And, no matter how much I tried to stop it, his deep voice saying that love was a blanket that keeps you warm kept playing over and over in my head.
He said this not like he’d read it somewhere and liked that quote or as if he was simply explaining what he thought love should be. He said it like he’d felt that before, like he knew it to be fact.
This fascinated me, scared me and, for some reason, made me very sad because whoever taught him that lesson was not Katrina.
The house Lucien gave me was surrounded by woods except for the huge yard, immaculate garden and the pool (yes, pool, with a small pool house, no less). During my house inspection the day I arrived, I’d noticed a path leading into the woods and I took it.
Upon realizing I was a judgmental person and that I probably owed the Mighty Lucien an apology (which sucked), the winding, woodsy path led out onto a lake.
And what a lake.
It was huge. The day was warm and sunny, a gentle breeze blew but it didn’t disturb the glassy surface of the water which went on forever, the wooded hills around it rising to the blue, cloudless sky.
It was gorgeous.
There were big, beautiful homes nestled in the hills with paths or steps leading to the water. There weren’t many of them though. I counted five.
Seriously exclusive real estate.
I could see at the bottom of the path a long, wide, sturdy pier. Not rickety and ill-kept, of course not. It was the kind of pier you tied a fancy speed boat to (or a small yacht).
I walked out to the end of the pier and sat in the sun, staring out at the tranquil beauty of the lake, wondering if Lucien provided such luxurious locations for all his concubines. If he did, it must cost him a whack. He had to have dozens of concubines still alive. If he didn’t, this had still cost him a whack.
Either way, it didn’t change the fact that he’d provided this for me.
“I am so f**ked,” I told the lake.
The lake, not surprisingly, had no reply.
I sat staring at the water and tried not to think of Gentle, Generous Lucien or the fact that, in all fairness, I should open a Why I Might Like Lucien Vault even if it was only a small, fireproof safe. I also tried not to think about my many bad traits which maybe got my fool self into this mess in the first place.
Being a vampire’s concubine was my family’s legacy. It was their business, as it were, and had been for five hundred years. In fact, this whole practice had been going on for centuries and people liked it. It was their way of life.
Who was I to buck the trend?
Cosmo’s money had kept my mother, sister and I clothed, fed and housed rather nicely, I had to admit, until Lana and I moved out. Lana and I shared the same Dad or, I should say, we shared the same sire. Our sire, from what little I remembered, drank a lot, yelled a lot and got kicked out on his ass by my Mom backed up by the arsenal of my aunties. Then he took off, sending birthday cards for the first couple of years before giving up. I hadn’t seen him since I was six.
Cosmo still kept my mother in manicures, pedicures, a three bedroom ranch-style house, designer handbags and martini lunches with my aunties.
I should have thanked him when I first met him, not been cold to him.
And then there was Lucien.
Well, of course he was pathologically controlling and a pain in the ass but when he wasn’t being those two things he was other things. I couldn’t help but think about the way he was with me when I was drunk (before he became a jerk, I hasten to add) and the way he was at The Feast (and he never became a jerk then).
In fact, when he wasn’t being a jerk, controlling or a pain in the ass, he looked at me…
He looked at me…
Oh hell, he looked at me like I was life.
Like I was beautiful. Like I was beyond sexy whatever that was but Lucien looked at me that way. Like I was funny, interesting and he didn’t know what I’d do next but whatever I did, he was going to enjoy it on some level and therefore he was looking forward to it.
He was looking forward to me.
No one ever looked forward to me.
I could barely credit it.
I’d spent years looking for some guy who would keep me away from the concubine life. There wasn’t a lot I knew before my Selection and I didn’t know a lot more now. One thing I knew was that vampires could not invite the Uninitiated to go to a Selection if the Uninitiated was in a relationship with a mortal.
Therefore, I made sure I was in a relationship most of the time.
Which meant I’d been in and out of relationships since I became eligible for my first Selection at eighteen.
Out of desperation, because I didn’t like to think I was an idiot but that was more likely the case, I’d picked all the wrong guys. Justin, the last, was the most wrong of all. And I stayed with them longer than I should in order to keep myself safe.
Maybe, just maybe (and I wasn’t putting a lot into that “maybe”), I’d been wrong.
Which meant two things.
One, I’d have to apologize to Lucien for being a judgmental bitch. Two, I’d have to ask him to speed up his instructions so I understood more about the life I was meant to be leading.
Then I’d make my decision.
The one thing I knew was that, however it went between Lucien and me, I wasn’t going to let him break me.
I’d meet him halfway.
If he wasn’t willing to do that then we were back to square one.
Obviously, even the tranquility of the lake didn’t stop me from thinking about Lucien.
I’d heaved myself up and walked back up the path. When I got to the house, I made the marinade, slid the chicken br**sts in and put it in the fridge.
Then I decided to spend the rest of the day drowning my sorrows in food and numbing my mind with television.
My unfocused sight cleared and Lucien’s chest and, incidentally, Katrina’s scratch marks were completely healed, became defined again as my thoughts turned to last night.
Why I had that reaction to him feeding on someone else, to smelling her perfume, I didn’t know. But there was no denying it. I did.
In all the hateful feelings I’d had for the last two weeks, having Lucien touch me while he smelled and tasted of another woman was by far and away the worst.
Because it hurt. A lot. Too much.
I knew it shouldn’t, I had no claim on him.
But it did.
And I got it then. I understood. I knew why there was always this hint of sadness in the very backs of my mother’s eyes. And I knew the minute he told me I didn’t understand the way of his people that I couldn’t live this life.
Not as Leah Buchanan.
I’d have to be A Buchanan from The Premier Family of Vampire Concubines. Not impatient, not short-tempered, not stubborn, not immature, not anything that was me.