Giver of Light Read Free

been. He is dead, he would have died then or at another time, but I will not let his death detract from what he gave me.”
    He pulled me closer, lifting my body up on top of his. It was but a mere movement for him, as though I was a weightless piece of fabric and he simply picked me up and draped me over his body like a blanket. His hands reached up and cupped my face. His eyes, that beautiful rich blue with the odd indigo and violet swirls deep within, held my gaze.
    “Do not forget what Nero has given you, honour his memory, cherish his lessons, but” - he kissed my forehead, my eyelids, each cheek - “do not let his death invade your soul. We each have our time on this earth and no one can alter that for us. Now, you must live yours, by honouring his memory, not his death.”
    He continued to stare at me for a moment, then slowly brushed his lips against mine. So soft and warm and beautiful. I craved his kisses, I longed for them. Sometimes he would tease me. He knew how much I adored his touch. Sometimes he would hover over my mouth, wait for me to bridge the gap, deny me that final perfect touch of his warm, soft lips, only to make me beg. It was a game for him. A way of taking back some of the control he had lost to either me or the claiming that we were still battling. His vampire inside of him had decided it needed to stake a claim on me, to let everybody and their dog know I was his. Michel found the claiming a force he could not control. His body responded to situations without the cool, methodical and thoughtful approach he normally has. It was because of that loss of control that he teased.
    But not now. No teasing. He simply pulled me close, brushed his lips one more time across my face, my neck and then repositioned me in the crook of his arm. Cradling me, like you would a baby. Lovingly, carefully, innocently. It never failed to surprise me how lucky I was to have found this man. Granted, he had found me, but I still thanked my lucky stars he had. Right now, so full of memories of Nero's death, so full of my disgust for blood, I would not welcome an intimate coupling. I loved him and part of me always wanted him, but what I needed now, more than sex, more than making love, was to be held. To be cherished and not to be pushed.
    Despite the claiming, despite the fact that he had established morning routines that involved saying hello to his marks when we woke, which never led to more. He was able to restrain himself, for me. He gave me comfort and love with the thought of nothing in return. He defied the claiming and his natural vampire instincts and gave me what I needed.
    I smiled to myself, an amazing feat in itself considering the nightmare that had just woken us. But I couldn't help it. I had been so numb lately and I knew I was nowhere near out of those woods yet, but I took what little joys I could find to help me through. Michel helped me through. I honestly didn't know how I could face the hurdle of accepting Nero's death without Michel.
    Even the routines we had established, him waking me, talking to me, distracting me. Even the way he was drawn to my marks each morning. They all held me firmly to this Earth, prevented me from floating away. It dawned on me that we had quite a few routines now. That we knew each other so well, that we had spent so much time together, that we had formed regular patterns in our life. He could still surprise me, but that familiarity was a blessing. When so much of my world was out of control, was one unexpected shock and then another and then another, that sense of belonging I had with Michel was a god send.
    My life had changed when I moved from my parents' sleepy farm to Auckland two years ago, but it wasn't until just before I turned 25, about three months ago that it really took on the bizarre. I found out I was descended from a race similar, if not originally the same, as the Nosferatu. That I was a born vampire hunter, a Nosferatin and that in order to live, I