Though he wore a T-shirt, she left that out, intrigued by the body beneath it that she’d not yet seen. If Evan had done a quick rendering of the body as he had the face, he would have known by touch and instinct how the broad back and shoulders curved, how the line of thigh connected to hip and buttock. But she could explore, based on her own eyesight, her own instincts, remembering the press of Niall’s body behind hers during the second marking.
She filled in a brown-tinted flesh tone, making him darker than he was, but scratching across it with nails and toothpick to create different textures, an abstract interpretation. When Evan touched Niall, did he imagine the smooth curves and ridges of muscles in paint?
She gave him longer hair, dark strands tangling down his back. She imagined him in kilt and hunting gear, traversing the craggy terrain of Scotland. He’d have scars from before he was a servant, but they might be faded by now.
Vampires might talk about things that had happened to them five hundred years ago, but an amenable servant would answer questions about that time period, providing fascinating specifics. She recalled making breakfast for a visiting Random one morning and learning about his life with his Mistress in Russia prior to the Bolshevik Revolution. Another time, she’d had the opportunity to talk to one who’d been in the industrial North with her Master during the American Civil War. Those discussions were a chance most human historians, unaware of vampires or their servants, would sell their souls to get.
As educated as many vampires were, most didn’t pursue scholarly endeavors. For example, Lord Brian’s scientific efforts had only been lauded in recent decades by the Vampire Council. As such, vampires didn’t maintain detailed histories. Was it because immortals didn’t feel the need to leave a record when they might be around forever, or at least far beyond when such a thing would matter to them?
Since Stephen had had so many second-marked servants, she’d often had to initiate useful activity for herself. She’d started documenting some of the things she learned, thinking it might be useful to him, the history of different vampires with whom he’d interacted politically. She supposed the Vampire Council had confiscated her handwritten logs when they ransacked his home for any clues to his whereabouts.
She’d sketched out Niall’s lower torso bare, massaging the paint into thigh and buttock, but now she added a dark kilt, one that slid up to his thighs as he sat in his bent-legged position. The knife driven into the ground next to him said he was ready for defense or dinner. His fingers lay light and ready on it, like how they felt on her skin.
It was rough, but her sketch practice had served her well. As she studied it, she realized Evan was standing there again, looking at her work.
“Not too bad,” he said, with an approval that warmed her. “If you enjoy it, you can continue painting while you’re here, whenever you wish.”
At this time of night, his gray irises were like the silhouettes of the mountains, illuminated by the moon and stars. “Thank you, sir. I won’t let it interfere with my assigned duties. Whatever they will be.”
He cocked his head. “Was that a push to give you duties?”
She bit her lip. “I am here to serve you, however you need, sir. I merely want you to be certain of my willingness to do so.”
“It’s bugging the hell out of her that you havenae given her a detailed list. That was her very polite way of nagging you for one.” By now, Niall had broken the branch and whittled it into three sharp stakes.
Her lips tightened. “It’s my duty to serve,” she said. “Not to be insolent.”
“You’re right. That’s my job.”
Obviously. She bit back the word before it crossed her lips, but from Niall’s bland look, that touch of coolness again, he’d caught it. Why did she keep responding to him like this? Yes, he was mocking everything she was, but that shouldn’t matter. She knew better than this.
“My apologies.” She nodded toward Niall stiffly, then Evan. “I was not intending to insult your servant, sir. Or you.”
Evan touched her chin, drawing her gaze back to him. “I haven’t given you any specific duties beyond supporting Niall’s efforts because I expect you’ll see where and how you might be useful even better than I would. Trust me; if I need something specific from you, you’ll know it. Like right now. Take off your clothes.”
Despite the fact that his words brought the confusion in her head to an abrupt stop, he maintained the same relaxed tone. That bare hesitation was all she allowed herself before she obeyed, reaching for the hem of her shirt and pulling it over her head, the braid falling loose against her bare back and bra strap, teasing the waistband of her trousers.
“Stop.” Evan tapped her shoulder with the tip of his brush. It was cool and damp from his last cleaning of it. “Move out in front of the canvas, toward that patch of grass where Niall is. Then I want you to take your time removing the rest. Do it as it feels right.”“Do you wish a striptease, Master? I am trained for that.”
“No. Focus on the view, the moon and stars. The night air, the sounds. Not me. I’m not here. Neither is Niall.”
Uncertain, she shifted to the spot he wanted, her hand resting on the slim belt of the cargo pants, fiddling with the button. He’d gone silent, giving her time to think over his words. Lifting her arms, she pulled the braid loose, began to unravel it. She dropped to one knee to do it, bowing her head as she combed the strands with her fingers. She’d liked how it felt when he did that, so it seemed a good way to find the track of what he was seeking.
Most women feel a primal connection to the moon, if they give themselves the time and exposure to feel it. Feel its light on your bare back, every exposed inch of your flesh. Feel the elements around you, the trees, the breeze, the temperature. The aroma of the forest. It’s all around you, like the paint that creates a full picture.
“You can paint the wind? The smells?” She whispered it.
“If I do it right, yes. The mind creates the picture, with all the senses at its command. In the end, everything is visual, even with your eyes closed. I’m going to be silent now. Take your time with it, and when it feels right to you, remove your clothes the way the elements direct you.”
Niall knew exactly which words had stumped her. When it feels right to you. Whenever Evan tried to get her to act on her own desires, that tension returned to her shoulders.
When the vampire shifted his gaze to Niall, he anticipated what he wanted, no thoughts needed. He removed his shirt, dropped it over a rock. As he crossed the ground, he knew she could hear him coming, for her head tilted, eyes still closed. Standing behind her, he touched the curve of her spine, bringing her to her feet. He slid his fingers into the spaces between her rigid ones, lifting her arms out to her sides. It brought their bodies into alignment, his chest and upper abdomen against her shoulder blades.
“Use my hands and body for balance. Feel the wind, sway like the trees do. He likes to watch the human form meld with the natural one. That’s what he’s ordering ye to do.”
Her shoulders immediately eased.
That’s cheating, Niall.
We have to help her get started. She doesnae ken how to make a choice that belongs to her.
She does. She did. For one key, fateful moment.
Aye. Look how that turned out for her.
He knew Evan wasn’t really pissed that he’d helped her out; it was why he’d wanted Niall to go to her. She’d begun to sway, and was using him for balance, her fingers curled over his straightened ones, her shoulders brushing his chest, her hair teasing his stomach, blowing against his thighs. Lord God, she was beautiful. Like some lovely Fae spirit, so fragile and elusive. Not even real.
But that wasn’t a beauty thing. It was as if her spirit was already half gone . . . or had never been called fully into her body. Perhaps she was a changeling, only she was pure sweetness, not a drop of evil to her. Her tongue could be sharp on occasion, but that was a woman’s way. That sharpness had surprised her far more than it had him.
Her arms dropped, elbows bending so she could slide her hands over her stomach. Niall unhooked the lacy bra she was wearing, stroking the straps off her shoulders. When he dropped it to the side, she straightened, stepped away from him. As she did, she lifted her arms the way she had when their hands were laced in the forest, only now she reached up alone to cup the moon in her palms.
As Niall stayed in her shadow, Evan watched them both. The Scot was one of the most graceful men he’d ever known, a fact made even more entrancing by how big and powerful he was. Guided by the touch of his hand on her bare waist, she molded her body back into the lines of his like a trusted dance partner. Opening her trousers, he slid them off her hips with her underwear, leaving all those pale curves exposed to the moonlight and their mutual male pleasure.
Niall left the garments gathered over her hiking shoes, so now she was like one of the slender trees Evan had photographed, the shoes and clothes keeping her rooted in place, contrasting with the slim beauty of the torso and limbs rising above them. She swayed against her pinioned state, caught in her own erotic response. Niall backed off a few feet, dropping to a knee to watch her. Evan snapped a couple of shots, knowing he could do a great deal with the expression on his servant’s face as well as Alanna’s profile when she finally turned to look at Niall. The wind lifted her hair off her shoulders, rippling it across her back. Even with his second mark, she was cold, a shiver rippling along her skin, but other parts of her were warm. And about to get warmer.
“You were rude to my servant,” Evan said.
Alanna’s head rose. A languorous movement, showing her sensual immersion, but as Evan’s words settled into her mind, she straightened, despite the clothes hampering her legs. Her head dipped down again, her hands going to her sides. A cultured and highly trained servant responding to his command, she was part of the power of the Vampire Council, those who knew nothing of quiet mountains and a moonlit gleam on a woman’s skin. Their loss, and he wasn’t in a mood to share. At least not with them.