Wings Once Cursed & Bound, page 15
She had been in the hallway hours prior and he followed her scent trail downstairs and into the conservatory in the space between one second and the next. It took another moment to find her among the twisting paths that were deliberately designed to give the impression of more distance traveled.
He found her in a nook enclosed by varieties of eucalyptus, potted to keep the trees from growing too tall for even the spacious conservatory. She was looking up into the branches of the fragrant shrubs and trees as her small companions scampered through the foliage.
He came to a full stop, struggling to control his drive. He could see her, reach out and touch her even. Approaching her caught up as he was in a hunt might frighten her, and definitely would frighten her sugar gliders. Neither would make her happy to see him. And he wanted her to be happy to see him.
As it was, a few inquisitive chirps and barks came from the foliage and he located both of them through the leaves.
Like their lady, the two tiny marsupials did not fear him. Though they might be compared to flying squirrels, these were not the prey animals running through the trees and across the forest floors of the Pacific Northwest. These were predators, in their own way, and though they might be wary of him as a bigger, badder, far more dangerous hunter than they were, it was not the same instinctive fear prey would experience.
Perhaps Peeraphan had a similar instinct buried in her lineage. There were many beings in legend who were described as part bird.
“How did you know to call yourself kinnaree?” he asked her, reining in his hunting drive and feasting on the sight of her, the scent of her.
It was enough. Barely.
“Hello to you, too.” She smiled, giving the words a soft, welcoming feel. She held up one hand toward the foliage where her furry friends were hiding. “My mother taught me several traditional Thai dances when I was in college. One of them was Manora Buchayun. It’s a portion of the folktale about the kinnaree Manora. As I was learning the dance, my mother told me the whole story so I’d have context and also because I’ve always loved folktales and mythology.”
She smiled, her eyes taking on a faraway look. She must have been remembering. He did not want to interrupt what seemed to be a pleasant memory. Instead, he studied her face.
Her lips were curved in a soft, small smile, and her cheeks were ever so slightly flushed. Her arm was still raised above her head and she almost looked posed. There was a rustling in the leaves and one of the sugar gliders leapt, little paws outstretched and the loose fur-covered skin between wrist and ankle on each side stretched wide. It managed a somewhat controlled glide down to land on Peeraphan’s palm, its momentum carrying it a bit farther until it ran down her arm to her shoulder. The second sugar glider followed, but stayed in her palm, having managed to stick its landing.
She gathered the one in her palm to her chest with a laugh. “In fact, I knew a version of the red shoe folktale because I also studied classical ballet. But there are different interpretations and definitely other red shoes in myth and even pop culture. The ruby slippers that took Dorothy home, for example. Myths change with the retelling. They morph from storyteller to storyteller, and sometimes they become something completely different from region to region. The story of Manora, the bird princess, holds some of its structure over time because the dances are taught. But other than knowing the bare minimum of what a kinnaree is—that they have wings and tails that at least the royal princesses like Manora can cast off to be mistaken for human form—the folktale doesn’t tell me how to be a kinnaree.”
There was a moment of silence and he waited, giving her space to fill it or not. Whichever she wanted to do. Now that he was near her, giving her what she needed mattered more than any fading feelings that had prompted him to search her out in the first place.
“Even when my parents finally recognized I was different, their first impulse was to ignore it. They had come a long way to build a new life, to give me more opportunities in my own life. They wanted me to grow up American, to look forward and become a part of this new place. Looking back into the past might be a fruitless endeavor and they wanted me to be happy and thrive.”
He could understand that. Even if he had never had a child, never chosen to make an alliance with another vampire bloodline to procreate, he understood the desire to want the best for those in his life. He had wanted his Victoria to be happy and thrive for as long as she could. And she did.
Still lost in thought, Peeraphan continued, “My parents were a little disappointed when I switched from biology to the study of mythology and folklore. Honestly, I wasn’t thinking about what I wanted to do with my life, only that studying to be a doctor and being in anatomy and physiology classes made me afraid that someday, it’d be me on the dissection table. I didn’t want to be discovered and studied to determine what made me what I am. Instead, I wanted to learn about myself, figure out if there were others like me, or at least others who weren’t quite human.”
She shrugged. “Not everyone has parents or aunties or uncles or grandparents to mentor them. Some first- and second- and even third-generation kids like me go in search of their cultural roots, relearn the language of their parents or grandparents or great-grandparents, learn to cook traditional dishes, study traditional music or dance. I’m trying to teach myself how to fly, among other things.”
“Ah.” He nodded and took a step closer. Her little friends didn’t sound their alarm growls, so he took a second step to close the distance between them. “I was born a vampire. Raised by vampires. Educated to survive and be successful as one of my kind.”
To come into existence without guidance would have been difficult. Frightening. He imagined it, and his desire to protect her from those feelings in the future amplified.
She tilted her head, just slightly, but it was still enough for him to see the pulse in her neck. “I thought vampires were made with a bite.”
He should teach her awareness, so she could be cautious around other vampires. Not him. He would do everything in his power to ensure she need never be in fear for her life around him again.
“Some vampires are changed, and the process is begun with a bite. There is more to it.” He shrugged. Best if he did not go into further detail unless she pressed further. “Others are born, like me, and we grow to adulthood like humans do. When we die, we rise. Because I was raised by vampires, I knew what I was and what I would become when my human life ended. Our society even had something of a ceremony around when those of us born as vampires decided to make the transition from our human lives to our vampire lives—a coming of age of sorts. I was able to make an informed decision. It’s not the way for all born vampires. And for those who are made, the situations vary even more widely.”
He had never doubted his desire to be a vampire. Never wished for a different fate, even centuries later, when his past love made a different choice and left him alone.
“So in vampire society, is there a major difference between being born and being made?” she asked. “I’m thinking of a bunch of movies I’ve watched over the years, and a TV show or two. Born vampires and made vampires were different classes in society.”
“There are some vampire societies in the world where it matters. It does not for any vampiric province ruler on this continent.” He lifted his hand and flicked his fingers, aware he might sound tired or perhaps even patronizing. He cleared his throat and attempted what he hoped was a better tone. “I don’t care for those beliefs, personally, and I’ve lived long enough to have known plenty of my kind well enough to respect the individuals who deserve it. In truth, whether a vampire is born or made does not seem to decide how much potential power they have. I am not certain any correlation has been drawn or proven scientifically. Power does increase with age and success in the hunt. Some of our power is tied to how much we have fed, and for how long we have fed consistently.”
“And do all vampires fly? Turn into bats?” Her questions were full of wonder, not horror. She was even leaning forward on the balls of her feet as her curiosity led her farther.
He smiled, amused. Delighted, even. “No. I fly. There may be one or two others in the world who do. It is a rarer talent and I am a reasonably seasoned vampire.”
He was young enough in centuries to have the vanity not to want to be considered very old.
“Bats?” Her eyes sparkled with mischief.
He laughed. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, but no. There are many who can. I would not advise attempting to meet any of them without my escort.”
“Wow.” Not a whiff of caution from her, only wonder.
Perhaps he was doing her a disservice in not properly communicating why and how any other vampire could be a danger to her, and those she might hold dear.
“An adventure for another time.” He shook his head, not because of her, but because he was already promising her another adventure after this night. Once she was free of the red shoes, he still intended to seek her out and be in her company, if she desired it.
He wasn’t sure he recognized himself in his own actions. He and Thomas and everyone in the Consortium, including Asamoah and Ellery and Duncan and Ashke and Marie, were loners. They were apart from their own kind. Some of them could have found a community to join, to find companionship with others more like themselves. But all of the members of the Consortium, whether by choice or happenstance, had decided to live and work and spend their leisure time away from their supernatural communities. He, in particular, had lived for decades with no intention of breaking his solitude. He hadn’t cared to.
And here he was, considering how to court possibly the only kinnaree currently alive.
He was almost appalled at the contradictions his current thoughts and feelings were creating within him. “For now, we both should proceed to the kitchen and have a quick bite to eat, then head out with the others. Marie left me a note saying we should be ready to leave at full dark.”
“You think tonight will save me?” There was the tremor. Now her fear had surfaced. He thought it likely to have been there through the entire day, simmering just below surface thoughts. Anxieties grew in the dark when one wouldn’t confront them in the light.
Instinctively, he focused on her primal emotion and he ruthlessly buried his sharpened hunger response. Fear was an incredible spice to any hunt and he had better control than to allow it to tempt him into breaking his chosen feeding restriction again. She would never again be put in a position of danger to save him, not if he could help it. She might not think of herself as an innocent, but the fresh perspective with which she experienced the world was a joy. He settled her firmly in the innocents category in his consciousness.
“I do not know if we will save you this night.” He refused to lie to her, because he believed optimism with no certainty could be painfully cruel, but omitting the full truth was also a kind of lie. “But I hope so.”
Her lips curved in a sad smile, her dark eyes almost liquid with unshed tears. “Thank you for your honesty. I couldn’t bear false hope right now.”
“Facing false hope requires strength better spent focused on your survival. I would be doing you a disservice to offer it to you.” His words did not feel sufficient, not in the face of the weight she had to bear on her own. She was too independent and too stubborn to lean on others. He admired her for it, but he also wished he had something else with which to offer her comfort. It had been so long since he even cared, and now he wondered if he even remembered how. He was rusty with this contempt for humanity. He paused, then opened his arms. “Will you accept comfort instead?”
She rushed into his arms with a speed almost superhuman. Her arms wrapped around his waist and she buried her face in the fabric of his shirt.
Carefully, because he wasn’t absolutely certain where her sugar gliders were on her and he did not wish to do them harm, he closed his arms around her and held her close.
She was warm against his chest and within the circle of his embrace. He took in a breath to get the scent of her: bright citrus notes of lemongrass and fresh fruit blossoms, the richer whispers of frangipani and coconut, all tied together with the earthy element of sandalwood. Only when he was close like this could he smell and taste the complexity of her scent and remember the almost effervescent impact of her blood pulsing through her arteries. He thought perhaps her unique magics were manifesting through her scent and her blood, carried on air and water. If he tasted her tears, would they give him the same effects as her blood? Or like mermaid tears, would the emotion behind them influence the magic?
Regardless, she was filled with vitality, alive in a way he recognized as only coming with fleeting mortality.
Without thinking, he nuzzled her hair, so soft and silken against his lips. She stirred in his arms and he loosened his hold so she could step back, but she did not. She kept her hold around his waist and leaned back only enough to turn her face up to him.
“Kissing you last night was nice,” she whispered.
If he had never thought of himself as damned in all his existence as a vampire, he thought he would be now, to resist such an invitation. He bent his head and she met him partway, her soft lips warm and pliant. She opened for him almost immediately, even teasing him with a flick of the tip of her tongue. He chuckled into her mouth and deepened their kiss until it was beyond teasing fun and more hunger, a giving and taking.
Desire burned through him and he could scent and taste her matching arousal. Her hands had tightened, gripping his waist and pulling him close as she melded her body to the length of him. He wanted nothing more than to bend her backward until her chin tipped up, exposing her throat…
He broke their kiss with a gasp, aware his fangs had extended. Her eyes opened, dilated and dark with her own passion, but she blinked as she took in the sight of his fangs. He straightened then, would have released her, but she didn’t loosen her hold on his waist.
“Do you feed as part of sex?” Her voice was steady as she posed her question.
He pressed his lips together, willing his fangs to retract. “I have in the past. A vampire’s facial structure changes in a true feeding—the lengthening of fangs is only the first stage. The upper and lower jaws come forward more to allow for a better bite on prey. As my face changes, I can be precise about my bite and feeding, or I can rend and tear, doing terrible damage.”
He didn’t breathe, didn’t want to scent her fear. Not then. Really, he was hard-pressed to think of circumstances where he would ever want her to be afraid of him.
She kissed his lower jaw, her lips feather light against his skin. “But do you always feed?”
“No.” The word came out harsh, dark, as his feelings churned in a mess inside him. “I have a dietary preference. I do not feed on innocent humans.”
“In a lot of cultural and religious beliefs, sex and innocence don’t go together. If you’re having sex, does your partner still count as innocent?” Her voice was still calm but there was a thread of tension there.
Ah. He struggled to think her question through, remembering the night he’d had no choice but to feed on her or perish. She’d challenged him to define “innocent.” Perhaps there was history there, for her. “The two are not mutually exclusive.”
“Mmm.” Her tone lightened and the corners of her mouth turned up slightly. “I agree. So?”
He wanted to kiss her again, but he sensed there was more than light curiosity to her question. A thorough answer was needed, so she could make an informed decision as to what would happen next between them. “I have fed during sex, when my partner found the sensations enhanced our intimacy. The moment when I break skin and begin to drink can bring a euphoria, sometimes immediate orgasm.”
He had not been aware enough to lessen the shock of the experience for her, when he had fed on her. Had not been able to offer her the euphoria. Even before he had come to know more about her, he would have wanted to offer a kindness to her if he had to give in to necessity. Now that he knew her, and desired her, he wanted to give her pleasure, as he had with any partner. Simple.
But more than that, it was becoming important to him to contribute to Peeraphan’s joy as she continued to explore life the way she did. He wanted to be a part of it. To give and also receive and experience the unique dance between the two of them—in the skies or between sheets. He looked forward to it.
Studying her, he grinned. “I can also refrain from feeding. I am more than skilled enough to bring us both to orgasm multiple times, regardless.”
She laughed, the sound unfettered and genuinely joyous without breaking the intimacy between them. “Thank you for answering my question. I figured I should know before things got much hotter.”
“To give you a better understanding of my feeding habits in general”—he kissed each corner of her mouth and noticed her sugar gliders had scampered down to the ground, heading back to the nearest tree trunk—“I have declared a feeding preference. It’s easier to say I do not feed on innocent humans, and more reassuring to those who might hear it. In reality, I actively seek out and hunt human predators, those who would do others harm and take pleasure in their power over their victims.”
She blinked, thick lashes sweeping down and back up to reveal her old soul again. “Is there a difference in taste?”
He nodded, lifting a hand to brush a few strands of her hair clear of her cheek. “It’s an acquired taste, to be certain. Their blood is full-bodied, with a deep bitterness that leaves a dry mouthfeel. Still, it’s very satisfying.”
Her eyes were wide as she listened.
“Before you ask, I do not have to kill my targets and I usually do not.” He paused. “But I have.”
