Taken by a Vampire (Vampire Queen) - By Joey W. Hill Page 0,40

took over, washing over to blue, blending with it so it shimmered like pearl. Then comes the fire. The streaks of clouds, the hints of light t’come. You can feel the heat, and ye know God’s given you another day to do His work.”

Evan’s gaze was fixed on him, so still it made Niall shift uncomfortably.

“One day,” the vampire said, “I expect there will be a way to capture an image on paper with a machine, so it replicates it exactly. But even so, it won’t show what you just described.”

Niall shrugged. “I described it as ye asked. If you want sonnets or science, you’ve chosen the wrong man to ask.”

“You mistake me. No machine will ever be able to show an image the way the soul sees it. And that’s the picture an artist seeks.”

“Most artists I know are seeking coin. Hoping for fat commissions from titled lords.”

“So I’m not an artist?” Evan arched a brow, emphasizing those patrician features, the straight nose and high cheekbones. Ach, but the man needed a broken nose or a scar to make his face less . . . distracting.

“Not the usual kind.” Niall cleared his throat. “For one thing, ye came to Scotland to paint landscapes. Most of the English look at Scotland in horror and flee back to their estates with their smooth green gardens.”

Evan smiled. “I’m not English, remember? If I do it right, the subject itself infuses the brush with life, from the first contact with the canvas. That connection makes all the difference. And I didn’t initially come to Scotland to paint landscapes. I came to see the Book of Kells.”

“Aye, so you said. Fascinated because they used thousands o’ wee dots to form a letter. I’ve seen thousands o’ ants carry grains of sand to make their house, keep the rain out and the food in. That seems far more practical than wasting all that effort on a letter of the alphabet.”

“Pict barbarian.”

“You said the Picts had admirable methods o’ stone carving.”

“Uncouth Viking, then.”

Niall snorted, but left the rabbits, coming to Evan’s side to see what he was doing with the information he’d given him. Of course, he was probably mulling it for a future painting. There was no way to predict how the vampire’s mind worked, unless unpredictability itself could be considered predictable.

Evan was painting a tree, a hardy Caledonian pinewood as he’d seen it in Scotland, but he’d painted it against the picturesque spires, domes and bridges of Florence. Even though he’d done the picture in grays and whites, somehow he’d captured the sense of bright daylight over the city. But as the eye traveled up the hill toward the misplaced tree, the sky became more turbulent, the tree an angular soldier standing alone from all the rest. Out of place, yet enduring, strong.

Niall had found a disconcerting kind of peace, watching Evan work. There was no denying or describing it. Fortunately, Evan asked plenty of questions about light and trees and such, but he never asked Niall what he thought of a painting. The one time he’d volunteered a comment, it had been about a commissioned portrait of an Italian noblewoman and her two ratlike dogs. He’d told Evan it was nice. Evan had just arched that fine brow, offered a neutral sound and gone back to it.

Now, though, Evan’s fingers had stilled. The vampire’s attention was on him. Niall didn’t look toward him, keeping his eyes on the canvas. When Evan touched his face, he quivered. He knew he was that tree, out of place, yet captured on that canvas by the truths that Evan saw.

“What do you see in it?” Niall asked gruffly.

Evan’s touch moved to his jaw, guided his face toward him. Niall was startled to find the vampire’s face so close to his own. While he was a couple of inches taller than Evan, and looked a decade older, the male had a way of making it clear who was the more imposing of the two, on every level.

Niall made a noise, an uncertain resistance. Evan closed the distance, bringing his mouth to his. Coaxing Niall’s stiff lips open, he teased his tongue with his own, tightening his fingers on his neck even more, letting him feel their strength. Evan had the ability to bruise and force, but now it was reined back. Instead, he shifted a step closer and let his other hand slide to Niall’s back, take a firm hold of the stuff of his shirt, twist with