Taste me, p.5
Taste Me, page 5
That he accepted it.
But did he know what he was accepting? It was just a handshake. Maybe he wasn’t aware.
He appreciates my breasts before he covers them up, then tucks the fabric against my rib cage.
His gaze flicks up to meet mine. “But you may wish to walk away once you learn the truth.” He keeps his hand on my shoulder when he straightens.
His touch is helping the pain of his prior rejection. Nullifying it, in a way.
From my understanding of fated bonds, this isn’t how it works at all. That should be all the proof I need that Daithi’s magic is interfering, but it doesn’t feel that simple.
I am a unique breed of witch.
And this male is clearly a unique type of vampire.
Together, we would be a fated pair unlike the world has ever seen. Maybe the rules don’t apply to us as they should.
It doesn’t change the facts, my logical brain argues.
Such as he’s a mercenary and I am his target.
“I already know you are here to assassinate me,” I tell him, not hiding the bite to my tone. “And that you have my tormentor’s magic in your veins.” I step closer, unafraid to tilt my chin to look up at him. “You rejected me after I said his name. Does that have something to do with your newfound truths?”
Perhaps he didn’t know if he was accepting Daithi’s magic, but he did respond to the name.
A strange sort of pain enters his eyes. “Something like that.” He sighs and sweeps his gaze over the ruined room. “I was here to assassinate you, but obviously I am not going through with that anymore. I was told lies about who and what you are. I have no reason to kill you anymore.”
“You don’t?” I hedge. Because as far as I’m concerned, the fated bond is the only reason he hasn’t tried to kill me. “You’re a mercenary, as you say. Payment is all a mercenary cares about, so the only thing that’s really changed is that you clearly want to fuck me.”
Wanting to get into my pants doesn’t qualify as a pious reason to show mercy.
His nostrils flare as if I’m testing his patience. “I’m a rogue mercenary because I don’t believe in the structure of the Houses, witchling. I use my own moral compass. From the information I was given, you were a witch unable to control her power. Unchecked power only causes problems in this fucked-up world.”
I raise an eyebrow. “I can’t control my power,” I point out. I’ve never been able to use my voice without summoning the deadly forces behind it, not once it fully manifested.
And it killed my family’s allies in the process, starting a chain of events that led to misery after misery for my twin and me.
He tilts his head, causing his brown hair to fall into his eyes. “No, but you control yourself. And that is admirable.”
“So, a vampire with a moral compass.” I scoff. “Conveniently, that allows you to kill people, to judge when the death knell should ring and when it should remain silent.” I lean in closer. “It sounds like you’re just looking for a reason to get your dick hard.”
He growls in return, sending chills over my arms. “You don’t know me, witchling.”
“And you don’t know me,” I retort.
He was willing to kill me on second-hand information. He clearly has a lot to learn if he truly intends to be a moral force in this “fucked-up world,” as he called it.
He nods. “I don’t.”
“You don’t,” I agree. “So, what now, vigilante vampire?”
He sighs. “You don’t deserve to die. That much is clear. Knowing what I know now, it’s better if you stay hidden. The best thing would be to leave you and never return, for your own sake. But I’m afraid I can’t leave you, witchling. If I don’t report back tonight with proof of your demise, another mercenary will be sent in my place and I will be presumed dead.”
“You expect me to run?” I challenge him.
He gives me a seductive smirk. “I expect you’re not one to run from your problems, no. You face them, fearless and unstoppable.”
He’s not wrong.
“I’m not one to run,” I agree. “But you don’t need to protect me. I can take care of myself.”
His fingers dance across my shoulder. I know it’s to stabilize him against the effects of my voice, but I hope it’s more than that, too.
I dare to hope he still wants this connection between us like I do.
I rejected him because I saw him accept Daithi’s magic. I thought he was complicit in the insanity that was the patriarchs.
But I sense there’s so much more at play.
And I’m eager to learn more about Jasper Justi, a vampire without a beating heart.
A vampire who shares a connection to the death plane, just like I do. His growl called forth the chill of souls, and while part of that might have been borrowed from me, it was only because we share this brand of death magic.
“I’m going to protect you, even if it’s from yourself,” he says, his words going low and husky. He grins again, showing off his lengthened fangs. It gives him a dangerous edge, one that I want to explore. “So why don’t you be a good little witchling and show me to your bedroom, where I can keep an eye on you?”
Spirits. This vampire is going to be the death of me.
I’m not sure if this truce can last long if he intends to share a bed, but I’m too tired to fight him on it.
The pain of his rejection isn’t fully going away, but I’m learning to manage it. Perhaps because it’s not as effective as it should be with Daithi’s dark magic interfering.
Or if it’s because he keeps touching me.
I rub my sternum as I take the bathroom first, the ache slowly returning without him nearby.
But I do need a shower.
We’re both bloody and covered in covens know what. Hundreds of vials exploded in my study, and the winds that had been kicked up sent all sorts of witchy ingredients into my hair, as well as ash from various objects that had burned.
Ayla is going to kill me.
That’s a bridge I’ll cross when I get to it. A burned study is the least of our problems if Daithi’s magic has somehow gotten a foothold in my life.
I don’t know how Jasper plays into all of this, but I intend to find out.
For now, he says he wants to protect me and I believe him. If he wanted me dead, he would have killed me already.
And if he wanted to use a fate bond to control me, he wouldn’t have rejected me.
And perhaps he knew that rejection was the only thing that would convince me he wasn’t a threat.
The irony.
Frowning, because I don’t like this at all, I snatch up a comb and start yanking it through my blonde strands.
Who are you, Jasper Justi?
While I don’t know much, I know he’s a cocky-ass vampire mercenary, one who’s arrogant enough to go rogue and think it wouldn’t catch up to him.
And it didn’t take me long to realize he was young. Infantile, by vampire standards.
He couldn’t be much older than my twenty-three years.
It was trickier to figure that part out, but it was his memories that gave him away.
Or lack of memories, as it were. The spell I’d used on him allowed me a glimpse into his past. I’d been seeking something specific, but his entire life had briefly flashed before my eyes.
If it had been hundreds of years, the spell would have taken longer to sort through more recent memories. The past is like a weight, one that holds down everything in the present and makes it difficult for ancient supernaturals to cope with things like change or threats. It also makes memory spells more complicated.
But this one had been a breeze.
A vampire in his twenties or thirties, I decide as I pluck twigs and roots out of my hair. A master vampire with a connection to the death plane. That’s who you chose for me, mistress of fate?
I don’t often speak to the powers of fate, or the spirits, or anything greater than myself. As with everything in my life, I find solace in facts and knowledge.
But this is bigger than me, and I’m going to have to accept that.
You met your fated mate?! my sister shouts in my head.
Faltering, I drop the comb and it clatters to the floor.
Shit. Apparently, I was broadcasting that thought a little too loudly.
“Are you okay in there?” Jasper asks.
I know he still needs my touch to withstand my voice, so I knock twice on the door in response.
“I’ll take that as a yes, but don’t blame me if I rush in when you’re naked the next time I hear something drop.”
Heat climbs up my cheeks as I pick up the comb and try not to imagine that scenario playing out.
Because the way he looked at me suggested he wanted to taste.
To bite.
To devour.
And I very much wanted that, too.
Is someone there? my sister asks. She can’t usually hear what I’m hearing, but she can sense when I’m distracted. Please tell me what’s going on, Issy. I mean it.
Sighing, I slide down the wall and flick the teeth of the comb with my nail. Promise not to be angry.
While my voice is deadly, Fallon is by far a more powerful witch than me.
She can control her powers—until she can’t. Her magic broke apart everything the patriarchs had built when she embraced her true potential.
A moment of silence lingers, suggesting she’s still working on said control.
And promise you’re not going to ask Nolan for a portal potion, I add.
I can practically hear her roll her eyes. I won’t if I don’t have a reason to, Issy. Are you in danger?
I don’t know. Probably. I found my fated mate, I tell her, opting for the blunt truth. She heard my stray thought anyway. Might as well come out with it. My voice doesn’t kill him, and rejecting him doesn’t work, either. At least, my rejection doesn’t work. His worked on me.
She blew out a breath. Gods. That’s loaded. But seriously, he can survive your voice? Then why did you reject him? That’s amazing.
It’s a good question. You’re not going to like the answer.
Issy.
I fumble with the comb until one of the teeth breaks off. I can’t inform her that he has Daithi’s magic in his veins. She will most definitely portal over if I tell her that.
But I have to give her something believable, or else she’s not going to let this go.
He has necromancy magic, like us. He’s not a warlock, though. He’s a vampire, but he’s also something else. I haven’t quite figured that part out.
She huffs. Isn’t that a good thing? Wait. Does that mean you can talk talk to him?
I cringe. Only when he’s physically touching me, I think. His power seems to work through touch and he’s able to counteract my voice that way.
Oh, Gods, Issy! That’s amazing! I’m so happy for you!
She’s about to gush and plan a fucking wedding unless I stop this, so I add one more truth. He killed my date, Fallon.
He what? You mean the ex-date who was beating down your door earlier and not leaving you alone? Sounds like he deserved it. You should ask your hot new vampire hybrid about it instead of jumping to conclusions and doing something silly, like rejecting him.
Launching to my feet, I practically growl as I yank the shower faucet to the “on” position and set it to scalding hot.
I can’t believe you, Fallon. You’re siding with a killer? Just because you have a vampire mate doesn’t mean you’re the expert in overprotective immortal men.
Ishara, she says, using my full first name. She only does that when she’s being serious. You think I’m making this about me? I’m not. This has nothing to do with me.
Damn right it doesn’t. So why don’t you just leave me alone?
Another moment of silence stretches out, and I almost wonder if she gave me my wish.
But that’s not my sister. We never argue.
Ever.
And she knows me better than I know myself.
Which is why she’ll never abandon me, even if I push her away.
I love you, Issy. I trust you to know what’s right, but I also know you’re hurt and scared. I can feel it, remember? We’re twins. We look out for each other. And I know you’re just pushing me away because you don’t want me to get hurt. You’re hiding something, and that’s okay. I’m here for you when you’re ready to talk about it, but do me a favor and play this thing out, okay? You’re not one to run. Please don’t start now.
The tears are coming and I strip and step into the shower before they can fall from my face.
I know she’s right, and I hate it.
Promise me you’ll sleep on it, she continues, knowing I’m still listening, and promise me you’ll talk to him tomorrow. Gods, you get to talk to him, Issy. Just give that a day. If you still decide to go through with this rejection, okay, but do. Not. Run.
My chest constricts as I allow the emotion to seep through it.
Jasper’s rejection is tearing me up inside, but so is his hope for our future.
And there, right in the middle of it all, is Daithi’s magic just waiting for me to step into its trap.
Fallon doesn’t know how right she is. I want to run from it and never look back. It’s the first time in my life I have ever felt that sensation.
Because I killed Daithi O’Neely, but even death wasn’t enough to keep him away.
That’s what terrifies me most of all. Death was supposed to be my safe place.
When I was in the dark and alone, I always had my voice to protect me. I hated the screams of the dead tormenting my every moment, but I also grew to rely on them.
They protected me.
Now… now I don’t know who to trust or what to believe, or if I can even protect myself with my voice like I always have, and that terrifies me.
But Fallon is my twin, and even if she doesn’t know the full situation, she knows exactly what it is I need to hear.
I promise, Fallon, I tell her as I squeeze my eyes shut.
I promise I won’t run.
Chapter 7
Kornelius
Everything’s dead.
I stare at the screen, stunned, with dread winding my stomach into knots.
The magic-powered drone is showing me far more destruction than I expected if Ishara Doyle screamed.
The trees are already turning brown. Even in the dull moonlight, I can see the agonized curls of the leaves and the wilting of branches. Animals, large and small, lie unmoving along the various forest paths.
And for the unfortunate Gold and Garnet citizens within the blast zone, they lie forever asleep in their beds.
While my necromancy magic was being used to contain the power, it wasn’t enough to save the edge of the city of Lapland from Ishara Doyle’s scream—not when Jasper was apparently her amplifier.
Which doesn’t make any sense. Or maybe it does, given that Daithi’s magic is tied to the witch.
And I’d shared that connection with Zyran just last week. And he passed it on to Jasper. Although, Jasper had no idea who Zyran was because of the memory alterations. But that’s a temporary issue.
Daithi had shown me how to transfer my power with a specific set of instructions.
“Contain any fallout, should your brother fail.”
It should have been me, I think with a growl.
But my power made it too dangerous for me to take on such a job alone. Just one death could send my power into overdrive.
The kind of death that a witch like Ishara Doyle was capable of would make me implode.
Still, I’d challenged Daithi over who should send the witch’s soul to the death plane when it was time. Now that he was dead, we ironically had a better means to control her.
Not that we gave Jasper the mute collar we had developed—he didn’t need it and it would be too risky for that kind of magic to fall into Gold and Garnet’s hands.
Because it could control us, too.
Although, now I regret my decision as I stare at the destruction on the screen. I admired my brother the mercenary, the one who survived every day, but could he have survived this?
My memories remind me why Jasper was left behind—not because of his strength but because of his usefulness.
“Do you think the patriarchs framed Jasper Justi for your murder for fun? He’s our link to the insides of Gold and Garnet. It was immensely good fortune that Ishara Doyle chose to retreat to Lapland. He’s destined for this sort of job.”
“It’s why he lives at all. Don’t forget that we control death—not you strange collection of necromancy-vampire hybrids. You’re abominations and are only still alive because you’re useful. Don’t forget your place.”
His order was simple enough. Kill the witch, then Daithi could tuck her away in the death plane for good. When his revival was completed, he could bring her with him and no obedience spell would have been necessary this time around.
She would have been bound to him in death.
But that’s not what happened at all. Jasper’s still there and…
Everything.
Is.
Dead.
“Jas is alive, Kor,” my brother says, likely sharing my concerns. “I feel him.”
If Zyran says he feels our brother, then Jasper Justi is still in the land of the living.
For now.
I turn from the screen and lean back in my leather chair. It doesn’t give very much. None of the things “gifted” to us by our latest soul-captor ever do.
Our world has been a cold, unforgiving place since we were children. I can’t remember much outside of New York, where we’ve been holed up for almost half of our lives.
But something deep inside of me misses Finland.
Misses the family I was supposed to have had.
A family I hope to one day get back.
“He’d better be,” I say, referring to our brother’s precarious situation of life, “or I’m finally going to chop off that asshole’s head.”
The death stone rattles in its pedestal as if it heard me.
Zyran clicks his tongue. “Don’t piss off our master. He’ll be back soon, and if you take his head, I’ll probably come back with two just to spite you.”
