Free Forsaking (Vampire Assassin League Book 26) by Jackie Ivie Page B

felt old beyond his years. Thirty-four. That’s why he’d surrendered to a posse. He hadn’t fought a neck-stretching from the first tree they’d come across, either. He still remembered the feeling of everything going dark before fate stepped in again. Akron Profit had materialized from behind him, tossed Chinese-made firecrackers like they were candy, scattered men and horses, and then he’d cut Bram down. That night Bramwell Stark got the choice: Vampirism or burial in an unmarked hole somewhere between Winnemucca and Carson City.
    She didn’t look quite as skeptical when he’d finished, but he was only able to send a quick glance her way before looking elsewhere. He didn’t have a choice. The room had gotten warmer. The air even heavier. Each breath carried a sensual scent now, adding to his ills. He couldn’t quite place it. Warmed musk oil? A hint of cedar wood as it caught fire? All he could do was endure it and try to keep her in ignorance.
    One more hand, and she’d have his gun. He’d also be out of chips. Unless she loaned him some. Or he managed to win. She started shuffling, losing more than one card as if she’d lost agility or something. Bram watched her hands. He didn’t dare look anywhere else.
    Her heart was a ragged thump of motion. He knew because his matched it. Her breaths were short. Almost gasped. His own matched them perfectly, making him a bit light-headed. That was ridiculous. He didn’t need air. He hadn’t breathed for decades. The consequence of finding his mate shouldn’t change things this much. He had to focus. She hadn’t shed one piece of clothing, but he could swear he saw the outline of nipples through her shirt. Small. Pinched tight.
    At the sight, he lost command of his canines. He’d been keeping them at half-length. That stricture was history. He clamped his lips shut. Fangs stabbed into his tongue. The taste sent fire shooting to his groin, scorching the area. The zipper fly was the temperature of a red-hot branding iron. This was worse than penance.
    “So...what’s it like?”
    Her voice was a husky whisper. His shoulders sagged momentarily before he caught the loss of control. Bram tightened everything again. Trembled for a bit. And then he tried to answer. He should have waited. The word was growled. And slurred, due to his teeth.
    “What?”
    “Being a vampire. What’s it like?”
    She looked sincere. Bram’s glance touched on her features before skittering away. The piano to one side of them was inanimate. Wood. Ivory. Strings. Totally safe.
    “Pure hell at the moment,” he finally replied.
    “Really? Why?”
    “I can’t answer that.”
    “I knew you weren’t a vampire.”
    He shook his head.
    “I have to win another hand first? Is that it?”
    “No.”
    “Then, why can’t you answer it?”
    He licked his lower lip. It was a wasted gesture. He didn’t have any spit and his fangs were in the way. “Becoming a vampire is being dead. I can walk. Talk. Exist. But I’m still dead.”
    “I thought it was eternal life.”
    “No. Uh...well. No.” He sounded like he’d been on a three day drunk. With bad whiskey.
    “You don’t look dead.”
    He cleared his throat. That didn’t do much for his voice, either. “We’re told when we go into this. We all get warned. Getting turned is not eternal life. It’s eternal death. Unless...uh.” He stopped. Choked down a swallow through a too-dry throat. Blinked. The piano wouldn’t even come into focus.
    “Unless what?”
    “There’s one, uh...event that alters undeath. Brings...things back.”
    “What things?”
    “Sensations. Emotions. Heartbeat. The ability to...uh. Yeah.”
    Damn it to hell. And back
. He was blushing. He felt it taking over his upper chest, throat, and then it stained cheeks. And his dick was joining in, slamming against the zipper with bruising efficiency.
    “Really?”
    She wasn’t going to let it go. He’d have to tell her. He’d just have to be strong enough to hold