Midnight Pleasures

by Amanda Ashley

  Chapter Fourteen

  Rayven caught her before she toppled from the bench. Lifting her easily in his arms, he looked down at her, his gaze instinctively drawn to the pulse beating in her throat. Perhaps he should not have told her. If he wished, he could wipe it all from her mind, make her forget everything he had said.

  And yet, it had felt good, cleansing somehow, to tell her the truth. He had wanted her to know, had wanted no lies between them in the time they had left. And when their year together was up, he would leave this place, and it wouldn't matter if she told anyone or not. No one would believe her. In spite of all the stories and rumors that circulated among the villagers, none of them truly believed him to be a monster.

  Rhianna had never believed it, either, but she knew the truth now.

  Tomorrow he would find out if she was strong enough to accept it, to live with it. And with him.

  And if she wasn't…

  He shook the thought away as if it were no more than a troublesome insect. There would be time enough to worry about that tomorrow. Tonight, he would hold her while she slept and pretend, for a little while, that she knew what he was, and loved him in spite of it.

  Effortlessly, he carried her back to the castle, up the winding staircase to her chamber. Gently, he lowered her onto the bed, took off her shoes and gown. Removing his boots and cloak, he sat down on the bed, his back to the headboard. Aching with need, he drew her into his arms and covered them both with his cloak.

  He sat there through the night, watching her sleep, listening to the soft, even sound of her breathing. Tenderness engulfed him as she snuggled against him, her arms wrapping around his waist.

  Do you know? he wondered. Do you know it's me?

  He lifted a hand, his knuckles lightly stroking the downy curve of her cheek, marveling at the smoothness of her skin, so warm compared to the coolness of his own. With his forefinger, he traced the line of her mouth—soft and sweet. Her lips parted slightly, and she made a low, sleepy sound in her throat.

  "Rhianna." Desire surged through him, painful in its intensity. "Open to me, my sweet," he whispered.

  "Rayven…" Her eyelids fluttered open. She had been dreaming of him, and now he was there, gazing down at her through black eyes that blazed with a deep inner fire.

  "Kiss me." He lowered his head toward hers. "Kiss me…"

  She tilted her head back, uttered a soft moan as his lips claimed hers in a searing kiss that drove all rational thought from her mind even as it made her toes curl with pleasure.

  He shifted his position so that they were lying face-to-face, their bodies pressed together from shoulder to thigh. Desire unfurled within her at the touch of his hard lean body molded so intimately against her own.

  His tongue traced her lips. He heard the rapid beat of her heart, felt his hunger roar to life, felt his fangs ache with the need to drink and drink and drink, to fill himself with her sweetness, her very essence.

  Rhianna groaned softly. Instinctively, she pressed herself against him, wanting to be closer. Her hands slid under his shirt, caressing the smooth line of his back. She felt as if she were on fire. His skin was cool beneath her fingertips, yet she knew he was as aroused as she. His breathing was harsh and erratic, his hands restless as they slid up and down her sides, his fingers brushing against the curve of her breast.

  She felt his teeth graze her throat, and she lifted her hair away from her neck, wanting to feel his tongue against her skin.

  His hand cupped her buttocks, drawing her close against him, letting her feel the visible evidence of his desire. The fact that her kisses, her nearness, had the power to arouse him excited her. Never before had she felt passion like this, known such longing, such need.

  She whispered his name, wanting him to touch her everywhere at once. She tugged at his clothing, wanting to feel his bare skin against her own.

  "Rhianna." His voice sounded heavy, drugged. "We've got to stop."

  "No." She clung to him, her fingers kneading his back and shoulders, her hips moving against him, urging him to ease the ache spreading through her. "Kiss me," she whispered. "Touch me."

  "Rhianna…" The image of the last girl he had taken to bed rose within him. They had to wait, wait until the hunger was sated and under control.

  But she didn't want to wait. Her agile fingers tossed his cloak and shirt aside until nothing separated them but the thin material of her chemise. He could feel the warm sweet heat of her breasts against his chest.

  A low growl rose in his throat as her hand boldly caressed his thigh.

  "Rayven, please…" She moved restlessly on the bed, driven by an urgency she didn't understand, couldn't resist.

  He felt her need as if it was his own. His body was on fire for her. He felt the sharpness of his fangs against his tongue, felt the hunger rise up within him as he stripped her of her undergarments and tossed his trousers aside.

  She was beautiful, her body smooth and unblemished, a temptress with slender legs and softly rounded hips, a siren with breasts that had been fashioned for his hands and his alone.

  Trembling with need, he lowered himself over her, his weight braced on his elbows as he buried his face in the hollow of her shoulder. "Rhianna, are you sure?"

  He felt her nod as she wrapped her arms around him and held him close.

  Hunger and desire pounded through him, and with them the knowledge that the waiting of four hundred years was about to come to an end. And then, like a warning blast of hot air, he felt the sun creeping over the edge of the horizon.

  With a low cry, he reared back, his gaze moving to the window. Through a narrow gap in the heavy curtains, he could see the faint light of the sun, feel the coming warmth of a new day.

  "What is it?" Rhianna asked. "What's wrong?"

  "I must go."

  "Go?" She looked up at him, her eyes filled with confusion. "Where? Why?"

  "It's dawn." With fluid grace, he vacated the bed. Grabbing his cloak, he draped it over his shoulders. "Till tonight, sweet Rhianna," he said, his voice hoarse with unfulfilled desire.

  "Rayven, wait…"

  But he was already gone.

  That afternoon, she sat in front of her dressing table, absently brushing out her hair. He was a vampyre. She told herself she should be grateful that the dawn had sent him from her bed before he'd claimed her innocence.

  Vampyre. Last night, drugged by his kisses, at the mercy of the passion that had flowed through her like warm honey, she had been incapable of rational thought. She had known nothing but need, hot urgent need that had left her blind and deaf to everything else.

  Now, in the cold light of day, she wondered how she could have forgotten it for even a moment.

  Vampyre… images of emaciated monsters with yellow fangs dripping blood rose in her mind.

  Vampyre… hideous, unnatural creatures who stalked the night in search of prey, drinking the blood of innocents.

  Vampyre… ghouls who slept in coffins by day because they could not abide the pure light of the sun.

  Vampyre… how could it be true? If he was truly a vampyre, why wasn't she repulsed by him? Why was she still alive? Would she become what he was?

  Rising to her feet, she went to the windows and threw the curtains open wide. The sun felt warm on her face.

  She had never seen Rayven during the day. Never seen him eat.

  She pressed her forehead against the cool glass. Was he sleeping in his coffin even now?

  The thought made her shudder.

  The east tower. That was where he slept. That was why he had forbidden her to go there. She frowned. She had found nothing when she went there, only an empty room.

  She was across the room, her hand on the latch, before she realized what she was doing. She paused in the hallway, listening, wondering what Bevins was doing.

  Lifting her skirts, she ran down the corridor to the staircase that led up to the east tower.

  Her heart was beating loudly in her ears when she reached t
he tower room. Taking a deep breath, she opened the door and stepped inside. As before, there was nothing to see—no furniture, no pictures, only a single window covered by thick, black velvet draperies.

  She opened the curtains, then stood in the center of the room, slowly turning around. At first she saw nothing, and then she discerned a faint break in the pattern of the stone wall across from the window.

  Heart pounding, palms damp, mouth dry, she pressed her hand to the wall, gradually moving her hand over the surface.

  She gasped as she felt the wall move, and then a portion of the wall slid open, revealing another room beyond.

  Poised to flee, she stood in the doorway and peered inside. There were no windows in this chamber. Sunshine from the room behind her spilled through the open doorway. Though the light was faint, she could make out the shape of a large cherry wood armoire on the wall across from her. A wolf's head was carved into one door, a raven on the other.

  A large fireplace took up the far corner of the room.

  She took another step forward and glanced to the right. A huge tapestry covered the wall. Woven in shades of forest green and brown, it depicted several scenes. In one, a raven was perched on a tree branch. Below, a black wolf with bloodred eyes sat on its haunches, howling at the moon. Another scene portrayed several men armed with spears in pursuit of a wolf. A third scene illustrated a wolf standing on its hind legs, its teeth bared in a vicious snarl.

  Drawing her gaze from the tapestry, she turned her head to the left, felt her heart jump into her throat. A huge bed covered with a black canopy was situated on a raised dais. And lying on the bed, his arms folded across his chest, was Rayven. She could only stare as images imprinted themselves on her mind. The sheets and pillow slip were black. A comforter, also black, was folded across the foot of the bed. His cloak covered him, enfolding him like loving arms.

  His face, framed by his black hair, looked very pale. He did not seem to be breathing.

  Alarm skittered through her. Had he died during the day? The urge to go to him, to make sure he was still alive, rose strong within her, and with it, snatches of folklore she'd heard about ways to destroy a vampyre.

  Cut off its head. Stuff its mouth with garlic. Drive a stake through its heart and into the ground beneath so that it couldn't rise again.

  Last night, he had told her what he was, and she had thought she believed him. But hearing his words had not prepared her for this.

  The villagers had been right all along, she mused. There was a vampyre in their midst, and she knew where he slept.

  "Oh, Rayven," she whispered. "Oh, Rayven, what am I to do?"

  "Rhi… anna."

  His voice, though barely audible, sounded in her ears like thunder.

  He� was� awake.�� Awake� and� watching� her through heavy-lidded eyes as dark and deep as pools of liquid ebony.

  She stood in the doorway, mesmerized by his gaze, unable to move.

  "Have you come to destroy me?" There was a note of bitter resignation in his voice, but it was the forgiveness in his eyes that tugged at her heart.

  "No." She shook her head, pity welling up within her. "No."

  "Come to me." His voice was soft, so soft, filled with longing.

  She couldn't. Wouldn't. But her feet were moving of their own accord, carrying her across the floor, up the two stairs of the dais, until she stood beside the bed.

  "Rhianna… please don't…" His voice was low, as if speaking were an effort. His eyelids fluttered down, then opened again. "Don't hate me."

  "I don't." She lifted one hand, wanting to touch him, yet afraid. "Are you in pain?" she asked. "Can I get you anything?"

  The ghost of a smile played over his lips. "The sun… daylight… I cannot abide it."

  "It's true," she murmured in wonder. "Everything you told me. All true."

  He nodded once, briefly. "Lie with me."

  She glanced at the bed. It wasn't a coffin, after all, just a large bed carved of wood.

  Vampyre… Would he wrap her in his evil embrace and drain her dry?

  It was a foolish thought, and she shook it away. If he had wanted to kill her, he'd had plenty of opportunity before now.

  With a sigh, she sat down on the mattress, then stretched out beside him, her head pillowed on his shoulder.

  He smiled at her, his arm drawing her close to his side. There was a soft whoosh as the panel slid shut, and then his eyelids fluttered down and he was asleep once more.

  And she was in the monster's lair.

  She gave a little start as she felt his cloak slide out from beneath her, felt the smooth silk lining slither up over her bare arms, until it covered them both.

  Hidden panels that shut of their own volition and a black velvet cloak that seemed almost alive. It was beyond her comprehension, beyond the realms of reality.

  Suddenly weary, she closed her eyes. And slept.

  He was aware of her there beside him all through the day. Her hair brushed his cheek like a skein of golden silk. Her arm rested across his chest, the warmth of her flesh penetrating the cold that enveloped him in his deathlike sleep. The clean fresh scent of her skin wrapped around him, the slow steady beat of her heart was as comforting as a lullaby. Her thigh pressed intimately against his, bequeathing erotic dreams to one who never dreamed.

  He woke as the setting sun turned the sky to flame, and her face was the first thing he saw. Emotions rose within him, hot and swift and unfamiliar. For over four hundred years, he had awakened to the darkness of a lonely room, and now an angel lay sleeping beside him, her hair spread like sunshine across the pillow, her lashes like dark fans against her cheek.

  And he knew in that moment that he had never loved her more.

  She stirred in his arms, her eyelids fluttering open, an uncertain smile on her lips.

  "You look surprised," he murmured. "Did you think I would drink you dry while you slept?"

  She shook her head, but even in the dark, he could see the telltale flush that climbed into her cheeks.

  "Rhianna, you have no idea what it means to me, to wake up and find you here beside me."

  "I'm glad it pleases you, my lord."

  "It does," he said. 'Very much."

  "Is there… is there a candle in here?" She glanced around, unnerved by the unrelieved darkness. There were no windows in the room, no hint of light. "It's so dark."

  She felt him turn away from her; a moment later, there was a soft whoosh as a fire sprang to life in the hearth. Soft golden light filled the room, creating dancing shadows on the walls and ceiling.

  Rhianna stared at the flames as if they had risen from Satan's own pit. "How… how did you do that?"

  "A bit of vampyre magic," he replied. Bevins insisted on keeping a supply of wood in the fireplace, though Rayven had often told him it was unnecessary. For once, he was glad the man hadn't listened to him.

  "Oh." She stared into the fireplace for a moment, then frowned. "I had expected… That is… Aren't… aren't vampyres supposed to sleep in coffins?"

  "Some do."

  "But you don't?"

  "I find them narrow and confining." He could survive the day outside a coffin, but a thick layer of his native soil was spread beneath the mattress.

  A muscle worked in his jaw as he sat up. The cloak fell away, pooling in his lap. "Have you any other questions about my… affliction?"

  Rhianna sat up, her shoulder brushing against his. "Are there truly ways to… to kill a vampyre?"

  "Plotting my destruction, are you?"

  "Of course not."

  "A hawthorne stake through the heart is said to be effective. I believe a stake made of ash or blackthorn will also suffice. Fire will certainly destroy me. Another sure method of destroying a vampyre is to cut off his head."

  She swallowed the bile rising in her throat, sickened by the images his words conjured in her mind. "And what of holy water?"

  "Holy water has a rather unpleasant effect, though I doubt it would
be fatal unless I fell into a pool of it."

  Rhianna frowned, searching her mind for other snippets of vampyre lore she had heard through the years. "And garlic?"

  Rayven grinned. "The smell is most unpleasant, but will not deter me."

  "And crosses?"

  "A silver one would burn me should I touch it."

  "And those made of wood?"

  "They will not save you."

  The words chilled her, but there was no menace in his voice, only mild amusement.

  Rhianna frowned thoughtfully. "Why are you telling me how to destroy you?"

  "Because someday you may need to know."

  She didn't want to dwell on what that might mean. Casting about for some other topic of conversation, her gaze settled on his cloak. It spread over the bed like a shimmering pool of ebony. She stared at it warily for a moment, remembering how it had covered her the night before.

  She poked at it tentatively, as if afraid it might attack her. As always, the rich velvet was warm to the touch, seeming to pulse with a life of its own.

  "It won't bite you," Rayven remarked, one brow arched in wry amusement.

  "Are you sure? It is the strangest garment I have ever seen. This afternoon…" She broke off with a shrug. "Never mind."

  "What?" he urged. "Tell me."

  "I know it's impossible!" Rhianna exclaimed. "But I'd swear it moved. Oh, I know I must have been imagining it, but it seemed to cover me of its own volition."

  She shook her head, her eyes wide with awe and disbelief. "And the panel in the wall, it closed all by itself."

  She looked at him, waiting for him to explain that which was unexplainable. "How is it possible? Am I going mad?"

  Rayven caressed her cheek with the back of his hand. "You're quite sane, my sweet. I caused the panel in the wall to close, just as I caused it to open when I sensed you were on the other side."

  "You did? But, how?"

  "Like this," he said, and a moment later, the portal slid open and then closed again, leaving no trace of its existence.

  Rhianna blinked up at him, astonishment evident in her eyes. "Would you mind leaving it open?"

  "As you wish," he said agreeably, and the narrow door opened once again. "Is that better?"