Vampire Mine

Chapter Twenty-two

Bugger. She’d never let up now. For a sweet angel, she could be very stubborn. Connor ignored her question and teleported them to the cabin.

“Off ye go.” He immediately herded her toward the bedroom. “Ye’ll feel better after ye’ve had a shower.”

“But I—”

“Hurry up! I need a shower, too. I’m covered with blood and guts and dead vampire dust.” When she grimaced, he continued quickly, “I’m no’ fit to be around. So go!” He shoved her into the bedroom and closed the door.

He breathed a sigh of relief when he heard the water running in the bathroom. How long could he keep this up?

He warmed up a bottle, then sipped the blood from a glass while he disarmed himself. The battle had gone well. As far as he could tell, they’d killed over half of Casimir’s small army. And with the exception of Sean Whelan, they’d suffered no serious injuries.

It was a bloody shame they hadn’t been able to save the mortals.

“Rest in peace,” he murmured and drank a toast in their honor.

He wandered into the kitchen and placed his empty glass in the sink next to the bottle. In the pantry, he found a can of soup, so he warmed it up in a pot on the stove. He set an empty bowl and a spoon on the counter, then heard the water turn off.

He dashed into the closet to find a clean T-shirt and pair of flannel pants, then peered into the bedroom. Empty.

He knocked on the bathroom door. “Are ye done?”

She peeked out with a towel wrapped around her.

“My turn.” He pushed the door open and sauntered inside. “Do ye have clean clothes?”

“Yes.” She motioned toward the bedroom.

“Good.” He maneuvered her out the door. “There’s soup on the stove for you.”

“You know how to cook?”

“I know how to open a bloody can. See you later.” He closed the door.

“But Connor—”

He turned on the shower to drown out her voice. He stripped and stepped into the shower stall. How long could he stay in here? Three hours? He snorted.

Him and his big mouth.

He closed his eyes and let the hot water sluice down his body. He would just have to be firm.

“I confess nothing,” he whispered.

Images of that night flitted through his mind, but he shoved them away. What was the point? He’d probably wasted a century of his existence, wandering aimlessly about while he wallowed in shame and regret. Eventually, he’d tried to start over. He bought a small estate in the Highlands, far away from any mortals who would see him as a shameful creature. He teleported every night to a town like Inverness or Aberdeen to steal a few pints of blood. Then he returned to his home and roamed about the grounds. Slowly, the misery and loneliness drove him to despair.

He sought out Roman, who had sired him over a hundred years earlier. And that led him to Angus, and then Jean-Luc in Paris. Their struggle against Casimir became his own. It seemed that finally, his existence had a noble purpose.

But he could never escape what he had done.

With a sigh, he grabbed the soap. Poor Marielle. She felt guilty for killing one lousy Malcontent while he’d lost count centuries ago of how many he had killed. And he never suffered any remorse for their deaths. Not when he considered how many mortals they had drained dry over the years. Besides, while he was killing Malcontents, they were generally trying their best to kill him, so it was a simple matter of self-defense.

He rinsed off. How easily he dismissed all those killings. So why was he so haunted by that one night in 1543? It was wrong. Ye knew it was wrong, and ye did it, anyway.

He toweled off and pulled on the clean T-shirt and flannel pants. Then he hauled the laundry hamper into the kitchen.

Marielle was setting her empty soup bowl in the sink. Her long hair was loose and damp. She was wearing plaid flannel pajamas.

“Did ye enjoy the soup?” He tossed the kitchen towels into the hamper.

“Yes, thank you. Can we talk now?”

“We need to do the laundry.” He dragged the hamper into the nearby utility room and tossed some towels and clothes into the washing machine. His chest tightened at the sight of her clothes mixed with his T-shirts and socks.

She followed him into the room.

He poured some soap into the machine. “Did the ladies show you how to do this?”

“No.”

He snorted. They had time to tell her about blow jobs and paint his fingernails pink. “Ye turn the knob here, then—” He froze when she leaned forward to watch, resting a hand against the machine.

Nothing happened.

“Then?” She gave him a questioning look.

Her touch no longer made something work? “Ye push the button here.” He started the machine. What had happened to take away her magical touch? Was the demon right when he said the longer she stayed on Earth, the more human she would become?

Bugger. What if she ran out of time before he could get her back to heaven? A part of him didn’t want her to go, but a bigger part cringed at the thought of failing her. He’d failed everyone else in the past.

“Can we talk now?” she asked.

“Nay, we need to . . . load the dishwasher.” He padded into the kitchen and took his time rinsing everything in the sink before stacking it into the machine. He even scrubbed the pot he’d warmed the soup in.

When he closed the dishwasher, she was waiting there, holding a mop.

She offered it to him. “Do you want to clean the floors now? And sweep the porch? I think the antlers on the moose head need polishing.”

“Are ye mocking me now?”

She leaned the mop against the kitchen cabinets. “I want to talk. I’m sure you know what I want to talk about.”

“And I’m sure ye know I doona want to talk about it.”

She tilted her head, studying him a moment. “Fine.” She turned and went into the bedroom.

He exhaled with relief. Was it really going to be that easy?

Less than a minute later, she exited the bedroom, carrying a blanket. She’d added a jacket over her pajamas and fuzzy slippers on her feet.

No, it wasn’t going to be easy. He folded his arms across his chest. “Are ye going somewhere?”

“I’d like to go back to the meadow where we made love last night. You can teleport us there, right?”

“I . . . suppose I could.”

“Good. You owe me a blow job.”

“What?”

She gave him an impatient look. “You said you didn’t get to taste me or make me come with your mouth. I assume that offer still stands?”

His groin tightened. “I—” He ran a hand through his damp hair. The clever minx was learning very quickly how to be human. “This is yer strategy, then, to trick me into talking? I’m no’ going if that’s what ye’re up to.”

She shrugged. “Fine. I guess you don’t want a blow job, either.”

Seconds ticked by.

“I’ll get my shoes.”

A minute later, they arrived at the green meadow nestled in the midst of forested mountains.

Marielle spread the blanket on the ground, kicked off her shoes, then stretched out, gazing up at the stars.

“Do ye have any idea how beautiful ye are?” he asked softly.

She propped herself up on her elbows. “Aren’t you going to lie down?”

He sighed and kicked at the ground. “I’m no’ worthy of you. Ye know that. Ye’ve already figured out the terrible things I’ve done.”

“I’ve done terrible things, too. I healed a child who grew up to become a serial killer. And tonight, I ended a life.”

“In order to save another man’s life. And ye healed that child out of compassion. Yer heart has always been good. Whereas mine . . .” He turned away.

“Are you ashamed? Is that why you refuse to talk about it?”

He snorted. “Shame and remorse weigh heavy on my soul, but they doona prevent me from living my life. They dinna stop me from falling for you.”

“Then why are you reluctant to talk to me?”

He swallowed hard. “I’m . . . afraid.”

“Of being punished? Of going to hell?”

“Nay.” He turned to her. “I’m afraid of losing yer love. Yer respect. I could bear anything but that.”

She remained silent for a while. “I believe I’ve been insulted.”

“How?”

“You must think my love for you is very small. Shallow and . . . undependable.”

He stiffened. “I dinna say that.”

“Then try me. Give me a chance to prove myself.”

“And a chance for me to lose you?”

“You won’t lose me.” She patted the blanket beside her. “Trust me. Please.”

With a heavy heart, he sat beside her. He’d held the pain inside for so long, he hardly knew how to let it out. “If ye hate me, I willna blame you.”

She rubbed his back. “You’ve hated yourself more than enough. I won’t add to it.”

He bent his legs and folded his arms across his knees. Could she still love him? With a pang, he realized he’d reached a point where he needed to know. He needed to put an end to the pain. And he needed the certainty of her love.

He took a deep breath. “I was thirty years old, proud to have my own land and a lovely young wife. But the land was along the border, and an English lord was claiming it for his own. So in 1542, I went to fight at Solway Moss.”

“And that’s when Roman found you dying?” Marielle asked.

“Aye. After he transformed me, he and Angus warned me no’ to go home. They said my wife wouldna be able to accept me. That’s what happened to Angus, ye ken. But I dinna listen. I went home, and my wife . . . she welcomed me.”

“That’s good.” Marielle patted his back. “I’m glad.”

He sighed. “At the time, I thought I was the luckiest man on Earth. There I was, a terrifying, bloodsucking creature, and she still wanted me. Now, I wonder if she really had any choice. She was six months’ pregnant when I was transformed. Her parents were deceased. She had no other place to go.”

“I’m sure she loved you,” Marielle whispered.

“ ’Twould have been better for her if she had rejected me. The news spread through the local village, and the people feared for their lives and the lives of their children. I would work the field at night, but they would come and throw stones at me and yell at me to leave. I had to find secret places for my death-sleep so they wouldna try to kill me while I slept.”

“I’m so sorry.”

He shrugged. “I drank blood from our livestock and worked hard on the farm. I thought after the babe was born, and the villagers realized I meant no harm to anyone, they would leave us alone. The night my wife gave birth, I was there to help her.”

He hugged his knees. “I will always remember the joy I felt, holding our wee babe in my arms. I thought my heart would burst. I fell into my death-sleep thinking no man could possibly be more blessed than I.”

He stood abruptly and walked away from the blanket.

“What happened?” Marielle asked.

“I awoke the next evening and rushed to the house to see how Fionnula and my daughter were faring.” He shut his eyes briefly as the memory flashed through his mind. “The men from the village had killed them both.”

Marielle gasped and rose to her feet. “How could they? Why would they do that?”

“They figured I was only staying there because of my wife and child. So they killed them to be rid of me.”

“Connor, I’m so sorry.” She touched his arm.

He scoffed. “Do ye think the story ends there? That I cried for my wife and daughter, then quietly made my leave?”

Marielle’s eye widened.

“Oh, I cried, all right. I shouted and screamed. I tore the house apart. I flew into a rage that ye canna imagine. A cold rage that turned the world blue and froze the blood in my veins. I took my claymore and went to the village. And I slaughtered every man there.”

Her face grew pale.

“I knew it was wrong, but I dinna care. I did it anyway.”

“You were distraught,” she whispered.

“That is no excuse!” He gritted his teeth. “I killed them all, and I found great satisfaction in it.”

“You—you don’t mean that.”

“Aye, I do! There were women and children screaming in terror, begging me to stop, but I kept going till every man in the village was dead.”

Tears glimmered in Marielle’s eyes. “You were in terrible pain.”

“Love can do terrible things.” He rubbed his brow. “My wife died because she loved me. Then I took her love and the innocent love of a wee babe and twisted it into an ugly rampage for revenge. I doomed my soul.”

A tear ran down Marielle’s cheek. “I’m so sorry for all the pain you’ve endured—”

“What about the pain my wife and child endured? What about the widows and orphans I left behind? After a few nights, I realized the true impact of my crime. Women and children slowly starving to death because of me. I would go hunting every night and bring them a deer or a handful of rabbits. And they screamed in terror whenever I came. Eventually, they all left, running away from the nightmare I had foisted upon them.”

He sighed. “The village disappeared. There’s nothing there now but empty fields. And the grave where I laid my wife and daughter.”

“I am truly sorry,” she whispered. “For everyone.”

He tilted his head back and gazed at the stars. His heart felt lighter just for sharing the secret of his crime, but his punishment was about to begin. Any minute now, she would rebuke him for being a cruel and vicious monster.

She was silent.

He glanced at her and saw that her eyes were shut. Tears glistened on her cheeks, and her mouth moved silently as if in prayer.

He took a deep breath, preparing himself for rejection. He’d known all along he wasn’t worthy of her. It didn’t stop him from loving her, though. And it wouldn’t stop him from keeping his pledge.

Her eyes opened, and she regarded him sadly.

His heart squeezed. For the first time, he could see her age in her eyes. Millennia of pain, joy, and wisdom.

“I want to be clear on this,” she said softly. “I never want to hear you say again that your soul is doomed. Do you think you are God that you can make such a judgment?”

He blinked. “But I am doomed. Even the demon said I was on his list.”

“A demon will say everyone is on his list. But he is not God, either. The decision is not his.”

Connor swallowed hard. “Ye’re no’ . . . appalled by what I did?”

“I am constantly appalled by what humans do. And constantly amazed.” She sighed. “Why should I point out the seriousness of your transgression when you already know it? You have great remorse for what you did. You should ask our Heavenly Father to forgive you. And then begin your life anew.”

“I doona deserve it.”

She smiled. “You can feel that way, but He still loves you. I love you, Connor Buchanan. I will always love you.”

His heart stuttered. “Ye—ye canna mean that.”

She made a face. “Oh, you’re right. I changed my mind. I hate your guts now.”

“What?”

She swatted his shoulder. “When I say I love you, you should accept it. If you don’t, then you’re calling me a liar.”

“Nay, I—” Tears stung his eyes. “Ye still love me?”

She gave him an impatient look. “Only a man with a good and noble heart would punish himself for centuries. Your wife and daughter would not be pleased to see you wallowing in misery.”

“I’m no’ wallowing,” he grumbled. “I fought a battle earlier tonight.”

“You’ve kept a black pit of suffering in you for so long, you have trouble accepting love when it falls in your lap. It’s time to stop the suffering. You have a woman here who loves you.” She crossed her arms with a huff. “And I’m getting really tired of waiting for my blow job.”

He laughed.

She gave him one of her radiant smiles. “That’s more like it. You have centuries ahead of you, Connor Buchanan. They should be filled with love and laughter.”

He pulled her into his arms and buried his face in her hair, his tears mingling with her damp hair. “Ye are the light in my darkness. I love you more than I can say.”

“Will you become one with me?” she whispered.

He leaned back. “We . . . canna . . .”

“I want to.” She caressed his cheek, wiping his tears away. “If I ever make it back to heaven, I want to know that I gave you everything I have.”

“But what if it . . . soils yer—”

She touched his mouth. “I’ve come to realize that joining with you could never be a soiling of our love, but a celebration of it.”

His heart swelled and he squeezed her hand. “I like the way ye think.”

She smiled. “I thought you would.”

Marielle jolted when she felt his tongue against her private parts. Good heavens! She clutched the blanket in her fists.

Connor was amazing her with his speed and determination. In a frenzy of movement, he had undressed her and himself in just a few seconds. Then in a whirlwind of sensation, he’d tumbled her down on the blanket and kissed her all over. Her nipples were red and hard from his suckling. Her heart pounded from the wild things he’d done with his fingers. Still reeling from that climax, she’d watched him kiss his way up her bare legs to her thighs.

And then . . . his tongue. Good heavens, the things this man did with his tongue. She gasped. She moaned. She cried out for mercy, and he kept going, kept taking her higher and higher. She was spiraling toward the heavens, flying without wings. She screamed, but instead of plummeting to Earth, she landed in his arms.

“Oh, Connor.” She gasped for air. Her heart thundered, and her body rocked with spasms.

He leaned over her, smiling. “No speaking in tongues?”

She smiled back. “Magnifique.”

“Wrap yer legs around me.”

“Mmm?” She did as he asked, then jolted when she felt him pressing against her. And the two shall become one. “You didn’t want your blow job?”

“I want inside you. Now.”

“Oh.”

He looked at her closely. “Did ye change yer mind?”

“No.” She gasped when he nudged at her. Her grip tightened on his shoulders.

“Am I hurting you?”

She shook her head. “No. It’s just strange. As an angel I never even noticed this sort of thing. It seemed so . . . unimportant. But now, it . . . it seems like a really big thing.”

“Aye. It is.”

She searched his eyes and saw so much love and tenderness there. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” He rested his brow against hers.

He plunged into her. She gasped. He gasped, too, their breaths intermingling.

“You’re inside me,” she whispered, then hugged him tight with her arms and legs. Even her inner core squeezed tightly around him.

He groaned.

The small amount of pain she had felt faded away. The discomfort of feeling overly stretched melted away. She smiled. And the two shall become one.

She patted his back. “I’m comfortable with you now. Thank you.”

“Comfortable?” He propped himself up on his elbows and frowned at her. “Ye’re no’ excited?”

“Excited?”

“Aye. I’m so excited, I’m about to explode.”

“Oh. Of course.” That was how a man spilled his seed inside a woman. “You can finish up whenever you like. I’ll be fine.”

“Fine?”

She smiled. “Yes.”

He cursed under his breath.

She wondered what was wrong. They were one now. How could she be confused about what he was thinking if they were one?

“Ye want to feel fine?” He pulled out a bit, then plunged back in.

She gasped.

“Was that fine?” He ground himself against her.

“Oh!” She clenched his shoulders.

He dragged himself out slowly, then slammed back in.

She squeaked.

He set a steady pace. “Are ye feeling fine yet?”

“Yes!” Good heavens, he was doing it to her again, making her fly, but now it was even better. He was soaring with her.

He pounded into her, and when she screamed her release, he shouted and let himself go. The feel of him climaxing inside her made her own release go on and on.

He collapsed beside her, breathing heavily.

She smiled, gazing at the stars overhead. She’d done it. She’d become one with Connor. For all eternity, she would know they were one.

Her smile faded. If the Father could forgive Connor, He might forgive her, too, and tell the Archangels to let her back into heaven.

But how could she leave Connor?