Lothaire (Immortals After Dark #12)(88)

He’d known he was out of practice, but this was ridiculous. “Then what in the hell are you crying for?”

“You’re really g-going to do it. You have every intention of casting my soul out.”

“Why are you only now accepting this?”

“Th-this was my consolation prize. You wanted me to have that pleasure as a parting gift. Thanks for playing, Elizabeth? But game over?”

He clasped his forehead. Because she was probably right. And a couple of orgasms couldn’t atone for what he was about to do to her.

Nothing could.

Tears streaked down her cheeks. “But we . . . but surely this isn’t something that everyone experiences together. You have to feel something for me.”

In a toneless voice, he said, “Whether I do or don’t is immaterial. I use people and I discard them. That’s what I’ve always done.”

“Have you ever discarded someone and then regretted it?”

“Never.”

“But you will with me.” She ran her forearm over her eyes. “I could make you happy, Lothaire. You’re going to realize what you had too late.”

His brows drew together. Hadn’t Ivana yelled the same thing to his father?

Lothaire gingerly pressed Elizabeth’s head to his chest, rubbing his other palm over her lower back as he enfolded her in his arms. Strangely, she let him, even clutched him closer.

“You kidnapped me. You’re g-going to kill me. Why am I letting you comfort me?”

He stared over her head. Because I’ve made sure you have no one else to turn to.

“Everything between us is sick . . . twisted. And it doesn’t have to be.”

“Shh, shh.” He rocked her in his arms. Never had he comforted another in such a manner. He was awkward with this as well.

“I h-hate you s-so much.” She sobbed so hard her body quaked against him, her tears wetting his chest.

“I know.”

“When I-I’m gone, will you . . . will you t-tell my children about me? Will you t-take care of them?”

“Just be at ease for now, Elizabeth.”

“Why couldn’t y-you and Saroya just leave m-me alone? I only ever w-wanted to live.”

Why was this making his gut twist? Either he was developing a conscience, or Ellie Ann Peirce was his Bride.

Both scenarios were ruinous to him. Because either one meant that it wouldn’t be Elizabeth who died—it would be him.

The only way out of his vows to the Lore would be his own death.

She’s not mine, she’s not mine. . . .





35


Lothaire’s bellows woke Ellie at dawn.

She blinked, surprised to find herself naked—and in his bed with him, cradled in his arms. He was clad only in dark jeans, pressing her against his bared chest.

How had they gotten into this position? She had no memory past crying herself to sleep as he’d softly stroked her.

Sobbing herself to sleep.

Though she’d always prided herself on never crying, she’d undammed an ocean of tears.

But how could she not? Last night, she’d gone from the most sublime pleasure to the rawest pain—both given to her by one male.

Now he was obviously in the grip of nightmares. Was he reliving some hideous memory?

Even after everything he’d done to hurt her—and would do in the future—she felt a pang of sympathy.

Untangling herself from his arms, she raised herself up on her knees to peer down at him. “Lothaire?” she murmured, her throat scratchy.

The muscles in his torso strained until they appeared knotted under sweat-slicked skin. He yelled in Russian, his fingers twisting as if he were in agony.

What do I do? Should I touch him?

Though he yelled out again and again, he was eerily still, as if he couldn’t move.

“Lothaire, wake up—”

“No!” he roared, his eyes still closed. “Nooo!” He flung out one arm, sending her flying.

Landing with a thud some distance from the bed, she did a mental inventory of her body, surprised nothing was broken. Unsteadily, she made it to her feet.

I can’t do anything for him. He doesn’t deserve my sympathy anyway!

Shaking off her dizziness, she backed away toward her room, where she threw on a nightgown. On her own bed, she drew her knees to her chest, rocking herself as his yells grew louder.

Rocking, rocking . . . She’d never heard anyone in such pain. Will I yell in pain when he casts out my soul? Will he pity me?

He’d told her he wouldn’t show her mercy—

“Elizavetta?” he yelled dazedly.

She closed her eyes as if to block out the sound. He’d called for her? Why her name and not Saroya’s? Because he needs me. No, you ignore him, Ellie!

“Elizavetta?”

He sounded so . . . lost. “Dang it,” she muttered, rising to return to his room. “Wouldn’t let an animal suffer like this—”

She froze at the sight of him. Bloody tracks ran from his closed eyes. My God, are those . . . tears?

What kind of misery could bring this callous vampire to tears? Ellie’s own eyes welled, and she found herself climbing in bed with him once more.

“Don’t hurt, vampire!” She brushed pale hair back from his forehead.