“You are not feeding on me!” Lyric shouted, jumping away from me as soon as the door shut. She fled to the other side of the massive chamber, and I watched with amusement as she selected the fireplace poker from the hearth as her newest weapon.
“Didn’t I just say I wouldn’t feed on you?” I never lied. Just the suggestion was insulting.
“This is just a dream. That’s it. You were knocked unconscious in the parking lot, and this is just a dream,” she whispered to herself, her pupils dilating.
“If that makes you feel better.” I shook my head and opened the doors of the ebony wardrobe with my hands this time, hoping it might help settle her nerves. There wasn’t much I could do about being a six-foot-five vampire with fangs.
“And who was that giant?” She swung the poker toward the door. “That guy was massive! Wait, is he a vampire, too?”
A knot of ugly, insidious…something settled in my gut. “Lachlan is my second-in-command, and I’ll have you know I’m a full two inches taller.”
Calm the fuck down. You sound like a jealous idiot.
I didn’t do jealous. Why would I? There was nothing in this world I wanted and couldn’t have, therefore jealousy was a useless emotion.
Besides, why would I get jealous over a human?
A human you let sleep in your bed.
The thought was more than sobering. Last night, I’d broken two of my rigid, personal rules for the first time in four hundred years. Not only had I brought a woman—a human woman—back to my home, and to my bed, but I’d fed her. Fangs had never pierced my skin, and if I was going to play semantics, they still hadn’t. I’d sliced open my own wrist to save her life for the simple reason that I couldn’t stomach the thought of watching her die. Every cell in my body had screamed at the possibility.
“But he’s a vampire, too, isn’t he?”
“Everyone on this side of the estate is.” I somehow doubted telling her we had humans over in the Domum for feeding would mollify her, so I walked right past Lyric’s warrior stance and into the wardrobe, which had ceased functioning as a piece of furniture about fifty years ago when it became the hidden entrance to both my closet and my private arms room.
Lyric turned to face me.
“Estate…Where am—Wait, what was that about wiping my memory?” She yelled after me, leaning around the entrance, still holding the poker like it was going to help if I decided to change my mind about feeding.
I wouldn’t. Not because I didn’t want to, but because I wasn’t sure I’d stop—she smelled that damn good. In fact, now that scent wrapped around me, infusing every inch of this space with the fragrance I knew would stay long after I did as I’d promised—wiped her memory and left her safe and sound at her little apartment.
As soon as it was safe to do so.
Mine. A dark, primal demand filled my veins at the thought of leaving her anywhere but my bed, my chamber, my estate. Tucked away and safe from the demon who’d hunted her down last night.
“It’s safer for you to lose the memories, trust me.” I slipped my shoulder holster on over my black T-shirt, then opened the top drawer just beneath where a row of my clothes hung, and took out two Glocks, holstering them both. She couldn’t know anything about this world, or the danger that had come calling for her last night wouldn’t stop until she was dead. She wasn’t fucking dying on my watch.
“You can’t just—oh, my God, what do you do with those?” She raised the poker at me.
“Dispense justice.” I slung on a leather jacket over the weapons.
She stifled a laugh. “Sorry, but if you heard the way you just said that, all serious like some CW drama.” She drew back her head and narrowed her eyes. “Dispense justice.” She tilted her chin and looked off into the distance before another laugh bubbled up. “Now I know this is all in my head.”
“Whatever makes you feel better.” It was safer for her that way.
“A clove of garlic might make me feel better,” she muttered.
“Garlic? If you believe that old wives’ tale, I’d love to show you what I can do with a wooden stake.”
“How about crosses?”
“Why would I fear anything having to do with God? I’ll never understand why humans would think we all don’t have the same creator.” I walked out past her, then shut the wardrobe doors behind me, locking them to my biometrics. Her scent was in my lungs, on my tongue. The sooner I got out of this room, the better. “I have matters to attend to. Serge will bring you evening repast.” Had to give credit to the guy, he’d barely blinked when I’d brought her back last night.
Her forehead crinkled. “Evening wh…what time is it?”
I glanced at my watch. “A little after nine p.m.”
“But it—” Her eyes widened. “How long have I been here?”
“Almost twenty-four hours.” I took my cell from the charger and pocketed it.
“What?” she shouted, dropping the poker.
“It’s not uncommon for it to take a full day’s cycle to heal from a brain injury like that.” I shrugged. “Not that I’ve ever healed a human before.”
“Healed…” She ran her tongue over her bottom lip like she could still taste me, and heat licked through my veins. Then she shook her head. “Let me go.”
“I can’t.”
“Sure you can.” She pointed to the door, color rising in her cheeks. “Open the fucking door and let me out! I have a thesis on early American secret societies to write! And a life! And I really have to pee!” Her eyes radiated with undeniable, utterly beguiling fury. “You can’t just keep me prisoner!”
It was cute.
“Well, the bathroom is through that door.” I pointed to the right, just past the bed. “And since this is all in your head, consider it your day off. Television remote is on the nightstand, books are on the shelves, and Serge will help you with anything else you need. I’ll be back later.” I walked out of the bedchamber, leaving her stuttering.
Both Serge and Lachlan waited for me in the hall. The talem stood with a covered tray, and the warrior pushed off the wall he’d been leaning against as he narrowed his eyes at me.
“Give her whatever she wants, except her freedom,” I said to Serge, who nodded and hurried through the door, closing it behind him. The reassuring sound of the locks sliding home came shortly after.
“You’re smiling,” Lachlan accused.
“Fuck off.” I walked right by him, heading down the wide hallway of the residence’s center wing. The building was shaped like a capital E, with the members of the Order living in both the east and west, pretending to give me my space while actually holding a perimeter. Usually, it made me roll my fucking eyes that the house had been designed to protect royalty, but with Lyric in my chamber…well, that changed things.
“Alek.” The highlander’s heavy footsteps followed mine on the plush runner covering the hardwood as I passed centuries of artwork that had been selected and preserved by my family.
“Leave it,” I warned him. Lyric wasn’t a topic up for conversation.
“I can smell you on her!”