Dark heiress, p.38
Dark Heiress, page 38
part #5 of Ema Marx Series
They could be in the walls.
Was Jalmari walking into an ambush?
I pushed the thought away because it was too late now. I’d opened my fat mouth. Voiced my stupid ideas. And someone ... someone was going to pay.
I’d have volunteered myself if it wasn’t for the little kicks and pangs in my belly.
“Oh!” I paused near the stairwell. One hand gripped the railing as the other went to my stomach.
Concern creased Jesu’s brow. “Are you all right.”
I smiled and nodded. “They’re moving, I think.”
Jesu lowered his gaze to my abdomen, and he sucked a sharp breath through his teeth.
I chuckled. “Geeze. For all I know, it’s just gas, but ...” I took Jesu’s hand and placed it against my belly, where the fluttering occurred.
His brow furrowed. “I don’t feel anything.”
“Just wait,” I whispered as if my voice might frighten the twins away. Yeah, like they have anywhere else to be.
“Ema—”
A kick! It had to be a kick. Judging by the startled expression on Jesu’s face, he felt it too.
My smile stretched from ear to ear. “That’s your daughter. She’s so strong.”
Darkness came like a storm cloud over Jesu’s gaze. “How do you know it is her?”
“Because her brother’s always back here when they do the sonograms.” I moved Jesu’s hand to my left side, but he yanked it away. I glanced at him as a muscle feathered along his jaw. He looked at me, then looked away. Head bowed as though he were ashamed.
Jesu turned away and climbed the stairs. I followed at a slower pace, my lower lip between my fangs. When we reached the landing, I grabbed his hand, stopping him before he could go farther. He looked back at me, and something like a whimper sounded in his throat. “Ema ...”
I shook my head. “No, you listen to me, husband of mine. I have eight months. Eight months. Then I am nothing to them. A story. The woman who gave them life but nothing else. You have forever and a day. So whatever you saw in your vision ... whatever troubling thing you’re struggling to tell me or not tell me ... don’t. Just don’t. I don’t want to know. I love them, Jesu. I will always love them. Let me believe they will be safe and loved and normal because to me they already are.”
Jesu stared at me for what seemed like an hour but was only a few seconds. Mouth tight, he nodded. Not in agreement. Not in resolution. But as though in obedience. He would comply simply because I wished it. Somehow that only made me feel worse.
I looked away, cheeks hot and eyes stinging. “I’m so sorry I’m leaving you behind with whatever it is you saw.”
“That is my curse to bear.”
I looked up at him and suddenly wanted to be anywhere but here. “Get me something to drink while I talk to Dad? Please.”
He nodded, then clambered past me.
I didn’t move—didn’t dare turn around to watch him walk away, nor continue up the stairs alone—until the soles of his boots stopped hitting marble. Then I drew a breath and finished the ascent to the North wing without him.
I found Mom in the kitchen, surrounded by the heavenly scent of cinnamon and sugar. She wore a white cardigan and jeans, and lorded over the stove while making French toast.
“Where have you been?” she asked.
“Busy.”
“They work you too hard. Late hours aren’t good for my grandchildren.”
Dad sat at the breakfast bar, nursing a cup of coffee while watching the news. The anchorman on the television screen announced the latest story in the language of the locals.
I chuckled. “Do you even know what they are saying?”
“Not the faintest,” said Dad. “But I know a riot when I see one.”
Riot? I paid closer attention to the footage airing across the screen. Judging from the darkness, the incident must have occurred last night. The images showed men and women in dark hooded sweatshirts breaking windows, setting cars and buildings on fire, grabbing women and children off the street. The innocent humans disappeared into the shadows, dragged into dark allies and behind large dumpsters, only to fall out of the sky seconds later. If they weren’t dead before hitting the asphalt, the impact certainly killed them. Unmoving, the bodies looked like lumps of clothes along the sidewalk.
Most of the assailants wore masks, scarves, or sunglasses to hide their identities, but a few were bold, letting the camera capture irises so dark they seemed to absorb the sheen of the flashlights pointed at them by the authorities.
Rebels.
They attacked the police too, dispatching them in swift preternatural motions; the camera too slow to track the details.
They’re not attacking the camera crew, though. Several of the vampires walked right past the news anchor with a sneer. They want to be seen.
Jalmari was right. Victor intended to overhaul their entire way of life.
Please be careful today, I prayed.
“Honey?” Dad faced me. “Are you okay?”
I quickly clamped my trembling hands together. “I need to speak to you. Privately.”
“Eat first.” Mom set a plate in front of me with three slices of fluffy French toast.
Dad scowled. “Hey. That was supposed to be mine.”
Because I couldn’t remember the last time I’d eaten, and because I didn’t want to give Mom reason to argue, I scarfed down the meal.
Mom nodded in approval and then pointed the spatula at my father. “Be patient.”
Dad sipped his coffee. When Mom turned her attention to the stove, Dad eyed me and upped his brow. “I hear they have a library in this castle?”
I nodded. “I’ll show you.”
Dad stood and pressed a kiss to my mother’s temple with a murmured, “Be right back.”
She waved him off, busy adding butter to a hot pan.
We exited the wing, but since Mom didn’t have supernatural hearing, I didn’t wait to tell Dad about Rick. I brought him up to speed in the hall before the balcony, explaining how Rick was a traitor to his own people, how he outed my marriage to Jesu—and oh yeah, by the way, your daughter got hitched without you, sorry—how Jalmari was determined to give the throne to his brother anyway, and how Jesu was just as determined to accept it. But most of all, I told Dad about my sentence. About the R.E.D. giving my daughter to Snow Chayton.
“You’ll go back to the Brotherhood, won’t you? You’ll look after her, right?”
“Of course, pumpkin.” Dad looked shell-shocked as he dragged his fingernails across the front of his shirt. “Did they say anything about your mother or me?”
I wrinkled my nose. “I didn’t ask. Why?”
He shook his head. “No reason.”
This wasn’t what I wanted. I wanted to be coddled and reassured. I wanted my father to make things right. To make me feel safe. But as Dad’s gaze trailed back the direction we had traveled, I knew he was more concerned about Mom than Jordan.
I’m a twenty-three-year-old woman. The time for running to Daddy is long since passed. We hardly even knew each other. Mom, though, he adored her.
Still, the rejection hurt and I hugged myself. “You know what, forget it.” I turned and stomped toward the balcony.
“Hey now, wait just a minute. She’s my granddaughter, too.”
“Is she?” I snapped while pivoting to face him. “’Cause that implies that I’m your daughter, and right now I’m not so sure.”
“Ema, that’s not fair.”
No, it isn’t. “Life’s not fair.”
His chocolate gaze narrowed. “We looked for houses in Berlin, your mother and I, when it seemed like you might stay there a while. I made her promise not to tell you because I didn’t know if the R.E.D. would allow it. Any guesses what we’ve been doing since we landed here?”
My jaw slacked at the implication. “Y-you’ve been looking for a house? Nearby?”
“Wherever they end up.” Dad shrugged and then nodded.
I flatten a palm against my stomach, the other against my heart. “Dad ...”
“Despite what you think of me, Ema, I will not make the same mistake with my grandchildren.”
Dry tears pricked the backs of my eyes and I flung my arms around my father’s neck. “Thank you!”
He tensed, as though the hug was unexpected, then folded his arms gently behind my spine. “It’s okay. I remember the mood swings.”
I laughed. “Word of advice? Never call a pregnant woman moody.”
“Noted.”
Sara appeared from around the corner with a box in one hand. Seeing us, her dark lashes flew wide and she startled, nearly dropping the items in the box. “Oh! Ema! What are you doing here?”
“Are you okay?” I released Dad and stepped in the princess’ direction, reaching out to help steady the load.
“I’m fine!” She turned away, jerking the box out of reach.
I dropped my hand and arched my brow. “What you got there?”
“Nothing.” Her gilded gaze darted from side to side, and she seemed to backtrack in her mind. “It’s for your mother. They’re, er, cookbooks. Grandmotherly things. You wouldn’t be interested.” She shuffled past, keeping as much distance between us as the corridor allowed. Dad opened the door for her, and it wasn’t until she stepped past the threshold that she finally turned her back to us before slipping away into the kitchen.
Dad snorted. “Lovely girl, but I think they missed a few screws.”
“Thing is, I know exactly what they’re up to.”
Dad nodded. “Pretend to be surprised.”
I smiled in agreement. “Will do.”
I descended the steps to the lower level of the ballroom as Jesu entered from the dining hall, and Naamah came from the second wing. We met in the middle, though my attention went to the wine glass in Jesu’s hand, scarlet liquid sloshing from side to side with each of Jesu’s long strides. My mouth watered at the metallic scent.
“They’ve gone,” said Naamah. He looked at Jesu. “I suppose it is never too soon to prepare for the ceremony. Come with me.”
Jesu held the glass in my direction. My stomach growled loudly, and I went weak in the knees with want. But I resisted, dismissing the offer with a wave of my hand.
“Keep it. There’s no training room here to work out my ... side-effects.”
Jesu chuckled softly. “Take it to my room. I will join you shortly.”
“But practice?” I protested.
“I already know how to waltz.” A small grin curved the left side of his lips. “And I was a man before the Norse dialect even came into being.”
I scoffed and then wrapped my fingers around the crystal flute. “Bragger.”
He winked then followed Naamah across the cream and black marble.
At least he’s in a better mood.
I carried the glass to the fourth wing, stopping myself twice from idly lifting the drink to my lips, and set the flute on the kitchen counter. My hands wrung over each other, and my throat parched, but if I drank it now, the bloodlust would likely wear off by the time Jesu got back—no matter how quick he promised to return. I wanted to save it for when he was naked and beneath me.
Though I’m sure he’ll have no objections to me sampling a bit of his essence again.
The memory of Jesu’s life force dashing against my tongue—how the euphoria made every nerve in my body hum to life—sent a yearning between my legs. Even my breasts felt tender beneath the stiff bra cups. Though that might’ve been pregnancy hormones.
I decided to climb the spiral stairs to the loft where Jesu kept a collection of vintage pinball machines, a television set so large and old it only had four channels, and a Pong arcade cabinet. Curious, I went to the cabinet and pressed the start button. To my surprise the ancient two-dimensional graphics sprang sluggishly to life. I chuckled to myself and grabbed hold of the joystick. Anthony would love this.
Before I could lament on the thought, the single-pixeled ‘ball’ flew across the screen, and I wrenched the joystick side to side, bating the pixel in the opposite direction. It was the dumbest thing I had ever played, and yet I couldn’t stop. Each time I missed and the dreaded ‘Game Over’ banner flashed across the screen, I punched the start button and resumed play.
After what felt like a few short minutes, but was probably closer to half an hour, Jesu’s scent wafted against me, sending a few nigglings of pre-warning before his heavy footfalls sounded from the corridor. Just a few ... more ... minutes. But my concentration was off, and I missed the pixel by a mile. It flew past my paddle, and the screen flashed. Game Over.
“Ema?”
I jumped at the sound of Jesu’s voice coming from the kitchenette below.
“Up here,” I said while tearing myself away from the arcade game. I went to the edge of the loft and leaned over the protective railing. Jesu’s long locks fell back as his gaze lifted to mine. A crooked smile graced his lips.
“What are you doing up there?”
“Beating your high score.”
“Oh?” He arched his brow. “That sounds like a challenge.”
“You’re on.” I chuckled as he climbed the corkscrew stairs, but a flash of green light halted my breath. At first, I thought it was the stained glass in the windows opposite, but no. The pale jade glimmer came from a ring on Jesu’s hand. Apollyon’s philosopher’s stone. “Where did you get that?”
Jesu paused at the top of the steps and lowered his gaze to the ring in question.
“Before Jalmari left, he gave it to Naamah to give to me.” He met my gaze and drew a deep breath. “I have your ruby as well, though I am afraid it is no longer yours. I am to use them to pay off the R.E.D. in the event the representative arrives before Jalmari and Rick return.”
My cheeks squelched into a wince. Of course, we had no intention of actually giving the gems to Victor. It was smart of Jalmari not to take them. I shook my head. “I don’t care who has the ruby as long as it isn’t me. That thing is a hazard in my hands.”
Jesu nodded in agreement. “So,” he gestured to his collection of games, “pick your poison.”
I scoffed. “Well now that you’re here, there’s something else I’d rather do.”
Jesu arched his brow and narrowed his gaze. “Oh?”
I nodded.
“What did your father say about Snow?”
The inquiry sounded like an afterthought as Jesu’s gaze lowered to my hips and he stepped toward me. I stepped back. There was a couch pushed against the wall opposite the arcade, and I kept an eye on it while taking a second and third step back. Jesu walked with me, hands resting on my hipbones. The heat of his palms sent excited shivers to my groin.
“He’ll go where she goes,” I murmured while lifting my hands to Jesu’s capable shoulders. “You should let him help. They mean well, my parents.”
“I never thought otherwise.” His lids hooded his eyes, making crescents of his emerald irises. A shadow fell over half of his features as the tweed fabric of the couch’s armrest bumped against the back of my thigh. But instead of shrouding his desire, the dimness only served to amplify the hungry look reflected in the sheen of his cat eyes. My mouth curved as desire trembled through me. Jesu slid his hands to the front of my pants, letting his fingertips drag across my skin. Trails of heat blazed where he touched me.
I pushed onto my toes and angled my mouth towards his, kissing him. He growled, a low throaty sound, and I pressed the entire front of my body against his. His palms slid over the thick of my ass and he squeezed the mounds. I licked his fangs, and the wound that no longer existed on my neck flared to life with a dull ache, as though the memory of what I sought had re-woken the memory in my own muscle. I lightly bit his lower lip, pulling it between my teeth.
Jesu responded with a hiss. Both hands flat against the tail-end of my spine, he ground his erection against my crotch. Too many clothes. They need to come off.
As if reading my mind, Jesu slid his fingers under the elastic of my waistband and tugged both pants and panties down to my knees. Before I could reach for the button of his jeans, Jesu brought a quick hand to the nape of my neck. He gripped my hair in his fist and gently, yet urgently, gave my head a firm tug. I yipped in surprise as my chin pointed to the ceiling and my spine arched. My first instinct was that I would fall, and I tensed, grabbing onto his arms for dear life.
But Jesu held me steady, the weight of my upper body braced by the hand that gripped my hair. With his other hand, he pulled the hem of my shirt up to my neck. The arch of my back had lifted my breasts as though placing them on display for his perusal. The girls bobbed in their lace cups, rising and falling quickly with my haggard breath. I thought Jesu would unclasp my bra or maybe just reach in and pull them out of the cups, but he did nether, seemingly content to watch them in their current habitat.
Then again, the black lace was transparent. He got more on display than just cleavage.
“I want to do so much to you.” The words sounded like a conviction as his gaze lowered past my breasts, dropping to the expanse of skin that tapered toward my navel. The scar—the brand Apollyon had carved into my flesh—was still present. But it no longer deterred my feral husband as it once had. Rather, he laid his free hand flat against my flesh and slowly, gently, glided his palm from sternum to labia.
My lashes fluttered as I tilted my head back and purred.
Jesu stroked the lips between my thighs, making me weak in the knees. “So, so much,” he murmured.
“Mmhmm,” I agreed. He entered me with a finger, and I cried out, wanting more.
Jesu smirked. “Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?”
Does he have any idea what he is doing to me? I couldn’t even talk. Bent over backward, my upper body tensed with the sensation that I would fall against a hard floor at any moment, while my lower half was putty. Utterly useless putty.
Not that I complained.
Jesu withdrew his moistened finger, leaving a gaping hungry chasm between my core. If it weren’t because I could see him popping the button and unzipping his fly from the periphery of my vision, I would have protested. Instead, I dug my fingernails into the arm that held me and sucked an anticipatory breath through my teeth.
