Midnight Pleasures

by Amanda Ashley

  "No," Dallon replied slowly. "She has always spoken highly of you."

  "She needs me," Rayven said, unable to disguise the urgency in his voice. "She needs to know that I am here."

  He tensed as he heard Montroy cross the floor, hesitation evident in each faltering step.

  "No one else can help her," Rayven said. "Please, I'm begging you. You must let me out of here before it's too late."

  He held his breath as he felt the touch of Montroy's hand on the lid of his coffin. Yes, he thought. Do it, damn you!

  Dallon stared down at the casket. He was a well-educated man. There was no place in his life or his philosophy for that which could not be proven by fact or logically explained. He had never put any credence in the town's talk of vampyres, never believed in ghosts or goblins. He had, on occasion, felt a chill when he looked into Rayven's eyes, a sense of tightly controlled power, of danger waiting to be unleashed. But it had nothing to do with Rayven being a monster and everything to do with the fact that the master of Castle Rayven was a wealthy, powerful man, confident, arrogant, subservient to no one.

  Dallon took a deep breath, willing to put his own safety at risk if there was a chance of saving Rhianna's life.

  "I want your word, Rayven, your sworn oath that you will not harm her."

  "You have it."

  "Or anyone else."

  Rayven hesitated only a moment. "I give you my word." He waited, hands clenching and unclenching, while Montroy made up his mind.

  After what seemed hours but was no more than a moment or two, there was the unmistakable rattling of heavy chains, the screech of nails being drawn from wood.

  They had secured his resting place well, Rayven mused. They had wrapped it with heavy chains, then nailed the lid shut. With silver nails, no doubt. He grinned wryly. Had they also sprinkled it with holy water?

  Rayven squinted against the bright glare of a candle as Montroy lifted the lid.

  Dallon swore softly, automatically crossing himself, as Rayven sat up.

  Feeling as though he had been ransomed from the bowels of Hell, Rayven climbed out of the coffin.

  He grunted softly as the stink of garlic filled his nostrils. Looking down, he saw the floor was strewn with the stuff.

  Dallon Montroy backed away, felt the blood drain from his face as Rayven's black eyes met his.

  "It's true," Montroy exclaimed, his hand tightening around the hammer in his hand. "All true."

  "Indeed," Rayven agreed. He glanced at the thick gold cross hanging from a chain around Montroy's neck. "That will not protect you."

  "You gave me your word."

  "So I did." Rayven settled his cloak around his shoulders, then advanced on Montroy. He could hear the blood flowing in the man's veins, hear the frenzied beating of his heart.

  He drew in a deep breath, drawing in the scent of blood, awakening the hunger.

  Montroy backed up until he could go no further. "You gave me your word," he repeated, his pulse pounding wildly as he looked into Rayven's eyes. Eyes that glowed like twin coals in the very fires of Hell, burning into his mind, burning away his will to resist. He tried to look away, tried to raise his arm, to strike out with the hammer. But he could not draw his gaze away, could not summon the strength to lift his arm.

  "Forgive me," Rayven murmured, and taking hold of Montroy's left arm, he sank his fangs into the tender flesh of the viscount's wrist.

  Helpless, Montroy closed his eyes, surprised that there was hardly any pain. The hammer slid, unnoticed, from his grasp.

  The hunger roared through Rayven, but he forced it back. Three long swallows, that was all, just enough to appease the hunger before he went to Rhianna.

  He took a deep, calming breath as the hunger abated. After licking the wound in the viscount's wrist, and savoring the few extra drops of blood, he released Montroy's arm and turned away.

  Taking the cellar stairs two at a time, he hurried to Rhianna's chamber.

  Bevins was there, his arms and legs securely bound to a stout wooden chair. He grinned with rare good humor as Rayven swept into the room. "Good to see you, my lord."

  "And you," Rayven replied curtly. With a flick of his wrist, he set Bevins free. "Get rid of Montroy, then bring me a glass of wine."

  "Aye, my lord."

  Lifting Rhianna into his arms, Rayven left the room, his steps carrying him swiftly up the stairs to the east tower. She was thin, he thought, so thin. Her heartbeat was slow, her pulse faint.

  Inside the tower room, he closed the hidden portal, then gently lowered Rhianna to his bed. He drew the covers over her, his heart aching for the pain he had caused her, both mentally and physically.

  "Rhianna? Rhianna!"

  She moaned softly, then her eyelids fluttered open. "Rayven?"

  "I'm here, beloved."

  She tried to smile, but the effort was too great. "Stay… please…"

  "I'll never leave you again. I swear it." Sitting on the edge of the bed, he lifted his wrist to his mouth, then opened the vein with his teeth. "Here, you must drink this."

  She stared at him, uncomprehending.

  Muttering an oath, he pressed his bleeding wrist to her mouth. "Drink, Rhianna."

  Her eyes widened as she realized what he wanted, and then she shook her head.

  "Drink, Rhianna. It is the only way."

  His voice wrapped around her, soft as cotton wool, demanding her compliance. She didn't want to obey, but she was helpless against the dark power in his eyes. When he held his wrist to her lips again, she swallowed once, twice.

  Just enough to restore her health, though he yearned to give her more, to bring her across the bridge from mortality to immortality, to keep her at his side forever. But even as he considered it, he knew she would hate him for it. And yet… He closed his eyes, feeling the warmth of her mouth on his flesh, the sensation of his blood flowing into her. What ecstasy it would be, to drink her to the point of death and have her drink from him in return, to know she would be his forever. With a harsh cry, he pulled his wrist away, ran his tongue over the ragged wound to close it. "Sleep now."

  "No."

  "Ill be here when you awake."

  "You… promise?"

  "I promise."

  "Hold me."

  With a strangled cry, he drew her into his arms and held her close. "Forgive me," he murmured. A single bloodred tear dripped onto her cheek, and he wiped it away, despising what he was, the pain he had caused her. "Please, beloved, forgive me."

  When she was asleep, he settled her into bed once more, then spread his cloak over her.

  Moments later, Bevins entered the room carrying a decanter and goblet. Wordlessly, he filled the glass and handed it to his master.

  "Where's Montroy?" Rayven asked.

  "I sent him home. He did not want to go."

  "Is he all right?"

  "He seemed a bit dazed."

  Rayven nodded. "I shall deal with him later. Where's Ada?"

  "She went home earlier this evening. She said she would be back tomorrow to, ah…" Bevins drew a finger across his throat. "I've secured the castle doors, my lord. No one will bother you."

  "You've done well." Rayven took a sip from the goblet, stared into the glass, then took another swallow. "What is this?" he demanded.

  Bevins cleared his throat, wondering if he had made a grave mistake. "A very little wine, my lord." He hesitated, his own blood running cold as he met his master's eyes. "Mixed with a great deal of blood."

  "Whose blood?"

  "Lady Rhianna's. The doctor bade me dispose of it."

  Rayven stared into the goblet for a long moment and then, slowly, almost reverently, he drank the warm crimson liquid. He felt his strength returning, his power expanding, as her blood spread through him, filling him with a familiar warmth. But it was not enough to replace what weeks of starvation had cost him.

  His gaze fixed on Bevins, Rayven set the goblet on the tray.

  "My lord?"

  "I'm sorry
."

  With a nod, Bevins rolled up his shirtsleeve and held out his arm.

  She was dreaming, dreaming of Rayven. Dreaming that he was there beside her, holding her close. She could feel his breath fanning her cheek, hear his voice whispering that he loved her, begging for her forgiveness.

  With a sigh, she snuggled deeper under the covers, hoping the dream would never end.

  "Rhianna?"

  She smiled as his voice caressed her. She had dreamed of him every night since he had left her, but never like this. It seemed so real.

  She drew the blanket up over her head to block the light, frowned as her fingers closed over velvet and silk.

  She gasped as her eyes flew open and she found herself staring into his face. "Rayven!"

  He smiled at her, his beautiful dark eyes warm with love.

  "You're here? You're really here?" Tentatively, she lifted a hand to his cheek. His skin was cool and smooth beneath her fingertips. "Tell me I'm not dreaming."

  "You are not dreaming, my sweet." He captured her hand in his and lifted it to his lips.

  "You were in danger." She clasped his hand in both of hers and pressed it to her heart. "I could feel it, in here. You wanted to die. You were dying."

  "And you were determined to die with me."

  Rhianna nodded. "I want no life without you, my lord husband."

  He closed his eyes as though he were in pain.

  "Rayven? What is it? What's wrong?"

  "Nothing, my sweet. I intend to see that you have everything you desire, everything you deserve'."

  "My lord?" She gazed at him, wondering why his words of assurance made her suddenly uneasy.

  "Go to sleep, Rhianna."

  "Hold me?"

  He swallowed against the pain knifing through him as he gathered her into his arms and held her close, certain that, before long, he would have to let her go.

  In the last hour before dawn, Rayven made his way to Montroy's estate.

  Thunder rolled across the heavens; the rain fell in a steady downpour. He drew his cloak more tightly around him, wishing he were back in his room, holding Rhianna in his arms. But there would be time enough for that when he had finished here.

  Montroy's house was dark, all the doors and windows closed and locked.

  "You'll not keep me out so easily," Rayven muttered. Grinning, he went to the back of the house where, with a wave of his hand, he unlocked the rear door.

  On silent feet, he made his way up the stairs to Montroy's sleeping chamber and stepped inside.

  For a moment, he gazed down at Montroy and then, gathering his power, he spoke softly to Dallon's mind, commanding him to forget all that had happened with Rhianna, to forget that Rayven had taken his blood, to forget that he had ever believed Rayven to be a vampyre.

  Remember only that we are friends, and that I love Rhianna, Rayven commanded. If anyone asks, you have seen me dine at your table, you have entertained me in your home, at your club, and found me no different from other men.

  He felt a moment of regret when he was certain he had erased all that was necessary from the viscount's mind, but there was no help for it. The other alternative was to destroy the man, and that he could not do.

  He left Montroy's house as quietly as he had arrived. His next stop was Ada McLeod's. It was not so easy to manipulate Ada's mind. Her hatred and distrust posed a barrier that was difficult to breach, but, in the end, Rayven had his way, erasing her memory of her daughter's illness and her own intention to destroy him.

  Satisfied that he had done all he could, he left the cottage and returned home.

  He paused as he reached the top of the mountain. The castle rose from the ground in a graceful mass of dark gray stone and aged wood, the ever-present mist hovering over it like faerie breath, the moonlight limning the turrets with silver.

  Safe within the hidden room in the east tower, he closed the portal, undressed, and slid into bed beside Rhianna. He drew her into his arms, a flood of emotion swelling in his heart as she murmured something unintelligible, then snuggled trustingly against him, the warmth of her body molding itself to his, chasing away the chill of the night.

  Ah, Rhianna, he mused as he lightly stroked her hair. Do you know how much I love you? How much I need you?

  He groaned low in his throat as she snuggled against him. Her nearness teased his desire, stirred his hunger, that damnable hunger that seemed ever closer to the surface since he had returned to her side. Was it because he had given her his blood, or was he losing control of the monster that resided in his soul?

  He brushed a kiss across her cheek, felt his fangs lengthen. It would be so easy to take her while she slept, to drink and drink, to make her what he was. She would truly be his bride then, forever, for always.

  No! He screamed the word in his mind. He would not, could not, condemn her to a life of darkness.

  With an effort, he stilled the hunger, wondering, as he did so, how much longer he could keep it under control.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Rhianna woke slowly, a wondrous sense of well-being rising up within her when she opened her eyes and saw Rayven lying beside her. Once, the sight of him lying there, as still as death, had frightened her a little. But no more. He was not dead, only sleeping.

  A smile warmed her heart as, ever so tenderly, she trailed her fingertips across his cheek, then bent and brushed his lips with hers. He was here, and that was all that mattered.

  She studied him for a long pleasurable time, the sight of him filling her with inexpressible joy. She smoothed a lock of raven-hued hair from his forehead, traced the straight line of his brows, let her fingertip follow the faint white scar on his cheek.

  He didn't stir, yet, in her heart, she knew he was aware of her touch, her presence.

  "Sleep well, my lord husband," she whispered.

  Rising, she pulled a robe over her gown and left the room, pausing to lock the outer door before she left the tower.

  She found Bevins downstairs, sitting at the kitchen table, sipping a cup of tea.

  "Milady!" Startled at being caught unaware, Bevins lurched to his feet. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize you were up. Shall I draw your bath?"

  "Later. Please, sit down, Bevins. Do you mind if I join you?"

  Bevins frowned. "It's not fitting, milady."

  "Oh." Shoulders drooping, she turned away.

  "Milady, wait!" Bevins pulled out a chair. "Please, join me. Would you care for a cup of tea? Some scones, perhaps?"

  "Yes, thank you." She smiled as he poured her a cup of tea, added milk and sugar. "Tell me, Bevins, is all this formality between us really necessary?"

  "I beg your pardon, milady?"

  "Can't you just call me Rhianna?"

  "I'm afraid it wouldn't be proper," Bevins replied, taking a seat across from her. "Lord Rayven…" He picked up his cup and stared into the contents. "I'm very much afraid he would not like it."

  "Maybe you could call me Rhianna when we're alone."

  "I think not, milady."

  "All right, Tom. I wouldn't want you to be uncomfortable."

  Rhianna finished her tea, then stood up. "Would you mind drawing my bath?"

  "My pleasure, milady. Will you be wanting breakfast later?"

  "Yes, thank you."

  Later that day, Rhianna asked Bevins to take her to see her mother.

  Ada met them at the door of the cottage. "Rhianna, how well you look," she said. She gave Rhianna a hug, smiled warmly at Bevins. "Come in, come in."

  Rhianna looked at Bevins and frowned, mystified by her mother's lighthearted mood.

  Ada led them into the parlor. "Sit down, both of you. Can I get you something to drink? Some lemonade, perhaps, or a cup of tea?"

  "Lemonade would be nice, Mama. Where are the girls?"

  "They've gone into the village to visit with Aileen. They'll be sorry they missed you. Mr. Bevins, can I get you something to drink?"

  "Yes, thank you, Mistress McLeod. Lemonade wo
uld be fine."

  "Can I help you, Mama?" Rhianna asked.

  "No, daughter. It won't take but a minute."

  Rhianna looked at Bevins and shook her head. "I thought she would be upset."

  Bevins nodded. It was obvious that something strange was going on. And whenever there were strange happenings, Lord Rayven was usually behind them.

  They spent an hour with Ada, chatting about the weather, Aileen's pregnancy, Lanna's new beau. Ada asked after Rayven, expressing her regret that he had been unable to accompany Rhianna, urging her to bring him along next time.

  "I don't understand it," Rhianna remarked to Tom as they left for home. "She's never made any secret of the fact that she dislikes Rayven. What do you make of it?"

  "I'm not sure, milady," Bevins replied. "Perhaps Lord Rayven will know."

  "Why would he know?"

  "Perhaps you should ask him."

  "You've being very evasive, Tom."

  "Yes, milady."

  "What aren't you telling me?"

  A pained expression crossed the man's face. "Milady, please."

  "Oh, very well," Rhianna muttered, and then she cast Tom a sharp look. "He's done something to her, hasn't he?"

  Bevins blew out a deep breath. "He has the power, milady."

  "The power to do what?"

  "I think perhaps Lord Rayven has erased certain things from your mother's memory."

  Rhianna sat back, a little stunned. "He can do that?"

  Bevins nodded. "Please don't tell him that I told you."

  "I won't. Does he do that kind of thing often?"

  "I'm sure I couldn't say, milady."

  Rhianna sat back, lost in thought, until they reached home.

  She changed into a dark green velvet gown for supper. It was one of her favorite frocks, with its deep vee neck and flared sleeves edged with Irish lace. The skirt was soft and full and swayed gracefully when she moved.

  Going down to her own room, she stood in front of the mirror, studying her reflection. Her eyes sparkled in anticipation of seeing her husband, her cheeks rosy with a blush of excitement. She had left her hair unbound because Rayven had once said he preferred it that way.