Love at First Bite (11 page)

Mr. Rufford took a breath. "She doesn't have to. She isn't mortal anymore."

Emma felt her eyes get big.

"As I said, she has courage." He looked fond and… proud. He shot her another sharp glance. "Beth and I accept who we are.

More than accept. I can't explain. Major Ware may accept someday. I hope so. I promised to kill him if he demanded it. I hope I won't have to keep that promise." Mr. Rufford rose. "Eat. Keep up your strength. We must go soon. The jihad calls."

"Wait! How… how is one infected? How was Davie infected?"

"The blood from one of us must be ingested, or introduced through a cut. Major Ware came to serve our cause here in Casablanca as a human. It was an incredible thing to ask of him, but we needed someone who could go about in daylight. He was infected while he defended Fedeyah and me."

"How… did he get the scars I saw on his body?" She felt herself flush.

"Asharti." Mr. Rufford set his mouth. "She made the army we fight. We have all suffered at her hands." He nodded curtly, his confidences at an end. "Stay in tonight. The streets will not be safe." He slid out quietly.

Emma took up the plate and absently crunched a radish. Davie thought he was a monster. But Rufford didn't. He loved his wife.

They had accepted… more than accepted that they were vampire. What did that mean?

Emma rolled up a slice of beef and dipped it in horseradish. Where else could one get beef and horseradish but in an English hotel, even on the other side of the world? English people always took who they were along with them. A fault perhaps. But therein lay a truth. Didn't one always take oneself along no matter how strange the destination? Were she and Davie any different at heart than they were yesterday? Mrs. Rufford joined her husband even when she knew the truth about him. Mr. Rufford must have made her vampire in spite of these Rules or whatever, they were, and he loved her, and…

And what?

And that changed everything.

Emma stared at the whitewashed walls of the room, painted crimson with the last of the dying sun. She was strangely aware of her lungs pushing air in and out of her chest, her heart thudding. The decision that rattled in her brain demanding to be made frightened her.

She had thought she was a rebel because she refused to marry someone she didn't love. True rebellion was deeper than that.

She thought she was bold chasing after Davie to Casablanca. She didn't know then what "bold" meant. Now she would find out what she was made of. She was at the extreme edge of experience, and yet there was one more step to take. She had wanted to cross some line that would cut off all retreat to her humdrum life in England by giving up her virginity. Now she knew that wasn't a bold enough line.

The sky was lightening out the window of the hotel kitchen. Emma was ready for the return of the warriors. Could she face the kind of wounds she had seen yesterday morning? Could she bear to see Davie hurt? No time for those thoughts now. She had hot food prepared, a hearty lamb stew. She had ripped up some hotel sheets for bandages, though she wasn't certain they would be useful. One thing she knew they'd need she didn't have. Blood.

Or maybe she did.

Crashing sounded from the front lobby. Looters? The hotel had been deserted all day. Or maybe it was Davie coming back. She picked up a butcher's knife and ran to the front.

A ragged man knelt before two others, sobbing, pleading in Arabic. She might not understand the words, but she understood his horrified expression. He knew his life hung in the balance. The scent of cinnamon filled the air. He had obviously tried to take refuge in the hotel. Unsuccessfully. At her appearance his two persecutors swung around. A wicked grin stole over the face of the taller one. He saluted her. Both intruders had an avaricious gleam in their eyes. The stouter one turned back to the sobbing man. The one before her stalked forward two steps. His eyes turned red. There was no other word for it. And the grin on his face now included canines elongating into fangs. Panic soaked her. She had to run!

But she didn't. She walked forward though she knew she shouldn't, even though she was afraid. She struggled against the impulse, but still she took step after step, her chest heaving with useless resistance until she could feel his reeking breath, hot on her face. Behind her nemesis she heard a very human shriek, then a horrible burbling sound. She thought she might be going to pass out, because there was a whirling blackness just at the edge of her vision. The creature held her close. Red eyes filled her vision. She prayed to faint. The creature wrenched away from her and she fell to the floor. Above her, Davie shouted like a berserker as he slashed at her attacker.

Still dazed, she saw that Davie was already wounded in a dozen places. And there was Mr. Rufford. How was he still standing?

But they were, fighting the two attackers. On the floor near the door was the ragged man, his throat ripped out The scene taking place around her seemed unreal, it was so horrific. Emma heard Davie's grunt as a blade found him, a shriek of anguish as Rufford felled one. She felt the splatter of warm liquid and blinked when a head rolled past her.

It was over. The lobby seemed strewn with body parts. Davie sank to his knees in the gore. Mr. Rufford wavered on his feet but went to help him. A whirling darkness dissipated in the corner and Fedeyah stepped out of it. She was beyond surprise.

Fedeyah came to help her up. "We have rats in the house," he observed. "That makes forty." She saw that she was still gripping the silly butcher's knife. She let it clatter to the floor.

This
? This was what they had been facing every night?

Mr. Rufford pulled Davie's arm over his shoulder. "To the kitchens."

Emma trailed in their wake, still blinking. They staggered into a kitchen, filled with the smell of spiced lamb stew and her neat rows of rolled bandages. Fedeyah sank on the raised hearth. Mr. Rufford heaved Davie up on the huge wooden table and then simply sank to the floor, his back against a table leg. Davie didn't move.

"What, what can I do for you?" she asked faintly. Her rolled bandages seemed ludicrous.

"Blood," Mr. Rufford breathed.

She felt her own blood rush from her face.

"No, no." Rufford shook his head wearily. "Not from you. From the dead man by the door. It must be from the human."

She swallowed. Very well. She grabbed an intricately painted terra-cotta bowl and turned to face the lobby. She kept her mind tight, small.
Step. Step. Step. Survey the room. Find the ragged man. Did the ragged tear in his throat still bleed? Yes.

Step. Step. Kneel. Hold the bowl. Keep your mind a blank. Don't look at his opaque eyes. Keep your stomach clenched
.

The flow slowed to a drip.
Look at the bowl. Not full. Survey the room. Blood everywhere. But not human. This is all the
human blood. Is it enough? Stand. Wait for the room to steady. Step. Step. Step. Careful with the bowl
.

She fell to her knees in the hallway and vomited onto the tiles. But she didn't spill the precious bowl. Then she staggered up.

Push into the kitchen. Kneel in front of Mr. Rufford
. "Is it enough?"

She saw the answer in his look. "Give it to Fedeyah and Ware. I'll do."

Now was the moment. "I'll take care of Major Ware," she whispered, and offered the bowl to Mr. Rufford.

He peered at her through exhausted eyes. A small smile curved his lips. He nodded, took the bowl, and gulped his half. The gray in his complexion faded. "I told him he was a lucky dog."

She chewed her lips and glanced to Davie. "This doesn't seem lucky."

"It will, if we can prevail against the tide."

"I hope you're right." She took the bowl to Fedeyah, who drank the balance. Both he and Mr. Rufford were healing faster. Only Davie remained still and bleeding. She glanced to Rufford. "How… how do I do this? Must I cut myself?" She hoped she had the courage.

To her surprise, Rufford pushed himself up and looked around. Then he pulled Davie from the table, hefted his limp form across his shoulders, and staggered to a little storeroom off the main kitchen. There he laid Davie down across some sacks of flour.

"Gently," Mr. Rufford said. "Lie by his side. He will know what to do." He stumbled from the room.

Emma looked around and saw a flint and candle. She lit the candle and shut the door. The smell of flour and dried beans was overwhelmed by the cinnamon scent of Davie and the smell of blood. She swallowed.
No time to lose the courage of your
convictions
. Davie needed her. And if what he needed wasn't just in the ordinary line of mending handkerchiefs and hosting his dinner parties, well, that was just what she had escaped London to avoid.

She tried not to look at his wounds as she lay down. She was dimly aware that he had cuts and gouges over much of his body.

His clothes were in tatters.
He'll heal
, she told herself.
Just like Rufford and Fedeyah
. She pressed herself to his side and felt the warmth there. She brushed the hair back from his forehead. There was a gash on his cheek that didn't seem to be healing at all and one on his shoulder, peeking through his torn shirt. "Davie," she whispered. His eyelids fluttered. "Davie, wake up and take what you need."

The blue eyes opened, struggled to focus. Then he turned to her. "You shouldn't be here, Emma," he whispered. "You shouldn't have seen—"

"This is exactly where I should be," she corrected. She tried to keep fear from knocking against her ribs as she saw his eyes flicker red.

"No," he gasped in a strangled sob. His eyes faded to blue. He wrenched his head to the side. "I'm a beast, Emma."

She reached to his jaw and gently turned him back to face her. "You're my Davie. I'm your Emma. Nothing has changed. I want you, Vernon Davis Ware. And I'm not going to give you up just because you're immortal and strong. Or over the blood. Miss Rochewell didn't give up Rufford."

"You don't know—"

"But I do. Surely nothing can be worse than tonight."

"One mortal, one not…" He shook his head ever so slightly.

She left that for later, just put up her chin and bared her throat to him.

His eyes began to glow faintly red. "I can't take from you…" This was a desperate sob.

"You're not taking, my love. I'm giving. It's different." She stroked his jawline as his eyes went fully red. Would he growl as those in the lobby had? Would he rip her throat?

Instead he kissed her, gently. His lips brushed her chin, her jaw. "I don't deserve you," he murmured. Then he kissed her throat.

She forced her shoulders to relax. She stretched her head back, waiting. But he continued to kiss her so softly, so tenderly, that she began to feel the wet between her legs. She remembered yesterday, making love through the sunlight hours, sweet pleasure rolling through her again and again at Davie's touch. And when the twin points of pain finally came, they were all mixed up for her in lovemaking. Davie filled all her senses, even pain. She moaned as he clasped her to his body and sucked rhythmically.

"Ahhh, Davie, Davie," she murmured, and held his head against her throat. The pain was over. All that remained was the sensation of being one with him, possessed. The throb of her heart was meant to push her blood into his mouth. The great artery in her throat was meant to be opened by him. Her hips began to move of their own accord as they rocked together. And then there came a feeling of… distance, as if she were floating away on the tide of their passionate exchange. She relaxed into his arms.

The moment she went limp, he wrenched away with a cry. "Emma, Emma, did I take too much? God, what have I done?"

She looked up at him, sleepy. "No. That was… exciting." She noticed that the wound on his cheek was closed. That brought her up sharply. She shook off her lethargy and examined him, as he hung over her. If she didn't bestir herself it would be too late.

But no, the wound on his shoulder was still open and seeping. She raised herself on one elbow and pushed him firmly onto his back. He looked surprised. Then she bent her head, pulled back his tattered shirt, and, taking only one breath for courage, licked his wound.

The taste of his blood was copper, thick. Not unpleasant. She licked again, just to make sure she got enough. The wound closed under her lips.

He gripped her shoulders, his glare fierce. "What have you done?" he cried.

She looked at him calmly, more calmly than her thumping heart might indicate. "I have fulfilled a vow. For better or for worse."

"You don't know!" He sat up. With the strength lent by her blood, his wounds were disappearing quickly. "You'll die without the immunity of a vampire's blood…"

"How lucky that I know a vampire. You won't let the Rules stand in the way of my immunity, will you, Davie?"

"Emma." His eyes filled. "I will likely die tonight, Emma. We can't hold them. Forty we killed tonight and still they come and come. You'll be left alone to die horribly."

"We both could die tonight, Davie. Or any other night. One just can't know the future."

"You don't know what you're in for. You can't."

"Probably neither of us do." She smiled ruefully. "But we'll face it together."

He grabbed her, shook her until she thought her teeth would rattle, and then took her in a fierce embrace. She could hear him trying to suppress the sobs in his chest. There. That was better. "I wanted to protect you."

"Do your best, Davie. I permit you to protect me from anything but you."

"I never wanted this for you."

"And what I want, does that not count? We are a partnership." It was her turn to disengage herself and hold him away from her.

"An equal partnership."

"Woman!" he half-laughed, though his cheeks were wet.

"See?" She smiled. "You didn't know what you were getting into with me, either." She sobered as a flaming sensation coursed along her veins. "Mr. Rufford may not be happy over what I've done. And you must wait to give me immunity. You can't be weakened with the odds so great." Suddenly things she hadn't anticipated came rushing in. She felt her eyes go big. Now was not the time for her to become ill and be a burden on him.