I decide I shouldn’t ask any more about that. Not from him, anyway. Then again, Wolf seemed pretty cagey and uncomfortable talking about Skarde too. I have to wonder if this house is on the vampire king’s shitlist. How can it not be, when Solon and his crew have been handing over vampires to witches for who knows how long?
Solon straightens up in his chair, looking toward a bookshelf. “Perhaps we should…play some music.”
Classical music immediately fills the room.
I’m impressed.
“Let me guess, that’s some kind of magic you got from witches?” I ask.
“No,” he says evenly. “That’s Alexa.”
“Oh,” I say, feeling my face flush.
“I do have a small repertoire of magic that I’ve bartered for, but technology wins out most of the time.”
“The music is lovely,” I tell him, letting the somber, elegant tones wash over me, bringing back that feeling of calm of when I first stepped into the house. “What is it?”
““The Poet Acts” by Philip Glass. Not bad for a modern composer.”
The term “modern composer” makes me think of how many composers he must have heard in his lifetime.
“Did you ever meet Beethoven?” I ask.
“Beethoven?” he repeats incredulously, giving me a funny look. “No. Just because I was alive when Beethoven was, doesn’t mean I met him.” He pauses, giving me a small smile. “I did see Mozart in concert though.”
I stare at him in awe. “No way.”
His smile widens, reaching his eyes until they’re absolutely dazzling. Butterflies twirl through my stomach.
“Yes, way,” he says. “It was in Paris.” He closes his eyes, a wistful crease in his brow. “1763, I believe. It was a cold night in November. In those days, it snowed that early, and the snow was coming down hard. Nearly missed the concert because of it. Mozart was so young, just a boy. Eight years old maybe. Never seen anything like it before, and haven’t since then.”
He opens his eyes and fixes them on me and for a moment I think I can see the past in them. I can feel what it was like to have been there, and tears automatically spring to my eyes, goosebumps spreading along my arms. I can feel the cold outside the concert hall doors, hear the hushed murmurs of the crowd, then footsteps walking across a wooden stage. The first notes of a piano, so clear, so beautiful, my heart is almost breaking.
The corner of his mouth lifts as he tilts his head, studying me. “That’s curious. Feels like you’re there, doesn’t it?”
I nod slowly, afraid to break the spell, though I can’t tell what belongs to Philip Glass, and what is Mozart swirling around in my head.
“You know,” he says thoughtfully, his voice low as he continues to observe me, “it’s been ages since someone has had my blood. It doesn’t happen often, and it never happens by accident.”
“What does it all mean?” I ask, hushed.
He gets to his feet and comes over, crouching down in front of me, his presence so close, making my skin go from hot to cold and back again.
Utterly alive.
“It means you share parts of my memories now. Of what I’ve felt. What I’ve seen. And what I’ve done.” He reaches out and with startling tenderness, brushes his thumb under my eye. I’m surprised to see it wet with an errant tear. “I better be careful of what I tell you of my past,” he says quietly.
I stare at him, numb and amazed at once.
He gets to his feet and I immediately close my eyes, trying to conjure up the memory of Mozart again, but it’s faded away like a dream does in the morning.
I’m starting to fade too, like the emotions of his past are exhausting me, pulling me under.
“You look tired,” he says again. “You should relax.”
At his words, I sink deeper into the couch, the glass of Scotch dangling from my fingers. He reaches down and takes it from me before I drop it, placing it on the side table.
“You drugged me,” I manage to say, my words slow, feeling so relaxed that I’m melting on the spot.
“I did no such thing,” he says. “This is your body finally feeling safe. You haven’t slept for days.”
I thought vampires didn’t need sleep, I think, too tired to move my mouth now.
We do, he says, deep inside my head. Just like any other creature.
The next thing I feel is him coming closer, his scent washing over my body, then his strong, firm arms are going around me and he’s lifting me up, carrying me. I’m as limp as a ragdoll in his arms.
“Put your hands around my neck,” he murmurs to me. “Please try not to bite me. I don’t want another shirt ruined.”
I do as he says, opening my eyes for a moment to see him staring down at me with a wary expression. I have enough energy to bury my head in the crook of his neck, pressing my nose against his skin, breathing him in until my eyes flutter. He told me not to bite him, and even though I can hear his heartbeat, it only soothes me even further.
He carries me up the many flights of stairs and I feel myself drifting in and out of sleep. We go down the hall and into my bedroom.
My bedroom. That’s what it feels like now.
Like it’s mine.
Like it always was.
He carries me to the bed, throwing back the covers, and then lays me down on it, gently putting my head on the pillow. He takes off my boots, then puts my legs under the covers.
I feel fear for a moment, the feeling of losing consciousness, of losing control.
“Solon,” I cry out in a ragged hush, reaching for him, my eyes too heavy to open.
He grabs my hand, giving it a squeeze that sends warmth through my body. “You need to sleep, Lenore. You’re safe now. Sleep.”
Stop compelling me, I think.
“You’d know it if I was,” he says in a low voice. “When you wake up, you’ll be hungry. Come find me.”
He gives my hand another strong, comforting squeeze.
Then he’s gone.
Sleep comes for me, pulls me into the black.
Chapter Fifteen
I dream of blood.
Rivers of it.
Elusive.
Endless red that I can’t reach, can’t touch, like I’m in my own personal desert, throat drying up, body aching for something I can’t have.
The more I want it, the more I need it.
And the more the rivers recede.
Telling me that if I get it, I’ll drown myself, that I won’t be able to stop myself. That I’ll destroy the whole damn world with my thirst.
When I finally wake up, I’m ravaged with a hunger I’ve never felt before.
It’s dark in the room and it takes me a moment to realize where I am.
In my bedroom.
In Solon’s house.
A room that was once my prison.
A place I willingly returned.
I remember Solon carrying me up the stairs, bringing me here, handling me with such gentleness that it’s hard to reconcile that version with the one of him who tied me to the bed however long ago that was. Not to mention, you know, the stalking, kidnapping. Vampire traits, I suppose.
But I don’t dwell on it too much.
I’m hungry.
Starving.
And if I don’t get what I need, I think I’m actually going to die.
I get out of bed and walk out of the bedroom, into the house, candles lit along the walls, dead roses gone stiff in vases. I’ll deal with them later.
I start going up the stairs, to the level I’ve never been before.
Come find me, he had said before I fell asleep, you’ll be hungry.
Absolon is up here.
The closer I get to the floor, the more my necklace burns against me, until I’m standing outside what has to be his door, painted black with gold edging.
I raise my hand to knock but I hear his voice in my head.
Come in.
I swallow, my palms itching, and turn the knob.
I
step inside a large room. Black wallpaper with gold designs. Black king-sized four-poster bed with black sheets. Black curtains on the windows, black candles for lighting.
This must be where the Prince of Darkness sleeps, I think. The smell of him is overwhelming, churning that hunger inside me. I don’t even know how much of it is the urge to fuck him or how much is the urge feed from him, but I have a feeling I’m about to find out.
He’s not in this room, though. There’s a ladder at one end that leads up to another floor, to what I’m guessing is the house’s infamous tower. I’m about to head up there when I hear a splash of water from another room, the door half open.
I walk over and push the door open, staring into a large en suite bathroom. Compared to the bedroom, it’s fairly modern with slick tiles and mood lighting.
In the middle is a claw-foot bathtub.
Solon is in it, facing away from me, arms resting on the sides of the tub.
I stare at the back of his head for a moment, hesitating.
But that thirst inside me won’t let me be cautious.
I walk around the bathtub to face him.
He’s staring up at me, intensity glittering in his eyes, his pupils large and hypnotic.
He’s completely naked, and this isn’t a bubble bath. He’s on display.
It would be rude to look, but he’s already seen me naked plenty of times.
So I glance.
No, I gawk.
He’s magnificent.
All six-foot-two of him, every muscle hard and sculpted to perfection.
And he’s erect. Thick, long, perfect.
Yet another intimidating thing about him.
I expect him to have some dry remark about me staring at his cock for so long, but silence envelopes the bathroom, the kind of silence that already speaks volumes.
It’s the silence before the storm.
He sits up a little straighter, eyes still on me, and I take off my sweater, my bra, slip out of my jeans and underwear, throwing them to the side. Then I take off my necklace, tossing it on top of my clothes. I should feel self-conscious stripping in front of him like this, but I don’t.
My mind is too preoccupied to care.
He angles his head to the right, exposing his neck, highlighting the dark vein that flashes against his luminous skin.
My teeth lengthen in my mouth, the hunger taking over completely. I thought he was going to cut himself like he did for me last time, but I guess this time it’s different.
This time I have to bite him.
A current of fear runs through me, not sure if I’ll like what I’ll become when I do this. But the urge to feed is too strong, and now it’s so confused with my desire for him that I don’t know what way is up.
All I know is that he’s offering himself to me.
And I would only hurt myself if I didn’t take it.
I step in the bathtub carefully, his eyes raking over my naked body, leaving icy hot trails in their wake, then I lower myself in the water until I’m straddling him, my thighs on either side of his hips.
My gaze drifts up from the soft flesh of his neck over to his eyes, his expression both savage and wary. Almost like…he’s afraid of me.
I lick my lips, trying to restrain myself from devouring him like an animal, then reach back and grab his cock under the water, trying to position him under me, wanting the fullness of him inside.
He immediately reaches into the water and grabs me by the wrist, ripping it away, his eyes blazing.
“No,” he says gruffly. “I can’t.”
I frown. “You can’t?” I whisper, my voice raw with desire.
“You wouldn’t like what happens to me,” he growls, swallowing hard, grip still tight on my wrist. “You’re hungry for something else, Lenore. Take it.”
He moves his head an inch, drawing my attention back to his neck.
“Are you sure?” I ask, though the itch inside me is getting painful now. I can hear his blood, smell it, and it’s whipping my nerves up into a frenzy that I don’t think I’ll be able to control. “What if you don’t like what happens to me?”
“I’ll handle it,” he says firmly. “You need to feed. I don’t want you having anyone else’s blood but mine.” He grabs the back of my head and pushes my face down onto his neck. “Do it. Bite me.”
My lips are pushed against his skin, energy already flowing from him to me, and I quickly open my mouth, exposing my teeth before sinking them into his skin, biting down hard.
He lets out a ragged whimper from the pain, but I barely hear him, and I don’t even care. All I care about is the sweet blood that’s flowing from the wound, into my mouth, hitting my tongue with sparks, filling me up with life and energy and everything I need, down to my very soul.
Solon groans and I bite him even harder, my fangs sinking deeper into his flesh, my body writhing on top of his. He’s still hard as hell and suddenly I’m hit with the uncontrollable urge to fuck and feed at the same time.
But he keeps himself just out of reach, holding my head to his neck while I suck and bite, lick and drink. His other hand slides around my waist, holding me in place.
Eventually that hand glides up over my wet skin to my breasts, thumb brushing over my nipple that’s already pebble-hard, fingers pinching, shockwaves being sent through my body.
I moan into his neck, one need being satisfied while the other being teased.
I lift my head and look at him, our faces close.
He stares at my lips, at his blood all over my mouth, but it doesn’t scare him. The heat in his eyes burns even hotter, nostrils flaring, and I can tell he’s doing everything to hold himself back.
He swallows hard, his throat bobbing. “You done?” he asks in a rough voice.
I shake my head. “No.”
Then I move in, inch-by-inch, slowly placing my lips on top of his.
His eyes are still open, still staring at me, turning black, his whole body growing tense.
Then his mouth yields and my eyes close, sinking into the kiss.
Our tongues meet, tentative and soft at first, a dance with me trying to lead, to get more from him, to free him from whatever is restraining him.
He moans into my mouth, a sound that nearly makes me come, and his hand glides down my back and then back up, through my hair, making a tight fist.
I gasp against his lips.
Jesus.
I didn’t know I could kiss and be kissed like this. Our mouths fit against each other like we were never meant to be separated, a slow decadent dream that I’m slipping further and further into. All my senses, from the way he tastes, to the way he smells, to the way those hands feel as they pull my hair and hold my waist, are beyond heightened, in their elements. His lips are soft and hard and everything I want.
Then it starts to build.
His mouth takes the lead, his movements rougher, more violent, his hold on me tighter now, his other hand slipping between my legs, fingers sliding through the water, over my clit.
I lift my head up, arching my spine, throwing my head back while he drives his fingers inside me. Music builds deep within my bones, a low, dizzying bass-driven rumble that moves my body into his hand, wanting more, so much more.
“Fuck,” I cry out, coming on his fingers, the orgasm blindsiding me, stealing the air from my lungs.
I fall forward, my hair hanging over me, and now his lips are at my breast, sucking my nipple into his mouth. The orgasm doesn’t stop, it just intensifies and keeps going, and he’s still fucking me with his fingers, driving it home again and again.
“Oh my god,” I breathe, unable to take it, my body endlessly writhing and convulsing, feeling like I’m turning into gold confetti.
He drives his fingers deeper still, then brings my mouth back to his neck, where a little bit of blood remains, his wounds nearly healed. I feed again as he makes me come, sucking up the blood as the orgasm tears me apart.
He’s breathing hard, his own desire cha
nging the taste of the blood, making it hit differently, like I’ve just done several lines of coke and some molly. I dig my fingers into his shoulder, my other hand reaching for his cock again, wanting it inside me more than anything.
He lets out a growl that turns into a groan, and I think he might be too turned on to make me stop, or maybe too weak. I keep my grip tight around him, his cock growing larger, impossible to make a proper fist as I slide it up and down before positioning it against me.
Stop, he says in my head, his voice barely audible.
But I can’t stop, not now, not when I’m like this.
I want him so badly, I’m not even myself.
“Stop!” he suddenly roars. His hand shoots out with a splash, grabbing me by the throat and holding me back from him. “You don’t know what you’re asking for. But I do.”
I gasp, trying to breathe, my fingers going to his hand, trying to pry myself free.
His grip is too strong, fueled by the madness in his eyes.
I see pain in their depths remorse, rage and fear.
All the things he tries so hard to hide, tucked away behind that cold fortress.
This I know now.
Then he blinks.
Releases my throat so that I drop into the water, hunched over, coughing and gasping for breath. I know he can’t choke me to death, but it still doesn’t feel good.
He slips out from under me, gets out of the tub, walking naked across the bathroom and into his bedroom. I hear footsteps on the ladder, a creak of the floorboards.
He’s in the tower.
I sit there on my knees in the bloody water, my hands shaking. I press my fingers against my teeth, willing them to go back to normal, to stop being a monster.
Because I am a monster.
I got so carried away with feeding from him, I wanted to take all of him, every last bit. There are different types of vampires, and here it wasn’t only about feeding. Him offering up something sacred like his blood wasn’t enough for me.
I just wanted Solon, in every way I could get him.
Even if it’s not what he wanted.
I sit for a few minutes more, trying to calm my heart and breath, washing the blood off my face.
Black Sunshine Page 21
