Nightborn: Lords of the Darkyn

by Lynn Viehl

  She had such an absorbed look on her face that he had to ask, “What are you thinking?”

  “The red in your hair is fading,” she murmured. “Soon it will be blond again. If you were human, our babies would all be fair.”

  The thought of his child swelling inside her made him feel a surge of regret. “As I am, I cannot give you children.”

  She glanced down and touched two of the slanted ridges on her belly. “Even if you could, I can never conceive.”

  He covered one scar with his hand. Given the circumstances of his own birth, he had never regretted being rendered infertile by the change, but he knew most mortal females desired children. “I am sorry to know that.”

  “Don’t be.” Her eyes shifted to his. “What do you want me to do?”

  “Close your eyes.” When she did, he brushed the ends of her hair across her lower lip. “Do you feel that?”

  “Yes.”

  “That is what I want.” He let her hair sift through his fingers before he put them to her face, following the sweep of her brows around to the arch of her cheekbones, the slant of her nose to the cusp above her upper lip. Her mouth parted for his fingers as he traced its contours before he feathered a caress along the line of her jaw and down the hollows of her throat.

  Korvel saw her lashes flutter as she felt his breath on her body. “Tell me what you feel.”

  “I ache inside. It feels like fever, but I’m not sick.” She dampened her lips. “I want to open my eyes.”

  “Not yet.” He bent his head, stroking his tongue over the swollen peak of her breast before he blew a breath across it to watch the damp tip bead. “You ache here, don’t you?” When she nodded, he curved his hand around the flushed mound. “This is what you need.”

  He put his lips to her hard nipple, working his tongue over it. As he suckled, he moved his hand down to her waist, and then to her thigh. He stroked the tight muscle in time with the tug of his mouth, until her legs relaxed and her hips shifted. The scent of her arousal rushed over him as he brought his hand to rest over the curls of her mound. When he parted her with his finger, she jolted, her breast escaping his lips and her hand curling into his hair.

  Korvel kept his hand where it was and turned his face to kiss her palm. “You feel the ache there, beneath my hand, don’t you?”

  “If I say yes,” she asked, her voice low and tight, “are you going to put your mouth there?”

  “You have to say yes to find out.” He stroked his fingers between her folds so that she heard the sound of her own slickness. “I want to feel you on my tongue.” He bent his head, and she felt his words against the skin of her belly. “Say yes, Simone, and I’ll make the aching go away.”

  She trembled and covered her face with her hand, but finally she whispered to him, “Yes.”

  Korvel slid his hands under her hips, bringing her to his mouth, stroking her open with his tongue and tasting the sweet wetness of her need. Her position on the lounge prevented him from spreading her thighs, so he took his mouth away and dragged her down to the carpet, pressing her knees up and back as he settled between her legs, his head dipping so he could get at her sex, his tongue licking at the tight ellipse at her heart before he laved his way to the hard knot of her clit, nudging back the tiny hood to expose it before he caressed and sucked.

  Her nails scored the carpet, and she made a low, wailing sound, but even as her body writhed, her hands curled in his hair, tightening with every lash of his tongue. Korvel felt her foot brush the pulsing ridge of his penis and reached down, tearing open his trousers to free his cock. He caught her foot and brought it to his shaft, using the delicate arch of her instep against the tight sheath of his foreskin.

  To keep from rising up and shoving his penis into her sweet dampness, he shifted down and pushed his tongue into her, sliding it back and forth as he fucked her with his mouth. The tips of his dents acérées grazed the tender flesh plumped out by his penetrating kiss, spilling a few drops of her blood, and Simone cried out, her body vibrating with the force of her pleasure.

  Korvel drove her through that climax and brought her to another, and then rolled away as she went limp, licking the taste from his lips as he wrapped his fist around his shaft. He stroked hard and slow, and then felt her move, and the light, warm touch of her hand on his fist. He groaned as she threaded her fingers through his, and together they stroked, up and down, harder and faster, until he brought her hand up to his cock head and spilled himself against her fingers.

  When Korvel found the strength to turn his head, he saw Simone on her side, her hand still resting with his at his crotch, her eyes almost closed. “You did not have to do that for me.”

  “I wanted to. I liked feeling you in my hand.” She closed her eyes.

  Korvel took her hand and wiped his seed away with the hem of her robe, and then lifted her and carried her to the bed. He wanted to take his rest beside her, but he had done too much to her already. If he woke with Simone naked in his arms he would be inside her before he knew what he was doing.

  He made himself as comfortable as he could on the lounge, which still smelled of her, and fell asleep wondering what she would say to him tonight when he awoke.

  Golden swans found Simone floating in a pool of warmth and swarmed around her, cooing in low voices as they extended their wings and wrapped her in their soft feathers. Charmed by the unlikely attention, she reached to pet them, caressing their long necks and curved backs. On the other side of the darkness they would have attacked her, hissing and pecking, but here they belonged to her, a living garment of gilded beauty, and shielded her against some great unknown presence lurking just out of her sight.

  The swans stretched, their necks twining around her arms and legs, coiling and merging until they flattened into golden armor. A two-handed sword forged of copper appeared in the sky above her, shining in the dark like a beacon, and turned slowly as it fell, end over end, until she reached up with her gauntlet and caught the hilt.

  Come to me, girl.

  Simone rose from the waters, the heavy chain mail draping her skull shifting, the leather soles of her boots finding hard-packed barren soil. The dark figure that emerged from the shadows wore the robe of a monk but carried the hammer of a smith.

  His green eyes glowed, emeralds set in rubies, and the smile he gave her displayed the long, sharp ivory of his dents acérées. The assassin and the whore are dead. You belong to me now, girl. You and your sisters.

  I don’t have any sisters. Simone felt bewildered. Who are you?

  I was the maker of the scroll, and it was I who washed it in my blood.

  Simone suddenly understood who he was. You were the smith.

  Once my mortal kin numbered in the thousands. The monk circled around her. You and your mortal family were my army, my guardians, each sworn to protect the secrets of eternity. Now you number but three. You will not fail me as your father did.

  Simone lowered the sword. I will not kill for you, Cristophe.

  You have the courage to protect the mortal world from eternal damnation. He grabbed the sword, wrenching it from her hand and throwing it into the water. He reached out to her face, and Simone saw blood dripping from the deep gashes across his fingers and palm. But do you have the strength to do what needs be done?

  I will keep my word.

  The armor writhed against her body as her legs slowly sank into the earth. One by one the golden swans released themselves from their Celtic coils, spreading their great glowing wings to glide away, leaving Simone hip-deep in the muddy shore. She held out her hand to the monk, but he had become a statue of blackened copper, his sightless eyes weeping blood.

  As the mud oozed over her shoulders, Simone struggled, fighting to free her arms, but the earth held her in a tight embrace, pulling her down until she was swallowed alive in its grave—

  “No.”

  Fabric tore as she ripped her way out of the smothering cocoon, gulping air as she flung away the bed linens and push
ed herself over the edge of the bed. She had not been buried alive; it had been only a nightmare. She was still in the hotel in Avignon.

  “Captain?”

  He had left her there alone, Simone soon discovered after a brief search of the suite. Outside the windows, only stars lit the sky; she must have slept through the entire day.

  Too much sleep, she thought, stretching her stiff limbs, and then felt an unusual tenderness between her thighs. All at once the memory of what she had done with Korvel came over her, and she sat down on the lounge and stared at the carpet.

  She remembered his coming to her as she lay half-asleep on the lounge, and the gentle way he had spoken to her. Only when he had told her he was leaving had she shaken off the drowsiness. The thought of him with another woman had caused a strange panic to come over her. She had not meant to confess her desire for him so bluntly, but she could not regret it now.

  The sisters had shared their knowledge of everything, including the ways of men, but hearing a blind woman describe attending to her lord was not anything like being touched by Korvel. What he had done had been tender and shocking and nothing like what she had been taught to do. Her face grew hot as she recalled the moment when he had pulled her from the lounge. If he had not dragged her to the floor, she might have flung herself on top of him.

  Simone still did not understand why he would do all of that to her and yet not expect her to give him sex in return. If she had not realized that he was relieving himself, he would have completed the act on his own.

  He could not think her undesirable, not when he had ravished her with his mouth as he had. Did he never lie with human women? Darkyn females might possess some physical talent that Simone did not. Perhaps her scarred body repelled him.

  Was that why he had left her to wake alone? Was he so disgusted by her or what had happened between them that he had to seek out another woman? She had done almost nothing for him, but she had thought that was what he wanted.

  I don’t know what he wants. But when he returns, I will find out and give it to him.

  Her empty stomach made her look for the cart of food from last night, but when she found it in the front room she found a four-course meal under the silver domes. Beside the entrée plate lay a handwritten note and a room charge card beside the room service menu.

  After you dine, go to the hotel boutique and purchase a dress for yourself. I will return in a few hours.

  She put down the note, annoyed by his order. There was nothing wrong with her clothes; she had no need to go shopping. He’d been foolish to leave her behind. He knew nothing about Avignon, and his French was terrible; he should have woken her and taken her with him.

  She ate quickly, just enough to quiet her belly, before she washed, dressed, and braided her hair. On her way out of the suite she hesitated and then pocketed the room charge card. She didn’t need a new dress, but some hairpins would be helpful.

  She took the elevator down to the lobby, where she stood out of sight behind a potted plant in order to inspect the faces of the guests, the pretty young women behind the reception counter, and the dignified middle-aged man speaking on the phone at the concierge’s desk.

  She went to the man, who ended his call abruptly and regarded her with his brows raised.

  “Madame, how may I be of assistance?” His cool, lofty tone indicated that showing her the exit might be the only service he was interested in performing.

  “My husband and I are staying in the Napoleon suite,” she told him, allowing him a moment to compose himself. “He left a short time ago but did not tell me where he was going.” She gave him a brief description of Korvel, and then asked, “Did he happen to ask you for directions anywhere?”

  “Non, madame. I did not have the pleasure of speaking with your husband.” The concierge’s eyes shifted to the left. “If you wish, I can ask him to call your suite when he has, ah, completed his business.”

  He had told the man to lie for him? “That won’t be necessary.”

  Simone walked to the left side of the lobby and heard the faint sounds of laughter and music coming from a corridor behind reception.

  The concierge appeared in front of her. “I know madame would enjoy a complimentary visit to our spa.” He produced a coupon with a flourish. “I will be happy to escort you there now.”

  She watched over his shoulder as a couple came walking out of the corridor. Both carried drinks and looked happily inebriated. “What is down there?”

  “It is our nightclub, but at this hour it is very crowded.” He took her elbow in an attempt to steer her back toward the lobby. “Did you know that our spa is the finest in all of Avignon, madame? Our masseuse, Claude, was trained in the Far East, and can help you relax—”

  She shook him off and strode down the corridor, stopping at the open entrance to a large, dimly lit bar.

  A mirrored ball surrounded by rolling lights flashed as it slowly spun above a dance floor filled with gyrating guests. Several men in suits stood clustered around two islands where bartenders in red satin vests and white shirts flipped bottles to fill glasses, while cocktail waitresses in red satin miniskirts and white vests carried trays of drinks out to the guests sitting at tables. Women wearing the scantiest of dresses orbited the dance floor and flirted with the men at the twin bars.

  Simone surveyed the interior of the club until she spotted a group of five crowded around a corner table. One of the rolling lights briefly shone on the group, revealing four women’s rapt faces and the short, copper-colored hair of the man sitting in the center of them. The man caught the wrist of one of the women and brought it to his lips.

  Korvel.

  Simone walked inside, moving out of sight behind one of the bars as she chose a path that would take her closer to Korvel and his new friends. Men turned in her wake, and a few tried to speak to her, but she ignored them as she crossed to a column and used its shadow as cover.

  The four women surrounding Korvel seemed mesmerized by his face, as they stared only at him, their painted mouths smiling, their hands caressing his arms and shoulders. One insinuated herself under his arm, rubbing her breast into his side as she pushed her fingers into the open collar of his shirt. He turned to her, tipping her chin up before he put his mouth to the top of her breast.

  Simone retreated, striding out of the club and back to the lobby. As soon as he saw her the concierge hurried over.

  “Madame, if you will permit me, I will—”

  “Where is the hotel boutique located?” she asked in as pleasant a voice as she could get through her teeth.

  “Ah, it is on the basement level. We have a wonderful array of evening dresses, and I will be delighted to—”

  Simone stalked toward the elevator, taking it down to the basement level, where she made her way past the gift and convenience shops to the glass storefront of the boutique. Two elegantly skeletal mannequins displayed evening dresses; one was a long steel blue gown with an angora wrap, the other a strapless tube of bloodred silk with a plunging neckline and side panels of scarlet lace that revealed the body from breast to thigh.

  The shop attendant met her just inside, and only directed one arched brow at her clothing. “May I be of assistance, madame?”

  “I need shoes, stockings, and undergarments.” Simone pointed to one of the mannequins. “And that dress.”

  Chapter 10

  “W

  e should go to my room,” Amelia the brunette said, her breath hot against Korvel’s ear. “I have a very large bed and a bottle of champagne on ice.”

  “I’ll join you two,” Tina, the redheaded American, offered as she stroked his thigh. “A big guy like you needs all the girls he can get, right?”

  “You can’t leave me behind,” Francesca said, shaking her short black curls as her red lips pouted.

  “I want to go, too,” Keisha, the dark-skinned girl, chimed in with her sultry islander accent.

  Bored, Korvel looked out at the dance floor. The small amounts of b
lood he had discreetly taken from each of the four women had sated his hunger; he had no interest in sampling any of their other delights. He had lingered here too long, and needed to return to the suite to check on Simone. He also wished he could do anything else but that.

  By now she is awake, he thought as he absently reached down to prevent Tina from slipping her hand into his trousers. She will find the meal and the note I left for her. Once she has eaten and bathed she will probably go to the boutique. All women like pretty clothes. She will think nothing of my absence. Or she will think I am too craven to face her after using her.

  Unable to bear his own thoughts, Korvel borrowed a mobile phone from one of the women and tried to call Ireland. The answering static frustrated him on a completely different level, for by now the high lord would know something was amiss.

  Death had been the only thing that could break the oath Korvel had made as a human to Richard. When his still-human master had returned suffering with plague from the Holy Land, he had summoned Korvel to his chamber, and asked that only he tend to him. And so Korvel had, for a day and night, before succumbing to the same sickness.

  Days passed in a feverish blur, but Korvel had clung to life, determined not to fail his master, until the hour when from his pallet he had watched the gravediggers, their noses and mouths covered with rags, carry away the limp body of his lord. Only then did he surrender to the fever scalding his body, and go gratefully into the darkness. It had been a peaceful moment, filled with one final satisfaction: He had kept his oath to the end.

  Only it had not been the end. Some days later, he had clawed his way out of the dark, out of his own grave, strangely alive but not alive, to find Richard waiting for him. His master had explained to him that they had both become the dark Kyn, immortals that would live forever.

  Humans had discovered them in the graveyard, and Korvel had not even hesitated to sacrifice himself so that his master might escape. He had been dragged away and taken to a crossroads, where the mob had used a copper-spiked rope to hang him from the gallows tree. There he had dangled, too weak to release himself but unable to die, for three weeks. As soon as he lost the strength to struggle, the mortals grew bored and left him to rot—which was when Richard had emerged from the shadows of midnight to cut him down and carry him over his shoulder to a nearby abandoned cottage.