Marius glared at Nikolai. “How do you keep doing that?”
“Doing what?”
“Knowing exactly when I’m thinking of her.”
“Because you have this ridiculous besotted expression on your face. You really are in a bad way, aren’t you?”
Marius sighed. “Do you ever think of Cutters Cove?”
“Trying to change the subject, are you?”
“Yes. But I do miss that place.”
“Do you miss my father beating us into submission until we were properly trained in the skills of arms and hunting?”
“Dearly,” said Marius with a laugh. “Don’t you ever miss those days when we were young and carefree?”
“Gods no. And I certainly don’t miss that horrid place. Too much sand. And sun.”
“Damn, you’re an ornery old man.”
“Twenty years your senior. And don’t you forget it.”
“Old.”
“More experienced. And either way, we are neither of us young or carefree anymore.”
“Too true,” said Marius, sobering. The weight of the blood madness infecting vampires in the royal palace felt heavy. Especially after knowing it was the cause of Arabelle’s distress and the reason she’d attempted to kill him. He couldn’t help admire her for it. The courage it must’ve taken for a peasant to disguise herself and venture into the lion’s den to kill the king of beasts. Remarkable.
He waved Winston over.
“Another round, Your Highness?”
“Yes,” replied Nikolai for him.
“I wondered if we might have a word with you, Winston. An honest word.”
Winston’s gray hair was thinning and his grizzled beard was white. His shoulders stooped forward, though his thick frame showed he had been a formidable man in his youth. He had a twinkle in his eye that sparked of both wisdom and caution, the kind of look rarely seen, except in those humans who had lived long enough to know what to say and when to say it.
“I’ll give you an honest word, Your Highness. If you’ll not punish me for it.”
“Why would I punish you for it?”
The old man didn’t answer. Nikolai bore a questioning look as well. Tension crackled between the barkeep and the two vampires. Every human he spoke to was on edge and in fear for their well-being. Had he been so blind that he hadn’t noticed this growing strain between himself and his people? Of course, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d come down from the palace and had an ale in the pub.
“Never mind,” said Marius. “It’s come to my attention that at least one person, a farmer from Hiddleston, was killed at the palace.”
Winston didn’t appear surprised, bracing one thick-knuckled hand on the bar.
Marius continued. “I am also aware that it was a vampire who was the perpetrator, and I aim to discover who he is.”
“I don’t see how I can help.”
“You don’t even appear shocked that this happened,” noted Nikolai.
Winston glanced between the two men, coming to rest on Marius.
“Nay. ’Tis no surprise to me. Happened more than once. It’ll happen again. The only surprise is the prince is down here in the village telling a barkeep about it.”
“It’s no surprise to you?” asked Nikolai, his voice gruff with strain. “Why the bloody hell didn’t you tell anyone there were others?”
Marius put a hand to Nikolai’s chest as the man rose off his stool.
“When else has this happened?” asked Marius. “Please tell us what you know.”
Winston leaned back against the barrel of ale behind him and scratched his beard.
“There were stories of two disappearances last spring from over in Terrington.”
“Terrington?” Marius balked. “That’s in the northern provinces. Near my cousin.”
“And your brother,” added Nikolai pointedly.
“Aye,” said Winston. “I’ve got a sister from Terrington who visits each summer. She told me of two blokes out hunting. Never came back, but they found their campsite bloodied to hell. Some thought wolves, but wolves don’t hide their prey once they’re done. Seemed someone didn’t want the bodies found.”
Marius rubbed the scruff at his chin, wondering if Friedrich knew of these disappearances.
Winston continued. “And then there was the servant girl over at my master’s, the Sterling House, last year. That was a tragedy. Sweet young thing. A traveler stopped in from Hiddleston not long ago, asking if we’d seen his son on the road, delivering vegetables up to the palace. The boy never returned home.”
Marius and Nikolai shared a glance. That was certainly Barbara’s discovery in the back alley.
“And, oh yes, that sweet lass with her sister who stayed in the dressmaker’s extra room one night, right up the road. The two girls disappeared in the night. The old woman found nothing but their clothes and bags left in their room. Even the dresses they’d worn the day before were still hung in the wardrobe.”
“That happened here? In Sylus?” asked Marius, incredulous.
“Oh, aye. That was almost two years ago.”
Marius dug in his pocket and tossed more than a few sovereigns on the bar.
“Thank you, Winston. I appreciate your candor. Let’s go, Nikolai.”
Marius could sense the rage thrumming through his friend’s frame and needed to get him out of the pub. While Marius was good at keeping his temper, Nikolai was not. They both stormed for the door.
“Your Highness?”
“Yes.” He spun to face the old man who seemed genuinely perplexed. “Did you really never know this was all happening?”
He swallowed the rage mounting in his chest, never knowing he’d been as ignorant as a babe, kept well and high in his tower above the fray of murders and mayhem among his people.
“No, Winston. I did not. But I know now. And there will be hell to pay for the vampires who have committed these crimes.”
He sensed a shift in the atmosphere and caught a hint of a smile from the old man as he ducked out of the door.
“Unbelievable,” growled Nikolai, unhitching his horse’s reins from the post.
Marius could hardly fathom all that he’d learned today. Part of his anger aimed toward his parents, specifically his mother, who’d always tried to veer him away from lowering himself to meet his people eye to eye. It was just this sort of segregated nonsense that he should remain above them all that had kept him from the truth that his people had needed him. And he’d been failing them all along.
“Should we go to the dressmaker and question her about the girls?”
“Not now,” answered Marius, still fuming. “We need to go when we both can reason. Right now I need a ride through the fields. A fast ride.”
“I need a bout in the practice yard. My sword hand is itching. Do you want company?”
“No. You go on. I’ll meet you back at the palace.”
“Right.”
Nikolai spurred his mount into a full gallop up the gravel road toward the Glass Tower. Marius wheeled Erebus off the path and into the open fields, which rolled away from Sylus. He needed air and wind blowing against him to calm his fractured nerves.
He clicked and Erebus sped away, moving at a furious pace along the brook behind the shops, veering farther out till he could hear no sound from the village at all. The cool afternoon air whipped against him. He leaned forward and heeled his horse again, flying over the rise and down the hill, when something moved in his peripheral vision but disappeared over the rise to his right.
“Whoa.”
He slowed Erebus and steered him toward whatever he’d seen and missed. A familiar whinny rose into the air. When he made the rise of the hill, he caught sight of Arabelle’s horse, still riderless, trotting back toward Sylus.
“Hello, there.”
She must’ve gotten lost in the woods when she’d reared and fled away. A broken bramble still clung to her mane.
Marius followed from a distance,
realizing the horse was returning back to the Pervis estate. He continued to follow the mare as the sun slid farther below the horizon, casting the rolling hills in a lavender-pink haze. He recognized the tiny shack with its little flat roof as he meandered up the worn path along the backside of the property.
He pulled his mount to a stop while he watched the mare trot toward her home and enter the open paddock. Scanning the perimeter, he saw no sign of anyone. He remembered Arabelle’s affection for her horse. Reaching out with his senses, he didn’t smell or hear anyone nearby or inside the hut. Something compelled him forward.
Steering Erebus farther back into the woods, he dismounted and tethered him to a tree, then skirted the path until he came up behind the hovel. He eased up to Arabelle’s horse, who whickered at his approach but made no sign she was startled by his presence. Actually, she appeared the opposite. He whispered soft, crooning words and ran a hand over her muzzle then picked the thorny piece of bramble from her mane. There were a few smaller pieces he managed to remove as well, noting fine scratch marks along her neck, shoulder, and haunches. She’d apparently found her way into a thick bramble and couldn’t get out so easily.
“There now,” he whispered as the mare’s eyes slid closed, seemingly content now that she was home.
Marius approached the hut and entered, remembering to duck in the doorway. He closed the door behind him, and the setting sun cast a ray of light in through the window. Dust motes floated in the afternoon air. The room was even colder than the first time he’d come here, seeking answers about the woman who’d tried to kill him and who’d captured his fascination. He pondered Nikolai’s remarks about his constant daydreaming of her and wondered whether she’d captured even more of him.
Sitting on her bed, he splayed a hand on her small pillow and tried to imagine the fiery woman he knew laying her head down here every night in this dank little hovel. A pain pinched inside his chest. He lifted the pillow to his nose and inhaled. Her scent was so strong, seeping into every part of him. His pulse raced as he set the pillow in his lap and laughed at himself. Here he was, the last Prince of Varis, who could have any woman in the kingdom, except the one he yearned for most of all. Pathetic.
No, it was more than that. She was the only woman he yearned for at all, who could satisfy him now. He hadn’t fed in days, and he had no desire to do so. The only one who tempted him would rather see him dead. He went to put the pillow back when he saw what had apparently been underneath it.
Picking up the familiar tome, he read, “The Perils of Class Society.”
She wasn’t lying that night at the ball when she said she’d read it. Of course she had. The author advocated for a balance of classes, exactly what the Black Lily wanted. Well, that and death to all vampires.
Marius opened the book to a folded page, noting an underlined passage.
A balance of equality among classes does not mean all people are equal in terms of property and wealth. Rather, it is the opportunity to gain wealth and a strong livelihood that separates tyranny from equality. It is the individual who determines his fate, who steps out into the world and makes it his own. Equality provides this opportunity. The individual makes the choice to use his gifts well and make his world a better place. Or not.
A twig snapped in the yard. Marius jerked his head up, set the book down, and eased toward the window. He could smell her before he even peeked through the glass.
Arabelle stood in the shadows of the tree hanging above the paddock and patted her mare on the neck. He could barely make out her figure as the sun had fully set. She seemed to be observing the marks on her horse, then she moved toward the shack.
Stepping to the side of the door, he waited, heart in his throat. The door creaked open, but she hesitated. He heard the zing of a short blade being drawn. As soon as she crossed the threshold, he grabbed her wrist and yanked her inside, slamming the door shut. She yelped. With a swift movement, he had her by the wrists, pinned against the wall and facing him.
Upon seeing her captor, she closed her eyes and mouthed a nasty epithet before saying, “This seems familiar.”
“Drop your blade. Now.”
Marius’s canines extended the second he touched her skin. His inner beast—hungry and wanting—demanded obedience. Take her. Whispers from the animal inside swirled in his head as he fought to regain control, wanting to sink his fangs into her pretty neck, the urge driving him near mad.
Keeping her mouth shut as if she sensed he rode the edge of fury, she dropped the dagger. Her chest rose and fell swiftly.
“What now? To the dungeon?”
Breathless, she notched her chin up higher in defiance. He kicked her blade back with his heel, knocking it against the grate in the fireplace. Then he loosened his grip, sliding his hands down her bare forearms, up to her shoulders and along the side of her breasts and her ribcage, landing on her hips.
“What are you doing?” she asked, breathless.
“Checking for more weapons.”
“I have no more.”
He scoffed. “That’s where you’re wrong.” He squeezed her hips. Her eyes slid closed and she dropped her head to the wall. “You have more than one weapon.” He nuzzled her neck and whispered in her ear, the words grinding out in pain. “And it’s killing me slowly.”
He brushed his lips up the side of her neck, waiting for her to push him away or slap him for this intimate intrusion. She didn’t. So he tasted with his tongue, opening his mouth on her pulse and sucking softly, longing to bite and taste even more.
“So sweet, Arabelle.” He skimmed the bridge of his nose up her neck and nipped her jaw. “I want you.” He moved to the other side and placed an open-mouthed kiss on her neck just beneath her jaw. “I have since the moment I saw you.”
She was panting now, her chest rising and falling, breasts pushing against her corset.
He traced a finger over the mound of one breast along the lining of her blouse, her soft skin a sinful temptation. “I want to kiss you right here.” He lifted his head away enough to see her eyes were open and fully dilated, her lips parted. “I want to kiss you everywhere.” He cupped the breast he’d been teasing, letting his thumb trail over the exposed flesh at the top. She whimpered. “I want to taste and suck every part of you.” He ground his cock against her pelvis. “And I want to hear you say my name when I make you come.”
“Please—” She was about to say more, but then she curled her bottom lip into her mouth and bit down. Marius held himself in tight control, even as he sensed it slipping. He wanted her to ask for it with that sweet mouth of hers, the one that defied him openly at every turn.
“Please, what. Don’t tell me you don’t want me. I can smell your desire.”
She closed her eyes. He tightened his hold on her hip, pressing his thumb into her pelvic bone.
“I know that if I slip my hand up under your skirt”—he pressed his cock against her and sucked her earlobe with a tug—“I’ll find you nice and wet between your legs…for me.”
“Please, Marius.”
“Please, Marius, what?” He trailed his tongue down her neck and opened his mouth on her collarbone, loving that he could see his marks on her pale skin, even in the dark. Possessive need squeezed him with an iron grip. “Tell me what you want, Arabelle.”
Her hand curled into his hair. He lifted up to meet her gaze.
Panic skated across her eyes, mixed with desire and something else. He hovered so close, their breaths mingled, but he wouldn’t give in till she asked for it. He could sense his slow petting and dirty words were winding her body tighter.
This time, he let his voice roll deep, putting power behind his command. “Tell me, Arabelle.”
Her gaze flicked to his mouth, her tongue wetting her bottom lip. His cock jerked, straining against his trousers.
Just when he thought she might push him away, she whispered, “Kiss me.” Soft and fragile and barely a wisp on the wind, her quiet demand nearly knocked him to the flo
or.
A floodgate of emotion broke through a wall inside Marius’s chest. He could hardly think as he crushed his mouth against hers, wrapping her nape with one hand and holding her still as he angled his mouth to go deeper.
Deeper. He wanted more, so much more. He squeezed her breast again, harder. She moaned, and he echoed her sweet sound of pleasure. His hands roamed over her frame, gliding to her bottom. He liked this dress, made of a thin fabric with no underskirts, so he could mold her perfect, round ass and pull her against his hard body.
He darted his tongue inside, groaning. Nothing but sweet, wet heat and soft curves, her intoxicating scent filling his lungs.
“Bloody hell,” he ground against her lips before slanting his mouth to the other side for another deep drink of her.
She met his desperation, pressing her soft lips more firmly against his, then crooked one knee up to his hip. An invitation to be sure. He slid his hand under her skirt and up her leg, holding fast to her soft bare thigh, pressing his cock to the V of her sex, the friction a delicious temptation all its own.
She broke the kiss and nipped down his neck. “What are you doing to me? Hypnotizing me?”
He choked on a laugh as she pulled too hard on his shirt and popped the top button, then she kissed his chest, licking out with her tongue, tasting him as desperately as he did her. Blinded by desire, he ground his pelvis into her again, relishing her soft moaning response. She wanted him. And the thought sent his mind reeling.
“I’m a vampire not a sorcerer.”
She popped open another button and licked over his pectoral. He’d never had a woman touch him or kiss him like this, all of them being too submissive to attempt this sort of sensual play. She rocked her hips up, rubbing her sex against his cock in a daring manner.
He clutched his hand in her hair and tilted her face up with a gentle tug. Her lips opened, beckoning him. “What are you doing to me?” He sucked on her lower lip. “Bewitching me?”
“I am no witch,” she countered. “Just a woman.”
She ground her sex harder against him with a mewling whimper. He kissed her deeply then softened his hold, whispering against her lips, “And what a woman you are, Arabelle.”
The Black Lily (Tales of the Black Lily) Page 15
