4 - We Are Gathered by Jackie Ivie

Author:Jackie Ivie [Ivie, Jackie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: vampires, anthology, Paranormal, Romance, vampire assassins league, Short stories
Published: 2011-11-20T05:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER FIVE

The canopy atop his bed was in a blood-red hue, almost black. It had thick roped fringe all along it, in keeping with Castle Poenari’s theme. The red material was embroidered with thread of the same color in a pattern of interlocking crests. He’d exchanged those of Vlad Dracula’s family with the mark of the Vampire Assassin League. If he pondered it at length, the design took on all sorts of demonic expressions. Right now it looked like open sky; wide and clear and immeasurable.

Tristan didn’t know what to say. What to do. How to say it. It was too vast. He didn’t even know how he’d gotten onto his back, one arm cradling her, while the other supported his head. He was still dealing with how everything on his body seemed to ping with satisfaction and bliss, like little bubbles from a stream. No…it more resembled little bells continually ringing in an ear-pleasing sound. No. That wasn’t even sufficient. This feeling had to resemble the paradise he’d been promised so long ago for joining the Hositaler Knights.

He opened his mouth to speak something of it, but a drop hitting his chest stopped him. It was followed by another. Tristan lifted his head and stared. It was a tear. His mate was crying? He’d made her cry? He’d hurt her instead of pleasured her? He’d gone berserk, letting the warrior loose, and hadn’t even known it? The realization actually pained worse than the sword that entered his breastbone so many centuries before, rupturing through his chest, killing him. Much worse.

Moisture blurred the view as his own eyes watered, despite any desire at sending the emotion back. There was no way he was admitting to this! Tristan dropped his head back to the pillow with a thud. If he’d been regarding heaven a moment earlier, he now got purgatory. He took a swallow to still any tremor of his voice.

“Friudil?” He had to clear his throat midway, and it still sounded like a sob to his ears.

“Oh…Tristan. I don’t know what to say.”

She whispered it amid a series of sniffing, and then swiped a hand across her eyes. He had to guess what she did by feel since he didn’t dare look to her again. The canopy above him seemed safer. It was also back to the blood-red hue. Nothing open and vast about anything. Just demonic impressions. Writhing. Gyrating. He blinked, sending a scald of moisture toward his ears. He was failing. And he concentrated on that. It was better than the pressure building somewhere in his chest. If he had a heart, it was in agony.

“That was—. It’s—.”

“Don’t. Please.”

He lifted a hand and for some reason she took that as an indication to move to a sit and look down at him. Tristan concentrated on the canopy and willed the reaction away. His eyes burned. His throat ached. His chest had a boulder-sized weight atop it. Maybe…if he just kept silent - and if he didn’t blink – he could hide this.

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