Knock, knock...
- Who's there?
Emma...
- Emma who? Emma who? Emma who? Emma who?
Nïx had told Emma before she'd left for Europe that on this trip she would "do that which you were born to do."
Apparently, Emma was born to get kidnapped by a deranged Lykae. Her fate sucked.
This message was Nïx's way of reminding Emma of her prediction. She alone knew how badly Emma wanted to earn a real identity, to have a page in the Valkyrie's revered Book of Warriors.
"What does it mean?" he asked when she wadded it up and dropped it at her feet.
Emma was furious he'd seen that message, furious he'd seen anything that might give him insight into her life. The way Lachlain observed and learned, he'd have Emma pinned before they made the Chunnel.
"Lucia calls you 'Em.' Is that your nickname with your family?"
That was it. Enough. Too much delving, too many questions. "Listen, uh, Mr. Lachlain. I got myself into a... situation. With you. And to get out of it, I have agreed to drive you to Scotland." Hunger was making her irritable. Irritability was making her heedless of consequences, and that occasionally passed for bravery. "I have not agreed to be your friend, or...or share your bed, or reward your invasion of my privacy with more information about myself."
"I will answer questions if you will."
"I don't have questions for you. Do I know why you were locked away - and, hello, vague much? - for fifteen decades? No, and honestly, I don't want to know. Where you appeared from last night? Don't wanna know."
"You're no' curious why all this has happened?"
"I will try to forget 'all this' when I leave you in Scotland, so why would I want to know more? My m.o. has always been to keep my head low and not ask too many questions. It's served me well so far."
"So you expect us to sit in this closed compartment the entire way in silence."
"Of course not."
She clicked on the radio.
Lachlain finally gave up fighting not to stare and openly studied her, finding it disturbingly pleasing. He told himself it was only because he lacked something else to occupy his mind. He'd run out of reading material and was only half listening to this radio.
The music was just as bizarre and inexplicable as everything else in this time, but he'd found a few songs that irritated him less than the others. When he'd voiced the ones he preferred, she'd appeared shocked, then mumbled, "Werewolves like the blues. Who knew?"
She must have felt his gaze because she peeked over at him with that shy look, nibbling her lip before glancing away. He scowled to find that one look from this vampire made his heart speed up, like those laughable humans' had.
Recalling the way the men reacted to her and knowing how rare she was among vampires, Lachlain realized that she must be wed. He'd been uncaring before. He'd said, "His loss," in reference to any husband, and he'd meant it, because a marriage wouldn't have stopped him. But now he wondered if she loved another.
In the Lykae world, if she was his mate, then he was hers as well. But she wasn't Lykae. It was possible that she could hate him forever - that he would have to keep her imprisoned forever - especially after he meted out his revenge.
He planned to exterminate every one of those leeches, which meant the people who'd given her life.
Again he questioned fate, questioned his instincts. There was no way they could be together.
Even as he thought this, his hand itched to touch her hair. Even as he thought this, he wondered what her smile would be like. He was like a randy lad, ogling her thighs encased in tight trews, eyes slowly following the raised clothing seam that ran between her legs.
He shifted positions again. He'd never been this desperate to tup. What he wouldn't give to toss her on the back bench in this car and take her thoroughly with his mouth, readying her, then pin her knees to her shoulders to receive him. Damn it, it was what he was supposed to do.
Thinking of taking her, he was reminded of last night when he'd touched her inside. He shook his head, remembering her tightness. She had been long without a man. He would split her in two at the first full moon. If he wasn't regularly f**king her before then...
She hissed in a breath when an oncoming car's light beam was stronger than the one before it. She rubbed her eyes, then blinked them several times.
She looked tired and he wondered if she was hungry, but doubted it. The vampires he'd tortured could go weeks without blood, feeding only so often - like a snake.
But to be certain, he asked, "Are you hungry?" When she didn't answer, he said, "Are you or are you no'?"
"It's none of your concern."
Unfortunately, it was. Providing for her needs was his duty. And what if she needed to kill? For Lachlain's kind, finding one's mate was an imperative. For the ghouls, propagating by contagion was an imperative. Would her vampire nature crave killing so badly that she wouldn't be able to control it? And what would he do? Facilitate her? Protect her while she dragged down some unsuspecting human? Another...man?
Christ, he couldn't do this. "How do you drink?"
She mumbled, "Liquid goes into my mouth, whereby I swallow it."
"When was the last time?" he snapped.
As though he'd dragged the answer from her, she sighed, "Monday, if you must know," then peeked over, clearly noting his reaction.
"Just Monday you did it?" His voice conveyed a disgust that he didn't bother to hide.