A Vampire's Claim (14 page)

Jesus, was it like this for all vampires when they found their third mark? As impossibly romantic and illogical as the way humans claimed to fall in love? Damn it, she
would
be rational. She could give him the second mark now, only the second mark, and that would be best for them both. With the second mark, she could restore some of his strength, because bloody oath, he was going to try to fulfill her wishes, and if he fucked her, she’d likely kill him with the effort.

Best of all, she’d be part of his consciousness, and she could allow him into hers when she chose. He was already bound to her, in ways neither of them had expected. So it was a simple, additional step. He didn’t even know he carried the first mark, anyway.

He brought her up against the sloping angle of the tree, and oh, holy hell, the bark was a blessing. Despite herself, she wriggled, and a relieved sigh escaped her lips. “This is why bears do it,” she observed.

“I assume you mean scratching their backs on trees.” His lined, tanned face was filled with that familiar touch of laughter, but determined desire as well. “Let me see if I can help. I’d thought I’d start by scrubbing your back, but . . .”

“Later.” She felt the heat of him touch her thigh when he opened his trousers. Then he found her opening, already eager and wet for him. “Oh, God, now.” She constricted her arms around him, brought him in, and cried out as he sheathed her fully, that turgid, enormous length. This time he didn’t hesitate, just pushed all the way into her womb, in a way that was burning pain and pleasure at once, because it told her he’d missed her. He was matching her need. No foreplay or fondling. This was simple, needful fucking, two bodies who’d brushed too close to death, now with one goal in mind.

He pushed against her, thrusting in and dragging out, raking her up and down a handspan of the tree’s length, intensifying the ecstasy and discomfort at once. When he drove her harder, she cried out, encouraging him, wanting him to pound her against the tree, wanting to feel the unyielding power of his body, knowing he didn’t fear hers. She bruised with the forceful grip of her fingers.

She remembered how he’d removed the rope from her neck, so gently, but lingered there on her collarbone with that intriguing look in his eye. She imagined him bound to her in a similar way. Her collar on his throat, the visible knowledge that he belonged to her, willingly. It had to be like that, for it to be the way it should be between a vampire and her servant.

He was flagging, as she knew he would. Despite a great heart and tremendous strength, Devlin was human. Too much blood loss and lack of sleep were taking their toll. He should have passed out by now. His hand gripped her waist hard, leaning them both into the tree for support, but she saw from the set of his jaw he’d keep going until he dropped.

The second mark would allow her access to that delicious mind, all the twists and turns of it. Take away some of his emptiness. If she asked, he wouldn’t agree to it, not consciously, but she knew in her heart he needed it. Wanted it.

She reared up, curving her arms around his shoulders, bringing her in close to his throat as he pushed closer to the tree in response, sandwiching her between it and him, to work her in smaller, more intense thrusts that had her body vibrating, jerking with the movement, her clit rippling with every contact. He liked doing a woman rough, she’d felt it in him from the first. It was so powerful, his need, that she could imagine any woman being a little intimidated by it. Had his Tina been able to take his dark hungers, take him fully into her body without discomfort? Or had he coddled her, leashing all of it back because he loved her so? Had those dark needs even existed before he lost her, before he learned the price of his soul?

She gasped against the side of his throat, the pulsing life there as he changed his angle. When she sank her fangs into his throat, the wild rush of the blood, pumping hard during physical exertion, sprayed into her mouth so that she had to use her tongue to control the flow. Holding that pressure, savoring the taste of him on her tongue, she released the silver flow of the second marking into his bloodstream.

He caught one hand in her hair again, holding her head there, telling her he liked it, liked her feeding from him. He needed her to need him. Needed a woman to care for.

She closed her eyes, letting the swirl of thoughts flood her mind as his taste had flooded her mouth, the way his seed would soon be flooding her body. Savored all of that, past, present and future. He thought no mortal woman safe with him anymore, with the violence of the needs he had. The rage in his soul was so great it made her tremble. It was so carefully layered—not like the strata of the earth carved by wind and water, but like bricks. A brick wall, constructed by human hands. He stayed in the desert because he was afraid people might break that wall and he wouldn’t be able to control the rage.

With the mark came the renewal of strength, surging through him so rapidly she felt it like glory. He slammed her against the tree hard enough to catch her breath in her throat. She began to work her hips on him, taking control, drawing him up with her, refusing to leave him behind, joining him to her climax the way she’d just taken another step to join him to her mind.

His hands were gripping her buttocks now, fingers seeking that tight opening, the scoundrel. She rocked up, taking more of him, drawing back from his throat now to clasp his shoulder and ride him like the magnificent mount he was. When her breasts quivered with the downward impact, it of course drew his eye, though his attention slid over her fangs, wet with his blood and the silver marking in the moonlight, she was sure.

“Come over . . . with me,” she gasped out, and then they leaped together, his body spewing inside hers with liquid heat, while she threw her head back and cried out, working her cunt on him, the tree raw on her skin, his fingers bruising her, his cock fair splitting her in two, such that the pain was a euphoria all its own.

As they slowed at last, she was aware of the night creatures, the far-off call of a dingo, a few bird noises. And the twinge of guilt, though she tried to dispel it by sliding her fingers into his unruly red hair, licking along his neck to get the last of the unclotted blood.

She’d done two marks before. It wasn’t a big deal. Fine. So why hadn’t she warned him? She’d warned others of her staff, what to expect, why she was doing it. It was always to increase staff efficiency, her security. Someone whose mind couldn’t hide from hers could hardly orchestrate a betrayal with her enemies.

She’d never done the second mark merely because she had a powerful hunger to invade a mind, roll in the flow of its thoughts, see those images through his eyes. She’d certainly never done it as a stop-gap measure to keep her from yielding to the temptation of the third mark.

“What . . .” He gripped her hard about the waist, letting her legs down, but then he lost his balance, stumbling back, forcing her to catch him. He pushed her away, however. “Don’t move. Told you, you can’t walk out here. What did you do? This is like that last bite. The first night. It felt different.”

“I gave you the first mark then. It’s only a locator. It lets me know where you are.”
That you’re alive.
She did it automatically, finishing the thought in his head, and his eyes widened. He straightened, but his focus was inside, even as he swayed on his feet. She could see them, his whirl of thoughts. There were vampires that could be inside a human mind without any detection at all, from the very first moment they second-marked a mortal, but she wasn’t old or experienced enough to make that seamless transition. Since she was there now, the nagging sense of being watched inside his own head was impossible to mistake for anything else, even if it took a leap of credibility to comprehend it. However, considering the events of the past couple days, she suspected the leap wasn’t much more than a stride for him.

“It’s called the second mark,” she said quietly. “It helped restore what you lost with the blood. But it also . . . it allows me into your mind. I can read your thoughts, speak to you in your head, over reasonable distances. I can feel what you feel, when you’re afraid .

. . or angry.”

He stared at her. “I feel like I have mozzies in my brain. And like I’m seasick. Is that permanent?”

“No. It’s a good analogy. It’s a lot like acquiring sea legs. You get used to it.”

“You didn’t think you needed to ask me before you gave me nowhere to hide from you?”

“No,” she said evenly, despite the twist in her lower abdomen. She felt the trickle of him down the inside of her thigh, and God help her if the feeling didn’t make her shiver, her nipples tighten again. He saw it, his expression darkening as his attention rose to her face again.

“Christ, it doesn’t even bother you.”

“It’s not the third mark, Dev,” she pointed out irritably. “That’s a much more permanent bond, and truthfully, that would have restored your strength even faster, because you could have taken in my blood.”

“A good night’s rest and a heavy breakfast would have restored my strength as well.”

“It just . . .” She shrugged. “I wanted to be inside you. Wanted to hear your thoughts.”

“Well, as long as it’s about what
you
want . . .” He put both his hands to his head as he moved a few steps away, apparently trying to get his bearings. Danny moved toward him and yelped as something stabbed her foot.

“Jesus Christ. You are a bloody piece of work. I told you not to move.” He turned abruptly, only staggering a bit, and scooped her up in his arms again, lurching an alarming moment so that she caught his shoulders as he righted himself. Automatically, she reached into his head, helping him steady, and he stiffened at the feel of it, going still a blink or two before he jerked into movement again.

“Here.” He worked his way over to the billabong. “You wanted a swim to rinse off. You go ahead while I sit here and decide if I should find a pointed stick and harpoon you with it. Now I know what drove Ahab.”

“What does that mean?” She gave him an indignant look.

“You figure it out. So this means you can automatically read my mind?”

“When I choose to. At the moment I’m not—”

“You should have been. Cheers, love.” And he tossed her, the force of his anger and his own natural and now augmented strength launching her out a good fifteen feet so she landed in the deeper water with a resounding splash.

She took on a mouthful of water with her yelp, and sank, not having had time to mention that vampires weren’t buoyant. Not that she thought that would have elicited any sympathy from him. Particularly since she’d already told him they didn’t need to breathe.

However, as she made it to her feet, she found the water was only about chest deep.

She had half a mind to come back onshore, lay him out on his back and show him exactly how tolerant a vampire was of human cheek. But in truth, to him it probably seemed she’d been too impatient to wait on his recuperation for a good fucking. That would actually be amusing, if it was true. Maybe she should have asked, but . . . oh, bugrit. Everything he’d done for her in the past two days, he
had
deserved better. She’d just been so sure at that pivotal moment that he needed to let her in, whether he thought it was best or not. She couldn’t stand him being so weak from caring for her.

She wasn’t certain she didn’t still feel that way, but he was now carrying two of her marks, and hadn’t even agreed to be in her employ, in any capacity. The problem was, she’d actually forgotten that for a few minutes. The way he acted toward her, the way he responded to her, and she to him . . . Damn it, what was she doing? She’d gone two hundred years without a full servant and suddenly she thought she couldn’t do without one? And not a human with the proper qualifications. This man.

Humans were inferior to vampires, she reminded herself. They were intriguing, thought-provoking, and could create sentimental reactions in vampires, but a servant was a vampire’s property in the eyes of other vampires, to handle and treat as he or she chose.

To a human, that sounded like slavery. But to a vampire and servant, where the human came willingly, it was entirely different, below the surface of perception, a compelling bond that really couldn’t be defined. So she’d heard. And that was the way she felt with him. Shit. Shit.
Shit.

This was ludicrous. She rinsed her hair in the water, rubbed her flesh to get rid of the stiff feeling of dried blood and saliva. Rinsed her mouth. She pointedly ignored the shore, even though she could hear muttering from it. If she chose, she could find out exactly what was going through his head. She wasn’t sure she wanted to do so, but . . .

Conniving, supercilious . . . Making decisions for me like Winston bloody Churchill . . . I should have let the dingoes have a
go at her.
Then, startling her,
You getting all this, love?

Loud and clear. You needn’t get all shirty about it.

“Shirty?” He stomped down to the water’s edge, glared out at her. “I’ve got you fucking around in my head, and you act like I’m only narking.”

“No need to shout,” she said coolly. “I can
hear
you, after all. Inside and out.”

His eyes narrowed, his jaw muscle flexing. Bloody hell if it didn’t get her juices flowing. “Get your arse out of that water so I can blister it all over again.”

That capped it. She moved forward fast, intending to come right up under his nose.

The croc caught her in the shoulder, a stunning blow as the beast attempted to knock her under, roll her to the bottom and drown her for dinner. The poor creature didn’t realize she couldn’t be drowned. With a snarl, Danny ducked under him, seized the weak front leg, slapped her palm beneath the broad snout and heaved.

Dev was already halfway into the water, knife drawn, when she sent the crocodile flying. In hindsight, he realized it had actually been a controlled move, to keep the beast close to the water where he wouldn’t be harmed by the impact. She accomplished it magnificently, for the croc landed on his back with a loud, brutal smack that had Dev wincing from a recollection of a childhood belly flop. The stunned creature floated a second, then turned, sinking beneath the surface, the movement of the water suggesting he was headed for the far end of the billabong, as swiftly as a dazed croc could.