He didn't want to think about Gideon, who would be apoplectic if he knew what his younger brother was doing.
"You neglect to mention your brother is a vampire killer, that you worked with him, and you're refusing to tell me more than that? When I can crush your windpipe before you can blink?"
"Killing me is your choice, my lady. What I tell you of my life is mine."
She made a noise somewhere between irritation and disgust, a Japanese curse that sounded as if she'd compared him to an earthworm, if he'd gotten the translation right. Being fluent in a handful of languages was another part of his resume he'd not yet been able to cover, though he didn't think revealing that now would appease her. She stepped back several more feet, her expression merciless, hard.
"A rather significant omission, from both you and Thomas."
Now he was glad for the command not to speak unless requested to do so. Nevertheless, he braced himself for the uncomfortable questions. However, after several tense moments, one of those pauses she seemed to favor, she simply said, "You're a fool to worry about chivalry when it comes to a female vampire."
"I'll never raise a hand to you, my lady. If you tell me my choice is to be bound on that bed or to strike you, then I submit. There is no choice then."
"I won't make it that easy for you. You may go lie on the bed. Or you may leave and never see me again."
On that note, she was gone from his sight again. Multidirectional, her voice filled the room. It was as if he were in the inner sanctum of a goddess's temple, hearing her voice coming from the elements, making him unsure if it emitted from the whisper of water in the fountains, the mysterious rustling of the trees, the flicker of firelight in the braziers, or the stones that came from the earth itself.
"If I forced you to go to the bed after you fought me, whether by hiding behind your chivalry or my physical force, you'd take some comfort in that. It's harder to do it willingly, not knowing what to expect or what it will do to you, what I'll expose. But you'll discover far greater pleasure in the torment if you go willingly than if you fight."
His knee-jerk reaction was that she was trying to inflict some misguided lesson upon him. But perhaps submitting also unlocked certain vulnerabilities in his lady. Would it give her greater pleasure as well, to see him submit? In her voice he could detect her urgent desire to see him go down by his own volition, though he had the conflicting suspicion his resistance teased the sharp edge of her lust.
Trying not to think about it too much, Jacob made his decision. Leaning his hips against the footboard to keep his balance, he removed one boot, then the other. While he was aware of her regard from somewhere in the room, he knew it would be pointless to seek her out. Pushing off the jeans, he retrieved his shirt and laid both garments over the arm of a chair, placing his boots in front of it.
As he stood completely nude, deliberating his next move for several charged moments, he wondered what she was thinking. He was throbbing, enormous. He hoped she took pleasure in that. Life in a circus had helped him get past modesty about personal nakedness, but he found himself somewhat self-conscious under the circumstances.
"You think you can commit over three centuries to me, Sir Vagabond?"
"As long as you need me."
"You say that, but you resist me. Did Thomas tell you the oath to a vampire of my rank?"
"I am sworn to your service. Compelled by absolute loyalty, I safeguard your well-being before my own or any other ties of family or friendship. I swear it by the giving of my blood to you and before all of Divinity, may my life be cursed and my soul be damned if I speak false or ever betray the vow."
A pregnant silence filled the room. "Thomas made you take the oath," she said at last.
"It was the last step in my training. I stood vigil in the monastery chapel for three days and three nights before he spilled my blood on the stones to consecrate the words."
Fifty lashes across his back. Required when administered in conjunction with the oath, they were part of the Ritual of Binding to a vampire queen. It was a ritual so ancient most vampires under three hundred years old didn't know it. Lyssa moved through the shadows outside of his vision, staring at those crisscrossing lines that would have turned his back into a mass of blood when they'd occurred, causing enough pain to make the strongest man sick, lose control of his bowels. Then the monks would have made him scrub those stones clean on his hands and knees, naked, before they would offer to tend his wounds. The Master always came first.
"Did Thomas use my whip?"
"Yes, my lady. He said you'd used it on him when you accepted him."
She closed her eyes. She'd given it to Thomas as a gift years before. He'd apparently carefully preserved it. Once a human became a servant, most wounds he'd received even previous to his acceptance would not leave permanent scarring, unless his Mistress anointed the weapon with a drop of her own blood first.
Without knowing if she would accept him, Jacob had subjected himself to torture and permanent disfigurement. An exceptional act of loyalty. It moved her far more than she wanted him to know.
"I'd like you to put your boots under the bed," she said at last.
Odd. From the tone of her voice, Jacob could tell that had been a request, not a command. He suspected Lady Lyssa never intimated words except exactly as she intended. She could likely orchestrate any nuance she wanted in her speech.
"Under the bed. Just like the country song?"
She didn't respond. He didn't expect her to do so, but at least he didn't sense she was offended by him forgetting himself and speaking out of turn. Putting the boots neatly just under the bed, he eyed the expanse of mattress.
From the corner of his eye, he realized she was behind him now, almost three feet back. Close, reminding him of the temptations that might wait for him if he complied. Far enough back so the decision was his, as she'd said. After that, his choices would be limited.
He turned around to face her. Keeping his gaze on hers, he took a step back, then another. The anticipation that rose in her expression resulted in a taut, indefinable anxiety in his gut as he sat down on the bed. As tall as he was, he'd still have to flex his feet to keep his toes grazing the floor if he slid back to where the crook of his knees met the mattress as she wished. Lying back, he felt the soft quilting of the cool bed linens give beneath, him.