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“And now,” he whispered, baring his neck. “Come on, baby. Bite me. Suck me. Drink me.”
And I did, plunging my fangs into him, feeling the spurt of blood in my mouth as I coaxed the drops to the surface. They were sweet, like sherry or port or flaming liqueur, and as I drove my fangs deeper, I straddled his cock and languorously slid down his length as he thrust up to meet me. He moaned as I licked the wound, wil ing the blood to fil my mouth. I began to rock my hips against his, reveling in the feel of him inside me, and he encircled my waist with one hand to balance me as he stood, my legs wrapped around him.
The world was a haze of blood and desire, of hunger and touch, and everything dissolved together in a whirl of sensation. And then we were moving—a blur in the night.
Suddenly, I looked up and found that we were standing under the stars. Crystal ine clear, they sparkled in the chil of the night, but the cold of the night didn’t bother me as the stiff breeze gusted around us, howling like a Bean Sidhe.
I pul ed away from his neck, the blood trickling down my chin as he strode across the yard, carrying me through the snow, until we were in the middle of a private grove of cedar and fir. In the center of the clearing was a dais, black marble, and he carried me to the platform and laid me down, then straddled me. I stared up at the stars, remembering another night when the stars were the last beautiful, untainted thing I would remember seeing. Bloody tears began to pour down my cheeks as I began to whimper.
Roman seemed to understand what was happening. He gently brushed my cheek with his hand.
“I am not going to hurt you, Menol y. I’l stop any time you want. I am not your sire, and you are no longer the vulnerable girl you were. Look at the beauty of the stars, for they mirror the beauty I see lying beneath me.”
“But . . . but . . . the stars are so pure and we are . . .” I struggled to find the words, surprised that these feelings of self-loathing stil lurked within me.
He pressed his finger to my lips. “Our lives may be steeped in blood and death, but there is such a beauty to the carnal, to the grave—the beauty of dissolution, the beauty of reintegration with the elements. How can you not believe in your own beauty? In your place in the scheme of things?”
He leaned down and began to kiss me, and his kiss was so caring, so gentle that it opened me up like a flower. And I began to believe again.
Nerissa loved me. She knew what I was and she loved me. And I could love her without destroying her. My sisters loved me, and I could love them without losing them.
At that moment I realized that I’d been so afraid of having everything I cared about stripped away from me that I’d been holding myself back. Yes, I was a predator, and I was deadly and dangerous. But I stil owned my soul. Dredge had taken my life, but he couldn’t touch my soul.
I shuddered, my face streaked with the trail of bloodred tears staining my cheeks. “Roman, make love to me. Fuck me. Take me down, into the darkness, and show me the beauty of the grave.”
He smiled, icy and chil , his eyes mirroring the snow around us, and slowly entered me, his hips thrusting slowly at first and then harder and faster. As the gentleness fled, we became stag and deer in rut; we thrashed, moaning and grunting in the night, as the wind howled around us and then, under the wailing darkened moon, I fastened my fangs in his neck and drank the life force of the dead.
After a long shower in a bath off a guest room fil ed with perfume bottles and fancy clothes and antique dol s, I dressed in my clothes and rejoined Roman in the parlor. He was perfectly at ease, his hair wet and slicked back, and he was wearing a black velvet jacket and a pair of indigo-wash jeans.
He rose silently as I entered the room and held out his arms. Back in control of myself, I hesitated but then let him pul me in. He placed a kiss on my forehead, then a gentle kiss on my lips, then stepped back and gazed into my eyes.
“Tonight, you wil talk to your friend Wade?”
I nodded, slowly. Talking to my “friend” Wade was stil on my Really-Do-Not-Want list, but I’d given my word. “Yes, I wil .”
“Then perhaps this wil help you. The vampire kil er you seek? There are several newly minted vampires in the area. My servants have mentioned problematic incidents dealing with someone new to the life who refuses to answer when cal ed, who seems to have run amok from his sire. Or if he’s stil under the influence of his sire, then we have twin problems.”
“What do they know about him?” I slowly returned to my seat and flipped out a notebook. Delilah had gotten both Camil e and me in the habit of carrying pocket-sized notepads and pens.
Roman considered the question. “Not much. We know that it’s a male, and he can’t have been in the life longer than six months, but my guess is we’re talking younger than that. Reports of vampire sightings have increased around the Greenbelt Park District, and none of the regulars in the area claim territory there.”
The Greenbelt Park District. Crap. That was the area where we’d found our victims. And now that I thought about it, the Greenbelt Park District was also known for being haunted, although I rather doubted the veracity of al the reports. Some of the oldest buildings in aboveground Seattle were there, including several bed-and-breakfasts that played on their haunted nature to attract tourists. Most of the buildings were the original stone and masonry work, and the houses in the area were owned by old-money families or young, rich couples looking to renovate. The area wasn’t considered wealthy, but it was considered historical.
“I know vampires don’t congregate around there, but I haven’t had the time to find out why. Tel me—why hasn’t anybody claimed it as territory?”
Roman glanced at me, then shook his head. “The ghosts. They’re very active.”
“Then they’re real?” I frowned. I’d assumed that most of the sightings were contrived to attract the tourists. “Why are vampires afraid, though? What can the ghosts do to them?”
“The ghosts are very real and very dangerous,” Roman said. “To humans, to Fae, and to vampires. There’s something there that empowers them—some energy, some force. At least one vampire died from spiritual activity. A ghost staked her.”
“A ghost staked her? You’re kidding?” If ghosts were playing Buffy, then we were in trouble.
“Yes. I was there. I saw the ghostly figure and then a stake rose in the air and went zooming through Elizabetta. She died in a flurry of dust, and we ran and never went back.” He moved closer and brushed my braids back with his hand. “If you investigate there, my dear, please, please be very careful. And tel your sisters to do the same.”
CHAPTER 6
As I left Roman’s, I decided to take a drive up toward the Greenbelt Park District and look around.
