Taken by a Vampire (Vampire Queen) - By Joey W. Hill Page 0,20

light and shadows, but as she started to descend, a pair of hands touched her legs. A shiver ran from that contact point up her thighs. She remembered those long, strong fingers far better than she’d expected. Though Debra had confirmed the two males had been there, that they weren’t a dream, she didn’t know if the painting, the way those hands had made her feel, had been true, or something she’d enhanced, an oasis constructed by her mind to survive Stephen’s punishing invasion. She had that answer now.

Those hands slid from her calves to her thighs with easy intimacy, because of course she was his to touch, right? His hands had a different strength than Niall’s, but were no less reassuring as they brushed over her hips, closed on her waist, ensuring she made it safely to the floor. Understanding the peculiarities of Randoms, she’d managed their kindnesses accordingly. But she had no clue how to take such a gesture from a vampire. It seemed very . . . human. Evan was a made vampire, but then so was Stephen, and many of his acquaintances. None of them would have assisted a servant in such a way.

Turning away from the ladder, she faced her new Master. She was five four, so she estimated his height at six feet when she did a quick glance upward. Evan didn’t have Niall’s height or breadth—she didn’t imagine many men did—but his shoulders were broad, despite a rangy body type, lean and knotted. He had the decided features of a handsome Jewish man—straight slash cheekbones, his mouth a firm, thin line, his straight nose the dividing marker for wide-spaced eyes that were gray and deep-set, with dark fine brows to complement the straight fall of hair over them. She suspected the charisma he emanated had been there before he was turned, but the vampire blood only enhanced it.

She was wrong. She had seen his face at some point, because she remembered his eyes. How long had they stayed at her bedside? The painting, the touch of Niall’s hands on her face . . . it had seemed to go on a long time. Hell’s minions had been howling at the door, but they’d been unable to get through while Evan and Niall were there.

“Just as impossibly beautiful as I expected,” Evan murmured. Without permission, her body swayed toward his, recalling that voice. He put a hand on her shoulder. “Though a little dizzy. Niall didn’t feed you.”

“No, he did, Master. My apologies. I . . .” It wasn’t dizziness, not that kind. They’d been real. It made the memory something far more significant to her, and she wasn’t sure how to process that. She was so outside her normal milieu, it made their reality almost more fantastic than when she thought them a hallucination.

He touched a loose lock of her hair. The dark red color, with shimmers of gold throughout, had always drawn attention. She had to fight the urge to turn into that touch. InhServs could show pleasure when the time was appropriate, but this didn’t feel like that time. He’d think her a fool. “Was your trip a pleasant experience?” he asked. “I expect the opportunity to put Niall back on his heels was the best part.”

She blinked. “Yes . . . I mean, the trip was fine, Master.”

Evan chuckled. Brushing her cheek with his fingertips, he kept his other hand on her waist, but it didn’t feel like a casual touch. He was learning her, and she was vibrating beneath the attention. The flicker in those heavy-lidded eyes showed his awareness of it, but she kept her gaze on his throat. A servant didn’t meet a vampire’s gaze unless she had permission. Even if the vampire had gray eyes that reminded her of that still, floating place after the nightmares had receded.

His regard was different from that of other vampires, however. It was a full exploration, as if he was trying to see below the skin and muscle, the architecture of bone, to determine what emotions and experiences radiating from her soul made her face look like it did. It was disconcerting, but she stayed still.

Glimpsing him through her lashes, she realized he’d been turned young, perhaps when he was no more than twenty-one or twenty-two. But four hundred years of life and that innate charisma tempered his youthful appearance, even as the combination made him look even more preternatural. He wouldn’t ever blend in among humans easily.

“Evan Samuel Miller