Sanctifying Grace (Resurrection) (16 page)

‘She can wait,’ he growled. ‘Won’t do her any harm.’

‘I can’t drive anymore,’ I complained. Since I wasn’t going to disappear at the wheel, I may as well get one of the others to drive. It would be hard to keep the gun on me and drive the car.

‘Do as you’re told.’

‘But...’

Another thunk across the side of my head with the hard metal made me wince and the car swerved again, but there was no lasting damage, and we were soon pootling along as before. The speedometer said thirty-five. It felt more like eighty-five: the suspension on this thing was terrible.

‘It’ll take us ages to get to Ross at this rate,’ I grizzled. ‘I’m going to need the loo before then. Way before.’

‘If you don’t shut up, I’ll gag you.’

‘Won’t stop me from needing a wee,’ I stated.

‘Right. Hold this.’ Scott gave his gun to Powell, pulled a grimy hankie from his pocket, leaned forward and tried to stuff it in my mouth. I whipped my head from side to side, lips in a tight line, teeth locked together, leaning as far away from him as I could. The car veered off to the left, then the right as I struggled to get away from his hands.

‘Knock it off, Scott! You’ll get us both killed!’

The hands in front of my face disappeared as Powell reached forwards and clouted them away. I hauled the steering wheel around, then back again, fighting to keep the car on the road, the wheels screeching and the suspension causing the vehicle to bounce and lurch.

I didn’t see exactly what happened, I was too busy trying to keep from crashing, but I felt the car bouncing and jolting as Scott reacted to Powell and I saw him twist around in his seat and throw a punch at the other man. Powell reared back to avoid the blow and the gun went off with a sickening roar that filled my head with thunder. The smell of cordite hung heavy in the air, making my eyes water, and I coughed as the acrid taste of it hit the back of my throat.

I screamed as two further shots rang out, this time from the car in front. The car Roman was in.

Scott was slumped against the passenger window, a trickle of blood on his chest, a bright splash on his serviceable grey woollen coat. I risked a quick look: he appeared dead, eyes open and staring at nothing, a huge amount of blood behind him, but I couldn’t be certain; the bullet must have torn him apart inside. I couldn’t spare the second it would take to check on Powell; my concentration was all on my driving.

The car slewed and slid from one side of the road to the other, branches from the hedges on either side scraping against the windows and body work, then the road widened and the hedges retreated, revealing an expanse of grass to my left and a drainage ditch to my right. I aimed left.

After a bone-jarring ride down the soft verge, the car finally slowed and I was able to guide it back onto the road. I dropped to a walking pace, thankful we hadn’t been going more than thirty miles an hour. It didn’t sound fast for the cars in my time, but this tin can was a few seatbelts short of safety features. I was shaking, more than a little shocked, and desperately afraid for Roman.

I scrambled to open the door and fell out, half on the grass and half on the road. A dreadful roaring scream, savage and primeval
, split the air and Roman crouched over me, his body protecting mine.

‘I’m ok
ay. I’m not hurt,’ I yelled at him and as my words sank in he flowed upright, his eyes scanning my face to see the truth in them. Satisfied, he looked towards the car and turned into the predator he so obviously was. His whole demeanour melted and reformed as a hunter, eyes narrowed, teeth fully extended, alien and ferocious, his expression brutal and unforgiving. He was horrific and appalling and totally, totally vampire.

He moved with the speed of a striking viper the merest moment before Powell fired his gun, weaving to and fro as the other man emptied his magazine, literally dodging the bullets. His courage amazed me; he was deliberately drawing Powell’s fire to him, keeping me as safe as he knew how.

Finally, there was the click of an empty chamber and Roman struck, diving through the car’s open door. Powell let out one agonised squeal and I turned my head. I didn’t need to watch this.

When Roman finally slithered gracefully out of the car
, I glimpsed what was left of Powell and my gorge rose. He had drained him but he had done so with a ruthlessness that appalled and astounded me. Powell had not had an easy death.

I raised frightened eyes to my lover and
, for once, he misread me. I shuddered as he knelt down and took me in his blood-spattered arms.

‘It’s ok
ay,’ he crooned. ‘You’re okay.’

I wasn’t sure I was, or ever would be again. I had just seen what this man, this vampire, was capable of
; his sheer ferocity and brutality, and with that one single act I understood, once and for all, that Roman was something other than human.

He rocked me, like a mother with a child, the action incongruous with his appearance. I couldn’t believe that one man could leak so much blood, especially since Roman had drank most of him. Then I remembered the two men in the other car, and I peered around Roman anxiously. I needn’t have worried.

‘They’re dead,’ he stated, his face once again a marble mask.

‘How?’

‘I killed them.’

‘I guessed that.’ I must be feeling better if my sarcasm was showing. ‘How did you kill them?’

He smiled a fierce smile. ‘They made the mistake of taking their eyes off me when they heard the gunshot from your car. It was easy after that.’ He held me tighter and his voice was strained. ‘I thought I’d lost you. For one awful, dreadful moment, I thought you were dead.’

The emotion in his voice was raw and irrefutable, and his love for me was clear in every word. He was
my
Roman again: vampire, and human, and man, all blended together in a complex mix in my mind and heart. I considered what he had done, and I considered the alternative – my death and his – and knew he hadn’t had any choice. He had done what he had to do, as always.

‘Come. We need to go. It would not do to be found here with this.’ He gestured at the carnage in the two cars.

I didn’t want to get in either of them again and Roman knew it. He picked me up and carried me, running over fields and jumping gates. Déjà vu again.

When Raglan Castle
came into view, I wasn't surprised. I don’t think anything could surprise me anymore. Of course, I wasn't going to spend the rest of the day in a nice hotel, having a bath and sleeping in a real bed. It was a ruined castle and probably the day would be spent in the dungeons. Lucky me.

I screamed when he threw me in the moat, spluttering curses at him whilst he stood on the bank and laughed. Then he joined me, dropping like a stone into the murky water, splashing me hugely.

‘I hate you!’ I yelled at him.

‘No, you don’t.’ His confidence infuriated me.

‘I do! You bastard.’

The moat was deeper than it looked and I treaded water, my temper the only thing keeping me warm. Damn, but that water was cold!

He climbed out, the steeply banked sides no obstacle to him, and reached down a hand to haul me out. I took it unwillingly, having little choice unless I wanted to spend the rest of the day in there. He hauled me out and I flopped like a stranded fish on the grass, shivering uncontrollably.

In between chattering teeth, I sighed: why, oh why, was I nearly always cold in Roman’s world? At least I wasn't naked for once.

I should not have tempted fate because no sooner had he landed me, he stripped me off. ‘Roll in the grass,’ he commanded, wringing out my dripping clothes. I had lost my wellies in the moat.

‘No.’

‘Don’t be stubborn. The grass will help dry you.’

I sat and shivered defiantly, turning an unattractive shade of blue as I did so. Roman removed his own clothes and squeezed the excess water out of them.

‘I did it to clean the blood off us,’ he explained. ‘We could not be abroad, covered in blood, so near the scene of a crime. Besides, the smell was rather distracting.’

I peered at Roman’s shirt and trousers and had to admit they looked better for their dip, even if they were moat-stained and grubby.

‘Come,’ he said, and without waiting for me, he walked away, heading for the main entrance to the castle. I stayed where I was for a short time, then gave up sulking because it was pointless. Roman hadn’t taken the slightest bit of notice.

I found him outside a rusty grill, some of the bars wrenched aside, bent and twisted. There w
ere steps leading down to a yawning darkness beyond.

‘The cellars. We will stay here until nightfall.’

‘Oh goody.’

‘I will light a fire,’ he promised, and I knew that would have to do.

It wasn't too bad, not really, once Roman had a hot fire going. He had put his clothes back on, untroubled by their dampness, and had gone in search of firewood. He had also brought me some clothes. From the farm nearby, I assumed. He looked smug, too, so I guessed he must have fed. I wished I had; I was starving.

‘Here.’ He handed me something wrapped in greaseproof paper. I took it from him and peeled off the wrapping, saliva flooding my mouth as the aroma of meat pie wafted up. I gobbled it down in five huge bites, cheeks bulging like a hamster as I chewed. When I finished
, he fished a bottle of beer out from a pocket and I drank it gratefully, wondering what else this strange magician would pull from his clothing.

Then I found out.

Roman took the empty bottle from me and placed it to one side, leaned in and gave me a long kiss.

‘I’d forgotten what beer tasted like,’ he said as I surfaced for air.

‘Do you miss it?’ My fingers were playing with the buttons on his shirt, prying them open one by one.

‘No. The taste of blood is all I wish for now.’

I thought that a little sad and wondered how I would feel if all I could ever eat or drink was just the one thing. Surely I would miss the flavour of an ice cold Coke, the satisfaction of biting into an orange and feeling its sweet juice explode on my tongue? And don’t forget coffee. I couldn’t imagine never drinking a cup of it again.

Roman’s hands were all over my naked skin. I had been too interested in the pie to dress before I ate. I smiled ruefully: I was so often bare when he was fully clothed. I intended to even it up a little, and I eased his shirt over his arms, shrugging him out of it. He stood up and took off his trousers whilst I watched, a slow strip tease.

Of course, that put my on mouth level with a certain part of his anatomy, and I gently clasped his very erect member, circling it with my lips. His back arched in delight, hips thrusting forwards, and he let out a groan of pure pleasure. I cupped his balls and tickled them as I sucked, and licked, and nibbled, glancing up to see his head thrown back and his eyes closed in bliss.

I took him right to the edge, then stopped, and he grunted in frustration. I didn’t care: I was enjoying playing with him, teasing him. I gave him a few seconds to gain control, then returned to my task with renewed enthusiasm.

When I finally relented, he exploded hugely and I smirked at the success of my actions.

The smile was soon wiped off my face when he decided to return the compliment, and he was so very much more practiced than I.

He flipped me onto my back and held me down, one arm across my stomach, whilst the other parted my legs. He scooted down between my open thighs and, with deft and knowing fingers, hunted for what he knew he would find there.

My own back arched as his tongue probed the delicate folds of flesh and I cried out when he found what he was searching for. Relentlessly he used his lips, his tongue
, and his teeth to tease me to the sobbing brink, only to withdraw, letting me edge away from the precipice before pushing me towards it once more.

I lost count of the number of times he did this. It was an exquisite torture and he ignored my begging cries for release.

When he finally let my orgasm rip through me, I thought I was going to turn inside out with the force of it. I was burning, and the heat was so good, I screamed with the intensity of it.

He didn’t give me any time to recover. Even before the little after-shocks had ceased, his face was buried between my legs once more and I was squirming and moaning, and so much more sensitive from his earlier attentions.

His hands slid underneath me and gripped my buttocks, massaging them, and time and time, again, he almost let me come, then withdrew from the promise. I panted with frustration, hearing his soft, muffled laugh as he teased me. He was playing me like a violin and I sang sweetly to his tune. He loved every minute of it, seeing how far he could take me and how often, but eventually he took pity on me, after making me beg, and he settled to a rhythm, licking and circling with his tongue, a firm and quick tempo, that sent me spiralling out of control in seconds.

Limp and spent, I flopped, rag-doll and boneless, thinking I couldn’t take anymore. Roman had other ideas. He was hard, and eager, and ready.

He gathered me up, careful of the rough floor on my skin, sat back against the wall of the cellar and lifted me on to him. I was so very slick and wet that he slid deeply into me, filling me completely. I groaned at the invasion. My legs were on either side of him, his hands around my waist. My head fell forwards and I buried my face in his neck as he raised and dropped me, slowly, every deep stoke stoking the fire once more.  A certain part of my anatomy was rubbing gently against the base of him and as he thrust, the pleasure built, as he knew it would.