Fine. She’d meditate. That was what an InhServ did when she had no immediate responsibilities.
Taking a seat on the picnic table outside, she crossed her legs in the lotus position. Back straight, hands relaxed and open on the knees. Deep breaths in and out. Though her eyes closed, she still saw the beautiful view before her. She began to work through the chant that would cycle her brain into the right state.
Service, not self. There is no self. Desire, need, want. All for my Master. His needs, his desires, his wants. I am perfection because I am Service. Every thought, every act, every breath belongs to him. With my last breath, with the last beat of my heart, I exist only for his benefit. I am Slave, with no need for name.
She remembered the joy she’d experienced when she’d first learned the mantra. She’d gilded it with more devotionals, guided by her impulsive euphoria during the first days of her in-house training. They’d been required to recite it during the lessons that taught acceptance of pain and punishment. The trainers knew how to give out maximum doses of pain without marring pure flesh, a blank canvas intended only for the vampire’s marking. The pain didn’t matter. That mantra, spoken through every act of service others might consider torment, only increased her commitment. She could get lost in the words while a whip struck her naked flesh, wouldn’t flinch from flame brought so close to that same flesh it felt scorched. It wasn’t until after she was assigned to Stephen that she understood the true reason the training had reinforced that mantra.
Just as a child grew to adulthood, learning the difference between romance and love, she’d learned the difference between the idea of pure service and the reality of it. But there was a strength and depth to the reality the idea could never provide. So why was it she was back to that romantic yearning, as if that fantasy truly was out there, intertwined with the deeper reality to create the perfect meshing? Something she’d fallen just short of finding, because she hadn’t been a good enough servant to get there.
Meditation wasn’t going to work. Her throat was tight, her stomach hurting. Suppressing a sigh, she opened her eyes.
She found herself looking at a black bear, who’d apparently lumbered from the wood and was now no more than three feet away from her picnic table, wet nose stretched out to sniff the oddly still human.
She blinked. She could remain motionless before vampires like Lady Lyssa, who had reduced lesser vampires to cowering gelatin with a glance. She was not going to run shrieking into the cabin. But it was a big black bear. A bear that now rose on his hind legs and planted his taloned paws on the bench next to her. The rumbling noise that he made could be a harmless inquiry, or a pre-dinner growl. She knew several languages, but not one of them was bear.
The first thing a servant learned was that one didn’t run from a predator. It would transform her immediately into prey.
“You’re looking for food,” she said quietly. “And I smell like eggs and bacon. I’d get you some, to be neighborly, but I expect it’s not a good idea to encourage you to visit humans. The next one might have a gun and think you’re a threat. And I’m hoping . . . you’re not one?”
That rumbling noise came again. She tried not to move as he nosed her leg, snuffling, moving to her hands. If he opened his mouth, tried to eat her hand . . . The paws shifted on the table, those talons closer to her knee. This time she couldn’t help it. She flinched.
“Oy there, off with ye! Ye know better, black beastie.”
Niall had returned, thank the gods. She suppressed the embarrassing cry of relief as the bear turned his attention from her. He gave Niall a narrow consideration, but the man advanced steadily, calling out and gesturing his warning with calm purpose. While he wasn’t presenting an imminent threat, his advance indicated he could be one if needed. As he passed the well, the Scot reached down into it, pulled out a shotgun that apparently had been sheltered under the interior lip and cocked it. The noise made the bear flinch. When Niall brandished it, now close enough for the bear to make it out, the creature let out an irritable huff and lumbered across the yard, disappearing into the bushes.
“There now. I’m away for ten minutes, and already she’s entertaining strange men.”
Despite his teasing, she saw Niall was out of breath, sweat staining the front of his shirt. He’d come at a full run. As he approached her, his gaze shifted toward the cabin. Turning, she saw Evan nearly in the open doorway. He was holding to the shadows, but she heard the click of another gun being uncocked, saw him give a spare nod and turn. But there was something wrong . . .
She was off the picnic table immediately, brushing past Niall and reaching the cabin before another breath had passed.
“Master, let me help.” She didn’t wait for permission this time, sliding under his arm when he staggered. Through sheer determination, she kept him from falling toward the sunlight. Fortunately, Niall was right behind her and able to steady them both.
“Came right out o’ a sleep, no?”
“I realized the big furry thing nuzzling me wasn’t you,” Evan coughed. “And that I normally don’t feel terrified of it.”
“I’m sorry, Master,” Alanna said. “I should have controlled my reaction. I didn’t mean to disturb your sleep.”
Actually, no vampire she knew would have stirred themselves. Such a matter was a servant issue, and Niall had responded capably. But of course he’d been running through the woods when the bear had his paws on the table. If he’d decided to swipe at her . . .
“Yes. Next time please allow yourself to be mauled more quietly.”
The amusement was unmistakable, but his pallor startled her, the sweat on his face. “Are you all right, sir?”
He was four hundred years old. Yes, he’d come above ground, but he hadn’t stood in sunlight. It was only vampires under a hundred years who reacted this badly to being above ground during daylight, even inside the shelter of a building.
“I’m fine,” he said shortly. Squeezing her shoulder, he nodded to Niall as he opened the trapdoor. “I can get down the ladder.”
“Sure you can.” But she noticed his servant watched until he managed it, a certain tension to him until it was done, and then Niall replaced the trapdoor.
“Is he all right? Does he need anything?”
Niall shook his head, after that brief internal look that said he had checked on the same thing. “No. He says to leave him be.” Reaching out, he tugged her braid, distracting her. “Black bears are mostly herbivores, until people start feeding them, then they become scavengers. That one’s probably spent too much time picking up scraps on the trail. You’re fine, then?”
When he closed his hand on hers, she realized she was shaking. “My first encounter with a bear.” She tried a shrug. “It was silly of me to get alarmed. I’m sorry . . .”
“If you’d done the wrong thing, lass, he might ha’ attacked. Any wild animal can get testy or aggressive if he thinks he’s threatened or thwarted. Ye haven’t any experience with that situation.”
“No?”
“Well, nae with that kind o’ beast.” Niall paused. “That was almost a smile, girl. The first time I see a real one on your face, I’m going to kiss ye senseless. Do me a favor then,” he continued before she could respond to that remarkable statement. “While I’m gone, it might do to stay in the cabin or close to the door. At least ’til you and I can go hiking and I can show ye a few wee precautions for being up here.”
“You could show me now.”
When he passed a hand over her hair, he was extraordinarily gentle about it. Even pulled her close to brush a kiss across her forehead, hold her against his body. She wondered what she’d done to cause such a response, but then he stepped away.
“No. Not today.”
So off he went again, once again leaving her to her own devices. She read her plant book, sat on the bench right by the front door. Went to the well to see how Niall had replaced the gun in a mounting below that lip.
If only Stephen had realized giving her nothing to do would drive her to suicide far faster than grinding pain and the twisting of her every thought into a nightmare. He could have saved himself a great deal of effort.
Closing her eyes against those memories, she let them shudder off her skin like rain. Resolutely, she went back inside, looked at the selection of books. While she should make herself study the Scottish history or one of the cookbooks, instead she picked up a tattered romance apparently left by previous renters. The virile male hero was standing on a grassy hill, a woman in a lavender dress on her knees before him. Her hands were on his thigh, his waist, her whole body longing toward him as he bent over her, his hand cupping her face. She had his total attention, his posture suggesting he was going to take her over in a devouring kiss.
The picture brought back the arousal spiked by Niall’s skillful touch, but she knew how to suppress arousal not commanded by her Master. She did.
Stephen hadn’t been interested in driving his servants’ pleasure into extreme realms where they lost complete control. In fact, he didn’t seem very interested in her responses. If it wasn’t for political purpose and show, he’d rather her pleasure him. Often he left her wanting, with no permission to take care of herself, an indifferent sadism. So she dealt with it, without dealing with it. She’d channeled the energy elsewhere.
Thirteen years of such control and discipline, yet earlier she’d nearly caressed her breasts without thought.
Had Niall set her aside because of what Evan had suggested, their desire that she want what they were doing for herself as much as for her service for them? It was an alien idea to her. The tight frustration in her lower belly became a tiny ripple of rebellion. If they wouldn’t give her any direction, and she wanted to pleasure herself, that was a desire, right?
She waited for Evan to correct her, then was ashamed of herself. He was trying to sleep, had risked himself to honor his charge to Lady Lyssa to protect her. She puzzled over his weakness above ground, out of proportion for his age. She might ask Niall about it.
