Night Reigns (21 page)

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Authors: Dianne Duvall

Tags: #Romance, #Paranormal, #Fiction

BOOK: Night Reigns
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“The house was then built by men I handpicked to ensure no ghosts hitched a ride. And instead of inviting Roland, Sarah, or other immortals who might have unseen companions over here, I meet them at David’s place. That’s actually one of the things that worried me when Seth assigned you to be my Second. I didn’t know if you came with baggage of the spirit variety.”
“I’m almost afraid to ask,” she said.
He smiled. “You don’t.” He added organic pasta to the churning water, stirred the sauce beside it, and resumed preparing the salads. “Your furry friend now has both front paws in the bowl as he continues to stuff his fuzzy face.”
Rising, she moved to stand beside him in front of the window and laughed.
Marcus returned the unused vegetables to the veggie bin. “Salads are done. Why don’t we relax for a bit in the living room while we wait for the pasta to finish cooking?”
“Okay.”
Marcus set their salads on the dining room table as they passed it, then followed Ami over to the sofa and seated himself beside her. Turning, he stretched an arm across the back of the sofa and drew a knee up on the cushion between them.
Ami did the same. “Did no one bring your stepfather to justice for killing your mother?”
“It was an accident,” he said in a gruff, gravelly imitation of his stepfather’s voice. “She stumbled in the dark on the way to meet a lover and fell down the stairs.”
Ami scooted closer and covered the hand he had rested on the back of the sofa with hers. “Did he try to kill you, too?”
“I left before he could. I knew my stepfather was a coward at heart, fighting only those he could easily defeat. So, I went to one of the fiercest men in England and declared myself his new squire.” Marcus drew his thumb across her skin, marveling at its softness. “The Earl of Fos-terly was something of a rarity back then. Though powerful and feared by many, Lord Robert was a kind man. When I stumbled into his keep, half-starved, he took one look at my bruised and swollen face, accepted me as his new squire, and treated me as if I were a long lost relative. I loved him like a brother and admired him more than any other.”
She smiled and gave his hand a squeeze.
“When I was ... oh, sixteen or thereabouts ... some problems arose with an enemy, and Robert left to parley with neighboring noblemen, see if they were having the same difficulties. When he returned home, a woman—wearing blue jeans, a tank top, and one of Robert’s spare tunics—rode in front of him.”
She tilted her head to one side. “Women wore blue jeans eight hundred years ago?”
Her query raised more questions about her background. Even people who never cracked open a book knew clothing had been vastly different in the Middle Ages.
“No,” he answered. “Jeans weren’t created until the nineteenth century. Bethany had traveled back through time from this century.”
Her eyes widened. “I thought time travel hadn’t been achieved here yet.”
Here as opposed to where?
he wondered. “It hasn’t. Or rather it has, but only by Seth as far as I know.”
“Seth sent Bethany back in time? How—”
He held up a hand. “Another long story and our dinner’s almost ready, so let me get to the heart of it. I fell head over heels in love with Bethany. But she thought of me as a younger brother.”
Ami grimaced in sympathy.
“Beth fell in love with Robert, who absolutely adored her. The two married. And, because I loved them both and knew they belonged together, I never said a word about my feelings to either of them.”
She was quiet for a moment. “And Robert is the man in so many of the pictures?”
“Yes.”
Her eyes lit up suddenly. “Are you the teenager in the older portraits?”
He nodded sheepishly.
She smiled. “You were handsome even then.”
And damned if his spirits didn’t immediately lighten as the boy who lived in his memories poked his head out and shouted with glee,
She thinks I’m handsome! She thinks I’m handsome!
I’m in serious trouble here.
“The pasta is ready.” Rising, Marcus strode to the kitchen.
Ami followed. While he drained the pasta and turned off the burner beneath the sauce, she retrieved two plates from an upper cabinet. As she stood beside him, holding a plate for him to fill with spaghetti, her stomach growled loudly.
Both grinned.
“Smells good,” she said.
Amused, Marcus piled her plate as high as his own. Fighting vampires burned a hell of a lot of calories and fat. Nothing wrong with a healthy appetite. And Ami’s rivaled that of Sarah, who—even as a human—had eaten as much as Roland and Marcus at every meal.
He couldn’t help but wonder if Ami possessed other appetites that would rival a warrior’s, then cursed himself for letting his thoughts again stray in that direction.
Once both of their plates boasted steaming pasta topped with fragrant sauce, Ami carried them into the dining room. Marcus followed with utensils, two glasses, and a pitcher of green tea.
They spent the next several minutes in companionable silence as they tucked into their meal.
Even quiet was comfortable with Ami.
“So, you never met anyone else? You never felt that way about any other woman?” she asked when the ragged edges of their hunger had at last smoothed.
Not until now.
A terrifying thought he swiftly banished.
“I mean, you were so young,” she added.
He sighed. “There were ... women in my life.” He took a sip of tea. “But none were much more than acquaintances. Companions I sought out when the loneliness became too much to bear.”
“You never loved them?”
He shook his head. “I felt mild affection for some. But, in a way, being with them left me feeling just as empty as being alone. It was a bit like someone who eschews healthy foods attempting to satisfy a craving for rocky road ice cream with a carrot.”
She nodded slowly, eyes on her plate.
“I loved Beth until she died an old woman. When no other woman made me feel that way in the ensuing decades, I suppose I lost hope and satisfied myself by simply waiting patiently until I could see Beth again when she was born centuries later.”
“And eight years ago she went back to the past?”
“Yes.”
“She won’t be returning?”
“No.”
“Do you miss her?” she asked, voice soft.
“I miss all of them,” he said, and looked over his shoulder at the portrait that hung over the hearth in the living room. It featured Robert, Bethany, their four children, and Marcus as a twenty-something-year-old man. “Beth. Robert. Their children. Their grandchildren. I miss them all. They were my family.”
“But you miss her the most,” she persisted.
He let his gaze rove over Ami’s pretty face, her drying hair, which was kinking up in the usual fiery disarray. “I did.”
Her gaze held his for a long moment, then slid back to her plate.
Marcus resumed eating, wondering if she had gleaned his meaning. It was difficult to tell sometimes with Ami. Her lack of verbal response could reflect understanding and polite rejection of the message he had decided to not so subtly send or it could reflect obliviousness. Her fascination with things most adults had seen so often they no longer even noticed wasn’t the only thing that lent her an almost childlike innocence. She also sometimes took things literally, the colloquial meanings eluding her.
Perhaps English wasn’t her first language. Though she sounded American, he had run into similar misunderstandings with immortals and Seconds in other countries. He had, in fact, made similar mistakes himself while learning new languages.
Silence descended upon them once more, still comfortable.
Ami helped Marcus clear the table. After that, however, he insisted she rest. Thus far, he had seen none of the adverse symptoms that could accompany significant blood loss. No rapid pulse, except for when he had kissed her. (And, since his own heart had been thump-thump-thumping away, he discounted that.) No dizziness or weakness. Her skin didn’t feel clammy. She exhibited no confusion. At most, she looked a bit pale.
Because of her quiet introspection, he half-expected her to retire when he monopolized the dishwashing. Relief and pleasure suffused him when she instead carried her chair back into the kitchen and sat down to keep him company.
“The opossum is gone,” he told her.
A second later a plaintive meow sounded at the back door.
Ami rose with a smile. “Slim must have been waiting for it to leave.”
“He’ll never admit it, but I think opossums intimidate him.”
Her laughter trailed after her, drawing another smile from him, as she unlocked and opened the back door.
Slim trotted in, jibber-jabbering in that funny feline way of his that sounded like the teacher speaking in the Charlie Brown cartoons. The scratches the crazy kitty had suffered shortly before Ami’s arrival had healed, leaving pink marks and bare patches of missing fur that would take longer to grow back. If they did.
Slim brushed against Marcus’s calves while Ami locked the door and returned to her chair. As soon as she sat down, Slim leaped up into her lap and leaned against her breasts.
Lucky bastard.
Rumbling purrs filled the kitchen as Marcus washed the dishes. He and Ami chatted, exploring a variety of topics, contemplating the latest global news.
Through it all, Ami stroked and petted Slim, seeming a bit distracted.
The dishes done, Marcus popped open a can of salmon cat food for Slim and dumped it in his bowl. As Slim jumped down and feasted upon it, Marcus peeled off the label, rinsed the can, then tossed it into the recycling bin under the sink.
“It’s been a long night,” he said, washing his hands and drying them with a towel. He turned to face Ami. “I think I’ll go ahead and turn in.”
“Oh.” She rose. “Okay.”
He hesitated. Ami tended to hide her emotions about as successfully as she lied. And right now her features reflected disappointment.
She turned to pick up the chair.
“I’ll get that,” he said, hurrying forward to take it from her.
“Thanks.”
She followed him into the dining room, watched him return the chair to its place at the table.
Together they strolled to the hallway, where Marcus paused and looked down at her. “Good night, then.”
She opened her mouth, hesitated, then offered him a slight smile. “Good night.”
He stood there for a moment, feeling about as awkward as he had when he had bedded his first woman. And that had been pretty damned awkward.
Frustrated with himself, he turned and headed for the door to his basement quarters. As he reached for the handle, Ami spoke.
“I like kissing you,” she blurted out.
Marcus spun around so fast he probably blurred. His pulse spiked. His heartbeat quickened. And his body went rock hard. “What?” he asked hoarsely.
She licked her lips, shifted her weight from one foot to the other.
Slowly, he ambled back toward her.
Chapter 10
 
Ami’s courage faltered as heat bloomed in her cheeks.
Why had she just said that? Marcus looked ... flabbergasted.
What if she had misunderstood him? What if he hadn’t been trying to tell her he was ready to move past his grief and begin anew. With her. Why would he
want
to start a relationship with her? She was a mess, fighting to overcome new fears instilled by old demons. Monsters who visited her in nightmares if given the slightest invitation.
She wasn’t the woman she used to be. The woman she
wanted
to be. Strove to be. And feared she never would be again.
And she wasn’t the kind of woman Marcus preferred: bold and full of fire like Bethany.
Ami had barely managed to admit she liked the brush of his lips, his body pressed to hers. She was innocent. Completely. She could never be like the women she saw on TV who thought sex a fun pastime to share with men they had just met or, if you believed those horrid Valentine’s Day commercials, that sex was merely a means of procuring shiny baubles.
Marcus had given Ami her first kiss, something she would always treasure. Marcus had been the first man to hold her in a nonbrotherly fashion. To make her heart race madly. As it did now.
“What did you say?” he asked, interrupting her harried thoughts as he stopped a breath away.
She swallowed hard. He stood so close Ami could feel the heat from his body. “I like kissing you.”
His eyes flared amber.
“And touching you.”
The amber grew brighter still, glowing like the moon. “I like kissing you, too,” he murmured with a look in those iridescent eyes that made everything within her go liquid. “I like kissing you and touching you so much that I want to do it again and again until I’ve memorized every inch of you.”
And she wished he would, though it went against everything she had been taught. “I’m not who you think I am,” she confessed with a touch of desperation.
He leaned in closer, his breath warming her cheek. “I think you’re my Second. The best I’ve ever had. I think you’re my friend. I think you’re intelligent and funny and so beautiful you rob me of rational thought.”
Her pulse raced as he rubbed his nose against hers.
“I think you’re the strongest, most courageous and intriguing woman I have ever known. Is that not who you are?”
She didn’t know whether to bury her fingers in his hair and drag his lips forward the inch that separated them or to burst into tears. “I’m a coward,” she whispered.
Fury blazed in his eyes. “Who told you that?” he demanded roughly.
“No one. I just ... am. I’m not those things you said, Marcus, no matter how much I want to be. I’m not strong like you. I was once, but then ...” She shook her head, unable to overcome her reluctance to tell him. “I’m not fearless.”
His lips quirked up at their corners as he cupped her face in one large hand. “What makes you think
I’m
fearless?”
“Don’t mock me,” she pleaded. “You know you are. Everyone knows you are.”
He shook his head. “When I saw you tonight with that knife sticking out of your back, I was terrified.”
Her pulse leapt. “You were?”
“It’s why I didn’t insist on staying to fight the new wave of vampires Roy claimed were on the way. In complete darkness, with all of the trees limiting our mobility, the odds were against us making it through another round without suffering more severe injuries.”
“You mean the odds were against
my
making it through another round,” she corrected him despondently.
Marcus never ran from a fight. No matter how unlikely it appeared that he would survive. He always met such challenges with a smile. It was one of the reasons so many thought him unstable.
“Yes,” he said simply, no condemnation in his tone. “I didn’t fear for myself, Ami. I’ve lived long enough and am powerful enough that I can take a lot of damage and live to talk about it. But you’re built differently than I am, are more vulnerable. And the idea of your falling beneath the sword of or being drained by some vampire leaves me petrified.” He stroked her cheek with the backs of his fingers. “Does that make me a coward?”
She shook her head.
“Courage isn’t the absence of fear, Ami. Courage is acting despite the presence of it. I can’t count the number of times you’ve done that since we met.”
“Including just now.” She looked up at him through her lashes and offered him a shy smile. “I was nervous about telling you I like to kiss you, but I couldn’t hold it in anymore. I’ve been wanting to do it again ever since we left Roland and Sarah’s.”
He groaned. Settling his hands on her hips, he pressed his forehead to hers. “I have, too.”
She placed her hands on his chest, felt the warm muscle beneath his T-shirt twitch at her touch.
“Ami ...”
“Yes?” His chest was so big and hard and strong.
“I know you said you don’t like to talk about your past... .”
Her fingers clenched, bunching up the cotton material.
“But there is something I need to know.”
He had guessed it. Her secret. Her weird behavior must have tipped him off despite her attempts to blend in. She had gone without sleep for six days straight and hadn’t gotten loopy or cranky or confused, then had passed out and slept like the dead for twenty-four hours. Who else did that?
And there were other things. Commonplace things she didn’t know or understand. She had hoped he wouldn’t notice, but he had. Now he was going to ask her to confirm it and would never look at her the same again.
Tension roiled within her as Marcus drew in a deep breath.
“What exactly is the nature of your relationship with Seth?”
Perplexed, Ami met his gaze. “What do you mean?”
“How do you feel about him?”
“I love him.” When his hands tightened almost painfully on her hips, she realized he had misunderstood. “Not like ... Seth is to me what Robert was to you.” She forced her fingers to uncurl, to lay flat against his chest. “I lost my family.” That much she could tell him without revealing too much, though it hurt. Her throat thickened, and tears pricked her lashes. How long would it take her to come to grips with the knowledge that she would never again hear her brothers’ laughter? Or her mother’s? Or father’s? “Then Seth, David, and Darnell became my
new
family. I love them all like brothers.”
“I’m sorry.” Marcus slipped his arms around her and hugged her close. “I didn’t mean to resurrect painful memories. Roland thought you and Seth were lovers.”
“What?” she asked with surprise.
He drew back, smiling ruefully as he combed his fingers through her hair. “Not knowing if he was right is all that kept me from dragging you into the shower with me when we got home.”
Heat once more crept up her neck to fill her cheeks.
“And now,” he said, smiling as he drew one finger down the flushed skin, “I must confess another fear.”
Her heart thudded against her ribs as she tried and failed to speak.
His glowing eyes flickered with emotion as he lowered his head and touched his lips to hers, first gently, then with growing hunger. His arms tightened, pressed her against him as she rose onto her toes and slid her arms around his neck.
He drew back a fraction of an inch. “I fear taking this—what is growing between us—to the next level.”
She stared up at him in puzzlement. “Why would
you
fear that? You’re the one who’s done it before.” As soon as the words left her lips, she cursed herself for not thinking before she spoke.
He smiled. “Don’t look so horrified. I already guessed you’re a virgin.”
Something else that labeled her different.
He rocked her in his arms. “Relax, Ami. You look like that’s a bad thing.”
“Isn’t it? You don’t think I’m ... weird? A virgin at my age?” Not that he knew her true age.
Marcus trailed his lips across her cheek and down her neck. “I’m eight hundred years old, Ami. In my youth—and for several centuries afterward—women were expected to remain chaste until marriage, whether they wed at fourteen or forty. The fact that you chose to do so seems completely natural to me. And, even if I were only the age I appear ... I’m a grown man, not a teenager. I’m not going to mock you for exercising restraint and discernment in your previous relationships.”
Don’t say it. Don’t say it.
“I’ve never been in a relationship before.”
Damn, it! You said it!
He stilled. “Never?”
She shook her head. “I’ve never met anyone who made me want one. Until now.”
Groaning, he claimed her lips in a feverish kiss.
Ami moaned as his tongue tangled with hers in ways she’d never imagined could be so ... stimulating.
Bending, he lifted her up against his chest.
A breeze cooled her face and ruffled her hair. When Ami opened her eyes, they were in his bedroom downstairs. Painted a deep burgundy, it was furnished with dark furniture and decorated with Impressionistic paintings and plants that required no natural light. No pictures of Bethany clung to his walls, Ami noticed with both surprise and relief as Marcus lowered her feet to the cork floor.
He cupped her face in his hands.
She loved his hands, so large compared to her own and always warm even though his body temperature ran a bit cooler than that of humans.
His iridescent gaze locked with hers. “Are you sure you want this?”
She curled her fingers around his wrists. “Yes.”
A brief kiss followed, light to the touch but heavy with emotion.
“Let me know if I do anything that makes you uncomfortable or if you want me to stop,” he murmured, covering her face with more light kisses.
Her knees shook. Her pulse quickened. Ami could only nod.
His mouth returned to hers, hungry, devouring.
Marcus tried to still the trembling in his fingers as he slowly drew the back of Ami’s shirt up. He couldn’t recall ever having wanted a woman so desperately ... or wanting so badly to make it good for her.
He felt Ami bunch the back of his shirt up and raise it.
Marcus slipped his hands beneath her T-shirt and caressed the silky warmth of her back, so delicate and narrow compared to his own. When Ami did the same, slipping her small hands beneath his shirt to explore bare skin, he smiled. More innocent than he had thought, she was taking her cues from him.
Marcus relinquished her lips—her soft, sweet, fantasy-inducing lips—and leaned back. “Raise your arms,” he whispered. She obeyed without question, allowing him to draw her shirt over her head and toss it aside. White lace covered full breasts that rose and fell with rapid breaths.
“Now you,” she said.
Marcus raised his arms and bent over so she could draw his shirt over his head. The look in her eyes as she tossed it aside and studied him ... hungry, yet timid ... nearly stole his self-control.
She reached out, rested her hands on his chest, tested the feel of him, brushed her thumbs across his nipples, and surprised him by giving them an experimental pinch, igniting a flash fire of sensation.
He hissed in a breath.
Her eyes darted to his. “Was that—?”
“I liked it,” he bit out.
Her lips, plump and rosy from his kisses, turned up in the smile of a temptress. “You did?”
“Yes.”
She did it again.
Marcus groaned, wanting her to slide those hands down and give the bulge in his pants a squeeze.
Her lashes lowered. “Will
I
like it?”
Impossible though it might seem, the shy inquiry affected him even more than her hands on his body. “Let’s find out, shall we?” Without waiting for a response, Marcus reached behind her and flicked open the catch on her bra.

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