Tentyrian Legacy (33 page)

“Because I didn’t have time to take it off .
. .” Without hesitation, Arianna shreds the dress in two and rips
it off her body. The sopping fabric hits the floor with a wet
smack.

“Wow, I’m strong!” she says with childlike
amazement. She doesn’t have a hint of self-consciousness. Me, on
the other hand, I’m acutely aware of how little my linen drawstring
pants offer my own concealment. Beneath the greenish tinge of the
water is a body women would die for and men would worship.
Breathtaking. Long, lean legs, honed firm from running, gently
curved hips, and a flat expanse of stomach the palm of my hand is
itching to explore. Not to mention the bountiful but not excessive
breasts they want to grasp. My own skin is tightening.

Arianna is different from the women I’m
normally attracted to. She is so . . . challenging. It’s true I’ve
always enjoyed the pleasures of the female sex, the lush comforts
of their bodies and their sweet demeanors—so giving and pliant. But
what makes Arianna different from the hundreds of women I’ve been
with is that she continues to surprise me. I wouldn’t exactly call
her sweet, and she is anything but pliant. Her spirit is hard, and
I pray it is never broken, but can she learn to bend? Maybe for
me?

I’m goddamn presumptuous, I chide myself. No
matter how tantalizing she is—I can see her skin just below the
surface of the bath water—she can never be mine. But when our eyes
connect, I feel that electric shock again. It’s hard to keep my
thoughts straight. The tip of her pink tongue licks her lips.

“So thirsty,” her voice rasps. Good, a task.
I need one, other than staring at her.

“I’ll get some water,” I say immediately.
Fortunately, the wet bar in my room is within sight distance to the
bathroom. Within seconds, I fill a glass with ice and Perrier and
return to place it in her trembling hands.

“Where did that come from?” she asks in
surprise. “You never left. . .”

“I did. It was just very fast.”

“Vampire thing?”

“A Tentyrian thing, yes.”

“Will I be able to do it?”

“Eventually. Drink the water, Arianna.”

“Don’t order me around!” The glow of her eyes
intensifies, and I notice she is trembling again. But she downs the
water. Her temperature is lower. Good.

“Let’s make the bath warmer, okay?” I turn up
the temperature.

“I need more water.” I fill it, five more
times. By the sixth glass, she throws it. Tiny pieces ricochet off
the floor. Here it comes.

“I hate this!” she yells.

“Is it the water you hate?” I keep my voice
level. Trying to argue with a Tentyrian in the full swing of a Turn
is impossible. So many hormones and emotions are in flux,
maintaining a rational train of thought is very difficult. It’s
similar to dealing with a volatile teenager.

“Yes, and you! You’ve done this to me!” A sob
bursts from her, and she rubs her face. “My skin is too tight . . .
I feel like I’m going to break through it.”

“It will feel better soon.” Her lips are now
turning bluish. I put my hand in the water—far away from her creamy
thigh. It’s cold. Her body is now cooling the water off. I turn the
temperature all the way to hot.

“Would you like your hair washed?” I
offer.

“You are offering to wash my hair?” she asks
absently, clearly confused.

“Well, you aren’t in the condition to do it
yourself, and since your adventure in the orchards, I think you’d
probably like to get some of the dirt and tangles out . . .”

“Okay,” she acquiesces, staring ahead. It
seems like she is drifting elsewhere and the pain has abated. For
now.

I set to work by quickly undoing the
intricate braids done in the Tentyrian style. Did Shashandra do it
for Arianna’s benefit or mine, I wonder? It’s amazing how well it
suits her. She looks like a Tentyrian through and through. My deft
fingers remove the pins and smooth out the auburn locks shot
through with strands of gold. Following my guiding hands, Arianna
dips her head under the flowing water. Eyes closed, her face is
serene and relaxed, like a Michelangelo carving of Aphrodite’s
face. I gently massage the rosemary shampoo into her scalp, hoping
to ease some of her pain. I rinse the lather away while cradling
her neck and head. To hold vulnerability in one’s hands— hands
capable of so much destruction—is a humbling thing.

Her eyes blink open, and her attention is
once again focused. “It’s my birthday, you know; I have to tell
Laura I’m going to miss my birthday dinner. I have to tell her . .
.”

“Don’t worry, it’s been taken care of. I sent
her an e-mail,” I assure her.

“From where?” She snaps her head up from my
cupped hands. “Do we need to talk about this now?” I ask
calmly.

“You went into my phone. You took it!”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t want her to worry. I
said you would reschedule.” Her teeth are chattering now. Her legs
are now pulled to her chest, and she is rocking back and forth in
the water. The temperature is as

hot as it can go.

“I’m cold. And thirsty,” she whispers.

“Just a few more minutes in the water, it
will warm you. I think it’s time to get you some blood to drink.” I
can see a spark in her eye at the mention of it—it must sound
appealing. That is a good sign. Instead of Perrier this time, I
pour the O negative I had Shashandra store in the mini-fridge into
a glass.

“It looks like V8,” she says solemnly.

“Trust me, this will taste better.” She
tentatively takes the glass. This time I have to help hold it to
her now-pale lips to keep the blood from sloshing over the rim.

“I still hate you.” The vehemence in her
voice isn’t there, though. “I know.”

“It tastes okay. Better than water. I don’t
think I can drink water ever again.”

“You won’t have to.”

“It doesn’t taste like you, though. It’s dull
. . . Ahh! My stomach!” She wrenches away from the glass and
clutches her stomach.

“Your body is having its first real taste of
its new life source. It will get better,” I try to assure her.

“You keep saying it will get better and it’s
not! It hurts!”

I can see the taut muscles of her stomach
rippling in response. I touch her forehead. Her temperature is now
too low but better than it spiking. Without asking, I lift her from
the tub in one swift motion. The water streams down her
cool-to-the-touch body. Her natural honey scent that’s been
haunting me since I first met her comes off her in waves. It’s the
pheromones her body is releasing in rapid supply— a sign of
arousal, another side effect of the Turn. Normally it is the
Guardians who take care of their charges in this process. For me to
be doing it, especially as I’m clearly attracted to her, is risky.
But I couldn’t leave her in the lab . . .

I place her on the white cotton bath mat and
reach for an oversized towel. I wrap it around her and rub her down
vigorously to increase the blood circulation and warm her. I’m
careful to control my pressure so as not to leave bruises. This
happens in what appears as seconds to her. For me, it’s like slow
motion. Every inch of her is caressed by my gaze, burned into my
memory.

I ignore the pricking of my gums as I wipe
the droplets of water off her neck and the stray ones between her
shoulder blades. Hathor help me. I quickly towel-dry her hair, and
before her legs buckle again, I carry her to my sleigh bed that’s
been turned down. The sun has set, and the blinds of the arched
windows have been shuttered. The room is pitch black, but I can see
her as if it is daylight. I suspect it’s the same for her too, as
the glow of her eyes indicates her night vision has been
activated.

I tuck the white duvet around her as her
dazed eyes look up at me. Her teeth are clenched in response to the
intense pangs of pain that are spiraling in her stomach. I reach
behind her to prop her up with pillows when Arianna clutches my
arm.

“I’m so cold,” she whispers. “I’ll get more
blankets.”

“No, warm me now. I need body heat, Maximos.”
Her face looks so pained, and she is shivering with cold. I can’t
deny her. You can’t deny yourself is more like it.

I strip off my soaking-wet shirt I paid no
heed to when I pulled her from the bath and slip underneath the
covers. Her eyes are locked on mine as I pull her body toward me. I
try to mentally detach myself as my hands reach for her body. Our
flesh connects, and she flinches away in surprise.

“You’re so hot,” she murmurs.

“You’re so cold. We need to get your
temperature up. Once it normalizes, your natural temperature will
be around 105 degrees. Tentyrians run on the warm side.” She leans
into me, her face buried in my chest. I run my hands over her skin
and try to rub it with indifference.

“Why?” Arianna asks. She is trembling like a
leaf.

“It’s because of our increased blood flow.
Our hearts beat twice as fast compared to a human’s.”

“I can already feel it.”

“It sounds beautiful . . . like a
hummingbird,” I say.

“You can hear my heart?”

“Yes, and you will be able to as well once
you get through this. Your senses will soon come alive. What you
will be able to see, taste, and hear will be magnified. It’s like
an awakening.”

“Ah!” she cries out, and her body gives a
violent wrench, like a helpless puppet yanked from its strings.

“Please, distract me! This hurts too much,”
she pleads. I struggle to find the right words to say and find I’m
at a loss. The only thing I can think of to talk about is the
island. So I begin to prattle . . .

“I named this island, and subsequently the
house, Ambrosine. It means immortality, and I chose it because this
is a place I felt would live on forever with me. I’ll have to show
you where we are on a map— Ambrosine is part of a collection of
islands in the Ionian Sea. It’s about an hour’s flight from Athens.
There aren’t any natural resources of note here, and because it’s
so small, no one tried to settle it. Many of the surrounding
islands were settled, however, around 1200 BC. That was before my
time, though . . .” I realize I probably sound like an old
professor to her. What am I thinking?

“Tell me more?” she asks gently when I pause,
burying her face deeper into my chest. My hands continue to stroke
her back, which is already much warmer.

“Since we found Ambrosine, our slice of
paradise has been protected by the Brotherhood. I’ll have to give
you a full tour of the house when you are better. And even show you
the Control Room. That’s Aristos’ favorite place. I’m sure he is
eager to meet you . . .”

Her trembling has subsided, and it seems like
the gut-wrenching pain has too. Somehow her legs have become
entwined in mine. Our layered legs are sweet torture, just like the
press of her naked body against me. With every chill she feels, I
can feel her skin change against me. Sweet torture, indeed. I clear
my throat.

“I have so many favorite places here; I’d
love to show them to you,” I continue. “One of the best things to
do is picnic at the beach. We’ll pack cold chardonnay infused with
blood and strawberries. I don’t know if that sounds appetizing to
you yet, but I promise it tastes delicious. And we’ll snack on
stuffed figs with spicy lentils and sweet baklava dripping in
honey. One of the things I appreciate the most about being
Tentyrian is how much flavor I can taste.” I inadvertently nuzzle
her neck and take a deep breath, letting her honey scent envelop
me.

Arianna lifts her head and looks up at me;
the green of her eyes is hypnotizing. Her mind has naturally gone
to where mine was leading me—to a dangerous place. She is
unconsciously sucking on her lower lip. And it’s downright
sexy.

“It doesn’t hurt anymore, Maximos. The pain
is better . . . and I’m not cold or too hot. But I’m starting to
feel . . . thirsty again. I want something hot . . . and alive,”
she says. Arianna has now pulled herself up and is straddling me.
If she didn’t notice I was turned on before, she’d have to be
practically blind not to see it or feel it now. The cascade of damp
hair around her shoulders frames her face that I once thought
angelic. But now, there is something fiercely beautiful and
knowing—not so innocent.

With lightening speed, I remove myself from
her tantalizing grip to stand by the bed. I need to put distance
between us.

“I’ll get you more blood . . .” I quickly
pour another glass and hand it to her. It’s an effort to keep my
own hand from trembling.

“No! I don’t want that! I want . . . you. I
feel restless . . . and my throat is on fire.” She is now kneeling
on the bed in all of her natural glory to come face-to-face with
me.

“Arianna, you feel like this because of what
is happening in your body. Everyone reacts differently to the Turn.
Some become violent, some become . . .” But it’s difficult for me
to finish my sentence. “If you don’t keep yourself in check, you
will start to get out of control.”

“I want to be out of control!” Arianna
exclaims.

“Just drink this, please.” She haltingly
takes a sip and makes a face. “I don’t want it.” Her voice is
defiant. Arianna places the cup on the

mirrored glass night table.

“I want this . . .” Her hands grab my
shoulders, and she pulls me into her body, now thoroughly warm. My
hands instinctively move to the small curve of her back.

“We can’t do this,” I manage to say. My
response sounds weak. I try to push her away as my hands move to
her hips. But her grasp holds tight; her strength is growing. It
must be midnight by now. You are being weak, Maximos. Arianna’s
mouth kicks up in a mischievous smile. The paleness of her lips is
gone. Instead, they are pink and soft. Sweet Hathor, help me. She
places her luscious mouth on mine, and I know I’m lost.

When our lips touch, it’s impossible to block
out the sweet honey of her that has been my constant companion. It
fills my nose and mouth and ignites the animal in me I’ve tried so
hard to keep in its cage. My fangs release automatically. A roar
like that of a waterfall fills my head. “You don’t know what you
are doing here, Arianna. This is wrong,”