2
THERE wouldn’t be much to pack. Stephen’s household items had been seized by the Council, and most of the items she’d brought to the castle before everything transpired were gone, stolen while she was in the infirmary. However, upon her return from the meeting with Lady Lyssa, she found everything else had been taken. Apparently, the small corps of InhServ in permanent residence with the Council were sending one last message. Since it would be three days before Niall came for her, and she didn’t want her new Master’s representative to find her unprepared, she quietly approached the household staff, offering to help out with their duties in exchange for a couple of changes of clothes and basic toiletries. Hairbrush, toothbrush, makeup. Feminine products, since her health had improved enough for her monthly courses to resume.
Within a few hours of that discussion, a knock at her door revealed Jacob. Glancing at the sign that had been tacked there by the InhServs, his mouth tightened, his blue eyes getting cold, making it clear his Mistress wasn’t the only one with a dangerous side. When he reached for it, she lifted a hand.
“Please don’t. It’s better to leave it.”
After a close study of her expression, he nodded. Stepping inside the room, he put down an armload of packages and store bags. “These contain the items you requested from the staff.”
She couldn’t have been more mortified if Lady Lyssa herself had delivered them. “I didn’t—”
“No, you didn’t. But you should have.” He touched her face, drawing her gaze up to him. “If you need anything further like this, Alanna, you’ll come to me or Victor and let us know. Don’t let me find out otherwise.”
Victor, Belizar’s servant, had run the castle before Lyssa took the Council head’s position by force. In that interesting way servants had, Victor and Jacob had overlooked their vampires’ differences and worked together to keep things running efficiently.
“I didn’t intend to cause you any additional work. If there’s anything I can do . . .”
“You won’t be helping the household staff.” Picking up her hand, he examined the thinness of her wrists. “If you need something to keep you occupied, I’ll give you desk work. There’s plenty of correspondence. God knows, both Victor and I hate doing it.”
Jacob had been the only one to touch her since . . . Evan and Niall. She didn’t want him to let go of her hand. The strength and gentleness of his touch, the mild but unmistakable sternness of his voice, awakened a craving in her so strong she almost swayed on her feet. Drawing her dignity around her, even if it was a tattered cloak, she steadied herself.
“Thank you. Anything you need, I will be happy to do.”
Over the next three days, he’d kept her busy as promised, though she suspected it was more of his unexpected kindness than a real need for her assistance. But today that came to an end. She was preparing to join her new Master. Even if the main purpose of her placement was to draw Stephen out of hiding, perhaps she’d prove to be of true use to Evan. While drawing out Stephen was a use, she wasn’t certain how functional that was to Evan’s needs, except as a way to be rid of her sooner.
She’d become a burden.
When she was done packing, she sat on her bed, the suitcase before her. Her mind stepped back into that painting on her flesh. The hazy sun, the small dots of white flowers . . . the casually possessive graze of fingers over her sex. It was the only thing worth remembering anymore. That and Adam. But thinking about Adam was still too painful, because it connected to everything else.
She’d had four other siblings. Three considered her an oddity in their world of school, sports, making friends. Dating. But Adam was her twin. On his eighth birthday he’d asked for only one gift. To be enlisted in the preenrollment training with her. Her parents had refused, not wanting to lose both their firstborns, but Adam persevered, appealing directly to the InhServ rep who made monthly visits to check on her progress. All she’d had to do was see the two of them side by side, red-haired, fair-skinned twins, and Adam’s will persevered.
Alanna was considered exceptional by the trainers. Hungering for the ability to serve and do everything needed for a vampire Master or Mistress, she had no resistance to full submission, no need to determine her own sexuality or any other preferences. Those decisions belonged to her Master or Mistress.
Though the vampire world was dominated by born vampires, the Council advanced a handful of made ones who demonstrated enough power and Machiavellian traits to warrant notice. As such, they often assigned an InhServ to a made vampire who met their qualifications for the privilege. Alanna’s job had been not only to serve Stephen, but to give him insight into the politics and culture of the born vampire world, to help him adapt to their ways. Since she was only sixteen, it was an unprecedented honor to her.
It wasn’t natural to Adam like it was to her, but he’d been assigned to a well-placed Mistress, a born vampire who was an overlord of a territory in Spain.
And now he was dead.
That was why she’d done it, gone to Lord Brian when she’d learned of Lord Stephen’s deceit against the Council. Her own selfish pain for Adam. A servant accepted that a Master’s or Mistress’s sins were their own. There was no need to make a decision between right and wrong. The Master’s will was the only compass. She lived to serve him in every way, regardless of what kind of person he was. The point was the service.
It had been a moment of unforgivable weakness, a purely emotional decision. Adam had loved her so much he became an InhServ with her. Even knowing they wouldn’t share the same household, he’d chosen to share the same life she did, the same world. Her Master had refused to allow her to grieve him, had even forced her to . . .
Refusing to go any further with that, Alanna began a meditation discipline, intended to center and focus her mind. Whether a mockery or not, her training had become the puppet strings that kept her moving.
A knock on the door interrupted it. It was Debra, bringing her several months’ worth of blocking treatment. Lord Brian had made it clear she must take them religiously. If that wall fell, Stephen could not only set upon her mind and soul again; he might tear her apart if he detected the challenge of a second-marking from Evan.
As Debra emphasized those instructions again, Alanna nodded. “I understand. Can you tell me anything useful about my service to . . . my new Master?” She’d never served a vampire without the title of lord, and she didn’t know Evan’s last name, so she went with the honorific. “Did he . . . paint on me?”
“Yes, he did,” Debra said. “At that point, Lord Brian was willing to attempt anything that might salvage your mind, no matter the scientific merits.”
She wasn’t sure how to respond to that. “And Niall is Scottish?”
“Yes. He’s a forceful personality, for a servant. Much like Jacob.” Debra’s serious eyes twinkled. “A definite alpha.”
Alanna remembered Niall’s large hands on her face, the way he’d spoken to her. She’d responded as if his words were commands, so perhaps Debra was right about that.
“You calmed under their touch, when not even our strongest tranquilizers had an effect. It influenced Lady Lyssa’s decision about their custody.”
Debra’s expression changed, that inward look when a servant was receiving a communication from her vampire. It filled Alanna with envy. The emptiness of her soul and the solitary state of her mind were a daily ache, even if the last time a vampire had been there it had been to shred them. “My lord Brian is coming,” Debra said. “He has Lord Daegan with him.”
Alanna wanted to know more about Niall and Evan, but that would have to wait. She’d seen Lord Daegan only briefly at a couple of Council meetings. His anonymity was necessary to do the Council’s bidding, so he wasn’t a regular visitor at the castle. As he slid into her room, she noted the tall, dark-eyed vampire’s purposeful way of moving, the emotionless countenance that suggested he could decapitate or stake one of his brethren with the ease of breathing.
Sliding from her chair, she went to her knees in automatic deference, a graceful fold of motion.
“None of that, now. He’ll get delusions of grandeur, expect that bullshit out of me.”
Gideon, Daegan’s servant, put his hand under her arm, brought her back to her feet. The strength of his grip, tempered by the fact that he was handling a woman, was familiar. Even if she didn’t glance up into the same midnight blue eyes, she would have known Jacob was his brother. Gideon had a harder, rougher look, but the steady attention that could fluster a woman was the same.
Jacob and Gideon were not like her and Adam. They hadn’t become servants at the same time, nor for the same motives and circumstances. Gideon had been an exceptionally successful vampire hunter, slated for death by the Vampire Council. He’d been part of the team who’d set explosives at the previous Vampire Gathering, where Adam and his Mistress had been killed.
She’d wanted to hate him, but the world was more complicated than that. Ironically, he was the first who understood and acknowledged her grief over her brother’s death. In a surprising twist of fate, he now had two vampire Masters, Lord Daegan and Anwyn. Anwyn was still a fledgling by vampire standards, but she’d been a Mistress and owner of a BDSM club as a human, so her direct look and air of dominance had made her a complement to the vampire world from the beginning. She stood at the door, watching the proceedings silently, but Alanna could feel Gideon’s connection to her and Daegan like a three-pointed star, shining painfully bright.
Drawing her hand away from Gideon, Alanna stood alone. Her job was service, not to be comforted. It was forgivable, their lack of understanding, because he, Jacob and Debra were Randoms, those who’d come to their vampires by happenstance and choice, not selected from birth as she’d been. However, that didn’t absolve her of the requirement to courteously rebuff such gestures. That was what set an InhServ apart, made them the elite in the servant ranks.
It’s a charade, all of it.
She was too tired to block the thought.
“While Lord Daegan is not going to mark you, Alanna, he is going to taste your blood.”
While she didn’t require an explanation, Gideon added, “It’s similar to giving a bloodhound a piece of clothing. He can pick up your scent easier later if needed.”
She nodded. She’d kept her eyes down and now sensed the three men exchanging glances with Debra. Whatever they were communicating apparently did not delay what they intended, for Gideon’s hands were on her shoulders, steadying her as Lord Daegan swept her hair away from her neck. As she automatically tilted her head toward Gideon, giving his Master access to the artery, her chin brushed both men’s fingers. Daegan’s hands overlapped Gideon’s on either side. It was an interesting intimacy, because she picked up reassurance in it.
Stephen had certainly never cared to reassure her when he marked other servants, for he had a household of second-marks. Perhaps the vampire assassin was not as emotionally detached as he always seemed. Flicking her gaze up to Gideon’s face, she saw he had his eyes on the vampire. From his intent focus, she was sure they’d locked gazes, something she never did with a vampire. Some vampire–servant relationships were different.
“If anything starts to feel wrong, or you’re in pain, he wants you to tell us.” Gideon shifted his attention to her. “That’s an order. Got it?”
She was surrounded by exceptionally authoritative servants of late. Jacob, Gideon . . . Niall. That dynamic wasn’t uncommon in male vampire–male servant pairings, but it was for female vampire–male servant bonds. Another reason Lady Lyssa and Jacob were an anomaly.
“Yes, my lord.” She directed the response to the vampire. “But I can bear pain. I’ve no wish to inconvenience you any more than I have already.”
She sensed another exchange between the men. As Daegan’s fingers tightened over Gideon’s, a warning, she saw the servant bite back some comment, a flash in his blue eyes, though his temper didn’t seem directed at her or his Master.
“It’s important that we not disrupt the blocker, Alanna,” Lord Brian said. “Remember, physical or emotional stress can weaken its effect. Protecting your health and state of mind is how you can best serve us now.”
“Yes, my lord.” Daegan’s breath was on her neck, fangs unsheathing, such that she anticipated the pain as he sank into her flesh. However, the discomfort was less than expected, for he didn’t go as deep as a vampire went for a feeding. Of course. Lord Brian was monitoring her reaction; it was a clinical situation. To them, there was no intimacy in this exchange, no sexual significance to a deep penetration of fangs. But Lord Daegan’s body was powerful and warm behind her, Gideon’s hands against her flesh solid and real. Her body stirred to it, as it always did when she was serving a Master.
Not wanting to embarrass herself, she shifted into a meditative state, while staying tuned in to her surroundings. She’d stood behind Stephen at meetings for hours that way. Motionless and unobtrusive, until the vampires would turn their attention to entertainment, the highly politicized, sexual games she would perform with others at her Master’s direction.
Twelve servants . . . Her mind got trapped in the memory of that fateful dinner party after Adam’s death. A dozen closed in on her, took her down to the floor at the end, overcome by their lust, goaded by their Masters and Mistresses, until there was a screaming in her head she bit through her tongue to hold back. She blindly followed what was expected of her . . . her every orifice penetrated, her mouth working over cock after cock, tasting her own blood, each climax feeling like her heart was being torn from her chest, a betrayal so deep . . .
“Shhh . . .” Gideon’s lips brushed her cheek, taking away a tear as his Master finished, licked over the puncture wounds to coagulate the blood. Five minutes had passed without her even noticing. So much for staying tuned in to her surroundings.
“I’m all right,” she said, every muscle tightening up.
“Yes, you are.” Daegan ran a hand over her hair, a brief stroke down her back, flummoxing her. Had the assassin himself just reassured her? There was something to his tone, as if he’d learned something from tasting her blood. Something that had earned his approval.
“I won’t be far, Alanna,” he said. “Follow Lady Lyssa and Evan’s direction, and you’ll be fine.”
Of course she’d follow their direction. But she responded as she should. “Yes, my lord.”
When Daegan captured Stephen and the Council executed him, she would die, because a fully-marked servant’s life force was linked to her Master’s. But that wasn’t the end of it, was it? Servants were bound to their vampires in the afterlife, so she’d be with Stephen wherever he went, forever despised by him, forever a failure.
After they all left, she was back to waiting with her single suitcase. She touched that part of her cheek that Gideon’s mouth had touched, felt again the pressure of the male hands holding her up.
Realizing what she was doing, she stiffened as if the whip of the InhServ trainer had snapped across her shoulders. She was unacceptably unfocused. Dedication and duty were the two sides of the InhServ knife, both required to stay sharp. The InhServ discipline protocols would serve that purpose. Punishment, deprivation, reflection.
She’d already packed her scourge, else she would have beaten herself bloody, but there were other ways to remind herself. Rising, she found the small bag of uncooked rice she’d left in the nightstand. Putting a towel on the floor, she spread the rice over it and then knelt. It dug into her knees, her calves. She had an hour before Niall was scheduled to come get her. The pain would drive away anything but what was required of her.
Niall paused briefly on the Inherited Servants’ corridor. The small rooms reminded him of monk’s cells, each one with the bare minimum in furnishings, no pictures on the walls. It was a wholly different servant culture he knew little about, for all his three centuries as a vampire’s servant. Evan didn’t really run in the highbrow circles that included InhServs.
He did know they were an elite guard within the servant ranks, with a severe code when one of them fell short. Kind of overkill, to his way of thinking, given that most vampires were swift to hand out punishment when their servants erred. It further pissed him off to learn from the housekeeping staff that the rest of the InhServs had shunned her since her betrayal of Stephen. Even so, it was still unexpected to see the red S sign on her door. Painted in blood, a scent he recognized right off.
He remembered her writhing in pain, her eyes locked on nightmares no one else could see. Stephen had inflicted the torment on her to protect his worthless hide. Evan had taught him well enough to keep such thoughts to himself among other vampires, but it didn’t mean he’d take leave of his own code of right and wrong.
When he knocked, she called out to enter in a cultured voice, all soft and fine. He expected she had a bonny singing voice. She rose from the straight-backed chair where she’d been waiting for him behind one suitcase. The room was otherwise sterile, the bed made military-drum tight, the closet door open, showing it empty. She had her long, dark red hair clipped back, the strands falling all the way to her waist in a wealth of curls. He knew she had eyes dark and expressive as a deer’s, though of course they were lowered right now, the automatic deference she showed to everyone. She had the delicate fragility of a Fae sprite in her face, her willowy, beautiful body enhanced by the travel clothes of tailored brown skirt and formfitting buttercream sweater. The pair of heeled boots that came to just below her knee suited the chill Berlin weather.
He hadn’t seen her since they’d helped Lord Brian in his infirmary, so it was something to see her all put together like this, not sweating and out of her head, screaming and afraid. Brian said she’d stayed alive because she’d been commanded to do so. But Niall remembered the way her lips had curled back, revealing the rage inside the fear. Even if she wasn’t aware of it, there might be more to it than that.
Catching the scent of blood again, he narrowed his eyes. Before he zeroed in on the trash can, she explained, anticipating his question. “A punishment exercise. It broke the skin, but no worse than shaving cuts. You needn’t worry about the car seats.”
Oh, well, aye, that was my main concern. He held back the caustic response, remembering Evan’s admonition. Don’t mock her training. Inherited Servants are very different from servants that come to a vampire from . . . more random methods.
Evan had changed the subject then, because the memories associated with Niall’s “random” fate as his servant weren’t all pleasant, such that they both tended to leave that subject alone. More convenient for all concerned.
Get her here, and we’ll worry about the rest. That had been Evan’s primary directive. Time to get on with it, then.
She picked up the suitcase, but it was heavy for her, a reminder that the blocker gave her a human woman’s strength, not a third mark’s. In a world of fanged predators, it was a serious handicap. Humans connected with the vampire world were marked, not just to protect the secrets of that world, but to prevent a vampire’s mild flash of temper from breaking his servant’s neck.
“I’ll get that.”
“I’ll carry it.”
“Nae while I’m here.” When he closed his hand over hers, she stiffened like a startled deer, dropping the case on his foot.
“My apologies,” she said stiffly. “I’m not accustomed to another servant touching me when a vampire isn’t present to order it.”
“No worries, lass. My foot’s hard as my heid. Almost.” Giving her flushed cheeks a casual scrutiny, he thought there was more to her startled reaction than that. “Is that a forbidden thing, then?”
“Yes. Incidental brushes of contact can lead to other things, given how attuned servants are to the carnal appetites of their Masters and Mistresses. A Master or Mistress requires that all desire be centered or channeled through their orders, not the feelings or desires of the servant. It’s important for the servant to keep their focus at all times on their Master or Mistress.”
Niall blinked. “That’s a mouthful, lass. So you’re saying ye dinnae trust yourself to touch me.”
When her gaze snapped up, he gave her a charming smile, in spite of her haunted look that twisted his heart. “There you are. Lass, I dinnae know a thing about Inherited Servants. My run-o’-the-mill servant skills are shabby enough. But you’ve no need to worry about my manners. They’re rough, but I wouldnae force myself on an unwilling woman. You’re safe with me.”
She shook her head. “I’m not afraid of that. InhServs follow a strict code of conduct. It’s necessary for us to maintain the quality of our service. There’s no reason you should know about it, and I shouldn’t have reacted that way. I really can carry my case.”
“Why would a lady want to do that when she has a big clumsy bear like myself tae do it? I have to be useful somehow. Let’s get out o’ this damp hellhole.”
Her brows lifted, but she nodded. When he gestured to the door, she hesitated. Niall realized she wasn’t used to preceding anyone out a door.
“Go on,” he encouraged. “I want to keep you in sight. Otherwise, I might thump ye with this wee case. Plus,” he added, “a man enjoys watching the way a lass walks.”
She pressed her lips together. Evan had thought it would be easier for Niall to bring her home alone, give her time to talk servant-
to-servant. Niall was starting to think she’d be more at ease with the vampire, where every word was a gospel command, a safe structure.
“Has your Master sent any instructions for me?” she asked, underscoring it.
“To follow my direction as if it’s his own. If I tell ye to eat a triple-scoop chocolate fudge sundae and take a good long nap on the flight, that’s what you better have. He gets pretty worked up if we dinnae follow his instructions.”
He thought he saw something in the doe brown eyes—a flash of impatience or temper—but then it was replaced with resignation. A numbness he didn’t like. “Whatever your Master wills, I will follow. I am here to serve. You do not have to expend any effort toward my well-being.”
Surely the lass knew he was teasing her? Or had she thought he was mocking her?
Setting down the case, Niall saw her brief flash of alarm when he didn’t react as he was sure she’d hoped, taking the lead, getting her to the plane, no more conversation required. Instead, he moved to the trash can. Poking around, he saw the rice wrapped in a cloth. As she’d said, the cuts had been minor, the cloth marked with only a few drops of blood. “How’d they get blood for their sign?”
When she didn’t respond, he lifted his head, fixed his gaze on her. “You’ll want to answer me, lass,” he said.
Those lashes swept down, telling him she knew a command when she heard it. But it took her another second to get it out. “The first night I was back from the infirmary, they came in at dawn, cut my arm, made me draw the S. It is expected in such a situation.”
When he crossed the room and clasped her wrist, he could feel her fighting not to move. He pushed up the sweater sleeve and suppressed an oath. Had they used a bloody rusty steak knife? The jagged cut had been made over another mark, a fleur-de-lis enclosed in a circle of Latin script he couldn’t make out because of the wound. At some point the tattoo must have been infused with her Master’s blood to make it permanent, kept fresh with periodic re-inking. Evan did it to Niall’s own tattoos every so often; otherwise Niall’s third mark would re-knit skin, mar the design.
“What’s this writing? Beneath it?”
“My InhServ mark. The fleur-de-lis is enclosed by the motto Forever Bound; Blood, Body and Soul.”
Her voice was flat, though he expected at one time she’d explained it with reverence or even pride. Dropping to one knee, he eased up the hem of her skirt. Her knees and calves were raw and abraded from the sharp bits, but the few cuts were minor, as she said. Not like her arm. The blocker Lord Brian was giving her was likely impeding her third-mark ability to heal any wound quickly, but perhaps when Evan second-marked her, it would help.
Niall wrapped his fingers around her leg above her knee, noting how his rough, tanned fingers looked against that supple, silken flesh. Christ, she was a beauty, but she seemed more fragile now than when she’d been screaming and raging, Stephen doing his best to break her mind.
By walking on eggshells, he was making it worse. Well, hell with it. Evan always said he had more intuition than brains.
“Our Master doesnae like a servant hurting herself without his say so,” he said brusquely. “Ye haven’t earned a punishment from him; dinnae do this to yourself again. Aye?”
She became paler, as if she’d been chastised severely. Damn it all. Gripping her shoulders from his kneeling position, a fairly easy thing given his height, he gave her a little shake. “Can you tell stories? Sing a bit?”
“I’m trained in all the cultural arts. Yes.”
“Guid. It’s a long flight, muirnín. Perhaps ye could tell me a story or two to put us down for a nap, so the jet lag willnae catch us. It’s not an order,” he added gently. “Just an idea to keep us both busy. I know this is bloody awkward for you. If you’d rather read a book or be silent as a stone, that’s fine.”
“It would be my pleasure to tell you stories.”
Apparently giving her something to do settled her. Poor lass was a duck out of water and trying to paddle her way through sand.
“All right, then. If ye run out of tales to tell, I ha’ drinking songs from every country Evan and I have visited. And I bray like a mule. They’re bawdy songs, mostly about beautiful, big-breasted women and their highly unlikely encounters with sweaty sailors. The pilot will crash the plane to shut me up.”
Not a hint of a smile in her sad eyes. Niall wondered if Evan had made a decision out of his depth, but she’d stilled under his touch, called him Master. He had that unexpected way about him, Evan did, though Niall didn’t spend a lot of time dwelling on it. He also remembered how Alanna had looked up at him. Even in her delirium, Niall had seen fire, need, courage. Yearning.
He’d wager good money she hadn’t flinched from his touch because of some bullshit InhServ rule. She’d remembered the infirmary, how she had responded to their touch, and had been startled to feel that same reaction now.
Testing it, he put a firm hand to the small of her back as he guided her out the door. Another ripple went through her lovely body, warming his palm against her.
Nothing for it. First a plane trip, then they’d see where the day took them.
When she’d told him she was “trained in the cultural arts,” he hadn’t realized what that meant. After he settled them into the private plane and told her he’d have his story now, it was like putting a quarter into a mannequin. She flipped from detached silence into a vivid tale of the Otherworld travels of Thomas, the famous Scottish bard who reputedly became a favorite of the Fae queen.
Complete with voices and expressive gestures, Alanna gave him an excellent version of one of Thomas’s adventures in the monarch’s service. Her mesmerizing narration, coupled with the lass’s exceptional beauty, had him damn near speechless. Even their flight attendant was a wide-eyed listening child, her hands resting motionless on the beverage tray she’d been organizing when Alanna started.
Yet when Alanna was done, the lass settled back into her seat and folded her hands, unresponsive to the appreciation he and the attendant expressed. “Do you wish another?” she asked. His quarter paid for the story, no more, no less. Though he should listen to Evan’s advice and let the lass be, leaving her stewing in her own head didn’t sit well.
“How about I do one instead, give your throat a rest?”
He’d noticed her getting hoarse, was merely being courteous, but when a muscle jumped next to her right eye he realized he’d reminded her of the human limitations a third mark didn’t have.
“Don’t fret, muirnín. Having Evan’s second mark might boost your strength.”
“Dinnae fash myself?”
He smiled. “You remember that, do ye?”
She seemed flustered by his pleasure. “Your accent isn’t that thick all the time.”
“No. After all these years, I can put it on or off like a bauchle.” He winked. “Old shoe. Though Evan claims I’ll pull it out of my arse and speak full Scottish when I get crabbit. Which, since he’s usually the cause of my ill temper, is his own fault if he can’t understand what I’m saying.”
“You . . . get angry at your Master?” Her eyes widened, a charming effect with the long lashes. He wondered if she realized how enchanting she was to watch.
“Well, he’s a right git sometime.” He wanted her to smile back at him, but so far that was a lost cause. He’d keep trying, though, because he expected a smile on that face would make a lad’s heart stop. “More a Sassenach than a Scot term, but that’s the advantage of being a world traveler. You can mash the languages together. All right, then, no more putting it off. Since you gave me such a pretty tale, I’m going tae give you a romantic one. Brace yourself, because I’m going tae sing it.”
She probably had the wisdom to object, but before she could, he’d already put his own quarter in, so to speak. Instead of the bawdy song he’d promised, he sang her the ballad of Tam Lin. Because his singing voice actually did make a bear’s indigestion sound like birdsong, he gave her and the flight attendant respites, adding his own commentary in between the verses.
“‘Why pu’s thou the rose, Janet, And why breaks thou the wand? Or why comes thou to Carterhaugh, Withoutten my command?’
“And being a saucy wench with her own mind,” he added, “because aren’t they all? She replies . . .
“‘Carterhaugh, it is my ain, My daddie gave it me; I’ll come and gang by Carterhaugh, And ask no leave at thee.’”
The attractive flight attendant gave him a smile. Another time, he’d have taken advantage of it, but his first duty was to his charge. Plus, Alanna was intriguing enough to have his full attention. She noted the woman’s interest, though, and cataloged his response. Most servants didn’t miss such details, part self-preservation, part anticipation of their vampire’s need for intel, but it was obvious to him that she took it to a higher level, her attention honed razor sharp.
According to Brian, her dedication to her training was what had saved her. Stephen had expected resistance to his invasion, and she hadn’t obliged him. She’d fought to stay alive, but she hadn’t fought what he was doing to her, and that had preserved her mind, like wheatgrass bending down before a storm wind. But it had taken a hard battering, as if she’d been hanging onto a cliff edge, stoically enduring a maniac stomping on her fingers, refusing to let go as he crushed her bones with steel-toed boots.
She’d obeyed the laws of pure servitude, believing that her Master had the right to do as he would with her, except that a higher power—in the form of the Council—had trumped his claim on the one issue of her staying alive. It showed a remarkable will, for a lass who claimed to have none of her own.
When he finished the ballad, her lips curved politely. “Thank you. I need to take my medication now. Will you excuse me?”
“Would you like me to do the injection? I’ve a gentle hand for it.”
She paused, already half rising. It was clear she wanted an escape from scrutiny, but her face went back to that mask. “You don’t need to trouble yourself. I can do it.”
“No trouble for me. But if you prefer to do it, that’s fine.”
Sitting back down, she opened the case Lord Brian had given to her and proferred it to him in that same distantly courteous manner. She didn’t in fact prefer him to do it; she was erring on the side of what his desires might be.
Leaning forward in his seat, splaying his knees to accommodate her closed ones, Niall put his hands on hers on the case, closed and latched it again. “Muirnín, take a little time without me gawping at you. There’s a small sitting area beyond the lavatory, a couch. Have a nap or whatever ye desire. It’s fine by me.”
Her eyes frosted, but she rose like a wooden mannequin. Swearing softly, he caught her waist and rose. “Okay, now I’ve insulted ye. You’re going to have to tell me what it is I’ve done wrong so I dinnae keep doing it.”
“It’s nothing you’re doing wrong.” Frustration crossed her face. “My actions are making you think I need . . . comfort. Care. Reassurance. That’s something an Inherited Servant never requires.”
“So what’s making you so mad? That you’re makin’ me think that, or that ye do need those things?”
She paled, even as she became more rigid. “I serve your Master now, Niall. Is this a question he requires answered?”
She’d gone to being pissy. Was that an improvement? Niall wasn’t sure if they were in range of Evan’s mind, but that question was quickly answered.
Are you children already fighting? Tell her I want her to do as you instructed. She’s not required to engage you further.
I didnae . . .
Niall, if you tapped her with a pencil, she’d shatter into a thousand pieces. You’re f*cking with her paradigm, and she’s not yet strong enough for that. Leave her be.
I think she’s stronger than you think.
Steel is strong once it’s tempered. Put pressure on it before then and you’ll ruin it.
Alanna’s brown eyes lifted to Niall’s in question. “He says he wants you to take your injection and rest in the back until we land,” Niall said grudgingly. “That’s all.”
“It’s my pleasure to obey.” Sliding her hand from Niall’s grasp, she disappeared behind the curtain with her case.
He should listen to Evan. If he didn’t, the vampire would take a strip out of his hide, but it wouldn’t be the first time. His hide was pretty tough, all in all. After ten minutes, Niall followed her. She was sitting by a window, but until she placed her fingertips on the glass, he wasn’t sure if she was seeing any of the view. She made a circular motion as if following a bird winging its way through the sky, or tracing the clouds chasing them. Her lips moved, words without sound.
Servants weren’t like made vampires. If third-marked before age thirty, they didn’t stay the age of their marking, but matured until they reached thirty. The aging process stopped there, give or take a few years. He knew she’d become a servant at sixteen and was only twenty-nine years old now. However, at the moment, her brown eyes looked ten times that age.
Laying her forehead on the glass, she closed them, but kept her palm on the glass as if reluctant to lose the contact. He could stay motionless for quite some time, a skill all servants seemed to have, since even he’d had to endure some of those interminable vampire get-togethers Evan couldn’t avoid. So he continued to watch over her.
Her breath evened out, her fingers drifting down the window and into her lap, her shoulders dropping. Debra had brought him up to speed on the treatment side effects, which included a short period of fatigue directly after injection. Between that and the excitement of the day, he expected she was overwhelmed. She no longer had third-mark strength, after all. It was going to take a while for him to remember that, but probably not as long as it would if she’d been a he.
You going to be pissed if I engage her now?
Would it matter? I know what you’re thinking, neshama.
The fact that Evan used the Hebrew endearment said he hadn’t pushed it too far. Or Evan was engrossed in a project and would chastise later. Either way, Niall would take the opening.
Sliding his arms under her back and thighs, he lifted her, concerned by how light she was. He was going to have the stewardess make her that ice cream sundae for certain. For now, he’d put her on the couch, get her a blanket so she could be more comfortable. Hopefully she wouldn’t be one of those who got out of sorts because her hair got mussed. He could well imagine those thick red locks in disarray. Her hair fell to her hips, and he’d love to see it brushing her sweet, naked arse.
Stop being a rutting beast, he reminded himself. Christ, she was cold. Instead of going to the couch, he sat back down in the chair, cradling her in his lap. Her cheek lay on his chest, her hands coiled in her lap. He kept one hand on her hip, holding her there, but put his other hand up on the window. He copied the movement as he remembered it, and he’d been correct. It was like she’d been following the up and down soaring flight of a bird, keeping pace with the plane.
“Our Master . . . Debra said he’s an artist?”
She didn’t move at all, but it was obvious she’d been awake as soon as he’d touched her. She might not be a warrior, but over a decade of being an Inherited Servant meant he couldn’t sneak up on her. She’d let him pick her up without complaint, though. Maybe she thought Evan was okay with it.
“Aye. He’s ae o’ a kind. Paint’s still his favorite medium, but now he does photography, sculpting, metalwork, whatever interests him. He doesnae stay any one place too long. Never has.”
“How can I be a good servant to him?”
Such a simple, direct question. One he’d never asked himself, not in three hundred years. Niall shifted. “Cannae say. I’m no prize in that department, but he keeps me around. Gives him a dog to kick without me actually being one. He likes dogs.”
She was staring at him as if he’d spoken gibberish. When she immediately dropped her gaze at his attention, he touched her chin. “I’m not a vampire. You can look at me. Make faces, blow raspberries, whatever pleases ye.”
“You are his representative. An Inherited Servant treats all with deference.”
“Well, I’d appreciate it if ye didnae. I like your eyes. I like seeing your eyes,” he amended, in case she started worrying about the whole manners thing again.
She studied him. “How long have you been with him?”
She seemed okay being where she was, but he wouldn’t call her relaxed. She was a nice lapful, her arse soft, and she smelled exotic, some light scent he couldn’t place. He wrapped the hair spilling over his knuckles around them, gentle-like and casual. “Since the early 1700s.”
As she digested that, her gaze sharpened. “So you are . . .”
“Just over three hundred.” He drew his finger across his throat. “The usual servant life span. From what I ken, it happens fairly sudden. One day the clock will just stop ticking, but until then I have all my faculties. A bonny deal, if you compare it to getting all creaky and gray, limp-dicked. Sorry. Shouldn’t have said that.”
She pressed her lips together. “I’m not offended. Have the two of you traveled without female companionship for all those years? Does your Master not . . . ?”
“Aye, he likes women well enough. ’Tis the artist thing. The issue isn’t male or female for him, but what ‘engages him artistically.’ That’s how he puts it. He likes a man for a servant because we’re nae very complicated.” He shrugged. Hell, he couldn’t say what it was about him that had “artistically engaged” Evan for nearly three centuries, but there it was. As for him . . . well, there was no expiration on a debt of honor.
He nodded toward the window. “What were you doing, the bird thing?”
She looked startled, then uncomfortable, so he waved a hand. “You dinnae have to tell me. I was spying, something Evan told me not to do.”
Alanna arched a brow. “Are you in the habit of disobeying your Master?”
“Chronically, according to him. Of course, he’s very fond o’ the single tail, probably because using it properly is artistically engaging as well. You’ve no need to worrit on that yourself. Never seen him beat a woman. Well, a guid spanking turns him on now and then, particularly if the lass has a fine, soft—”
Niall. Really?
Just making sure you were paying attention.
You will wish I wasn’t paying such close attention when you land.
She was giving him that three-headed dog look again, but then Evan startled him. Kiss her, Niall. I want to see how she reacts.
Didnae ye just say, about tempered steel and all?
Do it. Don’t say anything to warn her.
Niall didn’t have any problem with the kiss, but he didn’t want to scare her. Tightening his hand on her hair, a reassurance rather than an attack, he moved his hand up her back, feeling the thin strap of bra beneath the sweater, hooking his thumb there as he eased her toward his face. A variety of expressions crossed her brown eyes. Alarm, recognition, determination . . . decision.
She caught him in the chin with the heel of her hand in a blow so smart it snapped his teeth together on his tongue. She surged out of his lap, stomping on his thinly shod foot with her booted heel, likely breaking two of his toes. In a blink, she was holding the syringe she’d used like a dagger.
“Lord Brian says this treatment is not pleasant if it’s not tailored to your DNA. You are disobeying and disgracing your Master. He deserves better from his servant. He did not authorize any sexual congress between us, you said so.”
He was a capable fighter, but he hadn’t expected the same of her. Her jaw was set, the hand clutching the syringe not even shaking.
Evan’s chuckle was grating enough that Niall envisioned breaking several of the skinny painter’s limbs. She just took care of your punishment for me.
Niall ignored that. “He did. Authorize the kiss, that is.”
“Oh.” Digesting that statement, she set the syringe aside. “I’m trained to repel unsanctioned advances. My apologies.”
“None needed. I should have warned you.” But I listened to my “Master,” like a damned idiot. “So why did you let me pick you up?”
“I sensed your intent was to move me, which I assumed might be our Master’s will. When you sat down, I thought he might be using you to help him experience what I am like physically. You did not seem . . . erotically involved. At that moment.”
“Lass, you’re a strange one. But you’ve got a braw punch.” As he wiped the blood off his chin with the back of his hand, she moved to the lavatory. Bemused, he watched her return with a wet paper towel. When she stepped up to him to apply it to his mouth, she didn’t hesitate, despite the fact that he had a foot of height and a hundred pounds on her.
“How did you know the kiss wasn’t motivated by his desire to experience you?”
“Because it felt more impulsive. Like your desire. I misjudged. I apologize to him for that. I will learn quickly, I promise. Does he still wish you to kiss me?”
With her face so neutral, she might have been asking him if Evan wanted a plate of broccoli. But he took a closer look. Tension hummed just below the surface, her body anticipating, needing . . . something.
Niall took the paper towel from her hand. Well, O Lord and Master?
Do you want to kiss her?
Now my wants matter? I expect you already know the answer.
Yes, which is why I’m denying you. Tell her no.
Niall turned to drop the towel on the sink. Then he swung back, caught her by the waist, twisting her to the wall with her arm behind her back. Using his knee thrust high between her thighs to keep her pinned, he held her with easy strength. As she struggled, trying to figure out ways to throw him, he stayed alert to any signs of distress. There were none. When she deduced he was making a point, not an attack, she stilled, submitting to his dominance in the matter. It sent a healthy surge of blood to his cock, but he put that aside.
“Evan and I are not quite what ye expect in a vampire–servant pairing,” he said against her perfect ear, taking a nice breath of that haunting scent. “You’ll come tae no harm at our hands. But you try something like that against me again, I’ll turn you over my knee, no matter what price I pay for it. I’m not a docile man, and I’m near three centuries your senior, lass.”
“My intent is to serve your Master, not to disrespect you.”
“Hmm. He said no to the kiss. For now.” Which of course meant now he was thinking about it far more than he should.
But while her breath had shortened, her emotions seemed blank. Maybe Evan had really stepped in it with this one. Yet when nothing else had eased her suffering, the two of them had been able to do so. Some things a man did, not because they were wise, but because they were the honorable thing.
It was a philosophy that had determined most of the forks in Niall’s life, and he didn’t see that changing anytime soon. Especially if it involved a fascinating lass.