He froze, somehow sensing a foreboding the split second before Arabelle yanked on Willow’s reins. Willow reared up as she knew to do with this command. A hissing sound streamed from the trees as the archers let fly on the signal.
Deek pounded his heels into his horse’s flanks. “Yah!” His horse whinnied and jolted forward, barreling away down the path.
The prince wasn’t concerned for him at all as he spun back to his men. “Take cover!” he bellowed.
Nikolai drew his sword and turned toward the trees, but it was already too late. The archers set off a second wave of gold-tipped arrows and soon would be gone, vanishing into hideaways dug into the earth and covered over with thatching masked to look like the forest floor.
One Legionnaire cried out. Then another.
“Riker!” bellowed the lieutenant. “Take three men and go!”
The Legionnaire followed orders swiftly. All the while Arabelle took in the scene of the prince on his knees, shoving the shaft of an arrow the rest of the way through a soldier’s shoulder as the soldier screamed, his skin smoldering. The stench of burning flesh wafted in the air. Nikolai was at his side, assisting. Then the prince stood from the mayhem and fixed his blue-fire gaze on Arabelle.
“Go!” yelled Barkley, slapping Willow’s hindquarters.
She whinnied and jolted. Arabelle let her fly down the path leading into the woods.
“Run, Arabelle!” bellowed Barkley as he took off as well into the brush in another direction.
She glanced over one shoulder to see Prince Marius atop his black steed, galloping across the creek at full speed with that look of fury she’d expected from him all along. Bending forward, she urged Willow faster, whispering, “Go, girl.”
Willow knew her mistress and sped along the trail. The fork ahead split, one path leading toward the woodhouse, the path Deek would’ve taken. She took the other, which led beyond Larkin Wood toward Silvane Forest. Without even thinking, she pulled Willow to the right though the horse had instinctively wanted to go left. No one ventured into Silvane Forest without certain cause. But escaping an enraged vampire prince was cause enough for Arabelle.
She kept her head low and the reins loose so Willow could let fly. Arabelle glanced over her shoulder and caught sight of the black steed a ways behind before she rounded another bend. The path forked again. Arabelle took the one less traveled, where the weeds had grown tall.
Willow kept her steady pace without Arabelle’s encouragement. The path narrowed and the trees thickened as they rode deeper, finally crossing into a grove of black oak trees—the tell-tale sign they had traversed into Silvane Forest. Charcoal trunks grew thick and strong, their sable and silver leaves rustling in the breeze. Arabelle slowed, panting now, no longer sensing the prince behind her. Instead, heaviness came upon her, as if the air itself carried danger and secrets. And magic.
She had never ventured into the forbidden hinterlands, but it was said that vampires feared it more than humans. Both were rumored to have disappeared here, venturing in but never venturing out. There were whispers of a witch who lived in the woods and an evil that lived at the heart of this place.
But Arabelle wasn’t the kind to be afraid of childish tales. Surely, those who disappeared into these woods were fleeing some enemy and wanted to disappear. Like herself. However, she hoped the vampire prince feared the mystical unknown enough to save his chase for another day.
“Whoa.”
She pulled on the reins to bring Willow to a stop and listened. No tromping of hooves pounding up the path behind her or even in the distance. Only the chirping of insects as dusk settled into night.
“We lost him, Willow.” She patted her mare’s neck now damp from the run. “But we best keep going, just to be sure.”
She’d camp here then make her way back to the woodhouse in the morning. Deek might worry, but she wouldn’t take the chance of venturing back into Larkin Wood, where the Legionnaires and Prince Marius were surely waiting to pounce. As it was, she feared the woodhouse might be found. While they’d taken precautions to hide their headquarters’ location, it wasn’t invisible or impossible to discover. She would be safer here for the night. And she hoped all of the Black Lily had gotten away.
A distant yip, then a howl, echoed through the trees. A breeze blew, rustling the silky leaves of the black oaks, sounding like whispers overhead. One thing she knew for certain, hart wolves lived in these woods. Arabelle had never seen one of these guardians of the Silvane Forest. And she certainly didn’t want to see one now. She clicked and nudged Willow forward, glancing toward the darkening sky.
“Let’s find a place we can start a fire.”
That would certainly keep the wolves at bay. But she needed to go farther into the woods, just in case that bastard of a prince happened to be still on the chase. She listened again and stared behind her as Willow loped slowly on. No sign whatsoever of anyone on her tail.
She laughed and patted Willow again.
“We fooled him, girl. Seems even a vampire prince is no match for us.”
Willow and Arabelle wound deeper into Silvane Forest to camp for the night.
Chapter Twelve
Marius had tethered his horse at the first split of the trail and followed on foot, choosing the true hunter’s way of catching his quarry. Let her think she’d gotten away, while he drew ever closer. Arabelle could’ve been leagues away and still her wildflower scent clung to every branch and leaf she passed, luring Marius at a steady, slow pace. She hadn’t masked her scent like the archers in the trees. She’d been too confident the distraction and ensuing conflict would keep him preoccupied. Unfortunately for her, she underestimated his keen focus on capturing the leader of the Black Lily. And the potency of her scent to his senses.
He moved under cover of the black oaks once he’d entered the notorious grove where these ancient trees towered in abundance. A hart wolf howled as the sky darkened and a half moon appeared in the eastern sky. Yes, he’d been warned by his mother as a child never to set foot in Silvane Forest.
Darkness lives there, my son.
He paused and stared into the gloom of the deep woods, sensing an otherness to the air. Yet, it struck no fear in him. Only wonder. Then her scent wafted over him again. Stronger. She must’ve slowed her pace. His target close, he moved with stealth. Night fell quickly here, and apparently Arabelle felt secure in her getaway, for he heard and smelled the crackling of a campfire.
He walked on, following her lure that had drawn him like a fox to the henhouse. She was the temptation he couldn’t resist. Balling his hands into fists as his canines extended with the strong, sweet smell of Arabelle on the wind, he fought to control his hunger.
The flickering of flame cast long shadows from a small clearing near a mighty oak. And there, staring into the fire, the light licking over her face and golden hair, was the woman who’d dared to attempt to kill him in his own palace, who had dared to try to kill him a second time with her archers at the Crossing, and who appeared more like an angel than the she-devil she was.
She stood before the fire and began removing her clothes. Marius froze, riveted. Stricken. She slid off her boys’ breeches and tossed them aside, then slipped the linen shirt over her head. With a tug on her corset’s lacings at the front, she pulled it off and dropped it aside as well. Marius couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. She was no angel. A witch more like, enchanting him toward certain peril and doom.
Tugging her braid loose, a fall of golden hair swinging to her hip, she slipped off beyond the edge of the firelight like a faerie vanishing into her woodland realm. Marius’s pulse raced like mad as he edged forward, thankful when he heard a loud splash.
He inched closer, the trickling of a slow-moving stream sounding to his left along with the gentle lapping of water as she bathed, unaware of his presence. Marius came to the edge of the stream to find a small waterfall sliding down a mossy rock and into a pool. Under the half moon and starry sky, he could see her fair silh
ouette as she swam a short length forward then back, her perfectly rounded bottom popping out of the water on the turn.
Marius stiffened, everywhere, quite sure he’d suffer intensely from stealing this moment of visual ecstasy. Yet he couldn’t force himself to turn away.
She stood at the middle of the pool, the water lapping below her waist. She finger-combed her long hair. The meager light from the half moon was enough for a vampire to see her pale figure perfectly well. Her slender neck, the gentle slope of her shoulders, the lovely curve of her breasts, waist, and hips. Marius bit back a curse as his fangs extended even more and his body hardened further. This was torture, not ecstasy, for he was more than certain she wouldn’t be easing the pain he felt stiffening his body to agonizing rigidity.
Enough.
He leapt down to a grassy landing, the sound jerking her attention in his direction. Wide-eyed, she gasped and splashed backward, crossing her arms over her breasts. In her present situation, she was more vulnerable than any fleeing villain should be. He stepped to the edge of the water. She shrank beneath its surface to cover her body though there was nowhere for her to go.
“Nice night for a bath under the moonlight, isn’t it?” he asked evenly.
Schooling her frightened features into the cool reserve he remembered from the ball, she spoke. “How…how did you find me?”
“You are joking, aren’t you?”
“I mean, I thought, well—”
“You thought I’d be afraid of childhood ghost stories and not follow you this far into Silvane Forest.”
She remained silent. Marius didn’t.
“You know what your downfall was?”
“I’m certain you are about to tell me.”
“Your arrogance.”
“My arrogance.”
She popped up in anger, enough for the water to lower to a delectable level. Marius’s gaze flicked south. She sank down again.
“I find your accusation laughable,” she said, though there was not a hint of laughter in her icy tone.
Marius squatted to his haunches, meeting her closer to eye level.
“You overestimated your archers. Seems they wounded only two, possibly killing one. And I wasn’t one of them, which I’m sure is a disappointment to you. You’d better get your men to target practice if you’re going to plan an outright attack on the king’s forces.”
“That wasn’t an attack,” she proclaimed, haughtily lifting her chin. “Merely a distraction to get Deek away. And it worked.”
“Yes, it worked. Except now your lover is free and you are caught. Was that also part of the plan?”
She had no response to that. She also didn’t deny the blacksmith was her lover. A twinge of jealous anger pricked him.
“Next time,” he continued, “you might want to cover your scent if you plan to escape.”
Her brow pursed into a frown. “I did.”
He wondered at that, having honed in on her scent alone over the smells of horse, hay, animals, and mud—all of the pungent scents in the air at the Crossing. He’d heard older vampires speak of those they called honey-bleeders. Once or twice in a lifetime, a vampire would find a human whose scent drew them beyond any other. If Arabelle was his honey-bleeder, he was in more trouble than he thought.
Standing, he summoned her with a hand.
“Come. Get out of the pool.”
Her mouth dropped. “I’m not getting out of here with you standing there. I’m…I’m naked.”
“Of which I’m well aware.” His voice dropped low and deep. “Come out.”
“No!”
“Then I’ll come in after you.”
He took one step. She splashed backward.
“All right!” She huffed. “Turn around.”
He shook his head, unable to keep a smile from his face. “Not on your life. I’m not letting you out of my sight.”
“You expect me to—”
“Yes. I do. Now, come out.”
She snapped her mouth shut. Flustered, her pale cheeks flushed pink. Marius was thankful for his vampire eyesight to see the pretty blush crawl up her neck. What he wouldn’t do to chase that path with his mouth.
Arabelle’s expression shifted, her brow smoothing, eyes narrowing, lips parting. She slowed her breathing and uncrossed her arms, standing with poise from the water, revealing the sensual gifts nature had given her. Marius swallowed hard, but his mouth had gone dry. Thirsty. He was so thirsty.
She moved unhurriedly through the water into the shallows, emerging like a goddess who knew her power. Marius actually stepped backward as she stood on the ledge in front of him—completely bare and utterly beautiful.
“I’m here now, Your Highness. What will you do with me?”
Heaven and hell, what he wanted to do with her. To her. His canines ached to sink into her lovely flesh, as did the rest of him. He wanted to take her to the ground, drive inside her and lose himself in wildflower and rain. A frenzy stirred his blood, bunching his muscles, urging him to take. He’d felt the blood madness before, but never like this. He had never acted upon it then and certainly wouldn’t now. What had set the old vampires apart from the new was the vow to maintain civility and gain consent with their bleeders.
His gaze landed on the black tattoo of the lily between her shoulder and breast. It was simple yet intricate. Delicate yet strong. Much like the woman who wore it. He lifted a hand to touch her then balled his fist at his side. When he could finally summon speech, he said, “Your seduction will not work this time. Put on your clothes.”
His voice sounded ragged and worn, while she remained still as stone—breathing even and steady, though her pulse fluttered in her neck, belying her calm. The thirst of wanting her and being unable to have her constricted his vocal cords.
She pointed up. “They’re by the fire.”
He suddenly remembered watching her undress. How could he forget? He’d seen dozens upon dozens of naked women and never had one of them affected him the way she did. He felt as if he were sinking into the unknown, unable to stop himself and not caring that he may never climb his way back out.
Marius wrapped a hand around her wrist, cuffing her with a gentle but firm grip. She trembled. Whether from fear or the cool air on her wet skin, he wasn’t sure. He pulled her back through the brush the way he’d come. She didn’t struggle. There was no use. No human could outrun a vampire on foot. The horse whinnied as they came into the circle of firelight.
“Too late, Willow,” she muttered, teeth chattering.
“Get dressed,” he commanded too gruffly as he released her wrist.
She waited a heartbeat, then hurriedly redressed in her pants and shirt, snatching up the corset and rolling it flat.
“Sit,” he said. “You can dry off before we head back.”
She sat next to her satchel with a huff. Marius lifted a fallen tree branch thick as his arm and broke it in two, tossing one end into the fire, spitting up sparks. When he turned to drop the other log to the side, he heard her open the flap of her satchel.
Oh, hell. Didn’t she know he could hear her every movement, no matter how small? He spun to find her lunging at his back with a dagger in hand. Grabbing her wrists, he wrestled her to the dirt and pinned her hard with his weight. She struggled still and panted from the exertion.
“Stop, woman.”
“I don’t take commands from you.”
“I’m afraid you’ll have to, for I’ve got you beat. Thankfully before you managed to plunge your weapon inside my chest this time.”
He eyed the dagger still clenched in her hand. A sliver of gold edged the blade, like the other one.
“Seems your blacksmith has been hard at work.”
“Yes,” she said, breathing heavily. “We share an affinity for metals that can kill a vampire.”
Marius lowered his head so they were mere inches apart. “And do you share an affinity for each other?” he couldn’t help but ask.
She stared at him with
a puzzled expression before saying, “You’re heavy. Get off me.”
Marius didn’t budge. “I find it strange that your lover would abandon you to the woods to save his own skin. Not much of a man, if you ask me.”
She struggled again but only managed to press her curvy frame against him, adding to his torture. Her eyes flared with rage.
“He’s not my lover. He’s my friend. And he wouldn’t abandon me. We have a code that—”
She bit her bottom lip to keep from saying another word. Marius longed to press his lips to hers and taste that sweet mouth once more. His own anger abated the moment she said the smith wasn’t her lover. Not a good sign. To set his desires on a peasant woman who continually tried to kill him wasn’t very wise for one as old and experienced as he was. But she had already gotten under his skin, her scent the most tantalizing lure he’d ever known. Like the Siren to the sailor in deep waters, he feared he’d willingly drown if she beckoned him.
“What now, Your Highness? Are you going to bite me and kill me? If you are, then get on with it. Or do you enjoy toying with your prey?”
“Kill you?”
He lifted some of his weight off her, paralyzed by such a thought. Did she truly believe he was a monster? The combination of terror and rage he smelled in the light sweat on her skin and found shining in her hazel eyes said that she did.
“Drop the blade,” he demanded.
Still panting, she squeezed her eyes shut and opened her fist. He swept it up in his hands and lifted off her completely.
“Now, sit and dry off.”
He glanced down at his own shirt, soaked through from her body being pressed to his, then glanced at hers. He had to force himself to turn away from the way her linen shirt clung to her breasts, needing no imagination to envision their perfection. By God, she would be the death of him. He focused on the blade in his hand, inspecting the edge carefully.
“Your smith is skilled.”
“Yes,” she agreed, “he is.”
She curled her legs, knees up to her chin, and wrapped her arms around them. He dug around in her satchel and found a cloth. After wrapping the blade, he stuffed it in a saddlebag and buckled the bag, making sure she couldn’t easily access it again. Her boots and stockings sat nearby. He picked them up and tossed them to her.
The Black Lily (Tales of the Black Lily) Page 9
