"I came prepared to go with you, my lady." He spoke low, obviously struggling for the earlier tones of smooth courtesy. "With respect, I think it's you who needs time to think. Not I."
Arrogant, even if he was also right. She didn't know enough about him, and unfortunately now was not going to be the moment for her to learn more. Time was short. Regardless, she lifted a disdainful brow. "So if it was my will to take you home tonight and make you serve me with your mouth while another man fucked you from behind, that would be fine?" At his startled reaction, she gave a sharp nod. "I will take you far past what you think your limits are, to the level I find acceptable. After that, I might go even further. See how you handle pain, how loyal you would be to me under torture."
She knew how to do such things, but the thought made her a little sick, especially when her body was still shuddering from that kiss and the orgasm that had surged up like a violent seizure at his barest touch.
"I'm committed to your service, my lady. Whatever it might be."
But she heard the rage against it in his voice. "I think you're rash and foolish," she said in sudden anger. "Driven by your cock and your male ego. You're romanticizing the situation, blinding yourself."
The world was becoming a wavering rainbow. Nothing was as it seemed. She needed to go. Was it time for her driver to return? She couldn't remember when she'd said for him to come. She used her dwindling reserves of strength to send out an urgent compulsion to him, a mental shove that would have him turning the key in the ignition and heading this way before he even thought about the fact he was earlier than she'd suggested.
She'd known the danger of going out like this. It was too much… But she'd wanted a manicure, damn it. One pleasure. But there were no easy pleasures anymore.
"My lady?"
By his alarmed expression she knew her irises had gone blood red, her pale face even paler. Her fangs had elongated and now pricked her lips, lancing the skin and drawing blood. Salty blood that tasted metallic on her tongue.
It was too late. The chair became green, then purple. The fire was now olive drab, with blue flickering lights. She had to trust Thomas's choice and see how Jacob performed under fire. Hopefully not literally.
"Vial… in my bag. I need it."
After a quick look at her face, he retrieved it from the side table, searched and found the medicine. The room spun. When it righted itself, he was holding her, easing her back into the chair. "My lady, what's the matter?"
"That's not your concern." His skin was so hot, so alive. She felt the richness of his blood as if she was bathing in it, but the snakes of pain were there too, coiling in her lower stomach.
"I need blood. Fresh."
"Direct from the source, or mixed with this?" He gestured with the glass tube.
"Mixed." Though the idea of sinking her fangs into his throat was enough to make her arch off the chair with a cry of yearning, pain tearing at her.
Snatching up a pair of razor clippers, he sliced a line across his forearm with the blade. The arterial blood was quick and red. She wondered how he knew a finger prick wasn't sufficient.
Picking up the vial, he removed the cork and brought the tube against his skin so the blood flowed into it without further waste. It turned black upon contact with the potion. He capped the tube and shook it to accomplish the mix, caught up the towel and swiped it across the outside to keep the blood spilled there from dripping on her clothes.
"Hand it to me. Please." Propping her head on the back of the chair, she attempted to rest her hands on the arms in a position of dignity, though she wanted to curl in a ball around the pain.
He brought it to her lips instead, cradling her face with his hand. Those vivid eyes and appealing lips were close. She wondered if he knew his eyes turned different shades depending on his moods. Sapphires, a summer sky, the Mediterranean right before sunset…
She drank the bitter stuff but reveled in the taste of him, wishing she hadn't had to spoil her first sampling with this. The way he touched her face, with his palm so close to her fangs… He didn't fear her in the way she hated. Despite her mockery, she didn't sense that obsessive unrealistic fascination with her kind she found contemptuous. She could teach him to fear her in ways that would bring her pleasure, though. Ways that would bring them both pleasure.
Thomas. This is insanity. Who is this human, that he makes me feel this way? Does he understand it? Is that what he hides from me, or is he as confused as I am?
The colors were steadying, reforming. Objects reflected a less surreal perspective. She needed to get to the car, but the potion left her with a hazardous temporary lassitude. She could simply abide here, let Thomas watch over her… No, not Thomas. This was Jacob. She blinked. No, she couldn't stay. She'd been here too long, was too exposed.
Jacob had no idea what the hell was happening. This wasn't the effect of hunger. He was certain of that. This was illness. The woman whose power had nearly blasted him into the next room several times during their brief interaction was now almost ghostlike in her fragility. After she'd consumed the medicine, her fangs had slowly retracted, her gaze returning to that midnight darkness and jade that watched him as if she wore the soul of the night itself. The part that beckoned to a man even as it froze his bowels in fear.
"Trust. Thomas said trust." There was a feverish quality to her eyes.
"Trust must be earned, my lady. If you allow me, I'll start earning it."
She looked down. Following her gaze, Jacob saw the arm she grasped was the one he'd cut for her medicine. Now his blood was on her skin and her skirt. When he picked up the towel from the table again, she didn't object as he wiped her palm down. There was nothing he could do for the stain on the skirt. "My apologies."
She nodded, watching him with an oddly mesmerized expression. "You're fortunate I didn't wear white. I would have taken great pleasure in punishing you for staining it."
Such a threat from a vampire should have been terrifying. So why did he only feel arousal as the fingers of her free hand drifted over the .cut?
Get a grip. She needs more than your cock at the moment. Thomas had warned him she had an astounding and often infuriating way of bringing a man's lust into every situation. Right now though, worry was taking precedence.
Her hand stopped drifting, clutched in a sudden spasm. Though she was a petite woman whose head barely reached his shoulder, he was sure he'd have the imprints of her fingers on his forearm and possibly the bones beneath for some time. Pain was part of being a human servant, though. When he'd stood before the altar in the monastery chapel, the blood clotting on his back and making him lightheaded, his body screaming for relief, he'd understood that. Thomas had been preparing him with the flogging. Physical suffering would be part of accepting his lady's regard, and never allowed to distract him from her care.
Therefore, despite the increasing strength in her grip, it was the convulsive movement and the trembling in her hand which shot his attention back to her face. The lines around her mouth had deepened, giving him warning. "My lady."
When she slumped in the chair, he caught her. Her hair tangled in his fingers.
"Take me to the door, Jacob." Her lashes fluttered, showing him her green eyes briefly. "It will be all right then. Driver… Mr. Ingram, should be out there. He'll get me home."
* * *
Chapter Five
She wasn't inviting him to go with her. He could get her to the door, maybe to the car, and that was all. He could hardly contain his frustration.
Thomas had said it might take time to gain entry into her household. He'd come up with several different strategies for Jacob to execute over time, the manicure being just the first. So while Jacob had not planned to be unsuccessful this night, he'd been prepared to deal with it if he was. However, Thomas hadn't known there was something wrong with her. Having seen the strange disease which had taken her servant, Jacob felt his heart clutch with dread, his mind filled with questions. All of his plans to be patient were blown away by the fact she obviously needed a protector far more than Thomas had realized.
But the way she'd looked up at him, trusting him at least for this moment, pushed away the disturbing thoughts. He propped her gently in the chair and retrieved from the pine cabinet several things not necessary for a manicure. Forearm gauntlets carrying a variety of silver-tipped wooden shafts and small knives, and a nine millimeter handgun. He shucked the hose, thrust his legs quickly into a pair of worn jeans and tugged on a pair of boots under them before putting the gun in its belt holster on his back waistband. Quickly he laced the gauntlets to his forearms and checked the triggering mechanism. Shrugging on a long-sleeved navy blue shirt, he buttoned enough buttons to hold it on and conceal the gauntlets and gun, though it was loose enough to allow him access to them.
At least there was one good thing about her loss of consciousness. He was certain when he reached for the weapons she would have put his face through a wall, suspecting he was a trap sent by her enemies. The truth might elicit the same reaction. He just didn't feel their first meeting was the appropriate time to mention that among his many past career choices he'd been a vampire hunter. He'd hoped for a more casual and affable moment to interject that into the conversation, though now he was wondering if the woman ever had a relaxed moment.