Taken by a Vampire (Vampire Queen) - By Joey W. Hill Page 0,135

from birth to be an InhServ, mandated to come to that service a virgin, untouched except for the clinically in-depth sexual training they were required to have, she’d never experienced the glow of first love, that overwhelming rush of emotions that attended it, except in her early naive fantasies of what a servant was. As she herself had recognized, her fervor was like that of a Catholic schoolgirl, her strict upbringing creating a rhapsodic relationship with Christ, confusing it with mortal passion and desire.

As pleasurable as it was to see her explore her real feelings, he wouldn’t let her completely lose her compass. Despite what Niall thought, Evan wasn’t ignorant of the consequences of that. He was in charge of protecting her, and he didn’t see that as limited to the time she was under her direct protection. The blank canvas wasn’t blank. There were obstacles already painted onto it. No matter how much the artist wanted to step back and watch her discover the woman beneath the InhServ—the true reason she was such a remarkable servant—he wouldn’t let her drop all her defenses.

Over the years, Niall had become skilled at packing up quickly. Thanks to Alanna, the job became even more efficient. He’d anticipated having everything transported down the mountain to the waiting RV by dusk. Instead, they finished by midafternoon, so he enjoyed playing cards with Alanna and watching her prepare him dinner from the few provisions they’d left for that purpose.

She stayed quiet most of the day. Whenever they brushed hands in the course of their duties, she would still, like a bird deciding whether to take flight, then resume moving as if nothing had happened. When he met her eyes, hers would often skitter away as she smiled at something he said. He wanted to kiss her about twenty times, but held himself back, mindful of Evan’s words. Not so much because he was obeying, but because he did understand the other man’s logic.

Whatever it helps to tell yourself, my ever-obedient servant.

That made him snort, in a way that won a curious look from Alanna. It was almost midday at that point, so it was the last time he’d heard from Evan. His words had been slurred even then, telling him the idiot had pushed his waking hours longer than he should, probably finishing up his last film roll.

Since they had some spare time, Niall took her on a quick hike to a waterfall surrounded by jewel-toned autumn trees. The magical place won him the pleasure of seeing a rare, wide smile on her face. She leaned out on slippery rocks to put her hand under the water and feel its flow. It was the most natural thing in the world to hold her about the waist to keep her steady. When she looked up at him, eyes shining, he was lost in her brown eyes like a starstruck lad. It was absurd, and yet he couldn’t help smiling down at her.

Once they were back on level ground, they stayed by the falls for a while. He whittled at a knot he found, and when she came to sit by him, she studied it. “It’s a bear,” she exclaimed.

He nodded, handed it to her. “Rough work, but bears are rough creatures. Best not make them too refined.”

She turned it over in her hand. “It would be an impossible task, anyway.”

“Hmmph.” He bumped her with his shoulder, and she smiled at him again.

“Why . . .” She paused. “May I ask you a question?”

“Depends on the question. Have tae ask it, no?”

“Evan said you’ve never wanted to go back to Scotland. Would you tell me why?”

He could tell she was worried she’d bring on a dour mood, so he made an effort to appear casual about it. “People tend to romanticize things. We were hungry to the point o’ starving, cold in the winter. What we had as roads were as likely to kill ye, if you didnae turn into an old man trying to get anywhere on them. Nothing could change your lot in life, nothing that wasnae against God’s law or man’s. By the time I was born, the clans were long gone, that community and solidarity my grandda got all misty-eyed about. A lot of folks went to America, Canada, Jamaica . . . if they could figure out how to afford it.”

His lip curled. “Walter Scott wrote his Rob Roy tale and reinvented Scotland, making it seem this place of romantic, undaunted heroes