Chapter Eight

Gemma forced her eyes open most of the day. She was over eight hundred years old, but still had to sleep for a few hours. Despite the extermination of the boarding party and the elimination of the threat, she felt exposed. She was accustomed to being in more familiar surroundings, paranoid about security, and vigilant about who she trusted. Currently, the vampire in her arms topped the list.

Terrance Ramsay. Who would have thought they would come to this? He was supposed to be her partner. She’d always enjoyed him as a lover. But this…

She remembered the previous night, watching him as he twisted in the water, bending it to his will as he killed their attacker. Shoving her out of the way, yet trusting her to protect herself. Trusting her to defend him as he had defended her. He really and truly was her partner.

She did love him.

How completely unexpected. How beautiful.

Gemma felt a tear well at the corner of her eye and wondered what, exactly, she had done to deserve that kind of gift after so many hundreds of years. It was only a hint now, only the promise of what could be, that curled in her chest. She knew with time, it could become quite overwhelming. She had loved her human husband passionately, but he had never been her equal, not as Terry was.

“‘Let me not to the marriage of true minds admit impediments,’” she whispered the old words of Shakespeare’s sonnet to him as he slumbered. “‘Love is not love which alters when it alteration finds, or bends with the remover to remove: O no! it is an ever-fixed mark…’”

“‘—that looks on tempests and is never shaken.’” His quiet voice surprised her as he continued the lines. “’It is the star to every wandering bark, whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.’” Slowly, Terry’s eyes blinked open. “Good evening, Gem.”

She could feel her heart beating when she asked, “Why do you love me?”

“For that.”

“Pardon?”

“Your honesty. Your directness. You can play games—I’ve seen you twist around the wiliest vampire with your charm—but you don’t. Not with me. You never have. If anything, you’ve been rude and abrupt.”

“You like it?”

“I do.” He smiled. “I like knowing you trust me enough to show me the real Gemma, not the diplomat or the flirt. I love that you’re honest with me. I love that you’re one of the most loyal daughters I’ve ever met. And sisters. You’d raze the city if you thought one of your loved ones was in danger. You’d skewer anyone who threatened them without a thought to what it might cost you.”

“That’s not true. I always take safety considerations into mind. I’m not very much use to anyone if I’m dead, are I?”

He pulled her closer, tucking her blond head under his chin. “You’re funny and smart and fierce. And you don’t take any shit from me.”

“You have your own kind of charm, Terry. And your men adore you. Someone has to keep you in line.”

“That’s why I married you.”

Gemma felt an unexpected twist in her chest. “That’s why?”

She felt his finger under her chin, pressing up until their eyes met. “Well, that. And the fact that I’m truly…” Terry pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Utterly…” Another along her cheekbone. “…mad about you.” His lips met hers, spinning her out until she felt wrapped in tiny threads of his amnis. Surrounded. Enthralled. She’d never been drunk as a human, but she imagined it must have felt like kissing Terry. He took her mouth in tiny bites that teased her, always leaving her wanting more. She tried to tug him closer. More. He rolled over her, working his mouth down her neck, over the taut peaks of her breasts, past the quivering skin of her belly.

“You drive me mad, Gem.” His lips and tongue touched. Tasted. She could feel his fangs tease the inside of her thigh.

“Terry—”

“I thought—” He was practically vibrating with need. His voice scraped along her skin. “—I could control it. Thought I could play the part.”

“You don’t—”

“I can’t!” His fingers gripped her hips, lifting her body to his mouth so he could feast. “I’ll have all of you. Do you understand? All of you. Till I live in your blood.”

“Terry!” she sobbed, teetering on the edge, mad with desire and drunk from his words. “I love you.”

He stilled. Every nerve in her body jumped as his body stilled and his amnis swept over her. What had been a gentle lapping turned into a roaring wave. Desire. Joy. Every hair on her body rose with his touch.

“Come again.”

“I almost was.” Before she could blink, he was over her, braced on steel arms, inches from her face, and clearly not in a joking mood.

“Again.”

Gemma traced the hard planes of his face, running her hands over the hint of stubble that covered his jaw. Then she looked into his eyes and said, “I love you.”

He said nothing. Terry was frozen. In shock? She began to fidget. “I’m not sure I know how to love someone, to be totally honest. I’m really very old. And… the one time I tried long ago, it didn’t work. But he was human, and you’re…” Why was she talking about this? This wasn’t what she wanted to say. Not truly. “I love you, Terry. I think I have for some time, I just didn’t realize it. But it’s you. And you know me… probably better than anyone. You understand me. And you say you love me anyway, so—”