Bound to the Vampire (9 page)

Dameon rose from the loveseat so they could sit together.

“Dameon was just telling us how he and Valencia met,” Izzy informed the new comers with a twinkle in her pale blue eyes.

Dameon took the empty space next to Valencia and they accepted new goblets from the waiter. It was tempting to reach for her hand, to see if the fabric of her dress was as soft as it looked. There’d been a time when he wouldn’t have resisted such an impulse.

That’d been the happiest time of his life. How did she push it to the back of her mind so easily? Why did it not burn in her gut? Why did she not ache with everything they’d lost? Why had she left him at the altar in front of everyone, alone instead of confronting him?

“Let's hear it,” Shade said and dumped another glob of ketchup on his plate.

“We met at an old ruins in the country,” Valencia said as if it were an inconsequential detail.

When she didn't elaborate he stretched his arm across the back of the iron loveseat, ignoring the awareness tingling through him. Such was the life of a bonded vampire. Her lure would always tempt him. Always remind him that he was taken, bound, ruined for all others.

He forced himself to be casual when what he really wanted to do was touch her, flash them back to his room and finish what they’d started. But he restrained himself, talked his cock off the ledge and regarded their audience.

“The moon was full that night. Crisp. Early autumn. We were both far from home, but that didn't matter to Valencia. She was fearless. I saw her in a large doorway and the light hit her just so—”

“They don't want to hear all this. It's ancient history,” Valencia inserted. She smiled at her friends again but the gesture didn't meet her eyes. It was a cold smile, prefab, practiced, and emotionless. Then she lifted the goblet to her lips and took a long swallow. Was she fortifying herself?

Why?

Why didn't she want to remember that night?

“Are you going to tell the story, Val-dear, or am I?” he murmured. Her eyes widened and for the briefest moment, the blue swirled to silver.

No, she was not as emotionless as she wanted him to believe. Not by far. She could no more separate sex and emotion than she could butter from a croissant. Both were important ingredients.

“Continue,” Izzy urged.

He inclined his head slightly. “She was a long way off.”

He held out his hand and looked off into the distance.

“I wasn't sure I could trust my eyes. Maybe she was just a ghost, but I was curious.”

“Always curious,” Valencia inserted and this time when her lips twitched he knew they did so with good humor.

“I told my coven mates that I would meet them at home and I kicked my horse toward the old monastery. We picked our way through quite a bit of rubble and by that time, I'd lost sight of her. So I dismounted and followed the moonbeams—”

“And then he found me. The end.”

He gave her a stern look and the others laughed. Even though she angled her chin up at him ever so slightly in that classic 'Valencia Fabelle' fashion, she leaned back in her chair and sipped her wine, sighing with resignation.

“So I enter the ruins and there's no sign of her. I search and I search and ultimately decide that she must be a ghost.”

“You did not believe in ghosts,” Valencia said.

“I was just about to return to my horse when something caught my eye. I looked up and there she was, sitting atop what was left of a wall, staring down at me.”

Izzy and Ceara sighed.

“He forgets the part where he arrogantly marches up the stairs and–”

“I was concerned for your safety,” he cut in.

“You told me it wasn't safe out there for a woman.”

His lips twitched but he held in the smile. Damn he'd missed their sparring matches. He missed her. Had missed her every day no matter how hard he tried to deny it.

“You were right you know,” she murmured.

“Was I now?” He leaned closer.

“There was evil in those woods. I met you.”

Dameon threw his head back and laughed.

“Some things never change, Val-dear.”

“Your evil ways?” She quipped and took another sip from her goblet.

“Your impeccable sense of timing.”

“We will let you guys discuss this privately,” Izzy said abandoning her glass. Shade stood up next to her and Ceara and Maxim followed suit. Coco and Grayson stood and Coco stared at them with curiosity and concern.

“Please don't let us run you off,” he said, rising. “Valencia and I haven't seen each other in a very long time I'm afraid.”

“Then you have lots to catch up on,” Shade said with a smirk. With an arm around Izzy's shoulders, he led her toward the hotel. Ceara offered them a quick smile, grabbed her beach towel and reached for Maxim's hand.

Dameon watched the other two couples walk away before he took his seat again.

“Moonbeams?” Valencia scoffed.

“Isn't that the kind of language you ladies love?”

She murmured something under her breath.

“What's that, Val-dear?” It wasn't like her to mumble or hold her tongue but he was realizing that though she shared the same face and the same body, she was very different from the woman he'd known two centuries ago.

“Not from you.”

“From me?”

“That's not what I want to hear from you. We had our moonlight and roses. Our honeymoon time, as you call it. It didn't end well.”

Whose fault was that? Was there any fault to be had? Many sleepless days he’d wondered if perhaps they just hadn't loved each other enough or trusted each other enough.

But that wasn’t true.

“No. It didn't.”

But it
wasn't
because of lack of love.
Or
trust, on his part. He'd trusted her with his heart, his soul. And he'd loved her more than anything else: his family, his position, his immortality.

She turned and looked right at him, those blue eyes pegging him like darts to the dart board.

“Why did you cut your hair?” he asked and resisted the urge to finger the silky strands brushing her cheek.

“Because I wanted to.”

“It's so severe.” Perfectly chiseled, cropped right above her chin. A bob so sleek she could have been a hair care model. Not a hair out of place. He wasn't surprised; there'd always been something other worldly about her. From that first moment he'd laid eyes on her.

“It matches my mood,” she said and turned away. But she didn't move away or flash. That was progress he supposed.

“You surprise me, Valencia.”

She turned his way again.

“Why is that?” A delicate brow lifted a fraction in question.

“All your money, your grace, you could be anywhere in the world, do anything and yet you choose to sit here and sulk like a child.”

Her eyes widened and those darts turned to daggers.

“You don't think I have a right to sulk? After everything—”

“Once upon a time. Yes. We both had reason to pity ourselves. But it's been centuries Valencia. Why haven't you found happiness again?”

“It didn't work out so well for me last time, now did it? Every time I think about...” She trailed off and finished her cocktail rather than her sentence.

“Think about what?”

“Nothing.”

“I want to know. What do you think about?” He touched her wrist and her gaze zeroed in on his hand but she didn't speak. Didn't move, kept her body straight on the seat.

“Valencia, Dameon,” Latham said as he strode up. Somehow he always appeared casual even though his every movement was full of purpose. He seemed more relaxed than yesterday. “I trust you enjoyed the dolphin excursion.”

Dameon nodded. “It was lovely. Such a marvelous world. We’re sorry you missed it.”

“Selma was a terrific hostess, Charles.”

“Excellent. We're going to be closing the outside terraces in an hour. There's a storm coming in that we need to prepare for.”

Dameon noticed several staff members alerting the other guests.

“We'll be sure to clear out before then,” he told the god.

“Enjoy the rest of your evening.”

“Thank you,” Valencia murmured.

They watched him walk away and Dameon knew she was about to bolt. He was coming to realize that when she felt backed into a corner she escaped.

How different she was from the woman who'd once come out wielding a deadly blade.

“Come on. I'll walk you back to your cottage.”

“How do you know I have a cottage?”

He smiled down at her as he stood. “I know a great many things, Val-dear. And I pay well for information.”

She cocked her head to the side. “What else do you know?”

He held out his hand to her. “Walk with me and find out.”

She glanced between his face and hand and back again, silently pondering.

He could see the wheels turning in her head and though she still had a mental shield up, he could almost read her thoughts.

She didn't trust him but was wondering what he had to say. Curiosity was ingrained in her even though she tried not to show it now.

She reached for his hand. Cool, satiny soft skin slid against his. He tightened his grip and helped her from her seat. This time he was prepared for her touch. At the dance their connection had thrown him for a loop. But touch was a funny thing. So was scent. And when combined—
“So. What is it you think you know?” she asked, meeting his gaze head-on.

There she was. The vixen who'd stolen his heart with such ease. She could have been a surgeon, what with the way she'd relieved him of the blood-pumping organ and the way she'd wielded a blade.

But she didn't pull her hand away which he found extra interesting. Half an hour ago she’d been so distant and he’d been sure that he’d have to fight for her touch again. But now…

When had she become such a contradiction and why did that turn him on so much? He usually couldn’t be bothered to chase. He was much more at ease with setting traps.

Was she done fighting their natural lure? It was exhausting. Staying away from her all these years had been possible only due to his iron will. Today he'd let that tenacity shift from fight to conquer.

“You have a coven of your own now. Filled with misfits and orphans and whoever else strikes your fancy.”

She nodded as they strode along the wooden boardwalk toward the jungle.

“You don't deny it?”

“No.”

Once upon a time her family had been about place, status. They'd been royalty in the vampire world and they had no time for those beneath them. That Valencia not only aligned herself with these people but counted them amongst her friends was a sign of her character. But then he'd always seen that side of her...right until the moment where she'd gutted him in front of their family, friends and the whole of the vampire elite.

“I applaud you for it,” he said softly, guiding her around a leaning palm tree.

“You do?” She turned toward him, brows lifted in surprise.

“I do. Word is you've helped countless females. That's to be commended.”

“Not everyone would think so.”

“Those people aren't the ones who matter, are they?”

She paused, a wistful look on her face. The softening of her lips was so contradictory to the cool set of her mouth at her party. There she’d been a queen, surveying her court, holding herself apart from everyone. But here, now, she was real, touchable again. She was the Valencia who showed emotion, who didn’t deny her true nature.

“No. They're not the ones who matter. Not anymore.”

But at one time, they had; that's what she meant. And he understood all too well. The expectations. Too many expectations.

He wanted to say something more, to let her know he understood what she'd been through. But he didn't. Not really. Her life had been vastly different from his even though they shared so much.

The quiet as they strolled through the tropical paradise was peaceful, washing away the turmoil of the last week of his life.

It'd so long since he'd enjoyed a quiet, peace filled moment that he honestly couldn't remember that last time. He wouldn't be surprised if it had been before their wedding day. It seemed as if his life was divided by that day. Those six months with her had been everything. And every day after had been tumultuous.

Fighting not only with the wolves and other covens, but within his family.

But all that was done. Over. Blessedly finished.

Dameon sighed, torn over the peace he felt and his need to talk about the events that had pushed them apart. The indecision wasn’t like him and he hated that. Deep down he hated feeling soft and weak especially after the pain he’d endured. But seeing her now made him realize that she’d seen pain. She’d more than her share.

For a long time he’d glossed over that. But there was no glossing over the fact that his father had secretly had her parents murdered. There was no shying away from the fact that she was the very last of her bloodline. He’d ignored too much for far, far too long.