Page 118 of Vampire's Choice
There was also a beaded bracelet, woven from her twin’s hair. Before he’d gone to the Underworld, she’d cut his hair and made four of them. One for herself, Mal, Elisa, and even Catriona, though at the time Ruth had had far more ambivalent feelings about the Fae who’d captured her brother’s heart. Ruth had worn the bracelet until Adan’s return, though she’d touched it so often, it was a wonder it hadn’t fallen apart before she carefully placed it there to preserve it.
“No mirrors,” Merc commented. “A tell, for vampires.”
“If the vampire’s not worried about anyone noticing the lack of reflection, you’ll still see them, because they make a space look bigger, and we’re as susceptible to decorating trends as anyone.”
She shot him a smile. “Vampires who live among unsuspecting humans usually have them where visitors would expect, like a bathroom, to blend better. They have to stay conscious of not getting caught in front of one, but most humans aren’t that observant, or they don’t acknowledge what that subconscious part of them doesn’t want to know.”
Paintings of the cats were on her walls. The canopy over her bed was strung with beads, feathers and bits of fur. It hummed with the energy of the protective spell that intensified when she was in the room. As her fingers trailed over one of the strands, her heart tightened over the loss of the medicine bag again. But it was all right. Kohana lived inside her, and in her home here.
So did his kin. Kohana’s grandson, Hanska, was Mal’s right hand on the staff. Showing the shamanic aptitude Kohana always claimed was in his ancestry, he assisted Mal on maintaining the magical protections, another apprentice.
Merc touched the bed post, absorbing the energy, and turned toward her. Ruth wasn’t a shy person, but what they’d come here to do had her at a loss. She’d second marked human staff members growing up, those who assisted Mal and Elisa with her care. Yes, she’d thought of them as extended family, but unapologetically also subordinates.
“Have you ever given anyone the marks?”
He’d tapped into the direction of her thoughts again. “I’ve done a couple second marks. A lot of born female vampires wait until close to their first century mark to do a third mark. My father…a few years ago he suggested I bind one of the men here. I never reached a decision.”
“Did I meet him tonight?”
“Maybe at the rehab center. Hanska. He’s like Kohana, his grandfather. Unexpectedly tall for an Indian. That’s what Hanska means. One of the meanings. Tall.”
She pressed her lips together, and thought of other things to say. Before she could, Merc shook his head. Keeping his eyes upon her, he removed his shirt, folding his wings back to slide it free of the openings cut for them. He hadn’t changed out of the security shirt before coming here.
“I thought it would be good to show your father I’m employed.”
She laughed. Then her attention slid down his chest, to the hip bones revealed by his jeans as he stretched upward for the movement. The gleaming layer of dark chest hair that narrowed over his navel and disappeared under the waistband drew her gaze to what was below it.
Merc took off his shoes and socks, then unbuttoned the jeans and opened the zipper with a casual pull on the tab. When he removed the pants, he revealed dark shorts beneath. His cock was a smooth, tempting curve beneath their stretched hold.
Staying in place, he extended a hand, making her come to him, which helped steady her. When she reached him, he grasped the hem of her shirt. She lifted her arms as he took it off, then turned her, releasing the clasp of her bra and sliding that off her arms. He trailed his fingertips down her back, over her shoulder blades and spine, exploring the small of her back. He slipped a finger in the waistband of her jeans.
“Take them off. And what is beneath them.”
When she did, leaving her naked before him, he turned her back around and tipped up her chin. “You do this with no barriers.”
“Clothes aren’t a barrier.”
“They’re a symbol of deeper, more significant barriers.”
He put a hand on her shoulder. Just a slight pressure, but she knelt, resting her palm on his knee. Then, following her instincts, she put her forehead against his thigh. She could hear the rush of blood from his femoral artery. Her fangs started to lengthen, saliva gathering in her mouth.
His hand was in her hair, stroking her scalp, slow, but not easy. The weight to his touch promised he was about to be demanding. She waited on it, glad to recognize it.
He gathered her hair in his fist in that way that made her mind stumble over its own thoughts. As Merc twisted it around his knuckles, his fingertips caressed her nape. “Where can you give this mark?”
“Anywhere really, though major arteries tend to be the best. Carotid, femoral…”
His grip shifted enough so she could move her head, gaze up at him. “Use the femoral for the first mark,” he said. “I like looking at you like this.”
A wave of his incubus energy enveloped her. When she leaned forward, she had to pull against his hold, a tug on her scalp. “You can use one hand to steady yourself, but put the other on the floor, next to my foot.”
When she complied, he shifted, holding her fingers there with the pressure of his toes. She molded her other hand around his calf. Pinning her hand to the floor, gripping her hair, were the needed reminders of who was in control. She was moving toward a dangerous bliss, a tumultuous sea of things to come, things she wouldn’t be able to control at all. She wouldn’t let fear of that control her.
He was the only one she’d give the right to control her.
She put her mouth on his thigh and found the artery. Her lips and tongue caressed his flesh, savoring the moment, and he allowed that, too. The evidence of his arousal was increasing, just as hers was, anticipating the bond between them.
When she bit, his grip constricted, but it wasn’t a flinch. It was approval. She tasted his blood, that unique incubus-angel-Merc flavor. Mindful perhaps of what Adan and Yvette had said, about how third marking was supposed to be a sacred act, he didn’t order her to get to it. Or maybe that was because he was experiencing it as well. She’d expected him to respect the significance of this step for her. Allowing himself to feel it as well was less expected...and increased the power of it.