A Vampire's Claim (15 page)

It was unusual to find one this far out from a steady water source, but he also knew there was no end to the things one saw in the Outback. Like a female vampire materializing right before him, her preternatural eyes glowing in the moonlight.

She clamped down on the wrist holding the knife, her body so close to his the tips of her wet breasts brushed his shirtfront. A brief, distracting impression as she twisted his arm, forcing him to drop the blade and driving him to one knee in the shallow water. The blue eyes that stared down into his face were not those of the impassioned woman of a few moments ago, or even the feral madness of a vampire with sun sickness. It was the look she’d given Elle.

“You’ve made your point,” she said icily. “You didn’t appreciate me giving you the second mark. I am grateful for everything you’ve done to save my life, Dev, and I apologize if I offended you. But do
not
push me.”

He stared at her. “If the apology means anything, then you take your hands off me.”

Danny studied him, the granite expression, the tension under her grip. He might not be able to hurt her, but by God, it was clear if she pushed
him
, he would try. Fearless, as she’d thought. Stepping back after a moment, she spoke in a quieter tone. “I’ve not taken away your free will.”

“But it’s easier to do it now, isn’t it? Compel me, like they say in the books.”

“Dev, all vampires have some compulsion ability, even on unmarked humans. But I don’t need to compel your free will. That’s not why—”

“Well, that makes me feel loads better,” he retorted, springing to his feet, though he didn’t back off a step. “As long as you don’t need to do it, I’m free to walk around and do as I please. Until you decide I’m not. Do you really think I’d just say, ‘Oh, well, bugger. She can read my mind and take away my choices. Guess I’ll go have a beer or two and she’ll be apples’ ?”

Her mouth pressed into a line. “No, that’s not what I’m trying to say. You’re not my full servant, Dev.”

“What’s the bloody difference?” he snarled.

“I haven’t asked you,” she shouted.

“Why bother?” Irish temper had flared and his green eyes were like brilliant emeralds, flashing in his furious face. He yanked at the collar of his shirt, opening it several more buttons. “Sink your little fangs in once more and consider it done, since it’s so fucking obvious that’s what you want from me.”

Danny blinked. She was experienced enough to mask her reaction to anything, but she couldn’t find anything to say to that. Though she knew it was rather important that she think of something. A denial? Some type of retort that would turn this conversation in a different direction? Because the truth, that she was entirely out of her depth on this, was not an acceptable admission.

Dev turned away from her with a look of disgust, retrieved his knife and walked back to the tree where he’d fucked her senseless.

Danny stood watching him, an uncharacteristic shiver going through her. She usually didn’t feel the cold, but for some reason where his anger had stirred her, this abandonment left her feeling . . . wrong.

When she pushed past that into his mind, she found nothing. He wasn’t thinking anything. Just . . . he was tired. Very tired. And sad. An overwhelming wave of loneliness hit her, so hard she almost staggered backward several steps. He wanted to go back to the way his life had been several days ago. Where solitude was his primary craving. Where he carefully managed his feelings so he didn’t feel too much. She’d disrupted that. But instead of feeling gratified by the thought, she felt shame. Even more disturbing, her heart twisted, seeing those desolate thoughts in his mind.

She was a young vampire, but she knew the warnings about caring too much for humans. No one denied that fully marked servants, bonded to a vampire’s very soul, were cherished in the unique and various ways that vampires expressed such affection. But while humans might be valued highly for their intelligence and resourcefulness, it was important not to lose perspective.

She also knew that, though many vampires might mark a human once or twice at will—or even on a whim, as she’d done it—only a fool made a human a full servant when it was not something the human desired. That was what Dev didn’t understand. Of course, sometimes it seemed he understood more about their situation than she’d even admitted to herself.

She moved out of the water, intending to dare the possibility of damage to her feet to get to her clothing, and the boots he’d thoughtfully stuffed with her socks to keep creepy-crawlies out of them. She wasn’t going to enjoy putting the same dirty clothes on, but at least her body was cleaner.

“You said you wanted me to scrub your back,” he said.

She turned to where he was sitting in the shadow of the tree. He had his hands linked over his knees.

“I figured I’d asked enough of you for one day.”

“I’ll give you anything you ask, love. Anything.” His voice was low, thick. “I only mind what you decide to take.”

“I don’t know how to say I’m sorry for it, Dev. If it helps, I didn’t intend to hurt you with it.” She turned to him, feeling oddly vulnerable without any clothes on, him sitting on the ground studying her.

“Can you explain why you did it, then?”

Good luck with that, when she couldn’t explain it to herself. “I just . . . maybe I got a little carried away in the moment, is all. The . .

. It’s intimate, the ability to link with your mind. Speak with you with no one else hearing.”

“Can I get into your mind the same way?”

She shook her head. “Only if I let you. I can let you hear thoughts I speak to you, but typically a vampire doesn’t give a human full access. It’s best all round. It could be disturbing, for one thing.”

“And what is the difference? Between two marks and three.”

Everything.
But she stuck to the physical considerations. “The third mark triples a human’s mortal lifespan. Enhances healing power, speed and strength, as well as the mental connection of the second mark. It also links Master and servant irrevocably. If the vampire dies, the servant dies.”

“And if or when the servant dies?”

“The vampire lives,” she said.

Though it was akin to having the heart ripped out of one’s chest. So she’d been told by her father.
There’s a sense of closeness,
of binding, greater than you will ever feel with any other living being, maybe even God, while in your earthly form. Most
human life forms spend their whole lives feeling lonely, Danny. But vampires have a way to feel completely connected to
someone, no guessing or faith to it. Forever.

“Mmm.” Rising, he picked up the billy and the soap, bringing both to her. In the darkness, his silhouette was broad and tall, shadowing her. “Turn around, then, love. Let me do your back.”

She nodded, uncertain what else to say. When the soapy cloth touched her back, began to rub, she could barely resist the urge to arch and purr. He moved her hair forward, over her shoulder, smoothing it down over one breast, taking advantage of that, but in a quiet, sensual way that merely sent a ripple of pleasurable response through her.

His mind had gone quiet again, focusing on simple things, like the shape of the moon, the gleam of it on her flesh. How he was going to get her to the next pub, get her a safe transport out to Thieves’ Station.

“How do you do that?” she asked.

“What?”

“Your mind . . .” She realized she might be touching back on a sensitive subject, when his hand with the cloth paused, but she pressed on. Best to seize the bull by the horns. She couldn’t pretend it hadn’t happened. Hell, she couldn’t even pretend she hadn’t wanted it to happen. “It’s . . . I can tell it bothers you, very much, what I did. But you’ve put it aside, or something. Your mind is . .

. vacant. Smooth. Like a lake.”

“Are you saying I’m empty-headed?”

She bit her lip against a smile, felt things loosen in her lower abdomen. His hand started rubbing again, working out dirt and blood, stroking responsive skin. “No. Still, calm. You’ve just chosen not to think about anything more than this moment. And practical things.”

“Like my diabolical plan to leave you stranded out here?”

“No.” She closed her eyes as he put down the cloth and began to massage her flesh with two soapy hands, nothing interfering with contact between their skin. His strong fingers eased the muscles at the same time he rubbed the flesh.

She imagined him doing this for his wife at the end of the day, after she’d been doing any number of the things a wife handled at a homestead. He’d have her sit in a chair while he did it, his gaze caught by the sable silk of her hair, the way it exposed her neck so that he leaned over and put his lips there. Her laughter was a breathless shiver.
Dev, you daft man. I’m much too dirty from
cleaning. And pregnant as a cow, on top of it.

He’d had the ability to arouse her with a touch, that bare caress of lips. She could see it in the face the woman . . . Tina . . . turned up to him, the love and desire shining in her eyes, her parted lips showing her willingness even as she chided him. And he’d taken advantage of it, too, lifting her out of the chair and turning her, bearing her back to the table and taking her right there. Rucking up her skirt, finding her wet and willing before easing into her, gentle, holding back, pleasing her and finding his own pleasure. He’d curtailed the raging desire in his gut to rut upon her, exercise the lust he felt for her in the most primal way. His hands had cupped her belly, and, even as he stroked inside her, he’d bent, put his lips over the child they’d made.

She’d made him feel as if he was the center of her world. And she, and their son, had been the center of his. It made sense. No one understood the agony of eternal loneliness until he’d had the exact opposite, lying like the simplest of gifts in his palm.

Danny opened her eyes, gazed into the night. Her imaginings, or his, had led her into his memories. Was there anything more attractive than a man who knew what it was to truly love a woman? Who remembered the joy and wonder of it, so it was stamped on him, forever felt by any woman graced by his touch, his smile, or his attentions? He didn’t have to guess to know what was the right thing, the right feeling or touch. He’d been there. Perhaps some women would have been jealous of the memory, afraid of its hold on him, but because she could wrap herself in those memories, she saw how they enhanced him, how he was integrating them into this moment. While it made him pensive, it also guided him as he kneaded, rhythmic and slow, his fingers fanning out over her back, the thumbs dropping like the stem of a bird’s wings as his touch rolled across her firm skin and muscle.

“Will you tell me how you do it, Dev? The stillness.”

She saw the flash of resentment in his mind, the thought that she could just go fossicking for it if she chose. But rather than reacting to that, she waited him out.

“My ancestor lived with the black fellas in Queensland for about thirty years. My family has always been connected to that clan, even as we’ve all been moved around a bit. Some of my growing up was with them, in the Outback. One of the Elders of that tribe taught me things about being still. Inside and out.” He nodded toward the land rolling out before them, mostly flat until it reached their rock formation in the distance. “You know, in brightest daylight, ten aborigines could be standing within a hundred feet of us here, and if they didn’t want to be seen, they wouldn’t be. Part of it is understanding the land, the ability to blend, but a large part of that is blending your mind with your surroundings, as well. Letting it go completely still, so that you can find a center. I can do it when something bothers me more than it should. Later, when I go back to it, it seems more manageable, somehow.”

She nodded. Not only from the shifting images in his mind, but also from the inflections in his voice, she knew that ability had been a desperate need for him, particularly in the past decade. But she let that go for now as his hands slid down her rib cage, back up again, using the washcloth to drain more water on her skin, lubricate the avenue he followed across her body. His hands spread out farther, traveled to more distant points. It became a sinuous dance, her body moving with the motion of his hands. Back down again, around, his palms molding her buttocks, lifting them as one of his hands came around her front, flat on her stomach, anchoring her as he gripped the buttock, bent and pressed his lips to the curve, taking a nip that made her jump. “You’ve a beautiful arse, love.”

She picked up the thought from his mind, tilted her head to look over her shoulder at him. “You’re thinking that getting to put your cock there is even payment for me invading your mind?”

“Nope,” he said, unruffled. The cloth slid down her flank, tracing the cleft between her buttocks, his fist squeezing so the water trickled into the sensitive area. The traitorous coiling in her lower belly left her worrying her bottom lip. “Not even close. But it’s a start.”

She intended to toss a disdainful look over her shoulder, but he dropped to one knee, his thumbs inserting themselves in that seam as if splitting open a succulent piece of fruit. Abruptly she swayed forward, drawing in a surprised breath as his lips and tongue began to collect the water he’d drained in that cleft, easing in so he was teasing her rim with the heat and moisture of his mouth.

Sensation shot through her. She twisted around, mindful of staying in one place, not wanting her tender feet to be pierced by the dangers on the darkened ground. As she gripped his shirt, she wasn’t sure if it was to stop him or steady herself.

“That’s enough,” she managed, feeling heat in her face.

When he looked up at her, a drop of water was on his upper lip. He wiped the back of his hand across it. “No man’s ever buggered your arse, has he?”

She raised her chin. “A crude way to put it.”

“You can read my mind, love. No sense in prettying it up. You get it the way I’m thinking it, right?”

“Even if I can read your mind, manners are still important,” she said primly. “And I’m not constantly inside your head. Mostly it’s a functional connection. Harry, John and Roy were all second-marked, and I didn’t . . . They were my employees.”