“And why should I believe you?” Smoke was beginning to rise from his clothes; she could smell the leather of his boots beginning to burn. But how could she save him? If she released him, would he kill her?
“Get out.” His demon eyes were pleading, and his voice was tender, even as it twisted in a wolvish growl, the voice of her beloved. “Get out, Isabel.”
“I will not.” She was coming closer, moving through the light, and he roared in frustration, the chains that held him squealing in protest, ready to give way as the demon inside him fought to be free. “I cannot.”
“Isabel, no!” He thrashed in his bonds as she came closer, screamed as she reached out to touch his cheek as if her hand might have been made of molten iron, his lips drawn back from the terrible fangs in a snarl, the final warning of the wolf. But she was not afraid.
“Yes.” She touched his mouth, touched the fangs and looked into his glowing demon’s eyes. “I love you.”
“No,” he tried to answer, tried to warn her, but it was too late. With a final roar, he snapped the chains and crushed her in his arms, rolling to the blessed cool of the darkness as the sunlight finally reached the empty cavern wall. Pinning her beneath him, he arched over her, sinking his fangs into her throat. Lacing his fingers with hers, he felt the cross she held pressed like a brand against his arm, but he didn’t care; the pain was nothing. All that mattered was the blood, the sweet, precious life of his beloved. The demon held him completely as he fed, adoring her and killing her at once, satisfied at last.
“Simon…” She stroked his hair, twining her leg around his as she had when he made love to her, and a delicious weariness crept over her, a will to surrender. His fangs hurt her, tearing her flesh, but it was an exquisite pain, as natural as breathing. The part of her that ached for him so dearly had been born for just this pain, or so it seemed as he held her. His hands caressed her as he fed, and she had never felt so loved, so needed. But it had to stop.
“Simon…” He heard her voice and cherished it, the sound as vital as the blood that fed him, and he felt her hand entangled in his hair, pulling hard enough to hurt him. “Simon, stop.” She sounded calm, utterly fearless, the voice of the maiden on the battlements who had prayed for his immortal soul. The hunger inside him was waning, the demon slowly being sated, but her blood was still delicious, too sweet to leave a single drop untasted. He raised his head and kissed her, exploring her mouth with his tongue before he sank his fangs into her lip, drawing gently at the wound, still drunk with feeding, with the ecstasy of being filled at last.
“Simon.” She gently drew her mouth from his. She should have been frightened; she should have been confused, but she was not. Somehow she knew what to do. “Stop,” she said, caressing his cheek as he gazed down at her, his eyes deep brown again and rapt with wonder. “I love you,” she whispered, raising up to kiss his brow. “Love me, Simon. Let me live.”
“Yes.” He wrapped his arms around her, pressing her close, and the demon fell away. She was his love, his Isabel. “I love you.” He kissed her cheek, cradling her head in his hand, and she turned her face to his and kissed his mouth.
“Ouch…” She winced, touching her sore lip and pulling a wry face.
“Darling…” He touched her cheek, heartbroken with remorse. “I hurt you.”
“No,” she started to say, then stopped with a laugh. “Well, yes.” He took her into his arms again, and she held him, weak but happy. “But I’m all right.” He kissed her again more gently, tracing his tongue over her lip, and the soreness seemed to dissolve, the deep puncture healed. “Saints,” she swore softly as he drew back. “That is quite a trick.”
He smiled. “I’m glad you like it.” He bent and kissed the wound he had left on her throat, the tender flesh so cruelly torn it made him want to cry. “I could have killed you.” He kissed it again, but the punctures were too deep for his demonic magic to heal. “I wanted to kill you.”
“Brautus and Mother Bess wanted me to kill you.” He raised his head and looked at her, shocked. She smiled, touching his mouth. “They said it was my destiny to kill the wolf that would destroy my people,” she explained. “And we thought the wolf was you.”
“No,” he promised. “I swear it is not.” The cross’s chain was still entangled in her hand, and he bent and kissed it, kissed the cross and let it burn his mouth.
“Simon, no,” she protested, alarmed, as she pulled it away.
“I did not kill Susannah. I released her from the same curse that has fallen on me. I would have tried to save her, to give her some hope of salvation, but she meant to kill Tom.” The burn was already healing; he was strong again; her blood was strong. “I did not kill the woman you saw at the church. I saw her, and I fed from her, but I did not kill her.”
“Like you fed from me,” she said, trying to sound casual, not jealous. The woman had been slaughtered; how could she be jealous of her? But she was. She was jealous of every other woman he had ever touched, vampire or not, jealous even of the pain they had felt in his arms.
“No.” He brushed the hair back from her brow, her face so beautiful it hurt to look at her, but he would look forever if he could. “Not like I fed from you. Nothing has ever been like that.” He thought again of how close he had come to destroying her forever, and the memory made him tremble. “Why did you come looking for me? Didn’t you know I could hurt you?”
“I told you; I wanted to kill you.” The very idea made her feel faint. In truth, she was already faint, she realized, light-headed and weak from the loss of so much blood. But she couldn’t bear to let him go. “But I couldn’t do it.” Tears welled in her eyes. “I couldn’t watch you die. Even if you were a demon, even if you meant to murder me and everyone I loved, I couldn’t watch you die.”
“No, my love.” He kissed her eyelids, weeping with her. “Angel, please don’t cry.” She touched his cheek in wonder, her fingertips wet with his tears of blood. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
“No,” she protested. “Please, don’t…”
He kissed her, stealing her breath, desperate with love, and she held him, aching but content. “I love you,” he promised, kissing the corner of her mouth as his hand moved between them, raising her skirt. “I love all that you love.” He moved inside her, and she sighed, her body enfolding him, warm and wet. “I am yours, your demon.”
“Mine,” she murmured, rising to meet him as her eyes fell shut.
“I will protect Charmot.” He kissed her as he moved in deeper, his hands moving over her hips, up her sides. She was his, more precious to him than any holy relic or even salvation itself. She was his salvation. “I will protect my love.”
“My knight.” She ran her hands over his shoulders, swooning in his arms. She felt so weak, so fragile, but he held her; he loved her. She didn’t have to be afraid. “My demon.” He moved faster, and she laughed, the ecstasy beginning, every muscle in her body tingling with life. She reached to kiss him, clumsy with want, and he brought his mouth to hers, his tongue sliding over her own. She was the maiden, and he was the wolf; somehow she had won him to her thrall, not to kill but to love. She called out his name as her climax erupted, and she felt him breaking free as well, the waves that shuddered through her passing from her flesh to his. On and on it rose and fell until she thought her heart must burst, and still he held her, still he was with her, her vampire love, until at last the waves subsided.
“Isabel…” His voice seemed very far away, calling from a dream, but his body was close, his arms wrapped around her as he rolled onto his back, drawing her close to his chest. “Sleep, my love,” he murmured, kissing her cheek, and she let herself obey him, giving herself over to the dark. “Sleep until the night.”
Simon felt her arms go slack around him, her breath fall deep and even. Her heartbeat was still weak but steady; she would be all right. He held her closer, crushing her to him, fierce with love, but still she barely stirred. Kivar would never touch her. He would protect his
love.