Immortals After Dark 12 - Lothaire

accent thick.
    “And you just bought all of it for her?” Ellie snapped her fingers. “Just like that?”
    “Of course. She’s my woman.”
    “She must love you very much.”
    He said nothing, just crossed his muscular arms over his chest.
    “Does she?”
    “I’ve told you, she’s my fated Bride.”
    If he’d been telling the truth about never telling lies—which might be a lie?—then Ellie might view his answer as a deflection. “Do you love Saroya?”
    “When mortals ask me incessant questions, I customarily snatch out their tongues and watch them bleed to death.”
    Instead of being horrified, she thought, Definite deflection! Trouble in paradise?
    Making her tone casual, she said, “Good to know about the tongues.” Her red-tipped fingers trailed lovingly over the buttery leather of a coat. “Can I try this on?”
    When he shrugged, she slipped into the coat, eyes going heavy-lidded as she hugged it close to her. “Lothaire, I couldn’t have even imagined things like this.”
    “Again, I will accept only the best.”
    Like a goddess for a Bride, instead of a mortal? A deity, instead of a peasant girl he’d found so lacking that he’d watched her for years, disappointed by fate’s choice for him?
    And all the while she’d never known that a vampire had kept her in his sights.
    Seeming to make a decision, he strode to a polished dresser against the back wall. After pulling open a shallow drawer, he returned to his spot in the doorway without a word.
    “What’s in there?” Jewels. Huge. Shiny. “Oh—my—God.” She gasped. “Can’t catch my breath.”
    At once he traced beside her, grasping her upper arm, this time more gently.
    “Obliged, Lothaire. The glittering about blinded me.” And she couldn’t help but think that just one of those stones would probably float her entire family for years. Might keep the coal company off their asses. . . .
    “You react like this, even though you’ll never own any of it?”
    In a defensive tone, she said, “They’re still pretty. I’m still happy to have seen them.” She pulled against his hold, but he turned her to him.
    She stared up at him, wondering what it would be like to have a man buy her things like this. To have him want me so badly, he’d kill for me.
    His brows drew together. She noticed they were darker than his hair, bold slashes across a chiseled face with skin as smooth and pale as marble.
    As if unable to help himself, he threaded his fingers through her
hair.
    Normally, she loved to be petted like this, could be made docile as a kitten. But now a murderer was touching her. He let the strands sift through his splayed fingers, his gaze following the movement.
    Stroking, stroking . . .
    Surprisingly, some of her tension began to ease—
    He dropped his hand. “I’ll leave you alone in your suite for some time. You will be alone ,” he grated in an insistent tone. As if she were arguing that point with him.
    He turned toward a side doorway to a chamber connected to hers. His? Well, how cozy.
    “There is no escape, no telephone. Consider this room your new
cell.”
    She followed him. “Wait, what am I supposed to do?”
    “Go to bed at dawn. Accustom your body to sleeping during the day.”
    “And tomorrow? What then? You said I might have a month left to live. What do you expect me to do for that time?”
    “Put on weight.” He slammed the door in her face.
    Ellie glared at the panels of the solid door, her fists balling. “You asshole!” She yanked on the door handle. Locked!
    She swept her gaze around the room. My new cell? No matter how open and airy it was, she remained trapped. She hated being confined!
    Hurrying through the French doors to her balcony, she sucked in deep breaths of night air.
    New York City lay before her, all bright lights and energy. How badly she wished to be down there! She imagined all the places to explore, all the new and interesting people she could meet.
    But she’d never get the chance. Because there were mystical barriers. And goddesses and arrogant blood-drinkers.
    She strode back inside, snatched up her dresser stool, and chucked it at the boundary. The stool bounced directly back inside, bounding toward her. She started laughing hysterically until it connected with her shin. That was going to leave a mark.
    Ha-ha, Saroya. Black-and-blue’s your color. She was just about to run her face into the doorknob when she remembered she wasn’t to harm herself, else risk her