She’d never resisted his invasions, never thought about having the strength to resist his ability to scramble or plumb her mind. Her lack of resistance was her penance for betrayal. Now, though, battling to think through the pain, she thought if she could stay clear, hold the line long enough between them, Daegan would get a better grip on where he was.
Evan had forbidden her to do that. No, he’d forbidden her to not take the injections. She’d forgotten purely by accident, so this was different.
Women rationalize . . . She choked on a despairing sob. She was remembering his voice, not hearing it, because he would not be strong enough to override Stephen’s roar.
Think about shopping, the to-do list . . . But that would tell Stephen exactly where she was. She couldn’t endanger Evan and Niall. He would kill them for sheltering her.
She was his possession. Not to keep safe, but to destroy.
She should have told Niall to take her back. She’d made a fatal error. The next cramp knocked her to the floor. She was gripping her head, certain her skull was about to split.
“Help . . . Niall.”
He was already there. She’d woken Evan, she was certain. The wave of shame came with nausea. Niall held her as she jacked up from the floor, threw up into her own lap, into the beautiful silk skirt of the dress.
The thunder in her head drowned everything else out, but she was vaguely aware of Niall speaking to a half-dressed woman in bra and skirt, a matronly woman with steady eyes who knelt by Alanna when he rose. The press of his hand on her shoulder was gone too quickly.
She must have called his name, for the woman’s response penetrated the fog. “It’s all right, honey. He just went to get your medicine. I’m a nurse. It’s all right.”
He was going to drive to the cabin and back? Lost little girl . . . Adam dead and gone . . . You should just kill yourself now. Save your Master the trouble.
She froze. The idea that Evan would think such a thing hurt her deeply. But she wasn’t supposed to feel emotional pain, unless that was what her Master wanted.
You said it yourself. You wished I’d killed you . . .
It wasn’t Evan. She clung to that thought. If she concentrated hard enough, she could almost imagine she was hearing the artist, even as a far distant voice.
Kill yourself, kill yourself . . . you know you deserve death. I command it.
“Help . . .” She was gasping, back down on the floor, holding on to it as the world spun. She heard the woman saying they needed to call an ambulance, but Niall was telling her in a remarkably calm voice it would be all right, that she just needed this shot. He had the silver box of syringes. He’d brought a dose with him, planning for any eventuality. That was what a good servant did. She, on the other hand, had forgotten to take it.
The searing burn in her thigh was welcome, despite the pain. Usually she bit down on her tongue, rocked until the scalding fire subsided. Now she cried out, unable to contain it. The cramps and headache increased exponentially. The effect would last only seconds, but was intense enough to feel like an hour.
Stephen howled, then he was yanked out of her mind and sent away, like a cartoon character kicked and sent sailing over distant hills. Over those beautiful blue and gray mountains she saw out the front door of the cabin.
“She’s fine. She just needs a few minutes. Water’s splendid, aye. Chocolate if ye have some.”
Niall had her cradled against his chest, was stroking her hair. As coherence returned, she looked down at the lovely colors, splashed with blood and her breakfast.
“Niall . . .” She couldn’t believe how plaintive she sounded. Like a lost little girl, just as Stephen said.
“It’s all right, muirnín. Why didnae ye say anything? Never mind, Evan told me. You didnae want to be a bother. Because this is so much more convenient. When you’re back on your feet, I’m going to skelp your arse.”
She made a noise of regret, and he muttered a curse, held her tighter. “’Tis all right. Not your fault. None of it.”
Of course it was her fault. But she didn’t have the strength to argue with him about it. As the pain ebbed, the shame intensified. He wouldn’t let her dress herself. He buttoned her shirt, got her jeans started and had her hold on to him as she stood and he brought them all the way up, even managing the zipper and button.
“I’m all right,” she said hoarsely. “It’s okay. I can finish.”
“You’re the color of a snowbank, lass, and your hands are shaking. Let me help ye.”
He couldn’t imagine how much she hated those four words, but she was leaning against him, so she fell silent, stood in stolid misery while he finished. When he touched her face, she wouldn’t lift it. He didn’t push it, simply folding her into his body and holding her.
“It’s all right, muirnín. You dinnae have to be fucking invincible.”
She shook her head against his chest, but to deny or accept it as truth, she didn’t know. “Please don’t carry me. I want to walk out of the store.”
“All right.” He pushed her down on the velvet chair. “But only if ye stay right there. I’ll go pay for things and come back for ye.”
He pressed the chocolate bar and water the store manager had brought into her hands. As she gazed at them, he picked up the dresses. The damaged one had been tucked into a plastic store bag.
“I haven’t tried on the others,” she said. “So they should be put back. I’m sorry about the first one.”
Niall had made it clear that Evan didn’t waste money, and she herself had always been prudent with her Master’s funds. It made her all the more ashamed.
“The leopard print is one-size-fits-all, if ye’d like to reconsider that one. Spandex ’tis God’s miracle.”
She grimaced wanly. “I’d go to the wedding in a bedsheet first.”
“Ach, see? You thought you’d never be able to tell us what ye want for yourself.” His eyes remained serious, though. “You in a bedsheet would be prettier than the prettiest bride, lass.”
He held up one of the dresses, a silver gray fabric with a beaded diamond bodice and a fitted satin skirt that had a tight grouping of rosettes at the hem. “I’m buying this one. I like it, and I know Evan will. If it fits wrong, we’ll return it on the way to the wedding.”
“I can alter it.”
“Aye? Guid. Because my dress slacks have a hole in the side seam. I held it together with duct tape on the inside last time I wore them.”
Despite her condition, the thought of him attending a formal event with his pants held together with tape horrified her. He ran a finger down her cheek.
“Stay in that chair,” he ordered again, and then disappeared.
Typical man. She had no shoes to wear with the gray. She doubted he or Evan had a pair of stilettos or strappy sandals lying about. The one helpful thing about being in a large household with other women was they could borrow from each other. The thought wasn’t enough to make her miss them, though. Stephen’s domestic servants would have turned on her, same as the InhServs had.
As was appropriate, she reminded herself. She didn’t blame them, but it had hurt. The InhServs were a tightly knit corps, and she’d counted on that bond, even if she couldn’t call her relationships within it friendships.
Nibbling on the chocolate helped, but the shaking in her hands and quaver in the pit of her stomach were going to take more than the blocker and the chocolate to dispel. They weren’t related to the physical effects of Stephen’s attack.
This is it. The thought had exploded in her mind with that first cramp. Stephen had been found, Daegan had staked him, and only a few minutes of her life remained.
Then she’d felt Stephen’s presence and heard his voice. For the millisecond before the agony began, she’d been swamped by relief she wasn’t about to die.
Though she did fear being chained to Stephen eternally, she’d accepted that as her sentence for what she’d done. But now, after being with Evan and Niall, she feared other things. She didn’t want to leave them. As ludicrous as that sounded after a mere handful of days, it was the truth. Niall had even stated it baldly. From the first time both touched her in her delirium, Evan painting on her skin, Niall speaking those soothing words to her, she’d become theirs, taken into their care.
She’d picked up on enough of what the fight between Niall and Evan had been about that she knew Niall wanted the vampire to let her be whatever she wanted to be, since her time was so limited. Even so, the Scot exhorted her to choose the dress she wanted, following his Master’s direction. That meant some part of him believed Evan was right, because Niall wasn’t the type of man who did anything against his principles, whether vampire’s servant or no.
Who are you, Alanna? She remembered Evan’s question. Betraying Stephen had ripped her heart from her chest. She’d been paying for that choice ever since, but Evan had understood the deepest, most shameful truth about it. No one had asked her to say she was sorry for it and no one would. But if they did . . .
She wasn’t sorry. Not now, not ever. Not through all eternity, chained to Stephen’s soul.
Niall had returned. Setting the shopping bag down, he squatted in front of her, placing his hand on her knee. His touch was warm, strong. She was still disoriented, so she responded as trained. She parted her quivering knees for him, a female servant’s instinctive response to a Master. His gaze heated, registering why she’d done it. Serve Niall as you serve me. It was as easy as breathing to her.
“Why did you ask for the chocolate?” she said, trying for a normal voice.
He ran his finger along the jagged line of the chocolate bar, the place where she’d bitten it. It transferred some of the sweet to his finger and he stroked it on her bottom lip. When she licked it off, she caught the pad of his finger at the same time. She sucked the rest off his skin. His other fingers settled on her throat as he watched her. “Your pulse is still rabbiting,” he observed in a low rumble. “It’s okay, lass. You’re all right.”