Vampire's Prey

Chapter 30: His Lap

I jump at his voice.

How did he know I was watching? I was as silent as a mouse. He didn't even glance in my direction.

I step out of the shadows and grab my torn tunic from the kitchen counter. He's on the left side of the couch, so I take a seat as far right as I can. I'm not joining him because I want to be near him, but because he's the only other person in this creepy building.

He glances at me before returning to his book. I'm welcome here – beside a vampire, on his furniture. He's a soldier of a foreign army, and he wants me in his home. I never imagined being in this position, living with a vampire.

Running my fingers through the tunic reveals a long cut on the right sleeve and a small hole in the chest area, matching my own injuries. I thread the needle and begin with the sleeve. Sewing a crisscross pattern, the two sides are pulled together as I go.

The fire burns a perfect distance away, enough to keep me warm, but not too much to be uncomfortable. Soon the hole is sealed, but it'll need some reinforcement if I want it to last. I flip the sleeve inside out and attach a leather patch over the cut. It'll strengthen the area while being invisible from the outside.

Satisfied with my work, I thread my arm through the sleeve and give the repaired area a few tugs to make sure it holds.

"Let me see," Rahlan says.

I pass the tunic to him, and he inspects the repaired area.

"'Tis like new," he says with a puzzled expression.

"I made clothes whenever there was spare linen. We couldn't afford to buy from a tailor."

"You need not worry about that again." He speaks as if I'll be trapped under him for the rest of my life.

The fire radiates its heat over me, and my body sinks into the couch. I run my fingers over the small hole in the middle of the tunic, deciding where to start.

Rahlan turns a page. His book is bound in leather and lined with silver thread. The golden title glints in the firelight, drawing my eyes to symbols too complex for me to decipher.

"What are you reading?" I ask.

"'Tis a story about a prince that falls in love with a princess, but he's forbidden from marrying her," he says.

"What happens?"

He smiles. "I've only begun reading."

"Will you read it to me?" I always loved when Jacob would tell the stories he'd heard from those he'd met on his travels.

"That'll slow me down. You'll need to do something in return."

My lips make a thin line. What is he planning?

He puts the book aside and pats his lap. "Lay here."

"No." I cross my arms and slide as far away as the couch allows.

"Suit yourself." He opens the book again.

I watch his eyes jump back and forth as he finishes each line. Not a minute later, he's trying to suppress a laugh. There's comedy too?

I slide over to him.

His lips curl into a smirk. He places the book on the table beside the couch, making room on his lap.

"You better read from the beginning." I lay my head on his legs, facing away from him.

He rests his hand on my side, his soft touch surprising me.

I push the hand away. The agreement was only to lay on his lap.

He clears his throat and turns to the first page. "Harris sprinted through the field, leaving a trail of broken stems in his wake. The seeds and dust stuck to his sweaty brow. He needed to reach the homestead before they found out – or more specifically, before his mother found out."

The fire's warmth makes my eyes scratchy. They drift closed, and I nestle into the soft couch. Rahlan caresses me as he reads, his hand trailing from my shoulder to my hip. I'd swat him off, but though I don't want to admit it, it's soothing, making my limbs heavier than stone.

* * * * * * * *

Something moving my body brings me back. My scratchy eyes blink open before sealing shut again. Rahlan's carrying me. I let my head loll back in his arms, too exhausted to readjust myself.

He lays me down on a cool material. Peeking at my surroundings reveals the bed's fabric glowing blue in the moonlight. I twist onto my side and ball my fists up in the blanket, embracing it. Feathers plump up the soft pillows, and the sheets are smooth like silk.

My boots are pulled off my feet, exposing my toes to the cold air. He unclips my belt and slides the stiff leather pants off my legs. I don't mind sleeping beside him in my underwear. This wouldn't be the first time.

The bed shifts beside me, and I'm engulfed in his arms. The feeling of his cold skin shocks me at first, but I soon adjust as he begins to warm.

The fine sheets and plumy pillows hug my frame, whisking me away.

* * * * * * * *

I rub the sleep out of my eyes, bringing the room into focus. The bed's four pillars support a canopy embroidered with beautiful images of mountains, rivers and sheep. The sun's rays are beginning to peek through the drape covered windows, brightening the room.

Rahlan's arm is around my middle. It's warm. He's always warm in the mornings despite feeling cold the night before, sort of like a blanket.

He slides me on top of his chest. I try sit up, but the hands on my back keep me pressed against him. My body isn't awake enough to struggle.

His nose creeps to the base of my neck. "Prepared?" he asks.

"Mmhmm," I mumble.

He bites his favorite spot. I lay limp on top of him. My whole body is raised with each breath he takes. I'd imagine it would be uncomfortable for him, but he doesn't appear bothered. I weigh little compared to his strength.

His fingers pinch the wound until it's healed.

He nudges me off him. I sit on the side of the bed, scratching my head. The curtains are swept aside, allowing the bright sunlight to flood the room.

My eyes follow Rahlan's muscular frame as he walks. It's unusual to see him half undressed. Even in sleep he'd wear his shirt, but I suppose he doesn't need it for warmth now that he has thick blankets and an insulated stone bedroom.

He opens the wardrobe, the action causing the muscles on his back to form ridges. That's why he can pin me to a chair with one hand. How would he feel if we magically swapped places, if I was the one who could overpower him with one arm? I bet he wouldn't be so arrogant then.

"Which do you prefer?" He holds out two dresses – one dark purple with fine thread that reflects the sun and the other a sky blue with white frills on the sleeves.

"The purple makes your eyes pop," I say.

His eyes narrow for a moment before he tosses the purple dress to me. "Then that will show everyone who you belong to," he says.

I run the fine fabric through my fingers. The threads are packed so tight that I can barely tell them apart. These are clothes of a noblewoman, meant for lavish banquets and balls. "I'll stick with my leather armor," I say, "And what did you mean by everyone?"

He tightens the belt around his waist and ties his shirt. "Your tunic is repaired?" he asks, ignoring my question.

"Almost." The chest still has a hole from his sword.

"My pet cannot be poorly dressed." He slides his coat over his shoulders. "It would not serve well as a first impression."

"First impression? Who are we meeting?" I ask, brushing off the pet comment.

His curved sword slides into the sheath on his belt with a click. "I have a village to subjugate."