by Kit Tunstall
Emma’s heart twisted with his pain, so closely mirroring her own. Why now did he return, just as her heart had begun to embrace another? She took a hesitant step toward him, reaching out her hand. “I did not know you lived still.”
“Lived?” He raised his head quickly. Rage distorted his features, and his eyes burned a dark shade of red. “You call this living? I am undead, my beloved.” He spat the final word. “I was desperate to return to you. I would have done anything.” His mouth curled. “I became this to return to you, only to find you wed to my brother.”
She jumped when he smashed his fist into the fireplace. Horror consumed her when he lifted his hand to examine the damage. A thin smear of blood marred the injured knuckles. Even as she went to him, she saw the bones in his hand moving under the skin—repairing and reforming to their former state. She froze inches away from him. “What have you become, Nicholas?”
He lifted his head, turning his gaze from his hand to her. “Vengeance given form, my faithless wench.”
She yelped when he jerked her into his arms, causing her to drop the cross. Emma beat her fists against his chest, but she might as well have been a fly for all the damage she did to his solid frame. He easily subdued her, crushing her against him in so tight an embrace that she could barely draw breath. Coldness emanated from him, seeping into her bones, and making her become limp. Deeper inside, a fire that had simmered swelled to an inferno, urging her to ignore her misgivings and surrender.
“Look into my eyes.”
She shook her head, barely finding the energy to do so.
“Do not defy me. Look into my eyes, Emma.”
Against her will, she felt her neck curving and her head lifting. Her dark green eyes locked with endless pools of scarlet-tinged ebony. She could see her own death reflected back to her. “Please, have mercy,” she whispered.
He ignored her plea and broke eye contact to place his mouth against her neck. His lips moved against her skin with feathery softness, evoking sensations that raced down her spine. Despite herself, she moaned when his tongue traced the vein pulsing in her throat. She arched her neck further, offering him more. The voice of reason was fading to a shadowy whisper she could barely hear.
Emma stiffened when his teeth penetrated her skin. A flash of sanity returned, and a scream built in her throat, but she couldn’t give it voice. Her body was no longer her own. She lay helpless in his arms, aware of every prick of his fangs as he greedily sucked her blood, and each corresponding shiver of pleasure her body gave in response. Soon, she was floating. His husky laugh brought a measure of lucidity, and she struggled to focus on his face when he lifted his head.
“From bridegroom to widower in a fortnight.” His eyes were cold, and he wore a humorless smile. “William has tasted but one of your delights, beloved. Before the night is through, I shall taste them all.”
She wanted to cry as he carried her to the bed, but the tears remained locked in her throat in a thick ball when he lowered her to her feet beside the bed. Her body responded when Nicholas’s hands molded to her breasts, caressing her nipples through the dressing gown. She leaned against him, hiding her face against his chest, ashamed of her reaction. How could she let her body lead her to damnation?
His harsh inhalation as one hand slid lower to massage her hip returned Emma’s attention to Nicholas, instead of her introspection. She lifted her head to meet his eyes, seeing urgency burning there, but also tenderness. Anger emanated from him, but not in greater quantity than the love she could sense. It wasn’t desire leading her astray. It was love. Whatever he was, she could accept it, couldn’t she? Better that than to face another separation without end. When he had departed for the Crusades, her heart had broken, not knowing if she would ever see him again. Upon word of his death, she had wanted to die herself. Having him back now, no matter what he was, should be savored as a gift.
“My love,” he whispered, before moving his mouth down her neck, toward her breasts. “So long…”
“Yes.” Too long. Why hadn’t she spoken up when he announced his plan to join the holy wars? Would he have listened if she had sacrificed her pride and begged him to stay? What would have been different in their lives? For one thing, she wouldn’t feel a frisson of fear underlying the pleasure created each time he touched her.
Emma gasped when Nicholas stripped off her gown before taking one of her nipples into his mouth, as both of his hands went to her buttocks, cupping and pressing them to bring her pelvis in snug alignment with his. His cock pressed against the moist entrance of her pussy, held at bay only by the cloth of his hosen. When he flicked his tongue across her nipple, she could feel her own blood from his mouth as he smeared it over her body. The wound on her neck wept rivulets of life force in a steady stream. She reached up to touch it, almost jilted from the idyllic interlude, but his hand left her buttocks to catch hers before she could reach her neck. Nicholas lifted his head from her breast.
“Look at me.”
She looked up, compelled to obey the command in his voice, as surely as her body demanded she do so. Anything for his heavenly touch to continue.
“Do not fret, beloved. Lose yourself in this moment. Forget about anything my brother might have taught you and remember only me…your husband.”
“Yes, m’lord.” Slowly, her hand dropped back to her side, while his still held it. What had she planned to do with it?
“Touch me.”
Yes, that must be what she had been about to do. Emma ducked her head, too shy to meet his eyes when she stroked the bulge at the front of his hosen. Her eyes widened at the way his hard cock twitched at her light touch. “Does it hurt?”
“Nay.” He thrust his hips, pushing his cock deeper against her hand. “’Tis pleasurable.”
Curiosity compelled her to explore more of the length of him, but propriety stilled her hand. She couldn’t bring herself to cup his cock, nor could she withdraw.
He laughed, pulling her closer to him. She looked up to meet his gaze, searching for a trace of anger, and finding none. Her brow furrowed. Why would Nicholas be angry with her?
A blush heated her cheeks when Nicholas stepped away from her to strip off his surcotte and hauberk. Still, she couldn’t tear her gaze from his muscled chest, dusted with a sprinkling of dark hair. His skin was as pale as the moonlight spilling through the barred window, but wasn’t unappealing. Her hand trembled when she reached out to stroke his chest. The stiff hairs tickled her fingers, and she smiled at the sensation, letting her self-consciousness slip away. Secure in his love, what did she have to fear?
He brought her against his body again, lifting her around the waist to set her on the bed. Emma leaned back with her arms behind her, staring up at him with awe. Something worried at the back of her mind, but looking into his eyes made it easy to banish all thoughts that didn’t involve the moment unfolding between them. She held out an arm. “I love you.”
He closed his eyes for just a second, as if savoring the words. Emma’s insides melted at the vulnerability in his reaction.
Nicholas kicked off his boots and stripped his hosen with hurried movements. Emma’s courage deserted her as his cock sprang free, and she averted her eyes from the nest of curls surrounding the shaft. Instead, she let her eyes remain on his chest as he walked forward with the gait of a panther. As he dropped onto the bed, pushing her onto her back, her nose wrinkled in response to the scent of blood. Was he hurt?
The thought fled when his mouth slanted over hers, and his tongue thrust inside to sweep the depths. She moaned, curling her fingers into his hair. A coppery taste lingered on his tongue, but she couldn’t place it. As her mind tried to focus on identifying it, a kaleidoscope of colors whirled behind her eyes, and her thoughts scattered, becoming unfocused.
She closed her eyes when Nicholas’s thumb slipped inside her pussy, stroking gently. She gasped when he feathered it across her clit, and her hips arched of their own accord, seeking more.
“Wanton,
” he said with a growl. His tone was a mix of affection and annoyance.
Emma opened her eyes, prepared to question his reaction, but got lost in the liquid depths of his dark eyes. Her own became unfocused, and a sigh passed her lips when she sank back into the erotic trance imprisoning her.
Her lids drifted closed when Nicholas’s finger slipped inside her, probing at her entrance. She winced as he went deeper, but couldn’t muster the energy to protest. It was more pleasurable than painful anyway, even when his finger was deep inside, wriggling against the walls of her pussy. Her hips were thrusting in leisurely time with his hand, and a sensation she hadn’t experienced before was building inside, hovering on the edge of release.
“Surrender to it, my love.”
Nicholas’s coaxing whisper released the floodgates holding back her natural reaction. A sob escaped Emma when the sensation exploded inside her, feeling as though it dragged her stomach into her pussy, before small ripples of pleasure spread outward, engulfing her body. She clung to him, frightened and exhilarated simultaneously.
“Mine.”
His cold tone brought her back to reality. Her eyes snapped open to stare into his, and she remembered flashes of the events leading them to this moment. Her body still shuddered with pleasure, but fear was sweeping through her in equal measure. It increased at the frigid expression on his face, and the distant way he held himself as he fused his body with hers, as he said once more, “Mine,” with a manner of finality that sent a shiver up her spine.
Emma experienced a brief surge of pain at his possession and saw his eyes widen. She tried to move her mouth to explain William’s summons arrived the very day of their wedding, but her lips refused to form the words when her eyes locked with his. Lightheadedness swept over her, and the vortex of his eyes sucked her into a near oblivion.
“So, William has not tasted you.” He appeared unsettled, and the coldness faded for a moment, before he scowled again. “Nor will he ever.”
She lay still as death under his passionate onslaught, crying internal tears at their joining. Just minutes ago, her body had been singing with joy at his touch, but now everything had changed. In her many girlish fantasies of their wedding night, she had never thought their union would be like this. She had remained ignorant of the ways of coupling, but had expected Nicholas’s touch to be full of love when he demystified the experience. He had been so gentle with her scant moments ago, until it came time to join them. Maybe the action had reminded him of her marriage to William and rekindled his rage.
Her memory had returned, but she was too weak to fight against him. Tears slipped from her eyes when her body responded to each thrust of his, awakening with renewed sensitivity and building anew toward another release. A small sob escaped her when her body betrayed her with another orgasm, as Nicholas’s cock spasmed inside her. Out of his thrall, fear for her soul outweighed the cry of her body for his touch.
After dropping a gentle kiss against her forehead, he rolled away and stood up with his back to her. His shoulders bowed, and he made no move to touch her. He began to pace.
She tried to turn her head to see him when he moved from her line of sight, but couldn’t. Emma dared to hope he would leave, having had his revenge for her supposed sins. While she waited to see what he would do, she grew increasingly lightheaded. Even if he left now, she doubted she would survive the night. The keep’s physician would no doubt bleed her, while priests prayed for her, easing her passage to the next world. William would return home in a fortnight to find her dead. He truly loved her, and she dared not consider how he would take the news.
Emma decided her death would have no witnesses besides Nicholas when she felt the bed dip upon his return. His would be the last face she saw before death claimed her. She wouldn’t find comfort or solace in his harsh visage. His cold rage wouldn’t allow him to understand her actions.
A breath escaped her when he pulled her into his arms. She lay as still as a statue, unable to return his embrace as her life force ebbed.
“I forgive you, my beloved,” he whispered into her ear. “You will join me in eternity.” He leaned down to brush a kiss against her lips. “You are even more beautiful near death.”
She was able to voice a small whimper when his mouth returned to her neck. Once again, his fangs claimed her vein as his loins had so recently taken her innocence. Rather than pain, this time warmth surged through her. Was it the flush of death, or something more?
Minutes later, when he lifted his head, she felt nothing at all, except cold and numb. When he slashed open his wrist with his own fang, she wasn’t repulsed. Not even when he held the dripping wound to her opened mouth and let the blood flow inside did she try to resist. It oozed down her throat and lodged like a small ball of ice in her stomach.
“Soon, you will become. We will rest a while, until your death. Then I shall take you from here.”
Her unblinking eyes remained fastened on the ceiling as she felt unconsciousness slip over her.
“Open your eyes, Emily.”
She heard the summons from far away. The voice was so compelling that she struggled to cast off the dream holding her hostage. For a moment, she was frozen somewhere between Emily and Emma. Slowly, his voice grew stronger and penetrated the dream state, enabling her to blink open bewildered blue eyes.
“You must drink this to speed up the change.”
The man from the funhouse—Nicholas in her dream—hovered over her, holding a crystal goblet filled with dark-red liquid, which he pressed to her lips. She tried to turn her head, but found herself still unable to move. Once more, coppery fluid flowed into her mouth, but this time she choked as it dripped down her throat.
“Drink it all.”
“Perhaps it is too much, master?”
“I know what she needs. Leave us, Tremont.”
Emily’s chest was heavy when she tried to draw in a deep breath, with no success. It was as if she wasn’t breathing at all. To her relief, he withdrew the goblet. His face moved closer to hers, and she could see the silver rings around his pupils, the only color in his eyes aside from black. Stubble was forming on his chin, indicating he had been too busy to shave.
“Sleep now, my beloved. Dream of other times and other lives.” He lifted her hand and kissed the palm. “Dream of me.”
As if obeying his command, her eyes closed as though they had tiny weights tied to them. She returned to the dream of Emma.
* * * * *
Emma woke early in the morning and turned her head. She realized she could now move and scooted away from Nicholas’s still form. He seemed to be in a death-like state. His chest barely rose and fell, with long seconds between each shallow breath. He would have looked dead, but his skin wasn’t pale enough—because of her blood?
Moving carefully, she slid from the bed and examined herself in the cheval looking glass. Dried blood smeared her pure white skin in several places. Heavy purple shadows bruised her eyes. Crimson streaks had dried on her lips, and she hissed with disgust when the stench and taste of blood flooded her nose and mouth. It was only a memory, but was nonetheless repulsive.
Now she knew what her love had become. Vampire. The villagers whispered such words in the night, blaming the creatures for the Plague, deaths of cattle and small children, and any number of misfortunes. She hadn’t known whether to believe or not, until now. She had become one. She knew she must be. She could hear the birds outside her window stirring in their nests and feel the wild ones moving in their dens far away. Their heartbeats echoed in her ears, as did those of the people stirring in her father’s castle and the village beyond. She was more alive and infinitely less alive than she ever had been in her life.
Emma racked her brain, struggling to remember the cures for vampirism. All she could recall were methods to kill them permanently. Holy water, a stake through the heart, sunlight—
She didn’t think twice before rushing to the window in her room. The first rays of sunlight streaked acr
oss the sky, and she thrust her bare arm through the iron bars in place for protection during a siege. She waited for incredible pain to consume her as the sun touched her fingers, but the only pain she felt was an aching between her thighs that had been with her since waking. She frowned and reached out farther, until the sun touched her wrist. There was still no burning.
“’Tis not strong enough yet to harm you,” Nicholas said from behind her. He sounded bored. “Even at the highest point of midday, it would do naught but turn your skin a light red, and that would take hours. We are more sensitive to sunlight, but it cannot kill us. You will probably never again ride through a meadow on a summer afternoon, but nor will you find escape in so innocuous a source.”
She cried out with frustration and whirled away from the window. “I curse you to Hell for what you have made me.”
He laughed. “I have given you eternity in my arms, beloved.”
Emma shook her head, clamping her hands over her ears. “I do not want it.” But a small part of her did want it…wanted him…and everything accepting him would entail. She shook her head more vigorously, struggling to deny the urge.
“We shall be together forever.” He spoke more loudly so she could hear.
She tore her hands from her ears to glare at him. “I did not ask for this.”
His lips curved into a mocking smile. “Think of it as a second chance. I heard those words once, when I thought I had lost everything.” Nicholas’s cold laugh filled the room. “Look where they brought me.”
She huddled on the floor, and a wail broke from her, ignoring Nicholas when he rushed forward and tried to quiet her. She broke away from him somehow and crawled across the floor. Salvation beckoned.
“Where will you go that I cannot follow? I will always return you to me.”
She blocked out his confident words and focused on getting to the cross lying so near. He moved behind her as she reached for the cross, stepping on her hand. She grasped the wood in her hands and screamed as it burned into her flesh. Her expression mirrored her agony when she looked into his eyes. Arrogance reflected back at her, but it was tinged with fear.
