Midnight Pleasures

by Amanda Ashley

  Frowning, she called again, and then again. Discouraged, she went to the window and watched as the sun sank from sight in a blaze of crimson. The color reminded her of blood and death, of red wine in a crystal glass. She had married a vampyre. The thought, which should have given her pause, filled her with joy. She was his, truly his, and soon he would rise to be with her again. Anticipation fluttered deep within her heart.

  She whirled around when she heard the portal slide open. Rayven appeared in the doorway. He was dressed all in black from his shirt to his boots, and his cloak fell in graceful folds to the floor.

  Rhianna smiled when she saw him, her heart skipping a beat as her gaze moved over him. How handsome he was, and how much she loved him!

  "Good evening, my lord." She started toward him, then stopped, her smile frozen in place by the icy expression in his eyes.

  His gaze swept over her as if she were a stranger. "What are you doing here?"

  "I wanted to be with you when you awoke."

  He lifted one black brow in a look of clear disbelief. "I find that difficult to believe, madam, considering your eagerness to flee my presence earlier."

  Rhianna lifted her chin, determined to make him understand. "It wasn't you I was running from."

  "Indeed? Need I remind you there was no one else in the room?"

  "It; was the room I was running from, my lord, not you."

  He regarded her a moment, then glanced over his shoulder into the room behind him.

  "What was it that frightened you?" he asked, his voice heavily laced with sarcasm. "The bed? The armoire?" His gaze was hard and cold as it met hers again. "The table, perhaps?"

  "It was the room," she repeated. "I felt trapped because I couldn't get out. I couldn't find the door, and there are no windows, and… I… It was foolish, I know, but I couldn't help it."

  He crossed his arms over his chest, his eyes like shards of black glass as he stared at her. When he spoke, his voice flowed over her like a wave of dark, bitter water. "Are you sure it wasn't the corpse on the bed that frightened you, madam?"

  She regarded him a moment, dismayed by his anger, and then she realized it wasn't anger he was feeling, but a keen sense of disappointment, and hurt. "Rayven, don't! Please, don't."

  "I cannot change what I am, madam, not even for you."

  "I'm not asking you to change."

  "Look at me, Rhianna. This is what I am."

  She wanted to look away, to run from the room, away from the pain she had caused him. Instead, she held her ground and met his gaze.

  And he let her see him as he saw himself, a man who lived but did not grow old, who was, and was not. Four hundred years a vampyre, and the hunger was still his master. He had learned to control it, but never to subdue it. He unleashed it now, let it rise up within him until he knew his eyes burned with need. He drew back his lips so that she could see the sharp white fangs he had kept carefully hidden from her view.

  It was a sight that had terrified others. It terrified Rhianna, as well. Every instinct she possessed urged her to flee, to run from his presence and his house and never return.

  Instead, she clenched her fists at her sides and held her ground, determined to prove that she wasn't afraid of him, to convince him once and for all that she loved him, that it didn't matter what he was so long as he loved her in return.

  A strangled sound that might have been a growl or a sob rumbled deep in his throat. He took a determined step toward her, wondering if she would bolt from the room. He saw her eyes widen as he closed the distance between them, sensed her uneasiness. He could hear the frightened pounding of her heart, see the rapid pulse throbbing in the hollow of her throat, but she stood firm. Everything she was feeling mirrored in the clear blue depths of her eyes.

  Taking a deep breath, Rayven leashed the ravening beast within him. He had let her see him as he was. Would she leave him now? A part of him, that part that feared for her safety, prayed she would go, even as the more selfish part of his nature hoped she would stay. You could make her stay. He dismissed the thought before it was fully formed. He would not keep her against her will.

  "Rhianna, will you come to me?"

  "Always, my lord," she replied tremulously.

  Hardly daring to believe, he held out his arms, and waited.

  With more bravery than he thought she possessed, she took the steps that put her within his grasp.

  She looked up at him, love and trust shining in her eyes as he drew her into his arms and then, with a sigh that seemed to come from the very depths of her soul, she rested her cheek against his chest and closed her eyes.

  "Could we not leave your chamber door open, my lord?" she asked after a time.

  Tenderly, he stroked her hair. "If you wish, my sweet. I shall have Bevins install a bolt on both sides of the tower door, and you shall have the only keys. You must promise to lock the door from the outside if you leave the inner chamber during the day."

  "As you wish, my lord."

  He held her close for endless moments, basking in her nearness, chiding himself for his earlier fit of temper. It had taken years for him to adjust to being Vampyre; he was a fool to think Rhianna could adjust to what he was in a matter of days. And yet they had so little time…

  He grinned as he heard the faint rumble of her stomach. "Come," he said, taking her hand, "let us go down and see what Bevins had prepared for your supper."

  "I am hungry," she admitted. "Have you eaten nothing in all these years?"

  "Nothing."

  "Have you tried?"

  He nodded curtly. He had tried, but only once. That had been enough. Soon after he'd been made, before he had fully accepted what he was, he had gone into a tavern and ordered a meal. He had forced it down even though the smell of cooked meat had sickened him. And then he had gone outside and been violently ill. He had not endeavored to eat solid food again.

  Rhianna sighed and shrugged. "It doesn't matter."

  "Would you prefer to dine alone?"

  "No," she said quickly. "Please don't think that. It's just that Bevins is such a good cook, I wish you could enjoy what he prepares."

  When they reached the dining room, Rayven held her chair for her, then took his usual place across from her.

  A few minutes later, Bevins entered the room bearing a large silver tray that held a covered plate, a decanter, a crystal goblet, a silver teapot, and a delicate china cup. He placed the decanter and goblet in front of Rayven, then served Rhianna's dinner.

  "Thank you, Bevins," Rhianna said, smiling at him. "It smells wonderful."

  "Thank you, madam."

  "Bevins, I want you to install a heavy lock on the tower door, both inside and out, and give the keys to Rhianna."

  "Yes, my lord. Ill see to it tomorrow, first thing."

  Rayven had expected his bride to make changes in his life, and she did. In the weeks that followed, she transformed the interior of the castle from a dark, dreary place into a home.

  The fireplace in his chamber, which had been used but rarely, blazed cheerfully every evening, adding warmth and light to a room that had ever been cold and dark.

  She stripped the black canopy and linens from the bed. The new canopy cover was made of dark blue velvet with gold tassels. The new sheets were white linen, the comforter the same dark blue velvet as the canopy.

  She brought in a delicate oil lamp made of amber glass and brass so she could read in bed.

  She bought a small cherry wood table and two overstuffed chairs covered in a cheery blue print so they could sit in front of the fireplace in the evening.

  Gradually, her clothes took up residence beside his in the armoire, her shoes rested beside his, he found gaily colored ribbons and silk stockings mixed in with his gloves and cravats.

  His bedchamber, once as cold and barren as the grave, soon became a room vibrant with the life of its mistress.

  Sitting before the hearth late one night, waiting for Rhianna to join him, he realized anew how alo
ne, how separate, he had lived from the rest of humanity.

  And he wondered how he would ever let her go.

  She had voiced a desire to visit London, where she had never been, to stay in one of the plush hotels, to take in a play, to dine in one of the city's fanciest restaurants. And Rayven, finding himself more deeply in love with her with each passing day, never thought to deny her.

  Deciding they would make a holiday of it, they packed a small trunk and left the castle two nights later.

  She was thrilled by the idea of spending time in London. Rayven had told her she could spend her days shopping, so long as she took Bevins with her, and he had told her she could buy whatever she pleased for herself, for her family.

  He really was the most generous of men, she thought as she watched the countryside pass by in a blur of moon-dappled trees and rolling hills. The shelter in the village now housed five women, two infants, a crippled old man, and a homeless ten-year-old boy, providing them with a place to live, clean beds to sleep in, food to eat. Because Rayven had declared that he did not believe in handouts, Rhianna had found ways for those who lived in the shelter to help each other. The women took turns doing the washing and the ironing, the old man looked after the babies when their mothers were busy, and the boy gathered firewood. It was an arrangement that suited everyone.

  Pushing thoughts of the shelter aside, she glanced over her shoulder at her husband. He was watching her, a half-smile playing over his lips.

  "Why are you looking at me like that?" she asked.

  "Like what, my sweet?"

  "Like I was a mouse, and you a hungry cat."

  "Perhaps because I am hungry, and you look very tasty."

  A shiver of anticipation ran down her spine, followed by a little chill of apprehension. "Did you not eat before we left home?"

  "A glass of wine."

  "It did not satisfy you, my lord?"

  Slowly, he shook his head. She could feel his gaze on the pulse throbbing in her throat, felt her heart begin to beat faster as she imagined him bending over her, his teeth grazing her tender flesh.

  "Rhianna…" His voice was low and raw, and underlying it like a dark shadow, she heard the faintest hint of pain.

  "My lord?" She hid her hands in the folds of her skirt to hide their trembling.

  His dark gaze met hers. She saw the unspoken question in the depths of his eyes, knew he would not take what she did not offer freely. They had made love often in the two weeks since their marriage, but he had not drunk from her again. Remembering that he had once told her he must occasionally take human blood to survive, she wondered if he had taken nourishment elsewhere. The thought of Rayven turning to another woman to satisfy his need for blood filled her with an odd sort of jealousy. She was his wife, after all. If he needed sustenance, she would give it to him.

  She tilted her head to one side, granting him easy access to her throat.

  Wordlessly, his fingers closed over her shoulders as he drew her into his embrace. She sighed with delight as his lips teased the sensitive skin along her neck. She closed her eyes as she felt the sharp prick of his fangs, gave herself over to the sensual pleasure that flowed through her at his touch.

  Too soon, he drew away, his dark eyes filled with concern. "Rhianna?"

  She gazed up at him through eyes hazy with desire. "Surely you can't have taken enough so soon."

  "Quite enough." He caressed her cheek, loving her for her willingness to give him that which he needed, despising himself for being at the mercy of what he was, for having to take the very essence of her life to survive. "Rhianna…" He wanted to tell her how very precious she was to him, how much her generosity meant to him, but there weren't words enough to convey what he was feeling.

  She snuggled against him. "I love you, Rayven," she murmured, and then, with a sigh, she fell asleep in his arms.

  He watched her sleep, one hand idly stroking her hair. Never before had he realized the awesome responsibility that came with love.

  Rhianna glanced around, unable to believe the splendor of her surroundings. Rayven had taken two adjoining suites in London's finest hotel.

  She walked around, admiring the paintings, the plush carpets, the luxurious draperies, while Bevins unpacked their belongings. Rayven sat in a chair, watching her, his mouth turned up in wry amusement.

  "You're pleased?" he asked.

  "Oh, yes. It's lovely. What shall we do first?"

  "Whatever you wish, my sweet."

  "Could we go for a walk?

  "If you wish." Rising, he settled his cloak on his shoulders, then helped her into her coat. It was new, made of deep rich burgundy velvet trimmed in black fur.

  Rhianna glanced in the mirror, smiling at her image. She looked like one of the ton, she mused. No one, seeing her now, would ever guess that she had been born in a small, remote village, or that she was the daughter of a poor farmer who had sold his oldest daughter to provide for the rest of his family.

  She was suddenly eager to go shopping, to buy gifts for her mother and sisters. New dresses and hats and perhaps a trinket or two. The only thing that marred her excitement was the fact that Rayven would not be able to go with her.

  Standing behind Rhianna, Rayven felt his heart swell with emotions he had not experienced in centuries—love, jealousy, tenderness, an almost overpowering urge to protect her. His hands clenched at his sides with the knowledge that what she most needed protecting from was himself.

  "Ready?" She whirled around, her cheeks flushed, her eyes glowing.

  With a nod, he offered her his arm and they left the hotel.

  They spent the next two hours wandering the streets of the city. Most of the shops in Knights-bridge had closed for the night, so she was surprised when, every time Rayven knocked on a shop door, they were permitted to enter.

  "I sent Bevins round earlier to make arrangements," Rayven explained.

  She felt like royalty as she moved through some of London's most exclusive shops. She had only to look at something, to wonder what it cost, if her mother would like it, what her sister would think, and it was hers. A brown-and-gold-striped dress for her mother, a hat for Aileen, a lacy parasol for Lanna, a bride doll for Brenna, a darling stuffed animal for Bridgitte.

  "But you've bought nothing for yourself," Rayven remarked.

  "I have everything I need."

  "Then I shall pick something for you," he said, and guiding her into a jewelry shop, he purchased a small gold heart-shaped locket on a fine gold chain.

  "It's beautiful," Rhianna exclaimed softly. She turned her back to him while he fastened the chain.

  His lips brushed her nape. "It's to remind you that my heart is yours," he murmured. His breath fanned her skin, making her shiver with anticipation of the time when they would be alone again.

  Rhianna's fingers brushed the locket. "I should like to have our portrait done to put inside," she remarked as they left the shop.

  Rayven was about to refuse outright, but then he saw the eagerness in her eyes. "One day, perhaps."

  Bevins was waiting for them when they returned to the hotel.

  "My bride has made numerous purchases," Rayven remarked. He helped Rhianna out of her coat and tossed it over a chair, then shrugged off his cloak and laid it across the foot of the bed. "They should be arriving on the morrow."

  "Yes, my lord. I'll take care of everything. Will there be anything else?"

  "No. You may retire for the night.

  "Yes, my lord." With a slight bow in Rhianna's direction, Bevins took his leave.

  Rayven moved up behind Rhianna and began to unfasten her gown. She shivered with pleasure as his fingers brushed against her skin.

  "You are so beautiful," he murmured, dropping kisses on her shoulders. Her gown slid to the floor. "So warm. So alive…" He caressed her out of her undergarments until she stood naked before him. "I cannot believe you are here, that you are mine."

  She turned to face him, her arms twining around his neck as
she pressed herself against him. "Believe it, my lord Rayven," she whispered huskily, and covered his mouth with hers.

  Rayven's arms circled her waist, drawing her closer, reveling in the warmth of her body, the flowery scent that clung to her skin, the softness of her hair. She pulsed with warmth and life, intoxicating him with her nearness. Her heartbeat increased as he deepened the kiss. The scent of her desire filled his nostrils; he could smell the blood flowing in her veins, hot and sweet.

  Her hands trembled with eagerness as she divested him of his clothing until there was nothing between them but desire.

  "Rhianna…" Just her name, but she heard the words he couldn't say, heard the love in his voice, the need, the fear. Always the fear, she thought, saddened that their love was tainted by it.

  With a smile of reassurance, she took him by the hand and led him to the bed. Drawing back the covers, she sat down on the mattress and drew him down beside her.

  "Love me, my lord." She caressed his cheek. "I think I shall die if you don't kiss me."

  She regretted her choice of words as soon as they left her lips. Though unspoken, she heard Rayven's reply echo in her mind: And you might die if I do.

  She pressed herself against him, loving the touch of his bare skin against her own. He fell back on the mattress, carrying her with him, his arms locking around her waist in a desperate embrace, his mouth closing over hers, his tongue teasing hers.

  Desire unfurled within her, like a flower opening to the sun. Threading her fingers through his hair, she kissed him with all the love and passion in her heart. Her hands skimmed his body, boldly exploring, learning anew what made him smile, what made him groan with delight.

  She gazed into the depths of his eyes, felt the heat of his desire sear a path to the very core of her being. With a low groan, he rolled over, carrying her with him until she lay beneath him.

  Eyes blazing with a clear black flame, he buried himself deep within her. The world seemed to tilt as their bodies merged. His hands caressed her, igniting fires of pleasure where they touched. He whispered her name, his voice rough.