Valya felt the stinging tears damp on his cheek and realized what he had done to his love. His fingertips lightly stroked her cheek, pushing a loose tendril from her face, pale from loss of blood. He ran his tongue lightly over the pinpricks on her neck, tantalized by her taste and reviled at himself for enjoying it. He sealed the wound and then brushed her forehead with a light kiss, his tears falling upon her ashen cheek.
He threw his head back and roared. His anguished howl filled the night.
His eyes brimming with tears stared up at the moon as he begged the Goddess to forgive him for what he had done to her daughter. He found no
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absolution, no solace in the night. He only felt regret and self-loathing for taking Richelle so roughly. He embraced her, closing his eyes. Holding her cheek to cheek, he wept bitter tears.
* * * *
“Y’ello?”
“Hey, Jonathon.”
“Val, is that you, buddy?”
“Yeah, it’s me.”
“Kinda late for a chat.” Valya heard the sheets rustle as Jonathon rolled over. “It’s four in the morning. This better be damn important, like the world is coming to an end.”
“My world is,” Valya responded despondently.
His body still achy despite being healed by Nicolae, Jonathon sat up.
“What happened?”
“I messed up.”
“Hey, Val, it couldn’t be that bad.”
“No, man, I mean I
really
fucked up…
bad
.”
The line went silent for a few moments before Jonathon spoke.
“What do you need?”
“I need you to stay with Richelle. Can you get over here…now?”
“Yeah, give me ten minutes, and I’ll be on my way.”
“Thanks,” Valya murmured as he closed the flip phone and looked toward the bedroom where he left Richelle sleeping; he couldn’t bring himself to walk back into the room to gaze at her as she slept. He was too ashamed of what he had done.
He had come so close, so very close, to killing Richelle and damning himself to destruction. The Cardinal Laws of the Immortals were very clear.
You do not kill while feeding. You do not turn a mortal. To do so would bring judgment from the Law Enforcers to which there was only one punishment—death.
But even as he felt her life draining away as he took her blood, she was willing, giving, open. She did not put up a fight. Instead, she opened herself more to him, offering all that she had. And even though he knew what the penalty was, he could not stop feeding. It was only when she softly
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whispered his name that the bloodlust left and his sanity returned. It was almost too late, but he stopped.
And when he pulled back and saw the damage he had done, he wanted to kill himself. Her neck was ravaged from where he had fed, bruised and swollen. Her skin was pale and showed the marks of how he held her, restrained her, while he took her in his blinded bloodlust. Her form was limp and lifeless as he cradled her in his arms and brushed the hair away from her face.
In anguish, he threw his head back and roared into the darkness. When his voice had grown hoarse, he leaned down and did the only thing he could do and began to tend to her wounds. He could not give her his blood to renew her strength as it would turn her. Instead, he softly kissed and licked her wounds, his saliva acting as a magical balm and instantly sealing her wounds, removing the ugly blemishes that insulted her beauty. Thorough and fastidious, he examined and scrutinized every part of her body to remove the offending eyesores.
When he was satisfied all of her injuries were cared for, he gently carried her to their bed, laying her upon the thick mattress before he covered her with the red satin coverlet, the color mocking him, reminding him of the blood he had taken in his fury. She moaned softly as she turned into the pillow and sank down into the mattress, cocooned in warmth. He stared at her smooth features, serene in her repose but marred by the dark circles beneath her eyes. He had cursed as he left the bedroom.
That was the vision he held in his mind of his beloved Richelle as he stared toward the bedroom, not daring to come near her for fear of finishing what he had started, to make the third exchange while she was weak and confused. After the third exchange, she would have more of his power to blend with her own, and they would be irrevocably bonded…then she would be safe.
But until then, until he had destroyed the Evil One, he would need to keep a distance from Richelle. More and more, he had no control when he was near her. Give him thieves, rapists, murderers…he could handle them.
But when it came to a slip of a woman with hair of fire and ice and sea-green eyes, with skin as pale as moonlight and a voice that called to him in the night to draw him into her secret circle and give him peace… How could
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one woman hold so much power to make him feel such fear of the world he had mastered for centuries?
He ran his fingers through his hair and shook his head. He would have to leave her for a while. He couldn’t trust himself. How would he act when faced with her heedless defiance? Jonathon would stay with her as he went on the hunt for the Evil One. Valya needed to be clear-headed when he faced Luka. He couldn’t be hindered by emotions or thoughts of Richelle.
After he had removed the danger to Richelle, they would make the third exchange. They would be bound heart and soul, sharing one mind and sharing powers. Then she would be safe and he could love her the way she should be, with reverence and joy.
He felt a shifting in the energy around him. Reluctantly turning away from the bedroom, he went to the front door, opening it before Jonathon had knocked.
“Jeez, man,” Jonathon remarked as he pulled his hand back.
“Sorry about that, Jonathon.”
“No problem. I just keep forgetting about those superhuman powers of yours.”
Valya shrugged as he stepped aside to let Jonathon come into the apartment. Jonathon was one of the few people he trusted enough to allow him access to his home. Jonathon would stay with Richelle during the day and the Protectors would stand guard at night.
“So, tell me, Val. What’s the big problem?”
Valya sighed as he closed the door. “Have a seat. This may take awhile to explain.”
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Richelle awoke slowly, feeling a bit dazed and lightheaded like she had been asleep for a week. Sitting up in the bed, she realized her entire body ached. She rotated her head, trying to work the kinks out of her neck. She tried to remember what had happened last night, but couldn’t. She was having a hard time remembering anything, including where she was…or who.
She closed her eyes and was rubbing her temples with her fingertips when a thought came to her.
Richelle. My name is Richelle.
Opening her eyes, she looked around the room. It had a vague, familiar presence to it like a childhood memory, but not anything she could put her finger on. She should have been upset or nervous about not recognizing her surroundings but she wasn’t.
Oddly, she was calm, almost serene. And when she inhaled, there was a unique scent that overran her senses. She couldn’t define it, but it was warm and spicy, very masculine. It comforted her on an intrinsic level. She sighed as she inhaled deeply, gathering her strength to go and find out where she was. As she threw back the covers, the chill in the room assailed her body, her nipples puckering in the cold. Underneath the warmth of the comforter, she hadn’t noticed that she was naked.
“Well, good evening, little miss. Whoa, so sorry.”
She was expressionless as some man sauntered into the room with a tray of food and a wolf trailing behind him, trying to dart past to join Richelle on the bed. He abruptly turned around, spilling a bit of juice and coffee when he saw Richelle sitting upon the bed naked from the waist up.
She is so beautiful.
Richelle looked at him with a start. “Did you say something?”
He cleared his throat, glancing over his shoulder instead of turning around.
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“Who, me…no. I didn’t say anything.”
“Oh, I thought I heard…”
“I thought I’d bring you a bit of breakfast.”
“Breakfast? What time is it?”
“Well, it’s almost six. I thought since you’ve slept all day, well…”
“Thank you,” she interrupted. “That was very thoughtful.” She didn’t say anything else. He glanced over his shoulder again. Petting the wolf who had sat down beside her, she didn’t move to cover herself. She merely stared at him trying to remember who he was. Like everything else here—the room, the wolf who seemed extremely comfortable with her—he was faintly familiar and she didn’t fear him. Clearing his throat he stammered when he spoke.
“There’s a gown, um…draped over the chair to your left. If you’d like to, um…I mean to cover.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.” So caught up in trying to remember missing portions of her memory, she hadn’t thought to cover herself. She turned her back to him. Quickly grasping the gown, she threw it over her head and smoothed it down her body before settling herself comfortably under the covers.
“I didn’t realize—”
“It’s all right, Richelle. It’s understandable, considering everything you’ve been through.”
The sheets rustled as she reached over to grab the robe. The silky fabric slid over her skin. She flipped the back of her hair over the collar and cinched the robe at her waist.
Jonathon glanced over his shoulder before turning around. She propped herself against the headboard with a few pillows while he carried the tray to the bed and placed it across her lap. Oatmeal, toast, juice, and coffee…it looked and smelled wonderful.
“I’m sorry breakfast isn’t fancier…”
“No, this is absolutely fine.” She picked up her coffee and took a sip. It was laced with a touch of amaretto and cream, just the way she liked it. At least it was the way she thought she liked it.
“So… You know me?” she asked as she took another sip.
He cocked his brow and looked at her.
“We’ve…met,” he replied casually.
“When?”
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He hemmed and hawed, shuffling his feet on the floor before he answered.
“Um, yesterday.”
“Yesterday.”
He sat down beside the bed as she began to eat.
“So we haven’t known each other very long?” She took another bite and then dabbed her mouth with the napkin.
“No, we haven’t.”
She ate the remainder of her meal in silence, saving the coffee for last.
She settled back into the propped pillows and gazed intently at him, trying to decipher his inscrutable responses. She sensed he was telling her the truth, just not completely. It was more than a sense. It was more like she knew, like she could see inside his mind. And while he still was an enigma, she knew she had nothing to fear from him. Maybe he could give her the answers she sought
* * * *
Valya prowled the city streets with a vengeance he had rarely known.
After he filled Jonathon in on his transgression, he had changed into a hawk and flew into what was left of the night. While soaring amongst the stars offered him some respite from his misdeeds, it was not enough to overcome the guilt at the pain he had inflicted on Richelle. He needed to be away from her, to give her time to heal, and to give him time to get control of the emotions that churned through his insides and twisted him into knots.
He thought of returning home, to the mountains, but he couldn’t bear to be that far from Richelle. Now that he had found her, he never wanted to lose her again. Knowing she was warm in their bed while he had slept cold and alone on a lumpy sofa in the basement of Jonathon’s apartment was part of his penance. He hadn’t even bothered to put up safeguards before he slept. If someone did come for him he would fight, which would also be penance for what he had done.
He realized now how idiotic that had been. If he had been injured or killed, that would have left Richelle alone to face Luka. And again, it would have been his fault. Like the death of her mother. Like Duncan’s death. He had been consumed with anger and lust, which was no excuse for taking
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second blood in such an atrocious manner. He was a Guardian—he should have maintained control.
I am such an ass.
He crouched low before leaping into the night sky, repelling off buildings walls until he reached the rooftop. Landing like a lethal cat, he stood and stalked over to the edge. He looked over the city. The bright lights from the buildings and freeways below twinkled like the stars above. It gave the city an iridescent beauty that concealed the ugliness of the mean streets.
And out there, somewhere, was Preacher, his followers, and Luka. Luka cel Rau, Vampyre—the Evil One. Long had the Hunters of the Immortals been seeking him but to no avail. He always managed to stay one step ahead of the Hunters with the aid of those mortals he had turned. Luka had left a bloodbath in his wake, and Valya would not allow Richelle to be tainted by that bloodshed.
Since Valya had taken Richelle into his protection as a child, he had sought the reasons why Luka had fixated on his life mate. And while the answer was not absolutely clear, he had learned that it had something to do with Richelle’s ancestors in Romania.
“Valya.”
Nicolae’s
voice called from the night. Valya turned to face the brilliance of the moon and closed his eyes.
“I hear you, Nicolae. Do you have news for me?”
“I have learned many things.”
“Did you learn why Luka is seeking my life mate?”
“Yes.”
Valya waited for further elaboration, which was not forthcoming, and became impatient.
“Then tell me!”
he demanded harshly
. “Why must you be so cryptic?”
There was a silence in the still of night, as if the world had stopped revolving on its axis, awaiting the hand of fate to set it spinning again.