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"I won't change my mind, my lady. You may be in charge of the decision to leave here without me. But you're not going to go on with your life as if this never happened. From now until the day you die, you'll carry my mark. Two of them."
The way a third mark servant carried the mark of her vampire until the day she died. Some said even into the afterlife. With a spurt of sadness, she realized that had been another indication that the third mark on Garron was a temporary magic, because upon a third marking, a sign of it would appear on the flesh of the servant, a cross between a birthmark or a brand. The shape of it was determined by forces beyond the control of vampire or servant, but it always had a significance. That mark hadn't appeared on Garron. Not that she'd seen or he'd mentioned.
"No, my lady. But maybe that's not so much a shortcoming of the island's magic as much as it is an indication of the magic between you and me. Maybe you're the one meant to carry the marks, not me."
The marks he put on her would say that she, Lady Kaela, would always belong to Garron, her Master, no matter what she had to be to the outside world.
He was against her from breast to knee as he nipped her sharply again. "You aren't being given a choice, my lady. This is my decision, not yours."
She shuddered under his touch. Yes, Master.
He stepped back. There was no preparation, no "1-2-3", or "hold your breath." She smelled the heat a second before the brand was pressed against the side of her breast. No creature could bite back a scream before the touch of fire, but even amid the anguish she felt a wave of exultation as strong as a climax, the blood burning all the way to the bone, making it permanent. She heard a rattle of what she assumed was the branding irons and a fresh one was placed against her inner thigh. She screamed against the rubber phallus as the mark burned so close to her pussy she felt the wave of heat wash over her labia. Now she understood why he'd bound her with the vampire irons--to ensure her legs stayed reasonably still. To protect her, even knowing she healed from everything.
He stepped back, leaving her the scent of her blood and burning flesh. Then he was kneeling, his mouth on the brand between her legs, nipping at the abraded flesh, making her gasp from the pain of it. A pain that became something else as he moved his mouth up higher and began eating her pussy.
I'm starting all over again, my lady. Dusk is hours away yet.
SS
Garron guessed only the oldest vampires were capable of staying up all day, because there were points at the height of noon she blacked out, lost time. Yet Garron never stopped. He was like a man possessed. She wasn't getting on that plane with a single second of their last day together lacking his demands. As she kept surfacing, showing a hazy awareness of him, he plundered, stretched and fucked every orifice, marked her inside and out with his come. Flogged, whipped, paddled, switched and caned her. Made her suck him off three times. Made her come so many times he lost count himself. He put his mouth on those brands over and over, and she came at least once from his touch there alone, something he'd always treasure. Along with every other thing about her.
Finally, in those last couple hours before sundown, he stood over her, breathing hard. She was a crumpled heap of silken limbs and red hair, her cuffed wrists close enough to him that her limp fingers were resting his foot, a mute plea for mercy. Or for it never to stop. The raging pain in his chest understood that completely.
He removed every restraint, including the mask and gag, and carried her back to her rooms.
She was so exhausted she had no strength at all, but when he laid her down on her bed with unspeakable tenderness, he kept his eyes on hers, showing her he'd never love a woman so much in his life again. Because he was a brute who couldn't stop himself, he slid his cock inside her one last time. Gentle, because he knew just how sore she was, but relentless, irrevocable. A tiny sigh left her lips, the tips of her fangs showing. It broke him inside when she found the strength to hold him, wrap her arms and legs around him. He felt the rough dollar-sized area of the brand on her inner thigh against him. She held on as he rocked them both like a sensual cradle, and shattered from what he heard in her mind.
I love you, love you, love you...Master.
Maybe it was crazy to know and feel something so intensely after such a short time, but he didn't doubt it at all. Else it wouldn't hurt like being blown up all over again.
He eased himself down on her when they both shuddered to a climax. Pulling out of the blissful heat of her cunt was almost the hardest thing he'd ever done. Since she didn't have the strength even to bite him, he found his pocket knife in the jeans he'd left on the floor and cut the vein in his throat. Pulling her on top of him, he guided her mouth to the wound. He wouldn't have her leaving the island so tired she couldn't defend herself.
It gave her strength, but she still needed the sleep. She fell asleep with her mouth on his throat, like an exhausted baby. Curling her against him, he held her, dropping kisses on her forehead, her lips, stroking her silky skin. There wasn't a human sub in the world who could have taken everything he'd done to her and still wanted more, but she had. If he hadn't had the third mark he wouldn't have been able to dish it out, but she'd brought out every desire he'd ever wanted to exercise on a sub who belonged to him unequivocally. Which only left him wanting to do more, go even deeper, explore even more with her.
But this was it. Up in Vardalos's office, he'd seen it inside her, on her face. She'd known he'd read it from that dark, unhappy energy around her. There was the hard limit line, the one a Dom knew couldn't be forced, not without dire consequences. This one was her decision, damn her to hell. And he was afraid it would. It pissed him off that the reason she was making the decision was to avoid sentencing him to the same. But he couldn't bully her on this one, much as he wanted to do it.
She could have changed her mind at any time during the past few hours. Yet she hadn't and he hadn't asked her to do that, at least not directly. It wasn't the kind of thing that could be posed as a question. So he'd done the only thing he knew how to do. Give her a night--or day, rather--to show her it was possible, to give her another way of thinking about it. Maybe it hadn't been fair, trying to drive a chink in her armor about it, but fair had nothing to do with any of this.
Truth, he knew he couldn't bully her into anything. A light smile touched his lips. Yeah, she was submissive to the core, but she was a kickass sub. From the way she'd confronted Vardalos, it was clear she'd put any man's balls in his throat if he ever pushed the wrong button, including him. She'd done it a couple times, hadn't she?
It made her willing submission such a sweet treasure.
She was also protective. The way she'd nearly neutered the guy at the pool proved that. Unfortunately, that protectiveness was part of the problem they were dealing with now. But he wouldn't change that about her, any more than anything else. It was all part of what made her so damn appealing.
The plane was scheduled to leave at eight p.m. to get her back to the mainland and safely tucked away somewhere before the following dawn. By tomorrow night or the next she'd be back home, to her life. Pushing away the desolation at that thought, he lifted her. She murmured a protest.
"Just sleep, baby. I'll get you cleaned up and ready."
Though he'd rather take a dive into acid than do a single thing that put her closer to leaving the island, he started up the shower, got it hot, and put them both in it. She stayed in that semi-somnolent state while he washed her hair, her body, exploring every crevice. Since he couldn't help himself, he lifted her against the wall, entering her once more. Not to climax, but just to feel the give of her body, her acceptance. Her arms and legs held him, her lips against his throat, his name a sigh on his lips. She'd remember him at the last as a pleasant dream, and he supposed that was the best way.
He dressed her in panties and his T-shirt, brushed a kiss on her forehead. When he laid her back in the bed, he trailed his fingers over the infinity link choker, the thigh brand, once more. Like the one on the outside of he
r breast, under her arm, it wasn't large and would heal in the way brands did, making it difficult for anyone to really know what it said or meant. She'd know what it was, though, because he tucked the plates in her hand.
His dog tags. She'd wear their imprint forever in those two intimate places, long after he was dead and gone.
Give her a happy life, Lord. Give me the strength to let her go do that.
Plenty of people lived happy lives where they had to pretend to be something they weren't. They learned that there was more than one way to be happy. He hoped to God she could do that. He hoped he could figure it out as well.
He placed the call to the front desk to have her woken in time to catch her plane. Then he left her suite, forcing himself not to look back.
Chapter Twelve
She kept his T-shirt. She assumed he wouldn't mind. Despite it dwarfing her, she'd worn it over a short skirt, but packed a plastic laundry bag inside her carry-on so once she reached Miami she could change shirts, arrive home looking appropriate. The bag was so she wouldn't lose his scent. It would be the first thing she took out when she got home. She'd fold it under her pillow, wear it when Fran wasn't with her.
Which would be soon. She was going to send Fran back to the Council. It wasn't fair to keep doing this to her. Kaela would request a second-mark from the Council staff. Not an InhServ, but one who had no expectations beyond being her secretary and a functional blood donor.
She looked through the square plane window. Joely was firing up the engines, the craft shuddering and bobbing. In a moment, they'd be moving across the water and in the air.
According to the note from Theodosius, given to her at check out, the energies of the Bermuda Triangle would dissolve her markings on Garron once they flew out of its boundaries. She wouldn't be able to reach Garron's mind, know where he was. Hear him in her head. He would wink out of her existence.
While your trip may not have been everything you hoped, my lady, it is my sincere wish that you visit us again. As often as you like.
She wished she could come back. Once a year, maybe twice a year. Be whatever she wanted to be with Garron here, and not risk him in any way. But she couldn't come back, couldn't do that to him, any more than she could do it to Fran. He would become her pre-dawn fantasy now. Her only one, flavored by the painful precious reality of what she'd had for just a short time.
