The Understanding
I WOKE UP and pretty much saw nothing but the wide expanse of Lucien’s smooth, defined chest. This was because my cheek was resting against his pectoral. How I slept cuddled up to him like that, I’d never know. I wasn’t a cuddling type of girl.
Memories of the night before and yesterday flooded my brain, but regardless of the pain, or maybe because of it, automatically I shifted closer to his hard warmth.
Yesterday, after taking a very long, very cold shower and then just barely stopping myself from breaking everything breakable I could find, I’d found myself in a huge rambling house with nothing to do. I’d finished the only book I’d brought with me. There was no company. No phone. No car keys. No books. No Internet. No cleaning to do. No dirty laundry. No ironing.
Nothing.
I realized too late I should have asked Edwina to buy a few magazines. I only had the television and my thoughts and I didn’t want to spend time with either of them.
I avoided the television as I’d found over the years (with vast amounts of experience) that there was rarely anything on. Plus I usually ate like a pothead with the munchies when I sat in front of the TV, so I made the decision to take a walk.
This was a very stupid idea mainly because I forgot my stinking iPod. There was nothing to do but think when you walked without your iPod.
Too lazy to go back, I forged on, and as they do, things occurred to me as I walked.
For instance, the fact that Katrina had marked Lucien. It wasn’t something that registered on me at the time seeing as I was freaking out, but looking back, the scratches were ugly and savage. His skin had been broken. Katrina not only had not held back, she had the power and speed to get a bit of hers back.
And she hadn’t responded in any way shocked at their fight. It had been like it happened all the time.
Even Lucien’s baiting, “Try,” sounded, in retrospect, as if it wasn’t the first time he’d ever said it, but as if he’d said it lots.
And lots.
And Katrina hadn’t hesitated to attack.
Katrina had attacked Lucien, not the other way around.
She had also attacked me, something which Lucien not only protected me from (easily), but also it infuriated him (greatly).
Then there was their conversation, Katrina saying I was “life” to Lucien.
I still didn’t know what that meant.
What I did know was that something important was going on. Something I didn’t understand, told myself I didn’t want to understand, but something that was happening regardless.
It was Katrina who left and Lucien didn’t go after her. As far as I knew, he didn’t give her a second thought before he’d turned to me.
This all made me distinctly uncomfortable or more uncomfortable than normal.
Mainly because I was afraid Lucien was right. I’d jumped to conclusions.
I had a lot of bad qualities but I’d never been judgmental. I hated people who were judgmental. They were the worst.
But I feared I had been with Lucien.
Regardless of Katrina’s words, it was clear that Lucien wasn’t sending her “severance papers” (it wasn’t hard to figure out what severance meant) because of me, but because of something that had been going on far longer.
And, no matter how much I tried to stop it, his deep voice saying that love was a blanket that keeps you warm kept playing over and over in my head.
He said this not like he’d read it somewhere and liked that quote or as if he was simply explaining what he thought love should be. He said it like he’d felt that before, like he knew it to be fact.
This fascinated me, scared me and for some reason made me very sad, because whoever taught him that lesson was not Katrina.
The house Lucien gave me was surrounded by woods except for the huge yard, immaculate garden and the pool (yes, pool, with a small pool house, no less). During my house inspection the day I arrived, I’d noticed a path leading into the woods and I took it.
Upon realizing I was a judgmental person and that I probably owed the Mighty Lucien an apology (which sucked), the winding woodsy path led out onto a lake.
And what a lake.
It was huge. The day was warm and sunny, a gentle breeze blew, but it didn’t disturb the glassy surface of the water which went on forever, the wooded hills around it rising to the blue cloudless sky.
It was gorgeous.
There were big beautiful homes nestled in the hills with paths or steps leading to the water. There weren’t many of them though. I counted five.
Seriously exclusive real estate.
I could see at the bottom of the path a long, wide, sturdy pier. Not rickety and ill-kept, of course not. It was the kind of pier you tied a fancy speed boat to (or a small yacht).
I walked out to the end of the pier and sat in the sun, staring out at the tranquil beauty of the lake, wondering if Lucien provided such luxurious locations for all his concubines. If he did, it must cost him a whack. He had to have dozens of concubines still alive. If he didn’t, this had still cost him a whack.
Either way, it didn’t change the fact that he’d provided this for me.
“I am so fucked,” I told the lake.
The lake, not surprisingly, had no reply.
I sat staring at the water and tried not to think of Gentle Generous Lucien or the fact that, in all fairness, I should open a Why I Might Like Lucien Vault, even if it was only a small, fireproof safe. I also tried not to think about my many bad traits, which maybe got my fool self into this mess in the first place.
Being a vampire’s concubine was my family’s legacy. It was their business, as it were, and had been for five hundred years. In fact, this whole practice had been going on for centuries and people liked it. It was their way of life.
Who was I to buck the trend?
Cosmo’s money had kept my mother, sister and I clothed, fed and housed rather nicely, I had to admit, until Lana and I moved out. Lana and I shared the same dad, or I should say, we shared the same sire. Our sire, from what little I remembered, drank a lot, yelled a lot and got kicked out on his ass by my mom backed up by the arsenal of my aunties. Then he took off, sending birthday cards for the first couple of years before giving up. I hadn’t seen him since I was six.
Cosmo still kept my mother in manicures, pedicures, a three bedroom ranch-style house, designer handbags and martini lunches with my aunties.
I should have thanked him when I first met him, not been cold to him.
And then there was Lucien.
Well, of course he was pathologically controlling and a pain in the ass, but when he wasn’t being those two things he was other things. I couldn’t help but think about the way he was with me when I was drunk (before he became a jerk, I hasten to add) and the way he was at The Feast (and he never became a jerk then).
In fact, when he wasn’t being a jerk, controlling or a pain in the ass, he looked at me . . .
He looked at me . . .
Oh hell, he looked at me like I was life.
Like I was beautiful. Like I was beyond sexy, whatever that was, but Lucien looked at me that way. Like I was funny, interesting, and he didn’t know what I’d do next, but whatever I did, he was going to enjoy it on some level and therefore he was looking forward to it.
He was looking forward to me.
No one ever looked forward to me.
I could barely credit it.
I’d spent years looking for some guy who would keep me away from the concubine life. There wasn’t a lot I knew before my Selection and I didn’t know a lot more now. One thing I knew was that vampires could not invite the Uninitiated to go to a Selection if the Uninitiated was in a relationship with a mortal.
Therefore, I made sure I was in a relationship most of the time.
Which meant I’d been in and out of relationships since I became eligible for my first Selection at eighteen.
Out of desperation, because I didn’t like to think I was an idiot, but that was more likely the case, I’d picked all the wrong guys. Justin, the last, was the most wrong of all. And I stayed with them longer than I should in order to keep myself safe.
Maybe, just maybe (and I wasn’t putting a lot into that “maybe”), I’d been wrong.
Which meant two things.
One, I’d have to apologize to Lucien for being a judgmental bitch. Two, I’d have to ask him to speed up his instructions so I understood more about the life I was meant to be leading.
Then I’d make my decision.
The one thing I knew was that, however it went between Lucien and me, I wasn’t going to let him break me.
I’d meet him halfway.
If he wasn’t willing to do that then we were back to square one.
Obviously, even the tranquility of the lake didn’t stop me from thinking about Lucien.
I heaved myself up and walked back up the path. When I got to the house, I made the marinade, slid the chicken breasts in and put it in the fridge.
Then I decided to spend the rest of the day drowning my sorrows in food and numbing my mind with television.
My unfocused sight cleared and Lucien’s chest, and incidentally, Katrina’s scratch marks were completely healed, became defined again as my thoughts turned to last night.
Why I had that reaction to him feeding on someone else, to smelling her perfume, I didn’t know. But there was no denying it. I did.
In all the hateful feelings I’d had for the last two weeks, having Lucien touch me while he smelled and tasted of another woman was by far and away the worst.
Because it hurt. A lot. Too much.
I knew it shouldn’t, I had no claim on him.
But it did.
And I got it then. I understood. I knew why there was always this hint of sadness in the very backs of my mother’s eyes. And I knew the minute he told me I didn’t understand the way of his people that I couldn’t live this life.
Not as Leah Buchanan.
I’d have to be A Buchanan from The Premier Family of Vampire Concubines. Not impatient, not short-tempered, not stubborn, not immature, not anything that was me.
I’d have to be the good, perfect, dutiful concubine like my annoying cousin Myrna.
For what could be years, I was going to have to channel goody-two-shoes “I’m gonna tell on you” Myrna.
And that totally and completely stunk.
But, I told myself, I could live with that in the beautiful house close to the beautiful lake with my beautiful clothes, and it must be said, with Lucien giving me mind-boggling, body-rocking, unbelievable orgasms if last night was anything to go by, and feeding all the time which, I had to admit, was sublime.
And he would do whatever he wanted to do which he would anyway.
Then he’d release me and I could go on.
But not with that sadness. He wasn’t going to get me to like him (or worse) and then break me that way.
I didn’t even know if I liked him and the pain of having him touch me, make my body feel like it was vibrating with life, his big solid warmth surrounding me, making me feel precious, fragile, and above all, safe while I could smell her and taste her was bad enough.
If I actually did like him, I’d be really screwed.
Luckily, I didn’t like him so hopefully I’d be safe.
It was on this thought that his hand, which was curled at my hip, drifted up my back and tangled in my hair.
“Are you awake, pet?” he asked in a sexy, rough, drowsy voice.
I tried not to shiver and failed. I also tried not to let him calling me “pet” feel like it was lacerating my heart and failed at that too. Then I tried not to wonder if he called the nameless, faceless her of last night “pet” and I failed at that as well.
I nodded my head, my cheek sliding against his skin. His hand fisted in my hair and he gave it a gentle tug. I looked up at him and his eyes caught mine.
“I’m hungry,” he murmured.
He wasn’t talking about eggs and bacon for breakfast hungry, therefore I felt a rush of heat between my legs and my nipples contracted.
His eyes went lazy and he whispered, “Come here.”
I was about as “here” as anyone could get but I knew what he meant. I slid up, my body rolling deeper into his as his other arm came around to assist, hauling me up further and pulling me over him so I was mostly on top.
His hand guiding my head, my lips hit his and he kissed me.
I closed my eyes and all of a sudden I wanted desperately to cry.
He was a really good kisser but this wasn’t our flat-out, fight for supremacy, hungry, sexy duel. This was a soft, sweet, morning kiss that felt nice and wonderful.
It was then I began to see the flaws in my new plan.
His lips broke from mine, traveled to my cheek, down to my jaw then to my neck. My legs moved restlessly as a really good kind of warmth tingled through my system.
His hand at my waist slid up my back to my shoulder, over it then, using only his middle finger to touch me in a whisper-soft caress, slowly, unbelievably slowly, it traveled down my arm. I felt the goose bumps rising on my skin and they were the really good kind too.
“Do you want me to make you come while I feed?” he muttered against my neck and the answer to that was a big old yes.
But I couldn’t believe he was asking me.
Was this some kind of test?
“Can we see how it goes?” I asked and my voice sounded breathy.
His hand in my hair tugged my head back so he could look at me. The fingers of his other hand curled around my wrist as he studied my face, his eyes thoughtful and maybe even a little wary.
“If that’s what you’d like,” he replied, and I started to nod my head when he went on, a smile tugging his handsome mouth, “But I know how it’ll go.”
He didn’t wait for me to reply. His hand brought my wrist to his mouth while he kept his eyes locked on mine. I felt his tongue lash against the pulse at my wrist in a way that was so sensual, my breath caught.
His long fingers slid down, curling into my palm, dwarfing my hand in his much larger one. His mouth moved and all I felt was the flow as he began to feed.
It’s impossible to explain how beautiful this feeling was. If I hadn’t felt it, I wouldn’t believe it. Perhaps it had something to do with giving another being sustenance, nourishment, life. Perhaps it was lips locked and sucking. Perhaps it was bodies touching and other connections besides, both physical and emotional, both intimate.
Whatever it was, it felt great.
His black eyes held mine captive as he drew my blood into his mouth and I squirmed, the fire building, the need turning hungry.
I saw his tongue sweep my skin and then he let my hand go. I couldn’t help it, I felt and heard the mew of complaint escape my throat.
He grinned, rolled me away and his hand went to the drawstring on my pajama bottoms.
“I’ve decided I want you to come while I’m feeding.” He said this like it was some sort of tender challenge.
I was okay with that. Way okay.
“Okay,” I whispered.
His grin spread into an arrogant smile.
He swept the covers aside and my bottoms and panties were gone in the blink of an eye. He pulled me over him, yanking my knees so I was astride him, open and bared.
I felt extreme discomfort at this exposure.
For about two seconds.
Then he was kissing me and his hand was between my legs.
This kiss was a ravenous duel, both of us taking, which meant, weirdly, both of us giving.
Then I thought nothing at all and everything I felt was beautiful.
His mouth went to my neck. I felt his tongue as I registered my own mouth was tingling.
Then he was feeding and his fingers were inside me, his thumb manipulating me, and it built fast. My heart started tripping, blood singing through my veins. My head tilted back to give him better access, my hips rocked into his hand demanding more of what he was giving me, and all of it was good.
It built fast, it built huge, before it happened I knew it was going to be overwhelming.
But it wasn’t. It was consuming.
My climax was like nothing I’d ever felt before. It was beyond beautiful. Better than even the night before, straight to life-altering.
I gasped then stopped breathing, my neck arching back, my hips grinding into his hand as it hit me in a wave of pure, perfect, toe-curling, breasts-swelling, moan-inducing bliss.
I felt his hand in my hair position my head, but I didn’t know he watched until the pleasure slowly subsided and my eyes refocused.
“Beautiful,” he whispered, his gaze soft on my face.
Yes, there were definitely flaws in my plan.
So I didn’t have to look at his handsome face gazing at me with such rapt attention, I gave a gentle yank against his fingers in my hair. I didn’t try to escape but settled on top of him, my forehead in his neck as his hand carefully moved out from between my legs and both his arms circled me.
“Did you like that, sweetheart?”
Clearly, he wasn’t going to do me the favor of not calling me endearments.
I decided to let this go and nodded. I mean, the answer was obvious.
“Good,” he murmured as his arms grew tighter.
It occurred to me my body was exposed and I didn’t like it much about a nanosecond before he rolled me to my back, yanking the covers over the both of us.
He put his head in his hand, his elbow in the pillow and shifted his weight so it was resting against my side, but he tangled his heavy legs with mine. I looked up at him as his other hand came up, fingers curling around my neck, thumb stroking against the now numb wound.
“What would you like to do today?” he asked quietly.
His eyes were both languid and alert, as if he liked what just happened but he needed to be prepared for whatever happened next. I thought this was strange but I was focused on his question.
Lucien was asking me what I wanted to do that day? Was this another test?
Clearly, I’d passed the last one but I didn’t want to try my luck. I’d always been terrible with tests.
“I’m not sure,” I answered. “What are my choices?”
His response was immediate. “Anything you want as long as it includes me.”
No man would do anything a woman wanted. He might say he would then you’d somehow end up drinking beer, eating hot wings and watching a game at a bar where the waitresses wore short-shorts and skintight tank tops.
“Um . . .” I thought about it, my eyes sliding to the side. I felt his body start moving so my eyes slid back to see he was silently laughing, his lips tilted up in an attractive smile. “What’s funny?” I asked quietly.
He shook his head, didn’t answer, and still grinning, he repeated, “What do you want to do today?”
“I don’t know,” I answered.
“What’s the first thing that comes to mind?”
“Um . . .”
“Leah, think. The first thing.”
“Um . . .”
His voice dipped low, sultry and amused, an effective combination. “It isn’t hard, sweetheart.”
“Books,” I blurted, and he blinked slowly.
“Books?”
“Yes, books,” I replied. “My stuff isn’t here yet and without a telephone or Internet or a house to clean or a car and with Edwina gone, there wasn’t much to do yesterday. I don’t like TV, nothing’s ever on and whenever I sit in front of one I start eating like my stomach’s a bottomless pit, so I need to go buy some books.”
His face changed. The amusement fled, it went blank, and I wondered if this was an overshare. His eyes shifted away and stared unfocused at my pillow. This would have been all right except I saw close up a muscle jump in his cheek.
I didn’t think this was good.
I had momentarily forgotten that men, on the whole, weren’t really fond of shopping, even for books. Big, bad, male vamps were probably seriously not fond of shopping.
“We don’t have to buy books,” I went on hurriedly and his eyes sliced to mine, no longer blank, but now broody and intense. Regardless I sallied forth, “We could—”
He cut me off and freaked me out by saying, “I’m sorry, Leah.”
Now, hang on a second.
Lucien was sorry? And he admitted it?
It was my turn to blink.
Then I asked, “What?”
His face dropped closer and his voice dipped lower when he repeated, “I’m sorry.”
I felt my heart start racing and Lucien did too or he heard it because his fingers tensed on my neck.
“You’re sorry about what?” I whispered, finding I was having trouble breathing and finding this was because I wanted to hear what he said next.
“I’m sorry I left you with nothing to do yesterday. I was so angry, I didn’t fucking think.”
I didn’t know what I expected to hear or wanted to hear, but whatever it was, that wasn’t it.
Still, I said, “That’s okay.”
His head bent and he touched his lips to mine briefly before he lifted it again.
“We’ll get you some books,” he said softly.
I nodded.
“And I’ll see that the broadband is activated tomorrow.”
I nodded again.
“And, if you promise you won’t attempt to drive to Panama, I’ll give you the keys to the Cayenne.”
Boy, I must have passed the second test too.
“I promise I won’t drive to Panama,” I whispered.
The broody intensity went out of his eyes and he said, “Good.”
“I couldn’t anyway, I don’t have my wallet,” I told him. His eyes went broody intense again. “Or,” I went on quickly, “a map to Panama.” He stared at me and I continued, “Can you actually drive to Panama?”
He studied me a moment, his face softened and his lips twitched.
Okay then. Crisis averted.
Thank God.
“I’d rather you not find out,” he said.
“I don’t really think I want to,” I shared. “Panama isn’t one of my preferred on the run from a vamp locations.”
The lip twitch happened again and his hand shifted from my throat to my cheek, then his fingers slid into the hair at the side of my head.
He cocked his head deeper into his hand and asked, “What is?”
“What is what?”
“Your preferred on the run from a vamp location.”
My eyes moved to his naked shoulder (this was a mistake, by the way, he had a nice shoulder, but I had to power through it), “I don’t think it’s a good idea to tell you that.”
His body moved when his head jerked back and he let out a shout of laughter. Half a second later, his arms were tight around me and he was hugging me again, his face stuffed in my neck.
“Probably not,” he said against my neck, his voice still shaking with hilarity.
It was time for this to end. I could easily find things to put in my Why I Might Like Lucien Small Fireproof Safe when he was like this.
For instance, how good it made me feel when I made him laugh.
And that (I hated to admit it but it was undeniable) I liked it when he hugged me. He gave good hugs, tight and warm and with him being so big, I felt snugly and cozy and safe.
“I think I’m hungry,” I told his ear and his head went back.
His eyes were still amused when he looked at me and that look had to go in my little safe as well.
He brushed my mouth with his, pulled back less than an inch and rested his forehead against mine.
“Let’s get you fed and take you to town,” he murmured.
Oh hell.
That had to go into my safe too. All of it, the mouth brush, the forehead rest and him taking me to town.
Damn but it was getting freaking crowded in there.
He rolled over me, exited the bed, but pulled the covers to, not exposing my lower half at all.
He leaned in, put fists into the bed on either side of me and said, “Take your time, sweetheart. Edwina’s likely gone. I’ll see what I can do about breakfast.”
Then he was gone, zoom, out of the room.
I looked at the clock and noticed it was nearly noon. Then I looked at the ceiling. Then I wondered if Lucien could make breakfast. I figured, since he’d lived hundreds of years, during one of those years he’d have to learn how to cook. At least make toast (or something).
Then I sighed because I couldn’t escape it.
If he kept acting like this, there was a big, ugly, gaping flaw in my plan.
This was going to be hard. Really, really hard.
Lucky for me, one of my bad traits would come in handy. I was crazy stubborn.
“I can do this,” I mouthed to the ceiling, not wanting Lucien to hear and hoping I wasn’t lying to myself.
I stood at the stove and slid the big spoonfuls of vegetable shortening into the skillet, the shortening melting as it hit the hot iron. As I did this, I considered the many mistakes I’d made that day and began to prepare not to make anymore that evening.
I didn’t discover if Lucien could cook. But I did discover he could toast a mean sesame bagel and put the exact right amount of cream cheese, smoked salmon and capers on it.
As we ate our bagels and drank our coffee, we didn’t talk. This was not companionable silence, it was uncomfortable, or at least it was for me. I didn’t know what to say, seeing as I couldn’t be me. And I didn’t know why Lucien wasn’t talking. And I wanted to know why, like, a lot.
I tried to gauge his mood but failed.
What I did know was that he’d attuned himself to me. It wasn’t that he marked me. It was something else, something new, it made me feel less like I was drugged and more like I was pulsating. It was like he was trying to figure me out, source my mood.
I didn’t know if he succeeded but I guessed no as his quiet watchfulness lasted all day.
I was terrified he’d want to take a shower with me, or worse, a bath, but he let me take a shower alone.
My first big mistake was when I was sitting at my dressing table, blow drying my hair.
Lucien had disappeared while I showered but I heard the shower go on as I was doing my makeup. While I was doing my hair, Lucien walked into the dressing room in nothing but a towel.
My mistake was I should have looked away. But I caught sight of him in my big Hollywood starlet mirror and my mouth started watering.
Then he tugged off the towel with me sitting right there, and at the sight of all that was Lucien, and there was a lot of it, my mouth went dry.
He was, it must be said, perfect from head to toe. Utterly perfect. Strong, heavy thighs. Muscled, well-formed behind. Bunched, defined calves. He even had handsome feet!
And there were other parts of him that made me wonder if he was not a vampire but instead a living god.
I jerked my eyes back to my reflection as Lucien dressed.
He chose jeans, boots, a great belt and a tailored shirt that was stripes of white, baby blue, midnight blue, light gray and charcoal gray. He wore this untucked.
It was pretty much casual wear on any other man.
Lucien looked like he’d stepped alive out of a magazine.
I decided from what Stephanie had said during my Selection, and how Lucien behaved at The Feast, that he’d want me to make an effort so he could show me off.
This wasn’t tough for me. I was a girlie girl. I made an effort even if I was running to the store to buy eggs.
I decided on nice low-rider jeans, high-heeled, ultra-strappy tan sandals, a matching belt and a great blouse, almost see-through, white, with buttons that stopped at my cleavage. The neckline went out to a V, it was collared and had half a dozen thin pleats running along the sleeves and down the spine from collar to waist. It was a killer shirt.
I did my makeup subtle and left my hair long, in smooth flips.
I had no jewelry to put on so, being done, I just tucked my lip gloss in my back pocket as I had no wallet or phone, thus taking a purse was unnecessary. Then I left the room.
By the time I was ready, Lucien had disappeared and I went in search of him. When I found him, he was plugging the phone into the jack in the kitchen.
I didn’t know what this meant to him but I knew what it meant to me. Thus I nearly threw myself at him and gave him a big kiss.
Instead, I called, “Ready.”
His head came up, he looked at me, his eyes went lazy, and my stomach pitched pleasantly.
Then he asked me, “Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?”
My body rocked to a complete halt.
It was safe to say, no. I didn’t know.
I mean, I knew I was nothing to sneeze at. No mothers had pulled their children away from my grotesqueness and I could somewhat easily get a date.
The way he said it, the fact that Lucien said it—a man so rugged, so compelling, I’d likened him to a living god not twenty minutes before; a man who’d probably seen his fair share of women in his time—that made it another compliment which was profound and I was definitely not sure I could handle it.
“Leah?” His voice calling my name jerked me out of my Lucien Profound Compliment Stupor.
I didn’t know what to say. What did you say?
I decided on, “Thank you.”
He walked right up to me, his eyes thoughtful. When he stopped (in my space, by the way), he used both his hands to shift my hair over my shoulders and he curled his fingers around my neck. The whole time, his eyes were locked on mine.
“You have no idea, do you?” he asked quietly.
“I count the fact that I’ve reached forty and no one has asked me to join a circus as a good sign,” I told him, his head cocked sharply to the side and he burst out laughing, pulling me to him roughly and giving me a stand-up hug.
I endured this hug. It was hard. A stand-up hug from Lucien wasn’t as good as a lying down one, but it wasn’t far off.
Eventually, after what felt like an eternity (but wasn’t, obviously), he pulled away. “Let’s get you some books.”
He drove us in the Cayenne to a mall in the city. Not any mall but an exclusive one that was surrounded by streets and streets of luxurious boutique shops and classy restaurants, cafés and bars. These were all nestled in between wide clean sidewalks with lampposts on which hooked hanging planters and big stylish pots on the walks all dripping colorful flowers.
He valet parked and we went to an enormous bookstore. There, he bought me ten books.
I thought we’d walk right back to the valet, but he steered me into the boutique streets and seemed perfectly fine with wandering the sidewalks on a sunny day, hand in hand.
I saw a particularly gorgeous outfit in a window and my heart must have leaped because his head turned to me before he walked me right in. Then he went directly to the shop assistant, told her we wanted the outfit in the window and gave her my size.
I was staring at him and I was pretty sure my mouth was hanging open when the assistant asked me, “Would you like to try it on?”
I looked at her and was about to speak when Lucien said, “No. We’ll take it.”
I watched in horror, mainly because I could see the prices on the register display, as she rung it up and it took all my willpower not to freak out.
I stood dutifully beside Lucien as he paid, the shop assistant looking at him probably like I did when he yanked off the towel and at me definitely like I was the luckiest woman in the universe.
As we walked out, Lucien carrying both my bags, I felt it important to say something.
“That wasn’t necessary.”
His hand gave mine a squeeze but he didn’t look at me.
“You’re correct, it wasn’t,” he replied.
Well, what could you say to that?
Except nothing. So I said nothing.
I was careful to moderate my heart and I did this by not looking into any more windows so that Lucien wouldn’t again go spending hundreds and hundreds (and hundreds) of dollars on one single outfit.
It didn’t matter. This happened twice more with things Lucien wanted me to have. A pair of delicate, antique, silver and coral Navajo chandelier earrings and two pairs of outrageously expensive but undeniably gorgeous high-heeled shoes.
I tried the shoes on. Both pairs, Lucien, lounged back in a chair like he owned the joint and staring at my feet, asked me, “Do they fit?” Before I said a word, he looked at my face (which was probably rapturous, what could I say, they were great shoes) and then said to the salesperson, “We’ll take them.”
I was struggling with the supremely peculiar fact that it appeared that the Mighty Vampire Lucien, who was most definitely a male of his species, didn’t mind shopping when I noticed something.
It was the same on the street and in the shops as it had been at The Feast. People were looking at him, even some of them staring at him.
They didn’t know who he was. They only saw a tall, vital, unbelievably good-looking man who was clearly wealthy and held himself with a raw but restrained power.
They had no idea he could move faster than lightning and haul me and my fat ass around like I weighed as much as a pencil. They had no idea that, for whatever reason, he was revered by his people, a race of superhumans who lived forever.
And they’d never know.
The Mighty Vampire Lucien was walking down a sunny street, but he was forced to live a secret life hiding who he really was.
Memories hit me like sledgehammers. My behavior at The Selection. My response to my first lesson, telling him the way his people fed was sick. When I was talking to Stephanie, assuming the people who went to Feasts were victims. Telling Lucien yesterday he disgusted me.
This was when I made my second mistake.
I stopped walking down the sidewalk but I did it like my body had slammed against a brick wall. Lucien kept walking for a stride but turned his head when he felt resistance from my arm. His eyes went to our linked hands then to my face. Whatever he saw made him turn to me and take a swift step back.
“Leah, sweetheart, what is it?”
My head had tilted back to look at him and for some reason I again felt like crying.
Before I could think better of it, I blurted, “You can’t be you.”
He got closer. “Pardon?”
I lifted my hand and waved it around. “Out here. You can’t be you.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You,” I repeated, pointing at him. “You can move like a rocket and you can probably lift up that car and throw it across the street.” I gestured to a shiny Audi parked next to us and Lucien looked at the car, then back at me. “You can, can’t you?”
“Throw a car across the street?” he asked like he thought I might be mental.
“Yes,” I answered.
“I’ve never tried,” he replied, his brows drawing together and he got even closer. “What’s this about?”
I gestured again in a vague way. “Everyone’s looking at you. They look at you and they can see you, but they don’t have any clue what you are.”
His jaw got tight but I was too much in my tizzy to notice it.
Then I said, “I was a bitch and I’ve said some pretty unforgivable things, and for that, I apologize. It won’t happen again.”
His brows unknitted but they went up. I’d surprised him.
His gaze turned wary. “What brought that on?”
I didn’t answer him.
Instead I asked my own question, “If you tried, could you throw that car across the street?”
“Leah—”
“Please answer me,” I requested softly.
He sighed before saying, “Without a doubt.”
Wow. I’d just guessed.
Holy crap.
He even made it sound like that wouldn’t be too much of an effort.
All of a sudden I wanted to know how strong he was. I wanted to know how old he was. I wanted to know how he could walk and move like a normal person and not shatter glasses in his hand or crush my bones to dust when he hugged me.
It was at this point that I was seriously lamenting my behavior in Vampire Studies.
“Would you like to tell me what this is about?” he inquired, taking me out of my astonishment.
I didn’t. But I’d started this; I had no choice but to end it.
“It seems,” I hesitated, not knowing what to say, found the word and carried on, “wrong, that you can’t be you. There aren’t a lot of people you can be you around and I’m supposed to be one of them. That thought just occurred to me and I’ve said some nasty things about you and your people. You deserved an apology, so I gave you one.”
I tried to pass it off as nothing, a simple apology. I was wrong and admitted it.
It clearly didn’t come out as a simple apology.
In fact, looking into his face, which had changed again to a look I’d seen a glimpse of before, right before he slammed me against the wall at The Feast and kissed me with savage possession, that he took it as something far, far more.
I took a step back.
Lucien’s arm twitched. It was a simple movement for him, barely there, but I staggered forward, crashing against his hard body. His hand dropped mine, his other hand dropped the bags and both arms came around me in a crush. He kissed me with a savage possession that was highly inappropriate on a Sunday afternoon on a street filled with boutiques.
It also curled my toes, sent fire straight between my legs and had me melting into him.
“Yeesh, get a room,” someone who seemed far, far away said.
“Randy, shush!” someone else who seemed far, far away shushed the first someone. “They’re probably on their honeymoon or something.”
Lucien’s mouth disconnected from mine and I found I was on tiptoes. I had one arm wrapped around his neck, my other hand was fisted in his hair, and I was plastered against him from chest to knees.
My foggy mind snapped to and I tried to shut down my systems, my response, the way I liked it far more than was healthy when he kissed me.
Especially when he kissed me like that.
My hand left his hair and went to his shoulder, but he kept me close, his eyes hooded but examining my face.
And he said something that freaked me out.
“I want to believe this is you,” his voice was low, soft, quiet, “but this isn’t you.”
He was wrong and he was right.
It wasn’t me. It was the new, improved me.
Or at least the new, improved, perfect concubine me before I could go back to the old, faulty, real me when he released me.
“You don’t think I can apologize?” I asked, giving his shoulder a testing push.
He didn’t move a centimeter.
I stopped pushing.
“No,” his voice was still low, “that was you. The kiss was you. The rest of it is not.”
“What rest of it?”
He changed subjects. “We should talk about last night.”
I felt my body begin to stiffen, but I fought it and stayed relaxed.
“If you like.”
His mouth grew tight as his gaze grew sharp.
“Not. Fucking. You,” he declared, now angry, and I held my breath for what was next.
I couldn’t fight with him. The new, improved Leah wouldn’t do that, certainly not on a boutique street.
No. Not ever. I could never fight with him.
I was channeling Perfect Cousin Myrna when he let me go but grabbed my hand, snatched up the bags, switched our direction and headed back to the valet parking.
We walked in silence.
I decided to test his mood. “Do you mind if we get a latte for the road?”
He stopped and looked at me. “What would you say if I did mind?”
Old Leah would tell him it would only take ten flipping minutes, or at least she’d glare at him and pout all the way home.
New Leah didn’t know what to say.
As I struggled to come up with a reply, he closed his eyes as if patience eluded him. Then he gave up, walked us into the nearest coffee house (there were a billion), got me a latte, him a double espresso with enough sugar to down an elephant, and we were away home.
My third mistake wasn’t a mistake, as such. It was just being in the wrong place at the wrong time.
I was in the dressing room putting my fantastic new shoes on the tilted shelves that showed shoes to their strategic best when Lucien walked in and went directly to my purse that was sitting on the dressing table. I turned and saw him drop my cell phone and wallet in the purse, my passport beside it.
Throughout the ride home he seemed tense. He didn’t anymore and I was unsure of his mood and further unsure what to do.
Was this another test?
The phone in the house was one thing but he’d put the keys to the Cayenne on the key holder by the back door. Now he was giving me back my freedom, in total.
Obviously, I couldn’t run immediately from the house, he’d catch me. I also couldn’t run at all because, again, he’d catch me.
Still.
He turned to leave, caught me staring at him and stopped.
“Italy,” he said.
I blinked. “What?”
“Italy. That would be your preferred on the run from a vamp destination.”
I felt my lips part and my eyes grow wide.
For some reason, my expression made his guarded face gentle and he walked into my space.
I tilted my head to look back at him and whispered, “How did you know?”
“Fiona,” he answered without hesitation.
“Fiona?” I asked.
“Fiona Hawkins.”
Fiona Hawkins? Aunt Fiona Hawkins? How did he know Aunt Fiona?
And why would she be telling him about me always wanting to go to Italy?
This was just bizarre!
“Aunt Fiona told you I’ve always wanted to go to Italy?”
“Fiona told me a great number of things. Fiona Hawkins was my concubine fifty-one years ago.”
This information rocked me so much it was physical. I took a step back but his arm snaked around my waist and brought me forward so my stomach, hips and thighs were pressed against his.
“Aunt Fiona serviced you?” I breathed.
I mean, I knew she was a concubine. She wasn’t a Buchanan but concubines were friendly (most of the time). I’d known her since forever.
“I throw birthday parties for all my concubines every year,” he answered.
I felt my mouth drop open again as something occurred to me.
I went to Aunt Fiona’s birthday parties.
Every year.
“Oh my God.”
Lucien ignored my prayer and went on, “I try to attend. Sometimes I can’t stay long. Sometimes I don’t attend the party but visit with them before or after. Twenty years ago I was able to attend. She served fried chicken.”
I felt the pulse of his words shaft through my body and it was physical too. My entire frame jolted with it so much I had to grab on to the sleeves of his shirt at his biceps to stay standing.
“Or,” Lucien continued, “I should say, you made fried chicken for her guests. She told me before I went it would be the best thing I tasted . . . for eternity.” I kept staring at him as his face dipped closer, his black eyes warmed, and he murmured, “She was wrong.”
My mouth opened and then closed. I didn’t know what to say. What I did know was that he’d just given me another earth-shattering compliment.
He kept talking. “After that I went every year. And every year, you made her your fried chicken.”
“That’s her favorite,” I whispered.
“I know,” he replied.
I put my hands on his chest and commented, “I didn’t see you.”
“I didn’t want to be seen.”
“You can do that?”
“When you can control people’s minds, you can do anything. Even disappear.”
I felt my body tense. “You controlled my mind?”
He nodded and said, “I also marked you.”
Oh my God.
That was true!
I’d felt it. That weird drugged feeling, not as strong as he did it now, but I felt it. I always thought it was the oppressive heat of Aunt Fiona’s kitchen. She had bad ventilation and frying chicken for seventy-five guests heated up a kitchen, believe you me.
“Why would you do that? There were no vampires there.”
“Yes there were.”
Wow. I didn’t know that. I’d been in the presence of vampires before.
“Really?” I asked.
He nodded.
“Did Aunt Fiona tell you about me?”
“As much as she knew. She liked talking about you. She’s very fond of you, thinks you have spirit. She also kept an eye on you for me.”
Holy crap!
What on earth did that mean?
“An eye on me?” I prompted.
He nodded again.
“What does that mean?”
“She told me what you were up to,” his face grew dark, “and who you were with when you were up to it.”
He didn’t look happy.
I figured I was less happy.
“Are you saying Aunt Fiona informed on me?” My voice was pitching higher.
“Yes.” He was back to seeming unperturbed.
This was unreal!
“So, essentially, she spied on me.”
“Not with that, no. Fiona listened, she watched, and she told me. She’d also tell me where you were. Then I spied on you.”
My body jerked again.
“What?”
“It wasn’t exactly spying,” he continued casually, “more like watching. It was highly enjoyable. You’d get up to practically anything and you’ve a very expressive face, pet.”
I couldn’t take this in. The Mighty Vampire Lucien was a stalker!
“Why . . .” I spluttered. “Why would you do that?”
“It amused me. You amused me.” He studied my face and muttered, “Most of the time, you still do.”
“You stalked me!” It wasn’t a shout. Cousin Myrna wouldn’t shout. But it was pretty damn close.
“You can’t stalk what’s yours,” he returned.
I looked at his shirt. “Yes, I suspect that’s what all the stalkers say.”
He threw back his head and shouted with laughter.
I didn’t feel like putting this in my Why I Might Like Lucien Safe. This went straight into the Why I Hate Lucien Vault, pride of place.
“You’re freaking me out,” I informed him as I pressed against his chest to get away.
His other arm joined the one around me and he drew me closer as his face dipped lower. “The minute I saw you, twenty years ago, I knew you’d be mine.”
Yes, totally freaking me out.
“Lucien—”
He cut me off. “Leah, I’ve been waiting twenty years to have you right here.” He emphasized his last two words with a tight arm squeeze.
Nope, not freaking me out. I didn’t know what beyond freaking out was, but whatever it was, he was making me do that.
“I don’t know what to do with this information,” I told him honestly.
“You don’t need to know. I know,” he returned.
I didn’t think that was good.
“Are you going to, um . . . share?”
He shook his head and then bent to brush his lips against mine.
Pulling away a scant inch, he said mysteriously, “You’ll know when it happens.” Then his arms grew tighter and I was pressed against him from chest to knees. His voice turned rough and his eyes went intense when he asked, “Are you hungry for dinner or should we find something else to do for a while?”
I didn’t think it would be healthy for me in any way to find something else to do with Lucien for a while.
Fried chicken wasn’t healthy for you either, but I figured it was far healthier to my future than what Lucien might have in mind.
“I’m hungry for dinner.”
He grinned. “Now why did I know that would be your answer?”
I decided my best course of action was not to reply. So I didn’t.
He bent and kissed the pulse in my neck then shifted to my side. His arm sliding around my shoulders, he walked me to the kitchen. After he deposited me there, he disappeared.
Now, forty-five minutes later, I looked down and found I was whipping the potatoes.
Dinner was ready. A dinner I’d have to share with Lucien.
I looked across the room.
I’d tidied as I’d cooked which was something my mother taught me to do. The kitchen was relatively clean, the chicken in the oven staying warm, the green beans in their water, the warm homemade biscuits wrapped up in a clean tea towel. I’d set the breakfast nook for our meal.
Myrna would definitely have set the dining room table. She’d have a damask tablecloth, perfectly clean and unwrinkled, a silver candelabrum and fresh-cut flowers from the garden she tended, a bouquet that she’d arranged herself.
I figured Lucien would know that wasn’t me and if I did something like that it might put him in a mood.
I had to get through the night before I got through the rest of my however many years with him trying not to put him in a mood. So I set the far more casual breakfast nook.
However, I was in a quandary. I needed him at the dinner table and I needed to set out the food.
Old Leah would just shout for him, louder and louder, until he appeared.
New Leah thought that wasn’t seemly.
Myrna would go find him and likely give a low curtsy, begging the pleasure of his company.
I took a chance and tried something.
Lucien, if you can hear me, dinner is ready, I thought in his direction, wherever that was.
I listened, heard no movement in the house and sighed at how annoying it was that he couldn’t hear me talking to him when I wanted him to hear me, only when he was eavesdropping. I threw another tea towel over the potatoes, deciding to go in search of him.
I turned and saw Lucien walking in, his eyes on me, his face blank, his posture strange.
It was, somehow, alert.
I went alert too.
He got in my space (again) and looked down at me, his face still blank.
“How did you do that?” he asked.
“Do what?” I asked back.
“You got in my head,” he told me.
So it worked.
“Well, I didn’t want to shout and you can hear me when I’m talking to you in my mind, so I tried it, and—”
He cut me off. “I can’t hear you all the time, only when I’m listening.”
That was news.
“Really?”
He waited a moment before stating, “No one has ever done that.”
I felt my eyes go round as I repeated, “Really?”
His expression turned thoughtful. I suspected so did mine seeing as I wanted to know what in the hell was going on.
Then his expression went watchful again like he was denying something from me, which I thought was weird.
Eventually, he said quietly, “Really.”
He studied my face, his eyes so intent I felt that pulsating feeling again, as if he was trying to source my mood, invade my thoughts.
I wished with all my heart I could do the same thing.
I wanted to ask what he was doing but I figured Myrna would let him do whatever he wanted to do without question, even if he was invading her mind. So I just looked at him.
Finally he declared, “Let’s eat.”
I put the potatoes in a serving bowl and carried all the food to the table while Lucien opened the wine and poured it. All the while this happened I had a freaky feeling about the whole getting into his mind business.
I added that to my very long mental Ask Mom Tomorrow List.
We’d served up the food and I was buttering my flaky, still-warm biscuit (it could be argued my biscuits were better than my fried chicken, or, at least, Mom and Lana could argue about it, and they did all the time) when Lucien spoke again.
“We need to talk about last night.”
My mouth was watering for the biscuit. When he spoke those words, it went dry and my appetite took a hike.
Regardless, I bit into the biscuit and chewed, the biscuit like dust in my mouth, and looked at him with what I hoped was respectful inquiry.
He took in my look and his mouth got tight.
“And yesterday,” he went on.
I decided to waylay the talk by announcing hurriedly, “I was wrong about yesterday.”
His eyes locked with mine. “Yes, you were.”
My mind seethed.
My mouth reminded him softly, “I already apologized.”
“You apologized about some of it, not all of it.”
I pressed my lips together.
Lucien kept talking. “Katrina and I have been mates for fifty years, Leah, but I’ve known her seventy-five. I filed Severance from her this week. Do you know what Severance means?”
I nodded.
He watched me nod and continued, “Our impending Severance had nothing to do with you and everything to do with you.”
That didn’t make any sense and I didn’t want it to make any sense. I didn’t want to be talking about this at all.
But as usual, I didn’t get a choice. Lucien kept speaking.
“I knew things weren’t right with Rina and you personify everything that isn’t right about her. Being with you prompted me, finally, to make my decision.”
His words didn’t penetrate.
That wasn’t true, one did. He called her Rina.
I heard him say it the day before, but now I felt him say it.
My stomach twisted.
“She loves you,” I whispered through the pain in my stomach.
“She doesn’t know what love is,” he replied tersely. “Vampires don’t have the same expectations when they mate, Leah. Eternity is a very long time. It isn’t unheard of for there to be absences, sometimes for years, even decades. And fidelity is definitely not a requirement of vampire mating.”
I had the sense he was explaining something about his relationship with Rina, but I also had the sense he was explaining something to me.
My dry mouth went parched.
Obviously, since my contract stated he had free use of my blood and my body, I couldn’t expect him to be faithful to his mate.
Just as obviously, since he had a mate, Severance or not, I shouldn’t expect that he would be faithful to me. Neither my blood nor my body.
It was then something hit me. Something so overpowering that stomach twist wrenched the other way, more acute, slicing through me.
I had enough experience with the wrong kind of men to know exactly what he was saying. The about-face with the orgasm business last night and this morning wasn’t him wanting to give me something.
It was Lucien’s act of contrition.
Regardless of this Vamp Non-Fidelity rule, he felt guilty.
I put my biscuit on my plate.
Then I whispered, “You had sex last night.”
It sounded like an accusation and I wanted to kick myself. Myrna wouldn’t make an accusation, never in a million years. And I didn’t have any right to make an accusation. None whatsoever.
But I couldn’t take it back.
His face went hard. “Leah—”
I waved my hand in the air, trying to undo the damage I’d done as the knife in my belly sliced a painful line straight up to my gullet.
“It isn’t any of my business.” I tried to make it come out airily but feared I failed.
“Leah—” he started again, but I began to carve into my fried chicken breast and talked over him.
“You just be you, do what you want, live your life like any vamp would. And I’ll be me and do my job, no troubles for you, no expectations of you. Promise.”
I was looking at my plate, surprised, even at myself, that I’d just let go of the game and came clean.
This was a mistake. I should have kept my eyes on him.
“Your job?” he asked in a silky voice I’d never heard him use before. A voice that was beyond scary. So scary, my eyes shot to his face.
It appeared I’d made some kind of mistake. A bad one.
He was angry. Belatedly, I felt his fury had filled the room and I found it hard to breathe.
I also found myself confused. I mean, it was my job being his concubine.
Wasn’t it?
In an effort to calm his anger, I decided to explain.
“I figured it out yesterday, Lucien,” I told him, and seeing as this was slightly embarrassing, my eyes went to a point over his shoulder before going back to my plate. I put a bite of chicken in my mouth then looked back to him.
He was silent through this, not eating, his elbow on the table, his wineglass in hand, his eyes scorching into me.
I kept going after I swallowed.
“I’d been an idiot.” I thought he’d like that but his face didn’t change. “You’ve been very kind to me, generous with me.” I waved my fork around the kitchen in a lame effort to make my point. “I can’t imagine all vamps are like this, and even if they are, it’s not a bad life. I . . . I . . .” I stammered, losing my momentum when his face still didn’t change, but I found the courage to sally forth. “I’d been wrong. So, yesterday, when I had all that time to think, I decided I’ll do my job servicing you until you’re through with me. No more fights. No more tantrums. I promise.”
He finally broke his silence and said, “Servicing me.”
I nodded.
“Servicing me,” he repeated.
I nodded again, this time more hesitantly.
“Would you care to explain to me, in detail, what you think your job is, Leah?”
I didn’t really care to, and anyway, he knew.
Didn’t he?
“You know,” I told him.
“Explain it,” he said.
My head tilted to the side in confusion. “But . . . I don’t understand. You know.”
He leaned forward a fraction of an inch, his voice dipped dangerously low, and he clipped, “Explain it.”
“I . . . you, I . . .” I faltered then recovered, “I’m available for you to feed and . . . to . . . um, do other things, whenever you want.” His mouth got tight and I went on, “And, you know, let you show me off, go with you to places and . . .”
“Stop talking,” he demanded and I snapped my mouth shut.
Something was wrong.
I’d never expected to say any of this to him but I thought the time was right. Cards on the table. He won.
I thought he’d be happy. He won.
Why wasn’t he happy?
Why did he look so . . . freaking . . . mad?
“Lucien—” I started but he interrupted me.
“So you think you’re my whore,” he stated, and I winced.
I wouldn’t put it that way. I mean, it kind of was that way, but even my mind was shying away from that terminology.
“I wouldn’t put it that way,” I said quietly.
“How would you put it? You think you’re here to service me. You think your job is to let me feed from you and fuck you whenever I want. Your job.” He spit out the last word like it tasted foul and he couldn’t bear it in his mouth. “So, how, exactly, would you put it, my pet?”
“I’m your concubine,” I reminded him, thinking that said it all.
I thought this because it did!
He watched me a moment and I watched him back. Mainly I watched his eyes working and I didn’t like the way they were working.
Then his arm moved, it was a blur and nearly instantly his wine glass shattered against the wall. The strength of the throw was so immense the glass was sand, the liquid in it splashed in a tall, wide mark against the wall.
I stared over my shoulder at the wall. Then I looked at him, mouth hanging open.
“Have you been paying attention,” he growled, hesitated, then kept growling, “at all?”
I felt my body start to tremble at the ferocity in his gaze.
“Lucien—” I whispered, unsure what I was going to say, but whatever it was I didn’t get the chance to say it.
“I’ve a mind,” he talked over me—gone was the growl, his voice was back to silky smooth, “to show you what being my whore would mean.”
I had the feeling this was not good.
My heart started beating so fast I could feel my pulse in my neck.
“Yes, sweetheart,” his voice was still silky smooth, “you wouldn’t like it.”
My breath started coming in pants.
He stood, got close and looked down at me.
I tilted my head to look up at him.
“For the record, Leah,” he said softly, “I didn’t fuck Kitty last night.” He leaned in and his voice dropped to a whisper. “She wanted it, even begged for it. She begged to touch me, begged for the chance to take me in her mouth, begged me to fuck her.” He leaned in closer, his hand came up, fingers curling around my neck. I saw him hold his body rigid as if he was controlling an impulse and I held my breath. “I was tempted, I’ll admit, but in the end she didn’t smell like you and she didn’t taste like you and she didn’t look like you so I could scarcely bear to feed from her, which is all I fucking did.”
Before I knew it, he was gone. Whoosh.
I heard the garage door go up, the Porsche roared to life and then the garage door went back down.
The entire time I sat there, not knowing what to do or how to feel, especially about the fact that he just gave me another weird, but extraordinary, compliment.
What I did know was that I, again, managed to screw things up. Even though I thought I was doing the right thing for myself, for my family, for Lucien even.
What I also knew was that I really, really needed to call my mom.
Shakily, I got up and left the fried chicken, the pulverized wine glass, and that’s exactly what I did.