Just One Taste (17 page)

“Are you ready to talk yet, Dria?”

Give me a minute. Can you hold me for now?

Strong arms wrap tighter around my slender frame and the warmth of his body starts to sink into my own. Thoughts I had hoped long buried are now front and center in my own mind. My first husband, Aidan, and I were married in our small village in Ireland. We were both sixteen at the time and we had four years together before a horrible monster came to our home.

I did not know
it
had been watching me for weeks while I cared for our farm doing chores. The night the blood-crazed monster came in and tore Aidan limb-from-limb in front of me haunted my every hour for years to come.

The shock of his death fought side-by-side with the need to survive, and I was preoccupied with both for the years I was held captive in that sick bastard’s seethe.

“Are you thinking about Mikov again? I can see the hate in your mind. It’s glowing red and dark.”

“Yes, I am. Sorry. Drew’s wife was killed exactly like Aidan and I wasn’t expecting that punch to the gut.”

“Understandably so. If you had seen that coming I’m sure you wouldn’t have touched him.”

My head hurts, like one of the migraines from my time as a human. Only this one is brought on by the flood of pain and anguish rekindled in my mind, not from the constricting blood vessels in my brain. I snuggle deeper into my mate’s thick-muscled chest, pressing my face in.

“Mmph… ”

I don’t really want to talk about what happened, but I’m betting Rafe won’t let this go. Most guys hate to talk about feelings. While I wouldn’t say Rafe
loves
to, he won’t ever back down from a task just because it’s an unpleasant one.

He continues on, hoping to draw some words out of me. “Mikov is dead, dear. You saw to that long ago. That bastard and his followers deserved everything you did and then some.”

I let my silence be my answer of agreement. We’ve gone over most of my past numerous times. I’d rather block the pain back away in my brain. I nuzzle Rafe’s neck. The smell of his blood coursing below the surface of his flesh reminds me of love and power all wrapped up in one. My tongue snakes out to lick the side of his throat, right below his chin.

Distraction can be the best form of coping, also called denial, and Rafe’s usually easy to convince. But it’s not working this time, though. His hand travels up and down my back in a soothing manner but my warm, wet attentions are doing nothing to dissuade him from this conversation. Damn, he can be quite single-minded at times.

Oblivious to my ministrations, he probes further. “No chance any of them survived to keep recruiting new vampires as they did with you, is there?”

My head whips up from my comfortable spot. “No! Why would you even suggest that? Of course I killed every last one of them. Unfortunately, revenge is never the reward one hopes it to be.”

“It never is.” Rafe’s quiet for a second and I know he’s recalling his own battle with seeking revenge for the death of his wife and baby daughter. Neither of us is unfamiliar with extreme violence in our past.

“But,” he continues, “killing them gained your freedom and that’s more important than all the rest. It still begs the question though. Is it a coincidence that Drew’s wife was killed like Aidan?”

The fog clears a bit from my mind and now he has my full attention.

“What are you saying, Rafe? There could be a connection between me and Drew?”

“I’m not sure. I know it sounds odd. We’re talking centuries later, but who else except someone from the supernatural community would have the strength to rip a person apart?”

“Drew’s a vampire and we do make enemies along the course of our long undead lives. He could have pissed someone off and they decided to hurt him good.”

“Did you get a view of his wife in his thoughts?”

“Yes, but it was quick. Why?” I shudder as I try to push the memory away again. “Did you recognize her?”

It’s painful to think on, but to be honest it was a quick snapshot in Drew’s mind. The exchange occurred very fast.

“Sorry, but I wasn’t really thinking about her at the time.”

“Yeah, okay, I can see that. If anything comes to you later, tell me.”

I’m drifting into a calmer state, trying not to let my mind look at those horrid images again. Sifting through the blood and limbs to find her face does not seem worthwhile right now on top of how much my head hurts.

Think I’ll try again for distraction.
Can you help me undress? I want the warmth of your skin against my own.

Rafe sits up without speaking and complies, starting to remove my clothes. His eyes are soft as they linger on my face. I can feel him probing gently into my mind to gauge the amount of pain I’m in.

My boots land on the floor next to the bed with a solid thump, and Rafe encourages me to sit up to work off my jacket. The air hitting my skin helps to clear my head a bit and the corset isn’t so tight that I feel confined anymore. The stays must have loosened a bit over the course of the evening.

Rafe’s warm hand touches the strip of flesh exposed over the top of the leather pants and his fingers open the top button before lowering the zipper. “These things are snug,” he says tenderly. “Lay back down and lift your hips for me.”

I do as he asks; relaxing into the touch of his hands supporting my body as he slowly removes my tight leather pants. My black thong peaks out in sharp contrast to my snowy white skin. The pants soon meet the fate of the boots on the floor and I roll back on my side to the middle of the bed.

You going to join me soon and take some of those clothes off, right?

Rafe stands up next to the bed and removes his things in record time, piling them up in a heap by the chair with a casual toss. He’s back in the bed and facing me, reaching to slip the covers up over us before pulling me close. My head nestles up in the crook of his neck again, filling my nose with the scent of him and nothing else.

He’s all that matters in the big scheme of things. Only him.

How is your head, my love? You feeling better?
His inner voice sounds soft and tender, like his heart.

Yes,
I answer.
It’s not thumping as much anymore.

I know the best thing to help get the pain firmly shoved back into its tight little box in my mind, and it’s not blood. I reach my arm up to run my hand slowly down his slightly furry chest. I rest my hand on his stomach, above the top of his boxer briefs and wait.

His breathing starts to speed up and I can hear his heart beating faster. He senses where I’m going but wants me to take the lead, so that he’ll be certain it’s what I want.

Rafe, how can you doubt whether or not I’ll want you?

Because you’ve had a horrible shock and I wasn’t sure if it was appropriate.

When is feeling my lover’s touch wrong?

His response is to pull me away from his neck and kiss me deeply. My hand slips below the band of his briefs and his hot arousal greets my eager fingers. His touch moves from my head and he lifts his hips to wiggle his last bit of clothing down with my assistance. When he lowers back down to the mattress, I lift my right leg to place it up around his hip.

His warm hand rests on my thigh and he presses forward until the hard heat of his crown meets the small scrap of fabric covering my opening. He reaches back over my hip and pulls the thong away from between my cheeks to gain entry to my pussy.

Tonight, on this night of pain and dark memories, I require no foreplay. I’m ready and wet and want only to be filled by him to drive everything else from my mind. As his thick head presses forward to claim, a sense of rightness flows through me. Blissfully, all other thoughts stop to experience the joy of our union and I can let myself go in this moment.

I reach out and send one last thought, before the passion overcomes us.

All I ever need is you… forever.

I could spend endless hours drinking in the sight of this strong, breathtaking man. I enjoy watching him sleep; his sheer, masculine beauty never ceases to amaze me. The hard, sculpted planes of his chest, the soft, sparse hairs, and the vibrant call of his blood beneath taut, golden skin. I still marvel at the fact this delectable man is mine. I don’t need him any more than he needs me. But I
want
him.

Love is a choice, and I choose to love everyday. The day I knew that, and that the choice was always mine, was the day I became a strong independent person.

When the same clarity happened for Rafe is anyone’s guess. At times, I almost think he was lucky enough to be born with an understanding of the universe’s greatest mysteries.

Four a.m. rolls around and I get up from the bed, deciding to cleanse my body of the emotional trauma of last night through some yoga. Rafe has been a master yogi for years, thanks to the teachings of his mother and father. His parents lived in India for a bit and his father, Claude, studied under a master for a decade. Back at the turn of the twentieth century, only men were allowed to practice yoga. Claude taught his wife, Olga, in secret all that he learned. One hundred years has changed the face of an ancient practice irrevocably.

I change into some yoga digs—a pair of black pants with a matching top, and head out to the hotel’s real gym located on the first floor in the north wing. Passing no guests, I’m glad for the respite in hostess duties. I’m not up to being cheery and smiling just yet. I nod to Miranda at the front desk and she waves a pink slip of paper.

“A call came in for you from New York before two a.m. It was Cy.”

“Why didn’t you alert me?”

Miranda’s eyes get big. I’m guessing my tone was a little harsh.

“Rafe told me last night when he was carrying you to your suite that we should not bother you unless it was an emergency.”

In an instant, my guilt flourishes and if I still had the ability to blush with bright pink cheeks, I’m sure she’d see it.

“I’m sorry, of course that was the right thing to do. I certainly was in no state to argue.”

Real concern colors her voice as she asks, “Do you mind if I ask what happened? I was worried when I saw you earlier.”

Crap! I hadn’t anticipated this scene when I got my happy little ass out of bed a few minutes ago. My brain scrambles fast and I’m desperate to think of some type of valid excuse.

“I…er…I think I had some…” I lock gazes with her and push her a bit to believe my next words, “blood that had gone bad. That special old vampire blood we serve in drinks at the bar? One in the last batch didn’t agree with me.” I let up on imposing my will over hers and finish with, “I felt better after lying down for a bit.”

Her tone is light as she responds. “Well, good, I’m glad to hear you’re feeling better.”

She hands me the phone message and I turn to walk down the hall to the gym. It’s a good thing she didn’t disturb us with the call. I’d hate for Cy to worry more and I’m sure he’d have heard the tension in Rafe’s voice.

Damn, he’d probably send us additional young vampires and I really don’t want that. They annoy the hell out of me, wanting more old blood than I’m comfortable giving the whipper-snappers.

I’m not up to calling him back right now. I’d rather wait until I’m a bit steadier and then get whatever information he found. Either way, it’s mid-morning in New York and Cali would be the one I’d get on a call.

Switching on the lights to the vast machine-filled room, I lower the wattage via the dimmer to a more subdued glow. My head no longer pounds like it did before, but I prefer the softer light when I want to relax. Mediation has never come easily for me and I need all the help I can get.

I walk across the vast room, passing free-weights and stand-alone equipment. Rafe enjoys this space and I can usually find him in here five to six days a week, even if it is only for thirty minutes at a stretch. I grab one of my favorite sticky mats from a pile by the wall, placing it near the windows overlooking the same hot tub grotto view we enjoy from our suite. The exercise spot can fit about six yoga practitioners easily, but we never have more than three or four at the most.

The windows are dark now, and the glow from the subtle rope lighting around the pergolas appears faint. The bright landscaping lights aimed toward the windows to simulate daylight are off at this time of morning in imitation of the early pre-dawn hour. We’ve found the fake day helps the companions to stay on a sleep schedule and provides the giddy vampires staying up all day with a reference for when they look at their watches.

Working my way slowly through ten sun salutations, I monitor my form for exact alignment. The movements help to focus my mind on the day ahead. The facts of yesterday tumble through my head and I find that each pose helps to solidify the information we do have.

I push back into my last downward dog and my heels connect solidly with the mat as my hips aim for the far wall.

Originally, I thought a vampire would not have committed the murder, but who else here could have a motive? None of the companions or servants have been reported missing and I’d know if any of the employees had done it. There’s some benefit to them sharing my blood. The link may be tenuous, but it’s there, and I would
know
.

I look up between my wide-spread palms, jump my feet forward to my hands and straighten my legs till I’m in a deep forward bend.

Okay then, I’ve made some progress—the killer is a vampire. I think.

I place my thumbs in my hip crease, and root down with my energy as I straighten from the waist. My arms swing out and my palms twist to face each other as I reach for the ceiling.