Lothaire (Immortals After Dark #12)(31)

He dropped his hand. “I’ll leave you alone in your suite for some time. You will be alone,” he grated in an insistent tone. As if she were arguing that point with him.

He turned toward a side doorway to a chamber connected to hers. His? Well, how cozy.

“There is no escape, no telephone. Consider this room your new

cell.”

She followed him. “Wait, what am I supposed to do?”

“Go to bed at dawn. Accustom your body to sleeping during the day.”

“And tomorrow? What then? You said I might have a month left to live. What do you expect me to do for that time?”

“Put on weight.” He slammed the door in her face.

Ellie glared at the panels of the solid door, her fists balling. “You *!” She yanked on the door handle. Locked!

She swept her gaze around the room. My new cell? No matter how open and airy it was, she remained trapped. She hated being confined!

Hurrying through the French doors to her balcony, she sucked in deep breaths of night air.

New York City lay before her, all bright lights and energy. How badly she wished to be down there! She imagined all the places to explore, all the new and interesting people she could meet.

But she’d never get the chance. Because there were mystical barriers. And goddesses and arrogant blood-drinkers.

She strode back inside, snatched up her dresser stool, and chucked it at the boundary. The stool bounced directly back inside, bounding toward her. She started laughing hysterically until it connected with her shin. That was going to leave a mark.

Ha-ha, Saroya. Black-and-blue’s your color. She was just about to run her face into the doorknob when she remembered she wasn’t to harm herself, else risk her family.

So she marched into the bathroom. Seeing herself in all this makeup with the Elvira-in-heat dress was like looking at Saroya. For the first time, Ellie was seeing what the goddess would prefer to look like.

She turned on the hot water to wash her face. “I hate you more than hell, Saroya.”

A psychologist could have a field day with this. Staring into the mirror with hate? Daily affirmations turned to daily accusations?

Damn it, I should be dead right now! But the bitch had thwarted her yet again. “You may have won this battle, Saroya, but I’ll win the war. I’ll destroy you, somehow.” Even as she said these bold words, Ellie wrestled with regret over her plight.

Part of her still wished for another chance, for the possibility to live. Why did she have to make this sacrifice? Why had it fallen to her?

But she’d long resigned herself to her fate.

Gathering water in her hands, she said, “Your big finish is rolling in like a thunderstorm. No stopping it.” She scrubbed her face harder than she ever had, ridding herself of Saroya’s war paint.

Another gander into the mirror. I’m back, she thought, even though the goddess’s presence lurked within, eating away at her like a cancer.

After drying her tender skin, Ellie returned to the closet. Combing through the choices, she threw on a pair of jeans and a simple navy blouse. Feeling more like Ellie, she left her feet bare.

Unable to stop herself, she sneaked another peek at those jewels. She recalled the way Lothaire had shown them to her. Without a word, without bragging.

Why had he cared if Ellie saw them? Had he anticipated her floored reaction? Figured she’d go crazy like Saroya?

Then she frowned. Lothaire had never said anything to indicate that he and Saroya liked each other, much less loved each other. He’d talked only of fate and bloodings.

Questions about him surfaced endlessly. Did he love the goddess? Why hadn’t he bedded his Bride? Were all vampires as ruthless as he was?

She wished she could analyze Lothaire at her leisure, maybe use her degree to benefit her.

One of the reasons she’d studied psychology was that she’d always found it easy to empathize with others. A handy tool for a counselor.

But psychology was the science of human behavior. He was in-

human. . . .

She would just have to work harder to discover what made Lothaire tick, using any means necessary.

When she exited the closet, she remembered that earlier they’d walked out of the main doorway from her suite. They’d traced back inside. Unlike the door adjoining Lothaire’s room, it would be unlocked.

Wouldn’t even have to pick it.

Maybe when he left, she’d investigate this place. Did she dare disobey him? He’d probably never even know she’d sneaked out.

With that aim in mind, she knelt at the doorway crack to his bedroom, listening for him.

She heard the rustle of sheets, a stifled curse. He’d gone to bed? After telling her he had work to do? And wasn’t this kind of his workday?

Again she thought, Typical male.

Wait. Had he just . . . groaned?



I’m never going to sleep with this erection.

Though Lothaire was exhausted, it throbbed for relief, impossible to ignore. He couldn’t turn on his front without grinding his shaft into the mattress, couldn’t turn on his back without his hands descending to masturbate his length.

But he’d be damned if he spilled alone when he was in possession of his Bride.

His eyes narrowed when the mortal knelt at their shared doorway. Finished shrieking and throwing things, Elizabeth? He could hear her light breaths panting at the crack under the door.