Then her hand was over it. "Femoral, " he said. "Going to be dead. " "No. It's already healing as we speak. Your third mark gives you a remarkable ability to knit wounds, though you'll need some of my blood. After you drink, you'll be as good as new in less than half an hour. " Her green eyes still held the glimmer of red fire he'd felt rac- ing through his whole body when Lord Belizar had apparently or- dered his servant to spear him through the back. "You won't be able to get out of your duties here that easily, Sir Vagabond. " Bringing her hand to her throat, she extended one finger, pressed into the artery in a practiced move that immediately welled with blood. Jacob blinked. His fuzzy brain slowly processed the fact she'd fitted an ornamental metal tip over her forefinger, allowing her to make the clean and fast puncture. "Other women carry lipstick. Breath mints . . . " "Sssh. " She bent over him, pulling her hair over to the opposite shoulder so it fell forward and curtained him as she brought her throat within reach of his mouth. "I command you to drink. Your ability to heal is phenomenal with the third mark, but you've not matured in it long enough for us to delay. " As she felt his lips close over the wound, drawing in her life force, Lyssa closed her eyes. The wound under her hand was slowing even now, but his blood loss had been great. At one time, she supposed she'd understood these power games that sated her kind's bloodlust, their need to prove domination. She'd drawn back from that in the past two years, after Rex and Thomas. As recently as the last Council Gathering, she would have ad- mired Lord Belizar's canny test to determine the suitability of her servant and the test of her own mettle. Power was always shifting, and a vampire was a vampire. Such challenges confirmed that those in leadership positions deserved to be there. She understood all that, had even helped tailor those dual strengths and failings into the present structure they had that kept the more brutal practices to a minimum, but it didn't make her feel any less furious, imagining that spear coming at Jacob's back. She'd worried so much about him not being prepared for this event, she'd overlooked her own need for a refresher course in vam- pire politics.
She was angry at herself. Just because she was weary of always being on her guard was no excuse for allowing herself not to be. Jacob had handled himself more than capably,winning the re- spect of the spectators. Servants would report back to their over- lords, Region Masters and Council members what they had seen, that Lady Lyssa had chosen her servant wisely. Instead of being glad, triumphant, it made her head hurt. Earlier he'd defied her as a male was wont to do in the face of another man's challenge, but when it came to the value of his own life, his obedi- ence to her had been more important to him. He'd waited for her permission to defend himself. What have I done to deserve you? What horrible thing did you do to deserve me? She didn't let him hear such thoughts, of course. She was aware of the others retreating. Malachi. Devlin, with a short bow. His Australian Mistress, Lady Daniela, was known and liked by Lyssa, for all that she ran a small territory and was not considered of much consequence among this Gathering. She was here, however, because she was a full-blood, born vampire. Lyssa would not soon forget her servant's aid to Jacob, which likely had saved him from an even more grievous injury. She also noticed he was regaining his lucidity, on several levels. His tongue had gone from a functional press against the wound to a swirling pattern, his lips pressing against her skin with remarkable sensual intent. He knew exactly how sensitive her throat was, having been a quick study from the first. Over their short time together he'd taken every opportunity to practice. It brought to mind one night in her rose garden, when he'd somehow managed to talk her into lying naked under the stars with him. He'd started at her toes, exploring every part of her with his mouth, asking with a combination of husky spoken words and thoughts how each contact felt. If she liked this better . . . Or that. By the time he reached her hip bone, words were no longer articulated. He was simply reading the swirl of her responses as an answer. Drinking a vampire's blood could arouse a human, for usually the vampire ensured the servant was ingesting the proper chemicals to spur that reaction.
With the second mark, Jacob had asked her never to use the pheromones on him again. Except for the night with his brother to override his objections, she had honored that request. It always moved her how aroused he got despite the pain. Or because of it. His choice not to explore that dark part of himself analytically might amuse her, but when he allowed it free rein, its power was overwhelming to her senses. His response could be explained in a variety of ways. But since he didn't have any pheromones to release, she found it difficult to ex- plain why the touch of his lips in this very public place caused an immediate flow of heat through her body, into fingers chilled from the lack of movement during her meeting with the other Council members. She had her arm diagonally across his hips, low, where she'd placed her palm on his thigh wound to gauge the rate of heal- ing, the stemming of the blood loss. Now his cock was hardening, pressing up against her forearm, making it an irresistible compul- sion to shift her grip and close over him. Because they were still within the tide line, a gentle surge of water lapped over his body, across his belly, over her folded legs and bare feet. The water rushed over her fingers, gave her knuckles a lick of cool foam while the heat of him increased, as well as the thickness which filled her so well. Since vampires expected sexual interaction between servants and their Masters and Mistresses, particularly here, there was nothing technically inappropriate about her indulging the moment. Except she had been with Thomas for some time, and she'd not made the monk break his vows of chastity except once. Even before that she tended to be more private in her personal, direct indulgences. Strad- dling Jacob, letting her wet skirts cling to his bare body as she rode him to sate the longing he stoked inside her would be a bit shocking, particularly for what they knew of Lady Wentworth. But God, how she wanted him. It never seemed to stop for either of them, no matter what they faced. Worry, anger, passion, joy, danger . . . Everything they felt together or about one another seemed to lead to this need to join, to reaffirm the inseparable bond the marks gave them. Or some- thing more.
A soft whisper of air escaped her lips when his large hand came up to cradle her face. He increased his fervency at her throat, the soft trim of his beard stroking her collarbone and the top of her ster- num. Jacob. Stop, before you embarrass me before this mob. Your taste is sweet, my lady. I must have you to regain my full strength. I'm sure of it. With an effort comparable to the removal of a vital organ, though she knew it only appeared as if she calmly extricated herself, she pulled back. As she rose and stood over him, he propped himself on his elbows and stared up at her face, raw hunger in his expression. She had to stifle a groan. His lean body lay in the shallow surf com- pletely naked, the blood washed away and wound almost completely healed, such that all she saw was an expanse of muscle slick with the water's passage over him in waves and moon-illuminated drops. The brace of his shoulders and elbows bearing his weight made his biceps round, his broad chest taut. Every curve emphasized, as well as his long, proud cock, the weight of his testicles. All of it hers to do with as she wished, when she wished. On her terms. The reminder as well as her surroundings helped her rein in her response. "I will have you when I say it's time, Jacob. Rise now. " At his ironic look, she bit the inside of her cheek. "Don't test me, Sir Vaga- bond. " A twinkle sparkled through his beautiful blue eyes as he got to his feet. The effort cost him, for she knew it would be a couple of hours before he was restored to full strength, but he made it into a smooth, lithe move, giving her a slight bow as he rose. He was so much taller than she that the moon haloed him, disturbing her. She couldn't help reaching up and threading her hands through the wet hair that brushed the tops of his shoulders, letting her fingers play along the ridge of bone and muscle there. She drew her hand away before he could take it as an invitation. His hungry cock was still erect and too temptingly close. Damn it, why the hell shouldn't she have him? Why did appear-ances have to matter so much?