Deborah Harkness - Shadow of Night

“That sounds like jealousy to me.”

“It’s not. I could manage jealousy,” he said, furious. “What I am feeling now—this terrible gnawing sense of loss and rage because I cannot get a clear impression of you in the chaos of our life—I cannot seem to control.” His pupils were large and getting larger.

“That’s because you are a vampire. You’re possessive. It’s who you are,” I said flatly, approaching him in spite of his anger. “And I am a witch. You promised to accept me as I am—light and dark, woman and witch, my own person as well as your wife.” What if he had changed his mind? What if he wasn’t willing to have this kind of unpredictability in his life?

“I do accept you.” Matthew reached out a gentle finger and touched my cheek.

“No, Matthew. You tolerate me, because you think that one day I’ll manage my magic into submission. Rabbi Loew warned me that tolerance can be withdrawn, and then you’re out in the cold. My magic isn’t something to manage. It’s me . And I’m not going to hide myself from you. That’s not what love is.”

“All right. No more hiding.”

“Good.” I sighed with relief, but it was short-lived.

Matthew had me out of the chair and up against the wall in one clean move, his thigh pressed between mine. He pulled a curl free so that it trailed down my neck and onto my breast. Without releasing me, he bent his head and pressed his lips to the edge of my bodice. I shivered. It had been some time since he’d kissed me there, and our sex life had been practically nonexistent since the miscarriage. Matthew’s lips brushed along my jaw and over the veins of my neck.

I grabbed his hair and pulled his head away. “Don’t. Not unless you plan on finishing what you start. I’ve had enough bundling and regretful kisses to last a lifetime.”

With a few blindingly fast vampire moves, Matthew had loosened the fastenings on his britches, rucked my skirts around my waist, and plunged inside me. It wasn’t the first time I’d been taken against the wall by someone trying to forget his troubles for a few precious moments. On several occasions I’d even been the aggressor.

“This is about you and me—nothing else. Not the children. Not the damn book. Not the emperor and his gifts. Tonight the only scents in this house will be ours.”

Matthew’s hands gripped my buttocks, and his fingers were all that was saving me from being bruised as his thrusts carried my body toward the wall. I wrapped my hands in the collar of his shirt and pulled his face toward mine, ravenous for the taste of him. But Matthew was no more willing to let me control the kiss than he was our lovemaking. His lips were hard and demanding, and when I persisted in my attempts to get the upper hand, he gave me a warning nip on the lower lip.

“Oh, God,” I said breathlessly as his steady rhythm set my nerves rushing toward a release. “Oh—”

“Tonight I won’t even share you with Him.” Matthew kissed the rest of my exclamation away. One hand retained its grip on my buttock, the other dipped between my legs.

“Who has your heart, Diana?” Matthew asked, a stroke of his thumb threatening to take me over the edge of sanity. He moved, moved again. Waited for my answer. “Say it,” he growled.

“You know the answer,” I said. “You have my heart.”

“Only me,” he said, moving once more so that the coiled tension finally found release.

“Only . . . forever . . . you,” I gasped, my legs shaking around his hips. I slid my feet to the floor.

Matthew was breathing heavily, his forehead pressed to mine. His eyes showed a flash of regret as he lowered my skirts. He kissed me gently, almost chastely.

Our lovemaking, no matter how intense, had not satisfied whatever was driving Matthew to keep pursuing me in spite of the fact that I was indisputably his. I was beginning to worry that nothing could.

My frustration burbled over, taking shape in a concussive wave of air that carried him away from me and into the opposite wall. Matthew’s eyes went black at his change of position.

“And how was that for you, my heart?” I asked softly. His face registered surprise. I snapped my fingers, releasing the air’s hold on him. His muscles flexed as he regained his mobility. He opened his mouth to speak. “Don’t you dare apologize,” I said fiercely. “If you’d touched me in a way I didn’t like, I would have said no.”

Matthew’s mouth tightened.

“I can’t help thinking about your friend Giordano Bruno: ‘Desire urges me on, as fear bridles me .’ I’m not afraid of your power, or your strength, or anything else about you,” I said. “What are you afraid of, Matthew?”

Regretful lips brushed over mine. That, and a whisper of breeze against my skirts, told me he had fled rather than answer.

“Master Habermel stopped by. Your compendium is on the table.” Matthew didn’t look up from the plans to Prague Castle that he’d somehow procured from the emperor’s architects. In the past few days, he’d given me wide berth and taken to channeling his energy into unearthing the secrets of the palace guard so that he could breach Rudolf’s security. In spite of Abraham’s advice, which I’d duly conveyed, Matthew preferred a proactive strategy. He wanted us out of Prague. Now. I approached his side, and he looked up with restless, hungry eyes.

“It’s just a gift.” I put down my gloves and kissed him deeply. “My heart is yours, remember?”

“It isn’t just a gift. It came with an invitation to go hunting tomorrow.” Matthew wrapped his hands around my hips. “Gallowglass informed me that we will be accepting it. He’s found a way into the emperor’s apartments by seducing some poor maid into showing him Rudolf’s eroticpicture collection. The palace guard will either be hunting with us or napping. Gallowglass figures it’s as good a chance as we’re going to get to look for the book.”

I glanced over at Matthew’s desk, where another small parcel lay. “Do you know what that is, too?”

He nodded. He reached over and picked it up. “You’re always receiving gifts from other men. This one is from me. Hold out your hand.” Intrigued, I did what he asked.

He pressed something round and smooth into my palm. It was the size of a small egg.

A stream of cool, heavy metal flowed around the mysterious egg as tiny salamanders filled my hand. They were made of silver and gold, with diamonds set into their backs. I lifted one of the creatures, and up came a chain made entirely of paired salamanders, their heads joined at the mouth and their tails entwined. Still nestled in my palm was a ruby. A very large, very red ruby.

“It’s beautiful!” I looked up at Matthew. “When did you have time to buy this?” It wasn’t the kind of chain that goldsmiths stocked for drop-in customers.

“I’ve had it for a while,” Matthew confessed. “My father sent it with the altarpiece. I wasn’t sure you’d like it.”

“Of course I like it. Salamanders are alchemical, you know,” I said, giving him another kiss. “Besides, what woman would object to two feet of silver, gold, and diamond salamanders and a ruby big enough to fill an eggcup?

“These particular salamanders were a gift from the king when I returned to France late in 1541. King Francis chose the salamander in flames for his emblem, and his motto was ‘I nourish and extinguish .’” Matthew laughed. “Kit enjoyed the conceit so much he adapted it for his own use: ‘What nourishes me destroys me .’”

“Kit is definitely a glass-half-empty daemon,” I said, joining in his laughter. I poked at one of the salamanders, and it caught the light from the candles. I started to speak, then stopped.