Bound By Blood

by Kimberly Hoyt

  He rose from his crouch and she pushed at his shirt, impatient to have it off. When it didn't give, she gave a yank; tiny buttons flew every direction, landing with tings against the polished marble floor. She shed him of his clothes with less finesse than he'd shed hers, until they were both naked, his strong body littered with small scars that she investigated blindly with her fingers.

  Sebastian endured the kisses she trailed over his chest and abdomen-- and lower--with masculine growls, eyes glowing red in the center, one hand in her hair. Her hands kneaded his calves and hamstrings, tongue sucking and swirling, until he groaned and urged her upward with his hands.

  By the time he trapped her against the wall with his body, his blood teeth had retracted. He opened her mouth with his and plunged deep, kissing her breathless.

  "Come with me to my sanctuary," he said against her lips. "I want you in my bed." A dark shank of hair had fallen across his forehead.

  "Yes," she whispered, curling her arms around his shoulders. "Yes."

  “Shadow travel is less disorienting if you close your eyes.” Sebastian’s voice was lust-thick, a rumble resonating from deep in his chest as he scooped her up against his naked body. He waited until she circled his neck with her arms and tucked her face against him, and then stepped into the shadows deep in the expansive ballroom. The candlelight whooshed and went out.

  When they emerged from the darkness, it was in his sanctuary below ground; a single room among many built beneath the house. As though she sensed the change in atmosphere, Sebastian glanced down in time to see her split her lashes open and look around. Carrying her like she weighed nothing more than a kitten, he crossed to the bed, freeing one hand to strip back the thick blue coverlet.

  “Tell me what you like,” he said as he settled her on the cool sheets in the middle of his bed, the curtain hangings pulled back and secured to the intricately carved bedposts.

  Sebastian displayed a cultivated patience despite the desire and the virile sexual energy running rampant through his body. He braced himself on an arm over her, making the muscles strain as he hovered there to let his gaze slide down along her exposed body. Supine on his bed, she was a silken line of soft golden flesh, her pale hair smeared across the masculine colors of his pillowcase.

  “I like everything you do to me,” Laurel said, and he could have sworn she blushed.

  With a smooth movement Sebastian rolled to his hip beside her, sliding his hand up the naked expanse of her belly. He liked the way she caressed his knuckles as he explored her, thrilled to the way her eyes slid over his body with feminine appreciation.

  “You are unbelievably beautiful,” she whispered.

  Her words surprised him, and the smile he gave her was slow and seductive. “Not nearly as beautiful as you deserve.” His fingers mapped a languid trail downward, rimming her navel, the cadence of her heartbeat setting the drumbeat of his desire, his hunger.

  “You are the only woman who has ever been in this bed.” Intimate moments such as these had been nonexistent in Sebastian’s world, and yet the lover’s confessions rolled from his tongue like silk. His hand continued downward, drawing a straight line from her navel and brushing across the soft mound above her sex like the cross on a T. When he took it lower, she parted her thighs for him and Sebastian tensed against a rocking wave of sexual tension.

  “The first and last, if I have my way with it.” Her voice was a shameless, possessive croon in the darkness. “I have to confess that as soon as I saw this place, I wanted to be here with you.”

  Passion had taken them both in the ballroom, but their change of venue had also changed the pace of the moment. He wanted to stoke her desire as she had done his. No less aroused despite that, he remained hard against the outside of her thigh. Moreso when she skimmed her palm in an unhurried trek down his hard abdomen and wrapped her fingers around him. He rumbled a deep, sensual sound of pleasure and pressed his hips in, encouraging her.

  “Did you?” A predator at his leisure, he dipped a big hand down to cup her, his fingers spreading her flesh with care. One fingertip swept down to brush against the most sensitive bundle of nerves before sinking inside her. He bucked against her palm at the feel of her; at the way she arched her back in response to his touches.

  “You are so tiny here. So tight.” His voice was a rasp, rough around the edges as she ground lightly against his hand. There was no fear in her eyes, no second thoughts. Only need that he detected with more than a glance at her face. He smelled the scent of it on the air.

  For long moments they lay there touching one another, learning, arousing until his hips were undulating steadily against her stroking hand and she was writhing against the thrust of his finger. When he finally moved, it was a smooth roll to his knees between her spread thighs, opening her further. Above her, his eyes smoldered with a slow-stoked passion.

  “Love me, Sebastian,” she said, and he growled in response. He was tense with need, and everything about the way she moved told him she had no hesitation.

  Not since Sebastian was mortal had he lost himself in the abandon of lovemaking with a woman. In her heat, in her softness. It all came rushing back the second he surged inside her; the comfort only being buried in a woman could bring, the excitement to be found in her sounds of pleasure as he filled her deep and hard.

  Like a man.

  Anchored by the wrap of her legs, he thrust with powerful strokes, encouraged by her gasps and cries of passion. She moved with him, matching his rhythm to perfection, nails scoring his back in long furrows. He lost himself in her until she erupted around him like a strong wave breaking against the shore. “Yes, come for me.”

  “Sebastian, oh god.”

  With his head raised to the heavens and his body strung taut with restraint, he exploded inside her, a guttural sound of pleasure reverberating through the room.

  “Laurel.” Her name ripped free from somewhere deep, twisted by the canines that had extended as he loved her, one hunger feeding the other.

  Chapter Ten

  Laurel watched Sebastian sleeping-- or what passed as a vampire's sleep--from a chair across the sanctuary. Their night had been long and passionate, lasting almost until dawn, when the approaching sunrise had drug him under. He'd warned her when she asked to stay down here all day with him that his rest might disturb her. He'd explained that he would look all but dead to her eyes-- and he did. No breaths raised his chest, no twitches affected his limbs or eyelids.

  She'd risen sometime before noon, pleasantly sore, hips marked by his hands, and taken a bath. Soaking in the hot water, she'd prepared herself for this. It took her the better part of the afternoon to come to terms with it, adjusting to the strange pallor of his skin in stages.

  Evening approached, though she only knew this by the clock on the wall. Time seemed to stand still down here. The subterranean room was secured and sealed off by heavy doors that only opened when Sebastian called up or when Bernard came down.

  Draped in one of his expensive shirts, sleeves rolled up to her elbows, she alternated between deep contemplation and reading the journal he'd given her. The entries were fascinating and sometimes sorrowful. The very last one had been difficult to see.

  Today, I die.

  The thought of Sebastian dying made her hurt in ways she didn't expect. That he was technically dead now--- she turned her mind from it, thinking about the images of jousts and tournaments in a time long past. They were only memories that he'd shared with her, but they were so vivid, so realistic. She wondered what his life had been like back then. When he was mortal. Had he always been so controlled and collected? Had he laughed more, or less? What had he been like as a Duke? She couldn't get a totally clear picture just from his entries.

  Chewing on her lip, one leg drawn up onto the chair with her, she had a shocking thought. Could they go back to his mortal days, before his becoming? Would he even be mortal, or would he still be a vampire if they stepped back in time? The semantics of time travel, she r
ealized, were completely beyond her. Forty-eight hours ago she hadn't believed in any of it-- witches, vampires, time travel—and now here she was, contemplating a jaunt into his past.

  “That's crazy, Laurel,” she muttered to herself. Still, the images of him in armor persisted.

  Setting aside the journal, she got up from the chair and crossed to the bed. She smoothed Sebastian's hair away from his forehead and leaned down to kiss his brow. His skin was cooler now than it was when he was awake. She tried not to think about it.

  "I love you." The truth spilled out as a whisper. Above all else, that was the important thing. No matter what he was, or what he wasn't, she loved him.

  They don't lead white picket fence lives. She understood Sara's sentiment better now than ever. Nothing about this would be 'normal'. Her desire for children and marriage would have to fade gracefully out of existence, and that was okay with her.

  On the way back to her chair, the intercom crackled to life and Bernard announced he was coming down. A few minutes later, the butler entered the room after the heavy door swished open.

  "Good evening, my lady," Bernard said. He carried a tray with a newspaper and a glass filled with either wine-- or blood. There was also a cup of steaming tea that he left at her elbow.

  My lady. Laurel smiled. "Evening, Bernard. Thank you," she said.

  "I trust you had a relaxing day?" he asked, setting the tray down on the nightstand before moving to the armoire to procure a suit for Sebastian that he hung on the outside.

  Laurel watched it all with no small amount of curiosity. The routine seemed as old as time, like they had been performing it for decades. They probably had, she realized.

  "Very relaxing." She picked up the cup and blew across the surface. How strange but normal this all seemed. This was, she decided, a routine she could get used to.

  Bernard stepped to the side of the bed, picking up the glass. He stood there only thirty seconds or so before Sebastian's eyes popped opened. The timing amazed her.

  "Good evening, my Lord," Bernard said.

  "Bernard," Sebastian said, rising from bed. "Leave that on the table, thank you." He crossed the room, apparently untroubled by his nakedness, and kissed her on the head. "Good evening.”

  "Evening, Sebastian," she said, smiling at the intimacy.

  He kissed her again, this time on the temple. "Give me a moment," he said, and went to collect his glass. Sebastian took it into the bathroom with him, Bernard on his heels, reading his messages along the way.

  It all sounded like business to Laurel's ears and she tuned out while Sebastian took a shower, distracted by thoughts she shouldn't be entertaining. Jousts, armor, courts and castles. Time travel. She couldn't deny the thrill at the thought of seeing such a fabulous time in history.

  When he came out, his hips were wrapped in a white towel and half his glass was gone. He sat at the table in the closest chair and regarded her with a fond expression.

  "How was your day?" he asked.

  Good god. He even looked hot in a towel.

  Laurel glanced at the glass, just once, and then at his eyes. She smiled, setting her cup down. "It was great, actually. Very relaxing. I did a lot of reading," she said, and tapped the top of the journal.

  "And what did you think about what you read?" he asked.

  Laurel noticed that whenever he took a drink from the glass, that his muscles tightened and shuddered. "I was jealous at first, and then surprised, sad, intrigued and horrified, pretty much in that order-- where did you get that blood?" She blurted the question without thinking.

  "Various sources, none of which required anyone to die," he replied with vague humor.

  "I didn't think anyone died, exactly. I was just curious if you had a donor-- or something."

  "I have several," he said. "You were jealous?" He tilted his head.

  Laurel glanced from the glass to his eyes and then down to the journal. "A little. To read first thing about you getting married after last night…" Grinning, unrepentant, she let it trail.

  Sebastian smiled. "It was a long time ago."

  "Still,” she said with a laugh, admitting to a bit of a territorial streak. “These were all you, weren't they? This is your journal," she asked.

  "Yes. I have been all the Dukes of Darkthorne since then."

  "I wondered when you were explaining their 'memories' to me. It seemed so much more poignant at the time."

  "I wanted you to know some small part of me," he said, and finished the contents of the glass. He set it aside, watching her with a familiar, intent look. "There hasn't been another woman since Anne-- until you last night."

  Laurel's eyes went round with surprise. "You mean, since your--"

  "Yes."

  "But that's been…" Hundreds of years, she thought.

  A smile curved his mouth and he inclined his head. "The ironic part of it all, was that they never knew of my involvement with Anne. The charges were false, like they were against the other men who died, except I was secretly guilty. It was nothing for the king to kill other people to meet his own ends."

  "It seems like a brutal, ruthless time," she said, fascinated that he'd been alive during that period of history. She could hardly wrap her mind around it.

  "Brutal and beautiful," he said.

  "I'm surprised you've waited this long to be with another woman. You're so passionate," she admitted.

  "No other woman has moved me since then. Except you, since the moment we met. Why do you think that is?" he asked.

  "I don't know, but I've wondered over it myself. I've been drawn to you since the very first day. Honestly, I have never had that kind of a reaction to a man before," she said with an impish smile. Sobering, she touched the edge of the journal. "It was difficult to read closer to the end, to your…" Laurel couldn't bring herself to say execution.

  Sebastian considered her across the table, amusement glittering in his gaze until she mentioned the journal. Rubbing the smooth angle of his jaw, he nodded. "Yes. Most of it is hazy to me still, the events of that day. Now you know that it never happened. My maker prevented my execution. The next journal picks up with me as a new vampire, but I could not let you read it for obvious reasons."

  "They tortured you because of the accusations the king leveled upon you. That's why they carried you out on the board," she mused, putting the puzzle pieces together.

  "Yes. I was badly injured. They knew how to go about obtaining confessions of guilt back then, although I never admitted my guilt. It was Cromwell who devised the charges and Henry believed them because his lust had turned to another woman," he said. "My maker had to heal me before my becoming, the damage was so extensive."

  Laurel felt horrible, even all this time later, to think of Sebastian suffering in that manner. Torture. Beatings and brutality. He deserved so much better, in her mind. She toyed with the edge of the book, thoughtful. "I can't imagine what it must have been like back then, mingling with kings and queens," she said, wondering if it sounded like a leading statement. That she was hinting. Sebastian didn’t' seem to be alerted to any nefarious plots she was conjuring in her mind. She wondered, right after that, if he could read her mind.

  Wasn't that a disconcerting thought.

  "It was an exciting, if dangerous time, being in court," he said.

  "I have a question that is, and isn't, relevant to all this."

  Sebastian arched a brow, inviting her to continue.

  "You mentioned ghosts and time travel, among other things, when you were trying to make me understand there were other supernatural beings besides humans. Do you remember?" she asked, fiddling with the edge of the journal. Maybe she shouldn't bring it up. What would he think? This was madness.

  His eyes narrowed, sharpening on her. "I remember."

  She gnawed on the inside of her cheek before she said, "Well, is that really possible? To go back in time, I mean. To that age, that era." He was silent so long that Laurel didn't think he would answer her. She couldn't exac
tly read his expression, though he seemed unusually intent.

  "It's possible, yes. Is that something you desire?" he asked.

  Laurel found that it was something she desired. The more she thought about going, the more intrigued and fascinated she became. There was something else, an indefinable push to travel back. Not quite an obsession, but an inescapable drive.

  "Yes, I think so. You see," she began. "I had this idea when we walked through your ballroom that it might be fun to find clothes from back then, in your and Henry's time, play some authentic music and make memories of our own. But," she paused. "…wouldn't it be intriguing to actually go back and do it? To step back in time, have our dance in court, make real memories of our own."

  Tension rippled across Sebastian's shoulders but his eyes flared with interest. "You wouldn't be afraid?"

  Laurel smiled broadly. "Not with you at my side, no. Wouldn't it be… oh my god, stunning to revisit history? We could go for just a few hours maybe, I could see you in the lists, in your armor. One joust," she said, excitement building in her voice. "And a dance or two. Then we can come home." There was a small part of her that didn't really believe they would go, but she was caught up in the thrill of discovery.

  Sebastian stood up and paced away from the table clad in only the towel. "What do you know of Tudor history?" he asked, never taking his eyes off her.

  "Only what little you've shown me and what I remember from school." Which wasn't very much.

  "It will not matter anyway. You will be with me," he said.

  "Does that mean we're going back to Tudor?" She scooted to the edge of her seat, eyes round, breath caught in her throat. Maybe the impossible was possible after all.

  Sebastian's thoughtful, almost dark expression slowly turned into a devilish smile.