The Day After
I OPENED MY eyes and saw it was morning. The sun shone weak around the edges of the heavy, drawn curtains.
I felt a moment of confusion, not knowing where I was, my surroundings unfamiliar.
Then I remembered.
My body froze stiff.
There was movement behind me, and before I could register this, I was gently rolled to my back. Lucien, fully visible but shadowed in the feeble light, was up on a forearm towering over me.
Stark terror surged through me. I tensed, preparing for escape.
The next second I was crushed in his arms, my face tucked in his throat, his big hand cupping the back of my head, one of his heavy thighs thrown over both of mine.
“Leah,” he whispered.
My name sounded tormented on his lips.
I didn’t care. He could feel as badly as he wanted. He could be tormented forever by his actions and forever was a freaking long time for a vampire.
Promising he wouldn’t hurt me and then inflicting the worst pain I’d ever felt.
Promising he’d stop and then nearly killing me.
I assessed my options.
I couldn’t fight him, I’d never win. Even if I did get away, he could control my mind, my movements.
Therefore, I had no options.
God, I really hated him.
“Please, let me go,” I demanded to his throat, my voice sounded raspy, brittle, and that scared me too.
“Leah, you must listen to me.”
I shook my head. This didn’t hurt. I felt no pain at my throat where he’d torn my flesh apart, just an odd but profound numbness, like getting your gums shot with Novocain. I decided not to think about that bit of weirdness at that moment.
I decided to focus on something else.
“The contract didn’t say word one about me having to listen to you. You feeding on me, yes. You fucking me, yes. Me listening to you, no.”
His hand left my head and went to my jaw. His thumb under my chin, he pressed up cautiously as he tilted his head down to look at me.
“I’ll explain,” he declared.
I had no idea this was a remarkable declaration. Since I’d been expelled from Vampire Studies, I had no idea vampires didn’t explain themselves. Even if I had an idea, I wouldn’t have cared about that either.
“Are you hungry?” I asked.
“Leah.”
“Well? Are you?”
“Of course not,” he said on a sigh.
“No, of course not,” I shot back. “Had your fill last night, did you?”
His face grew dark as his arms grew tighter, just to the edge of pain but not quite there. “Listen to me, pet.”
“Stop calling me that,” I hissed and watched his face grow even darker.
This should have scared me.
It didn’t. I knew the worst he could do, outside actually finishing the job.
Ignorance was not bliss. Ignorance was torture.
“Are you going to fuck me?” I snapped in the face of his anger.
His head jerked before he asked, “Pardon?”
“Fuck me. You fed last night, you’re no longer hungry, but you’re still here. I’m wondering why? I’m wondering how I’m meant to service you now, master.”
His arms tightened again, going over the edge of pain for a fleeting second before he rolled me to my back and settled some of his solid weight on me.
His hand went to the side of my head, his fingers curling into my hair there, not gentle, not entirely painful either.
I looked into his face and it was carved from stone but his eyes were blazing like last night, but not with hunger or desire.
With fury.
Okay, so maybe now I was a little bit scared.
His eyes burned into mine for long moments before he pulled in a deep breath.
On his exhale, he said, “Considering what happened last night, Leah, I’ll let your behavior go this morning.”
“Well, thank you,” I returned with deep sarcasm.
His hand tightened in my hair. The not entirely painful part became a little more painful but not unbearable.
“Don’t try your luck,” he warned.
I really wanted to try my luck. Every bad trait that was me screamed at me to try my luck. Instead, my eyes slid to the side then I closed them so I didn’t have to look at him even in my peripheral vision.
“I hate you,” I whispered. It sounded weak, even scared, and I didn’t care about that either.
His fingers loosened in my hair and he replied softly, “That’s understandable.”
With my head mostly freed, I turned it on the pillow away from him.
“Please go,” I begged.
He began sifting his fingers through my hair at the side of my head. It felt good. I didn’t want it to feel good and I hated him for that too.
His deep voice cut through my thoughts. “I’ll go, Leah, but I’ll be back tonight.”
My eyes flew open and my head jerked back to facing him.
“Tonight?” I croaked, my voice broken with fear.
His middle finger touched my temple gently then his hand flattened carefully against the side of my face. “Tonight.”
“But, you can’t need—”
“I’ll not be feeding.”
Oh my God. That meant we’d be . . .
“I’ll not be fucking you either,” he went on.
I shook my head. “Then why are you coming back tonight?”
“We need to talk.”
I stared at him a second before shaking my head again. “No, we don’t.”
“We do.”
“We don’t.”
He sighed again and his face dipped closer to mine. I sucked in my breath.
“We do,” he repeated.
Now I was angry, freaked out, hating him, terrified of him and confused.
“But I thought—” I started.
He cut me off. “Tonight.”
“Lucien—”
His face dipped even closer, so close I didn’t suck in breath. I quit breathing altogether.
His lips touched mine, briefly, softly. Then he moved from the bed.
I got up on an elbow. This took it out of me, my head swam alarmingly, and I fell back down.
Whoa.
What was that? What the hell was that?
Before I could process this, he was back, dressed completely except his suit jacket was bunched in his large hand.
He leaned in, put a fist in the bed on either side of me and got close. “You need to rest, pet. All day,” he ordered.
“But—”
“Rest.”
“But—”
“All day.”
“But—”
His mouth touched mine but he didn’t kiss me and he kept his eyes open, boring into mine.
I quieted.
“I took too much from you last night,” he murmured against my lips. “You need to rest.”
My mouth opened under his and I began to speak, “I—”
I stopped speaking when his tongue darted in and touched mine, startling me. It was a fleeting touch, but even so, his open eyes kept mine captive and I registered a distinct, excited flurry in the region of my belly.
Now.
Exactly.
What was that?
A flurry? Caused by a kiss from my near-murderer?
That proved it. I was deranged.
“Rest,” he whispered against my mouth.
Before I knew it, he was gone.
I opened my eyes again when I sensed movement in the room.
It was light, I could still see the sun shining around the curtains so it was not yet “tonight” which meant, I hoped, the movement wasn’t Lucien.
It wasn’t. It was Edwina tiptoeing around the bed.
“I’m awake,” I announced, cautiously getting up on an elbow.
She jumped at the sound of my voice and whirled to face me.
“You’re awake,” she repeated.
I nodded, focusing on her. She was a beautiful, older woman, older than my mother. How I knew this I didn’t know because her face was nearly unlined, but I guessed it to be true. Her hair was thick, long and white and it looked soft. It was pulled back in a ponytail at her nape. Like yesterday, she was wearing a gauzy outfit, a swirly, peachy-pink skirt and beige-pink flowy blouse cinched with an equally flowy scarf belt low on her waist.
She looked like a stylish hippie. Strange but true.
“Lucien spent the night,” she declared on a strangled whisper.
I kept staring at her.
Then I asked, “What?”
“Lucien,” she said then spoke no more.
“Yes, Lucien . . .” I prompted.
“Spent the night,” she breathed in what sounded like deep surprise.
God, she was weird.
“Yes, he did,” I replied slowly.
“Why?” she asked, still in a breathy, stunned voice.
Why did Lucien do anything? Because Lucien wanted to, that was why.
“He just did,” I answered.
“I don’t . . . he never . . .” She stopped then pivoted jerkily and walked briskly to the windows, throwing open the curtains as she wittered on. “This is unheard of, unprecedented. I don’t know what to say. I can’t even—”
“Edwina,” I cut her off.
She turned again. The minute her eyes hit me they grew so big, they nearly popped out of her head, and she gasped. Loudly.
At the same time her hand flew to her mouth.
I knew I’d passed out before I’d been able to pull a comb through my hair and take off my heavy makeup but even what I knew was the sight of me the morning after her fervid ministrations couldn’t induce that response.
“What?” I asked in a frightened voice.
“Your throat,” she whispered from behind her hand.
My hand flew to my throat. It still felt that weird numb and Edwina’s horrified stare was making me strangely embarrassed.
I covered the area Lucien fed from last night and pushed up from the bed. I was still lightheaded but I fought it, put my feet on the floor, got up and headed to the bathroom.
My bedroom . . .
No. Strike that.
Lucien’s bedroom (I wasn’t going to claim anything he gave me) was the biggest bedroom I’d ever had.
Painted a warm blush it had a king-size bed covered in a decadent, fluffy, down comforter with a slightly darker blush, cotton-sateen cover with beautiful embroidery heavy at the bottom of the coverlet and snaking to lighter up the bed. Stacks of downy pillows of all sizes from king, to European, to standard in cases and shams that ranged from the deepest to the most delicate blush adorned its head, some of them smooth, some of the embroidered.
There was a chaise lounge in a corner covered in cream velvet, edged with gleaming dark, intricately carved wood. Positioned strategically next to its only arm was a small, ornate, circular table. Matching stately but comfy-looking armchairs, each with their own tall, plush, round, tassel-bottomed, button-topped ottomans were arranged in another corner. The chairs shared a carved wood table. A charming writing desk with a laptop computer and stylish desk accessories faced the room from the opposite corner to the chairs.
I didn’t see any of this.
Yesterday afternoon after I’d arrived, I’d inspected the entirety of the lavish cage Lucien had provided for me. I perused the six-bedroom house from top to bottom. Why he thought I’d need six bedrooms with a gigantic kitchen including breakfast nook and comfy seating area, a formal dining room, a sitting room, a living room, a family room, a study, four and a half baths—the list went on—I’d never know.
At that moment I didn’t want to know. All I could think about was my throat.
I went into the bathroom. Another huge room with two sinks, a big mirror, a large, blush-marbled tub set in a platform under a stained glass window (if you can believe), separate shower cubicle with multiple heads (some on the walls), and the toilet had its own room.
I turned to the mirror and slowly, wincing slightly to prepare myself for the mutilation I’d see, took my hand from my throat.
Then I blinked.
There was only an insignificant, inch long, slightly glistening, pinkish scar.
“What on earth?” I whispered.
“I know,” Edwina said, materializing behind me. “Can you believe it?”
“No,” I gaped at the non-wound, remembering the tearing sensation last night, the pain, the powerful suction from Lucien’s mouth, “I can’t believe it.”
“I can’t believe it hasn’t healed,” Edwina breathed.
My eyes flew to hers in the mirror. “What?”
“It hasn’t healed. How can that be? They always heal before morning. Usually sooner.”
My mouth dropped open.
I snapped it shut moments before asking, “Are you joking?”
Her head quirked to the side. “Of course not. You know that.”
No, I didn’t know that.
I’d been expelled from blinkety-blank Vampire Studies and the time I’d been there I didn’t pay a lick of attention.
I moved away from the mirror, walking toward the huge dressing room that was on the opposite side to the bedroom.
This room was also enormous, the walls filled with rails, shelves, drawers and a full-length, three-way mirror. There was enough space to house the wardrobes of a family of five. It even included a extravagant, built-in dressing table with dozens of drawers, a big mirror surrounded by Hollywood starlet lights, and was fronted by a blush-velvet padded stool. No kidding, the place was out of a movie.
Most of it was unutilized as I’d only brought two suitcases and a carry-on with me. My mother and aunties were packing up whatever else I’d need to be shipped. Even when they did, it still wouldn’t fill the space and Lucien was seeing to the renting of my place while I was servicing him.
As I stormed into the dressing room, I announced, “I need to call my mother.”
I walked to the dressing table and had to put a hand out to steady myself. I was still feeling woozy and weak. I needed food. And, as much as I hated to give it to the guy, Lucien was right, I needed rest.
“Um . . . dear . . .” Edwina said behind me as I caught my breath, controlled the dizziness, and reached for my purse to get my cell phone.
I ignored her and started digging through my purse.
“Dear . . .” Edwina called from closer.
“Where is it?” I muttered. “I’m sure it’s—”
“Leah,” Edwina said from beside me. “Lucien told me you weren’t to phone anyone.”
My head snapped up and I looked at her. “Sorry?”
“Direct orders. No calls.”
“Why not?” I asked.
She shrugged, looking uncomfortable.
I looked back down at my purse and kept digging. “Well, he can order all he likes. I’m still going to—”
“You won’t find it. Lucien took your phone.”
My head snapped up again and I stared.
All I could do was stare. My heart had stopped beating which was pretty strange since my blood was boiling.
Finally I found my voice. “He took my phone?”
“Yes, and he told me to lock away all the others.”
“Did you?”
She nodded.
I straightened and faced her. “Well, unlock one.”
“I can’t.”
“You can.”
“Lucien would be angry.”
“I don’t care,” I snapped.
Her face grew pale. It didn’t take a mind reader to know she didn’t want to do anything that would make Lucien angry.
I could understand that. He could be a pretty freaking scary guy. And, I didn’t know her, but I still didn’t want to scare her.
Thwarted again by the hated Lucien.
“I’m going to kill him,” I bit out, my emotions got the better of me, and I had to lean against the dressing table to stay standing.
“You need food. Lucien said the minute you woke, I needed to feed you.”
“Lucien can go to hell,” I clipped.
She studied me a moment, surprise behind her eyes, her head angled to the side like a bird’s.
“I think something’s not right here,” she announced.
“You think?” I asked sarcastically.
“Why are you angry with Lucien? No one is ever angry with Lucien. Well, not no one. He has enemies, of course. But not his concubines. Never his concubines. They all love him.”
Oh please.
“I’m not like the others,” I proclaimed.
“I’m sensing that,” she agreed on a comprehending nod.
I dropped my head and lifted my hand to my forehead.
“I think I need space,” I told her, not wanting to be rude, but I did.
In this moment of tumult in my life, I hated to admit it, but I really needed my mother even though she and her ancestry of rabidly adoring vampire concubines had gotten me into this mess.
Suddenly, I felt Edwina’s hands gentle on me as she pulled me away from the dressing table.
“What you need is bed and food, in that order,” she declared.
I went with her because I didn’t have the strength to fight.
I blamed that on Lucien mainly because it was his fault.
And I filed it away in my Why I Hate Lucien Vault.
Edwina put me to bed. She came back with a tray covered in food half an hour later, time I spent organizing all the many, many files in my Why I Hate Lucien Vault. A stack of light, fluffy, buttermilk pancakes drenched in melting, real butter and warmed syrup. Crisp bacon. Succulent berries. Grilled sausage links.
I ate it without complaint.
Normally I would never eat that much food as food like that, especially in those amounts, magically expanded to ten times its size and weight before it settled on my ass.
But I needed my strength. For tonight, I would be battling Lucien.