Blood of Angels (19 page)

She found her fist clamped hard between her breasts, as if trying to stop the pain. With an effort of will, she eased the pressure. “Still?” she managed.

He shook his head. “She never looked at me. It was always Saloman. A crush needs nourishment to grow into something more. But I love her now as a friend. Much as I love Mihaela.”

She tried to smile. “You’re very honest for a human.” She wasn’t quite sure why his words depressed her.

“I hope so.” He rose to his feet, splendidly naked, and, sore at it was, her heart began to pump harder. “Could I get myself a glass of water?”

“Of course. The kitchen’s to the right.” More of a utility room than a kitchen, since she never cooked, but at least it had a sink and a tap and a cupboard with some glasses.

As he left the room, she reached for her dress, then knelt to put it on.

Chapter Fourteen

István reappeared in the doorway, taking a long draft from a large glass of water, and she paused once more to admire his long, lean body with its narrow hips and broad, muscular shoulders.

He lowered the glass, no doubt taking in her avid gaze, along with her own nakedness behind the shield of the dress still clutched in her hands.

“That reminds me. There was something else I wanted to ask you.” He walked toward her, muscles rippling down his body, his hips swinging subtly, like a panther’s.

Lust pooled between her thighs. “What?” she asked, her throat suddenly too dry. She needed his blood to quench her thirst.

“Will you come out with me tomorrow night?”

She blinked. Her hands holding the dress dropped into her lap, and she heard his breath catch in appreciation.

“
Out
with you?” She must have misheard him on so many levels that she tried to keep it light. “I don’t
do
‘out,’ remember?”

His lips quirked. “On the contrary. I remember you doing ‘out’ extremely well, only a couple of hours ago.”

Blood rushed into her face and neck—at least the portion of it that wasn’t feeding her desire.

“Where?” she managed, completely baffled.

He shrugged, taking another long drink, then walking across the room to set his glass down on the corner table. She followed him with suspicious yet lustful eyes. “Oh, I don’t know. Somewhere that isn’t the Angel. The end of the street, maybe. Anywhere, with me. Please.”

Her lips parted, but no sound came out. She tried again. “Why?” A solution presented itself, neither welcome nor completely understood. “Are you trying to cure my agoraphobia?”

He smiled. “Yes.”

“Why?” she asked again.

“I told you. I want you to live.”

When he’d said something similar before, she’d laughed because she’d been dead for two hundred years. She stared at her hands, still crushing the black dress in her lap.

He said, “How did you get like this? Did something bad happen to you a hundred and two years ago?”

She shook her head. “I don’t even have that excuse. My life just got too wrapped up in this place. I left it less and less. I found excuses not to leave, to get others to bring me what I needed. And then one day I discovered I couldn’t bring myself to go out. And I found ways round that too.”

Memory flashed: a sick, frightened, grief-maddened girl alone in the terror of the night, without a roof over her head, at the mercy of everyone real and imagined; dark shadows looming in filthy streets, leering, pitiless faces and grasping hands…

Her stomach lurched, and she felt again the echo of that long-past fear and sickness, clawing at her. Her knuckles turned white as she gripped the dress tighter.

“It’s stupid,” she whispered, closing her eyes. “I let past fears overwhelm me when I knew I was invincible. As if I’d turn back into the pathetic girl I’d been if I went out there. I was afraid of remembering.”

He didn’t speak or touch her or even move any closer. She was glad of that, because she couldn’t have borne pity from him. She opened her eyes, stared at her white fingers, and slowly forced their grip to loosen. “It never made any sense. Because, ironically, I’d become the monster of the night.”

His gaze seemed to burn her, but she refused to look at him. He said, “Actually, I found you an entirely charming companion of the night.”

“That’s the sex talking.”

“And the rest. Which is why I invite you to step out with me tomorrow night.”

Something that might have been laughter or straightforward derision caught in her throat. “What, will you call for me at sundown?”

“Yes.” He spoke unexpectedly close to her ear, making her jump as he knelt behind her. His arms folded around her, drawing her back against his chest. “Will you come?”

“I don’t know,” she said honestly. The pain of the past, living and dead, dissipated under his touch, his nearness. He could so easily become another crutch.

A crutch that would, inevitably, die. One way or another.

“Will you think about it?” he asked softly.

She twisted her head to look into his face. Behind the blazing desire, his expression was serious, keeping his lust in check. “Yes,” she said. “I’ll think about it.”

And his lips smiled as they came down on hers. She opened for him, welcoming his tongue with her own. Both his hands slid over her stomach and caressed upward until they held her breasts. He kneaded them, gently, stroking and pulling at her nipples, over and over until she moaned and pushed back into him.

His bone-hard shaft stroked between her buttocks as he rubbed against her. One of her hands closed over his on her breast. With the other, she reached up behind her and caught her fingers in his hair, trying to draw him even closer. She shifted position, and he entered her from behind.

“God, that feels good,” she whispered against his lips.

“Tell me about it,” he groaned, moving inside her to find and stroke her favorite place. As they ground together, thrusting, pulling, straining, his right hand left her breast at last and swept down her chest and stomach to hold her between the legs. She cried out, pushing involuntarily into him. Held as she was between his body and his hand, lust galloped out of control. He played her with his fingers, caressing her clitoris, as he thrust in and out of her, keeping the pace slow and the pleasure so sweet as to be almost unendurable because she needed release.

“Faster,” she whispered. “Harder now. Come with me…”

“No, I like it like this. So do you. I can feel it. I’m awash in it.” He pinched her clitoris and orgasm threatened. She moaned in eager anticipation, but his hand and his body stilled for just an instant before they began their slow rhythm again.

She could have changed things. She had the strength to set any pace she chose. But István was right. Despite her desperation for release, she really did love exactly what he was doing. Part of her wanted that to go on forever, while the impatient part of her demanded and reached for climax. But she didn’t push too hard. She let him hold her between his controlling hand and body, and absorbed the building rapture like blood, moaning with increasing volume until it finally broke over her, like a massive wave that drowned her even as she rode it. Fierce and hard, orgasm shook her to her core.

István’s breathing came quick and shallow, his eyes wide open and staring into hers. He still moved gently, rhythmically within her body. She smiled at him, reached for his lips as she convulsed, and then finally rammed herself hard against him, writhing and thrusting hard and fast, and he let go of his restraint. Both his hands grasped her hips as he slammed into her and new orgasm cascaded from the old, dragging him with her, and they shouted out together a long, ecstatic cry that was the most beautiful sound she’d ever heard.

He devoured her mouth, his hands returning to her breasts, as they came very slowly back down to earth.

“Ding, ding, Angyalka,” said Béla’s voice from the bedroom. “Dinner is served.”

“Oh fuck,” Angyalka whispered, laughter and annoyance trembling on her lips as well as in her voice.
Stay there,
she ordered Béla telepathically.

She kissed István once more, with vehemence. “Your blood is safe from me, it seems. Béla’s brought me an inferior vintage.” She slid off him and finally threw the black dress over her head. She didn’t trouble to fasten it and was aware of István’s dark, suddenly unreadable eyes following her across the room and into the bedroom. Before she closed the door, he may have caught a glimpse of Béla beside the window, and the handsome young man who stood dazed in front of him. Well, he looked dazed. In fact, Béla had mesmerized him, and when she was done, Angyalka would clear his memory. If he remembered anything, it would be like a dream.

“Still hungry?” Béla drawled. If he hadn’t sensed the hunter, he’d almost certainly seen him.

“A little,” Angyalka said, reaching both hands up to the stranger’s throat. His blood didn’t smell like István’s, but it was warm, and all that sex had made her hungry. She drew back her lips and fastened her teeth to the man’s neck.

He let out a groan, shifting his head to give her easier access. His arms moved, as if to hold her from some instinct, but she grasped them firmly to his sides and drank his blood.

May I?
Béla asked telepathically.

It had been a while since they’d shared a meal. Normally, she liked the companionship of sharing, despite the danger of killing their victim by taking too much. Tonight, for some reason, she didn’t want the intimacy. Perhaps because of the greater closeness she’d just experienced with the hunter on the other side of the door.

However, unwilling to hurt so good a friend and ally, she signaled her approval, and Béla, from behind, applied himself to the other side of the man’s throat.

She heard the bedroom door open and knew István was watching.

****

István was tying the laces on his sneakers when she finally emerged from the bedroom. He raised his eyes slowly, almost afraid he’d see the other man’s blood on her lips and teeth. Shit, was he really jealous of that? This relationship was so fucked-up he should never have started it.

Her face was clean. He couldn’t see her fangs.

“Is he dead?” he asked harshly.
Why the fuck did I not intervene to save him? Have I really become so corrupted by lust? Is Konrad right after all?

“Of course not.” In spite of everything, her voice vibrated straight to his well-satisfied groin. “It may interest you to know that I can count the number of humans I’ve ever killed on one hand. Two of them were mistakes when I was very young. And one was Bruno Geller. Béla will return the man you saw to his home. If he remembers anything, it will be like a dream.”

“An erotic dream?” István said, curling his lip. He didn’t like his anger, couldn’t even work out where it was directed, but it seemed he couldn’t squash it.

“Oh, I hope so. Why deny the man a little fun after his gift to us?”

“Do you share all your—
meals
—with Béla?”

“No, and why should you care?”

He’d made her defensive, almost hostile, which had never been part of his plan. The trouble was, he’d lost track of the plan. He didn’t even know if he wanted to go on with it.

“It reminds me,” he blurted, “of the incident which led me to vampire hunting in the first place. Sharing a human being like a side of meat.”

She raised one haughty eyebrow. “Would it make you happier if he was my lover?”

He dropped his gaze, hiding the upsurge of emotion he didn’t even understand. He didn’t want her biting that man because it was wrong. It had always been wrong. He didn’t want Béla there. He didn’t want the victim there. Because of the intimacy of both men with her.

“No,” he said quietly. He finished tying the second lace and stood up.

She came toward him. “I’m a vampire, István. This can’t be news to you.”

Hardly. But there was a difference between knowing and seeing, between feeling her drink so sensually from him and watching her bite another man, a helpless, enthralled man he should have helped.

She said, “You must have known what I was doing. Why did you even open the door? Did you want to stake Béla and me for the outrage?”

The truth flashed into his mind like a lightning bolt. He almost laughed. “If you really want to know, Angyalka, I opened the door because I
wanted
to see you doing exactly what you were doing. Did I want to stake you? No, I wanted to be your victim.”

Her eyes widened in shock.

A self-mocking smile tugged at one side of his mouth. “That’s not an easy thing for a hunter to bear.”

He stepped closer, because he couldn’t not. And yet for his own sanity, he needed to be away from her. “Good night, Angyalka.” He kissed her gently on her cool cheek, then turned and left her.

****

The following morning was almost like old times. István sat beside Mihaela in the hunters’ library, scene of the fight which had almost killed him, and researched vampires based on the American continent.

“This sounds like your Jacob,” Mihaela said, pointing at her computer screen. “New York vampire, unaligned to any leader, has avoided acknowledging either Travis or Saloman. Specializes in Central Park muggings, which he can blame on humans, and his primary motivation seems to be monetary greed.” She glanced round at István, who was pouring over a large, leather-bound tome on the desk. “And guess where this information came from?”

“Travis?” István hazarded.

“Elizabeth,” Mihaela said triumphantly. “She encountered him in New York when she went there to track down Saloman’s sword and kill Severin. He knew who she was before he came here.”

“And if Jacob knows, so does Basilio, who is an altogether more dangerous kettle of fish. I think he was responsible for the bloodless killing on the Széchenyi Bridge—he never seems to have outgrown a love of messy kills. Son of a noble Spanish conquistador, turned by an Aztec native at the age of forty, apparently by his own request. Numerous atrocities attributed to him, including the slaughter of entire villages, sadistic torture and rape of his victims—both living and undead, for what that’s worth.”

“Has he ever had designs on leadership?” Mihaela asked.

“Not so far as this book goes. Up until the nineteenth century at least, he seems to have avoided bonding with other vampires for any purposes at all.”

“So what brings him to your Jacob?” Mihaela wondered.

“They must want the same thing.” István frowned. “Freedom. Neither acknowledges a leader. They prefer to do their own things without any interference. Say what you like about Saloman, he interferes.”

“Then they’re here to bring Saloman down? I wonder if they fully appreciate the difficulties of that?”

“They may do now. They both saw him at the Angel. And as soon as he came near Gabby, Basilio’s ‘child,’ she took off like a Harrier.”

“They’re still in Budapest, and Saloman isn’t,” Mihaela mused. “Is that significant?”