Visions of Destiny (Complete Series) Read online

  An impish grin graced his lips. “I wanted to ask you out, but I didn’t want you to have a chance to say no. Did you ever tell Renee how you convinced me in the end?”

  She laughed, her discomfort from moments earlier truly forgotten. “Never. I figured that way she’d keep thinking she needed me if she wanted to keep you with the gallery.”

  He snorted. “It’s truer than you think.”

  He turned his gaze to the painting again, and she watched him. There was something on his face she couldn’t quite place, an emotion she couldn’t name.

  “All these moments so far are special,” she said, “meaningful. What does this one mean to you?”

  He smiled. “That was the first time I wondered what it’d be like to turn you.”

  Swallowing hard, she detailed his features, and wondered whether she could voice the question that had nagged her since he had first asked to turn her into a vampire. She hadn’t dared ask, unsure whether his answer might influence her decision. Now that she had made up her mind, however, and as he seemed to be in a sharing mood, she thought she could try to ask.

  “Have you…have you ever turned anyone before?”

  She had caught hints, a couple of times, that he had lived with someone for a long time, but she didn’t know if the woman had been human or vampire.

  “No,” he said quietly, his eyes finding hers again. “I can’t say I’ve bitten many people over the years, and none I would have wanted next to me for more than a few hours.”

  His free hand found hers, and he brought it to his lips. The soft kiss to the inside of her wrist made her shiver.

  “You…” The words were low, but full of strength. “I want you next to me for a few centuries at least.”

  A flash of heat ran through Lydia, and she held her breath, waiting for the nervousness to take hold of her again. It didn’t. It wouldn’t, she realized, not anymore.

  Owen didn’t let go of her hand, and together they unveiled the next painting. While all the others had used color in that subtle, life-like way that was Owen’s signature style, this painting was a study all done in grays, the palest not quite white, the darkest not exactly black. It depicted a man’s hand resting of the curve of a breast, all but hiding it. The play of light and shadows in this work only reinforced the tenderness of the gesture. Need fluttered inside Lydia, and she squeezed Owen’s fingers.

  “I assume that’s us?”

  “Don’t doubt it for a second,” he said with a grin. “I watched you for hours, the first time we slept together. Afterwards, I mean. I was drawing you in my mind, every curve, every inch of skin.”

  Each words felt like a caress, and Lydia could feel warmth spreading over her neck and face. She tried to cool down with a sip of champagne, only to discover she had emptied the glass.

  “Would you like more?” he offered, taking the glass from her.

  “No, thank you. I think I’ve had enough.”

  He walked away to put the glasses on the coffee table, and Lydia took advantage of his turned back to press her hands to her cheeks. She felt like she was burning.

  “Would you…” She cleared her throat. “Would you do it? Paint me, I mean, paint me nude?”

  Coming back to her, he pointed at the gray painting. “I tried. That’s the closest I could get to it. Every time I tried to expose more of you…” He shrugged, a self-derisive smirk twisting his lips. “I’ve never been all that good at sharing.”

  She couldn’t help chuckling at those words. “Good. I don’t particularly feel like being shared.”

  She studied the painting a little while longer. It was very different from the rest of his work, but she found that she quite liked this style, the gradation of the grays and the smoothness they gave to the entire image. It might be her favorite yet. It was only the first one in which Owen himself was more than a washed out reflection.

  They had come almost full circle, and there was only one painting left.

  “Can I?” she said, her hand already rising to the cloth as she looked at Owen.

  He nodded.

  She wasn’t surprised any more to see herself again. It was a portrait, showing her bare shoulders and her face. There was no lipstick on her lips this time, no eye shadow over her eyelids, no blush putting a touch of color on her cheekbones. It was only her, with a small smile and a serene expression, and yet she seemed to glow with an inner light.

  Something inside Lydia tightened almost to the point of pain, and she had to look away. The painting was beautiful, but it wasn’t truly her. A few fine lines were missing at the corners of her mouth and eyes, as well as flaws on her skin. She wasn’t old—she didn’t consider herself old—but her face was in no way as flawless as the painting suggested. And now, she wouldn’t grow old any longer, but neither would she ever look again like the woman on the canvas. Owen, on the other hand, would forever look as though he were—

  “How old were you when you were turned?” she blurted out.

  It was yet another question she had never dared ask before. She had heard some vampires could be touchy about the subject of their human lives. She hadn’t wanted to upset Owen, at first because Renee would have had her head for it, and later because she liked him too much to want to be rude and risk losing his friendship.

  “Does it matter?” he asked, his eyes searching her face.

  She shrugged. “It’s not a big deal, but I’d like to know.”

  “I was thirty-seven.”

  He lied so well, she could almost have believed him. She knew better than that, though. He looked thirty at the most, and maybe as young as twenty-five. The fact that he had given a number that mirrored her age was simply too convenient.

  Patting Owen’s arm, she laughed weakly to hide her discomfort. “You’re better than a plastic surgeon.”

  There was no humor in his eyes when he cupped her face in his hands and gently tilted it up.

  “No. This is what I see when I look at you. This is what I’ll see for as long as you’ll stay with me.”

  He brushed a strand of hair behind her ear but never broke eye contact. A wave of raw emotion was rising inside Lydia with each of his words, threatening to submerge her. She swallowed hard and blinked, chasing away the beginning of tears.

  “You’ll never have a use for mirrors again,” he continued, “but I wanted you to remember. This is you. The you you’ll always be. The woman I love.”

  She wished she could have replied in kind, but her throat was too tight to let out a single word, so she did the next best thing. She kissed him. Hands on his shoulders, raised on the tip of her toes, she pressed her lips to his and slowly pushed her tongue into his mouth to meet his own. She tried to put everything in that caress: all of her love and all the emotions she had felt since they had first met.

  There had been fear, yes, and there still was the remnant of it, like a faint metallic taste at the back of her tongue. But, just like she had been able to push her fear away then, she could push it away now and see beyond it. Her kiss said so.

  There had been attraction, then desire. The feel of his mouth and his hands were now as familiar to her as that of his cock, and her desire was a hundredfold what it had been then. She deepened the kiss and molded her body to his so he would know.

  There had been curiosity—for who he was, for his art, for anything that he had any interest in—and while she thought she knew him well, she couldn’t wait to discover more, discover every last thing about him. It would take years, decades, maybe more. With her kiss, she tried to tell him she would be there as long as it took her, and long after that still.

  From almost frantic, the kiss became slower. Their mouths parted; they looked at each other for an instant, then kissed again, lips moving together, tongues stroking. A moment later, they parted again. Owen pressed his forehead to hers, and as she looked into his eyes, the words
that she hadn’t managed to summon moments ago were there, easily rolling off her tongue.

  “I love you.”

  Her hands slid off his shoulders and down his arms to link their fingers together. They remained like that, eyes locked and barely touching, yet entirely aware of each other for a few moments longer. They finally moved at the same time, Owen raising his head and Lydia letting go of his right hand.

  Hand in hand, without needing to talk, they left the circle of paintings and walked up the wide, stone staircase to the upper floor. Owen opened the bedroom door, and she preceded him inside without letting go of his hand.

  The lamp on the night table cast a muted light on the room, softening the angles of the stark, wooden furniture. The comforter that usually covered the bed had been drawn back, revealing dark blue sheets that had the sheen of fine cotton. The four-poster king-sized bed always struck her as too large at first glance, but it fit the generous proportions of the room and the large wardrobe against the wall. A second wardrobe, made of the same dark wood, now stood against the opposite wall. Once again, she could only wonder how sure he had been of her answer, but that didn’t matter anymore.

  They took their time undressing each other, wordlessly acknowledging that there was no reason to rush. With each item of clothing that fell under her hands or his, they stopped and caressed the newly exposed flesh with fingertips and lips, each of them trembling in turn under the other’s ministrations. When, at last, they stood naked in front of each other, Owen’s cock jutted out proudly in front of him, the wet tip brushing against her stomach. She laid a hand on it, cradling it in her palm, and pressed their bodies together until it was trapped between them. She kissed his collarbone with soft, delicate kisses that led to his shoulder. From there, she licked a path back toward his throat, stopping only when she could feel the raised scars at the crook of his neck.

  Attentive to his every reaction, she did what she had been too shy to dare until that night: she raked her teeth gently against the scars. Owen’s hand flew to the back of her head, and for a second she thought he would stop her. Instead, his hand simply rested there, holding her to him as he trembled against her.

  When she raised her head again, his pupils were fully dilated and staring at her as though for the first time. He picked her up in his arms, and she let out a little yelp of surprise. He climbed into the bed with her, depositing her in the center of it and lying by her side. She turned toward him, and they started kissing again, small pecks while their hands slid over the curve of a hip or against a hardened nipple.

  “Did it…did it feel good?” She stroked the scars with the tip of her index finger. “When I kissed there?”

  He hummed and pressed his body harder against hers until she rolled onto her back. “Better than good,” he purred and kissed the corner of her mouth before flicking the tip of his tongue against her lips.

  She had more questions, but as she drew him to lie between her thighs, she decided they could wait. She would probably find an answer to some of them soon anyway.

  They kissed again, their growing need making the kiss a little sloppier—and a lot harsher. Owen’s cock was pressing into her thigh while her hands roamed against his back, her nails digging in trails that would be gone before morning.

  His lips left hers and trailed a soft path from her chin to her ear, then down her neck. The caress was so elusive that at times she wasn’t even sure she could feel it. Then he kissed the crook of her neck, and she tensed. This was it. This was where he would bite. He was going to do it now. He was—

  “Shh…” He shifted and kissed her temple, then her eyelids, and the tip of her nose. “Relax. Not yet.”

  She looked questioningly at him, and he replied, “I want your warmth one last time. Is that all right?”

  She breathed a quiet, “Yes,” against his lips, but rather than kissing her, he lowered his head to her chest. His mouth slid down the valley between her breasts as though unable to choose one over the other, but finally climbed back up toward her left nipple. She tensed, waiting for the first touch of his lips against the puckered areola, and practically jumped in surprise when the expected caress was delayed while he brushed his thumb against her clit. Her movement brought her nipple to his mouth, and he latched on to it, making her jump a second time.

  The combined pressures of his mouth and thumb gradually increased until she was gasping for breath and trashing beneath him, but he used his weight to hold her down while he continued to over-stimulate her clit and nipple.

  “Too much,” she gasped. “I can’t…”

  She couldn’t finish, instead letting out a low moan. It was too much, yes, but at the same time she was so close… Her entire body was tensing as she reached for her orgasm and—

  Owen’s mouth lifted from her breast at the same instant his thumb stopped moving, simply resting against her throbbing clit. “Too much?” he repeated, with more than a hint of teasing in his voice. “Want me to stop?”

  She answered before she even knew it. “No!”

  With a low chuckle, Owen descended on her right breast and quickly made up for its neglect. His thumb, meanwhile, was still immobile, and despite her efforts, Lydia couldn’t manage to rock her hips to increase the pressure.

  “Owen, please,” she moaned and was rewarded when two of his fingers slipped inside her and his thumb pressed against her clit once more. The suction of his lips, the barest hint of teeth, the soothing coolness of his tongue, his fingers curling just so, and his thumb pressing yet a little harder…

  Pleasure grew inside Lydia until she felt she would burst.

  A keening wail erupted from her throat. Her body went completely rigid for a second, then started shaking as wave after wave of pleasure rolled through her. Far from stopping, Owen redoubled his efforts. Just as the first orgasm started fading, a second one crashed through her, stealing her breath and making her vision go black for an instant. Still shaking, she clutched at his shoulders and pulled him up her body until she could press frantic kisses to his face.

  “Enter me,” she asked, almost begging. “I need to feel you. Now. Please.”

  His hand moved between them, and she arched her hips to help him find his way. When the slick tip of his cock brushed against her entrance without penetrating her, she thought he was teasing her. He caught his bottom lip between his teeth, however, and his brow furrowed, revealing his frustration. Sneaking a hand down to join his, she stroked his cock before guiding it to where she wanted him. The tip slid in torturously slowly, and he remained like that for an instant, his eyes seeking hers. When their gazes met, he thrust his hips to meet hers, and his cock pushed all the way in.

  She let out a quiet gasp, then a louder one when, on his next thrust, his cock slid in a little deeper, and on the next one again, or so it seemed. Each snap of his hips was accompanied by the sound of flesh on flesh, but Lydia barely heard it. The harshness of her own breathing and the increasingly loud moans pulled from her throat filled her ears.

  Her hands were clenched tight on Owen’s shoulders, and it didn’t occur to her to touch him or caress him; all she could do was hold on, and even that, as Owen slowly increased his tempo, was becoming harder and harder. She wanted to come again, but so soon after her orgasm, pleasure was unattainable, and its distance was laced with pain.

  Trying to get a grip on herself, she scrunched her eyes. Almost right away, Owen stopped moving inside her, although judging by the way he shook, it was taking all his self-control to do so.

  “Lydia… Look at me, love.”

  She did and discovered worry etched on his features. She tried to smooth it away with her fingertips.

  “You can still change your mind, you know.” His words shook with his need and desire. Which of her body or blood did he want the most, she wondered briefly, the thought forgotten as soon as it had come. “Nothing says—”

  “No.�
� She word came out as a rasping noise. “I want you to. Do it. Do it now.”

  Nodding, he reached for her right leg and guided it higher on his waist, before doing the same thing with her left leg.

  “Hold on,” he said, and she tightened her arms and legs around him. He lifted her off the bed, a hand pressed to her back and the other pushing his upper body up until he was sitting on the bed, his cock buried deep inside Lydia, their bodies closer than before in this sweet embrace.

  In this position, he couldn’t really thrust into her anymore, but he shifted his hips while she rested her hands on his shoulders to lift herself up and slide down onto his cock. They fell into a rhythm that made fire run through Lydia, turning all of her nerves ablaze wherever they touched, inside and out. She was panting, and she realized with a flash of surprise that Owen was, too. She had made him forget he didn’t need to breathe. She buried a burst of happy laughter into the crook of his neck, tightening her hold on him. He was trembling against her, and she couldn’t help but wonder how close he was.

  She pulled back to look at his eyes. They were mere slits and feverish, but they were focused entirely on her. She forgot to move under the intensity of his stare, and could only sit there, with her arms and legs around him, his cock moving inside her, and ask herself—what had she done to deserve the love of such a wonderful man?

  His movements slowed down, although he was still trembling just as much. He swallowed heavily and licked his lips before asking, his voice rough with passion, “Are you sure? I swear I wouldn’t be—”

  “If you keep asking,” she cut in, softening the interruption with a half-smile, “I’ll start thinking you don’t want to do it anymore.”

  Something lit up in his eyes, and they seemed to be burning suddenly, almost glowing.

  “I do,” he said vehemently—and yet still shaking. “If you believe nothing else, believe this. Human or vampire, I’ve never wanted anyone as much as I want you.”

  She laid a small kiss on his lips, thanking him for such sweet words, promising that she did believe. “I love you.” She tried to put all her certainty in her words. “And I want you to do it.”