by Lynn Viehl
Gabriel pulled her against him, holding her until she stopped struggling. “Never apologize to me for how you feel. When everyone had forgotten me, you found me. After all my kind took from you, you saved me. You brought me out of darkness, Nicola. How can you expect me to do nothing when you are lost in it?”
“I’m not lost.” She looked up at him. “I know exactly where I am, and what I am. Every time I see something like this, I know that could be me. I mean, come on; I’m really not that different from Helada, am I? What if someday I decide little kids are nothing but toys for me to play with?”
“You would never do anything like this,” he told her. “Not in a thousand lifetimes.”
She moved her shoulders. “Maybe you won’t be around to find out.”
He kissed her forehead. “I will always be with you.”
“Really? Do you honestly think we’re going to be together forever? That this thing we have now will keep us going that long?” She drew back from him. “Unless we’re stupid, we’re never going to die. You’ve already been here for seven hundred years. I know you’ve had women who make me look like a dog by comparison. How can you not get bored with me?”
He glanced down at the scars on his arms. “I could ask you the same.”
“That’s easy.” She ran her palms over his shoulders. “You’re beautiful and kind and intelligent, and just looking at you makes me hot. That and I love you.”
“As I love you,” he reminded her.
“You’re also the only other vampire on earth who is as fucked-up as I am.” She touched his chest, tracing the ridges of one of the scars he carried. “Humans did this to you. I know if they get the chance, they’ll do it again. But they won’t, because I will kill anyone who tries.”
Now he understood. “The Brethren are human, Nicola, but they declared war on us. Defending ourselves against them is not the same as what Helada did to those children.”
She rested her cheek against his shoulder. “I don’t know how much longer I can do this, Gabriel. Whatever Elizabeth did to me, I’m still human inside, and I won’t lose that. Not ever. If that means I have to leave the Kyn, you’re going to have to let me go.”
He stroked her back. “Then I will come with you.”
“Forgive the intrusion, my lord.”
Gabriel eyed the mortal male standing a few feet away. He spoke in French with an Italian accent, and on the lapel of his jacket he wore a black cameo etched with a rose, the symbol of the tresoran council. “Name yourself.”
“Sergio Benetta, my lord. Field operative of Padrone Ramas of the tresoran council.” He bowed low and then went down on one knee. “My master sent me and a dozen men to provide any assistance you and your lady might require.”
“Secure the premises and search the house. Remove all video recordings from the mirrored room in the east wing.” Gabriel looked down at Nicola. “Send them by private courier to Richard Tremayne. Keep your men here and wait for further instructions.”
“As you command, my lord.” Benetta stood, bowed again, and left.
Before Gabriel could speak, Nicola said, “We have to track Korvel, and it’s going to be light soon. We’ll talk later, okay?”
Gabriel heard the weariness in her voice, which troubled him as much as what she had said before Benetta had arrived. “The hill trails here are too narrow to drive. We’ll need horses; can you ride?”
She nodded. “There’s a barn full of them back that way.”
Once they had saddled and mounted two of the stock horses, they followed the track of Korvel’s scent out to the front gates and along the dirt path that circled around to the château’s side wall. There he spotted the hoof prints left behind by the mount that had carried Korvel away into the hills.
“The horse was carrying a heavy burden,” Gabriel said after inspecting the depth of the tracks. “I think it was the female mortal who walked alongside the mount.”
“She was probably leading it.” Nicola pointed to small, dark red stains forming an irregular line in the soil beside the mortal’s footprints. “That’s his blood.”
They rode through the hills until the trail came to an old manor house surrounded by several small outbuildings and large gleaned fields.
Gabriel dismounted along with Nicola, and tethered the horses to a fence before they approached the house from the back. As soon as he saw the clothing hanging in the yard—among them several nuns’ habits—he stopped. “This is a convent.”
“Maybe.” Nicola closed her eyes briefly. “Korvel was here, but he’s gone now.” She looked at Gabriel. “So is everyone else. The place is completely deserted.”
*
Saint Paul stood over the basket of clean laundry as he chewed on a shred of gray fabric. Beneath his hooves lay the rest of Simone’s best Sunday habit, along with all her white head veils.
She looked around the empty laundry before she spoke to the stubborn old goat. “That will only make you sick again.”
Saint Paul swallowed the fabric. “You should have killed me the first time,” he said in Pájaro’s voice before he bent his head and tore another strip from her skirt.
Through the window she saw a shadowy figure walking back and forth in the yard. Too large to be Flavia or any of the sisters, the shadow moved in a jerky, agitated fashion.
She went out into the moonlight and saw it was the Englishman. He held a bunch of white roses against the side of his face and was talking to himself.
“.…#x200B;the lines will be restored?” He stopped and scowled. “That is unacceptable. I don’t care about the storm.”
“Girl.”
Simone turned around and found herself out in the rose garden. Large, perfect blooms adorned every bush, but as she went to touch one it shrank in on itself, turning brown and then black as the entire bush withered.
A skeletal hand emerged from the soil and clamped around her ankle as her father’s voice whispered, “You will keep the bargain.”
Simone screamed, twisting and yanking as she tried to free herself, but the hand dragged her down, pulling her into the ground, into the earth, where everything was soft and silent and dark—
“Be still.”
She gripped the arms around her, expecting to feel bones but finding cool, hard muscle. The dirt smothering her paled and flattened into soft linen, and the heavy weight holding her down eased back as she stilled. Aware now that she lay facedown in a large, comfortable bed, she opened her eyes and rolled over as an arm reached past her to switch on a lamp.
She stared up at Korvel. “What happened?” She glanced around the lovely but unfamiliar room. “What is this place? Are we in Marseilles?”
“I brought you to a hotel in Avignon.” He studied her face. “Who attacked you at the rest stop?”
She touched the place where the assassin had clubbed her. The excruciating pain had vanished, along with the swelling. “I can’t say.” She sat up and assessed her surroundings. “How did you get a suite like this?”
“The way I usually obtain what I want from mortals.” The side of his mouth curled. “I compelled them to provide it, along with a doctor. I told him that you fell and struck your head. The owner and the hotel staff believe we are married.”
“We might as well be. Every time I wake up, I’m in bed with you.” Mortified by her own words, she put a hand over her eyes. “I apologize, my lord.”
A phone nearby rang, and the bed rose slightly as Korvel went to answer it. She listened, but he spoke only a few low words before hanging up.
The sound of something rolling across the floor made Simone lift her hand. Korvel brought a white cloth-draped cart to her side of the bed; the top of the cart lay covered with porcelain plates topped by ornate silver domes. Two crystal goblets sparkled on either side of a bottle of dark wine and a small pitcher of clear water.
“I have been attempting to contact the high lord, but a storm has cut off communications to the island.” He uncovered two of the plates, which we
re filled with fruit, cheese, and bread, and reached beneath the linen to take out a tray for the bed.
She sat up and watched as he set the tray over her lap and transferred one of the plates. “What are you doing?”
“The doctor said you should eat and drink something after you awoke,” he said as he filled one of the goblets with water and set it beside the plate. “If this is not to your liking I will bring you the menu.”
“I appreciate your consideration,” she said, “but I’m not hungry, and we need to get back on the motorway.”
“It will be dawn soon. You will have the day to rest and regain your strength. No,” he said as she started to get out of bed. “Traveling in the daylight will also weaken me.”
“You need blood.”
“That can wait as well.” He took a raspberry from the plate and held it in front of her lips. “If I must, I will pinch your nose.”
She reached up to take it from him, but he caught her wrist. “I can feed myself,” she told him.
Glints of violet shimmered in the blue of his eyes. “Open your mouth, angel.”
Simone parted her lips, and he pressed the raspberry between them. As she bit down, the berry’s fragrant juices filled her mouth, so sweet and luscious she felt almost decadent.
“I remember these.” Korvel watched her mouth. “Do they still taste like wine and dark roses?”
“I can’t say. I’ve never eaten a flower.” Her throat felt tight, and she picked up the goblet of water and sipped from it. As she did, she smelled something faint and acrid, and realized the assassin’s sweat was still on her skin. “I would like to bathe.”
Korvel helped her up from the bed. “Do you require my assistance?”
The thought of his big hands on her naked body made her knees turn to jelly. “Thank you, Captain, but I can manage.”
She walked calmly across the room, and only when she closed the bathroom door between them did she give in to the weakness of her limbs and slide to the floor.
Pain she could overcome. Her training had taught her how to withstand the debilitating effects of injury as well as hunger, thirst, and exhaustion. But this was something else, something she had never felt. She wanted to be naked in the captain’s arms again, so that he could touch her the way he had back at the convent. She wanted it so much she was shaking with it.
If she did not regain control of her body it would betray her and render her useless.
Simone got up and went to the sink. The hotel had provided an enormous beribboned basket filled with pretty soaps, lotions, and other toiletries, and from it she took a soft cloth and soaked it under the tap.
The wet cloth cooled her hot face and cleared some of the frantic emotion from her mind. She would offer him sex again, and this time he would use her, and that would extinguish this unbearable longing.
But that had been Pájaro’s sin: using the excuse of duty to indulge his own vices. She had seen the excitement in his eyes whenever he had stepped into the circle with her or one of her brothers. Hurting others gave him pleasure; he had taught her that the night he had come to her room.
Simone had no illusions about herself. She might live as a nun, but she was the daughter of a ruthless killer and a drug-addicted prostitute. She had so feared becoming like her father that she had forgotten her mother’s blood also ran in her veins. Korvel had simply opened her eyes to the other half of her nature.
A close examination of her scalp in the mirror revealed no evidence of injury, although Simone found some flecks of dried blood in her hair. She had a blurred memory of Korvel wounding himself as he took away her copper dagger; the blood was likely his. That would explain her missing injury, if he had offered some of his blood to heal her. She brought a few strands to her nose and breathed in his scent.
She stepped into the shower to scrub the assassin’s sweat from her body and the smell of Korvel from her hair. Once she dried off, she combed out and wove her hair into a long braid, tying off the end with a piece of ribbon from the basket.
Calmer now, Simone put on one of the clean, fluffy white robes hanging by the shower and readied herself to face Korvel again. Now that she had defined what was happening to her, she could pass through it and move beyond it. Desire was hardly different from a knife wound; both simply caused weakness and pain. Given time and care, both faded and were forgotten.
She stepped out into the bedroom to see that he had drawn all the drapes and switched off the lamps. It took her a moment to locate him where he lay on the bed. She moved silently until she could see his face, his brilliant eyes closed now, his chest barely moving.
He had fallen asleep.
Deciding she was relieved, not disappointed, Simone retreated to the broad, curved lounge by the windows. She sat on one end, where she could see Korvel and the door. The padded armrest made a somewhat comfortable pillow for her head, and when she curled up the robe covered her bare legs and feet.
Simone closed her eyes, clearing her thoughts of everything but the need to wake in a few hours, and then drifted off.
Chapter 9
K
orvel watched the nun fall asleep. His own need to rest remained, a sullen weight inside his head, but it could not overcome the stronger, more immediate demands of his body.
While she had bathed he had struck a bargain with his conscience: When she returned to the bed, he would determine whether she was aroused or frightened by him. If she feared his attentions, he would take his rest in the other room. If she wanted him, he would show her every pleasure that convent life had denied her.
Now she slept ten feet away, and his curiosity remained unsatisfied.
Because Simone was mortal, Korvel could not enter her dreams, or lure her into his. Nor could he bind her to him as his sygkenis. Although it would have been easier, he was glad Simone remained immune to his abilities and influence. If she ever chose to come to him, to give herself to him, it would be of her own accord.
He reached down to palm the bulge beneath the front of his trousers. His penis felt like an iron club, his pulse hammering beneath the head, and it showed no signs of subsiding. Korvel almost released it to deal with it himself, until he imagined the depths of the hell he would burn in if the nun woke to find him watching her as he stroked himself.
His cock thought it a fair trade and swelled another inch.
He got up to move into the next room, and Simone shifted, turning slightly. The white robe she wore fell open just enough to show the bend of her knee and the curve of one thigh. The fragrance of her body altered as well, growing deeper and sweeter, like herbs covered in dew at the first touch of dawn’s light.
That is not the scent of fear.
Korvel moved to the lounge, easing down beside her, not certain of what he meant to do but unable to stop himself just the same. He reached for a fold of her robe so he could cover her legs, and watched his hand draw it back, exposing more of her thigh. She had strong legs, smoothly muscled, the pale flesh sheened by tiny, almost invisible blond hairs. Like the women in the time of his mortal life, she must have never put a razor to her legs.
Korvel wanted to feel that sweet velvet against his cheek, his lips, his belly. His dents acérées slid slowly into his mouth, full and aching, demanding another taste of her, and he had to look away until he could master the beast inside him.
Simone made a soft sound, drawing his attention back to her, and he saw that her eyes were open but unfocused. “Captain?” she murmured.
“Yes, sister.” He bent over her, releasing his scent so he could see her eyes go dark. “It’s me.”
She reached for him, finding his wrist, bringing his hand to her cheek. “Thought you were sleeping.”
If she only knew what had kept him awake, she would run from the room shrieking. “I must go. I will return soon.”
“Don’t.” She held on to him. “Don’t leave me again.”
He could release himself from her grip with barely a flick of a muscle; yet he felt
as bound to her as if they were chained in copper. “The drugs are still affecting you.”
“No.” Her eyes, clear and bright now, held his. “Not anymore. It’s you. You make me feel this longing.”
Her scent did not change; she was speaking the truth. He wouldn’t allow himself to take her, but he could attend to her needs. “I want to touch you and give you pleasure. This will please me as well. If you do not want this, I will leave and see to my own needs. You have but to tell me what you want, my angel.”
Her hand left his wrist, and Korvel started to rise. He stopped as he watched her hands move down to the belt of her robe and untie it.
He felt a moment of shocked uncertainty, as if she had stripped the centuries away and made him mortal again. Perhaps it was fitting that a nun who had never known a man could reduce him to the state of an awkward adolescent with his first woman.
She pulled apart the robe, baring her breasts and belly and thighs to his gaze. He wanted to open the drapes and allow the dawn to illuminate every inch of her so he could see her skin in sunlight. He didn’t care that it would further weaken him, but such a thing would doubtless embarrass her. He wanted her to remember this interlude with nothing but delight.
Afraid he would lose his head and pounce on her, Korvel moved from the lounge to kneel on the floor. She turned toward him, shifting down to pillow her head on one arm and stretch out full-length.
“You do not belong in this world.” Using one fingertip, he traced the ridge of her collarbone, following it up to her shoulder and down the side of her arm. “In my time men would have taken up the sword and the lance to win your favor.”
“No need,” she murmured. “You have mine.”
Korvel found the end of her braid and removed the ribbon, unwinding the long, thick cable until he could drape her with the vibrant strands. He felt her palm graze his cheek as she curled a strand of his short hair around her fingertip.
