Blood Legacy Origin of Species (12 page)

“Marilyn,” Susan said warningly. It was not difficult to see where this was going.

Marilyn ignored her and slipped her arm about Ryan’s waist. “Would you like to go for a walk with me?”

The girl contemplated the question. “Yes, I think I would like that.”

“Marilyn!” Susan said firmly.

Marilyn turned her gaze on Susan, and although she was never as cold as Abigail she could be just as intimidating. “I will be fine, Dr. Ryerson. You stay here with your friends and enjoy yourself.”

Susan was deeply unhappy about this turn of events for a multitude of reasons. “Victor should know about this.”

If the statement was meant to be a threat, Marilyn ignored that aspect of it. “Give me five hours.”

Susan crossed her arms over her chest. “Three,” she said stubbornly.

“Four,” Marilyn bargained, and Susan knew that was the best she would do.

“Very well,” Susan said, “you have four hours. And then I call her father.”

The girl glanced at the pretty red-haired woman, wondering who they were talking about. But she was enjoying the closeness of the raven-haired one, which somehow made her think of standing next to an open fire, which then forced her to try and remember what fire was. Susan watched the two leave with great qualms.

The bouncer’s jaw dropped when two of the most amazing creatures he had ever seen walked from the club. How in the world had he missed them? The dark-haired one sent him a sultry smile that turned his insides to liquid, the kind of look that indicated her companion was in for quite a night.

Marilyn led Ryan to the limousine that pulled to the curb in front of them.

The girl examined the vehicle, searching for anything in her memory that would register. “This is a nice car,” she said at last with child-like admiration.

“Yes, it is,” Marilyn said, highly amused since it belonged to Ryan. She held her hand and helped Ryan into the car, mostly to expedite their exit. Once settled across from the girl, she rapped the window. “To my property on 4th and Main.”

The limousine pulled smoothly away from the curb and the girl examined the interior of the car, then settled her gaze on the dark-haired woman across from her. The expression on the woman’s face was hard to decipher with her current limited mental vocabulary.

“Are you hungry?” the girl asked.

Marilyn actually caught her breath, a human gesture she thought she had lost centuries ago. “Yes,” she said, “you might say that.”

“Yeah,” the girl said, “me too.” She paused for a beat, then said, “I think.”

Marilyn rapped the window again. “Get us there quickly.”

The unseen chauffeur exercised his preternatural skills and pushed the vehicle to its limits, arriving at the hotel within minutes, parking in a sideways skid that sent bellhops flying. He exited as fast as he could, but Marilyn was already out of the vehicle.

The girl exited the limousine and looked upward at the high rise luxury hotel. “This is really nice,” she said.

“Yes, yes,” Marilyn said with complete distraction. Of course it was nice, she had owned it for a hundred and fifty years and it was now worth more than the GDP of most countries. But none of that mattered to her right now.

The concierge glanced up at some sort of commotion at the front entrance, then went white. The majority of his guests were human, but the one moving full steam toward him clearly was not. He grew even paler when he realized who exactly was approaching him.

“Madame de Fontesque,” he said, bowing so low he nearly prostrated himself before her, “I beg your forgiveness, we were not expecting your arrival.”

Marilyn dismissed him with a wave. “It is a spontaneous visit, Ferdinand,” she said. “I assume my quarters are ready?”

“Of course,” Ferdinand said, “your quarters are always prepared.”

“Good,” Marilyn said, still distracted. She stepped sideways to reveal her companion. “I am not to be disturbed.”

If possible, the concierge grew even whiter. He was almost certain the one accompanying his mistress was Ryan Alexander, the undisputed leader of all their Kind. Her majesty seemed quite enamored with the exquisite architecture of the lobby.

“Of course, Madame,” Ferdinand said, again bowing low.

Marilyn led Ryan to the elevator that was rarely used because it had only one stop at the top floor. Ryan settled with her back on one wall facing Marilyn, her casual stance nearly her undoing as Marilyn thought of taking her to the floor of the elevator. The speed of the mechanical lift delayed her fate, however, as the ascension took no time at all. The doors opened and Marilyn gestured for Ryan to exit.

The girl entered the elaborate penthouse suite, again openly admiring the furnishings. Marilyn calmed herself. It was likely she would not ever be presented a similar opportunity, no sense in rushing it.

“Would you like to see the view?” Marilyn asked.

The girl nodded. “I think I would like that very much.”

Marilyn pressed a button and two huge curtains parted, displaying immense floor-to-ceiling windows that revealed not only the city skyline but the full night sky. The girl moved to the windows, gazing out at the view. Marilyn moved behind her, wrapping her arms about her waist. The girl evaluated the position, deciding that it was quite pleasant. And when the dark-haired woman guided her backward to a chaise lounge, it was even more pleasant.

Marilyn held the girl in front of her, gazing out at the skyline. She would not be able to prolong this much longer. The girl sensed something from the dark-haired woman and could not interpret it beyond discomfort or vague unease.

“Is something wrong?” she asked, concerned.

“No, little one,” Marilyn said, placing her lips on the side of the girl’s neck, producing an instantaneous arch of the girl’s back.

An avalanche of feelings thundered through the girl, not one of which she understood. She herself felt uneasy, uncertain, inadequate. “I’m afraid I don’t really know what to do,” she said hesitantly.

This was finally too much for Marilyn. “I am sure I can provide you some instruction,” she said, and sliced into Ryan’s neck.

The sensations that tore through the girl were beyond intense, and the accompanying mental explosion of images only added to the intensity. She could make sense of none of the images, although oddly many of them contained someone that looked a great deal like her. The dark-haired woman was taking her blood and she had no sense of whether this was an anomalous act or totally normal, only that it felt extraordinary. Her heart, an organ absent until this moment, beat powerfully in her chest, matching the pace of the organ seeking to dominate it. Waves and waves of pleasure flooded her mind and body and she had two conflicting yet complementary thoughts: one, that she could not stand a single second more of the intensity, and two, that she could in fact do this forever.

Marilyn finally broke free, sated but with her veins bursting with pressure. She felt out-of-breath, an oddity for someone who did not require oxygen.

“There is something I should be doing,” the girl said uncertainly, causing Marilyn to grit her teeth with anticipation.

“Yes my dear,” she said, “I’m sure it will come to you in a moment.”

The girl glanced up at the beautiful dark-haired woman, and her eyes were drawn to the vein throbbing in her neck. “Yes,” Marilyn said approvingly, “that’s it.”

The girl brushed her lips against the vein, then brushed her razor-sharp teeth against the skin. It split under the gentle contact and the dark liquid poured into her mouth, down her throat, then spread throughout her body to every extremity. The rhythm of their pairing was gentle, incessant, softly and inexorably dominant, a seduction that was all the more powerful because of its subtlety, a subtlety so complete that the seducer had little concept of the torturous pleasure she was inflicting.

As it continued, death was near, but merely flirted rather than threatened. The innocence of the powerful creature controlling the act forbid dancing too near that cliff, and when the precipice appeared, the naïve concern of the omnipotent one took over, pulling both participants from danger.

Marilyn lie with the girl in her arms. Just when she thought it impossible that she experience anything new, this girl proved her wrong. When young, Sharing was primarily a physical act, the sensations stimulating all of the nerve endings newly acquired after the Change. As one grew older, Sharing more and more occurred in the realm of the mind, the sensations stimulated there far superior to anything occurring in the physical realm.

Marilyn ran her finger through Ryan’s hair and had one last thought before she joined the girl in sleep: many could master the physical realm, but few could master the mental, and this one was ruler of both.

Marilyn’s eyes opened slowly and she glanced down at the girl sleeping in her arms. At some point in time, they had made it to the bed and Marilyn was now curled about Ryan’s back. The position was wondrously warm and comfortable, and Marilyn’s eyes drifted closed again as she began to go back to sleep.

Her eyes popped back open again. No, something was definitely wrong. She lifted her head off the pillow to look down at the foot of the bed.

Victor sat there in an armchair, his arms crossed over his chest, one long leg crossed over the other. Abigail sat next to him, her hands crossed on her lap. Both were looking at her with the unblinking gaze of their Kind.

“The two of you look like my parents,” Marilyn said without the slightest embarrassment or repentance.

“I am her parent,” Victor reminded her, nodding to the still-sleeping Ryan. He uncrossed his arm and pulled a thin pocketbook from his breast pocket. He pulled out a thousand dollar bill and handed it to Abigail. “I was quite certain it would be Aeron who would be first to engage in such a foolish act.”

Abigail took the bill, her eyes still on Marilyn. “Whereas I had my money on you, my dear, simply because you are so predictably reckless.”

The sound of the voices began to register on Ryan and she stirred. She opened her eyes, becoming aware of her intimate and compromising position with Marilyn. And although she could not remember anything, it wasn’t difficult to figure out what had happened. Ryan glanced down at the foot of the bed, taking in Victor and Abigail. She sighed aloud.

“And, of course, now my memory chooses to return.” She was not entirely familiar with the concept, but this scene had all the earmarks of a Spring Break gone bad.

Victor stood and Abigail followed suit. “We will be leaving in about ten minutes,” Victor said, then lest there be any misunderstanding, “All of us.” The two disappeared.

The minute they were gone, Marilyn rolled over onto Ryan and pinned her to the bed. “Do you hear that, Ma Cherie? We have ten more minutes.”

Ryan’s expression was angry.

“How could you do that?” she said accusingly.

“Do what?” Marilyn said, surprised that Ryan was upset that she had taken advantage of the situation when it was so like her.

“How could you risk yourself like that?”

Marilyn realized Ryan’s anger was out of concern for her.

“I was not in any danger, little one.”

“But you could not know that,” Ryan insisted, her anxiety evident in her eyes, “it would kill me if something happened to you, especially if it were my fault.”

Their relationship had always been playful and this rare heartfelt admission touched Marilyn deeply. She grew serious, and her words were spoken with great gravity.

“Abigail plans,” she explained, “she schemes, she maneuvers, she manipulates. I, on the other hand, operate on pure, raw instinct.” Marilyn paused. “And it might surprise you to know that I am right at least as often as she is, possibly more.” She rolled over onto her back, then rose gracefully from the bed.

“I was never in any danger,” she said over her shoulder as she left the room.

Ryan stared up at the ceiling, trying to remember anything that had occurred. The last thing she recalled was being in the club and going to find Susan to tell her they were going for a walk. No, she stopped herself, that wasn’t the last thing. She remembered seeing another strange man, the one with the gills and the second mouth on his cheek, the one that no one else seemed to notice. The last thing she remembered was him disappearing.

Ryan gazed at the elaborate ceiling tiles in frustration. Was she imagining things? Or was she seeing things that no one else could see? She could understand if Susan and the other Young Ones could not see him, but surely Marilyn should have been able to. And why the hell was she losing her memory?

Ryan sat up in the bed. The whole “hallucination” thing, if that was in fact what it was, reminded her uncomfortably of her captivity. It was there she had seen creepy, crawling things out of her peripheral vision, things that seemed to be real but were just on the edge of her perception. She still didn’t know if those things had been real or just a symptom of the extraordinary stress she had been subjected to.

The thought of her captivity angered her, and she picked up a pillow and threw it across the room. It landed with a dissatisfyingly soft thump. Ryan gazed at the pillow for a very long moment.

Why the hell was she so hot?