Suddenly she felt hands encircle her waist. She gasped. "Roman? That better be you." She reached behind her where she thought he should be, but felt nothing but air.
It's me. He skimmed his hands over her ribs, then cupped her breasts. His mouth nibbled at her shoulder.
"Where-where were you?" It was hard to carry on a conversation while he was stroking her with his thumbs.
I'm sorry. It won't happen again. He played with her nipples, gently tweaking the hardened buds between his thumb and forefinger. Each tug seemed to pull at an invisible cord connected to her soul.
She crumpled onto the bed and stared at the ceiling. "Oh, Roman, please." She wished she could see him. Or touch him.
Shanna, sweet Shanna. His voice whispered in her head. How can I tell you what you mean to me? When I saw you at the ball, it was as if my heart started beating again. You lit up the room, bright in an ocean of black and white. And I thought-my life has been nothing but a dark, endless night. Then, you came like a rainbow and filled my black soul with color.
"Oh, Roman. Don't make me cry." She rolled onto her stomach and wiped her moist eyes with the sheet.
I'll make you cry with pleasure. His hands trailed slowly up her legs, while two more of his imaginary hands skimmed down her back. He reached her thighs and the small of her back. Soon, soon all hands would converge on her sex. Her buttock muscles tensed. Moisture pooled between her legs. The hunger grew sweeter, hotter, more desperate.
She felt his mouth on her bottom, kissing her. The tip of his tongue slipped across one cheek, dipped into the crevice, and continued across the other cheek.
"You're driving me crazy, Roman. I can't stand it."
Is this what you want? His fingers brushed against the curly hair guarding her sex.
She jolted. "Yes."
How wet are you?
The question alone elicited another warm gush of liquid. "I'm dripping. Soaked. See for yourself."
She rolled onto her back, expecting to see him. It was disconcerting to lie there, her legs open to welcome him, and no one was there. "Roman?"
I want to kiss you. His breath wandered over her breast, then he sucked the nipple into his mouth.
His tongue swirled around, then flicked the hard tip.
She reached for him, but there was nothing there.
He moved to her other breast.
"I want to touch you, too. I want to hold you." She jolted when he cupped her between the legs.
His fingers began to explore. You're drenched. You're beautiful.
"Roman." She reached for him again, but found nothing to hold. This was more than disconcerting.
It was downright aggravating. With nothing to hold, she clenched the sheet in her fists.
He skimmed along the slick folds, then gently parted them. He dipped a finger inside and stroked the inner walls. Do you like that? Or do you prefer this? He circled her clitoris, then teased the tip.
She cried out. She twisted the sheet in her hands. She longed to hold him, run her hands through his hair, feel the muscles on his back and buttocks. This was so one-sided. But so damned good.
He inserted two fingers inside her. At least, she thought it was two fingers. Maybe three. Oh God, he was torturing her from the inside out. His fingers circled and stroked, plunged and withdrew. She had no idea how many thousands of nerve endings she possessed down there, but he seemed determined to set each one on fire. He rubbed the hard, swollen nub of her sex faster and faster. She dug her heels into the mattress, tensing her legs and pressing her hips into the air. More. More.
He gave her more.
She panted, gasping for air. Tension mounted, sweet and strained. She burned with need. Harder.Harder. She pushed her sex into his hands, writhing against him. He grabbed her buttocks and took her with his mouth.
One flick of his tongue and she shattered. Her inner muscles clenched his fingers. She cried out.
Spasms throbbed from her inner core, shooting ripples of sheer pleasure to her fingers and toes. With each wave of release, her breath caught in her throat, her fingers twitched at the sheets. The tremors went on and on. She pulled her legs up, pressing her thighs together, reveling in the glorious aftershocks.
You were beautiful. He kissed her brow.
"You were fantastic." She pressed a hand against her chest. Her heart was still beating rapidly, her skin still hot.
I must go now, sweetness. Sleep well.
"What? You can't leave now."
I must. Sleep well, my love.
"You can't just leave. I want to hold you." A jab of cold pain pinched the bridge of her nose, then disappeared. "Roman?"
Silence.
She searched for his presence within her. He was gone.
"Hey, caveman!" she yelled at the ceiling. "You can't just love me and leave!"
No answer. She struggled to sit up. The bedside clock glowed with the time. Six-ten. Oh, that was it. She collapsed onto her back. The sun was rising. Time for all good little vampires to go sleepybye. That certainly sounded nicer than the truth. For the next twelve hours, Roman was dead to the world.
Shit. For a corpse, he made one hell of a lover. With a moan, she covered her eyes. What was she doing, having sex with a vampire? It wasn't like there was any future in this. He was stuck forever at the age of thirty. Condemned to be young, sexy, and gorgeous for all eternity, while she would grow old.
Shanna groaned. Their relationship was doomed from the start. He would stay the beautiful, young prince.
And she would be the ugly old toad.
Early in the afternoon, Shanna woke and had lunch with Howard Barr and a few of the daytime guards. Although trained in security, the guys were also paid to clean house during the day. After all, the sound of vacuum cleaners wasn't going to disturb the dead. Shanna spent a boring afternoon washing her new clothes and watching television. The Digital Vampire Network was on, but most everything was in French or Italian. It was nighttime in Europe. The slogans still appeared in English. On 24/7 because it's always nighttime somewhere. DVN-if you're not digital, you can't be seen. Now the words made a lot more sense.
She took a hot shower before sunset, eager to look her best for Roman. Back in the kitchen, she ate supper and witnessed the changing of the guard. The Highlanders arrived. Each one gave her a smile before heading to the refrigerator for a bottle of blood. They waited their turn at the microwave, while they smiled at her and exchanged knowing looks.
Did she have a piece of lettuce stuck in her teeth? Finally the Scotsmen left to take up their posts for the evening. Connor remained behind, rinsing out bottles in the sink. She recalled seeing him do that before, but at the time, the significance hadn't registered.
"Why is everyone so happy?" Shanna asked from her seat at the kitchen table. "After the bombing last night, I thought a war was about to break out."
"Oh, aye, it will," Connor answered. "But when ye live as long as we have, ye lose a sense of urgency about it. We'll take care of Petrovsky soon enough. 'Tis a shame we didn't kill him in the Great War."
Shanna leaned forward. "There was a Great Vampire War?"
"Aye, in 1710." Connor closed the dishwasher, then leaned against the counter. His eyes grew hazy with memories. "I was there. So was Petrovsky, though not on the same side, ye ken."
"How did it happen?"
"Roman dinna tell you?"
"No. Was he involved?"
Connor snorted. "He started it."
Was that what Roman meant when he said he'd committed terrible crimes? "Will you tell me about it?"
"I suppose there's no harm in it." Connor wandered toward the kitchen table and took a seat. "The vampire who changed Roman was a verra nasty character named Casimir. He had a pack of vampires at his command, and together they were destroying whole villages, raping and murdering, torturing for the pleasure of it. Petrovsky was one of Casimir's favorite minions."
Shanna winced. Roman had been a gentle monk, dedicated to healing the poor. It was appalling to think of him thrust into the midst of such evil. "What happened to Roman?"
"Casimir was fascinated with him. He wanted to wrench every bit of goodness out of Roman, and turn him into pure evil. He … he did cruel things to Roman. Gave him terrible choices." Connor shook his head in disgust. "One time, Casimir captured two children and threatened to kill them both. He said Roman could save one of them if he would only kill the other one himself."
"Oh God." A wave of nausea swept through Shanna. No wonder Roman thought God had abandoned him.
"When Roman refused to partake in such perversity, Casimir flew into a rage. He and his pack of devils descended on Roman's monastery and murdered all the monks. Then they destroyed the buildings."
"Oh, no! All the monks? Even Roman's adopted father?" Shanna's heart ached at the thought.
"Aye. Ye ken, it wasna Roman's fault, but he still felt responsible."
No wonder Roman suffered so much from self-loathing. It wasn't his fault, but she could see why he would feel guilty. Karen's death hadn't been her fault, but she still blamed herself. "The ruined monastery-that's the painting on the fifth floor, isn't it?"
"Aye. Roman keeps it there to remind himself-"
"You mean torture himself." Shanna's eyes misted with tears. For how many centuries did he intend to whip himself over this?
"Aye." Connor nodded sadly. "It was the sight of the monastery and his dead brothers that instilled in Roman a purpose for his new and awful existence. He made a vow then to destroy Casimir and his evil followers. But he knew he couldna do it alone. So he sneaked away, traveling to the west, seeking out battlefields where the wounded lay dying in the dark. In 1513 he found Jean-Luc at the Battle of the Spurs in France and Angus at Flodden Field in Scotland. He transformed them, and they became his first allies."