K. R. Treadway
patreon
Blood and Lace: Chapter 21
🕑 Added 2024-05-05 15:00:09 +0000 UTC
Nicholas, happily dazed, leaned back against the table. Neither one of them seemed capable of looking away. Della’s expression was one of mild bewilderment, but a sharpness in her eyes hinted at a hunger for more than blood. It wasn't wishful thinking—she had begun cataloging his body with a distracted gaze, lingering on certain areas long enough to make him self-conscious. He ran a hand through his hair and coughed a nervous laugh. She blinked, and he barely caught the flash of a vampiric blush.
“I should…” she began, then stopped. He watched her straighten and assume a credible likeness of her usual reserve. “I need to gather myself. Re-do my make-up.”
“Oh, sure. Of course.”
Della hesitated, then he saw a flicker of a smile. “Nicholas…your face is in need of a wash.” She exited the kitchen with surprising poise.
Nicholas absently touched his lips and looked. Dark red lipstick. He grabbed his phone off the table and took a selfie. The resulting picture resembled someone who’d flunked out of clown school. He laughed, then started washing his face in the sink while humming a cheery nonsense tune.
God, that woman can kiss!
Pricking his tongue on her fang had been a last-second inspiration. As a recent initiate into vampiric feeding, Nicholas was all too aware of how close the experience paralleled sexual pleasure—at least when Della was involved. He’d hoped that combining the two would cause her desire for blood to “jump the track” in a more…physical…direction. Imagining her a moment ago, disheveled and stirred up, sent another wave of longing through him.
Don’t fuck this up, Nicholas.
The spontaneous and sobering thought doused his ardor. He’d done an impressive job of playing “wise lover with infinite patience,” but how long could he keep it up? Della was—at least for now—relying on him to guide their physical explorations. It was a Herculean task. The half-remembered advice of his childhood therapist could only get so far when his heart wouldn't stop pounding like a jackhammer and he was incapacitated by lust…
Footsteps brought him out of his reverie. He finished rubbing his face with a washcloth and turned to see Della leaning her shoulder against the doorway. She was as pristine as before, her make-up once again flawless. Only…she wasn't exactly the same. There was something new in her expression, a subtle regard when she looked at him, even a hint of coyness.
“How’d I do?” He gestured towards his face, trying to ignore his nervousness.
She walked close enough for him to detect a fresh application of her fragrance, a sophisticated earthy scent with hints of cinnamon. It suited her perfectly, and Nicholas already found it more enticing than the aggressive perfumes Jessie favored. Della took the washcloth and gently dabbed at his cheek. “There.” Her mouth quirked. “Now your secret is safe.”
“My secret?”
She leaned forward until her cheek brushed his and her heady scent enveloped him. “You made out with a vampire,” she whispered. The sultry words entered his ear and made straight for his groin. He wasn't sure what her super senses were detecting, but he felt her cheek move against his as she smiled.
Della pulled back and he saw a flicker of strong emotion briefly, like a sunbeam breaking through a flat gray sky. He couldn't identify it, but it made him feel a breathless kind of hope. She looked away and tossed the washcloth into the sink. When she spoke, her voice had turned brusque. “I have to go out. I have business downtown. You should get some sleep.”
“Can you talk about it?” he asked.
She cast her gaze down, emphasizing her eyelashes. “There’s not much to say. I’m still…seeking information.”
Nicholas nodded, then suddenly recalled everything that had happened before Della had scrambled his priorities.
“Oh! I have a bit. There's someone trying to find out about you.”
“What? How do you know that?”
Nicholas quickly relayed what he’d learned at the Gilda Devota cell before his brawl with Mike. When he finished, a faint crease appeared between Della’s brows.
“A silly conversation about vampires and dresses?” she mused. “You’re sure it's not a coincidence?”
“Before I qualified as a hunter, I did intelligence and analysis. I think it's highly likely that the mole was trying to confirm that you hadn't been nabbed by the raid.”
“Do you think they did?” she asked.
He considered, then nodded. “The safe bet is to assume your enemies know you're alive. If a vampire in a wedding dress was found, the rumor would have spread like wildfire and the mole would have heard.”
“That was the intention,” Della muttered darkly, but didn't elaborate.
“The good news,” Nicholas continued quickly, “is that they have no idea where you are. I'm the only one of my group who knows about you. So, as long as you haven't been seen while you've been out…”
“I've been very careful.”
He folded his arms. “Then the bad guys have a nasty case of heartburn right now. You’re in the wind. Lurking.”
“Preparing to strike,” she said. He was relieved the flash of fury he glimpsed wasn't directed at him.
“So…what are you planning?” he asked carefully.
Della folded her arms in an unconscious imitation of his own pose. “It’s difficult to go into detail, Nicholas.” He detected a note of distress in her voice. She didn't want to tell him, and she didn't want to discuss why. His analytical brain jumped to the most likely reason.
“Because there are secrets you’d rather not share with a hunter,” he said slowly. A tightening around her mouth told him he hadn't quite managed to scrub the hurt out of his voice. She unfolded her arms and hesitantly rested a hand lightly on his forearm.
“I do trust you.” The words were feather soft. “But regardless of any mutual compatibility, we can't deny that there is a…factional rift between us.”
Mutual compatibility. It was a somewhat clinical description, but the acknowledgement helped cushion the blow. She was only pointing out the obvious. He sighed, considering. “Right…so I guess we’ve arrived at one of those ‘significant challenges.’ ”
He lowered his arms and placed them—after the barest hesitation—on her hips. She shifted restively, but he got the impression his touch wasn't unwelcome. This was still so new to both of them. “But this doesn’t have to rise to a tragedy, Della. We may resemble star-crossed lovers—”
“Star-crossed lovers?” She raised an amused eyebrow. “How sentimental you are, Nicholas—not to mention presumptuous.”
“I'm not only sentimental, I'm downright sappy. I also accept the presumptuous charge. Lock me up.”
She placed her hands over his, giving her an unintentional heroic pose that just made her look more badass. She studied his face. “I may prefer sappy.”
He felt his face heat and emitted a half-delighted, half-embarrassed laugh. “Well we can still go by your term. We have ‘compatibility.’ ”
The proximity of her body was distracting. He ran his thumbs upward, feeling smooth skin above the waist of her pants. She shifted again, moving almost imperceptibly closer. Nicholas forced himself to step away. He shoved his hands—already missing the feel of her—into his pockets.
“Sorry, getting side-tracked. What I mean is…I believe we can do this without compromising who we are.”
She tilted her head, considering him for several seconds. Then: “When you and your hunter friends discover a vampire living quietly by themselves…what do you do?”
Stake and bake. The slang term jumped into his head unprompted. Staring at Della while the phrase echoed in his mind brought a surge of guilt. “We…my cell…eliminates them.”
“No exceptions?”
Nicholas shook his head, feeling like an ant under the magnifying glass of her gaze. “The Gilda Devota views all vampires as monsters,” he mumbled.
“There.” Her tone was clipped and emotionless. “You see?” She walked past him into the living room. Agitated, it took Nicholas a moment to follow her.
“Wait,” he pleaded as she reached for the front door. “Just wait.” She slowly lowered her hand, but kept her back to him. Nicholas stood in the kitchen doorway, not wanting to disturb the precarious balance between them. “Since we're talking hypotheticals…let’s say our cell finds a vampire living quietly by themselves.” He swallowed, unnerved by the irrevocable step he was contemplating. “Only this time, before the hunters start their operation…I tell you first. What would you do?”
Her shoulders hunched slightly. “It would depend on what I knew about this vampire.”
Nicholas took a step into the room. “He’s a killer. I don’t mean accidents or mistakes, but a creature hunting for sport. He’s got bodies stacked in the basement like cord wood.”
A sharp intake of breath. Then she turned to face him. “In such an instance I would wish your cell good hunting. If a vampire hunts humans, they must expect humans to hunt them. I would not interfere.”
The thick knot of trepidation tightening inside him suddenly came undone. Della had truly meant what she’d said earlier: she respected life. Her distaste of the theoretical vampire confirmed it.
“However,” she continued, “let’s consider the reverse. What if I knew this vampire was careful not to take human life, but simply the blood they needed to live. What then?”
“Then…they should be warned,” Nicholas declared, satisfied it would be the right thing to do. “I wouldn't be able to stop the attack, but at least we could help them get clear.”
“We?” Her appraising look had softened a bit.
He nodded stiffly. “If need be. I'm interested in protecting humanity, not murdering without cause.” And that's what it would be in Della’s example…he knew that now. The Gilda Devota’s aims were worthy, but for the first time he could also see his guild’s unchecked fanaticism for what it was.
Della took a step closer. “So the next time your group targets one of us and their nature is uncertain…you will tell me? Speak true.”
Nicholas’s decision had already been made, but the gravity of declaring it formally gave him pause. He took a steadying breath. After a moment he closed the distance with another step and held her ageless gaze without flinching. “I’ll tell you.”
“In that case…I will reveal where I must go tonight.” Her head sank and she suddenly set a hand on his chest. “Nicholas…how can this not eventually drive us apart?”
He exhaled shakily, transfixed by the pressure of her fingers through his shirt. “By sharing information on an equal basis…”
“…we will inevitably end up betraying our own kind,” she finished.
“…or we’ll be staying true to ourselves,” he countered, tilting his head so he could find her pale blue eyes with his gaze. He saw the apprehension and vulnerability in her face, just as he was certain she could see his own fierce feelings laid bare.
“Staying true? What does that mean to you?” she asked.
“It means…respecting the sanctity of life.” The words felt right, authentic to both of them.
Her brow furrowed. “Staying true to the sanctity of life…” Slowly—as if pulled by an inexorable force—she leaned into him. Her body was a live-wire of tension. “Staying true to each other,” she added, so quietly that Nicholas wasn't sure she’d intended to voice it aloud.
“Yes,” he breathed, unable to help himself. He brought his arms around her and leaned his chin against the top of her head. In the same hesitant way, she brought her other hand to lay on his chest. By slow degrees they melted into each other. Her refreshing coolness the perfect counterpoint to his warmth.
“I’ve been imagining this for some time,” she said almost a minute later.
“Really? I hope it didn't disappoint.”
She nuzzled in deeper. “It didn't.”
“I guess you needed a hug,” he murmured. I know I did.
“Yes…my last was the smuggler captain’s.”
Nicholas reluctantly separated so he could look at her. “Seriously?”
Her mouth lifted in an affectionate smirk. “No need to turn it into a sad story…it’s simply not the way of vampires.”
“I hope it becomes your way.”
To his surprise she lifted her head and quickly kissed him on the cheek, then stepped out of his arms in a manner that was almost shy. “I seem increasingly determined to live the life of a shocking eccentric,” she said primly. “Perhaps I’m becoming…sappy.”
Nicholas touched his cheek and smiled. “Works for me.”
