A Touch Too Much (14 page)

“Listen hard now, kitten. You’re mine, do you hear me? You’re nobody else’s but mine!”

And he wouldn’t relent. Using his thumbs, he applied pressure on her back to make her lean forward. She uttered a high-pitched keen when he drove his sex right up, picking up speed as he possessed her body and mind.

“I’m gonna burst out in you. I want to hear you come, and I’m gonna splatter your hot pussy with my spunk.”

This time she felt his mouth brush her neck, his fangs pierce her skin, his cock palpitate with impending release. But his lewd words toppled her over the abyss. When his final thrusts bombed her flesh, spasms of stupendous pleasure heaved her body, and she cried out Rogan’s name.

His limbs quivered as he discharged into her, a single satisfied grunt passing through his lips. Then his tongue lapped her neck before he enveloped her with his strong arms. She stayed there without moving, feeling his sex slowly retreating out of her, enjoying the safe sensation of his embrace.

So exhausted she didn’t think she’d able to lift a finger, she closed her eyes. Now wasn’t the time to dwell on the name she had shouted, or on the impact it might have had on Raskhan. First she needed to forget they had made love. But as sleep drew her towards oblivion, she heard his last whisper.

“Why don’t you love me?”

Chapter Twenty-One

Liv was alone in bed when she woke up. She hit the switch, and light flooded the room. What time could it be? Although she felt rested, it might still be the middle of the night for all she knew. Except that in this world daylight would never come. If she ever got back home, her first move would be to buy a watch. No concession. Buy a watch and keep track of time.

She got up to check her handbag, and locate her cellphone. No signal, of course. What were the odds? But the screen displayed the time and she hadn’t expected anything else. Ten past six p.m. Did that count as oversleeping on a Monday afternoon? Or was it already Tuesday? Left to her own devices in this dark world, she’d end up drawing signs up the wall to estimate the passing of days. Having no other use for it, she turned her phone off.

In the bathroom, she inspected her neck. She had been bitten three times, yet barely a vague scar showed. Even if a magic healing spell had been cast on her, it wouldn’t have worked faster. But as smooth as her skin looked and felt, a pang of regret hit her. Rogan’s bite mark was gone without a trace, erased from her flesh. Now only her recollections of him remained clear.

Averting her eyes, Liv cleaned up and donned the black robe she had been given. She didn’t think her regular clothes would fit in well in the palace. When not going on a mission into her world, everybody here wore black robes except Raskhan. Not chic enough for a powerful, uncompromising king? A king who had rendered her delirious with passion last night.

Holy mackerel, how she had fallen asleep again after their torrid lovemaking she had no idea. On the other hand, she was totally aware of the name she had shouted when Raskhan had brought her to climax. Any chance he hadn’t heard it? Yeah, she wished!

First of all, leniency and forgiveness didn’t appear to be the king’s forte. On second thought she had now presented him with a valid, legitimate reason to have her executed. Thrown into a new, unbelievable universe, one might have used one’s time to study its laws, rules and workings. But not her. Oh, no, she was too busy digging her own grave!

A rumbling rose from her stomach. Toast and scrambled eggs came to mind, shooting her morning hunger to a higher level. Although three times bitten, Liv reckoned Zontag was right about her blood protecting her from becoming a vampire. Nonetheless she was hungry.

As she came out of the bathroom, someone knocked on the door. Raskhan? She briefly considered hiding, but where? Overlooking the fact that she wasn’t five years old anymore to play hide and seek, she didn’t feel the vibe. No vibe, no Raskhan. As simple as that. Besides, the king had never knocked on her door before. The king simply barged in, or crept into her bed uninvited.

Trusting her instincts, she opened the door to a female vampire carrying a tray of food. The silent servant handed her the tray, then scurried down the hallway. Okay. From time to time, this Bringer of Death stuff had its uses.

No scrambled eggs, but bread, butter and pastries did the trick. Belly full, she washed her late afternoon breakfast down with hot coffee from a large takeaway paper cup. Holding it, she wondered who had gone over to her beautiful, sunny world to get some food. She wished Raskhan had sent Khord to run this errand on her account. After shooting Rogan and insulting her, that ugly bastard well deserved this kind of punishment.

Pushing images of Khord away, Liv emptied the contents of her bag on the bed. First she did her nails then got absorbed in the crossword book she always kept with her. For a long while, the brain puzzles kept her away from her confused state of mind.

When she got bored with crosswords, she sat at the writing desk. Who knew, she might not have another opportunity to look at the ancient book of prophecy. She pulled out the precious manuscript from the drawer, her fingers light on the worn-out leather bindings. Wasn’t it very convenient to find this book just lying there in an unlocked drawer? Right in the room where she had been assigned. Oh well, better use it than lose a good opportunity to learn about the immortal race.

She hadn’t bookmarked the passage so she began thumbing through the pages. After a while she became aware that she wasn’t paying any attention to the task at hand. Her mind kept wandering to other things, preventing her from finding mentions of the Bringer of Death. Not quite right, given that her musing basically focused on Raskhan’s last question.

Why don’t you love me?

Although he had whispered it at the time, the question still rang loud and clear in her head. Where did this issue come from? What had initiated it? And what did it mean? As she pondered the problem, the letters blurred and the book of prophecy seemed to increase in size.

Why didn’t she love him? Because she loved Rogan. Because Raskhan was a self-satisfied, cynical, wicked, mischievous, irritating ruler who was using her to achieve his secret purpose and who had sentenced her to death. Because in a wink he had figured out her weaknesses and loved to play with them. Because he was an arrogant, selfish…

Liv took a long breath. She could carry on like this for hours and the list might never end. To sift out the truth from the lies, she needed to concentrate. Did she really? How about giving her emotions free rein and letting her intuition guide her? No, no good. If she shut off her pragmatic approach to the mystery that was Raskhan, if she allowed herself to not think and just feel, then she’d be forced to bring into reality something she didn’t want to see.

Yes, the king of the Overworld was all of those things but somewhere along the line she had discovered he was a real person. Zontag’s narration of the brothers’ birth had unleashed emotions she had only felt so far for Rogan. And last night had changed everything. She had trembled with passion in Raskhan’s arms, and for one precious moment she had believed he cared.

Dear God, please, let it not be true. She couldn’t harbour feelings for Raskhan. No good could come out of that, and it would be a real disaster. Come on, she hated his guts! And why wasn’t Rogan here when she needed him? Why had he left her at the hands of his so damn exciting vampire brother?

Well, Rogan wouldn’t give her the answer. She’d have to deal with her ambiguous emotions on her own. How was she supposed to do that with the goddamn vibe writhing in her belly every time Raskhan got close to her? Did he want her to feel for him? Was he in love with her? Holy mackerel, she needed a vacation.

Shaking her head, Liv bent over the book of prophecy. Different drawings and sentences looked the same to her, similar pages somehow appeared disparate. Even in a good cheerful mood, she wouldn’t have been able to figure out anything from that old jumble. She had to stop wasting her time. Yet, as pointless as it seemed, she felt pulled to the ancient book.

She was about to turn yet another page when a particular entry caught her eye. Capital letters had been used to write the first letters of both words, and the spelling had her mind racing—
the Rogue and the Rascal
. The rest of the sentence was written in a cryptic language but ten lines down she found a new mention—
the Rascal and the Rogue
.

Wow! No need to be an expert in ancient languages to decipher that one. As if under an enchanting spell, she spoke the words aloud. “The rascal and the rogue. Raskhan and Rogan.”

Liv checked the next page in hopes of stumbling across a more meaningful section. No such luck as only page after page of illegible doodle met her eye.

She closed the book. Putting it back in the drawer, she wondered about fate. Were Raskhan and Rogan meant to accomplish something? Maybe some kind of quest to save their world? Against all odds, why were they mentioned in the same manuscript as the Bringer of Death? Did it mean they were destined to dispose of their enemy? So far, they had both done the exact opposite. Unless making love to their enemy counted as a disposal.

Brushing her hair back, Liv sighed. The whole business started to get too tricky for her taste. So many things she didn’t understand and how many more to come? She stood up, and pushed the chair back to stretch her legs. When she turned round her blood iced in her veins.

His horrid face displaying a satisfied sneer, his hand around a long vicious-looking knife, Khord stood by the bedroom door.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Engrossed in her discovery, she hadn’t heard the soft sound of the door opening—too late now. Sweat sticking her armpits, Liv swallowed while evaluating her chances of escape. As he was positioned between her and the door, she figured there were none. Then the monster approached his prey, a heinous grin twisting his features.

He was a vampire warrior. She was a human being, and a woman at that. If she hoped to get out of this situation in one piece she had to be stronger than him. She had to act as if she was in command. Pointing a finger at him, she did the only thing she could think of.

“Get out!”

He snorted. She read hate in the malevolence of his nasty stare. She read murder in the readiness of his stance. A cold sensation creeping in her bones, she kept still but didn’t dare take her eyes off him.

“Not so brash now, are you? Why is that, I wonder? You were way more confident when Rogan was around.”

She didn’t reply. She didn’t bat an eyelash. He was taunting her to scare the hell out of her, but she wouldn’t fall into his obvious trap. Or maybe he was just being his regular idiotic self. Whatever, his sneer deepened as if a thought had just crossed the blobby thing he called his brain.

“By the way, where is lover boy? Apparently not here to save you this time. Well, I’m not surprised. I mean who would stick around a whore like you, fucking his brother and all?”

She felt punched below the belt. She breathed through her mouth to remain motionless, and to pretend she didn’t give a damn about his accusations. But she did, and the blow landed hard.

“I bet he won’t take it well. He’s a dork all right but, come on, his girlfriend is humping his own brother. Got to cut the man some slack.”

“Shut up, you stupid pig!”

As much as she wanted to keep a cool composure, Khord’s cheap shot hit her like a slap in the face.

“If you kill me the king will know you did it.”

Khord guffawed. Then he screwed up his eyes as if he had been expecting this kind of retort. “How? You won’t be there to tell him. Besides, he believes I’m like all the others, scared shitless of you because you’re some sort of vampire killer. You don’t look much like a killer to me.”

“Well, I am!”

“Sure you are. Just like you’re faithful to lover boy!”

Liv had been wrong in assuming every vampire in the palace feared her. The brute opposite her didn’t. She could see it in his evil glare, and in the way his fingers gripped the blade. But, as she looked from the sharp knife back to his bloodthirsty face, Khord caught her glance.

“I see you’ve met my friend. Good, ’cause this won’t take a minute!”

Instead of backing away, Liv tried to slip past him to get a better shot at the door.

He watched her, his features shifting to his vampire face, his ugliness even more enhanced.

But once the bedroom door lay to her left side, she realised the uselessness of her spur-of-the-moment plan. Even if she had been standing downstairs in the grand hall, he’d still be faster than her. Then her insides locked as Khord raised the knife. He had the means to tear her throat out, but he would cut into her flesh to avoid biting marks.

For a second it felt like another Liv was watching the scene from above. Two enemies facing each other, on the brink of attacking, gazes glued. Then the second passed, and her body ached from tension. Stomach constricted with fear, she prepared to die.

“Get out!”

At the sound of Raskhan’s harsh order, Khord whirled round. Instantly adopting a soldier’s obedient attitude, he bowed and lowered the hand holding the knife. Then he dropped to one knee.

“At your command, my king.”

Although he had just been about to slice her throat, he acted like nothing was out of place, like maybe he had popped by to give her good news. How could the king fall for such an act?

But Raskhan was looking at her and ignoring Khord. His back straight, the murderous warrior stood up and walked to the door. Just before taking off he shot Liv a final deadly glance. Still rigid with fear, she nonetheless matched his stare until he disappeared. Whichever world she breathed in, she knew that Khord wasn’t yet done with her.

Liv’s legs gave way under her. She’d have crumpled to the floor if Raskhan hadn’t already been by her side to steady her in his arms. Her lungs hurt when she let in gulps of air. Her guts contracted with violent relief. Dear God, she was still alive. Her cheek pressed against the king’s chest, she listened to the low beat of his heart.