by Michele Hauf
“Thank you,” Viviane said to him, then admonished her maid, “You were not watching your step, Portia.”
The maid huffed and adjusted the fit of her jacket.
The carriage wheel had nicked his boot heel, twisting his ankle and breaking bone. Shaking his foot behind him, he smiled at the ladies to distract them from the movement.
“You must have been following us,” Viviane stated. She didn’t meet him in the eye. Odd, but she seemed rather affronted by his presence.
“I was browsing the market,” he offered, “and I knew the moment you passed by.”
“We weren’t anywhere near Les Halles.”
“It smelled as though you were close.” She had passed by. She knew better than to lie to him.
The woman valued her privacy. He would not refute that.
“Doesn’t matter. I wonder if I may have a moment to talk with you, LaMourette?”
“I don’t believe I’ve the time.”
Hell, now what? “There is something I need to tell you.”
Viviane exchanged glances with her maid, who had no idea how to conceal her wrinkled nose and pursed frown.
“That you forgot to tell me yesterday?”
“Er, yes.” The hot, angry vibrations coming off her were tangible. “Perhaps I could escort you home?”
“It is but two houses down the street,” she answered curtly.
“Indeed. But then I could be sure your maid is safe. I shouldn’t wish her to develop the vapors.”
“Nonsense,” Portia burst out, yet she did breathe rapidly. And Viviane noticed.
The vampiress threaded an arm through her maid’s. “I do not want you in my home.”
Rhys shrugged. “I’ll wait in the stables until you’ve assured your maid is comfortable.”
“You’ll frighten the horses.”
“Horses rather take to me.” And surely a vampire had hired a witch to bespell her horses, else the beasts would never let her—or any Dark One—get near.
With head lowered, she looked through her lashes. Rhys sought the kindness he knew she possessed. He would not accept refusal.
“You,” she said lowly, “are intolerable.”
“And you are gorgeous when anger deepens your eyes.”
“You are…” She looked aside. What sat upon her tongue she could not voice? He was what? Rude. Aggressive.
Not right.
“Oh, come!” The maid gripped Viviane by the arm. “Walk away. If he is any sort of gentleman he will not follow.”
Viviane allowed Portia to lead her away, but a glance over her shoulder lifted Rhys’s hopes. He placed a hand over his heart. The vampiress had put him under a spell he wished to never escape. He remained in place long enough to shake off the pain of the injury, before speeding to Viviane’s home.
“I TOLD HIM TO WAIT OUTSIDE the servant’s door,” Portia insisted as Viviane paced before the end of what had once been Henri and Blanche’s tester bed. “Why did he not honor your request? He frightens me.”
“I’ve learned some troubling information about Monsieur Hawkes, Portia. I…I’m not sure I can face him. And yet…” She glanced through the open door, down the dark, mirror-lined hallway. He waited below? “…I want to hear it from him.”
“Hear what?”
Watching him boldly rescue Portia, to his own detriment—she’d noticed his pain—further set a blaze in Viviane’s breast for the powerful and unique man.
“I don’t like the way he looks at me,” Portia said. “It’s as if he looks into me.”
The piercing stab of caution should have decided her against allowing Rhys in tonight. Instead, it hummed in her chest, warning, and yet needing to know more about the man who tread two worlds.
“What’s that noise?” Portia dashed to the doorway, and let out a chirp.
Rhys Hawkes marched down the hallway, his boots rapping the marble floor as soundly as Viviane’s heart beat her ribs.
“Leave us.” She pushed Portia into the hallway.
The maid slammed herself against the wall and crept past the dark-eyed vampire—who was also a werewolf—and scrambled off.
As Rhys neared her bedchamber, Viviane slammed the door in his face.
THE WOMAN HAD AN IRRITATING habit of contrariness. Rhys pounded the wood once. “Viviane.” He contained his desire to shout. He was not here to admonish or accuse. “We need to talk.”
“I can hear you quite well where you stand.”
“Please, Viviane, let me inside. I can’t do it this way.”
“Do what? Make a confession? Tell me what should have come from your mouth, but instead, I had to hear it from your brother?”
From his brother…? Hell. Constantine must have revealed all. Though why he would—
The only reason Constantine would tell Viviane would be to gain her confidence, perhaps hoping to scare her away from him. It is how their duels ensued over the decades; he should expect nothing less.
“I’m sorry.”
He could sense the rapid heartbeats not a dash away from him. Her scent carried through the wood barrier and tickled his nose.
The latch clicked, but the door did not open. Soft foot-pads walked away on the other side. Rhys clutched the door handle. It opened inward freely.
Viviane stood at the end of the grand bed layered in silks and lace, hands clutched to her breast. The soft round glow of a candle flame behind her radiated a halo about her head. Pink skirts dashed through with silver threading shimmered like twilight upon snow. Her flesh, paler than the fabric, absorbed the reflective flame. Pearls on fire.
Her expression held no anger, and Rhys was glad for it. Yet it did neither invite him to step forward into her embrace.
“An apology is due,” he said, straightening. Hands behind his back, he paced before her. “Constantine told you?”
“Your father was a werewolf,” she hissed accusingly.
“Yes.” She stepped away as he approached, fleeing as if he would harm her. “I won’t touch you, Viviane. You’re frightened, I know—”
“I fear nothing,” she proudly insisted with a lift of her chin. Yet still she stepped backward, and when she reached the threshold to a small room, she put up a hand. “Stay back!”
He saw the room was lined with racks of shoes. A veritable haven for a woman of fashion, he guessed. Honoring her fear, Rhys stopped in the doorway.
“I am half wolf, half vampire,” he offered.
At once the confession humiliated, and yet part of him pined to claim his mixed blood and be damned to any who would sneer at him.
“Why did I have to learn that from Constantine?” Her back against a pillar, she was now trapped, but he would not think to make her feel so. “Why was your big secret that you were brothers? Did you not think you being wolf was more important?”
“Only half,” he replied.
“What of your parents? If Constantine is bloodborn, and you are of two natures—”
“My mother was vampire. My father, werewolf. We’ve different fathers, but the same mother.”
He’d never known his father. Was he dead or alive? Searching for his son? Did he even know he had a son? Questions asked so many times they’d become nonsensical to him now.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I—it’s not something I reveal unless I must.”
“You are ashamed?”
Yes, and no. “Viviane, you named me not right the moment we met. Do you think I would invite further disdain with my dark truth?”
“Then you have lied to me.”
“Only—” Not revealed all. A pathetic excuse he would not attempt. Rhys leaned a shoulder against the door frame. “Forgive me. It is ingrained in me to protect myself against what others will think of me.”
“You struck me as a man who cared little for what others thought.”
“Indeed. Yet what you think of me means more than I can explain.”
She considered what he’d said. The hurt in her eyes was too bright
, impossible to disregard. Please let her accept me.
“Viviane, I love you, I would not harm you.”
Her eyes glittered with flames. “Love me?”
Shoulders dropping, Rhys read her disdain. “Yes.”
“You find love easily, wolf.”
“Ah?” Rhys met her gaze, fitful, but not quite angry. “I offend you.”
“I do not take offense easily. It is that you are new to me,” she said coolly. “Rhys, make me believe you.”
She turned his own philosophy on him?
“Very well. I am vampire now.” He splayed his arms. “Yet my mind is werewolf.”
Azure eyes scrutinized him from head to boots, and decided upon a shrug and a head shake. “I don’t understand. You think like a wolf?”
“Yes, and when I am werewolf, my vampire mind holds court. It is confusing, and I don’t even understand it completely. Only that I must control my vampire mind at all costs.”
“I should think your vampire more civilized.”
That one cut him to the bone.
“On the contrary, I can never shift to my werewolf because when in wolf form my vampire rules. Do you know what we vampires want most, Viviane?”
“Blood,” she replied boldly.
“Exactly. And when my werewolf is told by my vampire mind it wants blood, it kills. It goes after any mortal, male or female, to get it. It bites the pretty neck and sucks out the blood, and then reaches a taloned paw inside and rips out muscle and ribs to get to the thick, beating heart.”
She sank against the pillar, slipping down to sit in a swish of skirts.
“And so I never shift,” he said quietly, and squatted to remain on her level. “It is difficult to resist when the moon is full. And mostly, I cannot resist. I take myself far away from people whenever I possibly can.”
Tears glittered in her eyes. “You murder?”
He shook his head. “I have not for decades.”
“But you have.”
“Before I had my vampire enchanted, yes.”
Again, she carefully considered the information. Fear did not contort her brow, and even her confusion was beginning to shed. The woman gained control with knowledge. He took pride that he could give that control to her.
“Have you ever shifted when the moon is not full?”
“I do not, though there are times when my anger forces it on me. I feel my bones begin to shift, but with determination I can prevent it. Constantine always puts up my werewolf’s hackles.”
“Henri was killed on the night of a full moon.”
Now Rhys twisted and sat against the door frame and caught his forehead in his palms. “Your accusation is inappropriate.”
“It wasn’t an accusation. I’m sorry, Rhys. You’ve startled me with your admission.”
“But you knew I was a half-breed. My brother told you.”
“Yes, but I’ve little time to sort out how that makes me feel. And only now must I face the information because you insisted upon barging in—”
“My manner may be crude but I had to tell you, Viviane. I could not let this go one moment longer.”
“One moment too late,” she said snidely.
Rhys felt her words slice through his heart. “Yes, I suspect my brother could not wait to reveal my truth to get you on his side.”
“I stand on no man’s side.”
“Of course not. You’ve listened with a very open mind. I commend you for that. If you should decide to hate me, I can only be grateful that you first learned the facts before settling upon such a decision.”
“I’m not sure what I believe yet. It must be difficult for you. Have you been alone so long then?”
“Are you worried my colliding natures have scared off lovers?” Rhys glided his eyes down from her cinched breasts to where he imagined the apex of her thighs was hidden beneath so many layers of frivolous fabric. Idiot, to court such thoughts at this moment. And yet… “I meant what I said about continuing the pursuit, LaMourette. Love me or hate me, I still want you.”
“Because you’ve some twisted desire to wage war against your brother. Love? You are not interested in me but for the triumph winning can grant you.”
The woman was no fool, and yet he admired her direct manner.
“Constantine will stand good to his word about having you thrown out,” she said. “You should leave Paris. It cannot be safe for a man such as you.”
“So you’re to be rid of me when we’ve only come together?”
“We are not together.”
“Says the woman who has handled intimate parts of me.” He leaned forward onto a palm, pleased she did not flinch away from him. “We would make a marvelous pair, LaMourette. Have you already promised yourself to him?”
“Never,” she snapped.
“But isn’t it a need for female vampires to have a patron? Do you not suffer without one? On the other hand, I thought it only was created vampires who required patronage.”
Regaining her composure, she said, “I don’t know. I will not be forced to a decision.”
Rhys wanted to take her in his arms, and feel her acceptance in a return embrace. That she had not scored her deadly fan blades across his face proved a small victory after the truths he’d just given her. She would accept him. She must.
“We bloodborn females do require a patron,” she said. “But I will not sacrifice my freedom to be blooded anew.”
“No, I should suspect not. Do you wish me to protect you?”
“How can you?”
“I could talk to Constantine. Make him understand you have no desire—”
“You know nothing of my desires.”
“I beg to differ.”
Now she stood and he did, too. He reached for her as she slipped from the room, but did not dare touch.
“No man knows how to please me,” she insisted quietly yet with a sharp tone. Her anger deepened her color. Rhys wanted to press her against his bare flesh to divine the heat from her.
“You are marvelous when angered, LaMourette. Won’t you allow me to steal another kiss, or perhaps this time let me please you until you moan.”
“And yet…” She stepped forward. “It isn’t often my curiosity is pricked by vulgarities.”
“I know you are a woman who indulges in all manner of pleasure.”
“I should like to engage in many forms of pleasure with you, Monsieur Hawkes, but I am put off by your staunch need to compete with your brother. And this new information.”
“You’ve never been kissed by a wolf.”
Her thick lashes dusted the air as she tilted a look over his body. “Apparently, I have.”
“Only in mind, lover.” He dared to swing around before her, trapping her against the side of the high tester bed, a hand to either side of her skirts. The lush perfume of her grew bold, heady, like grapes on the vine. “Would you accept a kiss from me right now?”
“Are you vampire or werewolf?”
“Vampire. But wolf in mind.”
Her tongue traced her lower lip. Rhys wanted to feel the firm tip of it licking his skin, gliding low to taste his hardness, the heavy weight of his need. If he did not kiss her right now—
“You smell wild and…”
“And?” he prompted.
Her parted lips, so red, screamed for him to bruise them.
“Rhys, I…”
He crushed her mouth. Devoured it. Stormed her gasps and pressed his tongue to hers.
If she wanted vulgarities, he could give them to her. Grasping her skirts, he found the curve of her derriere and squeezed it, pressing her mons against his erection. She did not wear the restrictive wooden panniers, which normally kept a woman caged and far from his touch. He felt her heat beneath the damask and silk. He felt the hum of her desire, the shudder of her uncertainty.
“I adore you, Viviane.”
“Adoration is boring.”
So she would challenge him?
“True. So is infatuation
. Passion is exquisite. Desire—”
“Commonplace.”
She pushed him away from her, and though he stood defiantly waiting for her to pull him back, she did not.
“You disturb me, Rhys.”
“You like being disturbed.”
Her eyes lit like stars. Indeed, she desired the unknown, the fantasy, the mystery of what he was.
Pacing immediately before him, she teased at a loose curl of dark hair. “Can you change shapes?”
“I will not. It is a darkness I will not unleash on anyone.”
“You’ve been thinking wolf since we’ve met?”
Another nod. “Yes. But now I’ve revealed my dark side, you must know my truth completely.”
“And that is?”
“I want to make love to you because I desire you, but also…because I am compelled. I need to be sated to keep back the wolf tomorrow night before the full moon.”
“And you wish me to comply?”
“I want you, Viviane.”
“Because you must have a woman.”
“No, not any woman. Only you.”
“But you have come to me before the one night you need me. How should I take that?”
“You are right. This is wrong.” He turned finding his reflection in the vanity mirror—and not hers. So odd.
“Leave,” she said quietly.
“No.”
“Now,” she insisted. “Please, Rhys, if you care for me at all you must leave.”
He sensed her turning onto the bed, sniffing at tears. He could not look. He should look, for it was only he who had given her such a mood. Sadness. But not fear, no. She did fear little. Save rats.
“I want you, Viviane,” he said softly.
“I know you do.”
“Will we ever…?”
“I’m not sure. Good eve, Rhys.”
He nodded, and walked out. Walking away from the only woman he cared for, the one woman he had thought may care for him.
Had he destroyed his chances to win her heart by revealing his truths?
“I BELIEVE YOU’VE COME TO THE end of your usefulness,” Constantine said. “There is another who may provide me the scapegoat I require.”
“You’ll set me free?” William pleaded.
“Nonsense, you murdered two vampires.”
“At your request! I wasn’t in my head. I was forced! It was that witch!”
