In the Company of Vampires

You think I was that much of a pushover, huh? I was a bit indignant about that. Until he kissed a path over to my other breast, his fingers and mouth working to bring me to a frenzy.

Right. I was. Thank god for your presence of mind. My nipple feels abandoned and unloved, could you please . . . Words flew out of my mind, replaced only by the sensation of Ben’s mouth on my breast, nibbling, licking, and teasing me, my sensations mingling with the ones he was feeling.

I knew that you were ripe for seduction, yes. But that wouldn’t have been what was best for you. You were simply too young, as I quickly realized.

I hope to the stars that you are over such a protective attitude, because it’s very irritating. Would you like me to reciprocate?

Reciprocate making decisions for my welfare?

“No, do you want me to nibble on your nipples? I’ve heard that some men are into that, and others aren’t. Are you go or no go in that respect?”

He lifted his head from where he was nuzzling the underside of my breast. “I’ve never been stimulated that way, no.”

“Ah.” I looked at his chest. “Maybe I should just give it a try and we’ll verify that.”

“If you wish, although I don’t want you to be disappointed when I don’t—” He froze when I gently, ever so gently, bit his nearer nipple.

His eyes rolled back into his head when I stroked one hand down his chest, to his crotch, feeling the hardness beneath the fly of his jeans.

He stopped breathing when I let him feel just how much enjoyment I was receiving from tasting him, kissing his chest, stroking his back, and running my thumb up and down his growing proof of arousal.

“Oh, no, you’re not finding this stimulating at all,” I cooed into his other nipple, licking it until Ben grabbed my shoulders and groaned with unadulterated pleasure. “I really like the taste of you, Ben. I had no idea men could taste . . . well, manly. Without being sweaty or musky or anything unpleasant like that. You taste kind of hot, kind of smoky, like you’ve been out by a camp-fire. You smell . . .” I took a deep breath, relishing the way his scent seemed to quicken my blood. “You smell wonderful.”

He nuzzled my neck as I moved up to kiss his shoulder, silent for a few seconds. Are you sure, Francesca? Absolutely sure? If we do all those things you are thinking of doing, assuming I survive them, and I may not because you have evidently become quite inventive during our five years apart, if we do them, it will mean we are just one step away from Joining.

I gently bit the tendon of his neck, causing him to rear back with a startled flash in his eyes.

“I’m certain. Only . . . it sounds trite to say be gentle, but I’m new to all this, so I’d appreciate any pointers on what you give a green light to, and what leaves you cold.”

“You had no trouble finding several new things I give the green light to,” he said, his body trembling a little as I stroked down the front of his fly again.

“I didn’t say I was naive, just new to—”

The door to the trailer opened. Imogen, out of breath and looking very worried, dashed in. “Fran? Are you here? When you disappeared, I was worried, but then I heard from Desdemona that you and Ben had the most appalling scene, and I knew you must be all—oh. You’re here.” Her eyes took in the fact that neither of us wore shirts. “I . . . uh . . .”

“Are de trop? Yes, you are. That was a scene put on for Naomi’s sake,” Ben answered, handing me my shirt, which I quickly slipped on. “And Francesca is just fine.”

Her brilliant smile lit up the room. “I’m so glad. I worried . . . but I see I was worrying amiss.”

I studied her for a moment. She didn’t look any different, and yet . . . my gaze went from her to Ben, and seeing them together, I suddenly realized what it was. Although Imogen was older than Ben, suddenly she looked younger. The Ben I remembered appeared to be about nineteen or twenty; this Ben looked ten years older.

How did you do that?

He cocked the other eyebrow at me. Do what?

You look older. Which is good, I guess, because I wouldn’t want to spend eternity bound to a guy who looks nineteen. But now you look more mature.

You aged , so I altered my appearance to what was appropriate for you.

You can change your appearance like that?

“I will leave so you two can . . . I will leave. Good night, Benedikt. Good night, Fran.”

I’ll explain the concept of Dark One aging to you later.

“Night, Imogen.” I’ll hold you to that. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

She hesitated at the door. “I just knew things would work out, and now they have, and I’m so happy for you both. But, Fran, where’s your ring?”

She turned inquisitive eyes to her brother.

“Here.” Ben pulled the ring from his pocket, taking my left hand, placing the ring first over my thumb, then forefinger, then middle finger, where he left it. I smiled.

Sorry I threw it at you.

There is no need for you to apologize. He pulled my hand to his mouth, placing a kiss on my palm. I shivered at the touch.

“There, you see? I just knew you couldn’t have abandoned dear Fran,” Imogen said, tears of happiness glittering in her blue eyes. “And now I really will leave.”

As she opened the door, a whirlwind entered the trailer, or at least that’s what it seemed like. The door was flung open and three large men charged in, all of them yelling at the same time. Ben turned to block my view, but the whirlwind didn’t end until Imogen said one word.

“Finnvid!” she gasped, her expression mingling delight with chagrin.

One-third of the whirlwind stopped, staring at her in surprise for a second before he whooped and scooped her up, spinning her around. “Imogen!”

Ben said something that sounded remarkably like swearing, his eyes narrowed on the Vikings as Eirik and Isleif stopped in front of me. “What the hell are they doing here?”

“Didn’t I mention they were here?” I asked with a lame smile before turning on the three men. “I thought you guys were going to spend the night in town?”

“Finnvid, I wasn’t . . . I had no idea . . . Fran never said . . . ,” Imogen sputtered, trying to slip out of Finnvid’s hold, but not succeeding.

Eirik moved so he was between Ben and me, his frown matching Ben’s as the two men glared at each other. “Do you think we would leave you unprotected, virgin goddess?”

Virgin goddess? Ben asked.

Don’t even go there.

“You are ours to protect, and we hear how this Dark One abused you a little while ago. We have come to save you from him. Shall we cleave him in two?”

“I’d like to see you try,” Ben said in a low, dangerous voice that had my eyes opening wide.

“Finnvid, you must set me down. Things have changed since I saw you last.”

Eirik stood toe-to-toe with Ben, the Viking’s eyes narrowed as he snarled, “I will be happy to meet you, Dark One.”

“Break it up, boys,” I said in a tone that I realized sounded just like my mother when she was annoyed. I cleared my throat and added, “Eirik, stop baiting Ben. He’s not going to tolerate—”

Eirik flew past me, slamming against the wall.

“—that.” I sighed and raised my hand when Isleif leaped forward, flinging himself on Ben. I spent a moment offering thanks that they hadn’t found bullets for their guns, but as Finnvid, catching sight of the fight that was going on, unceremoniously dumped Imogen and joined the fray, I kind of wished I had a ladies’ small beheading ax. I knew three Vikings who I’d use it on.

Eirik, recovering from being knocked silly against the wall, ran past me and leaped onto Ben, who was currently engaged in beating the crap out of Isleif and Finnvid. I was about to demand they stop fighting when Imogen put her hand on my arm. “Oh, let them, Fran.”

“You can’t seriously mean you want me to let the Vikings beat up Ben? I might not be ready to be his Beloved, but I really would prefer he not be hurt. I have plans for him tonight.”

She smiled and tugged me a few feet away from where the three Vikings were pounding the bummocks out of Ben. “Does he look like he’s being harmed?”

I stood on my tiptoes and tried to peer through the mass of whirling, punching, and swearing bodies. For one moment, I caught a glimpse of Ben. He didn’t look any worse for wear—in fact, there was a remarkable look of satisfaction on his face as he landed a punch on Isleif that sent the much bigger man staggering backward.

“I swear I will never understand men,” I said, sighing. “He’s enjoying himself, isn’t he?”

“Yes, he is. You don’t know, but he’s been keeping all of his emotions bottled up inside him ever since you left, and I knew he was aching for a good brawl to release some of the frustrations. Although I will say I hope he doesn’t harm Finnvid too much.”

I raised my eyebrows at her.

She smiled. “Well, Günter hasn’t returned, and . . . I’m sure you understand.”

“I do, and I am happy to have one less Viking underfoot.” I looked at my watch. “How long do you think we should let them go at it?”

“Oh, I think it’s been long enough for Benedikt to work through the worst of his anger.”

I put my fingers to my mouth and let out a whistle that was effectively piercing in the closed confines of the trailer. “Vikings! Stop beating up Ben!”

Reluctantly, they did as I bid, Isleif stepping back rather than throwing himself onto the pig pile on Ben. Finnvid, with an elbow to Ben’s nose, managed to rise and move off him. Eirik tried to get one last shot in, but Ben nailed him with a punch to the gut that left the Viking doubled over. Ben got to his feet, his breathing hard, a cut over his left eyebrow bleeding sluggishly, and a slight swelling on one side of his jaw. He flexed his fingers, absently rubbing them.

Are you okay?

Of course. Did you think I could be harmed by three ghosts? Arrogance was rich in his voice. ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">