Dark Fates (A Paranormal Anthology)(83)

“My bella ragazza,” he said with a purr. “Feeling restless?”

Irritated that he could read her emotions as easily as a book, she shrugged. “I’m fine.”

He sighed and reached out, running a bronze-toned finger down her arm and her whole body humed for him. “You’ve been living in war for so long you’ve forgotten how to enjoy peace. I fear that you’ve cut yourself off for to the point where you’ll spend an eternity with your heart encased in ice. You’ve forgotten how to allow yourself to love.”

“Love,” she scoffed, an unexpected pang of longing threatening to cut her soul. “Love is an illusion.”

“I love you,” he said in his deep tone that rang through her soul like church bells.

She knew he loved her, and she loved him, but vampire relationships were complicated, and her connection to Sargon was about as tangled as it could get. Maybe if he’d been the first vampire she’d met she would have allowed herself to fall in love with him, but by the time Sargon found her, she’d been brutalized, a feral animal bent upon destroying her enemy in as bloody a manner as possible. Her rage had been of epic proportions, strong enough to get her through hell. By the time Sargon had found her, she’d managed to civilize herself enough to slip among the humans undetected, but when she was alone with her victim, she allowed her bloodlust free rein.

Then Sargon saved her, stole her soul from her first Maker, and trained her to be an even more lethal weapon against her enemies. Even six hundred years later she could recall the first time she saw him, an avenging angel from Hell striding toward her with an expression so hungry, so lustful, the mere memory of his touch sent shivers through her. She’d been drenched in blood, but that only served to arouse him further. The memory of their first bloody kiss sent a full-body shiver racing through her.

Uncomfortable with all the emotions bombarding her, she shrugged. “You have to love me. You’re my Maker.”

Sargon smiled then shook his head. “Ah, my darling girl, how wrong you are. Have you given any more thought to becoming a Maker yourself?”

The idea upset her so much that she hissed at Sargon. “Never.”

A look of determination mixed with irritation twisted his full lips. “Most stubborn woman I’ve ever met. How many times do I have to tell you that your transition from mortal to vampire was abnormal, a tainted perversion of a true bonding between Maker and fledgling? Your soul is crying out with need, and you stubbornly refuse to acknowledge it. Please, at least consider it. I will help you.”

Her muscles tensed as she glared at him and repeated, “Never.”

Throwing his hands into the air, he stood and stretched out, drawing her gaze to his thick muscles. In his mortal life Sargon had been a warrior king, a man who’d led armies and conquered empires. He was ruthless, bloodthirsty, and she trusted him more than anyone in the entire world. She knew he was thinking only of her happiness while urging her to make a fledgling. Sargon felt that having a mate to care for would heal her heart, but she couldn’t.

Bending down, Sargon brushed his lips over hers, the sweep of his tongue making her tingle.

“If you ever decide to make a fledgling, I will help you. Together we will create a strong, amazing vampire who will only know pleasure from our touch, our kiss. It will be the most amazing experience for him. Give me the chance to help heal your heart, Lisabetta. You are precious to me, and I promise I won’t fail you.” He paused and studied her with such an intense gaze that she was spellbound. “Have you considered that a man may be out there right now, desperate for you, waiting for you?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

She nipped his lower lip, sipping at the blood there as arousal spun through her. Sex with Sargon was amazing, addictive even, so she only allowed herself small doses of the pleasure he could offer her in bed. Their blood bond made emotions and sensations fantastically intense between them, and in a normal Maker-fledgling relationship they would live as husband and wife instead of lovers when she wasn’t busy running from her feelings for her Maker. If she was being totally honest with herself, she had to admit that Sargon wanted that for them, to be a true family, but would never push her. Despite all the years and her best efforts, she still feared Sargon on some level, and that fear kept her from committing to him.

For the millionth time she said, “My poor Maker. You got stuck with one screwed-up fledgling. I wish I could be what you want.”

His dark gaze softened, and he rubbed his nose against hers in an affectionate gesture that made her smile. “Foolish girl, you’re exactly what I want. Now, find some unsuspecting mortal and get laid before I take the choice from you and f*ck you right here, right now.”

Her * clenched, and she growled softly as he pulled away. Damn, he knew exactly what to say to arouse her. “Piss off.”

Laughing, Sargon lifted his hands and stared across the room before returning his attention to her. “Have fun, darling.”

With her clit pounding to the beat of her heart, she ran her tongue over her teeth and concentrated on retracting her fangs. The more aroused she became, the quicker she burned through her supply of blood and the hungrier she became. Determined to draw some prey, she leaned back in her booth and allowed her aura to put off “f*ck me vibes” while scanning the club for her next donor.

She was alone, she was beautiful, and yet…no one approached her. It was almost as if she had some kind of force field around her keeping them away, yet the only magic she could detect was her own powers, her werewolf bodyguard, and of course Sargon’s, but he was so powerful that it was like standing next to the sun and trying to see the light from a candle. His presence saturated the air around her and she wondered for a moment if he was the one keeping the mortals at bay, but that wouldn’t make any sense. Sargon was always going on and on how she needed to indulge herself in the pleasures of the world more so it wouldn’t make any sense for him to isolate her from her potential blood donors.