Immortals After Dark 12 - Lothaire

was unconscious?”
    “No.”
    Ellie exhaled with relief.
    “My Bride was too fatigued, so we called it an early night.” Since Ellie had seen him last, he’d washed himself clean of blood and changed to a black button-down and dark slacks. “But there’s always tomorrow.”
    “If your aim is to make me miserable, just consider this mission accomplished.” She always woke from her blackouts exhausted and famished. Even if she wasn’t covered with blood, she felt grimy and used-up. “So what’d I miss?” She slapped her palm to her forehead. “Oh, yeah, last I remember, you’re a vampire.”
    “I am.” He was regarding her differently. But why?
    How could she study a person when she was offstage for half of their interactions? She couldn’t get a handle on his mood either. He didn’t seem furious or crazy any longer—just held himself with utter stillness.
    Like a predator.
    She swallowed. “Did you drink more of my blood while I was out?”
    In a snide tone, he said, “Somehow I restrained myself.”
    Relief made her brave, and she snapped, “Be sarcastic all you want to,mister, but you were tonguing my vein like a son of a bitch before I kicked toes-up.”
    “And you were loving it. Moaning and rubbing against me.”
    She gazed away in embarrassment. Because what he said was true. The pleasure she’d felt had been bewildering. . . .
    “You truly remember nothing of the rest of the afternoon?”
    She shook her head curtly.
    “How maddening, to have no control over your body. If you hate this so much, then why rise at all?”
    “Because this is my body.” She thumped her nearly bared chest, and the bangles at her wrists clanged. “Mine!”
    “Incorrect. I’ve staked my claim on it. And soon you’ll relinquish it to another female.”
    He was going to cast out her soul! Ellie recalled how defeated she’d felt when he’d threatened her mother and brother—until she’d realized she still had one play left.
    If she could get to a phone, she could make sure her family was hidden. Then there’d be no leverage for the vampire. Ellie could take herself out—and Saroya with her.
    This raccoon ain’t treed just yet. . . .
    “If you were ready to die over this, then why did you not recede and allow her to rule you?” he asked. “You would have simply slept inside your physical form, with no more pain, no fear. There would have been no need for me to rid it of your soul.”
    “I was ready to die to take out a murderer who kills good men. Not to give her a free by-your-leave.” She added the last absently, feeling as if something wasn’t right about her body.
    “Don’t continue to fight me, Elizabeth. Anyone who crosses swords with me loses. It’s merely fact.”
    “Huh?” Something was definitely amiss downstairs .
    With increasing irritation, he said, “Crossing swords. You losing . . .”
    “Yeah, well, maybe that’s because you’ve never met anyone like me. I’m more stubborn than anyone you’ve ever encountered.”
    “A ridiculous statement, from an ignorant girl. I’m thousands of years old. I’ve encountered millions.”
    “ Thousands? That’s ancient!” she cried. “So bloodsuckers are immortal?”
    “I’ll give you a moment to wrap your puny mind around that.”
    “Mighty considerate of you. But no matter. I’m still more mule-headed than anyone. I can out-stubborn a mountain. It’s just my nature.” Dang it, why did she feel so weird between her legs?
    Lothaire opened his mouth to say something, but she cut him off. “I have to use the restroom.”
    He exhaled in irritation and pointed toward a hall. “Through there.”
    Ellie rose from the bed, wincing at her pedicured but sore feet. A pair of stilettos lay at angles on the floor.
    Heels, Saroya? That’s just cruel. Growing up, Ellie had gone barefoot
a good seven months out of every year. In prison, they’d given her flip-flops.
    Shoes were foreign, heels torturous.
    Down a lengthy hallway, she spied the bathroom. The inside was spacious. A marble floor gleamed, counters to match. Plush towels too pretty to use hung from a heated rack.
    When she turned to examine herself in the wall-to-wall mirror, she gasped at her reflection.
    The black gown she wore was the finest silk, but it dipped down until her navel was visible. Her breasts were all but spilling out; the thin fabric clearly outlined what little of them was covered.
    Being exposed like this might have embarrassed her, but prison—and