by Sharon Page
“Of course not. And you are worried about him. Like a wife.” Guidon nodded. He turned the book so she could see it. “See, I have begun an entry on you.”
Her real name looked up at her from the page. Her date of birth. Her mother’s name. Details of her life. “How could you know this?”
“When any new being is created—or born—I know of it.” He motioned around him. “The problem with Lord Blackmoor: he clings to his mortal foibles. He is fearful of emotion. He seeks to avoid pain by avoiding love, but that denies him happiness.” The little man looked at her slyly. “I would not be reluctant to love a woman such as you, Miss Dare.”
“But Lord Blackmoor has been cursed—”
“Curses can be broken.” Guidon waved his curved hand impatiently.
She blinked. “Do you mean Heath’s curse can be broken?”
At first she thought the gnarled old man would not answer. He had turned his attention to the book that he had put in front of him. He flipped another page in it, ran a blackened finger over the script. Then he looked up. “Of course it can be.”
“How?”
“He has accepted the terms of the curse. He does not fight it. Once he no longer accepts it, then he will be free.”
“It cannot be that simple. And I’m certain he has wanted to make love more than once—” She broke off, blushing.
“Apparently not enough. He found ways to get what he wants, yet accommodate the curse.”
“You cannot be suggesting we just … try to break it.” If Heath were even still alive—or at least, not destroyed. “What happens if that doesn’t work?”
Guidon tapped his quill to his lips. “He would have to make a choice. His existence or his death. But to live as he is, with his heart closed off, pining for the one thing he will never let himself have, what sort of existence is that?” The vampire peered at her. “You have finished your tea. You may now hunt for Lord Blackmoor. But first, I need to know one thing about you. It is something I do not know, which is annoying—for I am supposed to know everything.” He stared intently at her. “I need your father’s name.”
“I do not know it.”
“Of course you do. I cannot let you leave until you tell me.”
Vivienne felt dizzy. She grasped the back of the chair. She tried to stand. The room turned black, then it was filled with a harsh, white light. No … she was having a kind of vision. In front of her eyes, she could see a stark room. Sunlight poured in high windows. A man’s body lay in the shadows….
“Heath!” she gasped. She pushed off the chair and stood. “I must go. I’ve—I’ve seen him. He is in a room. Not moving. And there is light pouring in through the window.” Heath had obviously been unconscious. Which meant he could not escape the light.
“No, Miss Dare. You have not answered my question. You cannot go.”
* * *
Heath wasn’t a complicated man when it came to his carnal tastes. So his fantasy began simply enough….
He was in the stables, surrounded by the scent of hay. Vivienne walked in. She wore a snug, velvet riding habit. But she opened her jacket and removed it, revealing voluptuous naked breasts, lifted up by the edge of a lace-trimmed scarlet corset.
In his fantasy, Vivienne stood in sunlight—in the shafts that strayed through the barn windows. Golden light played over her bare shoulders. And danced across her graceful neck. As for her breasts, they wobbled and bounced and the sparkling light struck her nipples so it looked like tiny diamonds hung there.
In her hand, she held a riding crop and she tapped it firmly against her open palm. He swallowed hard in anticipation as black leather smacked smooth, bare skin.
There was no escape. Not when he lay spread-eagled upon a pile of hay, with cords wrapped around his wrists, securing him to wooden posts. The same cords bit into his ankles and held his legs wide apart. He’d tried tugging his legs free but her knots were far too cleverly tied, too strong. He was her prisoner. At her mercy.
He shifted a little on the warehouse floor. But he still couldn’t move. His cock was growing long and hard at his fantasy, trapped between his stomach and the floor. The thing was damn sensitive. He let out a low moan.
Vivienne in charge … He liked the idea of it. He wanted her to feel strong. Confident. Courageous. He wanted to see her sashay with wicked intent toward him, her breasts swaying with her every movement.
He wanted her aroused by the display he made, tied up buck naked in the stables, with his cock standing to attention.
Anticipation should have him savoring her slow walk toward him. She would stroke her crop along the length of his rigid prick. He would let her play, tapping him here and there with her weapon. And wait with bated breath and shaking limbs as she lightly spanked his ballocks.
And perhaps, just to tease him, she would make her breasts bounce with judicious slaps of the crop….
Heath was too impatient. Too aroused. He skipped right to the part where she straddled him and surrounded every inch of his throbbing erection with the silken grip of her cunny. She rode him like a wild thing and spanked his arse between his legs with her every bounce.
He’d never let any woman tie him up. He’d never let any woman control him.
Perhaps why this was his last fantasy …
Vivienne ran out of the shop into the thin, meager sunlight. The light fought its way through the soot-filled clouds that hung around the East End. It fell upon the crowds now jostling along the sidewalk of Charing Cross Road.
She had been in the bookstore only a quarter of an hour. It felt like eternity.
How was she going to find Heath? She kept seeing the same vision over and over. A large empty space. Light spilling through high, narrow windows. Heath’s body lying on the floor. He was lying on his stomach and a torn black cloak was draped over him.
In the last vision he’d been groaning intensely. She must be running out of time.
She stood on the sidewalk and turned in a circle. Which building was it? Bookshops lined this section of the street.
Heath had spoken of a connection. He had projected his thoughts into her head. Could she do that now? She had to try. Heath, if you can hear me, tell me where you are!
Vivienne?
Her heart stuttered. Heath, is it you? Where are you? I saw you lying on a floor. I can help you—
I’m in a warehouse. Go down Charing Cross Road. It’s a large brick building. There should be a broken window in the front….
His voice died away. She tried to speak to him through her thoughts again, but got no answer. Dragging up her hems, she began to run.
What would he do to her now? So far he’d broken free of her bonds, then he’d swiftly tied her up on the piles of hay. In his fantasy, he was now licking her everywhere. On her taut nipples. Her sweet, juicy quim. Her puckered anus. And the soles of her feet.
He spanked her nipples lightly with the crop, and she moaned in pure, agonized delight. Her nipples were big and hard and flushed scarlet.
Lightly, he tapped the crop on her cunny, gently tapping her clit. She gasped and squirmed, aroused and slick.
But this was his last fantasy, and as much as he wanted to bury his cock in her quim, he had another plan in mind.
He had tied her wrists together, then ran a length of rope to bind her to the post. He helped her roll over, and gently lifted her, so she was positioned on her hands and knees. The ropes at her ankles kept her legs splayed apart. Her wrists were still tied in front of her.
She enjoyed playing prisoner. The explosive way she had come over and over as he tied her up had told him that. He licked his fingers, then massaged the fluid into the valley between her cheeks. Her generous derriere was displayed to him.
“Oh yes,” she whispered in his fantasy, “thrust your cock in my bottom. I want it so deep.”
She was giving him permission to slide his throbbing erection into her tight, hot derriere. He didn’t need any more encouragement….
Heath groan
ed in pain. He was trapped on the floor, too weak to even jerk off, tormenting himself with fantasies that wouldn’t come true. His trapped cock was as rigid and heavy as a doorknocker. But he had to keep inventing new positions and ideas. He had an eternity of lovemaking to fantasize in the next few minutes.
Footsteps thundered over the plank floor. “Heath!”
For a moment he cursed his weakened mind for playing tricks on him. For conjuring Vivienne’s beautiful voice with such accuracy it sounded real.
Then he knew. This was reality. It was Vivienne’s voice. Her soft scent flooded the room. She dropped to her knees at his side. The sunlight was touching his cape, and beneath it, his skin was starting to sizzle.
“Oh dear heaven. What should I do?”
He was too weak to speak. Then he managed to croak, “Out of the light.”
He would have thought she couldn’t move him. But she hurried to his feet, caught hold of one ankle with both hands, and pulled him. He slid along the floor. It hurt, but he didn’t care. She managed to pull him to a corner. Then she gasped.
A black object lay on the floor. His cape. It must have pulled off when she moved him. It meant she could see how badly he had been torn up by the demon.
It was a gargoyle-type demon. Part man, but with claws and powerful wings. Daylight made me weak but I managed to kill it.
“You killed it. Thank heaven. But why haven’t you healed?”
Special demon, summoned by the council. Vampires can’t heal its wounds.
“What are we going to do?”
“Nothing to be done,” he croaked.
“I don’t believe that. I can’t. I won’t. Guidon told me to look in my heart. And now when I do, I know I am not going to lose you.”
Her words were like a blade through his weakened body. Tough, jaded Vivienne had looked in her heart and wanted to keep him.
She stroked his cheek. The skin there had blistered with the light, but her touch soothed.
“There must be some way,” she said softly. And he heard the powerful emotion of hope in her voice. “Couldn’t you take blood and heal the way Sarah does?”
Take blood. She was so brilliant, his Vivienne. “Could try your blood,” he rasped. “Not vampire blood. Could work …”
But she shuddered and he whispered, “You … don’t have to, Vivi—”
“No, if it would save you, you can have every last drop of my blood.” She tugged up her sleeve, baring her wrist, and she pressed it to his lips. The silkiness of her skin, the rush of her blood beneath her fragile skin, the scent of her brought his fangs exploding out into his mouth.
He didn’t have the strength to bite.
But Vivi scraped her wrist along his teeth. The sharp points sliced her skin. Blood dribbled and touched his lips, his tongue. The taste flooded him. God, yes …
He could move his hand. Slowly he caught hold of her wrist and held it to his mouth. As her blood washed over his fangs and flowed into him, he knew a rush of pleasure like never before. She had to care deeply about him to do this. And she tasted so damn good.
His muscles contracted suddenly and the pleasure burst. A climax hit him hard.
Vivienne heard him moan. Really, Heath’s moans were the most erotic sound. So deep, husky, and seductive. She had never imagined how good it would feel to share her blood with him.
She felt so languorous and sensual. Heath was lying on the floor, and she joined him there, curled up against him. She could feel warmth flooding through his body.
His hips jerked suddenly. He groaned, deep and harsh. Heavens, he had come from drinking her blood.
And she felt on the brink of a climax herself. Ready to explode. As though, with just the flick of a trigger—
He sucked a bit harder at her wrist. He pinched her nipple through her dress. Then he shoved up her skirts, and his fingers plunged deeply into her sopping wet quim.
Her orgasm burst, like the sun rising over the horizon and flooding the sky with light. Suddenly she was glowing inside. Hot and shimmering. She gasped his name. The climax flooded her with a deep, heart-wrenching pleasure. She fell against him, and their hearts thundered, side by side.
Heath pushed off the floor, trying to stand. His legs wobbled and Vivi helped him. She wrapped her arms around his waist and held his hand. Hades, he had not even let his wife treat him like this. He never revealed any weakness or vulnerability.
“I’m all right,” he murmured. He didn’t want her to hurt herself trying to bear his weight. “My strength is coming back.” The wild erotic fantasies he’d spun about her tormented him. He wanted to live out every last one with her, right now. You can’t, idiot. Remember that.
“What are we going to do? We cannot get back to Dimitri’s during daylight, can we?”
“Flower, it’s not safe for you to stay with me. Go back to Dimitri’s and wait there. With Sarah.”
“I left a note for Sarah. I want to get you back safely.” She frowned. “Dimitri was awake during the day. And so was that vampire librarian, Guidon. How can they survive in the day?”
A hard smile touched his lips. “Because nightmares do not exist only at night.”
“What does that mean? I raced here to save you and I want more than answers that tell me nothing.”
He jerked back. Vivienne was entirely different than his wife Ariadne, who had never confronted him. “You are right, love. I owe you more than that. It’s a very long explanation.”
She sighed. “Apparently we have a lot of time.”
Dust from the warehouse floor had streaked Vivienne’s deep green pelisse where she’d lain beside him. Her hair was falling down her back in a disheveled mass. He owed her everything. That was the truth, wasn’t it? She’d saved his sorry arse. Not just by appearing here and giving him her blood.
She’d saved his life by giving him something to live for.
“I’ve been a vampire for a decade, but there is a lot I don’t know. My sire didn’t tell me anything about how life as a vampire works. When I first returned to England, Dimitri found me before I ended up staked by vampire slayers and brought me to his house. He explained the hierarchy of vampire society.”
“There really are vampire slayers? People who kill vampires?”
“Yes, love. There is a Royal Society devoted to it.”
She shivered. “So how does the vampire world work? Does the council act like its parliament?”
“The council is not at the top of our society, though they like to pretend they are. They try to dominate and control other vampires. There are six of them, and they have taught themselves magic and dark arts. Dimitri, however, is a truly powerful vampire, one of the most ancient ones. Dimitri and Guidon are two of the six oldest vampires who were made by the mating of an angel and a demon.”
“So those six vampires must be the strongest?”
“No. They are just the oldest. Vampires have evolved.”
“Evolved?” She looked up sharply.
“All creatures do. I know that is considered sacrilegious by English naturalists but it is the truth. It is what I discovered when I was human, and I traveled the world. It is how vampires have existed for so long. When one vampire makes another, that new vampire is not exactly the same. If you and I had a child, for example, our baby would have parts of us both, yet be an entirely new person.”
Her breath caught at what he said. He’d used it as an explanation, but now the thought of it hit him cold. A child … with Vivienne.
No. He’d had a child. It could never happen again. And it wouldn’t because he wouldn’t make love to Vivi again.
“The rulers of vampire society are actually the vampire queens. That’s why the council was started. Some male vampires chaffed at being ruled by women.”
“Of course. Men like to control women,” she said.
“No one controls the queens. They are far too powerful.”
“But they let the council continue?”
“I suspect they let it c
ontinue because it serves a purpose for them. The queens can manipulate the council members against each other to get what they want.”
“It is rather like negotiating English society,” she said thoughtfully. “Matrons have their powers, lords have others. And all are in a constant battle to get what they want.” Before his eyes, she sobered. “Is this my world now, the vampire world? But I’m not a vampire. And not mortal. Do I belong anywhere?”
With me. He yearned to say it. But it wasn’t true.
His back began to grow hot. Had a shaft of sunlight penetrated here into the deep shadow?
“Oh my goodness, your back is bleeding again. I don’t understand …” Her hand moved gently over him, but he flinched. His back felt like it was on fire.
“You need more blood, Heath.”
Her sweet wrist was at his mouth in an instant. He plunged in his fangs, heard her little cry of pain, then she relaxed against him. He drank. But the pain didn’t ease, his wounds didn’t heal.
He wanted more of her blood. More of its taste.
“Heath?” She tried to pull her wrist back.
No, he couldn’t let her go.
“Heath, stop!” She pushed at his jaw, but he wouldn’t break free. She tried to pry his mouth away, but he clamped harder. She was his. He would never let her go. And he would drink every last drop—
She slapped at him, but she had no strength. Realization flooded him. He was killing her. But he couldn’t stop. Instinct told him to shove his fangs deeper into her flesh and take all her blood. His fangs wouldn’t release.
Panicked, he jabbed his finger into his eye, and the sharp jolt of pain broke the hold. Limply, she fell to the floor, but he moved swiftly and caught her in his arms.
Heath held her, stunned. Horrified. His arrogance had taken his wife’s life, and now he had done something even worse. He had almost killed Vivienne, after she had saved him.
She was so weak now. He licked her wrist, afraid to, but he had to seal the wound.
The taste of her blood didn’t take control of him this time and one swift flick of his tongue stopped the flow of her blood. But she was white faced and her lips were a purplish blue. She was dangerously weak.
