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“Hey, I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“It’s not what you think. I’m just suddenly so grateful you no longer have pain. And I was able to do that for you.” All mastyr vampires suffered crippling stomach agony as a result of chronic blood starvation. She’d fed him often back when they’d been together, but he’d never been free of pain as he was now.
She shook her head, the truth of her situation hitting her hard. She was a blood rose and so long as she fed Ian, he’d never experience his previous suffering again.
But she didn’t want a relationship with him either. There was too much contention between them for that. Yet, she cared about him and would as long as she lived. “You can always open my vein, Ian, anytime you want. No matter what happens.”
He faced her again. “It won’t be that simple. I saw what having a blood rose did to Zane and I’ve talked to several of the mastyrs. And now that I’m feeling the effects of this phenomenon—”
Without warning, he drew close and gathered her into his arms. He levitated, lifting her at the same time, then moved her into the hall, pushing her up against the wood paneling.
Connecting his hips with hers, he said, “This is the problem.”
The linen gown she wore, with not even a thong to add another layer between herself and Ian’s leather pants, allowed her to feel the full length of his arousal.
Oh, sweet Goddess, she was in trouble. “Ian, don’t.”
“Don’t what? Don’t feel what I’m feeling? Right now you smell like a flower, like jasmine, but there’s a citrusy lime scent as well. And I’ve got a cloud in my head instead of a single rational thought. And only one drive.” He ground his hips against her.
Regan hadn’t been this close to Ian in such a long time. She put her hand on his cheek, her gaze falling to his lips. Would it be so bad to surrender to what she felt, to the strength of the emotions racing through her? Her body called for him, longing for him. But there were too many memories. “We fought badly, remember?”
A haunted look entered his eyes. “Something I try to forget and haven’t in all this time.” He eased away from her.
“You blamed me.” Her chin rose and some of her desire started sliding away. “You were so angry. You never forgave me for the massacre at Raven’s Overlook.”
With these words, Ian planted his hands against the wood paneling, his jaw moving back and forth. “None of the mastyrs had ever lost an entire village to an Invictus attack, not before or since. Yet, I did. My sister and her two daughters died as well.” He pushed away from the wall but pounded his fist against the paneling at the same time.
If his words hadn’t convinced her, his behavior did: Ian still hadn’t forgiven her. She doubted he ever would.
“Ian,” she called to him sharply, commanding his attention. When his gray eyes grew fixed on her, she said, “Just for the record, I did nothing wrong. You shouldn’t have blamed me for what happened.”
“But it was all your fault!” he shouted, his face turning a dark reddish hue. “You had me enthralled with your fae abilities and because of it, I shirked my obligations to the realm-folk of Camberlaune. I should have been with my Guard that night. Instead, I was in Swanicott mooning around your feet.”
And that’s how he saw it all, that she’d enthralled him leading him to forfeit his duties. But his anger, and completely misplaced judgements, fueled her own rage.
Straightening her spine, she lifted her chin. “You can’t control the tides, Ian. You never could. We were two people in love. Ben had charge of the realm that night; you’d left everything in capable hands. But because the absolute worst happened, you chose to believe the worst of me and to blame me. But you’re wrong about all of it and I resent the hell out of you for it.” Her own face flamed now and his deep, earthy scent faded along with her desire. “Now, show me to your guest room, because I want a shower and then a long day of nothing but sleep.”
CHAPTER TWO
Despite her insistence on not needing anyth
ing but sleep, Ian offered her a sandwich, or anything else she might want, but she refused. Apparently, Margetta had fed her well, even if she’d tortured her.
He led her to his guest room, opposite the master bedroom, expressing his hope she slept well. She thanked him, though her tone was chilly.
He left her and grabbed a glass of sweet, German wine, afterward heading to his library. He sometimes sat among his books, looking at the scenery before retiring for the day. After what Regan had said to him, he’d needed something to calm him down.
But like hell she wasn’t to blame.
If he hadn’t been enthralled, he would have been patrolling Camberlaune that night. He was convinced he could have prevented the massacre.
He sighed heavily. The room faced northwest and since the sun never hit the windows in this part of his home during late fall and winter, the shutters hadn’t come down. The window had a curve to it because of the disk-like shape of his house. With the bend in the gorge he could almost see the river below.
The sky was blue now, the sun having risen well past the skyline. He had a view of snow-capped mountains, dotted at the lower elevations with evergreens and the bare branches of elms and chestnut oaks.
He frowned and touched his face, then blinked his eyes. Where were his sunglasses? He must have lost them when he flew Regan to safety over the river.
He blinked again, several times, expecting to experience the sharp darting pain he’d known for years. But it wasn’t there. The pain was gone, just like the cramps in his stomach. He could look at blue sky and his eyes didn’t hurt. Unbelievable.
