a virgin?” he’d asked, almost gasping, as all of the air left his lungs at the same time.
Iridea had nodded shyly. “I no longer wish to be,” she’d said.
“How old are you, Iridea?” Keirc asked incredulous.
“A little over one hundred,” she answered. “I think you are older than me, but these things are not important.”
How could a woman this gorgeous have remained virgin for over a century, Keirc wondered, but then realized that she had seemed a little naive about some things. And one hundred years was considered young among supernaturals, who often lived many centuries. Keirc was closer to his third century and was still viewed as young. Initially, Iridea had seemed almost as if she hadn’t been around males often, but he’d considered her shy, gentle nature a part of her charm, never thinking of why. He also realized that her life at the Demesne was probably only a little less restrictive than being in a prison. She had to be taking enormous risks to see him. Risks he hadn’t realized.
And…he’d brought her here…to the Sanctum…a rival haven to her father’s
“No,” he’d said. “You deserve better. You shouldn’t do this…with me.” Christ, he’d had so many females and even human women; he’d lost count over the centuries. Now, the one that really touched his heart was a virgin and the child of a male known for ruthlessness.
“You would have me do it with someone else?”
That stopped him cold. He wouldn’t have her with anyone else. Ever.
Fuuuuuck.
“I will remain virgin…until you’re ready Keirc,” she’d said with conviction.
“Do you know who I am?” he’d asked, taking her in his arms.
“I figured that out, but I don’t care. Our brains can’t always tell our hearts what to feel or not feel, who to love, who to not love, Keirc,” she replied, staring into his eyes. “It will be as I have said. I will remain virgin until you feel the time is right…for you.”
She was still a virgin when he’d smuggled her back to the border of the Sanctum’s lands hours later, yet her courage touched him, just like everything else about her. A month passed before he accepted her gift. A year had passed since then and each time they were together, in his rooms or hers at the Demesne, Keirc’s heart filled with fear, yet he remained unable to say the words needed to end their relationship. She’d even given him a key to her rooms, which was more symbolic than practical since there wasn’t a lock that Keirc couldn’t pop as easily as the cap on a beer bottle with his telekinetic gifts. He’d only been to her rooms a few times, but he was beginning to lose his sense over …well, just about everything. Worse, he’d fallen into love. After all the women he’d known, the one to take him straight to his knees and steal his heart had ended up being a virgin and the sheltered child of his father’s enemy.
Stroking Iridea’s bright, wavy hair, he wondered where in the hell they’d end up. He also thought of Pria for a moment, feeling guilty for ranting at her about the dangers of her life among humans, yet here he was with Iridea, who was one hell of a risk that he couldn’t seem to cut out of his life, even for her own good.
Iridea raised her head from his wide chest to look into his eyes. “What’s wrong?” she asked, sensing the muscles in his chest growing tense.
Keirc outlined the events of the day. When he’d finished, Iridea was frowning, her soft gray eyes wide as dinner plates.
“A human? My God, Keirc. Is she well?”
“Well, enough,” he said. “Andrieu has healed her, but I’m sure she’s going to insist on going back to her apartment soon if she didn’t insist on leaving tonight. That’s Pria. Always thinking she’s fucking invincible. She’s really impossible. Stubborn. Annoying. Nosy.”
“You love her,” Iridea said, sitting up, hiding her smile. In fact, she was kind of impressed with Pria’s courage although they’d never met. To live away from the Demesne, doing exactly as she wished, to run her own business…well, that would take a lot of nerve.
“Yeah, I love her. She’s my sister, you know.” Then, looking into those sparkling gray eyes of hers, he said the single word that caught in his heart every time he thought of Iridea lately. “Stay.”
At about ten that night, Cy Kent faxed a twelve-sentence press release to a dozen local news venues. He rubbed his bald head and eyes, having re-read the thing a dozen times before congratulating himself on having managed to personally avoid Georgia Hudsis and sent it off. The release was direct, hit the highlights, commended the bravery of the hostages without releasing their names, and stated that Whitwater had been pronounced dead at the scene. What actually caused Whitwater’s death was not contained in the statement because Cy hadn’t gotten the final word from Saint Rushton’s Coroner, Martin Elister, and he’d learned long ago not to tramp around in areas where he really wasn’t the expert. The release also stated that a hostage had been wounded, a fact that was regrettable but unavoidable given the circumstances.
Whitwater’s death sort of amazed Cy and he was rather eager to know about a cause. The guy had only been shot in the ass and had a fractured hip, but when he left his office that night he didn’t really give a shit. What he really wanted was about twelve hours of sleep. Closing the door, he’d sighed watching his cops, still buzzing along despite the hour. Damn, he thought, walking to the elevator, he’d probably only get about five or six hours in the sack, but it’d be better than nothing.
Sebastien Galaurus stretched his legs out from the leather chair where he sat in his private subterranean bedroom. The bedroom had become a sanctuary within a sanctuary for the elder vampire, as he allowed only two of his subjects to enter. The first was Ilea; however, she never came to his bed or his bedroom, having taken private quarters for herself shortly after the death of their son, Saan. The second was Zeris, Sebastien’s unofficial second in command, and that was by invitation only. The room was a considerable space but since Sebastien had chosen large, dark pieces of furniture and added an enormous gray stone fireplace, the area had a comfortable, masculine feel. The faint hum of the fireplace’s exhaust fans, sucking smoke up to a vent several stories above the room, soothed him as much as the tumbler of vodka resting on his knee. He fingered the Monarch of the Demesne ring on the ring finger of his right hand, as he waited for Georgia Hudsis’s eleven PM news broadcast. The six-carat emerald, set in solid, carved gold was the symbol of his leadership, as well as the power he held in his haven. Demesne leaders across the world each wore one, but Sebastien’s had been the first, as his haven had been the first created.
Georgia had received Cy’s fax and cobbled together a few choice tidbits of her own. If Cy Kent and Joe Cafaris wouldn’t talk to her, screw’em, she thought. She’d go with what she wanted to, which would increase her ratings. Although the hostages had all been discharged from Saint Rushton University General Hospital hours earlier, she’d selected a spot across the street from the hospital’s brightly lighted entrance as the place to broadcast from.
Her cameraman focused on her at an angle to show the hospital’s signage and front doors. “Here we go, Georgia,” he advised, seconds before they went live.
Taking a breath, Georgia launched, providing background, before coming to the more interesting parts of what she had. “…..Whitwater was pronounced dead at the scene of the robbery; however, we’ve learned tonight that one of the hostages, Priana Grey, was shot by a police officer during the chaos,” Georgia said grimly, to create a sense of urgency. “No information is available tonight on her condition, but representatives of Saint Rushton University General Hospital, where Ms. Grey was treated, have stated that she was released into the care of family members earlier today. Ms. Grey is also the owner of the Maidenheart Bakery, which opened on Route 60, north of Saint Rushton several years…”
The reporter’s words electrified Sebastien. Leaping to his feet, he plopped the vodka on the floor and grabbed his cell from the back pocket of his navy silk pants. After barking