The Fertile Vampire (27 page)

“He’s served his purpose,” he said. “You can forget him now.”
 

My eyebrows and pulse rose simultaneously. “Do you use everyone you know? Or is it just the Fledglings?”
 

“Why are you so angry, Marcie? How I got you here? Would you have come on your own?”
 

Walking naked down a city street in the middle of gang territory would give me the same feeling I was getting now. My skin was crawling and bells were going off in my head.
 

“Is that your little charge, Niccolo?”
 

I glanced across the room to see a woman standing there. I couldn’t help it, I stared. If I’d thought Il Duce was regal, his appearance was nothing compared to the woman in the doorway.
 

She was dressed in white, the silk flowing from an off the shoulder drape to her ankles. Her upswept hair was the shade of old gold, her eyes a bluish-green I’d never before seen. Her face was a perfect oval, her cheekbones high, her mouth full and plump. She was the epitome of all things female.
 

“I’m no one’s charge,” I said.
 

She raised one fawn colored eyebrow. “Are you not? Did he not take you to be mentored when there were so many other, worthier, candidates?”
 

“Enough, Hera.”
 

Hera? Was that her real name or had she picked it out from a book of goddesses?
 

I studied the long, ornately carved coffee table in front of me, wishing I could magically transport myself somewhere else. Back home would be nice, right in front of the refrigerator.
 

Il Duce stood, facing her. “This is not the time.”
 

“This is exactly the time, Niccolo.”
 

I looked up, glancing between both of them, startled to realize I was in the middle of a power play. I could smell the pheromones in the air. Or maybe it was the woman’s syrupy sweet perfume.

Hera’s expression changed, became less angelic. Her blond hauteur and Il Duce’s dark saturnine looks fit together like the yin/yang of perfection and power. They suited each other.

I, on the other hand, was blessedly superfluous.
 

“She looks very human,” Hera said. “I didn’t think she would be so…” She flicked a glance in my direction. “Insignificant.”
 

Hera was jealous.
 

The thought was so surprising I gaped for a minute. I was not the type to inspire jealousy. I never had before tonight. Okay, so I was looking good, but next to Hera I was a black sequined slug.
 

“I would have expected you to glow at the very least,” Hera said, her exquisitely plump lips ruined in a sneer.
 

“Why is that?”
 

“Aren’t you the vampire wunderkind? Their savior?”
 

I cleared my throat. “What do you mean?” I asked in the silence.
 

“Don’t you know? Or are you just playing stupid?”
 

Ms. Renfrew had told me of a legend, but dismissed it in the next breath.
 

“We will talk later, Hera,” Il Duce said, his voice smooth, emotionless.
 

Her stared at me, her eyes glittering with malice. I almost looked away but forced myself to face her. People like Hera, vampire or not, took delight in preying on the weak. Backing down in the face of her wordless challenge would make me submissive to her.
 

I was damned if that was going to happen.
 

Her lips curved in a smile.
 

“She knows, Niccolo,” she said. “Your little charge knows.”
 

“Hera,” he said, the word a warning.
 

I kept my eye on Hera as she turned and made her way through the foyer to the stairs. She ascended them lightly as if her feet never touched the floor.
 

“She’s your mistress,” I said as Il Duce sat beside me once again.
 

“Does it matter?” he asked.
 

Nothing did, except the answer to one question.
 

I turned and faced him.
 

“What haven’t you told me?”
 

“She’s being foolish,” he said, pushing the ends of my hair back behind my bare shoulder. I did move then. I hated people messing with my hair. I hated him doing it, since it felt proprietary.

I didn’t belong to him. I didn’t belong to anyone but myself.
 

His eyes glittered at me and I felt the tug of his compulsion again. I thought of my hand, held it up to block him. A moment later, the sensation eased.
 

“You’re not susceptible to mesmerism,” he said, reaching over and placing a kiss on my temple.
 

I scooted over. When he would have followed me, I frowned at him.
 

“Don’t come any closer.”
 

“Or what?”
 

I glanced around, wondering how many staff he employed. Not one person would interfere if Il Duce wanted to drain me dry right here in his living room. Did such a thing happen from vampire to vampire?
 

Why didn’t I know any of the answers to my questions?
 

One fact was certain. I was in danger. Not just since the limo pulled into Il Duce’s driveway but since I was turned. I was different. I was unusual. I was something rare and Il Duce had known it from the beginning.
 

He wanted me, not in a physical way, but in a blood sense. He wanted whatever abilities I had and I suspected if he had to kill me to obtain them, he wouldn’t be adverse.
 

Now he was being charming, but it masked a steely determination, not to mention raw power. I didn’t know what Il Duce could do - above and beyond sucking out all my blood - and I wasn’t eager to find out.
 

“What haven’t you told me?”
 

“Marcie.”
 

I hated it when he used my name in that tone of voice. I hated being patronized, mentally patted on the head and told not to worry. Big Bad Il Duce had everything under control. I could take my weak little woman brain to the kitchen.
 

“Tell me,” I said, adding a dose of my own compulsion to the order. I’d called him before. I’d summoned him to my side. Did I have any other power over Il Duce? I was tempted to give him another command as well. “Feed me.”
 

I had to get a handle on this appetite of mine.
 

He studied me for a moment, his eyes glittering. I was getting tired of being eyed like a piece of meat, or a delectable blood sack.
 

Tell me
. There, a full shot of compulsion, strong enough my eyes ached.
 

“Are you certain?”
 

That I wanted to know? Yes. No. Yes.
 

I nodded.

C
HAPTER
T
HIRTY
-O
NE

Just relax and enjoy it

“You’re hungry,” he said, smiling.
 

I only nodded. What would be the sense in denying it. If Meng didn’t report the growling of my stomach to him, he’d soon hear it himself.
 

He pulled a phone out of his pocket - 21
st
century vampire - and ordered antipasto for me.
 

“Would you like some fruit? Pears? Bananas?”
 

I nodded again. Everything sounded good to me.
 

In less than two minutes, which led me to believe Il Duce had planned for all contingencies, a tray was placed before me. I hesitated before eating, glancing at him. He only smiled and shook his head. Of course he didn’t eat.
 

He watched me, however, and I could only wonder if he did so with envy.
 

“Do you miss eating?” I asked after I polished off some Italian salami, dark purple Ponentine olives, and artichokes marinated in garlic and oil.
 

“Yes,” he said simply. Then, as I chewed, he continued. “I like the dishes of my homeland. The pasta, the bread. I like sauces and gelato.”
 

“I’m sorry,” I said, genuinely meaning it. I’d never enjoyed eating as much as I had in the last four weeks.
 

Il Duce poured me a glass of white wine which was crisp and clean like a fall day with hints of apples and currants. When I said as much to him, he only corked the bottle again and nodded, an Italian aristocrat in the line of his body and the tilt of his head. Machiavelli came to mind. Had Il Duce known him? Hell, had Il Duce
been
him?
 

“Don’t you drink wine, either?” I asked. That night, at my apartment, I don’t think I’d offered him any, but I’d been a little angry and not the least bit concerned about being rude.
 

All in all, Il Duce was a better host.
 

“It does not agree with me,” he said.
 

Now, that was a shame. It was agreeing very well with me.
 

My nose was exceptionally warm, with my cheeks placing a close second. I could even feel my lips growing a little numb, which was a clear sign I should pace myself better.
 

My eyelashes felt funny, almost too heavy for my eyes but the sensation wasn’t as disconcerting as the sudden heaviness in my limbs. I was feeling hot everywhere.
 

Il Duce stood.
 

Reaching out with both hands, he grabbed my bare arms and hauled me up until I was standing in front of him, close enough the silk of his shirt brushed against my breasts. Close enough I could smell his scent, something expensive and rare like a fine brandy. Was his cologne developed especially for him?
 

He tipped my chin up with one finger, smiling down at me.
 

I lost every thought in my mind. Except for one and that didn’t give me any reassurance at all.
 

I wanted him.
 

The pulse beats low in my belly accentuated my emptiness. I wanted him to fill me up, make me scream in pleasure. I wanted him so much it hurt, made me ache.
 

I pressed my hands against his chest, feeling the swell of muscle below my palms.
 

Somewhere in the far off reaches of my brain where preservation and survival traits linger, I began shouting to my lust-filled self. This had happened once before. I’d lost myself to a vampire’s need and want, only to be awakened in the VRC.
 

I forced myself to blink, knowing he’d done something to me. Had there been something in the food? Or was he compelling me with his mind? Or was I simply this needy?
 

Kiss me. For all the blood in the South Texas Regional Blood Bank, kiss me. Thrust your tongue in my mouth, replicate the act of mating.
 

I swayed closer, breathing against his neck. The scent of his skin was delectable, chocolate and graham crackers. I wanted to nibble him all over, beginning with his lips. I wanted to suck him into my mouth and taste every part of him.
 

I wanted him so bad I hurt with it. My sex grew swollen and moist. My body prepared to welcome him, but he stood there like a statue. I wanted to entwine myself around him, be a vine to his stake.
 

I wanted him to take me.
 

“Please,” I said, hearing my own voice tremble with need.
 

He didn’t speak, only drew one finger over my heated lips. My tongue followed its passage. I leaned forward, grabbed his finger and sucked on it.
 

“Please.”
 

He took me by the hand and led me from the room to a small alcove. Once there he pushed a button hidden in the wainscoting. An inch wide panel slid to the side. He pressed another button and a door hummed open, revealing a small elevator.
 

He entered and I followed, sighing with relief when he pushed me back against the wall, pressing his whole length against me.
 

I was the desert and he was water. I was parched and he quenched me.
 

He kissed my throat, palmed my breasts, each touch driving me higher and higher. I wanted more. I wanted to be naked. I wanted him to touch me everywhere, know me better than I knew myself.
 

I knew, somehow, in a drugged kind of knowing, that I wasn’t acting right. I was a funnel of fire, all of it leading down to between my legs. I wanted him to touch me there. Just a small touch so I could explode. One finger, please. I wished I hadn’t worn underwear.
 

I wanted to rub against him like a cat.
 

“Marcie,” he said, his voice holding a note of humor. I vaguely registered it as he pulled my dress down and sucked on a nipple.