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She couldn’t tell if he heard her absurd and confusing thoughts, but his mind was elsewhere. “Jessica, I know you are an intelligent woman. You know, despite your wish for it to be otherwise, that your hold on reality is very tenuous right now. Psychotic episodes will continue to occur, with the right triggers.”
He had his fist braced on the bed, on the outside of her hip. She wanted to be defensive, but his scent and heat were too close, and he didn’t give her time to rally from that sensual input. “What has been done to your mind would exceed the ability of anyone, even an exceptional woman such as yourself, to heal itself alone. Once I can clear your name with the Vampire Council, there are resources out there, people tied into our world, who can help you with professional counseling. Until then, I have an idea of how to protect you from yourself.”
The praise had loosened some of the tension in her belly, but now it returned, spreading out in her chest. He put a hand over hers.
“Don’t get nervous. You’ve wondered how I accomplished the spell-casting over the tomb, preserving Farida’s body, and the more perishable gifts, all these years. Yes?”
Cautiously, she nodded. She hadn’t felt comfortable asking him about the details before, not knowing how he felt talking about Farida, but now the archaeologist in her stirred.
“I’m afraid it’s not a very scientific explanation. At a certain period of my life, before Farida, I fell in with a mage, an exceptional magic-user. Another being thought by humans to be mythical,” he added with a humorless smile. “He helped me do what you saw in the tomb. Because I am vampire, and had a blood connection to her, I had powerful energies he could channel for that purpose.
Then, probably for his amusement, he taught me some small things I could do with that energy without causing harm. Illusions, binding work.”
He folded back the velvet cloth. Jess lowered her gaze and swallowed, that tight coil constricting in her lower belly.
“Jess, don’t be afraid.” Mason lifted two silver cuff bracelets. “What I’ve done is spell these with that small magic, and my blood, so you are unable to hurt yourself intentionally. It will protect you if I’m not close enough to do so. They don’t lock to one another.
They simply lock around your wrists and your throat.” He glanced down at the last one, a delicate silver collar that had a jigsaw clasp. “You will have as much mobility as before.”
“I don’t want to wear them. Will you make me?”
He nodded, his mouth settling into an implacable line, reminding her of his sternness with Amara and rousing confusing butterflies in her lower belly. “Yes, habiba. I will not allow you to hurt yourself again.”
“You have no respect for a woman’s independence.” She meant to say it caustically, but her hands balled into tense fists. A loss of control, again, reflecting her inability to care for herself.
“It is my job to protect you,” he said quietly, “and I will do it, your independence be damned.”
“I didn’t ask you to protect me, did I?” she fired back. “I didn’t even ask to be taken out of that tomb. I wanted to die there.”
“You don’t want to die now.” His gaze sparked, making her realize he wasn’t as calm as he was trying to appear. Good.
“That’s not the point.” When she stood up, Mason rose as well. Since he was a hell of a lot taller and broader, Jess realized she was boxed in the corner. The silver bracelet dangling from his fingers was a lovely, delicate thing. Probably a secondhand trinket that belonged to Amara.
“Then what is the point?” he asked.
“You can read my fucking mind. Why don’t you tell me?” As he continued to regard her with that dispassionate stare, she knew she was pushing it. But why shouldn’t she? He said she could trust him not to hurt her. “Amara’s good enough to fuck, but I’m not?”
“Amara is a servant, Jessica,” he said tightly.
“I’m a servant.”
“Because circumstances dictated it to save your life. You did not choose to serve me and I would not make that demand upon you.”
“You didn’t demand a damn thing. I practically begged for it last night. You were the one that backed off.” He turned toward the bed, picked up the other cuff. “I won’t discuss this further. You’re not emotionally ready to know what it is you want. Give me your wrist.”
She knew he spoke only the truth, but after he’d practically turned Amara into melted hot wax in front of her eyes, it grated to hear it. Amara’s lips had parted, her gaze gleaming in anticipation as much as she bowed to the rebuke. It made Jess so angry she wanted to spit at him like a cat.
“Your trust in me is a very fragile thing right now, Jess.” He was continuing on in that reasonable, insufferable tone. “I won’t endanger it over a moment of lust. You have too far to go.”
“How noble of you, my lord. My God, I didn’t think it was possible, but I’ve discovered a vampire saint.” A snarl was the only warning she received. In a heartbeat, he’d seized her under the arms and lifted her up against the wall, pressing his body in between her thighs so she had the full impression of his aroused cock. Equally intimidating was his furious countenance, inches from hers. He took her mouth in a savage kiss, plundering. It transformed everything from the juncture between her thighs to her mind to quivering need. Another, deeper part, trembled at his barely leashed violence, the power in that preternatural body. She felt his hunger. It was time for him to feed. She reveled in it, her need suddenly as savage as his.
Feed from me. At least give me that. Don’t take from Amara and Enrique today.
She had no time to be startled by her thought, because she was stunned at his response. Gripping her short curls, he pulled her head aside to sink his fangs into the pumping artery at her throat. He was angry and did it roughly, so that Jess cried out, but she gloried in it, in not being treated like glass. Though one part of her was running wildly, a rabbit mad with terror, the rest of her constricted her arms and legs around him, holding him as if he were an oak in a storm. He crushed her against the wall, rubbing himself against her with unmistakable intent, putting that hardness against her bare clit, because her robe had fallen open, leaving her blissfully naked against his clothed body. God help her, she was still damp from last night, as well as the juices gathering now.
When she strained against him, he let go of her arm, letting her grip his shoulder. Her thumb brushed his throat, her mind marveling at how it moved, swallowing her blood, letting her nourish him, as he’d nourished her last night to heal her wounds. His lips were magic at her throat. Powerful vampire energies . . .
“I want to go to this club,” she whispered, closing her eyes.
No.
“I’m frightened, but I need to do it. I need to defeat Raithe on his own ground. Please, my lord.” No. Be still.
She remained silent then, submitting to his needs, keeping her arms and legs twined around him as he finished his meal. The insistent throbbing between her legs caused tiny whimpers in the back of her throat, but the hard pressure of his body taunted her without allowing her any movement against it. And she understood then that his punishments could be severe, leave a woman begging and wanting until she promised to obey him in the future. Perhaps she didn’t envy Amara as much as she thought.
At last, he lifted his head, after bestowing a lingering kiss on her throat to seal the wound. Firming her lips, trying to shift away from the raging desire he’d reignited, she gestured to the manacles, the collar. “You’ve made sure I won’t hurt myself. Give me the chance.”
Mason suppressed an oath, though at her persistence or his lack of control, he didn’t know. Did she realize she’d called him “my lord” twice now? Her struggle between her naturally submissive nature and her memories, as well as his own, were going to make him push her down a path before she’d made up her mind honestly about what she wanted. He couldn’t seem to keep his hands off her. Hellfire, he’d just fed off her on nothing more than impulse and anger.
And for that matter, what had compelled him to offer Farida’s other journal to her? Yes, he understood how important Farida’s story was to her, but that should have been tempered with his understanding of how often she used the pages of her journal as an escape.
Not yet responding to her, he eased her feet back to the floor, but held her there as he reached back, picked up the cuffs. “Lift your wrists, Jessica.”
She put them out to either side of her against the wall, making him want to groan. He really needed to sate his lust with Amara and Enrique, several times. The blood she’d given him had been too sweet and potent. He was aching to consummate the giving act with a strong, possessive fucking.
Instead, he put a leash on his wayward cock, pushing against her trembling body, and clasped the first cuff around her delicate wrist. He’d had Amara measure her throat and wrists in her sleep, and one of the maintenance staff was a silversmith, so they all three fit well. Since he was all too aware a snug fit stimulated a submissive who craved evidence of a Master’s ownership, he had only himself to blame when he saw the shudder run through her body. On second thought, it might be best not to have Enrique there for his session with Amara tonight. Mason had a feeling he was going to rut on his wife like a beast.
Then the collar. Oddly, a tremor ran through his own hands as he lifted that one. She bowed her head, so that he could see her nape, find the lock. He swallowed, securing it around her slim throat, his hands settling beneath it. He spoke the words, keeping his eyes on hers as she lifted her head again. She started at the brief flicker of heat energy, the warmth now pressing into her skin. A reminder of the spell that was there. A reminder of him.
“Lord Mason?” Her gray gaze was on his, imploring. “Please let me go.” I’m not sure if that’s an option for either of us anymore. Then he realized she was still speaking about the club. “I’ll think about it,” he said curtly. “Now get yourself cleaned up and go see to the horses. Jorge can use the help with the evening feeding. Gregorio had to go into town.”
