Embrace the Dark (The Blood Rose #1)(3)
Author: Caris Roane

He had long black hair that flowed away from strong features. His cheeks were pronounced and sharp, his jaw-line angled, his lips full and sensual. But it was his eyes that tore at her, that made his presence almost unbearable. They were the clear blue of a summer mountain sky, so clear that often when she looked at him, she felt as though she was looking back in time and forward all at once.

Of course that he affected her in such a way that she often wanted to simply shed her clothes and fall down on her back, ticked her off. Thank God she was made of sterner stuff, because all these unhelpful reactions strengthened her intention to keep the vampire at bay.

Besides, he was such a pain in the ass, like now. So typical. He’d been standing behind her, forever. And when he finally did speak to her, he used that wretched, oh-so-familiar hostile tone of his, this time to challenge her because she’d been laughing.

“You think I’m laughing at your customs?” she returned.

“And what else would you be laughing at, Mistress Abigail?” His words were hard, as they usually were when he spoke to her. She’d at least grown accustomed to that. But because she sensed that he either disliked her or disapproved of her, or both, she simply didn’t know why he stayed anywhere near her, like now.

She lifted her chin. “I would never laugh at Merhaine customs. I might disagree with them because I find some to be abhorrent to the status of women in your culture, but I would never laugh.”

“I heard you laughing.”

She chuckled again but shook her head. She moved back to stand beside him. She wasn’t going to continue this conversation staggered as they were, like stair-steps.

“Mastyr Gerrod,” she said, lowering her voice. “I found the wedding ceremony, including the way their arms were bound with a vine, charming, poignant, even moving. I laughed just now because a troll fell into a wedding cake. Come on. That was funny.”

He grunted his disapproval.

At that, she turned to face him fully. She was exasperated to say the least. “You know, you really need to lighten up.”

He glanced down at her. “I have no idea what that means. I have heard the expression time and again, but it makes no sense to me.”

“It just means not to take everything so seriously.” She waved a hand in the direction of the now smashed wedding cake. “The troll is drunk, that alone is funny. Wouldn’t you agree? He’s still wobbling around and he has a streak of frosting now between the second and third ridges of his forehead.” She glanced over her shoulder then back. “And now his wife is beating him over the head with their son’s teddy-shifter-bear. Come on. Even the bride is smiling now and it’s her cake that the troll ruined.”

Gerrod’s lips twitched, and the right side of his lips almost curved creating a faint, lop-sided smile. But that was when she made her mistake. “Yeah, like that. Smile. Lighten up.” She poked his arm with two fingers, intent on teasing him a little more.

But the moment she made physical contact with him, the very first ever in her year-long acquaintance with him, something very strange happened. She felt odd waves rolling toward her, waves that felt like fingers gliding over her skin, exploring her, savoring her.

She looked up meeting his gaze. Now he turned fully toward her so that they were face to face. Her lips were parted because she was having trouble dragging in air. Why his were, only he could speak to that.

Touching a mastyr vampire wasn’t precisely forbidden, but Gerrod had always kept his distance. This was something she’d noticed from the first day she’d met him, that as soon as she was within two feet of him, he stepped away another foot. She had thought it an annoying habit, a sure sign of his continued disapproval. But right now, because she’d touched him, she wasn’t so sure.

Abigail’s heart began to race. She’d had many concerns about entering into business with a elf partner and opening a bakery deep into Merhaine territory. But right now she realized this was the real danger she faced, that the vampire Mastyr Gerrod, ruler of Merhaine, affected her as though she was always within a hair’s breadth of tumbling into bed with him.

She knew the danger the terrible Invictus presented, she even understood that there were factions among the realm-folk who didn’t want humans in Merhaine and would do whatever they could to get rid of her and her kind. Yes, these things worried her very much. But as she looked into Gerrod’s intense blue eyes, she finally understood the true source of every reticence she’d experienced since she’d come to this realm: Dammit, she had the hots for a friggin vampire.

She desired him with a need that seemed to burn through her and touching him just now, brought all that need rushing to the surface yet again.

His gaze shifted from her eyes to her lips and even to her br**sts. She could feel the sudden hardening of her ni**les as the need spread. How many times had she wondered if he was doing this to her, using vampire powers. But the realm-folk she knew had assured her that vampires, however much the Earth-based myths said otherwise, didn’t have the power to enthrall.

The fae population could, but not vampires.

Very strange, this realm world.

So what was this she felt, this deep desire for Gerrod and why, when he looked at her with his eyelids heavy, his lips parted, his nostrils flaring, did she want to take his hand, lead him deep into the forest, and beg him to have his way with her. What was this need?

He stepped closer and though he was frowning heavily like his temper was ready to take off the top of his head, he actually touched her, sliding his hand over her arm. Once again, she felt those strange waves emanating from him and her desire increased almost to a painful stage.

What is that? Her mind cried.

But he leaned close now and stared harder, peering into her eyes. What did you say?

She glanced at his lips. They hadn’t moved. Telepathy? No, oh, God no. This couldn’t be happening, wasn’t happening. She knew many in Merhaine could communicate through telepathic frequencies, pathing was what they called it.

Could she?

This couldn’t be happening, couldn’t be true. She stared into his eyes, horrified, yet she had to know the truth. So, once more she aimed her thoughts carefully, I wanted to know what I was feeling from your hand. It felt like waves flowing out of you and into me.

The thought of it, the presence of it, the feel of it beating into her body, brought desire hurtling through her. She planted her hand on his chest. The waves pounded through her now, engulfing her.

He looked so angry and his grip on her arm became painful. This can’t be happening. You can’t feel these waves and you can’t be reaching me telepathically. It’s. Not. Possible.