step into the shower, letting the water wash down my hard chest and stomach. I close my eyes and tilt my face up to meet the pounding water, her face automatically coming to the surface of my memory as it usually does when I let my defences down. Because that’s what it takes to love her.

I had been training her for weeks—or at least attempting to—but she had fought me at every turn, wanting to use her new skills for fun instead of learning to control and understand them, and I had been growing tired and angry with her playful attitude. She was without a doubt beautiful, but then so are most vampires, and she didn’t strike me as anything special—just a frisky little vampire who was out of control.

I had gone down to the Commons to unwind after a long day when I had seen her entwined with Jenna and Henry, the most promiscuous Bastions in the coven. Of course she would be there with them: it was the worst place for her, and she was (and still is) a magnet for trouble.

I shake my head and rub my face under the cascading water as I think of her. The memory of watching Jenna peel Mia’s clothes away from her body, revealing velvet-soft skin and breasts so perfect I had grown instantly aroused, is electrifying even now.

I reach out and turn the water off, leaning forwards against the wall with both hands as I think of her, the water dripping from my body. What is it about her that makes me so… I huff and step out of the shower stall, wrapping a towel around my waist and looking in the mirror, rubbing a hand across my rough chin.

I had left her there with them, not being able to watch them act out my fantasy with her—a fantasy I hadn’t realised I even had until seeing her like that. But the damn woman was bewitching, and wouldn’t stay out of my head. One glimpse of her perfect body was all it took for me to forgive her brattish attitude.

I stride into my room and lie down on my bed, resting my arms under my head as I stare up at the ceiling.

All night I had stayed away, letting myself grow hungry and agitated, not wanting to see her like that with them. Not wanting to overstep my boundaries with her. It wasn’t my job to stop her from making a fool of herself—and besides, she had looked like she was having fun.

I close my eyes and picture her face, how innocent she had looked when I had gone back to the Commons later that night and found her blood-drunk and dancing in only her underwear. She had offered herself up to me, unclipping her bra and freeing those perfect, perfect breasts.

We’d kissed for the first and only time that night.

A kiss that still haunts me now, nearly a year later.

Her lips were so soft and full on mine, her tongue gently caressing the inside of my mouth while she wrapped her arms around my neck and pressed her feisty little body to mine. I had wanted her. But it wasn’t right. I knew that I didn’t want her like that; I wanted her aware and full of desire for me, not just blood-crazed and sexually frustrated because she was a new vampire. And so I had taken my shirt off and draped it over her shoulders, covering her modesty from everyone’s eyes, including mine.

I smirk to myself at the memory of her scowling at me, frustrated that I resisted her charms. I stand back up and dry myself, dressing in pale jeans and a sweatshirt, since I have no more training sessions today and my time is my own. I tie my hair back in a black band and rub a hand over the scratchiness of my two-day beard, contemplating shaving it off but deciding against it.

Mia says she likes it when I have a little scruff on my chin.

I scowl at myself and leave my room, heading down the darkened corridor to the dining room for some blood from that crazy bastard Donny. The image of Mia curled up in my arms as I carried her to her room still alive in my memory. Because it’s the best part of the memory. And the worst. Her face was so innocent as I laid her down on her bed, her beautiful eyes staring up at me through thick lashes, both grateful that I didn’t take advantage, and still aroused and dilated at the same time. My hand stroking her soft hair away from her cheek, and her lips that had kissed the tips of my fingers and sent shivers across my skin.

And for the first time she had smiled at me—a true smile. A smile that had crumbled my defences and broken down the wall I had built around myself. And with that one beautiful smile she had restarted my cold dead heart. For whatever reason, Mia had been brought into my world and would send me insane with wanting and desire for her. Not just for her body, but her—all of her. She was like finding what I had been searching for my whole life. The only problem was that I didn’t realise until that moment that I had been searching for anything. I never realised that there was something missing, and now that I had found it, now that she had filled that hole inside me, nothing would ever be the same again. Because I knew with that smile that I could never have her. Mia was too good for me, and deserved so much more than me.