Chapter Three
The taste of her skin was tantalizing. She was soft and warm and every time he touched her, he could feel the blood travelling through her veins. It was waiting for him just under her skin. She gasped, her head fell back and her heart rate sped up. Alastair held her even tighter. His hands dug into her hips, he couldn’t hold himself back.
She was falling for him, putting up no fight or resistance whatsoever. Her heart was thundering in her chest. He could feel every beat, every pulse of blood as it coursed the length of her body. He wanted her.
Pulling his lips back Alastair instinctively found the artery in her neck. His fangs bared, he quickly pierced her skin and then the vein. He moaned as the warm, fresh blood poured from her and into him. God, she was delicious. He never tasted anything so sweet.
For a split second after his fangs pierced her, she tensed and then her body went slack and he was supporting her with his strong arms. He knew his saliva would release a numbing agent when he was feeding. It flowed into her, draining her strength and her urge to fight, making her pliable. He bit harder into her and she gave out a long sigh and clutched his arms.
He couldn’t stop. He couldn’t get enough of her. Her pounding heart was pumping blood directly down his throat. Her blood was feeding him and refreshing him as it returned the strength he had lost in the battle. He drank and drank and always there was more. The metal tang of blood in his mouth was intoxicating.
She was weak in his arms, no longer standing on her own two feet, but instead held up by him. Her heartbeat was slowing. He let out a low growl and pulled her up and closer as the flow of blood began to slow.
He opened his eyes and suddenly pulled away. Removing his fangs from her neck was the hardest thing he had ever done, but he forced himself to stop drinking from her. And he stopped just in the nick of time.
Avery’s face was pale and her eyes were half-open. She was taking haggard gasps and struggling to stay standing. He had been too rough with her, taken too much of her essence. He had lost himself in her, almost killing her in the process.
Alastair cursed his own impatience. He carried her over to the bed in the corner and gently laid her down. Her hair fanned out around her head as she settled for a moment and then quickly slipped into sleep. Brushing the hair from her forehead he felt how cold she was. He brought a blanket up and wrapped it around her, tucking her in.
She appeared to be half-dead. Pale and still, with only the slightest movement in the rising and falling of her chest. He would have to get her some food, soon. Putting two fingers to her neck he felt for her pulse, it was weak but steady. He would need to be more careful in the future. He wasn’t done with this nomad yet. He had barely tasted her and there was still so much for him to discover.
Leaving a guard to watch her, Alistair stepped out into the darkness. A pit had been dug for the male nomads and one by one their bodies were dropped in while their women looked on and wept. He could see bite marks on most of the pale necks of the females, but other than that, they looked well. His men had been more disciplined than he.
Alastair walked towards the women and gestured for his men to join him. The women of the caravan looked at him with disgust through their red eyes. Some spit on the ground in front of him or cursed him in their native tongue. The mourning of woman are the song of victory, his father had once said.
“Your men are gone. Your possessions are mine,” Alastair said. “We keep no slaves in Varlyn, but we are always in need of human servants. Women with skills, those who can sew and cook should say so and you will be put to work. If you choose not to stay with us, then you may leave.”
“On our own?” one older woman demanded, “with no money or men to protect us? That’s a death sentence.”
In a moment, his steward, Sir Reese, was on her. He hit her across the face with the back of his hand. The slap echoed around them and she fell back with a loud cry onto to the dry grass. The other women gathered around her in a circle, putting their arms over her as if they could offer any resistance to his great fighters.
“You will speak to the Crown Prince with the respect his position demands,” the steward yelled as the women cowered.
“Stay or go,” Alastair said, “It means nothing to me. I am in need of a woman who can cook and clean. I will neither harm nor touch whoever chooses to come with me. I will pay them well and keep them safe. I leave it to you, Sir Reese.”
He turned to his steward and said quietly, “The human woman in my tent needs to be fed something to return her strength to her. Find a good cook among them.”
“Yes, My Lord,” Reese said with a nod as he turned to the group of women, some of them who looked hopefully up at him.
Overnight his men worked on the camp. They kept the best of the caravans and burned the rest. The women who decided to stay were put into one cart. Sir Reese chose a young girl named Theresa to take care of Avery. She fed the pale woman freshly cooked rabbit and a large glass of water. By morning, Avery’s color had almost completely returned. There was a pink flush to her cheeks and chest, as she remained asleep in Alastair’s bed. He was constantly turning around and staring at her as he attempted to work. He found resisting the urge to touch her was a constant struggle.
“What’s happening?” she mumbled as Alastair pulled her to her feet. She was still half-asleep and groggy, her eyes barely open. The pale sun was just appearing over the mountains.
“My men and I are done here, now we return to the Red Castle on the Sea,” Alastair said to her. He held her against him to help her walk. Her heart was thumping in her chest and the sound reverberated through his body. He leaned down and smelled her hair, resisting the urge to kiss the crown of her head. Every time he was close to her body he felt a primal drive to remove her clothes piece by piece, but he restrained himself. He needed to let her recover fully.
“Now we shall travel to the coast and board our ships. We will be in Varlyn within a week,” he smiled as he put her in a bed in the back of the best caravan. He made sure she was comfortable before closing the door and mounting his horse.
He rode out in front of the caravan, leading the way. He would have rather ridden with Avery, but Alastair wasn’t an old man. He wasn’t going to ride in a caravan with the women. It would make him look weak. Still, his resolve was not so strong. He could not stop his eyes from travelling to the caravan where Avery slept. He imagined her sleeping form—naked on the furs. The thought forced him to adjust himself on his saddle.
He couldn’t stop thinking about her. He longed to feel the steady drumbeat of her heart and to bask in the warmth of her body. He wanted to watch her breathe and trace his fingers along her cheek and collarbone.
His first and only night with her, Alastair had lost control. He had come so close to killing her. Only foolish vampires killed humans when they drank from them. It was better to keep them alive, leaving open the option to come back for more. But she had tasted too good. She felt so right in his arms. Waiting was a torture, but he knew she wouldn’t survive if he fed from her now.
He wanted to stop the caravan and go to her. There were a hundred warriors and dozens of captives as well as the wagons trailing behind him filled with bounty. He would have brought it all to a screeching halt for just a few drops of the woman waiting for him. That was what a foolish, prideful Lord would have done. But Alastair was smarter and better disciplined than that.
On this expedition, he had captured gold, gems and weapons. He had secured the disputed borders and killed the nomads who had been stealing from local villages. Peace had been restored. But in his heart, he knew that none of that compared to his new human captive. Avery was the real prize. Alastair couldn’t wait to show her his splendid palace with its gorgeous rooms. He would have a dressmaker come and make anything she wanted. He would drape her in gold and jewels solely for the pleasure of removing them. He would have her whenever he wanted.
And what of Myrcel? A small voice in his head asked. Myrcel was his wife. He tried not to think of her. They had been engaged when they were both five years old and married when they turned sixteen. Theirs was a political union, almost doubling the lands under his father’s rule.
For ten years they had been married. Ten long miserable years. She hated him. She hated his touch and his embrace. She wanted nothing to do with him. They sat together at political functions and once a month he went to her bedchamber as was required. But neither of them enjoyed it and still she bore him no sons.
He would have to keep his new human woman away from his wife. He would keep Avery a secret from Myrcel. He would protect this frail human from his bitter princess. He had to. He wasn’t willing to give Avery up.