“I will.”
The conversation lapsed for a moment or two as both delved into their own thoughts, and when he glanced at her again, he noticed she was trembling.
“Sara …”
Her hand came up, preventing him from saying anything else. He noted the shaking, and he knew that it was not fear that provoked it.
It was desire. Need.
An addiction she could no more escape than she could the look of shame she tried to conceal. It had been so ever since William had died. Her vampire master. She was a thrall with no one to serve, no one to give her that which she had been trained to need: a vampire’s bite, the dark kiss.
She re-crossed the room, holding his gaze. Silent. With a simple movement she lifted the smock over her head, laying it carefully aside as Sebastian watched. She wore a white camisole with lace straps over her shoulders and a turquoise skirt that reminded him of a gypsy dancer. It swirled around her calves she approached his chair, barefoot.
Sebastian set his scotch on the table beside his chair and rose in time to meet her. He took her hand, meeting her gaze with meaning--and unconcealed hunger-- before he turned her toward the fireplace in a motion so quick that her breath broke against the back of her throat.
“It has been a long time, indeed.” Since he had fed from her. His voice grew thick and rough around the fangs that emerged.
The beat of her heart thumped erratically as he stepped up close behind her. She braced her hands on the mantle to steady them, the fire at her front and Sebastian looming large and solid against her back. He removed her clip, letting the blonde hair she restrained come tumbling down.
Like Laurel’s.
It was no mistake that he had chosen Sara on which to slake his blood-lust. No coincidence that he stopped on his way from spending the evening with Laurel – the better to soothe his frustration and maintain his control.
That Sara needed it too only made it more meaningful. But in the end it was what it was. Elemental. Base.
Hunger, the drive to survive at all cost.
With a quick motion, he tugged her hair aside, a departure from his usual gentle handling. She shivered, tilting her head at an angle, baring her throat in the age-old gesture of submission. It riled the predator in him, and his growl echoed in the room, a savage counterpoint to the relaxing music from the speakers.
All the courtesy they had displayed toward one another fell away, leaving them exposed to their cores. Vampire and vaso. Both needing.
For all that he wore cashmere and tailored silk, there was very little else reminiscent of the gentleman he portrayed in those moments. His eyes glowed an unnatural blue, red pinpricks in their centers. His hunger, usually so controlled, was stamped on his face and evident in the gleam of canines that had erupted from his gums.
One hand wrapped around her neck in the front, though he did not squeeze. He used his thumb to mark the spot he intended to bite with a scrape of his teeth. She shuddered against him, her breaths coming quick and shallow as the thrall blood in her responded to his natural dominance.
Through the haze of red that descended as his hunger rose, it was almost easy to see Laurel in the woman he held now. The way the firelight turned her blonde hair a pale shade of gold. How she trembled against him, vulnerable.
Lowering his head, he brushed his mouth against the plump vein at the side of her throat. His hands held her anchored, and she squirmed, responsive on a level that surpassed anything sexual.
There was a sting when he thrust his sharpened canines into her flesh, a beautiful joining of pleasure and pain that made her moan. Such strange ecstasy. Her excitement served only to pump her blood that much faster into his mouth, making her heart race as he snarled behind her. Bestial hunger surged inside him when the taste of her exploded over his tongue. His hard body blocked her in, and later they would pretend that she had never squirmed against him with desire and passion as she took pleasure in the high only his kiss could bring her.
It was sweet and hot, her blood. He milked the wounds with practiced finesse as he bled her, and the vision of Laurel in his head persisted until he was almost convinced it was she on which he feasted. His hands tightened possessively and hauled the fragile shape of her body tight against him. Soft, erotic moans layered under the guttural growls and sounds of pleasure he made.
The taking was intimate. Hunter and prey joined, connected on a life and death level. Even for a man of his age and control, the act was potentially dangerous; a thing which only added to the allure.
Rife with thoughts of Laurel, his hunger was fierce, and he took more than he normally would have from the genteel little blonde in his arms. He felt a stab of guilt about it later, as he tucked her weak-kneed and almost unconscious into her bed.
He never saw the tears that glittered in her eyes after he left her with a kiss on the brow and a rasped thank you, Sara.
Chapter Seven
Stretching, Laurel rolled over in bed. Not her bed, but Sebastian's. Bone tired, feeling like she'd gone a week without sleep, she stared at the ceiling in bemused confusion. Images from last night rioted around her mind: jousts and Dukes and swords and armor. Sebastian scraping his teeth down her spine. Dreams and reality were becoming difficult to separate. She wasn't positive that the weight of him on her back had been real. Maybe it was the wine.
Exhaustion.
There had to be some explanation.
Rubbing her hands over her face, she thought about their time in Kansas. He'd been the soul of propriety and protectiveness, taking charge of the situation like he was one of the family. Her parents had loved him-- her whole family had loved him, and despite the strain and the worry, she'd enjoyed showing him her childhood home. It still felt surreal, almost like the strange dreams she couldn't escape. And now they were home, in his home, with her belongings transferred here from Mystique.
It felt good to be under his roof while she sorted out her life.
Sitting up, the covers bunched around her hips, she glanced around the room. Her bra, strung half on and half off the mattress, looked especially feminine against all the masculinity surrounding it.
The Duke of Darkthorne wins the day!
Thoughtful, she got up and invaded his bathroom for a shower. Helping herself to another one of his clean, crisp shirts when she was done, she padded through the connecting door to her room and plucked up her new laptop. She walked back into his domain, much more comfortable in there, and curled up in a chair by the window.
Something was nagging at her.
It was only a dream, just a girlish, ridiculous dream, but the Duke of Darkthorne refused to leave her mind. The name resonated, demanding attention until she typed it into the search engine. Tucking a wayward strand of hair behind her ear, she watched link after link pop up on the screen.
Laurel blinked twice, and rubbed her eyes with her knuckles, stretching the skin into slants at the corners.
It couldn't be.
There wasn't really a Duke of Darkthorne.
But there he was, right on her screen, replete with a tiny, painted portrait that shocked Laurel into a stupor.
Dark hair, striking blue eyes. Hard jaw.
Sebastian.
She clicked one of the blue links and it took her to a page with rows and rows of information. The very first article caught her eye.
Sebastian Xavier, 3rd Duke of Darkthorne (1501 – 15 May 1536) was a prominent Tudor politician. He was a childhood friend of Henry VIII, Anne Boleyn and Charles Brandon, Duke of Suffolk. Darkthorne, whose grandfather was created the first Duke of Darkthorne, was an accomplished sportsman and hunter, which earned him high favor from the equally athletic King Henry VIII. In 1531, Darkthorne was made a Knight of the Garter. Five years later, after falling from favor for an alleged intimate relationship with Anne Boleyn, Queen of England, he was imprisoned in the Tower of London, tried for treason and subsequently executed. It is popularly believed that he was innocent of the charges.
Lau
rel read it three times, her stomach tightening into a knot. She read on, glancing several times at the small thumbnail of Darkthorne. The resemblance was striking. Were these men-- but of course, they had to be his ancestors. She remembered Bernard calling him your Grace on her first visit to Sebastian's home.
A Duke. One final snippet caught her attention.
The current Duke of Darkthorne is the Premier Duke in the peerage of England, and also, as Earl of Hawthorne, the Premier Earl. The seat of the Duke of Darkthorne is Hawthorne Castle in Sussex, although the title refers to the county of Hawthorne. The current Duke of Darkthorne is Sebastian Xavier Thorn, III, 18th Duke of Darkthorne.
"The current Duke of Darkthorne is Sebastian Xavier Thorn the Third," she echoed. It could be none other than Sebastian. Her Sebastian. The man who had pressed her down into the bed last night, who had whisked her away in his private jet to New York for Christmas.
The man she was falling in love with.
Startled by the thought, she closed the laptop and set it aside. That was about as much reading as she wanted to do right now. She didn't know what to think, what to do. It was a confusing mess. Why hadn't he told her he was a Duke? Maybe he thought it would make her wary. Curling her arms around her middle, she stared out the window, trying to make heads or tails of it all. What disturbed her more than anything, was that she'd somehow dreamed it. Or had he accidentally whispered it in her ear in the heat of passion?
Morning crept toward afternoon, and afternoon inched toward evening. Laurel turned down all of the meals that Bernard kept trying to bring her, too distracted to eat. When dusk succumbed to the dark fingers of night, she knew that Sebastian would be home soon.
What would she say? How did she approach the subject? Should she just let it pass? Laurel knew she couldn't do that. Sebastian would know right away something was wrong. Too intuitive by half, he had an uncanny sense when things were wrong, or when she was upset.
"Laurel?" As if she'd conjured him by thought alone, his voice came from the hallway followed by three crisp knocks.
She uncurled from the chair, smearing her hands down the tails of his shirt, and walked over to open the door. He stood there in another elegant suit, groomed meticulously, searching her face and her eyes with obvious concern. Laurel's heart flipped over and she smiled, stepping back to let him in. It was his bedroom after all.
"Hi. Did you just get home? You look nice," she said, and meant it.
Sebastian entered, closing the door behind him. He put a gentle hand under her elbow and coaxed her to the sitting area. "Bernard tells me you have not left the room all day and have taken no meals. Are you ill?"
Laurel let him guide her to a seat, folding her legs origami style beneath her. "I'm not ill, no. I just…" She made a useless gesture with one hand, staring up at him from under her lashes.
He cocked his head and sat on the arm of the chair across from her. "Laurel?"
Rubbing her hands on her thighs, she whispered, "I had a…dream last night. Such a vivid dream that you were in a joust in the medieval period with armor and a lance. People in odd clothing were cheering for you when you won. They called you the Duke of Darkthorne." She took a small breath, and said. "I got curious, so I looked the name up on the internet."
Sebastian listened with infinite patience and a serious look in his eyes. Rising from the chair, he came to crouch in front of her. "What did you discover?"
She watched him until he was settled before her. "That there have been several Dukes of Darkthorne down through the centuries. The current one, Sebastian Xavier Thorn the Third, looks remarkably like the man in the little portrait thing. --are you really a Duke, Sebastian? Is that your family I researched? Did you whisper that name last night?”
That was the only way Laurel could justify the whole thing. It was impossible to believe she'd discovered it in a dream.
Sebastian's expression remained stoic. After a moment of silence, he inclined his head. "The Duke of Darkthorne at your service, my lady." He stretched his hand along her thigh and anchored it at her hip, like he thought she might get up and leave.
Laurel gaped, covering her mouth with the tips of her fingers. "I can't believe you're a Duke! Did you know that one of your great great grandfathers supposedly had an affair with Anne Boleyn and was executed for it? Even though people thought he was innocent? Do you really have a castle in Hawthorne? Do you know the queen? Why didn't you tell me?" Her questions spilled out one after the other. She didn't stop to think that of course he knew his own ancestry, and that one of his grandfathers had been executed.
"Titles do not carry the prestige they once did.” He spoke in a quiet, troubled voice.
Laurel studied his face, trying to read the things he wasn't saying. She scoffed a little about titles and prestige.
Sebastian smiled, a faint gesture. "He loved her. Anne that is," he said. "As you will come to see when you read the journal. Although the charges leveled against my grandfather were a machination of those closest to the king, he was in fact, guilty." His expression went distant for a moment and then returned. He looked mildly amused. "Yes, I have a castle and yes, I am familiar with the royal family."
"I can't wait to start reading the journal. It must be something to have ancestors who were part of such an amazing time in history. What is your castle like? Does it have those turret things and big tapestries on the walls?" Awed, she felt ready to pop with excitement and curiosity. A Duke.
Sebastian laughed at her exuberance. "I am proud of my ancestors. The Darkthorne name is an old one. Of course subsequent Dukes have shortened it to 'Thorn'," he said. "The castle, Hawthorne, is in Sussex, my family seat. It's a traditional castle and is in large part as it was originally."
Laurel let her imagination run away with itself. In her mind, it was like every fairy tale she'd ever heard of or ever read. High stone walls, enormous gates, armor-- armor. The thought of it reminded her of the dreams. How could she have dreamt something so similar to his family history? She shivered. "I think it's very strange that I dreamed about the Darkthorne name, and then come to find out today it's related to you."
Sebastian's humor faded, his gaze growing serious once more. Sebastian's gaze diverted to the fireplace, his hand squeezing her hip. "I have certain abilities. Psychic ones, you might understand them as. You did not dream the Duke. I showed him to you. And the joust, although he was not facing a Prince down the lists. He was facing the Spanish Ambassador who had been implicated in a plot to assassinate his lady. You may not believe me, but I am telling the truth."
Laurel listened with rapt attention and then slowly unfolding confusion. Her brows furrowed. She leaned back a few inches in shock. "…Sebastian, how can you show me something you did not see yourself? That kind of psychic ability doesn't exist. There was too much detail-- the blood, the wounds."
The conversation took a turn she didn't like. Sebastian was the personification of sanity these last few months, and now this.
"Doesn't it?" he asked. His voice lowered a notch, both arms stretched along her legs, hands holding her hips.
"I'm sorry, I just don't--then show me something else, your Grace." Laurel, in a high state of denial, needed more proof. Taut and tense, she locked gazes with him, unsure where this was going. Nowhere good, she had a feeling. But she couldn't accept on blind faith something she hadn't believed in her whole life.
Sebastian was aware that the human mind had a great capacity for denial. It was a defense mechanism of the brain that he found fascinating in most cases. Regardless, he tamped down a flash of frustration at the way she dismissed the truth. He understood her position, certainly, but some irrational part of him wanted her to believe. In the things he said. In him.
Silent for a moment, he watched as she drew her hands from him and laid them across her middle. It was a telling gesture, he thought. The middle of a person’s body was the most vulnerable, and her body language suggested she felt the need to self-protect. Maintaining his outward c
alm, he rose and paced toward the fireplace. In thoughtful silence, he crouched and built a pyramid of wood on the grate. Striking a match, he lit the kindling, limned in the sudden blaze of amber light.
Show me something else, Your Grace.
Turning to look at her, Sebastian called upon his powers once again, letting an image take shape in her minds-eye.
A blue dress, the same she'd worn at the joust, rippled around her wrists and her feet. The Duke of Darkthorne took her through the turns of the dance in a castle, nobles and ladies at their sides, sweet strains of music floating through the room. The dance brought them together, then apart, then together again, their palms touching as they moved in a circle.
In the glow from the firelight he watched her as he gave her the images. He heard her gasp, saw color sweep into her cheeks. Her heart rate picked up, thumping like a metronome, sparking his hunger. The next image was darker and carried solemn emotional weight.
Broken, battered and bloody, the Duke of Darkthorne arrived at his execution on a plank carried by four knights. Unable to walk, barely conscious. “For you, my lady, I would face the executioner's ax,” he rasped.
Laurel's eyes had gone distant, a wrinkle of concentration creasing her brow. He watched the play of expressions cross her lovely features: intrigue, curiosity, concern. Dawning realization.
“It was you on the phone that night from Madrid. You made me think…feel--” She snapped a look at his face.
“It was me.” Sebastian inclined his head. “I wanted to touch you, in some small way.” His admission was simply that -- an admission, not an excuse, given in a calm voice.
She quieted for a moment, pensive, shoulders tight with tension. A sudden blush stole over her cheeks.
“I thought I dreamed it all up,” she confessed. “So… you have some psychic ability, some very striking ability I can see just from… what you’ve shown me. How does it work that you can make me see things that haven’t happened?”
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