Authors: Lydia Michaels
“That is enough,
Delilah.”
“I’m sure you’ll be
extra popular there. What, with being such a pretty man and all.”
“I said that’s enough,”
he whispered.
“Yeah, in prison there
are lots of people looking for a
mate
. Shouldn’t be a problem finding
one there—”
“I said enough!”
“Jesus!”
She drew back on the bed
and sucked in a harsh breath. He towered over her, bearing down on her chest,
eyes bright, wild, and totally dilated…his teeth…
“This is your life now!
Accept it.”
She whimpered. What the
fuck was he? If she thought his eyes looked like vampire eyes before, holy
shit—“Vampire,” she whispered, unable to look away as she cowered on the bed.
“That is right. Do you
get it now? I am immortal and you are like me.”
Fuck, fuck, fuck! He’s
not lying.
Her heart was going to beat out of her chest. She couldn’t breathe
and it became even harder when the fear that she might pass out set in. His
eyes shifted to her chest and he abruptly backed off, pulling his body away
from hers in a rush. She didn’t move.
He turned away from her,
running a hand through his hair and gripping the back of his neck. Nuts was one
thing. Tense and nuts another, tense and nuts
and
science fiction
creature…that was beyond what she could comprehend.
Tears welled in her eyes
and leaked out, catching in her still damp hair. She was going to die here. She
was never getting out. A monster that was going to drink her dry had kidnapped
her.
“Delilah,” he snapped
and she flinched. “Look at me.”
She shut her eyes.
“
Pintura,
look at
me. I do not wish to frighten you, but if you do not look at me I will come
over there and make you see me.”
Her head slowly turned
and her eyes hesitantly opened. He held out his arms, a show of absolute
passivity, his gaze pleading and back to normal. How did he do that, compose
his features, going from freak show to perfect in a second flat?
A tear trickled over the
bridge of her nose. It fell so close to her ear she heard the tiny splat as it
landed on the bedding.
“You know what we are
now. But you see, I am as any other man as well.”
We.
“We live as mortals, but
Amish mortals.”
We.
“Yes, we need to feed
from time to time, but no one is harmed. We use the animals and you will be
able to feed from me, your mate.”
You.
“Many of the legends are
false. The sun will not affect you and you can still do most of the things
you’ve always done.”
You.
“The Amish lifestyle is
for security, privacy. It protects us from exposure so we can live freely
amongst our own kind. You will make friends.”
You.
Her tongue moved over
her teeth. Flat. Normal. She considered her body. It felt better than usual.
Several of her flaws were gone. Flashes of sleeping with Christian bombarded
her thoughts. She’d thought he was trying to strangle her, drug her, then
something…
This morning
…had she not hallucinated that entire thing?
“What did you give me?”
she barely whispered.
“Only my blood,” he said
solemnly.
She rolled to her side,
moaned, as dry heaves had her shuddering. He was beside her in a second while
his palm rubbed over her back. She smacked him away, but he ignored her. Her
body shuddered under his touch as his palm rubbed softly over her back, a
useless attempt to calm her. Her stomach rolled and her throat constricted.
He’d made her drink his
blood. How had she ever thought of vampires as sexy?
“
Pintura,
you
must calm down. You will make yourself sick.”
“You sick fuck,” she
wheezed in between gags. “You made me drink blood? How could you?”
His voice was quiet—sad.
“I had no other choice. You are my mate.”
She forced back her
nausea and cradled her stomach, but refused to look at him. “Am I one of you
now? One of them?”
“Yes.” His answer was
barely a rasp.
Neither of them spoke
for a long time. He rubbed her back through her chemise and she allowed it
because she was in too much shock to move away from the contact he seemed to
insist on. After a long time her mind simply stopped working. She stared at a
tiny ruffle in the pillowcase across from her face and thought of nothing.
“I am sorry,
pintura,”
he whispered.
“I hate you.” The utter
venom in those three words only served to underscore how softly and intently
they were spoken.
Chapter Four
Two days passed and she
had not said a word. She only moved when she needed to use the bathroom. But
even then she fought her reflexes with stubborn paralysis, fidgeting with need
until she had no other choice but to stand and tend to her needs. Afterward,
when he waited for her in the hall, she would simply stand there, staring off
into space. Christian would wait for her to move, but she never did. So he
would carry her back to his bed where she laid exactly as he put her only to
stare some more.
He brought her several
peanut butter and jam sandwiches, fruit, fresh squeezed juice, milk, cookies,
and anything else he could find that did not contain meat. She touched none of
it. She had to be starving.
Her skin was beginning
to pull taut over the features of her face and dark circles had taken shape
under her eyes. He wished he could at least get her to drink something.
Christian tried lifting her head and coaxing her to swallow some juice, but she
remained catatonic.
He had not left the
house in days and was grateful he had his own supply of distilled blood in the
house. His days turned to simply lying next to her waiting for her to move. She
remained so still he found himself holding his breath in between her blinks.
For the first time in a long time he was unsure what to do.
Currently, he rested on
his side watching her sleep. She had to forgive him eventually. She was his
mate.
“I see it’s true then.”
He turned and found
Eleazar, their bishop, at the door, a world of understanding showing in his
eyes. Christian turned back to Delilah, gently touched her hair, and scooted
out of bed. He silently walked through the hall and into the den. The bishop
followed.
“How did you know?”
Christian asked as they each took a seat.
“Dane told me. You
missed the council meeting. Your mother is concerned.”
His mother.
He’d have to deal with
her eventually.
“How long have you had
her here, Christian?”
“Four days.”
“And things are not
going well, I assume.”
It was not the bishop’s
business to ask, certainly not his right to know. But Christian knew he was
asking simply as a friend. “No. I am afraid things are not going well.”
Eleazar said nothing,
but the bishop could simply look into his mind and see anything he wanted to
know. He was the most powerful immortal on the farm, over half a millennia old.
“She is one of us?”
Christian paused,
wondering how much the bishop already knew.
“I can sense it in her.
She is not mortal.”
“She was,” Christian
admitted.
“I see. Females are very
different out in the English world, Christian. They are independent and
free-spirited. Not a whole lot scares them these days. Perhaps they are less
afraid than they should be. Too often woman are brutalized. Regardless of their
moral fiber, I find it is rare that an English female would be willing to
sacrifice her modern life for that of ours. I am not even addressing
immortality. I am speaking simply of choice. The English American population
has fought long and hard for equality and this new generation would not easily
give up such freedoms, I believe. How old is your female?”
“She is almost thirty, I
suspect, but I am not certain.”
He frowned. “Did you not
spend time with her, getting to know her before you brought her here?”
Christian swallowed and
shifted his weight. “We shared…chemistry.”
“Christian, please tell
me you didn’t…”
“Of course not. I took
nothing from her she didn’t freely offer.” He acknowledged the lie the minute
the words left his mouth.
“Except her life,” the
bishop provided.
“Except her life,”
Christian agreed. Looking to the bishop with pleading eyes he explained, “But
there was no point in waiting. She is mine and it would have happened
eventually.”
Eleazar held up his
palms. “This is your marriage, your mate. It is not any man’s place to tell you
how your relationship should be established or how it should work. There are,
however, reasons that most males try to take a softer, slower approach with
their called females. You clearly have your work cut out for you now.”
That was the truth. “She
will not eat.”
“Has she fed?”
“Once. Barely. I know
she needs both. She does not eat meat. The idea of drinking blood makes her
physically ill.”
“She must learn to
accept what is.”
“I told her that. She
is…stubborn.”
“Aren’t they all?” the
bishop mumbled. “Have you tried compelling her?”
“No.”
“Can you get into her
mind?”
Yes, he could, but he
never liked what he found in there. Her thoughts were unfiltered and harsh.
Every time he crossed into her mind he heard some scathing remark he did not
appreciate. “I am hoping she comes to me willingly.”
“Perhaps she will…in
time. For now, though, it is your duty to see that she has all that she needs.
If you can compel her to feed, do it. If not, I could—”
“No. I want no one else
in her thoughts.”
“Very well.”
The bishop left shortly
after their discussion. Christian faced the stairs reluctantly and slowly
climbed them. When he opened the door to his bedroom Delilah still lay where he
left her, sound asleep.
He approached the bed
and stared down at her. She was very pale. His fingers brushed over her dark
hair. The color had lightened a shade since she was transitioned. It no longer
had the blue hues it did when he’d met her. Her natural color was dark brown,
but not the black she had worn. It was still beautiful.
“Delilah?”
She didn’t move.
He shut his eyes and
pressed into her mind. No thoughts. No dreams. She slept exactly as the rest of
the immortal race did.
Taking a deep breath he
pushed deep into her psyche and took hold of her freewill. Lowering himself to
the bed, he pulled her onto his lap, cradling her close to his chest. Her head
lolled as his fingers swept her hair away from her face. Unable to stop
himself, he pressed a kiss to the corner of her mouth. She sighed.
He simply held her for a
moment, enjoying the weight of her in his arms. He needed to make their
situation better in some small way. He needed to earn her forgiveness, her
trust, her…love.
He opened the collar of
his shirt, knowing it would be easier to feed her from his wrist, but needing
the intimate contact. Shifting her closer to his neck, he cupped the back of
her head, and brought her mouth to his throat.
The loose neck of her
chemise slipped off her creamy shoulder. He kissed her there and whispered,
“Take from me what you need,
pintura.
Feed from your mate until your
hunger is gone.”
He drew in a sharp
breath as her little teeth punctured his skin. His body hardened after the
first few pulls of her small mouth. The soft little moans she made as she drew
from him did not help matters.
Her body shifted. Her
shoulders lifted and she turned, her knees sliding to either side of his thighs
as she began to rock. As she fed, each drag of her warm body caused a delicious
friction over his cock.
His hands slid to her
hips and gripped her tightly, trying to still her motions. Even unconscious,
she was strong, stubborn, and having none of it. Her keening and sighs grew in
pitch, fell closer and closer together as her hunger faded. Her pelvis rocked
over him and he realized she was satisfying more than one hunger, truly taking
what she needed, what her body craved, from her mate.
His breath grew labored
as he tried to hold onto his self-control. Faster and faster she rode him. He
could not take much more. She was drawing his own release to the surface with
each precious pull of her mouth over his flesh.
“Delilah…” he breathed,
pressing his lips into her shoulder. He should not be taking pleasure from her
while she was unconscious. He tried to control his body’s reaction to what she
was doing, but it was impossible. His soul reflexively recognized her as his
other half.
Her lips tightened and
he extended his neck, leaning with her as her spine arched. Her thighs
tightened over his and her mouth tore from him and she cried out.
There was no stopping
it. His climax followed. Heat bathed his thighs beneath the clasp of his pants
and his eyes widened in utter shock as he held her, both their bodies shivering
with release.
Slowly, she came back
down, still unconscious. He lowered her quivering body to the bed and drew the
covers to her chest. Her breath was steady again.
A spot of his blood
remained on the curve of her lower lip. Leaning down, he licked it away. She
sighed and he groaned. Reluctantly, he left her to clean up in the washroom.
When he returned in a
fresh pair of pants, she still lay as he’d left her on the bed. He stood in the
doorway, admiring her beauty, satisfied that he’d managed to provide for her
what she needed in order to survive.
Her eyes flashed open
wide in one sudden motion. They were fully dilated. She was not happy.
* * * *
Delilah opened her eyes
at the sound of breathing. Christian stood at the door watching.
Him
. He
did this. The lethargic shock that had overcome her these past few days
evaporated, replaced with uncontainable rage. She glared at him, pouring every
bit of hate into her gaze.
“You are awake.”
Her breathing grew heavy
and she heard herself growl. That must be a vampire thing. Her jaw shifted and
she dragged her tongue over the sharp tip of her fangs. Yup. They were real.
She’d slept and was glad
to know it didn’t require a coffin or being underground. She and spiders did
not mingle well.
He took a step forward
and she hissed.
Vampires do that.
Did she have powers? Could she turn
into a bat? Bats were nasty. What would she like to turn into if there were
choices? A cat maybe? A Panther?
Ooh, a unicorn! Pretty!
“Delilah—”
Her eyes snapped back to
his.
Bad man.
He took another step and she was on her feet, knees bent,
arms spread, ready to attack. Shit, she had claws.
Bad. Ass.
Delilah flexed her hands
and rolled her shoulders testing her newfound strength. She felt good, loose.
Like she could really fuck a person up. Her eyes zeroed in on her captor. He
looked unsure.
Good
.
Cautiously, he took a
step and she was off the bed and on the other side of the room.
Whoa.
Moving
that fast left her
a little dizzy.
“Stay back. I’ll attack,” she
warned, a courtesy that wasn’t necessary and one he’d done nothing to deserve.
He held up his hands. “I
do not want to hurt you, Delilah. I was only coming to check on you. If you
think you are up for it, I’d like to show you around.”
Leaving the house? “Show
me around where?”
“The farm. The Schrock
portion of land at least. The Order’s land is enormous, but being that there is
only my mother and I on the Schrock land—and now you, of course—we have a very
open spread.”
She could run away. If
he took her out she’d only need a distraction—
“If you run, I will
catch you,
pintura.
I am much older than you. While you may be
discovering some new strength in yourself, know that my age puts me at an
advantage. I am faster, stronger, and hold more disciplines.”
Anything you can do, I
can do better. I can do anything better than you…
Arrogant much? And what
was with him always knowing what she was thinking? She didn’t think she was
that transparent. Could vampires read minds?
She stared at his
forehead and concentrated. Nothing. She tried a different tactic.
Christian Schrock is a
fock who always gets what he wants,
From lips to clits to
pierced painted tits, he even gets their cunts.
He grunted as if
something hit him in the gut.
Bingo.
Her lips twisted in evil
satisfaction. This could be fun. Her inner monologue turned taunting.
Fuuuuuuuuck
you, you Amish, sheep fucking vampire.
He growled and his eyes
flashed silver.
Aww, poor baby. Is your
mate not the obedient little woman you hoped for? Better chastise her and show
her her place!
He was breathing hard,
fists clenched at his side.
She was breathing hard
too. He probably was stronger, but she was no weakling now. Her newfound
strength was pumping through her veins like heroin. Might as well use that
shit. Besides, she was really hankering for a fight and the douche bag was the
perfect target.