Out of desperation, because I didn’t like to think I was an idiot but that was more likely the case, I’d picked all the wrong guys. Justin, the last, was the most wrong of all. And I stayed with them longer than I should in order to keep myself safe.
Maybe, just maybe (and I wasn’t putting a lot into that “maybe”), I’d been wrong.
Which meant two things.
One, I’d have to apologize to Lucien for being a judgmental bitch. Two, I’d have to ask him to speed up his instructions so I understood more about the life I was meant to be leading.
Then I’d make my decision.
The one thing I knew was that, however it went between Lucien and me, I wasn’t going to let him break me.
I’d meet him halfway.
If he wasn’t willing to do that then we were back to square one.
Obviously, even the tranquility of the lake didn’t stop me from thinking about Lucien.
I’d heaved myself up and walked back up the path. When I got to the house, I made the marinade, slid the chicken br**sts in and put it in the fridge.
Then I decided to spend the rest of the day drowning my sorrows in food and numbing my mind with television.
My unfocused sight cleared and Lucien’s chest and, incidentally, Katrina’s scratch marks were completely healed, became defined again as my thoughts turned to last night.
Why I had that reaction to him feeding on someone else, to smelling her perfume, I didn’t know. But there was no denying it. I did.
In all the hateful feelings I’d had for the last two weeks, having Lucien touch me while he smelled and tasted of another woman was by far and away the worst.
Because it hurt. A lot. Too much.
I knew it shouldn’t, I had no claim on him.
But it did.
And I got it then. I understood. I knew why there was always this hint of sadness in the very backs of my mother’s eyes. And I knew the minute he told me I didn’t understand the way of his people that I couldn’t live this life.
Not as Leah Buchanan.
I’d have to be A Buchanan from The Premier Family of Vampire Concubines. Not impatient, not short-tempered, not stubborn, not immature, not anything that was me.
I’d have to be the good, perfect, dutiful concubine like my annoying cousin Myrna.
For what could be years, I was going to have to channel goody-two-shoes “I’m gonna tell on you” Myrna.
And that totally and completely stunk.
But, I told myself, I could live with that in the beautiful house, close to the beautiful lake with my beautiful clothes and, it must be said, with Lucien giving me mind-boggling, body-rocking, unbelievable orgasms if last night was anything to go by, and feeding all the time which, I had to admit, was sublime.
And he would do whatever he wanted to do which he would anyway.
Then he’d release me and I could go on.
But not with that sadness. He wasn’t going to get me to like him (or worse) and then break me that way.
I didn’t even know if I liked him and the pain of having him touch me, make my body feel like it was vibrating with life, his big, solid warmth surrounding me, making me feel precious, fragile and, above all, safe while I could smell her and taste her was bad enough.
If I actually did like him, I’d be really screwed.
Luckily, I didn’t like him so hopefully I’d be safe.