1255 B.C.
Abu Simbel Temple
Egypt, one of the greatest empires of the ancient world found itself in deep turmoil; the slaves demanded their freedom and each time the pharaoh refused, strange things happened as a result. It started with the Nile flowing red and things got progressively worse from there.
Egypt looked a shell of what it used to be; a barren wasteland struck by one calamity after another.
Now Egypt sat in darkness; the ninth calamity so far. Even Amun-Ra has turned his back on us, Nefertari thought. Two days with no end in sight to the darkness and Ramses was home from the Libyan front, leaving their eldest son, Amun-her-khepeshef in charge to Nefertari's chagrin.
She sat in silence at dinner with her pharaoh, the only sound the copious amounts of wine poured into Ramses' cup. Nefertari, now thirty-five, drank only water. She was with child again, about two months along. She'd yet to tell Cain or her husband-she wanted it to be her little secret for a bit longer.
Extra torches burned hot to combat the heavy darkness; it only served to illuminate the look of displeasure on Nefertari's face. The table boasted a meagre feast at best due to the spreading famine, and the Egyptian wine had a peculiar odor.
The question burned her throat; she had no choice but to let the flames escape. "...Have you spoken to him? To Moses?"
Ramses stopped gorging himself long enough to breathe, his exhale an aggravated sigh as he grumbled, "I have."
"And--"
"And my answer remains the same," he finished, his furrowed brow much more pronounced in the wavering light. "I'll not be dictated to-Not by him, his so called god, and certainly not my own wife."
Nefertari cut her eyes at him, sitting back in her chair. The man she used to love was no longer there, a vainglorious and callous changeling left in his place. In public, he was the picture of a gentleman, everything a woman wanted. In private...he was everything a woman dreaded.
"You've barely touched your food." he observed. He smiled at her in earnest, but she knew better. That smile used to disarm Nefertari, send her into a fit of blushing swoons when they were besotted teens but now...it made her want to smack it off his face.
"I'm not really hungry." she murmured, looking out into the darkness. Torches flickered along the streets, barely making a dent in the blanket of blackness that covered the sky.
"Hmph," Ramses grumbled, stuffing more food into his mouth. "Then why bother having dinner with me?"
"Because you yell at me when I don't." she replied flatly, folding her arms.
"And who's fault is that? Hm?" He polished off another cup of wine. "I wouldn't have to yell if you weren't so damned stubborn."
"So I'm to be corrected, am I? Like a mule?" she bellowed.
Her raised voice moved him to stand up and stalk towards her at the far end of the table. Nefertari shielded her face to absorb the blow she'd come to expect, but surprisingly Ramses pulled her out of her chair and into a hug.
"Shh...I love you, Nef. Always have and I always will. Come here." he crooned as he kissed the top of her head; she always smelled like jasmine.
As he pulled her into a slow dance he whispered, "We used to dance like this when we were children, do you remember?"
"I remember...you were kind to me then." She let him hold her, all the while shivering with disgust.
Ever so slowly, he tightened his grip. "I'm kind to you now; you just refuse to see it. I allow you to travel freely, I allow you to see our children. I allow you to keep that Kushite in our court..."
Nefertari stiffened. She was sure he knew about her affair, but with his hands so full with Libya he could never catch her in the act.
"I built this temple for you," Ramses continued. "I want you etched into history by my side. How can you say I'm not kind?"
Unable to listen to more Nefertari yanked herself free. "You built this temple for yourself-You've become so blinded by your own glory you can't see what's right in front of you! We can't go on like this," she moaned, tears streaming down her face. If only she could just leave, just run away with Cain and never return but--
A messenger ran in, leaning on his knees to catch his breath. "My lord...my lady...I bring urgent news from the front." he panted, standing up to address the sovereigns.
Nefertari wiped at her face, her makeup smeared around her eyes.
Ramses turned to the messenger, gesturing for him to speak. "Out with it." he barked.
The messenger wrung his hands in fear, looking between them. "Your son--the Crown Prince, Amun-her-khepeshef...has been killed. The Libyans attacked our camp in the middle of the night." He bowed his head. "My condolences, Your Graces."
Stunned, Nefertari froze. Not Amun...her firstborn, her pride and joy, their heir; he was still so young. A keening wail left her throat as she sank to the ground, this tenth calamity too much to bear.
A sharp pain settled low and made her clutch her stomach, knocking the wind out of her. As she gasped for air, the front of her white dress became stained with red, the stain steadily growing. Oh no, the baby...
The sight of blood made her vision narrow and fade, the shouting voices around her distorted as she succumbed to unconsciousness.
****
"Hrm..." Nathalie grumbled, blinking awake. That was the beginning of the end-she'd lost the child, contracted an infection and there was nothing the doctors could do; antibiotics were far off. Cain refused to accept it, holding his bleeding hand over her mouth as she lay dying. She was grateful for it of course, but she always wondered if that was where her story should've ended.
She smacked her lips with a frown; empathizing with the Lycan brought up some unpleasant memories. She made it a point to keep that to a minimum during their time together. Her relentless pragmatism won out again; she doubted it would move him to release her, so what was the point? Her eyebrow raised as she tried to move, momentarily confused when she couldn't stretch her legs.
Yes, that's right-the werewolf was still on her lap, fast asleep. His resting face brought out his sharp jawline and chiseled cheekbones. His raven hair grayed at the temples; he'd led a very stressful life from what she'd seen in his blood. Without thinking she moved a tuft of hair out of his face-he reminded her of a fairytale prince sleeping soundly under a tree. Her steady hand reached out to brush the stubble on his cheek...
Gaspard slept peacefully, dreaming of the visage of his late wife. This dream was so real-his mate was right in front of him, he could almost smell her. No...he could smell her; that same scent from all those years ago. Marie was ever elusive, remaining just out of his reach. If only he could reach a little farther...
With eyes still closed the wolf sprang upright and pressed his lips to hers. His arms, a Venus flytrap as they enveloped her, pulling her close. Her hands gripped his shoulders as his tongue swept into her mouth.
He kissed her desperately, thinking nothing of it when a fang grazed his bottom lip. Only the sharp pain of a bite brought him to his senses as he reeled back, the metallic taste of blood on his tongue. When he opened his eyes, he was greeted by the sight of the stunned vampire, her fangs poking out of her swollen lips. Oh no.
"I'm sorry," he panted, unwittingly licking his lips. "I didn't mean to-"
"Save it," Nathalie replied. "Kissing me is the least violating thing you've done so far." She scooted to the edge of the bed, running a hand over her hair. With her back to him she licked her lips as well, his blood shaping up to be the sweetest thing she'd ever tasted.
Before he could press any further the grandfather clock chimed in the hall. Already noon-they'd missed breakfast. He shook his head and loosened his tie.
"We'll discuss this later-Be ready in an hour." He quickly left through the adjoining passage, going to get cleaned up and into a new suit.
Nathalie took her time, wearing a knee-length cream-white dress with long sleeves, but now the bag sat empty. They'd have to go shopping again; there were tons of late-night shops in Moscow, if she remembered correctly. When she opened the door, Gaspard had his hand up primed to knock.
"Ready." she muttered, gazing up at him. His eyes seemed a lot calmer than before, more relaxed. He cut an impressive figure in his navy suit, light blue shirt, and cream colored tie which made a hint of a smile cross her face.
Gaspard looked at his tie then her dress, letting out a curt breath.
"I know what you're thinking-Dmitri is giving me his suits to wear, and I didn't even look at what they rang up in Shanghai--"
Nathalie shook her head. "It's fine. It's kind of funny; like those 'I'm With Stupid' and 'I'm Stupid' T-shirts people wear. You won't lose me in a crowd." she laughed.
He couldn't help but laugh as well; she raised a fair point.
"That reminds me-you only bought a few outfits. Since our plans have been...delayed to say the least, I'm going to need some more clothes if I'm going to be here for the duration."
"And I need some suits of my own, so this doesn't happen again." He gestured between them.
They made their way to the throne room where Dmitri was putting on a grand ceremony of granting favors and settling turf disputes. He spotted them when they walked in, and he gave his cousin a look he knew all too well: Get me the hell out of here.
Gaspard smiled and shook his head as they moved through the crowd, taking their spots as royalty and guest. Nathalie stood beside him, listening to the humdrum of court life. If only I could sleep standing up. Her face remained stoic, blank as Dmitri droned on.
When she thought she would fall asleep the Lycan's arm suddenly wrapped around her waist moving her to the other side of him, resting her back against his front. What the--?
She craned her neck to look--he'd moved her away from Sergeivitch, who stood right next to them.
Yuri merely waved, flashing a smile before he moved away, putting a few people between them. He'd catch that leech eventually, he just had to get her away from her French bulldog.
Nathalie scowled at him-if she weren't surrounded by so many, she'd take him on if that's what he wanted. Taking a minute to gather herself, her eyes fell on Gaspard's arm. His sleeve bulged from holding onto her so tight; if only his grip on control were as solid. His warm body thrummed behind her, and a chill ran up her spine. Something in her belly began to curl and tighten as he held her; desire? Fear? Perhaps a bit of both. Heat warmed her back, and she gently patted his arm.
"Easy..." she whispered.
From the other side of the room, Ivan tilted his head to the side as he watched the subtle exchange. Yuri was just being Yuri; all bark and no real bite to speak of. Why did Gaspard get so upset so quickly? And why hadn't he let her go yet?
Protect...mate...kill...Gaspard took slow, deep breaths as he watched Yuri disappear into the crowd. He was really pushing it. With the vampire clutched to him her scent wafted to his nose, a soft growl itching his throat. His control was hanging by a thread. After a few minutes his eyes went back to their normal green and he only looked down at Nathalie's incessant tugging.
"What?"
"Your arm."
Right. He let her go with a cough and stood beside her once more. After the ceremony, the court moved to the dining hall for lunch. When everyone else filed into the hall, he hung back with her in the den, leaning against the bar. He nursed his single-malt when he felt holes being stared into his temple. Unable to bear it longer than a few torturous moments he returned her gaze.
"What?"
"...thank you. For earlier with..." She tried to recollect his name-no luck. "That guy in the throne room-"
"Sergeivitch, and you don't have to thank me." He hadn't even realized he'd done it until she tugged on his sleeve. "Spoiling Yuri's fun is thanks enough."
"Hmph-No love lost between you two?"
"Allow me to put it this way-As much as I loathe your kind, I find your company comparable to his."
"Damn," Nathalie replied incredulously. "That bad, huh?"
"Oui-il est deplorable." Gaspard set his glass on the counter and watched the mingling crowd, shaking his head.
"Then I'll be sure not to wander very far." She crossed her legs on the stool.
"Don't wander at all," he said sternly. "I mean it."
That earned him a quick side eye from her. "Duly noted, Your Grace."
His nostrils flared as he kept his temper in check. Get it together, Gaspard! There was something about her that kept him on edge, something that defied all reason. He decided right there and then before he exchanged her for his daughter, he would find out why.
They joined the rest of the court in the dining hall for lunch where Dmitri sat at the head of the table. Gaspard and Nathalie were seated at his right, Ivan on his left.
"Glad you could join us, cousin." Dmitri said, watching as Gaspard pulled the upyr's chair out for her before sitting down. "I have news."
"Oh?" Gaspard leaned toward him.
"Ivan's been downloading transcripts all morning. Darien's asking other countries for help but most of them remain neutral. He..." Dmitri could barely contain his laughter. "He even called the Americans!" He lost it, laughing until he lost his breath.
"So far he only has Spain, Luxembourg, and Algeria with him, but they're feeling the pressure of losing their other allies if they keep him." Dmitri sniffled, wiping a tear from his eye-it was almost too beautiful to watch.
This was excellent news-Gaspard's lips curled into a grin. "I cannot thank you enough, cousin."
Dmitri waved a hand at him. "It's what I do."
Nathalie sat silent as they strategized how to best get Darien to surrender while Dmitri maintained his neutrality. Her mind wandered to why Cain went to the Hellscape himself and didn't send a General-was he making an alliance with the daemons again? If he did, that only meant trouble for the Lycans. She shifted in her seat as she thought about what that meant for her captor, and her brows furrowed as she scolded herself-Why do you even care?
****
October 22nd, 1510
Tours, France
Château de Tours
"Father, I beg you to reconsider," a pleading voice came from behind him. Prince Darien Garou held his breath as he waited for his father's judgement. Only nineteen years old, Prince Darien already proved quite the diplomat with his fiendishly good looks and silver tongue. He tried to use that same charm to get his father to reverse his decision, but King Henri wouldn't budge.
Henri Garou V, King of the French Lycans rifled through his desk drawers, desperate to find the letter one of his spies had written to him. His bright green eyes burned through his heavy brow as he searched scroll after scroll. Where the hell did he put it?
He'd searched his desk high and low until a few scrolls of parchment hanging off the bookshelf caught his eye, ignoring his son's pleas. He fisted through the scrolls; they had to hurry if they were to catch the reinforcements on the road.
"I'll have no more insolence out of you, Darien. I've said my piece on the matter and made the judgement I think is best."
Dismayed, Darien made an unintelligible noise as he stepped behind him.
"Father please--"
SMACK!
Stunned, Darien cupped his cheek, blood leaking between his fingers as he sucked in gulps of air, his wide eyes shiny with unshed tears. King Henri shook out his throbbing hand and retracted his claws-he wasn't the type to repeat himself, especially to his sons. Once he found the scroll he was looking for, he smoothed his hair back.
"It's not wise to rail against matters which have already been decided." He did a double take at Darien's distraught face. "If you insist on weeping like a woman you can stay here with your mother-I'll take your brother with me instead."
The clinks and clanks of chainmail drowned out Henri's grumbling as he left the study, whilst Darien attempted to process what just happened. His eyes glowed; Lycan eyes brightened with extreme emotion, and Darien's threatened to overwhelm him. He watched his father leave without another word, blood rolling down his fists as his claws cut into his palm. He didn't want to listen? Fine-he'd wait until the time was right.
****
Bordeaux, France
Darien's hand absently brushed his cheek, the smoothness of the scars dragging him kicking and screaming down memory lane as he sat high on his throne, the buzz of the room resembling white noise.
Garou Estates had changed drastically in the past week--The Garou sigil hung quartered with a shield of blue and gold chevron stripes, Darien's personal emblem. He'd had the other throne removed so he sat high in the center.
The nobles spoke amongst themselves, sharing their pain with one another-dissension bubbled beneath the surface. What should've been a sure victory degenerated into a possible stalemate. Darien's harsh stance generated one hell of a blowback: a lot of their trade deals hung in the balance with this power struggle.
Before their commiserating reached rebellious temperatures, Darien raised a hand to silence them.
"Tout la monde," he began, stopping all whispers. "I hear we're thinking of changing course?"
He shifted in his seat, his chest and hip on the mend but still tender. "It would seem the only road out is through-we must stay the course if victory is to be achieved."
Uneasy looks were exchanged throughout the meagre crowd. Movement from the center caught his eye, movement that made its way to the front as the dissident pushed his way through the throng of people. Darien feigned a smile as he bowed.
"Manus."
Armagnac stood up straight, not even bothering to smile. "Your Majesty, I ask you to reconsider your position with your cousin. The Americans rejected our trade offer, and we need weapons to fight off the rebels loyal to your brother."
Compared to their initial pledge of fealty to Darien when Gaspard first went to Paris, the room held considerably less people. They needed all the help they could get if they were to win this power struggle, not to mention the ongoing war with the vampires.
"I won't beg him for his help," Darien replied with a wave of his hand. "We may as well consider him lost."
"What did he say when you last spoke?" Armagnac inquired.
Darien rubbed a hand over his face. "He's staying out of it, he says. But he won't hand the bastard over!"
Angoulême hobbled forward, still healing from the wounds he incurred in Paris.
"Sire...what news of the princesse? With La Lupine we can--"
"Which brings me to my next point," Darien interrupted, holding up his hand. "Princess Dominique...La Lupine...has been executed."
No-Some covered their mouths in shock, others openly wept. Angoulême lowered his head solemnly. Darien pinched the bridge of his nose; a pretense of emotion. "Her loss is a huge blow to me. We can only hope that it was a merciful death; she was the long lost jewel in our hearts, and she will never be forgotten."
The room sat in aggrieved silence; she would've been a powerful bargaining tool. Not to mention insurance-the threat of replacing Darien with her was now moot.
"I will be the executor of her estate," Darien added. "And I promise that we'll have enough money to buy the weapons we need. As far as trade is concerned, we need to focus on the bigger picture."
The swathe of territory traditionally belonged to the heir to the throne; Aquitaine boasted the largest population, and as such brought in the most income. Gaspard ordered most of the revenue be put in a trust for her, even moved their seat here-fool. The princess was lost the night she'd been taken. She wasn't coming back, and they all needed to let her go. Darien raised a hand shushing all the chatter.
"Make no mistake; this is war, and it will take sacrifice." He'd hoped they could see beyond their own greed, but disappointment took hold yet again. "I need to know if you are with or against me."
No one uttered a word either way. Darien squeezed the armrest of his throne, incensed at their perceived disloyalty. Without a word he stormed out, stomping through the halls of the castle, ordering all portraits of his brother removed and burned. Just when he thought he couldn't be filled with more disgust, he came across one of his brother and family, Gaspard smiling triumphantly with his wife and child. "Especially this one."
****
Downtown Moscow
"We'll be here until sunrise if you insist on trying on every single thing," Gaspard checked his watch-he'd completed his shopping two hours ago. They'd been provided with a protective detail for the evening, armed guards waiting outside on the street. Growing ever impatient Gaspard stood outside the dressing room swinging his bags in his hand. "Would you hurry up?"
"I'm an odd size to fit! Hold your horses..." Nathalie stepped out in a gold mermaid evening gown, the color shining brilliantly against her brown skin. She held the dress together in the back as she looked into the floor length mirror next to him.
"Hmm..." She tried to zip it, only getting to the middle of her back. "Shit..."
Gaspard turned around at the sound of her struggling and stepped over to zip it for her-Very nice. His eyes lingered on the zipper, following it down to those full hips and insane ass of hers. If he were the Vampire King, he'd never let her out of his sight. His raptured gaze drifted to the mirror, catching her eyes in the reflection and he coughed. Did she see him looking?
"It's nice." he muttered quickly before perusing the activewear.
Nathalie shot him a dirty look before changing and brought her purchases to the counter. Gaspard moved his bags to one hand, sure he'd be carrying most of them as he went to pay. To be an odd size she found a lot of shit that fit.
After checking out he grabbed most of the bags, letting out an annoyed huff when they grabbed the same one.
"I can carry my own bags, Garou." Nathalie tugged it towards her.
"I've got it; let go," the werewolf grumbled; it'd been a long day and he wanted to pour himself into bed. Her small hands tried to pry his fingers from the handle. When she touched him, he was struck with another vision from the plane-their fingers intertwined with his head between her legs, him lapping her up like cream. Her legs clamped around his head, muffling his ears to her screams until he dropped her hands and pried her soft thighs open again, pinning her knees at her sides as he tasted her.
Shaking himself free he let go of the bag, sending her stumbling back. Amazed, Gaspard ran a hand over his face. "Mon Dieu..."
Nathalie frowned at him once she caught her balance. "What is wrong with you??" she whispered harshly as they left the store.
"Nothing." He nodded at the guards to bring the car around. "Get in." he ordered, pulling her into the car, bags and all.
"Hey!" She plopped into the seat and placed the bags on the floor, folding her arms. "Jeez..."
Moscow came alive at night; bright neon lights and flashing signs everywhere. Red and yellow lights made Nathalie do a double take; a pizza joint.
"I miss pizza..." she reminisced, a little hungry; she hadn't eaten since the luncheon.
Gaspard rubbed his eyes as he tried to get the images out of his mind. The vampire mentioning pizza served as a needle scratch-since when could she consume human food? Unless...
He observed her sagging shoulders, the falling corners of her mouth as they drove away. She did say all of her children were gone; he just didn't think any were that recent.
Immortal women became human for the duration of their pregnancy due to the energy an Immortal child consumed. Half-human hybrids were extremely rare, especially if the mother was human due to the child draining her life force.
It all became so clear as they headed back to the compound, why things between her and Cain were complicated; they'd lost a child or children together. He didn't dare ask-the pain of losing a child drove him mad; he could only imagine what it did to her over time. Once they were on the expressway Gaspard asked, "What kind of pizza?"
Nathalie glanced at him out of the corner of her eye; she didn't think he was listening.
"Pepperoni, with banana peppers." she answered.
Gaspard raised an eyebrow; an odd combination. With a shrug he decided to let it slide-he liked olives on his; who was he to judge?
"With garlic sauce, I hope?" He grinned.
"...You're not funny." she sneered, but the smile that crept onto her face said otherwise. When the car pulled into the garage, Gaspard glanced at the clock on the radio; half past three. This little vampire was keeping him up all night with her antics; he'd gotten more sleep than this on the battlefield!
She opened her door to her rooms and he finally set down what he considered her new wardrobe. She used to be royal, he considered; old habits die hard. Or in this case not at all.
"Thanks." Nathalie sat down kicking her shoes off and let her hair out of its tight ponytail. She shook her braids free with a sigh and was about to take her earrings off when she realized he hadn't left yet, so she turned to face him. "What?"
"...what happened on the plane-" Gaspard started.
"Changes nothing, I know-"
"Non," he countered. "I don't remember much; bits and pieces but-"
Nathalie put her hands up. "We really don't have to talk about it-"
"I do know you were too drunk to consent to any of it and...I want you know that I'm sorry." He stuffed his hands in his pockets as his eyes scanned the floor.
Nathalie stared at him, tilting her head-his remorse made him pitiful; she imagined his ears drooping if he were in his other form. After a few tense moments she sighed, "Apology accepted."
Gaspard raised his head, her redemption lifting his spirits only a little. He realized after this morning she'd probably bitten him to stop him. "And for this morning-"
She waved a hand. "All water under the bridge as long as it doesn't happen again."
He tilted his head in a solemn nod. "Very well."
Silence settled between them once more before Gaspard cleared his throat.
"Ahem-Goodnight, my lady. I'll set an alarm so we don't miss breakfast again."
He headed towards the passageway to his room, making it to the door when she called his name.
"Hey, Garou."
"Ouai?" He turned to face her.
"...what do you remember? From the plane?" She absently stepped toward him.
His mouth ran dry and the color rose in his cheeks. He quickly turned his head so she wouldn't see. "I thought you didn't want to talk about it."
"I didn't, but now I do. So tell me." She folded her arms, waiting.
"...Kissing you," Gaspard bit out. "Everywhere..."
Nathalie raised an eyebrow. It wasn't on track with what she remembered but there was a large chunk of time she couldn't account for. "Is that all?"
"You have a...landing strip down there," he recalled. "At least I think that's what it's called..."
Her eyes widened. It was all water under the bridge, but the floodgates were open. "You know what-"
"You tasted like peaches..." he rasped, running a hand over his salivating mouth. He stifled a groan as he tilted his head to the ceiling. How was he supposed to contend with the fact she was the sweetest thing he'd ever known? Even sweeter than his wife?
"Ahem-Thank you." She hugged her arms tighter around herself, feeling exposed. "I think that's enough-"
"And you? What do you remember?" His long legs put him in front of her in half a second, his eyes brightening as he searched hers. She was even more captivating up close-the beauty mark under her eye, the smoothness of her skin. "Dites-moi...please."
She feared she would dissolve under his stare, so she focused on the designs of the rug. "I remember..." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Asking you not to..."
His stare hardened. "And then what?"
"You told me to shut up..." She moved a braid out of her face, shaking her head. "I don't remember anything else after that..."
Regret twisted his brow. "You have my word nothing like that will happen again," He extended his hand. "Shake on it?"
She eyed his hand before clasping it. He was so warm...
As they touched, the bits and pieces came together-they'd drunkenly reached for each other in the night; clumsy, curious hands and lips roaming in the dark. It intensified quickly, starting with a kiss and before they could stop themselves, they were naked in each other's arms. Liquor broke down their inhibitions, both of them surrendering to the connection. Her hips undulated on his lap, his mouth attached to her chest. He'd begged her to go faster but she refused. Unable to handle the torrents of desire coursing through him, he flipped their positions and spread her legs wide.
"W-Wait no don't," she protested. "Don't put it in..."
He cut her off with a kiss. "Shut up..." His hands squeezed the soft flesh of her thighs as he slowly moved his hips, groaning harshly at the contact from this angle. She had nothing to worry about; he didn't trust himself to perform well, being so long out of the saddle. This was more than enough. The slick broad head of his shaft brushed directly over her pulsing bud, and it made a chill go up his spine, his back bowing from the force of it. "I won't; I promise...just keep your legs right there..."
A sharp cry left her lips as a bolt of pleasure bucked her hips upward, her toes curling on opposite sides of his head. "Ahn! Yesss..." she hissed. "Don't stop..."
Gaspard bent down and kissed her; he had no intention of stopping. The pleasure was insurmountable; his sweaty skin sliding over hers, her wetness drenching the underside of his length...His eyes rolled in the back of his head as he buried his face in the pillow by her head to muffle his moans; he wouldn't last much longer.
Nathalie clutched him to her, moving in time with him as he started to speed up. Every move...right on the dot-His hands slid under her to keep her melded to him and he ground with such pressure her legs began to shake. "I'm coming...!"
Her fangs piercing his neck catapulted him over the edge-Long moans left his throat as thick ropes of seed jutted onto her stomach, warming her cool skin. His grip on her loosened as the tremors left him, leaving him shaking.
She'd only taken a little, lazily licking the wound closed as her legs fell to either side of him. "Hopefully there's towels in the bathroom..." she panted.
Gaspard grunted, rearing back to look between them-they'd made quite a mess. His eyes dropped to gaze upon her quivering sex, sliding down her body to get a closer look.
"What're you doing?" she asked, slowly sliding her knees shut.
He didn't answer her, simply pulling her legs apart again. He just wanted a taste...
Nathalie gasped as she arched to the ceiling, her hands searching for something to hold onto. "Wai-wait..."
His hands snatched hers and held them against her thighs, his pleased growls of approval vibrating her sensitive flesh. Her delighted screams and gasps were music to his ears. He had no idea how long he stayed down there, he just knew when he lifted his head his chin was soaked and she was unconscious.
He drunkenly ambled to the bathroom for a towel, stumbling back into bed as he tried to clean her up. All of his bustling left his head spinning, and he lazily threw the sheet over them as he fell on his back, ready to give into the stupor that called him.
The vampire turned towards him in her slumber and threw her arm and leg over his sleeping body, snuggling into his side.
The revelation shook them both, both of them shuddering as the vivid images finally faded to the background. They were still mid handshake, his large hand clasped around hers.
Gaspard's grip tightened as his nostrils flared, taking in her scent. Hell's bells-he'd just agreed not to touch her any further, he gave his word. Why was the beast inside roaring for him to break it?
We didn't...he hadn't-
He was surprisingly tender, even in his drunken state. A sliver of relief took root in Nathalie, but only a sliver. The rest was beset with confusion. Why was fooling around with him so...intense?
She tried to release his hand, but he wouldn't release hers. Her eyes met his and she chewed her bottom lip, her senses heightened as the situation became clearer. There was more to the look he gave her, more than just desire. If she didn't know any better, she'd say it was pure hunger.
"I guess the one who should be apologizing is me," Nathalie said carefully. "I'm sorry I bit you."
"Hmph," His thumb brushed over her wrist as he tugged her closer, his lips right at her ear. An apology dripped from her lips, but he knew better. "No you're not..."
Her hazel eyes had taken on a golden tint, half lidded with lust as she laughed heartily. The timbre of his voice gave her goosebumps. His cologne was like catnip, beckoning her closer as she tugged her hand free, her arms linking around his neck.
"You got me," she breathed, reaching up to play with his hair at the nape. They were sober, yet the pull between them put her in a haze. She clenched her thighs together as she stood on her tiptoes, the hem of her dress riding up to the top of her legs.
The vein in his neck called to her like a siren's song, her fangs sharpening at the idea of feeding from him again. She'd barely resisted the temptation when she noticed his hands were at his sides, balled into tight fists-He was trying with all his might to keep his word to her.
"Is it this difficult to keep control with every woman you meet?" she asked.
"Apparently only with you..." he grated into her hair. He inhaled deeply, his exhales soft snarls. The other women dangled in front of him barely registered on his radar.
"Oh?" she asked, flattered. "Well..."
Before she could stop herself she slanted her mouth over his, closing the distance between them. It's just a kiss-one kiss and we'll stop here.
That was all it took to snap his control and his arms sprang around her, holding her tight against his rigid body. Her soft moan of approval goaded him to kiss her harder, glad she didn't need to breathe. His hulking figure made her step backwards until they leaned against the thick oak bedpost. His tongue brushed against her fang, and he froze. As enrapturing as he found her to be, the fact remained she was still a vampire. With an annoyed growl, Gaspard reluctantly pulled away, breathing heavily.
"Did I do something wrong?" Nathalie asked, her lips swollen and tingling from his intensity.
Gaspard rubbed a hand over his face, pausing at the sight of his wedding band. "Non... I did."
He collected his things and mumbled a quick "Goodnight" before leaving through the passage to his room. Sitting on the edge of his bed, his head swirled with thoughts of Marie. Peace evaded him when Nathalie kept invading those thoughts, those sacred memories he'd kept close for so many years. He needed to strengthen his resolve-what kind of warrior would he be if he found himself so easily tempted by the enemy?