K. R. Treadway
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Blood and Lace: Chapter 28
🕑 Added 2024-06-23 15:56:48 +0000 UTC[ A/N - I can't believe we're here already. When I began posting installments of Blood and Lace many months ago, I promised 26 chapters and 60,000 words. I have now delivered 28 chapters and 72,000 words. I also promised no cliffhangers, so this entry ends the "official" offering of Blood and Lace on this Patreon.
There will, however, be one final bonus chapter next week. It essentially marks the conclusion of Book 1. The problem, of course, is that there is no Book 2. That bonus will end in a cliffhanger, so consider yourself warned. And if you'd like to see more of Nicholas's and Della's story, please let me know in a comment or message—it might just push Book 2's timetable up. Thank you so much for reading! ]
“Vânător.” Della repeated the word, her pale blue eyes locked on his. It obviously wasn’t English, but Nicholas had no idea what it meant.
“Della—”
“Stand,” she commanded. There was a strange urgency beneath the word. A yearning.
Nicholas kept his eyes on hers, sensing that now wasn’t the time to ask questions. He was still half-dazed, but suddenly his gut was knotting in a strange mixture of fear and anticipation. He splayed a hand against the wall and laboriously rose to his feet, keeping the weight off his bloodied knee. Every instinct was telling him that something primitive was happening, something dangerous and barely controlled.
She’s not going to turn me. The thought came with a puzzled relief, but he knew it was true. This wasn't about making him a vampire. Della knew his mind on the subject, and she had also described the act as a kind of sacred ritual. He saw a hint of ritual, but there was too much…need to consider it sacred.
“You defeated one of the blood,” she whispered, and he thought it carried a note of wonder.
“Yes,” he replied, uncertain of what he should be saying. “I don't, uh, think he'd been a vampire for long. And your blood gave me the immunity—”
Nicholas fell silent as one of Della’s cool fingers pressed against his lips. Slowly she trailed it down until it came to rest just beneath his chin. His heart was pounding as hard as it had during the fight. She applied the faintest pressure, and he slowly tilted his head up. Higher…until he was staring at the caged light in the grimy ceiling. Until his throat was utterly exposed.
A small eternity passed before he felt her hair brush his jawline. With exacting slowness she leaned in further. He felt her breath on his neck. Despite his exhaustion and pain, his body flushed with arousal. Two pinpricks of sensation—her fangs—delicately brushed against his sensitive skin. But she didn't bite. Slowly…slowly…she dragged her fangs along his neck, charting twin trails of sensation that burned white-hot in his mind. He bit down on a groan.
Then she was straightening, pulling away, and he lowered his chin and looked at her in a kind of baffled awe. Della’s lips were parted, and he could just see the points off her still-extended fangs. Her eyes were dilated, reducing their haunting blue color to a thin ring. She swallowed, seeming to return to herself, and started to turn away.
He reached out and touched her chin.
A flicker of surprise, and then an unmistakable fury crossed her face. Nicholas saw the ancient and terrifying power in her glare, and felt the full measure of her power. And he was afraid. Della’s anger was leashed, but he doubted something so elemental would remain controlled for long.
He should have stopped there, left well enough alone, but he couldn't. Whatever this mystery was, his connection to her was at its center, and she was worth every danger. Gathering his courage, Nicholas trailed his finger lightly down her gently pointed chin, while she watched him with that barely contained power blazing in her eyes.
There could be no weakness now, no hesitation. He felt like a mortal trespassing in the domain of the gods, risking everything to steal a priceless treasure—or a dark goddess. There was no doubt she could hear his heart hammering, but he kept his face impassive and his gaze unwavering. With the same slow speed, he applied gentle pressure.
For one wrenching moment she was still, but then he felt the resistance abate. Della allowed her chin to be slowly raised…lifted until her throat was completely exposed. Reverently he lowered himself into her presence, into her heady scent of earth and cinnamon. He opened his mouth, poised over her throat. With no fangs he’d just have to improvise.
Nicholas nipped her lightly with his teeth, then traced a line of kisses along her neck, flicking her skin with his tongue. He was rewarded with a barely detectable shudder and indrawn breath. It took his last reserves of willpower to separate.
They stared at each other, uncertainty and hunger in the air between them. Nicholas still wasn't sure what the hell had just happened, but he had been wrong about one thing: it had been sacred in its way. He felt it in his soul. In his heart. He could see it in her eyes, the way they were slightly widened in hushed apprehension over what had just happened.
Then Della’s limbs blurred, moving so fast that her fingers were already wrapped around the back of his head and twined into his hair by the time his fevered mind caught up.
“Del—”
She pulled him into a crushing kiss and he felt the dam of his own need give way in the face of hers. They stood in near silence, exploring each other's lips and mouths with increasing intensity. Nicholas grabbed her hips and pulled their bodies together. She instinctively ground herself into him and moaned.
That broke the spell. In another shimmer of movement she’d separated herself and was suddenly standing a few feet away. The faintest color suffused her face, very different from the typical vampiric blush he was familiar with. She looked shocked and mystified. And so, so beautiful.
Nicholas knew it was the rising tide of physical desire that had prompted Della to distance herself. He felt it just as strongly, but for him it was familiar territory, not unexplored wilderness.
“Are you…okay?” he managed. It was a somewhat ironic question considering his own mouth felt bruised.
She nodded, licking her lips. “We need to go.” She cast her gaze around, looking anywhere but him. “I’ll take the Libertine to the roof. He can greet the sunrise.”
“All right.” Nicholas knew there would be little evidence of a body an hour after dawn. Just a pile of filthy clothing and an eye-watering stench.
“I left the blood that Roger gave me at the base of the stairs. Grab it.” She frowned. “Please,” she added. Nicholas watched as she scooped up the Libertine, holding the body at a distance to avoid the gore. In her hands the vampire seemed to weigh as much as a stuffed toy. Seemingly unburdened, she ran up the stairs. Nicholas took a moment to gape. He was very aware of how strong the species was, but seeing Della run up steps while carrying a much larger mass struck a discordant note, like he'd wandered into a different reality.
Shaking his head, he started down to the next landing, clutching the railing like an invalid. This is what happens when you move with a fast crowd. He managed one amused laugh—but the rest of his air was needed for breathing. At the bottom of the stairs he saw the envelope, a bulky package in insulated foil. He picked it up. Cold to the touch. Nicholas regarded it a moment, then started back.
He wanted to question the blood’s origin, confirm that it had been…ethically sourced. But not tonight. He was too tired. And if he was being honest with himself, he was secretly pleased that Della had access to blood that didn't require her getting close to someone who wasn't him. It was a petty thought, even possessive. He’d try to rise above such base emotions once he’d recovered. Maybe.
Nicholas got all the way to the fourth floor before Della returned. He was just retrieving his bag from the trashcan when she stepped through the door. His eyes were drawn briefly to hers, and he felt that powerful frisson pass over him. It was becoming dangerously familiar. Then his gaze moved down and he was reminded of the blood stain there, almost as dark as her lipstick.
“Della…your shirt.”
“I am well.” She briefly lifted the hem to reveal a glimpse of creamy skin. Nicholas’s mouth—and brain—went momentarily dry. That part of her was indeed healed, flawless even. He mentally added another place he would have to kiss in the near future. The list was getting lengthy.
“Shipshape,” he agreed, wishing it didn't sound like a croak. Della tilted her head, and then he saw her realize the reason. She raised her chin and her expression reflected the smallest glimmer of satisfaction, if not outright smugness. She strolled over and waited as he secured the blood in the pack and slung it across his frame.
“How is your knee?” she asked.
“Not great,” he admitted. “I can manage a brisk hobble.”
“How far is the truck?”
“Three blocks.” He nodded in the direction.
Della paused for several seconds. “There are still Libertines in the streets. Not many…it’s unlikely we would be seen. However…”
“A limping man is basically ‘blood in the water?’ ”
Her mouth firmed and she nodded. “The ones that are out tonight seem to be reveling, celebrating the flaunting of our traditions and edicts.”
“I could give you the keys and you could drive it back here. That is…if you know, um…” He trailed off.
“How to drive?” She arched an eyebrow, but didn't appear offended. “I don’t prefer it, but I can operate a vehicle.” She hesitated.
“You don't want to leave me.” he guessed.
“We should stay close,” she finally replied. He didn't press her. This Della, the lean-and-mean version who kissed like it was a martial art, clearly disliked admitting her concern for another. But the thought warmed him just the same.
“Agreed.”
She nodded, letting the silence stretch out. After a moment she glanced at him, opened her mouth to speak, and then frowned. Was this related to his safety, or was there something else she was reluctant to mention?
He raised his eyebrows. “What is it?”
“Since you are unable to move quickly,” Della began, her eyes avoiding his, “I could…get us there faster. That is, if you didn't…” she sighed. Someone less attuned to her might think she was embarrassed, but Nicholas realized she was annoyed.
“Are you offering to carry me?”
She gave him a guarded look. “It makes sense. Your leg is hurt.”
Understanding dawned. Della was irritated because she was forcing herself to be diplomatic. Because she suspected he would be offended. Because he was a man.
Now it was Nicholas's turn to be irked. He could hardly blame her—he knew men who would have refused on principal. But they were idiots. He only wished she’d given him the benefit of the doubt.
“Yeah, that makes sense,” he said.
“But?” She was staring at him, eyes pre-narrowed.
He blinked. “But nothing. It’s a good idea.”
“It…is,” she agreed, somewhat redundantly. “I thought…”
“That I would refuse an offer that saves me three blocks of limping? Or pass up a chance to get your hands on me?” He smirked. “Not likely.”
“I…all right,” she said, seemingly at a loss for words.
“Della, coming from someone who is used to having his ass kicked on the regular, you can take this on faith: the only thing I’ve got that isn’t fragile by vampire standards, is my masculinity.” He grinned and spread his arms. “Please…take me away from all this.”
