Seducing the Vampire

by Michele Hauf

  “Yes, now. All of you. Inside me.” She nudged his hip, beckoning. “I must feel you, all of you.”

  He entered her slowly, aware of his width and that she winced with the introduction of it. As he eased inside, Viviane spread out her arms and gripped at the wet grass. Filling her. Mastering her. Putting himself in peril.

  “I must warn you,” she gasped as he thrusted. “Sex brings up the desire for blood in me.”

  “Do not bite me, Viviane. Just…do not. Please?”

  She stretched her mouth wide, wanting to sink her fangs into the hot flesh. Taking blood would increase the pleasure tenfold. A deep drink would bond her to him.

  She did not want that.

  He does not want that. The realization stung.

  And then she released, crying out into the night for the sweetest, most wicked coupling she had ever experienced.

  Yet it was only that—a coupling. Not the connection she now realized she really needed. A connection with a man like no other, the only man who saw into her heart and respected it.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  RHYS HOVERED OVER VIVIANE’S moon-dappled body, watching as the climax tensed her stomach muscles. Her back arched to lift her gorgeous breasts, and her slender legs were wrapped about his hips. Sharing the pulse of their connection brought him to another orgasm. Clasping her around the shoulders, he clutched her to him.

  The werewolf growled lowly; it was sated.

  His vampire was not complaining, either.

  Stretched out upon the folded bit of her gown and the forest floor, Viviane grinned, a pleased cat. Twisting her arms above her head, she sighed.

  “Viviane, you have given me a gift.”

  “Climax?”

  “Acceptance.”

  “Easy enough.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, but you did imply sex was necessary to keep back your werewolf tonight. And I must confess to a certain curiosity.”

  “I see.”

  “Do you? Because I’m not sure I understand. I have made love with a werewolf.”

  “Half.”

  “Yes, and it bothers me little when it should.” She bracketed his face with her hands. “I want you, Rhys Hawkes. I want your vampire. I want your werewolf. I want your ineffable complexity and your simple ugliness. But most of all, I want the beauty of you.”

  “And so you have me.” He tapped the fang jutting over her lip, careful not to cut himself. “Pretty.”

  “You speak the truth?”

  He shrugged. “Mine are bigger when I’m the werewolf.”

  She traced his mouth. “But mine will bring you ecstasy.”

  “More than what I’ve just experienced?”

  “Close.” She slid her tongue along the gleaming fang. “You want to try it?”

  “Your bite devastates. For once bitten I’m sure a man can dream of nothing but you endlessly after.”

  “Don’t say that. I don’t wish to harm. I do it to survive. Do you not?”

  “Yes, but as vampire it is my werewolf who controls my mind. It doesn’t need blood, so I oftentimes have to remind myself to bite someone for sustenance.”

  “That is incredible. To have to remember to drink blood? I cannot imagine.” She leaned back, her breasts high and pale in the moonlight. “So you won’t take my bite?”

  Rhys stroked softly over her nipple. “You know if a vampire bites a werewolf that wolf then develops an unnatural hunger for blood.”

  “But if your wolf has already a blood hunger…”

  “I don’t know what can happen, Viviane.” His kissed her aside the mouth, careful not to touch her fang, and then kissed her eyelid. “I do not refuse you. I refuse the unknown. Can you accept that?”

  The tip of her fang receded into her mouth. Disappointed, surely.

  “We’ve only begun,” he offered. “We’ve time to learn one another.”

  “Yes. And I trust you, Rhys. Thank you for trusting that I would understand.”

  He leaned on an elbow and skimmed a hand over her other breast. Her body was hot and sticky, still panting from their incredible exertions. “You mean that?”

  “I actually do. I trust you more than any man.”

  “What of Salignac?”

  “What of him?”

  He tucked his head against her neck and nuzzled her skin. “I feel I’ve done you a disservice. Constantine can patron you. I shouldn’t wish to spoil your prospects.”

  “On the contrary, you’ve opened my eyes. Had you not come along I might have been cowed into entering a relationship with a vile and boring vampire whose only interest in me is for progeny.”

  “I suspect he does love you.”

  “Why do you speak your brother’s defense? Have you changed your mind about me so quickly? Do you regret our making love, Rhys?”

  “Not for one moment.” He rolled to his back and closed his eyes. “And yet, I cannot give you what he can.”

  This is what he’d wanted. Win the girl and shame the brother. But victory did not feel right. Not if Viviane were merely surrendering to a need. She’d been curious about him. And he had asked her for this.

  She could have no idea tonight had brought his victory.

  She drew his hand over her breast and positioned it flat upon her ribs. Her heart beat boldly against his palm. “Do you feel that?” she whispered as softly as moonlight on skin. “That is you. You have gotten inside me, and I don’t understand how it happened, only that it has.”

  He smirked. “Were you not there when I put myself inside you just moments ago, lover?”

  She chuckled. “I’m being serious. We should not be here, lying happily in one another’s arms. We are enemies.”

  “Is that how you see me? Vampires and werewolves are not enemies.”

  “They do not particularly care for one another.”

  “I am vampire in form more than I am wolf.”

  “Yes, but your mind is more wolf than vampire.”

  “So you have been paying attention. You know me now, Viviane, ugliness and all.”

  She stroked his hair. “Your wolf is gorgeous. This is your wolf, yes?” She dug her fingers in where the gray streaked his black hair.

  “I believe so.”

  Nuzzling her face against his hair, she breathed him in. It humbled him that she accepted him fur, fangs and all.

  This was the easy part though. If they were ever to bond, the werewolf would insist upon mating.

  “I am sorry for naming you not right. You are more man than I have ever known. Your differences dazzle my heart.” She traced his beard with a fingertip.

  “I like the sound of that. You must understand when I’ve tried to take vampire lovers in the past, they eventually learn my secret. Well, I tell it. It is not something I can hide and expect to have an honest relationship. And that makes them flee. Always.”

  “I don’t want to flee your arms, Rhys. Your brother suspects I admire you. I am sure that is why he told me your secret. He wishes you out of the city.”

  “And you in his arms.”

  She looked aside. “Can we do this?”

  “I would never put you in a position of risk. If you do not believe we can manage a secret affair say so.”

  “And you would release me?”

  “Reluctantly.” He nuzzled into her hair. Drown in her forever, and he would not ask for air. “But yes.”

  “No, I want us.”

  She sat, her bare back to him, and combed fingers through her hair. A broken green leaf fluttered from the moonswept strands. Rhys stroked the soft skin down her spine, gooseflesh rising in his wake.

  “What of your lacking patron? What if— Could I become your patron?”

  She turned about and bracketed his face with her cool palms. Sadness clouded her eyes. “You will not take my bite. Why even ask?”

  So true. He did not know what her bite would do to his already lunatic werewolf. But oh, he felt sure his vampire would love to lick Viviane’s bloo
d and devour her whole.

  It was the devouring part that sickened him.

  He traced her gaze as she sought his in the darkness. He couldn’t see depth or light in her irises, but he sensed her nervous enthusiasm.

  “Viviane, I will secrete you into my heart and keep you safe, I promise. I will let no harm come to you as long as I am able.”

  “So many secrets. I don’t like it.”

  “But you are my best secret. The secret that makes me strong.”

  “That’s silly. You are strong all by yourself. You dare to walk before the tribe Nava when you know they look down upon you.”

  “Only the one man despises my treading his halls.”

  “Your brother. Oh, Rhys, let’s not talk of dark things. Make love to me again.”

  RHYS WOKE TO THE STEADY BEAT of Viviane’s heart against his chest. If a vampire drank the blood of another vampire, they could synchronize heartbeats, always know where the other was, merely by pulse alone.

  He wanted that, but not the risk that accompanied sharing blood.

  She lay sprawled upon him, her head heavy at his throat and one leg bent across his hip. They’d made love again and again. Both had surely climaxed half a dozen times before surrendering to a blissful sleep.

  Now, with the sky lightening he felt the day—

  “Viviane.” He nudged her shoulder urgently. “Viviane, wake up. We’ve been here all night.”

  She stirred, wrapping her arm across his shoulder, and nuzzled in again. “Tired yet.”

  “The sun is rising,” he hissed.

  She shot upright, looking about. It was yet dark, probably five in the morning, Rhys guessed. Dawn was not far off.

  He shoved the gown into her arms and scanned the field for Mordaunt. A glint of orange peaked on the horizon. Rhys had never feared the sunrise. “Where’s the damn horse?”

  “He must have wandered home. The witch’s spell gives Mordaunt a homing instinct.”

  “We must find cover for you. Some place dark until I can find you more clothing and a means of travel.”

  Rhys lifted her in a swaddle of her gown; the stitches torn from the bodice would require a maid’s hand to be worn again. Leaves spilled onto the ground and a branch dropped onto his foot.

  “What about you?” she asked, her eyes straying to the orange line across the field. “You’ve misplaced your clothes.”

  “My werewolf makes me immune to the burning effects the sun has on my vampire flesh. All, save my eyes.” He scanned their periphery. Across the field stood a small stone building. Rhys raced toward it. “Keep your head under the dress.”

  A mausoleum sat nestled beneath mature oak trees. Setting Viviane on the ground in the shadows, he inspected the lock. It was new, and a thick iron chain held the door securely.

  Charging the door, Rhys rammed his shoulder against the solid stone. He slammed again and again, but eventually the lock snapped and sent him stumbling inside the small enclosure. Must and dirt choked him. A fine beam of gray light spilled across the entryway. Windows in a mausoleum?

  Viviane entered, sniffing the dingy room. “There are dead bodies in here?”

  “Just bones. Their souls were claimed long ago by the soul bringer. You’ll be safe until I can return with protective clothing. Come sit over in this corner.”

  He helped her sit on the dress and pull up the skirts to wrap about her shoulders. Her tousled hair scattered about her face and shoulder. Bits of grass and earth impressed her pale skin. A ravaged angel, he wanted to devour her, draw her into his soul and keep her safe there. Hugging her, he clung to what had become more valuable than breath to him.

  “I’ll go quickly. I’ll find my clothes and Mordaunt.”

  She gripped his hand. “What if there are rats?”

  “None in here, LaMourette. It is dusty and there is no food to attract rodents. I promise you will be safe from them. Now I must be quick. My wolf has prowled the city on a few occasions. If I don’t find the horse, can I get another from your stable?”

  “Of course. Tell Portia I insist. You must have something to tell her so she will know to trust you.”

  “Something only she knows about you?”

  “Yes, but what?”

  He waited.

  “Monsieur Rosemont,” she blurted out. “Every Saturday afternoon. Tell Portia, and she will know I’ve taken you into my confidence.”

  “Every Saturday afternoon. Viviane?”

  “He’s my teacher. I am…learning to read.”

  “Ah? Good for you.” He kissed her on the cheek. “You’ll be safe, chérie.”

  PORTIA HAD A BATH WAITING for her mistress in the tepidarium, and fussed over her as Rhys stood by the door observing the frenzy of concern. She needed to be fussed over, to get clean and put the horror of nearly burning behind her.

  Settling into the bath, she looked over her shoulder and beamed a smile at him. “You’ll stay?”

  After Portia left, Viviane tugged Rhys into the bath with her and after they’d cleaned away the dirt and remnants of forest, she spent the day entwined within her lover’s arms. Kissing his mouth. Stroking his muscles and learning his tender spots, the places where the slightest breath made him flinch and moan with pleasure.

  He carried her to the bed and laid her beneath the confection of silk curtains, tassels and fringe. Stretching back his arms to yawn he noticed the table beside the bed and picked up the card Viviane kept tucked there to admire as she drifted to sleep.

  He jumped onto the bed, landing on his back beside her and studied the card. “LaMourette, is this the type of reading material you prefer?”

  “It is.” She snuggled aside his body, firm and muscled and so warm from their shared lovemaking. “I found it tucked in Blanche’s things. It deserves to be seen, not hidden.”

  “You want me to do this to you?” He tossed the card over a shoulder and didn’t wait for an answer, turning her to her side and hugging her from behind.

  His fingers clasped her nipple and squeezed it hard, while he slid his other hand between her legs to play at her wetness, mimicking the card. Viviane gasped boldly.

  His slow, attentive moves to her swollen clit hummed throughout her body. She slid a palm back and down his thigh, holding him against her. His cock nuzzled her spine. His moans matched hers and her breath increased.

  Gasping, she clutched at the air, wanting, standing at the edge…

  Released, she fell freely into bliss, crying out loudly. Her body shivered and bucked, answering his command.

  The sound of her lover’s long and satisfied moan was more valuable than any precious stone. He stretched out on the bed. Candlelight played across his flesh.

  “I love you, LaMourette.” He leaned in and kissed her breast. “I do.” Bright brown eyes twinkled at her.

  Viviane had never known love, save for in the blood crossing her tongue. When she drank from a donor, she could taste the vivid spice of love flowing through a mortal’s blood. Most often she tasted love in mothers of small children, but not always, contempt was a strong flavor, as well.

  So while she had not felt it herself, she knew love’s essence, and would recognize it the moment it assaulted her heart. Surely.

  In truth, she may be in love. With the idea of love, with the heady rush of claiming a new lover. With Rhys’s truth, and yes, his wolf. She tasted love, liquid and sweet at the back of her throat and in her veins. But she would not speak it. She could not.

  For eventually, she must go to Constantine.

  “That makes me happy,” she answered. It was all she could give him. “Your werewolf did not show at all during our lovemaking last night,” she said, changing the subject.

  Rhys lazily rolled off the bed and padded over to the vanity. Candlelight played across his muscles, powerful thighs for running, sleek yet broad back.

  “Indeed. You are a powerful witch, LaMourette. I’ve never found a mortal woman who could do the same.”

  He palmed the vani
ty and stretched, easing each shoulder forward then back. He sat on the padded chair and splayed out his legs, unmindful of his nudity, or perhaps proud of it. So much to be proud of, and already jutting up stiff and ready.

  “No woman?” she entreated.

  “Well, I’ve not tried to make love all night with a mortal woman. Because what if the sex should not sate me? I would shift and then…”

  He looked aside, his reflection in the mirror peaceful. Yet behind his lowered lashes Viviane sensed he shuddered at the horrors of which he was capable. And she had kept back those horrors?

  A tingle of pride scurried through her veins. She was a woman of great strength, and this proved it. She had tamed his werewolf. No longer was she the wolf slayer. Now she preferred to be wolf enchantress.

  His reflection grinned at her.

  His reflection. What marvel.

  “I must leave the city this afternoon,” Rhys said. “Tonight the moon is full.”

  “I will miss you.”

  “Will you? That pleases me.”

  “Is that the only thing I offer to please you?”

  His cock bobbed, and he smiled wickedly. “Apparently not.”

  Viviane lazily stretched her hands along the sheets between her legs to lean forward. Sex-tousled hair spilled over half her face. “What of your wolf? I’ve heard werewolves mate while in their beastly form.”

  “It is the only way we bond with one another.”

  “Does your beast wish to mate with me? Could I mate with it? Are you…?”

  “Beastly?”

  She shrugged, unsure how to put into delicate terms what she could only imagine as a wild and raging animal.

  “The werewolf is able to mate with its own kind, as well as mortal females. While most werewolves would never choose a vampire, I promise that is not one of my problems. I would love to mate with you, Viviane. But I cannot.”

  “Because your werewolf has the vicious vampire mind?”

  He nodded. “I’ve never mated in werewolf form. Much as I wish for it, the vampire has more wicked needs that must be kept contained.”

  “That makes me very sad. I wish I could tame your werewolf. Or rather,” she considered the arrangement of the man’s dual nature, “your vampire.”