Effectively paralyzed, Luceph could do nothing but lie there and wait for the sun to come up. Sebastian, bleeding from the head and his torso, leaned down to say, “Never mess with what's mine. Enjoy your last sunrise.”
Straightening, he sank into a shadow near the crease in the roof and used it to step back into the room. The Princes stood watch, calm and untroubled now that Sebastian had given Luceph his due. Several discreet smiles of approval were returned with a bow of Sebastian's head.
The Princes and their people dispersed like mist in the breeze. One moment there was a roomful of nocturnal predators; the next, there was only the fading power of their presence and the disquiet of rippling shadows.
Chapter Twenty-two
The suite was akin to a white-washed fairyland. Wide panels of snow white gossamer draped from ceiling to floor in a maze-like pattern, all sewn with tiny sparkle lights that glowed with ambiance. White satin covered every surface including the walls. On the breeze from the opened balcony doors, the panels danced like ghostly lovers in the night. In tall white vases, Laurel’s favorite peonies in equally snow-white tones stood tall and fragrant. Even the floors had been draped with long pieces of pretty pearly white satin, and scattered with vivid red rose petals for a stark dash of color.
“… oh my God. Oh … Sebastian … it’s beautiful.” Laurel’s voice was colored with shock as she stepped inside and got her first glimpse of the room.
In the three days since her return from Tudor and the death of Luceph, Sebastian had been busy. Busy planning this. A retreat to New York and a return to something more normal—if their relationship could ever be considered that. The limousine had ferried her from Sperling and now she was here, a hand over her heart, turning delighted circles to try and see everything at once. She passed through the hanging panels with a laugh, letting them twist around her slim shoulders.
Sebastian had eyes only for her. Somehow, she had woven herself into the tapestry of his soul. His past was entwined with her as surely as his present and his future. Her reaction to the decorations was nothing compared to the charmed, awed look she gave him. Choked with emotion, she swallowed convulsively and he caught her hand before she could speak, drawing her close and intimate against his chest.
“Shh. Not yet … sweethot.” He used the endearment Thorn had coined, and that she so very much seemed to enjoy. “Change first, and then we‘ll talk,” he invited, gesturing to a doorway leading to one of the suite bedrooms. It was hard to see, draped in satin, but she found it, looking like a sprite in the flowing panels of soft material. She was fey, her eyes sparkling with unshed tears. He watched her slip behind the door, a small intriguing smile on his lips.
In the bedroom he had left her an ensemble fit for a Princess. A gown in white, trimmed in elegant black swirls and whorls around the hips and the hem. Its skirts were full and belled out, the material rich and expensive but (he imagined) soft on her skin. Matching shoes and white satin lingerie completed the set, and when she emerged some long minutes later, he thought he had never seen her look more beautiful.
In the enchanted spirit of the evening, Sebastian played a game of hide and seek. With speed and stealth greater than the human mind could track, he appeared behind one sheer panel and then another, teasing her with a devastating smile that earned him the sound of her breathless laughter. His quick movements made the sheer panels flow and slither, licking sensually at her bared shoulders.
At last, he appeared before her, on one knee like a prospective groom. His eyes were fathomless blue, stark against the soft sea of white all around them. She gazed at him with an expression that felt like adoration, her gaze soft as she touched his face.
From the inside pocket of the elegant white dinner jacket he had exchanged for his suit coat, he pulled a small blue box. Flicking the lid open with his thumb, he let the twinkling lights shine on the ring inside, the stones throwing prisms of light against his hand as he held it up.
“… how many loved your moments of glad grace, or loved your beauty with love false or true. But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you, and loved the sorrows of your changing face.” He quoted Yeats in an undertone, taking her slender hand in his so he could slip the ring onto her finger.
“This was the ring my father gave my mother,” he said. He’d had the ring restored -- a large diamond surrounded by smaller ones in an antique band of silver filigree. Into the side of the filigree, a subtle carving of his family crest had been worked in. It was brilliant, glowing almost savagely against her silky skin. “She would have loved you …”
“… as I do.”
Sebastian was aware that her breathing had gone shallow, her heart racing erratically in her chest. Her eyes were huge and round, and she looked so sweetly young despite the elegance of her gown. Tears brimmed in her eyes and began to spill over, glistening in the twinkling lights.
“I may not be able to give you marriage, or children, or anything traditional. But whatever I have, whatever I am, is yours if you will be mine. Be mine,” he murmured, his voice a thrum of low intensity and his eyes glittering with tender hunger.
Laurel’s smile was a tremulous thing, something that made him ache in deep places.
“I would be proud to be yours,” she whispered. “I’ll love you always and with all of my heart; the man I call mine is still a lion among men.”
"Bleed me,” Sebastian said.
Laurel stared into Sebastian's eyes, the small, ceremonial knife gleaming in her hand. She sat across his lap with her spine arched, the beautiful layers of the dress fanned out around them. His request-- command--brought a smile to her mouth. Divested of his suit jacket and shirt, he looked darkly masculine and virile, eyes pinned on hers, body taut beneath her. Exuberant that he wanted to bind her to him, to make her unquestionably his, she let the surge of chemistry between them elevate until the undercurrent was hot enough to burn.
The ritual transcended traditional vows; from this moment on, they would be joined as one in a way never intended by any church.
Reaching forward, like she'd done it a thousand times, she snicked a small spot on his throat with the tip of the blade. A red drop welled to the surface of his skin, glistening and potent. Surprised that she felt no hesitation, she leaned in, closing her mouth over the tiny wound. The second his blood hit her tongue, a blazing rush of power surged through her system, making her dizzy. She sucked hard at the font with a sudden, intense hunger for more. Measured in drops instead of swallows, she swirled the taste of him around her mouth, groaning at what seemed like a tug on her soul. So far down that she couldn't tell where he ended and she began.
"Yes, yes,” he growled. He clamped his hands on her hips, securing her over his groin. Only a thin barrier of silk and linen separated them.
The flow faded to a trickle and then stopped altogether. But it was more than enough to brighten her eyes and make her aggressive. She tore her mouth from his throat, licking away a streak of blood from her lip. Reaching back, she set the knife on the floor out of the way. A shudder wracked her and she saw the way his eyes narrowed. Sebastian's expression said better than words that he knew his blood, his power, was the direct cause of her reactions.
He spread his fingers through her hair, knocking out the pins, and leaned up to kiss her; Laurel responded with nips and dominant strokes of her tongue, pleasing him and pleasing herself. Rolling her hips over the hardness between her thighs, she was rewarded with a prick of claws on her skin and a dark groan that he fed from his mouth to hers.
Breaking the seal of their lips, she pushed him back until his spine was flat to the floor. She dusted hot kisses all the way down his body and he shivered when the ends of her hair tickled his skin. His pants came apart in her hands with an impatient tug, a button flying and the zipper going off track. She stripped him in pulls and yanks until he was a naked plank of hard muscle, hers for the taking. And she did take him: with her mouth, her hands and little nips of her teeth. Laurel drove him to a darker pl
ace with her feral glances and possessive need.
Snatching fistfuls of the gown, knees on either side of his hips, she drug the material to her waist. Her thighs were strapped down by garters, legs encased in a pair of sheer stockings, a scrap of panty beneath. She smiled when his eyes sharpened on the contrast. If she lived to be a thousand, Laurel would never tire of the stark appreciation he wore that only she inspired.
"Use your claws. Take them off me," she said, touching the edge of the panties.
He obliged her immediately, slashing out with a claw that never ripped her skin. Only the silk that fell away in delicate destruction, shredded into slivers that he cast off with a twitch of his fingers. It excited her that he could react so fast, with such feral intent, and not leave a scratch in his wake.
Laurel sought his mouth, plunging her tongue in while joining their bodies with a decisive glide, slow and deep.
A sheer panel, blowing like a ghost in the breeze, curled around her shoulders and lapped at her cheek. It wrapped them and unwound just as quick, floating in serpentine twists when Sebastian's presence rose in the room. Higher and higher, until Laurel was writhing and panting, leaving marks on his throat and his back.
He left some of his own on her hips and thighs, bruises and lover's scratches, pinning her atop him for the final waves of passion that left them both gasping into each others mouths.
"You're mine," he growled against her lips.
"And you're mine," she said, slitting her eyes open. "Forever, Sebastian Xavier Thorn. You're mine."
He was hers and she was his; lovers, family, bound by blood.
About the Authors:
Kimberly Hoyt lives near the shore in beautiful southern New Jersey with her husband, three children, and a stubborn lab mix. She is working on a degree in social work, and has been writing as a hobby for twenty years.
Danielle Bourdon was born and raised in Corona, California. This is her second novel and first co-authored project. She lives in Texas with her husband, two sons, and their black cat Sheba. Visit her on the web at: www.daniellebourdon.com or contact her: [email protected]
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-two
Bound By Blood Page 34
