Zen and the Art of Vampires (22 page)

“I'm not going to take your blanket!” I said, reluctantly throwing it back to him. “Isn't there another one?”

“No.” He didn't insist I take the blanket, just wrapped it back around himself and laid down. “Put on some more clothes.”

“I've put on everything I have that's warm, and I'm still too cold to sleep.”

The silence was even longer this time, and I could have sworn I heard another martyred sigh, but at last he yanked the blanket out from where it was tucked underneath him. “Get under the blanket, then.”

I didn't wait to be told twice. I also didn't examine the wisdom of cuddling up next to a murderous vampire—I clutched my flashlight and scooted over to his bed, crawling in behind him, shivering as I carefully tucked the blanket over me. It didn't quite reach all of me.

He suffered through a good ten minutes of my teeth chattering and shivering before he swore in Italian, sat up, jerked off his leather coat, and slapped it over the top of me, on the outside of the blanket. He laid back down on his side, giving me his back.

“Oh, thank you,” I said gratefully, and scooched in until I was pressed against his back, blissfully soaking in the warmth he radiated. It took a few minutes before I realized that he wore nothing but a thin black T-shirt. The blanket itself wasn't very warm, and with his leather jacket draped over me, and my cold body pressed against him, he couldn't be staying very warm in the cool summer night air. I sat up and peeled off the couple of extra layers I'd donned, draping them over our bodies on top of the blanket before curling up behind him again.

“You are a strange woman,” he said after a few minutes.

Pressed against him as I was, I could hear his voice rumble around in his chest. It was an oddly pleasing sound.

“So I've been told. If you didn't kill Anniki, and Alec didn't, who did?” I asked, drowsy enough that my mouth operated without its regular inhibitions.

He was silent for a few minutes. “I don't know.”

I opened my eyes and looked at the back of his head. There wasn't much I could see but a black outline, but I looked at it and wondered why he was lying, then wondered why I knew he was lying.

“Are you an Ilargi? One of the soul-sucking ones, that is?”

He stiffened for a moment, then spun around inside the cocoon of blankets and clothing, those beautiful eyes of his narrowed as they examined me. “Who exactly are you?”

I blinked in surprise at the question. “You know who I am—I'm a tourist from Seattle.”

“No tourist knows about the soul reapers without having some experience with them.”

“I spent some time with the Brotherhood people, so I'm not entirely clueless. I found out about the difference between their folk and the Ilargi.”

“They're
all
reapers.” He snorted derisively and rolled back over.

I listened to the sound of his breathing, slow and even and rather soothing.

“Was that man who attacked us really going to kill me?”

It took a few minutes for him to answer. “Yes. He was a reaper.”

“But that can't be right. They knew I was the Zorya. Why would they want to kill me?”

“You were with me. Go to sleep and turn off that light.”

“You didn't answer my question. Are you an Ilargi?”

His sigh was truly admirable, filled with martyrdom. “No.”

I bit my lip. Did I believe him? I had believed it when he said he didn't kill Anniki, but everything was pointing to him doing just that. Only . . . I shook my head at my crazy ideas. He didn't feel to me like he had killed Anniki. Yes, he took down the reaper who attacked us, but that was a self-defense situation. Going on my gut instinct, I judged he was telling the truth.

“Go to sleep,” he grumbled again.

I took one last wary glance around the barn, worried that a gang of rats might be stealing up behind me, but there was no sound but the wind. Even the rustling seemed to have died down. I turned off the light and snuggled tighter into Kristoff's back, not even bothering to try to figure out why I felt safe with him.

A soft, breathy groan slowly pulled me out of an erotic dream. I opened my eyes to find myself pressed against Kristoff. No, not just pressed—plastered. Our legs were tangled together, my arm wrapped around his torso, my mouth pressed against a bare patch of shoulder. Somehow during our few hours of sleep, he'd turned toward me, and I had draped myself over him like we were lovers. It was warm in our little cocoon, a lovely warmth that was filled with his scent. I breathed deeply, sleepily trying to analyze it, recognizing somewhere deep in my brain that what I was smelling was a man, sexy, dangerous, and at that moment, incredibly arousing.

His lips moved over my neck, soft little caresses that left me feeling boneless. I tipped my head back a smidgen and bit his earlobe, swirling my tongue around it, noting in an absent way that he tasted just as he smelled—masculine, enticing, and oh, so warm.

A dull wave of red hunger rose between us. My mind, oddly analytical, sensed that the hunger was coming from him, and I was just feeling it.

“You're hungry,” I murmured into his ear, pressing a few kisses along it.

“Yes,” he said on another breathy groan, his lips burning down my neck. A scrape of teeth had me arching my back, my breasts thrusting themselves wantonly against his chest.

A distant part of my brain recognized that what I was about to do was wrong, very wrong, not just because I felt guilty over betraying a possible relationship with Alec, but because Kristoff was a vampire, an enemy, a man who stood for everything I was about to work against. There could be no rational reason why I suddenly was filled with the need to satisfy his hunger.

“You can have me,” I murmured, pulling him toward me as I rolled onto my back. I bit gently on his lower lip as he rolled halfway on top of me, one hand stroking my breast.

“It isn't right,” he murmured, kissing his way down to my collarbone, his tongue sweeping a path that made me arch up into him again.

“Go ahead,” I said, breathing heavily as he slid down a smidgen, his hands busily unbuttoning my shirt to expose my bra. “I want you to.”

And I did. I felt oddly detached from the world, as if everything had narrowed down to this one moment with Kristoff, in our safe, warm little nest. All my concerns, all my worries, had focused to one shining point: I must satisfy his hunger.

His mouth was hot on my breasts, so hot it left me gasping. He licked the exposed skin first on one breast, then the other, his hands sliding beneath me. I clutched his head, my fingers stroking the soft curls as he unhooked my bra, gasping again when his mouth closed around an aching nipple.

“So warm,” he groaned. “So soft. Like silk over satin.”

I writhed beneath him, my mind so filled with sensations, I couldn't begin to separate them. The scent of him ignited a base desire in me; the taste of him on my tongue left me wanting more. The feeling of his body lying half on top of mine made me want to squirm to feel more, all of him, on me and around me and inside me.

His teeth scraped gently over my nipple, tugging in a way that ignited blind passion. I dug my fingers into his shoulders, my breath sounding loud and ragged in the soft morning air.

He murmured something into the underside of my breast, words that made no sense, but which felt like a caress. “You're sure?” he asked, the stubble on his cheeks rubbing against the now sensitized flesh of my breast. Before I could answer, I saw a glint of white and felt a momentary sting that seemed made up of more pleasure than pain.

I let my head loll back at the incredible sensation of him drinking from me, a mixture of arousal and satisfaction that left me teetering on the edge of an orgasm all the while feeling a deep, intense gratification that seemed to originate in Kristoff. It was as if we were sharing emotions, and I knew with absolute certainty that he was as aroused as I was.

His tongue swept across my breast as he pulled his head up, his eyes almost glowing with a mix of desire, passion, and arousal.

I let my hands slide down his shoulders, my fingers tracing out the shape of his muscles through the cloth of his shirt. He started to move up my body, froze for a moment, then reared back and pulled his shirt off.

I cooed with happiness when he returned to my arms, kissing the valley between my breasts. My hands danced over the smooth, hard stretches of muscles in his shoulders, swept down his back, and up along his ribs. He was moving upward, slowly kissing a trail until his mouth was poised above mine.

“This is wrong,” he said, his voice deep and lyrical with the Italian accent. “It is not right.”

“No, it isn't,” I agreed, and arching up to him, kissed him with all the desire that he'd stirred within me.

He groaned into my mouth as I let my tongue do some wandering, my toes curling with the taste of him, hot and sweet and slightly smoky, so good it made me want to yell. He tolerated my exploration for a few minutes, tugging me upward to remove my shirt while never breaking the kiss.

My hands slid down his chest as I sank back down, enjoying the sensation of slick, silky chest hair.

He groaned again, and took control of the kiss, his tongue dancing around mine as he tasted me.

A sharp, short cry of a rodent caused me to jerk suddenly, my fear that we were about to be assaulted driving all other thoughts from my mind.

“Rats!” I said, simultaneously clutching him and trying to find the flashlight so I could pinpoint where the attack was going to come from.

“That was outside,” he answered, his hand going to his mouth. He stared in surprise at his fingers.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

I looked at his finger. There was smear of red on it. “What happened?”

“You made me bite my tongue.”

“Oh. I'm so sorry.”

We stayed frozen where we were for the count of eight; then I said, “We should stop.”

“We should,” he agreed, his eyes searing a blue light deep within my soul.

“I don't want to,” I said, moving my hands up his arms, braced on either side of my head.

“Neither do I,” he answered just before claiming my mouth in another one of those breath-stripping, mindnumbingly fabulous kisses. I welcomed his invasion into my mouth, rubbing my breasts against his bare chest as I slid my hands down to his pants. He tasted just as good as he had a moment before, but this time, there was a slightly spicy note added that I put down to the dab of blood on his tongue. I didn't stop to wonder about the fact that his blood actually tasted good rather than coppery, like my own, and just gave in to the sensations he was driving to the point where I thought I might spontaneously combust.

He tore his mouth from mine, glaring down at me almost angrily as he reared back and pulled his jeans off. “I don't want this.”

“I know you don't. I don't, either,” I answered, struggling to get out of my own linen pants. He was quicker with his clothing than I was with mine, and helped yank my pants and shoes off before he was kissing me again, but this time, his entire body moved into the kiss. I pulled my knees up around him, feeling the proof of his arousal against my pubic bone, relishing the weight of his body on mine. The feeling of him filled my mind, but there was more I wanted from him.

I suckled his tongue, causing him to groan again deep in his throat. His hands were touching me all over, stroking my breasts, my neck, my arms. I mimicked his moves, somehow feeling his pleasure as I pushed it even higher. He rolled over onto his back, pulling me with him, never breaking the kiss that left me hungrier for more.

“Condoms,” I said, a sudden thought trying to catch my attention in the ecstasy-fest that was my brain.

“We don't need them,” he answered, his head dipping to take the tip of one of my breasts in his mouth.

We didn't need them because he was a vampire and had no diseases, said a distant thought. I squirmed against him, knowing what I was about to do was wrong on every level, but not giving a damn. At that moment in time, the world had shrunk down to one man, and he was all that mattered.

He threw back his head and moaned when I sank down on him, his penis a welcomed invader in my hidden depths, muscles I wasn't aware still functioned tightening around him as I rocked my hips, sending him deeper and deeper into me. His hips lunged suddenly upward, making my eyes cross with pleasure.

“I don't think . . . don't think . . .” I stammered, trying to tell him that I wasn't going to last long, so aroused was I, but my brain seemed to have shut down with the overwhelming sensation of him lodged so firmly inside me.

“Don't think,” he agreed, pulling me forward, his mouth hot on my shoulder. Pain flared for a second as he bit, his fingers hard on my hips as they forced me into a rhythm that pleased us both.

He drank deeply of my blood, his own passion mingling with mine until I simply ceased to exist. Wave after wave of ecstasy rolled through me as I climaxed, waves that were amplified by his own moment of exquisite pleasure. The combination of my emotions coupled with his were too much for me, sending me whirling into a chaos of rapture that was accompanied by his shout of completion.

I woke up probably an hour later to find I was alone. I sat up, pushing my hair out of my face, looking around the now visible interior of the barn. Kristoff was nowhere to be seen. My mind was a hazy muddle of half-remembered sensations; my body felt somewhat bruised and fragile. I looked down at myself, surprised to see that I looked the same as ever. I felt as if I had fingerprints visible all over me, marks that would allow anyone who looked at me to know I'd slept with a vampire.