It will guide you when everything else seems cloudy. Thomas had said that, comparing it to the sacredness that attended the oath of marriage. For better or worse… Our hearts know what is true, Jacob, and need no oath. It's our minds that need it, to help us stay the course through the rough patches. You will need the oath, I promise you. She will make nothing easy.
He spat blood. Well, this seemed to qualify as one of those rough patches.
He struggled to find it, the elusive something that could right his course again, and he remembered that first night, the naked pain in her gaze after Ingram had left and it was just the two of them.
I can't bear to lose another servant…
She had no servant. No one to indulge her need to casually reach out, touch and stroke. No one to hold her close, surprising her with the offer of comfort. No one to make her smile, banish shadows from her eyes. No one to kick around and treat like dog shit.
She spoke, her voice quiet, tired. "I release you from your oath, Jacob. You don't have to stay. You can go now. I'll find my way home. He's gone."
Damn it, remembering she could read his mind was a pain in the ass. But for all its drawbacks, the link could introduce an intimacy to their relationship that couldn't be duplicated in mortal interactions. He didn't have to guard words with her, he didn't have to do anything but be exactly who he was. There was a freedom to that.
Thomas, insisting he take that oath, had understood the fundamental essence of who Jacob was, what he wanted above all else.
He moved. One step after another as she remained still, her back to him. A pace behind her, he dropped to one knee, reached out and took her hand. Brought it to his lips before he lifted her knuckles, pressed them against his face where she'd struck him.
Lyssa had tuned out of his mind after hearing the bent of his thoughts. Lost in thoughts of her own, his touch startled her. As she turned toward him, she could feel all the conflict in him, all the reasons to walk away milling in his mind. There was fury simmering there, and yet still he touched her with courtesy and reassurance. Reading his mind was not the same as reading his heart, but this gesture provided the answer to the jumbled chaos of her own needs.
"He may be gone, my lady. But I'm not."
* * *
Chapter Twenty-one
Her eyes had been so full of pain when she'd turned toward him. Now she straddled the motorcycle behind him, cheek pressed to his back and arms around his waist. He drove through the light traffic of early morning, his face aching, his mind going over the pieces of the puzzles, the images Carnal had painted, the words she had spoken. Despite his best efforts to accept and get past it, even the way she'd struck him and how both vampires had treated him kept intruding.
He'd scoped out several routes from the mall, and he took the shortcut through a new neighborhood behind the shopping area. It would connect to a main thoroughfare, but instead of taking the turn to it, he went a different way on impulse, speeding down a darkened street with as-yet-unbuilt lots that dead-ended into a service road, currently barricaded off with an iron pole gate to keep out cars. He swung wide and bypassed it, taking the pedestrian path through a proposed forest park area. As they left the tree cover and came out into a clear meadow, the winter grass had turned silver in the moon-light. He cut his headlight and turned off the engine so they could look at the tranquil view. When she turned her head so her other cheek was pressed against his back, he knew she was looking as he was at the varying shadows playing across the field, since the moon had dipped just below the tree line. She kept her arms around his waist as he braced his feet on the ground on either side of the bike.
He could hear nothing but his own thoughts, and realized there was a sense of "other" when she was in his mind. Just a shadow, like when she was following him around the house. It made him feel alone, knowing she wasn't in his mind right now, and yet she'd only marked him an hour or two ago. It made him wonder how Thomas had borne the loss after having it for so long. He breathed in the night air, letting the tranquility of the meadow, the sound of crickets and the feel of her arms around his chest soothe and steady him. Taking one of her hands in his own at last, he kissed her knuckles, then held them on his thigh, warming her cold fingers against his own body heat. He wasn't cold at all despite his dampness. She was, though, and he wondered if it was caused by more than her normal low body temperature.
He felt that shadowy presence enter into his awareness and tested his theory. Would he be out here? Watching us?
"No." She spoke then, as if knowing he wasn't quite up to long strings of dialogue in his head yet. There was a dry note to her voice. "Carnal is allergic to nature. He's a made vampire. Rex was his sire. Born and bred in the city, not connected to the earth at all. Probably because he senses it's going to open up one day so the bowels of hell can claim him."
Good.
Tugging on her hand, he encouraged her to dismount, seeing her arch look at his one-word answer to Carnal's current and potential future whereabouts. One hand slid from him as she complied, though he retained her other and she didn't pull free or let go. He swung his leg over and walked her into that meadow. The straw-colored grass as fine as a woman's hair, gold in summer but now shining silver, feathered against their legs, whispering. When he stopped, he turned her to face him. Her eye color was almost a pale sea green in this light. He was glad she'd left off the wig. The wind had dried her hair somewhat, but it was snarled and not smooth around her face. He saw the ghosts in her face, the strain around her mouth. She looked almost mortal.
The desire to withdraw from him, to avoid his questions, filled her eyes. Before she could back away, he put his hands on her shoulders, saying nothing, and kissed her.
Not the hard, passion-driven kisses they'd shared until now, infused with dark images and violence. There was a pleasure in that, but this was a different pleasure, a gift he could offer to her.
Her mouth was soft, yielding. She leaned into him, her hands resting on his hips as she kept her face completely still, her eyes half closed as he spread light kisses on her lips. The top, then the bottom, the corner of her mouth, one eyelid then the other. Her cheek. Next to her ear, where when he started to nibble, her hands closed into fists on the waistband of his jeans. Her fingers slid inside to caress his skin at his waist, finding his hip bones then moving around to the sensitive curve of his buttocks, for she preferred him not to wear underwear. He moved to her neck as he found her flesh as well, palming the small of her back, thinking of the tattoo there and tracing the rougher feel of it. She made a murmur of noise, telling him his fascination with it had made her more aroused in that area. So he lingered, teasing it a bit longer until he took the hem of the T-shirt and brought it over her head, leaving her like him, standing just in a pair of jeans, since she'd worn no bra beneath the snug shirt. It had the softness of worn cloth, a tiny tee probably meant to be a sleep tank, but he'd particularly liked it for her, the "not everyone is a morning person" motto. She looked as cute in it as the sleeping kitten on the front.
"Jacob. I am over a millennium old. I am not cute."
He smiled against her skin. "You are to me. Stop listening to my thoughts." Dropping to one knee, he worshipped her breasts with his mouth, his hands, his eyes. Every touch reverent, designed to create a quiet, yearning arousal, a mode just short of climax where the sweet edge of desire could be ridden forever. While he might die of frustration from such a reality, he knew it would be heaven to her, and he wanted to give her heaven.
She rewarded him, cupping his face, her fingers following where she'd struck him, soothing as he nuzzled between her breasts, pressing them together with his hands so he could lick the valley in between, tease the nipples with his thumbs in slow strokes. A sigh left her, her body leaning further into him, the tension slipping off her like a cloak falling to the forest floor. But here, it was all moonlight and silver, the pale gleam of her skin like cream. Her fingers trailed along his bare wide shoulders, learning every point of bone, the straps of lean muscle.
He opened the jeans, guided them off her legs as she increased her grip on his shoulder, bringing her other hand to his hair. He could tell she liked his hair, the way she so often played with it, watching the reddish brown threads drift through her fingers. He liked feeling her touch there, for it was more spontaneous than some of the other ways she touched him. Not the calculated seduction moves wrapped up in the things she felt were so important for him to understand about the etiquette of their relationship. This moment was just them. That was the way he wanted to keep it. Forget about what had just happened, or what might happen after they left the park. Give me this, my lady. Moments like this would make those moments easier to bear.
He kissed the line of her lower abdomen, hip bone to hip bone, small touches of his tongue tracing the line of skin over the low rise of the panties, his chin rubbing against her pubic bone. She made a noise of need and he could smell her desire as he laid his hands on both of her thighs, holding her as he stimulated her further. He remembered that first night when she'd marked him with the slick dew from her cunt. His legs, stomach, cock, chest. Would three centuries be long enough to make sure that he'd kissed every inch of her?