Free Call Her Mine by Lydia Michaels

life for that of ours. I am not even addressing
immortality. I am speaking simply of choice. The English American population
has fought long and hard for equality and this new generation would not easily
give up such freedoms, I believe. How old is your female?”
    “She is almost thirty, I
suspect, but I am not certain.”
    He frowned. “Did you not
spend time with her, getting to know her before you brought her here?”
    Christian swallowed and
shifted his weight. “We shared…chemistry.”
    “Christian, please tell
me you didn’t…”
    “Of course not. I took
nothing from her she didn’t freely offer.” He acknowledged the lie the minute
the words left his mouth.
    “Except her life,” the
bishop provided.
    “Except her life,”
Christian agreed. Looking to the bishop with pleading eyes he explained, “But
there was no point in waiting. She is mine and it would have happened
eventually.”
    Eleazar held up his
palms. “This is your marriage, your mate. It is not any man’s place to tell you
how your relationship should be established or how it should work. There are,
however, reasons that most males try to take a softer, slower approach with
their called females. You clearly have your work cut out for you now.”
    That was the truth. “She
will not eat.”
    “Has she fed?”
    “Once. Barely. I know
she needs both. She does not eat meat. The idea of drinking blood makes her
physically ill.”
    “She must learn to
accept what is.”
    “I told her that. She
is…stubborn.”
    “Aren’t they all?” the
bishop mumbled. “Have you tried compelling her?”
    “No.”
    “Can you get into her
mind?”
    Yes, he could, but he
never liked what he found in there. Her thoughts were unfiltered and harsh.
Every time he crossed into her mind he heard some scathing remark he did not
appreciate. “I am hoping she comes to me willingly.”
    “Perhaps she will…in
time. For now, though, it is your duty to see that she has all that she needs.
If you can compel her to feed, do it. If not, I could—”
    “No. I want no one else
in her thoughts.”
    “Very well.”
    The bishop left shortly
after their discussion. Christian faced the stairs reluctantly and slowly
climbed them. When he opened the door to his bedroom Delilah still lay where he
left her, sound asleep.
    He approached the bed
and stared down at her. She was very pale. His fingers brushed over her dark
hair. The color had lightened a shade since she was transitioned. It no longer
had the blue hues it did when he’d met her. Her natural color was dark brown,
but not the black she had worn. It was still beautiful.
    “Delilah?”
    She didn’t move.
    He shut his eyes and
pressed into her mind. No thoughts. No dreams. She slept exactly as the rest of
the immortal race did.
    Taking a deep breath he
pushed deep into her psyche and took hold of her freewill. Lowering himself to
the bed, he pulled her onto his lap, cradling her close to his chest. Her head
lolled as his fingers swept her hair away from her face. Unable to stop
himself, he pressed a kiss to the corner of her mouth. She sighed.
    He simply held her for a
moment, enjoying the weight of her in his arms. He needed to make their
situation better in some small way. He needed to earn her forgiveness, her
trust, her…love.
    He opened the collar of
his shirt, knowing it would be easier to feed her from his wrist, but needing
the intimate contact. Shifting her closer to his neck, he cupped the back of
her head, and brought her mouth to his throat.
    The loose neck of her
chemise slipped off her creamy shoulder. He kissed her there and whispered,
“Take from me what you need, pintura. Feed from your mate until your
hunger is gone.”
    He drew in a sharp
breath as her little teeth punctured his skin. His body hardened after the
first few pulls of her small mouth. The soft little moans she made as she drew
from him did not help matters.
    Her body shifted. Her
shoulders lifted and she turned, her knees sliding