by Carmen Caine
After lighting the candle on the mantle, the vampire lad withdrew.
I was alone with Dorian.
One would think that I would be afraid. But strangely, I wasn’t.
Yes, I was suspicious—that brief, brisk walk in the midnight air had cleared my head enough for me to recall a most important thing: vampires seduced their prey. Everyone knew that. And Dorian. Well, Dorian was seduction itself, and he also held the unfair advantage of accessing my mind as he pleased—even though he hadn’t tried it yet so far. But all-in-all, I truly felt in no particular danger.
Reason informed me that was likely incorrect, and so, deciding to err on the side of logic, I decided to go on the offensive.
Rounding on the kilted vampire standing before the fire with his arms crossed and his feet planted wide apart, it suddenly dawned on me he looked every inch like he’d just stepped off the cover of a deliciously yummy highland romance novel. But I began my move anyway.
“Why am I here?” I asked abruptly, slouching a little. Not because I was tired or copping an attitude. It was for easier access to my silver-bladed knives.
Dorian’s razor gaze shifted to me immediately. In a rough-edged voice, he asked a question of his own. “Tell me, what spell has yonder warlock cast? Or did you? No longer can I reach your mind, lass.”
That took me by surprise. I can’t say that I wasn’t pleased—if it were true.
“Good,” was all I said.
He just lifted a brow. An amused one.
Cripes, but he was attractive. I really hoped that he couldn’t run amok in my mind—not with the physical response leaping through me right now.
Distracted from my unformed plan involving knives and such, I allowed my gaze to drop of its own accord over his brawny arms and spectacularly muscled calves. I hadn’t known that kilts could look so stunning on a man, so overwhelmingly … I couldn’t think of the word. Maybe there wasn’t just one. Sexual. Seductive. Attractive. Raw. Potent. Why weren’t kilts in fashion anymore? The women of the world were losing out.
He gave a deep chuckle.
I met his gaze.
There was an obvious expression of smug superiority on his face. He clearly enjoyed the effect he had on me. Immensely. In slow and measured moves, he unfastened his collar and the top two buttons of his shirt, keeping his green eyes locked on mine the entire time.
Had the seduction begun? There was no doubt about it. Should I continue with my offensive? Undoubtedly.
Right after a few more seconds of ogling.
“And you have a thought as to why?” he prompted in his soft Scottish burr.
Why? Why what? It took me an inordinately long time to recall what he’d been saying before I’d gone off on the admiring-his-physicality tangent. A spell of some kind? What had he asked? Something about not being able to reach my mind?
Had Lucian done something?
I didn’t have a clue what the warlock might have done—if anything—but if he had, I sure hoped it would last. I couldn’t have a force like Dorian sharing my private thoughts. Not when they were so … well, out of control.
Reining in my raging hormones, I resolutely lifted my chin with the full intention of drawing a blade, pressing it to his heart, and taking back control of the conversation.
But he chose that moment to stand directly behind me, moving with the most impressive vampire speed. One moment, he stood before the fire. The next, I felt his hot breath on the back of my neck.
He was huge. Intense. Incredibly hot.
So much for controlling the hormones.
“Such a bonny lass you are,” he breathed on my earlobe. “Draw men to you like flies to a pot of honey, no doubt.”
Well, I did draw men to me—intentionally, but only to siphon their mana.
I inched away. “I bet you say that to all the ladies,” I teased half-heartedly.
What was he up to? And … what was my plan again?
He chuckled again and inched after me. “Nay, ‘tis not so.”
I watched, spellbound, as his large hand gently brushed the length of my arm to capture my fingers and slowly—ever so slowly—lift them up and to his lips.
The kiss sent shivers down my spine.
Whatever else Dorian Ramsey could do, he was most definitely a master of seduction. Most likely, I should run screaming out of the room as if the devil himself was after me. Maybe, but after a few more minutes, and just one more kiss.
“Allow me to beg forgiveness, my lady,” he purred in his deep, Scottish brogue. “Bringing you here with such rude abruptness. Aye, ‘twas a harrowing experience, no doubt.”
In one last attempt, I shook my head, ordering myself to get out—or to at least try. “I’m not the weak, wilting-type you seem to be used to,” I retorted, or attempted to, anyway. It came out as a whisper.
Odd.
He cradled my hand against his lips, and then lacing his fingers with mine, dropped our entwined hands slowly, sliding from my neck to my waist before suddenly pulling me back closer, hard against him.
I gasped—in pure delight.
“I could show you pleasure, pleasure such as you’ve only dreamt of, lass,” he promised.
There was no doubt in my mind that he could. Already, I was speechless and eager for more.
He nuzzled my ear. “But tell me, my lady, how is it that you can stand in the light of day?”
His voice was deep, enthralling. I could just listen to him talk all night. Especially if he continued to press himself against me and nibble my ear like he was doing now.
He drew back a little.
I frowned, arching my neck back towards his unbelievably delightful lips.
“Hmm?” he prodded gently.
“I’m not like you,” I said, wriggling back to get closer. “I’m not really a Chosen One.”
Somewhere in my haze of lust, a warning bell sounded. But I brushed it off. It was annoying. And it just got in the way of all the yummy sensations he was evoking.
He slid his arms around my waist, drawing me tighter against his hard chest. “Ach, but you are. You’re one of the clan. I can smell it on your skin. And you could hear me in your mind. Only true members of the clan can do such things,” he murmured in my hair. And then bending down, he drew my earlobe between his lips. His mouth was hot—so hot.
I really did shiver.
And then his mouth was gone, replaced by the words, “Pray explain, lass. How are you a Chosen One but can take the sun?”
I discovered then that I no longer had control of my mouth.
I told him everything.
Everything.
From my birth, to my thirst for revenge. My mana-eating habits. My discovery of Lucian. My job. My contract. My imp. My relationship with my mother.
Oh, and I even told him about my secret stash of silver-bladed vampire knives tucked away safely in my boots.
It was a hazy, lust-filled session.
I didn’t even mind when his hands slipped into my boots and withdrew the blades. It was a long, drawn-out affair, and a sexy one. His hands were hot against my calves. My only regret was that I’d only brought three. Why hadn’t I brought all five?
He kept kissing me, drawing out information with consummate skill. But I didn’t care. I just wanted his mouth pressed against my skin.
“And why did you hand our kin over to that young warlock?” Dorian whispered as he planted hot and heavy kisses along my collarbone.
“Our kin?” I asked, panting heavily.
“Our clan members,” he explained readily enough. “Where did he hie them off to?”
The suitcase. Ah, he wanted to know about the suitcase. But I didn’t want to talk about that. I wanted more of his delicious lips on every inch of my body. He was taking too long.
I slid around in his arms and stared up into his green, fathomless eyes.
“Kiss me,” I demanded.
The candlelight accentuated the deep shadow of the crease on his cheek. He smiled down
at me. “Ach, a lass as bold and direct as a man.”
“Kiss me,” I demanded again, breathlessly. “I mean, really, really kiss me.”
The expression on his face altered. And he looked like he really, really wanted to. With a guttural groan, he thrust his tongue between my open lips in a savage, masterful, and most claiming of kisses.
I think I lost track of time then. I really don’t know how long it was before I felt the pressure of his fangs against my throat.
Dimly, I wondered if I could be made into a real vampire. I didn’t think so. I already was one. Kind of, anyway. Wasn’t I? I had the retractable—though nonfunctional—fangs. But it wasn’t like I really cared either way. It only mattered what he wanted. And at that moment, I would have denied him nothing.
Two things happened at once.
Dorian’s fangs pierced my flesh, and the door burst open.
And then Dorian screamed—a blood-curdling, soul-wrenching scream.
As if by reflex, he shoved me away. I flew back. I’d never been on the receiving end of such brutal strength. Had I been a human, my bones would have cracked at the force at which I hit the floor. As it was, I was stunned, my breath knocked completely out of me.
Reeling away, Dorian collapsed against the wall, apparently writhing in pain.
Winded, I crouched, fully expecting to see Lucian on the threshold unleashing an explosive display of warlock magic. Who else could have blasted Dorian away from me?
But there was no entry of an angry warlock. There were only two very astonished, gaping Chosen Ones, hovering hesitantly in the doorway and then rushing to Dorian’s side to offer assistance.
He wasn’t in the mood for their help. Struggling to his feet, he slammed them back and thundered, “Leave us at once!”
They left. At once.
A far different Dorian faced me now—a Dorian with hatred blazing in his bright eyes. “Ach, I recognize the mark of a Rowle!” he spat.
Mark?
I’d caught my breath by then. And rising to my feet, I suddenly began feeling like I’d just awakened from a long, foggy dream—a dream dissipating with astonishing speed.
It didn’t take long for my mind to clear and for anger to catch hold.
I’d been played.
And I’d responded like a fool.
And he had my knives. All three of them!
Furious, I confronted Dorian, “Well, at least Lord Rowle is protecting me. Too bad you didn’t break a few bones!”
Dorian waved his hand at me in a strangely weak gesture. “That’s no spell,” he responded heatedly. “It’s much, much more.”
“Huh?” I responded and then winced a little. It was hardly the most eloquent of responses, but I didn’t have a clue what he meant. And thanks to his mesmerizing seduction attempt, I was a little rattled—an unusual experience for me.
Dorian approached me then, but this time, he kept at a safe distance. Narrowing his eyes to little more than slits, he demanded, “Just what are you?”
So, it was back to that again.
I felt a wave of loss. So much for a delicious romance. But right on the heels of disappointment came the realization of what he’d just inferred.
He thought that I’d caused him to bolt back in horrific pain the moment his little vampire fangs had penetrated my neck.
Had I? I mean, really. Had I?
I stood there a good solid minute or more before finally answering, “I’m One of the Damned.”
It was the truth.
But this time, I didn’t feel quite so bitter about it.
An Act of War
I guess it was true.
When a vampire turned the seduction on it was impossible for mere mortals to resist. At least the first time, anyway. I knew I wouldn’t fall prey to Dorian’s designs ever again.
My ego was bruised—battered, tromped and tattered to pieces, actually. But most importantly, I was angry.
And knifeless.
Crud. I had only myself and my foolish hormones to blame for that one.
Suffice it to say, I would now die before helping Dorian attain that suitcase or whatever else he wanted. What had I overheard Lucian’s employer say? That a lover spurned was an enemy like no other? I could relate to that.
Dorian wasn’t a fool. He saw the extent of my fury, but then, could anyone have really missed it? Dropping all amorous behaviors at once, he raised his own chin and let his anger flash in response to mine.
“I am Dorian Ramsey,” he announced with more than a hint of pride in his tone. “And I am a Night Hunter, a Defender of my Kind. I will find my kin with or without your aid. I’d beg you to think twice, lass. Consider well which side to join in this war—a war in which ‘twill ultimately be the Terzi who ride to victory. The Rowles are wretched cowards, destined only to lick the soiled boots—”
“Oh, give it a rest,” I interrupted his pompous tirade. “You’re a bit dated. Times have changed.”
Shock crossed his face. Utter shock. Apparently, few people dared to speak to the vampire in such a manner. In retrospect, I could have avoided a lot of trouble if I’d refrained from trotting down that road myself. Maybe I would never have awoken the beast that lay slumbering within me … but I get ahead of myself.
At that moment, I was angry. And I wanted to get even.
“Make no mistake, my lady,” he warned with more than a glint of malice in his eyes. “I’m hardly a creature ruled by habit and discipline such as yon warlock Lord Lucian Rowle. Nay, I’m a warrior—one who always wins,and one who makes his foe suffer defeat—truly suffer.”
I shot him a black look and rolled my eyes. I can’t say why I still felt comfortable enough with him to actually do that. Maybe it was the vampire-clan-connection thing.
A timid knock sounded on the door.
Dorian glowered.
Unfortunately, the knocker couldn’t see that and merely knocked with more urgency.
Finally, Dorian exploded, “Enter and have done!”
Slowly, the door swung open, revealing the same two cloaked vampires—cowering a bit more this time. They didn’t enter. One of them just leaned forward, extending his hand to offer Dorian an envelope.
“’Tis from the warlock,” he murmured. “He’s sent a message.”
Relief flooded me.
Lucian. So he was trying to rescue me. Thank heavens! My brief flirtation with the Chosen Ones was soon to come to a full, resounding end. I was definitely ready to leave.
The instant Dorian snatched the envelope, the vampires dashed away.
I couldn’t blame them.
Dorian and Lucian had one thing in common—well, two things actually, they were both thoroughly captivating, and they also shared a temperamental nature. Well, maybe the fact that they’d both allowed revenge to consume them, rendered them unstable. They were both selfish, and how about irritatingly aggravating and arrogant?
Come to think of it, they were quite alike—practically twins.
Suddenly, Dorian swore, jarring me back to the present.
He was livid. He began to swear at the top of his voice then, but I found his choice of swearwords vastly amusing. I didn’t even try to hide my grin—of course, that infuriated him all the more. I can’t say that I didn’t intend for that to happen.
“Pox and pestilence but I’ll see that useless addlepated fool of a churlish warlock strung up by his toes!” Dorian vowed, pounding his fist into his hand. “By Our Lady, the clay-brained clotpole will fall upon my sword and right speedily! The beslubbering sot of mulish Rowle will—”
At that point, I really did burst out laughing.
It only made him more furious. Clenching his jaw—another habit he shared with Lucian—he tossed the message into the fire. And without even looking in my direction, he left the room, slamming the door hard behind him.
Of course, the first thing I did was dart to the fire and yank the letter back out. After stomping on it a few times, I managed to stop its fiery destructio
n and, squatting down next to it on the floor, read the following words:
… return to me what’s rightfully mine—including all property, land, and titles. If you do not comply immediately, the entirety of your clan shall be entombed in the bowels of the Earth forever, and those Terzi left that fail to prove their fealty to me shall be imprisoned by my Night Terrors in eternal exile. The Terzi’s futile and utterly laughable attempt at domination is at its end. I’m well aware that you’ve been … living under a rock, until recently that is, but that much should even be obvious to you.
Sincerely,
Lord Lucian Rowle
P.S. Regarding the spell-finder/Terzi spy Cassidy Edwards—do what you please with her. She is not my concern.
My mouth dropped open. That was rescuing me? Do what you please with her. She is not my concern.
What about our contract—what about protecting me? Didn’t that self-writing paper mean anything? Was I the only one following the rules?
I was beyond furious and ready to steal a few of Dorian’s choice swearwords. What was it? A pox-sucking warlock? I couldn’t recall if Dorian had actually said that, but I liked it anyway.
I tried to escape the room then.
It was impossible.
But I kept trying.
Finally, I realized there was nothing I could do but wait for Dorian to return.
And he made me wait.
Hours.
All night and all of the next day.
An Unexpected Visitor
I went through modes of trying to escape and snoozing in the chair in the attempt to pass the time away.
During my escape attempts, I would thoroughly investigate the room, but there were no holes. No rotting boards to pry away. No avenues of escape of any kind, even in the ceiling. And there was nothing I could use to force, dig, or pry my way out with.
Jiggling the ancient door handle did nothing; it just squeaked hideously.
There was nothing in the room but a few old rugs, stacks of moth-eaten blankets and pillows, and several dusty paintings—oil portraits of long-forgotten faces. The closest thing to a weapon was an old silver chalice, blackened with neglect.
