Banshee Cry (A Steamy Paranormal Fantasy Romance), page 5
But this?
This makes no sense whatsoever. Why destroy the innocent? What will that achieve?
“Will you invite me inside, Aleah?” I need answers. Perhaps having someone to talk to will help me find them.
“You again.” She hiccups, but her voice is resigned, not resentful, and I know she’s coming back to herself. More than that, there’s a chance she may now be open to giving me another chance at earning her trust.
“Me again.”
“They died horribly.” Her gaze is on the dirt covering her feet.
I want to reach out and touch her, remind her that while her friends are gone, she’s still here, rooted to this dwelling. She can’t remain in this state of sorrow or it will swallow her up whole.
I don’t pretend to be ignorant.
“Yes, they did.” I pause. I try to remind myself about sympathy and showing it to others in their time of need. “Did you know them well?”
She nods, and wipes snot from her nose with the back of a hand. A streak of mud is left behind. She’s going to need a bath when she gets inside. I don’t think she even realizes how dirty she is. She’s still in shock. I can’t blame her.
“They were good friends of mine.” A bitter laugh escapes her throat. “I don’t have many. And... they were kind. Really nice people. Without them I wouldn’t have this place. Wouldn’t have my home, or my business. Or my beautiful bees...”
Tears well in her eyes again, but this time she holds them in. Her eyes look enormous and haunted.
“I’m sorry for your loss.” I have another urge to offer her comfort in a physical way. A simple touch, nothing to do with sex. It’s not a familiar feeling, and I roll my shoulders to try and curb the impulse.
“They didn’t deserve anything bad to happen to them, but especially not...that.” She keeps talking, and part of me wonders if she realizes I’m even here. “Who would—”
I know the instant the thought hits by her sudden recoil. She seems strong enough to stand, so I slowly release my hold and allow her to slide down off my lap. It’s harder than I expect to let her go. I enjoy the way her body heats mine when I hold her.
Once standing, she takes a giant step back, those luminous eyes narrowing in accusation. “Did you—”
“No. I did not.” My tone is sharp. I don’t know why I’m so offended by her accusation. It makes sense. I am a likely suspect. I am capable of such carnage. And yet, her words make me bristle. Just because I have the capability does not mean I would choose to act in such a vile manner.
After a moment of uncanny stillness, she nods. I blink. I wouldn’t have guessed she could believe me. But she does. The anger vanishes from my system. Slowly, I get to my feet. Now is not the time to spook her.
“But I know who did.”
Her gaze snaps to mine. A curious sparkle lights her eyes. I’m glad to see I have not yet lost her to sorrow. If anything, I sense a burning desire for revenge. “Who?”
“One of the rogues who caught me off-guard last night. The vamp.” Anger rises in me again, this time directed at myself. I should have stopped them both. I should not have been caught off-guard so easily.
A twitch of muscle beneath one eye is her only response.
I briefly lift my healed arm. “I killed the were who disabled me, but the other one got away. I thought maybe he’d have left the area by now, but he is obviously hanging around for some reason.”
“Is that normal?” There is hesitation in her tone, as though she’s worried. It’s strange to hear. She gives the impression of someone strong and fierce, at least, she has in the little time I’ve known her. Perhaps she’s starting to trust me.
My mouth tightens. “Nothing about this situation is normal,” I say. I don’t want to upset her more, but it’s important that I’m honest. “Rogues go loup. They don’t think rationally, and they certainly don’t work in partnership with anyone else. Blood lust takes them and they kill and run, kill and run. An endless cycle, without thought or calculation, until someone brings them down. This...”
I shake my head and stare out into the night, straining to sense anything that might give me a clue as to what the hell is driving the monsters out there hunting humans with such unusual intent. The only sounds beyond standard night creature rustlings are the faint wail of a siren as emergency services make their way presumably toward the tragedy at the neighboring property, and, overlaying it all, Aleah’s raspy breath.
“This is all wrong, isn’t it?” she asks. Her hand clutches the side of her throat, as though she has batted away loose strands of hair and forgotten to drop her arm back to her side. She looks so vulnerable, I have this sudden urge to take her in my arms, to fit her head against my chest, to reassure her that everything is going to be all right.
The only thing I can do—the only thing I’m willing to do, because she’s owed this much—is to be honest with her about this. I will not condescend and try to whitewash everything that has occurred.
“Yes.” My answer is crisp.
“Do you think someone is compelling them to do this? Someone, or something... unnatural?” Her eyebrows rise.
I’m not sure why she’s asking me these questions when she so recently wanted nothing to do with me. Perhaps, things have changed. I nearly balk at my own stupid thoughts. For her, everything has changed. Now, I am likely a lesser evil.
“It’s a possibility.” I shrug, unwilling to drag her into this any more than she already has been.
Something unnatural. I’m beginning to suspect that is exactly what’s happening. Unnatural and definitely evil.
The rogue behavior seems intentional. Planned, almost. The opposite of what one would expect from a crazed loup. It’s calculated and savage at the same time.
She nods, as if it was something she already guessed, and joins me in looking out at the night. Her arms cross over her chest, and I’m not sure if it’s because she’s cold or if she’s protecting herself from the thought of the monsters out there in the dark.
“Did they suffer a lot?” Her question catches me off-guard.
“Your friends?” How am I supposed to answer that, other than with truth? “Yes.”
“Right.” Her arms tighten across her middle.
“I won’t lie to you.”
She shrugs. “I don’t even understand why I asked. I already knew the answer.”
“You felt it?”
“Yeah. That’s generally how it...works.” Her last word falters and she staggers.
I reach out and grab her elbow to steady her, and this time she doesn’t shift away from my touch. She must feel worse than she looks, to accept my support so complacently.
“If you let me help you inside, I’ll leave immediately, if that’s what you wish,” I tell her.
“Hmm.” A snort escapes her. “Feels a bit like déjà vu. Why are you back here, Luc? What were you doing...there? What’s your role in all of this?”
She looks at me with narrowed eyes. Her words have tightened like a finger just before the trigger pull.
“Hunting.” My grim tone causes her breath to catch, but I shake my head. “Not humans, Aleah. I’ve already told you I won’t take blood by force. I meant what I said.”
She shivers, and I heave a sigh and continue.
“I revisited the clearing where I was ambushed and tracked the vamp from there. The scent led me in a wide meandering circle around your property and all the way back to your friends’ farm. Unfortunately, I was too late to save them.”
She clenches her jaw so hard it pops.
“As was I.” Her voice is faint, and after a minute she leans into me. The way her curves mold against my side stirs something in my loins, but now is not the time to explore anything related to lust.
I tighten my arm around her waist and wait for her decision. Her strong floral scent wafts upward and fills my nostril with a subtle beauty. I want to kiss the crown of her head. But I reject my instinct and continue to hold her. She’s allowed me this much, and I do not wish to take it for granted.
“All right.” She seems exhausted, as if there’s nothing left in the tank. “You may enter, Lukey.”
This time the ridiculous nickname doesn’t bother me. I can tell it’s an attempt at reaching out toward something—anything—light-hearted. A feeble attempt, perhaps, but clearly death takes a heavy toll even on those still living. I don’t know exactly what it feels like to be a harbinger of death, but from the state of Aleah, it appears to suck the life out of whoever is charged with that miserable task.
No wonder the other banshee I met was so bitter. To live with that level of anguish on a regular basis would likely be enough to turn anyone into a bundle of negativity. Anyone except Aleah. Despite what she must endure on a regular basis, she still retains that sense of lightness and life. I perceive it within her, strong and sure, as clearly as I do her heartbeat. Life force.
She must be a rare creature indeed, to be able to rise above the suffering and cling to life so determinedly. I smile. Her stubbornness is a pain in the ass but it has obviously kept her alive and connected to life instead of wallowing in death.
Right now, though, her reliance on my strength to get her back into the house is a reversal of the previous evening. A swell of something that I can’t quite identify rises deep within. It’s more than a physical attraction. That would be easy to recognize. Perhaps it’s as simple as the fact that someone needs me, if only for a few minutes, despite what I am and the danger I pose. She needs me. The experience of being needed is new, and more enjoyable than I want it to be.
I clear my throat and slowly lead her inside. I’m afraid she’ll realize what she’s agreed to and pull away from me, rescinding the invitation yet again. For some reason, the possibility of this concerns me and I do not want it to happen.
I’m used to living—and working—alone. As a vampire whose Mistress is no longer in this world, I have no coven. No family. The House was disbanded when the woman who turned us died, and even though another rose in her place and the flock reformed under a new Master, the nature of our Maker’s death meant that I have no chance of ever being accepted back in to the fold.
It was my fault she died.
I’ve been ex-communicated.
My mind shies away from the dark sadness of those early years of isolation. Instead, I focus on the here and now. I have a job and a purpose, and these days my isolation is by choice, rather than necessity. I find I get much done when I’m alone. I only need to rely on myself. I only need to take care of my own needs, and not those of a flock. Much better this way.
When I say alone, though, I don’t mean in a physical sense. There is always someone who wants to be fucked by a vamp. Often many “someones”, and on occasion, all at the same time. I continue to stay active in the sexual sense. Being undead has heightened those urges and I cannot quell them, even if there are moments when I want to. I enjoy carnal pleasure.
But emotionally? No. Emotion slows you down. Emotion can get you killed. Emotion damn well hurts. I avoid it as much as I can.
In my previous—human—life, I knew what it was to love. I knew what it was to be betrayed by that love. Since my turning and ex-communication, I have not needed anyone in that way. Life is easier not needing anyone. I pride myself on the physical connections I make and how separate I keep them from my life.
Until now. No one has stirred any emotions in me until the moment a strange pang strikes hard in my chest when I assist a dirt-and-snot-covered little banshee into her home.
“Where’s your bedroom?” I ask. I wonder if she’ll tell me, especially after what happened the last time I was here.
“Upstairs. But you don’t have to—”
“More stairs! Up we go, then.” I sweep her back into my arms and she releases a tiny, protesting moan, followed by a long, capitulating sigh. The lack of protest is clear evidence of her current level of exhaustion. Her head flops down to rest on my chest and once again, a strange warmth rises within me.
I swallow. I don’t want to think about that right now. The floral scent tainted with just a bit of honey makes me want to taste her, to kiss her just behind her ear. I shouldn’t be this close to her. It’s doing strange things to me.
“You’re like a bad smell, Lukey,” she says, interrupting my thoughts. “Can’t get rid of you.”
“Charming.” My lips quirk up.
Her eyes close and her head lolls. She’s gone, wherever banshees go to recharge their inner batteries when the agony of the death call has come and gone.
I sigh and continue up the stairs. It looks like I’ll have to figure this out on my own, then.
The fact that she lasted this long before losing consciousness is testament to her inner strength. Aleah’s dichotomous mix of fortitude and fragility fascinates me on so many levels, and yet we’ve hardly had time to get to know one another at all. I want to know her better. And that thought frightens me. I shouldn’t want to peel away her layers so I can see what’s underneath.
Perhaps you should leave while you’re still able.
I glance through doorways as I make my way along the upstairs hallway. A white-tiled bathroom is on the left, almost directly opposite what appears to be a spare bedroom, before we reach the room at the end.
The size denotes this as the main bedroom even before Aleah’s scent hits my nostrils. This is definitely where she sleeps. The honeyed notes are every bit as flowery and sweet as the woman herself, and as I rest her now-sleeping form on the bed, I hope she doesn’t mind about the mud on that previously pristine white comforter. Too late if she does. Probably should have removed her boots first. And maybe wiped her face and hands.
My hands linger on her body longer than they should. I like her warmth.
I glance around to see if I can glean more about this strange, intriguing woman. She seems more human than fae in terms of her general demeanor, but I suspect that’s a deliberate attempt to ignore the faerie half of her blood.
Pastel wallpaper, adorned with silvery stripes at various intervals, and delicate white furniture fill the room. Touches of yellow and blue add a restful air. The bed dominates, king-sized and covered with a puffy comforter. I feel suddenly too large, too gauche, and too masculine for this place.
Dare I stay, even for a little while? Will her blood song be too strong to resist? It can’t hurt, surely, for at least a few minutes, to keep her company and ensure her recovery is well underway. She’s so frail-looking, lying there in the center of that enormous mattress. Surely it would be wrong to leave her alone at this point?
What has gotten into me? I can’t remember the last time I cared this much about the emotional welfare of a living, breathing creature. Perhaps I shouldn’t have offered to help her. Perhaps I should have simply kept my mouth shut.
I head back up the hallway to locate a wash cloth in the bathroom and return to clean her face and hands. I then proceed to remove her dirt-clad clothing. She’s not wearing a bra beneath her top and, finally, when she’s laid out on the bed with nothing but a pair of bright pink panties covering her mound, it takes all my strength not to lean in and suck those rose-peaked nipples deep into my mouth.
I let my eyes linger. I give myself time to take in the sight, knowing there’s a good chance I won’t see it again. I want to memorize the perfection.
My fangs unsheathe at the beauty of her body spread-eagled before me, and my loins tighten at the thought of lapping at her hybrid flesh and sucking on those enticing peaks. Her skin color is creamy rather than white, lush and warm when I run my fingertips experimentally across her belly before reluctantly shifting her onto her side. I need to extract the coverlet from beneath her so I can conceal her sleeping form before my libido takes over and reduces my brain to a state where logic no longer exists.
This is not exactly what I had in mind when I told her I would help. I know that I’m not doing myself any favors by taking advantage of her incapacitated state. Logic and reason war with desire and it’s hard to fight at all. I am completely powerless before her and she does not even realize it.
She releases a tiny moan when I roll her, trying to get enough of the quilt out from beneath her that I can cover her properly. That sound is almost my undoing. This woman exudes sensuality and yet, she doesn’t even seem to know it. I want to make her moan again. I want the sound to be louder. I want to sink my fangs into her flesh and finally—finally—taste the blood that sings so sweetly to my own. I want to mark her. I want others to know she’s mine and mine alone.
I clear my throat, which has thickened in tandem with my cock. Remember, she’s off-limits until she wakes. Instead of doing what I know is the sensible thing and leaving her alone to sleep off the shock, I remove my own boots and clothing, and climb in beside her beneath the covers. It’s so natural that it does not even come into question that what I’m doing is completely insane. She will not like this when she wakes up—if she finds me. It’s as if I’ve permanently switched to auto-pilot and am unable to control my actions.
She rolls into my arms, her long body folding itself against mine as easily as if we were made for each other. Two pieces of a puzzle, fitting together perfectly.
Bad idea, man. Bad idea. I keep replaying the cautionary mantra in my head, but it appears my brain is no longer listening.
I shift her dark hair that has fallen in a tangle across her face, and slide one of my arms beneath her shoulder, and then realize my error as she sighs and settles more comfortably into my embrace. If I try to leave now, she’ll wake, and I have the feeling she needs plenty of sleep to recover from whatever trauma her banshee soul has just endured.
I have ensnared myself in a spider’s web. I have no doubt she will devour me when she wakes, and not in the way I wish. She will be upset at my violation, betrayed by someone she thought she could trust.
I look down at her. There’s no tension in her face now. She’s calm, vulnerable. She looks younger.
Who is she, this unusual hybrid, and how did she come to be living all the way out here in the wilderness, alone in the middle of mostly empty fields and wooded forest? What is her story? What is her background? And why does she so clearly distrust all vampires?
