Taken by a Vampire (Vampire Queen) - By Joey W. Hill Page 0,212

of this lot, Evan, but there’s a core to you I’ve relied on to bear all my pain and regrets. You’ve cared for me, no matter all that.”

He’d told Alanna that Jewish men were more susceptible to emotional displays, but they were never acceptable in the vampire world. However, even if every vampire Evan knew was crowded into this room, he’d still do what he did now.

Rising, he went to his servant. “You’re not being foolish,” he said, putting a hand on his jaw. Niall’s eyes closed, and he turned his face into Evan’s palm, the wide shoulders dropping, body fairly crumpling, but Evan caught his weight, held him close. It wasn’t just Alanna the past few weeks had nearly killed. He could feel Niall’s utter exhaustion, so deep. If this had shortened his life further . . . Panic at the thought squeezed him. He shared some of Niall’s same fears, after all.

“I’ve changed my mind,” he said, low, gripping the man’s hair. “You’ll sleep on the cot here. I want both my servants where I can see them, touch them.”

He didn’t care that the mark was gone. Alanna was his servant. He’d imprinted on her soul, no matter the lack of physical binding, and he’d do whatever he could to keep both of them as long as possible. Even if he had to make a deal with the devil to do it.

Alanna swam in that gray mist, too tired to think, but content, easy. She heard men’s voices, men she knew. Trusted. Sometimes one of them laid next to her, spinning in that world with her, one hand on her stomach or hip, the other stroking her bare scalp. Was her hair gone? She was like a babe in truth, curled up and drifting in a quiet, womblike world.

Soft rays of sunlight penetrated her gray dawn. As she rode those beams, passing her hands through them, she felt warmth on her face. The light brush of flower petals, their fragrance.

“Wake up, muirnín. Our Master needs you.”

She responded to that as she responded to nothing else, trying to push toward where the light was brightest.

“Easy. Take your time.” Her Master’s voice. “Don’t rush. Come to us like a butterfly. Just float in this direction.”

The words were spoken in a warm voice, but they were an order nonetheless. She floated, even putting out her arms like wings, entranced by the way it felt to let them glide up and back like that. She was moving toward something, something that took shape, shadows and silhouettes. She recalled nightmares, things so horrifying she didn’t dare turn around for fear they were behind her. She was moving toward safety. Toward their arms. The nightmares wouldn’t outrun her.

She opened her eyes, and there they were.

Her arms were out to her sides, just like in her mind, and now she let one of them float into Niall’s grasp, the other already in her Master’s. She wasn’t sure she could breathe. Were they real? They had to be.

She spoke their names, but her voice was not her own. It was a weak, broken whisper. Evan squeezed her hand. “Lord Brian says you’ll likely get your vocal cords back once you’re third-marked again, though your voice quality might be different.”

“A sultry rasp, like a Hollywood starlet, muirnín.”

Third-marked again? The warmth she’d felt from their presence, their touch, was swept away with a renewed awareness of the cold emptiness. She had no marks at all, belonged to no vampire, was bound to no one. She clutched at their hands, panic in her grip. “Why? Can’t you . . . Master. Don’t want me anymore . . . ?”

Evan’s face changed in a heartbeat from concern and welcome to an emotion so strong she didn’t have a name to it, but it was the most reassuring thing she’d ever seen. “I will want you forever, Alanna. I’ve asked the Council to consider me as your permanent Master. But they must make the decision.”

“One which requires more input.”

Her gaze shifted to a man standing at the foot of her bed. “Cold. Cloak . . . on my shoulders. Blue eyes. Jacob.”

His blue eyes warmed. “Good to see you with us again, Alanna,” he said gently. With the ease of a man used to touching and pleasing women—in fact, she recalled his primary job was to do that for one of the most difficult and intimidating females she knew—he put his hand on her covered foot, a small protrusion beneath several