Rare Vintage by Bianca D'Arc

thoughts
of restraint banished by the air of desperation in the room.
    “Nothing to be concerned with, ma belle ,” Marc
assured her, but she noticed he wasn’t giving any details. For all she knew,
they could be talking about his death.
    Suddenly she knew she didn’t want to see him dead. No matter
what had happened between them, she didn’t wish him ill. Quite the contrary,
she thought with shock. She’d come to respect and like him. More than like, if
she were being honest with herself. In a perverse way, she missed their little
confrontations and found herself oddly disappointed—even lonely—that he wasn’t
making a nuisance of himself anymore.
    “Like hell,” Kelly’s voice rose. “You can’t just say
something like that in front of me, then pat my head like a toy poodle and tell
me to be on my way.”
    “ Ma petite , I can assure you, I do not think of you
as a poodle. Where do you get such notions? I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to dismiss
your question. I only wish to spare you worry. It’s not my death we were
discussing, but Leonard Gibson’s. If he presses his challenge, we will battle
to the death and he is far less experienced than I. His death will be quick and
as painless as I can make it, but I’ll have to kill him if he challenges me.”
    “That’s totally barbaric.” Kelly was appalled.
    “It’s the way of our kind,” Marc spoke in soothing tones,
moving closer to her. He stepped right up to her, his arms coming around her
loosely, naturally. She didn’t even make a token objection to his nearness.
Instead, she burrowed closer, tucking her head under his chin. She rested her
cheek against his beating heart, like she was made to go there. She didn’t
question why she felt this overwhelming need to be close to him, and apparently
neither did he. The distance that had been between them was no more.
    Atticus seemed surprised for the short moment she met his
gaze before she closed her eyes, but it didn’t really register. All that
mattered was Marc. She inhaled his warm, exotic scent, ignoring everything but
being in his arms again. Being home, at last.
    “I’ll be right outside.” Atticus cleared his throat and
excused himself.
    She’d forgotten he was even in the room. A moment later,
Atticus was gone, leaving the two of them alone, though she only noted his
departure peripherally as Marc held her close.
    “I don’t like the idea of a fight to the death, Marc. You
may be a royal pain in the ass, but I don’t want to see you hurt.”
    “Royal, I am not. But you’re not the first to call me a pain
in the ass, so on that score you might be right. I can assure you, I’ve fought
many challenges over the centuries, and I’ve held on to this position for some
time. That I still hold it should be proof enough that I can prevail against
almost any challenger.” He pulled back to tip her chin up with one hand. “Do
not worry, ma petite . Though it touches my heart that you care for my
welfare.” He chuckled as a gentle smile stretched his lips. “I thought you
hated me.”
    She reached up to cup his cheek. “I don’t hate you, Marc,
but you do frighten me.”
    “I could never hurt you, ma belle . It’s not in me to
cause you any kind of harm. I would sooner greet the dawn than cause you pain.”
    “Why?” she whispered. “Why me?”
    Marc’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t know. All I know is that you
fire my senses more than any woman has in more than five hundred years. When I
smell the delicate scent of your skin, I want to lick you all over. When I see
your beautiful face, I want to kiss you senseless. And when I hear your
laughter, I want to be the one bringing you joy.”
    “Then why have you been avoiding me?”
    “Precisely for those reasons, ma cherie . You are far
too tempting, and I do not trust myself around you.”
    His voice trailed off as he tilted her head, angling his
head down so she could see his kiss coming a mile away. He was giving her a
chance to move