Home > Sex and the Single Vamp(17)

Sex and the Single Vamp(17)
Author: Robin Covington

Her breathing was ragged, the tempo mimicking the rise and fall of her body on his own, the sex-slick noise of their joining the only other sound in this room. Deacon lowered his hand to where they were joined, his touch seeking out her clit. He spread her folds and began to circle the hard button, his fingers quickly becoming wet from her arousal.

Cici looped her arms around his shoulders using the leverage to grind down on him and take him deeper into her hot, wet sex. He released her nipple, lifting his head to meet her heavy-lidded gaze.

“I want to see you come. It’s the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen,” he confessed, his fingers moving rapidly between her legs. “I need it. Give it to me, Cici.” She cried out, her mouth open as she panted, sucking in deep ragged breaths and exhaling them every time she took him inside her body. Their bodies were slick with sweat, moving against each other in a frenzy as they both sensed just how close they were to reeling headfirst into that white-hot pleasure.

Cici came first. Her channel, already tight, clenched around him as the spasms of her orgasm took her over. Her rhythm faltered and Deacon surged up into her, f**king her through it and joining her in it as he emptied himself into her body with a shout.

She sagged against him and he wished he was totally undressed so he could feel her na**dness fully against every part of his body. He couldn’t get close enough; even buried in her heat was not enough.

From the first moment he’d seen her, he was hardwired to take care of her. He’d carried that obligation gladly, knowing the world was a better place because she was in it. She was a singular joy in his life that he’d cherished often from afar.

His bitter reaction to her rejection and their fundamental differences in the truth of commitment and forever were only enough to give him the excuse to keep his distance from her.

He loved her.

He loved her and the thought didn’t scare him anymore.

He’d loved her the moment he’d glimpsed her smile through the window of her father’s shop. Deacon had fought the attraction as long as he could until he just couldn’t bear the distance anymore. His love had pushed him to do the first truly selfish thing in his life—to attempt to bind her to him forever—and a small part of him had been relieved when she’d rejected him for another. The thought of giving himself away to another person to break or cherish, dependent on their whim, was terrifying. But she hadn’t rejected him. She’d loved him too, and they’d wasted several lifetimes being apart.

He was done wasting time, because now, if he couldn’t find a cure, they may only have what amounted to a blip on the timeline of eternity.

Deacon pulled back from her embrace, unwinding her arms from around his neck so he could see her face. He engulfed her tiny hands in his own, noting again just how very breakable she was. Her eyes, still blue but missing the fiery glow of vampire, were hazy with satisfaction.

“Cici—”

His cell phone rang on the desk, the heavy metal song loud and jarring. Deacon glanced down at the caller ID; it was from the Conclave. If anyone could find a cure it was the ancient men of letters who archived and preserved all the lore and mysticism of their kind.

“Sweetheart, this might be about your cure. Let me take it and then we’ll talk.”

“You promise?”

He leaned forward, taking her mouth in a kiss that gave her that promise and so many more. A lifetime’s worth.

He hauled her against his chest, picking up the phone and tapping the screen. “Deacon.”

“Deacon, I went to check on the progress of our researcher and he found the information you were looking for in an ancient tome from Mongolia. It’s an amazing book—”

“Stefan, please.” He laid his hand on the sweet curve of Cici’s back, feeling her tension as she waited to hear the outcome of this call. Her life hung in the balance and this guy wanted to discuss antiquities. “Get to the point.”

His response was decidedly cooler, but Deacon couldn’t give a shit as long as he got the information. “Yes, of course. The solution is quite simple. Your friend must drink the blood of her Maker and the curse will be reversed entirely. It must be from the vein, no bags or bottles. There are no side effects. No reversion back to First Phase. It will be as if it never happened.”

Damn it all to hell. Deacon’s skin prickled with unease as the words sank in. Sweat, cold and clammy, spread across his lower back as he tried to act as if nothing was wrong for Cici. He tapped her shoulder lightly, motioning for her to let him up. She slid off his lap, leaning down to grab the robe and wrap it around herself. He stood and readjusted his clothing, all the while listening to Stefan.

“Yes, really. This curse is very old and we’re all surprised that a younger witch would know about it. Whoever contracted for the incantation had it done by a very old witch or one with ties to one of the older covens in Europe.”

“Okay.” Deacon cleared his throat, glancing at Cici where she leaned on his desk listening intently. “So, that’s it?”

“No, there’s one more thing.” Stefan rustled papers on his end of the phone, pausing as he gathered his thoughts. “While the effects can be completely wiped out, the incantation cannot be fully destroyed. The curse will revert to the one who breaks it.”

“English please, Stefan.”

“The incantation will manifest in the one who breaks it. In other words, the Maker who supplies the blood will die… The final death. A return to the ash.”

Deacon turned away from Cici, hiding his reaction to Stefan’s words. “And there is no way to stop this?”

“No. It appears your friend will remain mortal unless her Maker agrees to return to the ash.”

“Thank you, Stefan. Tell Maude that her debt is paid.” Deacon hung up, not waiting to hear if the ancient vampire also knew when the apocalypse would come. He didn’t want to know. He knew too much as it was.

“What did he say?” Cici asked from behind him.

Deacon turned around and soaked her in. She was so beautiful, so generous with her heart and her kindness. There was no question about who would be missed by this world. Cici brought happiness and love to people; she embraced life with open joy.

He was a killer. He’d functioned as a high-end mercenary for many years, and while he tried to always pick the side of the righteous, there were many times when he should have thought twice about giving his assistance. He was brusque and rude, and he could count his friends on one hand and still have a couple left over. Based upon that alone, it wasn’t a hard decision.

But the number one reason was that he loved her.

He knew it was love because the moment he’d heard the outcome from Stefan he’d known what he would do.

He would die for her.

Deacon walked over to her and swept her up in his arms, her eyes widening at his speed. He traced her jaw with his fingers, cupping the back of her head as he drew her in close.

“I love you,” he said, pulling her into a kiss that was far too rough for her fragile frame, but he couldn’t help himself. When he told her about the cure and explained why he was the key, she’d never let him do this again. He’d never get a chance to tell her how he really felt.

Deacon released her mouth, his body trembling slightly with the weight of his knowledge. He just had to get it out and navigate the consequences.

“I love you, too,” she breathed out on a sigh, her happiness filling her eyes with warmth.

“Remember that.”

“What do you mean?”

“When you hate me. Please remember.”

“I don’t.”

“Stefan found the cure.” She gasped, her mouth opening to ask tons of questions, but he gestured for her to let him finish. “To reverse the curse you need to drink the blood of your Maker.”

Her expression crumpled almost immediately, grief darkening her eyes and filling them with tears. “That’s terrible. You know I don’t—”

“I know who your Maker is.”

Cici swallowed, her mouth opening several times before she finally croaked out. “Who is it?”

“It’s me,” he said, the words falling out of his mouth. The void of sound in the moments that followed was all-consuming. Nothing chirped, ticked, or shifted as that truth opened a chasm between them he would never be able to close.

Chapter Sixteen

“You son of a bitch.”

Cici had never slapped anyone in anger before. Yes, she’d fought in the wars, but that was different; that aggression was for an ideal, to stay alive, to end tyranny and rid the world of evil dictators. This was personal. There had never been a more personal act of violence as the one that connected her palm with his cheek.

It felt good. It felt so goddamn good she did it again, her palm now stinging from the impact. But the pain was first-rate. It fed into her anger and kept her from doing something like cry and ruin this moment with her bawling. She could cry later. Now she needed to get answers.

“What the hell happened? Tell me the truth.”

Deacon stepped forward and she backed up, holding her hand out in front of her, a sharp shake of her head warning him not to come any closer.

“Cici, please.”

“Just the truth. I can’t stand another lie.”

Deacon hung his head for a moment, his shoulders slumped as his dark hair fell in a thick veil that shielded his expression from her gaze. When he lifted his face, it was haggard, pain etched in every line, his eyes almost black with his emotion.

“The night your family was killed I was supposed to be there to protect you. I had promised your father. The FAR was gaining power and the rumblings were that they were going to attack our supporters. Your father was immediately a target.”

“So why weren’t you there?” She swallowed down the pain of that night. Time had long since taken away the ever-present ache of loss, but when she was forced back to that time, the pain bloomed fresh, slicing through her like a heated knife in butter. “Why did it happen?”

“Because I couldn’t face being so close to you, knowing you didn’t want me.” He ran a hand over his three-day-old scruff, looking over her shoulder as he continued the story. “I’d made your father a promise to always keep you safe and I broke it because I let my feelings override the danger I knew was coming. I was selfish. A coward.”

He wiped a hand over his eyes, the red smear of a tear giving away the depth of his emotion, but she would not be moved. Too many years had passed, too many lies to forgive, over a few tears.

“I got to your house and I smelled the blood before I’d even tied up my horse. I’ll admit that my first thought was of you, but I checked Benjamin and Charles first. The floor was covered in their blood, their heartbeats silent. I could do nothing for them.” He looked at her then, his head cocked to one side. “You don’t remember any of this?”

She shook her head. “No, I don’t remember anything except waking up in Tilly’s house two nights later. How would I know it?”

“Fair enough.” He settled against the desk, hands curling in a white-knuckle grip around the edge while he avoided her gaze once again. “I then turned to you and your father. There was so much blood, the cuts on your throats were gaping, raw…but I heard two heartbeats so I knew you weren’t gone yet. Your father grabbed my hand. He was weakening by the second and I knew I had to choose which one of you to save and he knew it, too.”

“He told you to save me.”

“Yes. He told me to change you, to make sure you lived, and he made me swear to always protect you.” Deacon lifted his eyes to hers, his hand reached out in pleading. “He was my dearest friend, a father to me in so many ways. How could I say no?”

“So you turned me and protected me out of obligation to my dying father?” She laughed in derision, bile rising in the back of her throat from her anger. “No wonder you ditched me with Tilly. No wonder you weren’t there when I went through First Phase. Who wants to babysit a sniveling, scared girl through a change that kills a quarter of new vampires?”

“I never thought of you as an obligation. I loved you. I loved you so much I could think of nothing but revenge and hatred for the people who did this to you.” He stood up, his eyes blazing with anguish and anger as he advanced on her. Cici stumbled backward, stopped by the heavy wooden door at her back. Deacon was so close she had to tilt her head back to look him in the eye as he continued his story.

“I tracked down every man who’d participated in or knew about this massacre and did nothing to stop it. I stalked them, made sure they were terrified, and then executed them slowly with as much pain as I could inflict. Some were so badly damaged their families only had their clothes to identify them with. I was full of hate, the beast on the rampage, and I did nothing to control him. I enjoyed it.”

Cici was panting now, her chest heaving as his latent rage fed through her and ignited her emotions to the same fever pitch. It was as if she could see the memories through his eyes, hear the sounds of that time through his ears, feel the crush of bone and the gush of blood on her skin.

It scared her. She didn’t want to hear any more and she shook her head, her whimper a plea for him to stop.

“No, Cici. You need to hear all of this.” He barely paused before continuing. “When my search led me to Daniel Allsworthy, I was like a crazed animal. I trapped him in his house and ripped him apart with my own hands and did the same to his hateful father. There was nothing left of them to bury. I left his mother weeping and terrified on the floor in a pool of their blood. The scene broke her mind and I was glad. It made me happy.” He held his hands out, looking at them as though they were still covered in blood. “I was homicidal with my guilt and rage over what happened. You were everything I thought was good in this world and my jealousy allowed them to rip it from you. How was I supposed to tell you I’d killed the man you loved to assuage my own conscience? You would have hated me, but no more than I hated myself.”

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