Chapter 167
Oren stayed gone. Jorick glared at the ceiling and Katelina took a shower just for something to do. She thought about the TVs and computers in the lounge, and wished she'd stayed up there. Bad programming was better than nothing.
When she came out of the bathroom she found Jorick stretched on the bed. His posture was stiff, but his expression was more approachable than it had been. Wordlessly, she put away her things in the suitcase and then climbed in bed next to him and laid her head on his chest. He gave a soft sigh and slipped an arm around her. His hand tangled in her wet hair and he stroked her head, his eyes closed. She used his heartbeats to count off the minutes. There were things she wanted to ask, but it just felt good to be close to him, safe in the protection of his arms.
"Are you all right?" he asked suddenly.
"What? Yeah, I'm fine."
He drew a deep, frustrated breath. "I'm sorry. I should have asked that first. I just-" he cleared his throat. "I'm not used to feeling helpless, anymore."
She nodded against him. Until now, he was the strongest vampire she'd met. He was the alpha on the block, but here- here, he wasn't. Here they had to do what Malick said. Here they had no control. It was frustrating for her, but to some extent she was used to that. He wasn't.
"It's all right," she said finally. "I understand."
"It's not much of an excuse, but what's done is done." He rolled over to face her and cradled her cheek in the palm of his hand. "It won't be for long."
"I know," she agreed, though truthfully she didn't. She gazed into the deep, dark pools of his eyes and felt herself sinking into their depths. As she had many times before, she let herself drown in them, like going under in a warm summer pond.
He captured her lips in a kiss, and she responded eagerly. Her lips parted for him and he swept his hot tongue into her mouth where it tangled with hers and vied for supremacy. She pulled him to her. Their bodies melded together, arms and legs intertwined as he explored the wet recesses of her mouth. At last, a soft moan escaped her throat and she yielded to him. She softened, like warm putty in his hands, and he rolled over so that he was on top of her. The hard length of him pressed her down into the bed.
And then he broke the kiss and murmured huskily, "Oren could return at any moment."
She didn't trust herself to speak, so she only nodded. Regret shimmered across his face and he glanced at the door, as if calculating a way to lock his fledgling out. As far as she knew there wasn't one; not if he had a key card.
She thought suddenly of the waitress and bit her lip. There was another way; a way Jorick claimed was just as good, and they wouldn't have to take their clothes off.
She cleared her throat nervously, unsure how to suggest it. Jorick's eyes dropped back to her face. Whatever he saw there gave him cause for concern. "Are you all right?" he started to move off of her, but she clutched him and held him in place. "Katelina?"
"I was just- I was thinking-" How did a person go about saying, "I was thinking maybe you could gnaw on me and that would be just as good?" There had to be a better way. For once, she prayed he'd read her mind and save her the agony of finding the words.
Her prayers were answered. His confused expression melted into one of surprise, and then into a wolfish grin. "Really?" he teased and nipped at her ear. "I'm game if you are."
Though her cheeks flushed, she forgot her embarrassment when he crushed her lips in a searing kiss. His arms slipped under her and she arched her body up to meet his, craving the contact. He pressed back, and his mouth moved from her lips to her ear, then trailed slowly down to her neck. As he moved closer to the mark, she felt an impatient excitement. Was he right? Would it feel the same or maybe better? Would the lack of physical contact take away or would it intensify the connection?
He traced the small scar with the point of his tongue. The moment tensed, stretched and tight, like the seconds before some forbidden act. Then, he bit.
It hurt as his fangs penetrated her skin, and then the pain faded. The world beyond disappeared and there was nothing but the pair of them, twined so tightly together that she wasn't sure which heartbeat was hers. He pulsed around her, inside and outside. In those moments she couldn't tell the difference between this and their more traditional lovemaking. The same pleasure radiated from the same places and she was swept away on tumultuous waves. They crashed together, one after another, and each one made her moan for more. More. There was something more. Something she craved. Something that would make it better. Something.
He was there in her mind. He felt her need. He found the hot center of her desire and stroked it. She responded with a wordless cry. There was something in her mouth. Something fleshy. She bit it savagely and tasted salt. Not just salt. It was the flavor she craved; hot, spicy, intoxicating. With it came the kaleidoscope of ecstasy. The pleasure so intense she thought she'd disappear into it and never come out again. Sounds, voices, feelings. Pain. Love. Fire. Yearning.
And then it exploded like a sun and the brightness wiped out everything. She was suddenly aware of herself and her physical form. She lay on the bed, damp with sweat, her chest heaving, and the last few minutes a blur. Jorick was still on top of her, his face pressed into her shoulder and one arm over their heads. His breathing was as heavy and ragged as hers.
Finally, he slipped sideways and lay beside her. He raised his arm over his eyes, as if to blot out the electric light. She rolled over and reached for him. That was when she noticed the blood.
"Your hand!"
"What?" He swung into a sitting position quickly and wiped his bleeding hand on his shirt. "It's fine. It will stop in a moment."
She moved behind him and tried to see the injury. How could he have hurt himself? "What happened?"
He turned and stared at her, as if to judge her concern. His eyes slipped away and he murmured, "Nothing. I caught it between the bed and the wall while we were-" Though the sentence was unfinished, she understood.
"Oh." She moved back and cleared her throat. "But it's okay?" The spot on her neck prickled and she absently rubbed it. She brought her hand back to find blood on her fingers. She suddenly wasn't sure how she felt about it.
Jorick pulled her to him. "It's fine," he murmured softly against her. "And how are you?"
"I'm fine." She smiled and he kissed her cheek, and then her neck. She felt his tongue swipe the spot he'd just bitten, and she thought of Verchiel and the old man; the way he'd licked up the last of the blood. It was a disturbing picture.
They lay in silence for a few moments, arms wrapped around one another. Then, Jorick commented, "I don't suppose it was quite as fulfilling for you, was it?"
His question surprised her and she had to think before she could answer. "I don't know," she finally admitted. "I started out trying to compare but- I got lost along the way." In truth, it was all a strange blur, like the trip to Malick's rooms, only better. "If it's always like that, I guess I can see how the waitress ended up that way."
Jorick smirked. "You do have to admit it's more convenient, and there's less clean up."
"True. I'm not sure if it's as intimate though." She turned and met his eyes. "It's more like a hot, dirty screw in a broom closet."
He waggled his brows suggestively. "Nothing wrong with that sometimes."
She couldn't argue, so she snuggled closer. They said death made people want to have sex. Apparently so did being scared by crazy, ancient vampires.
***
Twenty minutes later, Oren was still missing. Jorick had thought to pack a tatty paperback book before they'd left to see her mother. When they ran out of conversation, he fetched it and lay on the bed, lost between its pages. Katelina hadn't thought to bring entertainment, so she snuggled next to him and closed her eyes. The stress and lack of sleep were catching up now that she was safe and comfortable.
She yawned and thought again of the lounge and the TVs. She recalled Verchiel's parting conversation and with no lead in asked, "What did he mean when he called you The Hand of Death?"
To Jorick's credit, he knew immediately what she meant. His eyes narrowed and his body tensed. Then, as if by silent command, he slowly relaxed. "It was what they used to call me. Back when I still worked for Malick."
"Oh." Some nicknames were hard to guess. That one seemed pretty straight forward. "Does everyone have one?"
"The upper tier used to. Whether they still do or not, I don't know."
She absently rolled a wrinkle of his shirt between her fingers. "Did Kateesha have one?"
His eyes asked why she wanted to know. "Yes. She was The Tormentor."
It was another self-explanatory name, so Katelina only nodded and changed the subject slightly. "How old was Kateesha? Verchiel said she left for America in the 1700s."
His face clouded at the mention of the redhead, but again he answered, "Yes, I believe it was the late 1600s when Malick turned her. 1680-something, perhaps? It was a long time ago."
"How old are you?"
He sucked in a sharp breath and met her eyes warily. "Does it matter?"
"I guess not." She recalled Verchiel's words; that Jorick didn't tell her because he didn't want her to think badly of him. Why would she? It wasn't as though he could do anything about it. "Why don't you ever want to tell me anything? Was it so bad?"
"Only the end." His tone was harsh, though he caught her hand and squeezed it gently to take some of the sting from it. "It was 1568. We were fighting the Spaniards." His jaw clenched but he continued. "I've told you why already."
"Because the soldiers killed your sister."
"Yes."
She moved her head to his shoulder. Her eyes felt heavy and Jorick's heart beat a soothing rhythm in her ear. "Where was it? What country?"
"The Netherlands."
She tried to picture a map of Europe in her head and failed. She only had a very vague sense where Germany might be, and she definitely couldn't recall any history. "Isn't that the place where they have wooden shoes? No, that's Holland."
He seemed amused. "Holland is in the Netherlands. Don't you know anything about geography?"
She snuggled closer and yawned. "Not really. It was never important. Maybe you can take me there one of these days? Show me where you used to live and all that."
"I doubt I could. It was only a very short period of my life. It would be the same as asking you to show me where you lived when you were a toddler."
"I already did," she murmured drowsily. "My mother never moved."
He stroked her hair. "Then that really isn't fair, is it?"
"Sure it is."
The rest of the conversation disappeared into a sweet dream.
