He had picked a man for her who was everything she wanted and nothing she needed. But if she was crazy enough to keep him, he had to learn the basic lesson she was trying to teach him. Otherwise his time in her world would be cut short for reasons far more serious than the loss of a position in her household.
Chapter Nine
Jacob wanted to strangle her. Strangle her then roll her beneath him, feel her trembling body open, trusting him to give her pleasure with his hands on her.
Fuck this. And fuck Thomas for not explaining this better.
But as he thought back, he realized the dying man had indicated that all vampires lived by the code of hierarchy established by dominance. Even as their queen, Lyssa had to continually earn the title. Otherwise, she would have become a pawn long ago, political currency trotted out by anyone who could take her and use the value her blood gave her.
When she'd made the decision to marry Rex, sealing a political alliance between the ancient Asian royal house and the more distant remnants of the Western European one, it had been her decision. Jacob was dealing with a woman who'd lived long enough to know exactly what she had to do to protect what was hers. No matter the trappings of culture and civilization with which they surrounded themselves, vampires brought a level of brutality to their personal and public politics that made the machinations of human governments look like schoolyard antics.
He just hadn't understood how deeply that sentiment pervaded vampire society, even into the sanctity of the bedroom. He'd also made the mistake of arrogance, thinking all the long hours with Thomas had prepared him. Those hours had been like kindergarten, the barest concept of what education would require of the student.
He wasn't the type of man who surrendered lightly. He too had a code of honor he'd clung to grimly, even when every other decision in his life had seemed haphazard, no real plan. Many things had made him leave Gideon, but primarily it had been a shadow that had haunted his dreams since sexual awakening. He'd gone into the world to seek it as if he were looking for a grail. Gideon had scoffed at him, told him he'd read too many Irish folktales.
Jacob doubted the nagging feeling himself at times, up until the night he first saw Lady Lyssa. The shadow memory had shattered, drawing him to the actual woman behind it. The feeling had only grown stronger under Thomas's tutelage. Yes, he was a drifter, a dreamer. A man who'd been in search of a hazy sense of destiny for the almost thirty years of his life. But that destiny was her. He was certain of it.
This, though—he glanced up at the manacles, felt the scream of his muscles—hadn't exactly been part of the picture.
Okay. He made himself think past the ache, lingering panic, fury and—holy God—unabated lust. He had a lot to learn about Lyssa's world. But she'd wanted him free there at the end so he could touch her. He'd felt it. He knew it.
He had to earn her trust. Maybe then she'd learn to respect him. Curl up in his arms and fall asleep with ease, knowing he was there to care for her.
That one visual summed it up, a physical gesture of trust meaning so much more. It had the ability to assuage some of the emptiness inside of him, just by imagining it.
Everything else was what he had to learn to get there.
* * *
He'd have been surprised to know Lyssa did respect him. Enough to think she should boot him out on his handsome ass with the driver she was preparing to meet again.
Mr. Ingram sat at the kitchen island on a stool, yesterday's paper open. The empty plate that had held the eggs Jacob had prepared for him was at his left. As Ingram finished each section of the paper, he'd folded it neatly to his right. She wondered if he was normally that meticulous or if he was trying to stave off panic at being left with no instruction or direction while effectively imprisoned by her wolfhounds. It was the dogs' favorite room regardless, due to its warmth and proximity to food. Bran lifted his head in greeting but didn't move otherwise. The floor appeared littered with long hairy rugs tossed about to land in doglike shapes. The radio had been left on her preferred jazz station, Russ Freeman's stirring melody about a woman with gypsy eyes filling the room.
"Your man was kind enough to leave me a paper. It's kept my mind off my bladder, though I'll admit I was close to using cookware. Your main fellow there likes to show his teeth every time I shift."
"The closest bathroom is down that hall." She nodded. "Please take as long as you wish. Bran, off guard."
The driver jumped when the dogs erupted as if she'd run an electric current through the linoleum. They leaped for the dog door and charged out with repetitious thumps, yips and growls. In less than a moment, they were alone.
He cleared his throat. "I guess they needed to go, too."
"They tend to approach everything with zeal," she said with a tight smile. "Please. Go take your comfort and then I'd like to speak to you. At the very least to thank you for your professionalism. It's been awhile since I've had one man take such care for my well-being, let alone two in the same night."
He nodded, sliding off the stool. From his stiff movements, she suspected he'd hardly dared shift. Apparently his circulation had suffered as his bladder grew more insistent.
"I apologize for causing you discomfort," she added, feeling a pang. "It wasn't my intention."
"Well, that's reassuring." He made his way gingerly toward the hallway. "I'd started thinking my decision to stay and make sure that fellow hadn't kidnapped you had ended up with me being the prisoner."
"Jacob thought I would want to speak to you. I must feel that way, otherwise the dogs wouldn't have kept you." When he turned, meeting her gaze with trepidation in his eyes, she said, "They tend to understand my needs before I do."
"Sounds like the boy's got some of that, too, if he asked me to wait."
When she didn't choose to respond to that, he nodded and disappeared around the corner. Lyssa turned to the bowl of fruit on the counter, picked up an orange and held it, enjoying the feel of the rind, the smell of the juice beneath as she brought it to her nose.
The. boy. As if the driver intuited there was a vast difference between their ages, despite the fact she appeared a handful of years younger than Jacob. How would he look when his hair got threads of gray in the reddish brown, turning it silver in certain lights? She imagined the deepening crow's feet enhancing his smiling eyes, the laugh lines around his mouth sculpting into the deeper character lines of a man in his fifties. Inscrutability was necessary for the politics in her life, and everything showed in Jacob's face. Anger, passion, tenderness, concern. All of it at intense and alive high volume. He was too impulsive, too uncensored.