"They draped me with rosaries." Absently he brushed a hand over one of the hardened scars on his chest. During the first year of his captivity, the burning pain and open wounds caused by the copper beads had been a particular torment. Yet in time the pain gradually faded, until he felt little more than a drawing, warm sensation on his unmarked skin, and nothing where he had been previously burned.
"But…" Nick's slight weight tugged at the side of the bed as she sat on the edge. "I know crosses don't burn you guys. Why would rosaries do this?"
"They were strung with copper beads soaked in holy water." More knowledge she should not have, but Gabriel found himself abandoning his reservations and explaining the Kyn's sole weakness. "Copper is the only substance that can harm us. It can cut our flesh, poison us, and prolonged contact with it results in burns like these."
She touched his jaw. "Why didn't that copper gag turn your face green?"
"The metal was impure, copper mixed with tin or pot metal." He turned on his side to face her, and had a sudden startling suspicion that she was as naked as he. "I can cover my scars with clothing, and compel a human to drive me home. You need not worry."
"Hey." Nick caught his hand in hers. "Quit trying to get rid of me so fast. I've got wheels, contacts, and I know what you are and what you need. I'll be your tresora until we get to your place."
All of the things he imagined doing to her flashed through his mind, and not one of them fell within the boundaries of tresoran service. This need for her would take his control, and Nicola's life. He also despised the thought of making her play the role of his servant. "It would not be appropriate. I can only cause you harm."
"Well, you can try." She was not upset; she was laughing at him. "I have other ideas."
"That is not what I mean." Gabriel allowed his fingers to trace the fine tendons in the back of her hand. "Claudio will contact the Brethren as soon as he regains consciousness. He will report that I am gone and give them a description of you. Dalente will protect me, but you must leave France as soon as possible."
"I can handle the holy freaks," she countered, flopping down beside him. "Besides, I can see them coming. You can't."
The brush of her body revealed that she had indeed shed all of her garments, and intense curiosity speared him. Were he not so ashamed of using her as he had in the forest, he would be on top of her now, whispering to her as he eased her thighs apart and slid himself into the flower of wet, soft heat between them.
"Nicola, what happened between us…" He didn't know how to tell her that it wasn't enough, that he wanted more of her than she could possibly survive. It would be the same as throwing down a dare. "I should not have put my hands on you."
"Not a problem. You don't have to touch me again." She started to rise. "You'd better get some sleep."
"No." Gabriel put an arm around her waist. "I meant, I should not have taken advantage of your kindness as I did."
"You know what, Gabriel?" She leaned close, until her sweet breath heated his mouth. "I'm not that fucking kind."
"I compelled you—"
"No one"—she rolled on top of him and straddled him, planting her hands on his shoulders—"makes me do anything. No matter how gorgeous and sexy they are, or how great they talk."
She did not understand l'attrait, or the depth of his own yearning. "There are ways I can influence you without even meaning to."
"I do what I want, when I want, with whoever I want. Hey." She sat up, tucking the notch of her sex on top of the half-hard ridge of his. "Maybe I'm the one using you. Did you ever think of that?"
"You make a poor choice. I can be of no use to you." Unless she kept wriggling about.
She bent down and kissed the tip of his nose. "You'd be surprised. I expect my vocabulary to improve two hundred percent by the time we get to Marseilles."
As she climbed over him to lie down on his other side, Gabriel tried to fathom what she had said. She seemed a mass of contradictions, with the confidence of a seasoned, experienced woman, the audacity of a rebellious adolescent, and the playfulness of a girl just coming into her womanhood. She did have a rather simplistic way of expressing herself, but he suspected it was due more to a lack of formal education than any defect of mind.
Unless…
Gabriel remembered tracing her features but not feeling any age lines or wrinkles, and a sudden, cold dread filled him. "How old are you, Nicola?"
She curled up against him. "I don't celebrate birthdays anymore. No family, so no one brings me any cake or presents."
The remark sounded offhand, but he heard the loneliness beneath it. "If you did, how old would you be?"
"Twenty-six, although I still get carded everywhere I go." The gruff voice again, this time tinged with resentment.
He relaxed. "Good."
"No, it's a pain. So, how about this thing with you?"He had not celebrated a birthday since rising to walk the night. "I am much older than twenty-six."
"I mean, how did this thing between you vampires and the holy freaks get started?" Her hair brushed his chest just before her cheek touched his shoulder. "Long story?"
He imagined condensing seven hundred years of their secret war into a comprehensive anecdote. "I think, yes, it is."
"You don't have to tell me now." She yawned. "We've got plenty of time."
Putting his arm around her and tucking her closer against his side felt only natural. "What else can I give you for helping me?"
"Some sex would be nice." She lifted her head. "Not now, but you know. After we sleep, before we get to Toulouse." Her voice became uncertain. "It wasn't just from being locked up for so long, was it? You do like me, don't you?"
Like her? He was half in love with her already.
Gabriel dared to lift a hand and bring her head back to its resting place. He had no right to claim her, not as young and trusting as she was. Nor would he reject her request.
"I like you very much." Her hair bubbled through his fingers, effervescent silk. "You must tell me if I ask more of you than you wish to give."
"Let's see: I've given you freedom, blood, and a quick but pretty good orgasm. It didn't kill me." She snuggled close to him. "Go to sleep, Gabriel. We'll figure it out on the way to your place."
Chapter 11
With Richard now holding John hostage, Alex had no choice but to abandon her plans to escape Dundellan. She spent a day analyzing Richard's blood and tissue samples while she tried to think of how to convince the high lord to return her brother to the States. The rats in her brain didn't want to run through that maze, however.
All she could think of was her lover, and where he was, and why the hell he hadn't come to get her.
The separation anxiety had gotten bad. Twice she was tempted to ram her head into an expensive piece of equipment to stop herself from thinking about Michael, wishing she could see Michael, and other symptoms of what she was beginning to see as total Michael Cyprien withdrawal.
When they got back together, she and Michael were going to have a very long talk about what it meant to be a sygkenis. He was going to tell her everything about it this time, because she wasn't going cold turkey like this again.
Other distractions helped. Korvel had posted two guards outside the lab, but the captain came and personally checked on her several times during the day. It was near twilight when he made an unusual request.
"Lady Elizabeth wishes to know what progress you are making," the seneschal said as he studied the beaker of fluid she was measuring into tubes. "What are you doing?"
"Mixing up some plastic explosive so I can blow this place to Mars." She gave him a guileless look. "Got any fuse cord you can spare?"
"Be serious, Doctor."
"You know what I'm doing, Captain." Alex queued the first profile pages from the analyzer to print. "Tissue biopsies, standard blood tests, and a little genetic look-see. Right now I'm breaking down your lord and master's blood into separate components. Who's this Lady Elizabeth?"
"She is my lord's wife."
"He's married!" Alex instantly thought of Éliane. Poor Blondie, in love with a two-timing monster. "Since when?"
"I believe the banns were posted in twelve thirty-four." He hovered behind her, looking down at the neat pile of reports feeding out from the printer. "You can make copies of those?"
"Sure." She tapped a few keys to produce a second set. "Although if you're going to give them to Lady Liz, you'd better call in a consultant. I doubt she'll be able to decipher them."
"My lady has some knowledge of the master's condition," Korvel said, "and is keen to follow what progress you make."
"Assuming I make any. What I found today only tells me that your master should be dead." She printed out duplicate reports and stacked them in a file. "Where is this chick? I'd like to meet someone who's put up with being married to the bastard and his bullshit for seven hundred plus years. She's got to have some very unique coping skills."
"Lady Elizabeth resides in the west wing." Korvel held out his hand. "I shall take them to her."
"Seriously, it really would help if I could speak with her myself." Alex felt the loose twist of hair at the back of her head slipping but kept her poker face on. "Richard claims to have been suffering from regular blackouts ever since he became a changeling. Maybe she can fill in some of the details that he can't remember."
"I shall relay your request to her." He took the file from her. "You have worked through the night and day. It is time for you to feed and rest."
Alex stretched. "Sounds good to me."