Vampire Instinct

Page 34

“I always ask you.”
“Yes, but usually only because you’re afraid I won’t let you do what you want to do if you disobey. You don’t obey me instinctively. You did this time.”
“Oh. Well.” A bit unsettled by his look, she dropped her gaze and smoothed the legs of her trousers fastidiously. The one thing that jumped into her mind came purely from nervousness, since she wasn’t sure what else to say, but of course he had to choose that moment to read it. It elicited a smile of pure wickedness, those curved, sensual lips taking her breath away and giving her an altogether different kind of tingle.
“Don’t worry,” he responded. “I won’t let it go to my head.”
Then he, too, was off. She didn’t see his passage, only the movement of the grasses in his wake.
“They really are too much for the senses,” she complained.
Tokala gave her a grin. “Best not to say so. Hearing that from a pretty girl will make him all the more full of himself.”
17
SHE wondered if the second mark would give her the ability to see what was happening through his eyes, or if that was a third-mark thing only. Dev had tried to explain the differences between the second and third marks to her, and there seemed to be quite a bit of overlap, with the exception of the third-mark’s extended life span and soulbinding. She wasn’t sure she believed that last part, though. A third-mark died when their vampire died; that was true enough. But the theory was that the human’s soul had to follow the vampire wherever it went in the afterlife. To her, that sounded like something vampires had made up to prop up their sense of self-importance, because no one knew for sure that was true, and she didn’t think they could overrule God’s opinion in the matter.
Maybe the story meant something far different, like Bible stories that sounded unlikely, but when a person really got to thinking about them, they made logical sense. If a servant became a vampire’s third-mark willingly, they served them with everything they were, meshing their fates, consciences, morality, everything. Not all vampire pairings were like Danny and Dev. There were those who visited the station who obeyed their vampire without question, doing whatever he or she was told. In those cases, the third-mark might be an abdication of one’s right to choose right and wrong. The servant’s sins were linked to the vampire’s, and that was why the afterlife fates were the same.
Or maybe the third-mark bond was so close the servant couldn’t bear to lose it, even to the promise of Heaven, so he or she chose to follow the vampire wherever they went after death. Even if his mortality wasn’t bound to his lady’s, Elisa couldn’t imagine Dev taking one additional breath after Danny did.
“You’re going to crack your face, you’re thinking so hard,” Tokala observed. He was rooting through her basket, working through the sweet biscuits—cookies—she’d baked. She’d brought a few morsels for the children, but now she was glad Kohana had told her to bring the whole batch along. He’d apparently anticipated Tokala’s appetite. And hers, because she accepted two when he offered. Her appetite had been better lately. The parts of her Mal wanted more plump were going to be obliging soon.
Elisa?
His voice gave her an additional rush of blood. It was intriguing—as well as a bit annoying—how the erotic richness of his tone didn’t dilute a bit when it was a thought in her head. If anything, it intensified it.
I want you to open your senses the way I showed you, but instead of focusing on your immediate surroundings, focus on me. I’m opening a track in my mind for you to see something, but you have to imagine stepping inside of me, seeing through my eyes. Just like before, don’t get in the way of it. Just let it happen.
She was ready for it to be a struggle, something hard, but maybe she was already used to focusing so well with Danny in her head. It was as easy as the click of a door, stepping over a threshold and going down a narrow passageway that had light at the end. If she put her hands on those walls, she’d sense his other thoughts moving behind them. It was like he was Moses, and he’d cut a swath through the ocean of his mind, leading her to a picture, a front-row seat to see through his eyes.
She drew in a delighted breath. The fledglings had found a water hole, a tributary off the main river that ran through the island. Vampires didn’t swim because they had no buoyancy, but they could certainly wade. And Jeremiah was, his pants rolled up to his knees. Miah was holding the skirt of her dress, and Matthew . . .
In her physical body, Elisa closed her hands into knots of painful joy as Matthew snuck up on Jeremiah and splashed him, starting off a substantial water fight. The three sent sheets of water spattering at one another, then chased one another up and down the banks like squirrels. Whenever they paused, one might submerge entirely, just to marvel at how they could walk beneath the water’s surface without floating. Then they were off and running again.
Thought you’d like to see that. Need to close down now. A little tough holding this open for a second-mark.
Yes, of course . . . Thank you, Mal. Thank you so much.
Realizing it was the first time she’d called him by his given name without prompting, she hastily added the honorific. Sir.
His inner smile was like the touch of sunlight on her hair, and then that tunnel went dark again. But she still felt surrounded by his awareness of her, even though he was not within sight. It made her smile, too.
Tokala was giving her a look, and she cleared her throat, explained what she’d been seeing. The Indian grunted, but his eyes danced. “They’re at the water hole, three miles from here. I expect if I’d had the chance to see that, my eyes would be sparkling like blue flowers, too. And my cheeks would be all rosy from blushing.”
“Oh, shut it.”
He laughed at her then, offered her another biscuit. She played a few hands of poker with him, betting the last of the biscuits, and then decided she’d gather up some of the wildflowers to put in vases in the house, since there were some varieties here that weren’t readily accessible in the yard. She found a bucket in the back of the Jeep, a stream within sight to fill it with water and keep the wildflowers fresh. She usually carried a penknife with her, as there was often a need for such a thing for a stray thread or other trifles, such as flower cutting.
Tokala stretched out on the hood, his long form easy in the pose, one knee crooked up as he kept an eye on her and watched the stars. Enjoying their companionable silence, she moved slowly through the long grasses, considering her choices. She realized she was almost happy tonight. It gave her a sharp pang, thinking of Willis dead in that barn, and her happy here.
Don’t matter if the sun shines for me or not, girl. Long as you’re smiling.
She blinked back the tears, remembering he’d said that to her, one morning when she’d complained it was overcast. It wasn’t that she didn’t miss him. Things were just going better now with the fledglings. The weight of worry she carried on her heart about their future seemed to be lessening, as if Mal was shouldering some of it in truth. He wouldn’t be going to these lengths if he truly believed they were a lost cause, right?
She chided herself. That man was so thorough, even if he thought the fledglings were beyond hope, he’d want to make good and sure of it. But oh, how could anyone with a heart and soul feel that way, seeing them playing in the water like that? Monsters didn’t have water fights, didn’t have the beginnings of laughter on their faces, experiencing it as if for the very first time. In truth, they might not remember the last time they laughed, or if they’d ever laughed at all.
“Bugger.” Her bucket bobbled on her arm as her ankle twisted abruptly in a soft depression. When she yelped, she lost hold of her penknife. “Oh, bother.” She knew the sharp jab of pain that heralded a sprain. And damnation, even with the second-mark accelerated healing, if it was a bad one, she’d be hobbling at least until sometime tomorrow. Only third-marks healed within minutes, and sometimes they needed the Master’s blood to do it. Vampire blood didn’t do that much to accelerate second-mark healing; otherwise, this would be a gift instead of a pain in the arse, because it was a perfect excuse to get close to Mal’s tempting throat.
Tokala sat up quickly at her cry, but she waved at him. “Just turned my ankle, is all. Clumsy. Let me get these last purple ones, and then I’ll come that way.”
Moving to the edge of the hood, he propped his boots on the bumper and gave her a grin, spitting out the wad of grass he’d been chewing. “Won’t get you out of cleaning and cooking. Kohana’ll say you did it on purpose and figure out things much worse you can do sitting down.”
She chuckled. Three days ago, Kohana wouldn’t have let her do anything if she hadn’t insisted, but now he was starting to welcome her help. It made her feel good, another thing that added to her happiness quotient. It really was remarkable. It’d been so long since she actually felt . . . good. Willis wouldn’t begrudge her feeling better. He’d cross his arms and say, “’Bout time, girl. Been wallowing long enough.” Then he’d give her that wink. She’d swat at him and he’d pull her over to rub his whiskers against her cheek until she was helplessly giggling and pushing him away.
Ah, blimey, she was moving like a hobbled horse, limping her way to that last clutch of flowers. Maybe she’d ask Tokala to come cut them for her. She could sit here for a minute and—
She’d kept her senses wide-open, so if Mal contacted her again, she’d have her engine running and foot on the gas pedal, so to speak. But she also found she really liked taking in so much more of what was happening around her. The sigh of the wind, the various smells of flowers, the way the long grasses felt, brushing her hips. However, now those senses gave her something else. An imminent sense of danger.
When she spun, the animal smell hit her, strong and immediate, as well as the huffing breath, the rumble of a growl in a deep, wide chest. Her bones liquefied into pure terror as she saw the lion charging toward her. That rumble was because he was closing in for a kill, his amber eyes so intent, his mane a swirling riot of rust color around the smooth face. The second mark gave her every vivid detail, amplified by her absolute certainty that her life was about to end.