Bitten By the Earl (Lords of the Night Book Two)

by Sandra Sookoo

  “Or else?” He frowned, and when she didn’t answer immediately, he gave her a shake. “Or else what, Lizzy?” he asked in an urgent whisper.

  “He didn’t say. The threat was subtle.” She searched his eyes, hoping he would have the answer, but gooseflesh marched up her arms. “Do you believe I misread the conversation?”

  “I do not.” Rafe let her go only to cup her face in his gloved hands. “Do what you feel is right. If you are afraid and don’t wish to associate with me, I’ll understand. I can take on whatever Rockingham hands out.”

  Chills played up and down Elizabeth’s spine. She shook her head, grabbed his hands and held them. “I refuse to let him intimidate me. My life is still my own.”

  “That’s my girl.” A grin flashed before his sober expression returned. “Then I will remain by your side for protection.”

  She released his hands. “Is that all you wish to give me?” she asked in a quiet voice.

  “For the moment.” He pulled out of her hold and offered her his arm. “Shall we tour some of the galleries? I refuse to allow the marquess to put a pall over our planned outing with a threat gilded enough for you to swallow.”

  “Thank you.” Her anxiety faded by degrees as they walked through beautiful galleries filled with wonderful and ghastly things.

  Egyptian, Greek, Roman, Chinese, the offerings went on and on. Countless paintings, hundreds of sculptures, urns and pottery and jewelry decorated every shelf and table.

  “I could spend days here. There is so much to see,” Elizabeth breathed. “So many interesting artifacts from locations I can only dream of.” What would it be like to see them all in person?

  “It is a magnificent place. One of my favorites in London, actually,” Rafe murmured. He led her into another gallery on one of the upper floors. “It would take weeks to explore it properly.” He sighed. “At times, when the pressures of… living as I do grow too much to bear, I come here and spend hours lost amidst possibilities.”

  Another tidbit she didn’t know about him, but it made sense. “To see such treasures in their countries of origin…” She shook her head. “I cannot imagine how awe-inspiring that would be. How… empowering.”

  “Ah, Lizzy.” Rafe patted her hand. “If you were mine without restrictions, I would take you anywhere your heart wished.” He glanced at her before turning back to the glass case. “And with the extraordinary speed afforded to me, travel is infinitely easier.”

  Tingles made themselves known at the base of her spine. At last she’d find out how he was able to use that power. “I know.” How different he was from Oliver. How solicitous. Where the marquess was only concerned for appearances and how she would fit in with his existing life, Rafe seemed to truly wish to build a new life with her. Yet, Oliver offered stability, and no fear, while Rafe, though exciting, hovered on the very edge of that fear which held her captive. Along with so many questions. “Oh, how well do I know,” she said to herself.

  If I wasn’t such a coward, I would tell him yes.

  Eventually, they found themselves in an obscure gallery dedicated to mythological creatures from the Continent as well as England, Ireland, and Wales.

  From fairies to banshees to werewolves to witches to selkies, the list of creatures went on and on, each represented with drawings and cloaks and alleged magical artifacts.

  When Elizabeth slipped away from Rafe to examine a display about werewolves, she snorted with derision. “Nearly everything printed here regarding these creatures is wrong.” She tapped the glass with a fingertip. “Donovan doesn’t go rampaging through villages, eating his way through humans. Nor does he take them hostage.”

  Rafe laughed, but the sound was mirthless and forced. “Your brother is a wolf shifter, not a werewolf. There is a difference.”

  “Is there? When he is the wolf, does he know right from wrong?” She peered at him. “For years, when he was at his worst, he killed, and…” She licked her lips. “I assume he killed humans. He has never confirmed that to me though.”

  “There are some facts that are best left obscured, Lizzy.” Rafe remained silent. His jaw worked. “As for your brother, I believe he does know the difference, the same as when I am the vampire.” His eyes reflected sadness. “It is the practice of control that makes us different than the monsters.” He met her gaze, and his was rueful. “At times, it requires long periods of learning, but if we lose that control…”

  “…then you lose yourself,” she finished quietly.

  “Yes.” His Adam’s apple bobbed with a hard swallow. “If that happens, I am better off dead—to everyone.” In some agitation, he yanked off his gloves and shoved them into an inside pocket of his jacket.

  “I would miss you.” She looked away to stare again at the misinformation portrayed upon the written card.

  “Perhaps, but I wonder.” The widening space between them ate his low-pitched response as he moved deeper into the gallery. “I am so tired of the fight.” His shoulders drooped. He rested a fisted hand on a glass case, his head bowed.

  Never had she seen him so defeated. In an effort to lighten the mood, she attempted to make him laugh. “You know, this exhibit is missing one mythical creature.”

  “What?” He never looked at her.

  “A gentleman who actually listens to the women in his life, and who takes their advice.” She snickered, but when Rafe didn’t respond at all, she moved to his location. “What is wrong?”

  Rafe tapped the glass. “Their depiction of vampires is also erroneous. They make us out to only want drinking blood or holding women hostage until we turn them into what we are as well.” He shook his head. “It is not true.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Now was her chance to finally ask all the questions she wished of him and his affliction. Don’t be afraid. She laid a hand on his forearm. His muscles flexed beneath her fingertips. “Tell me how people should think of vampires.”

  “That we are beings in search of love and acceptance. The same as humans.” He half-turned toward her. “That though we are different, we have feelings, know compassion, indulge in joy, can fall into despair, live our lives in basically the same way. That there is nothing to fear from us, no matter how we came to be.”

  With a tight chest and anxiety clawing through her stomach, she nodded, but she took hold of whatever courage she could muster and she grabbed onto it. I will never really know him if I don’t continue. “What does your hunger for blood feel like?” Though her voice shook, she held his gaze without a waver.

  “It is sometimes overwhelming, like a tidal wave in which my whole body both throbs with ancient thirst and grows weak if I don’t feed immediately. I…” He blew out a breath. “I can try to fight it, but the longer I go without feeding, the more the beast protests. He demands nourishment, and if he isn’t tended to in a controlled environment, I will feed upon whomever is handy. Which makes my affliction dangerous.”

  “That is… incredible. I cannot imagine such a thing.” Her pulse accelerated. A trickle of sweat rolled down her spine. Heat assaulted her and she stripped off her gloves, hastily stuffing them into her reticule. “How do you select victims?” She resisted the urge to finger the place on her neck where he’d bitten her all those years ago.

  “I rather like to believe they aren’t so much victims as… willing participants. People who wish to help me through the cloud of hunger.”

  “Except when they aren’t,” she whispered. “Like I was.”

  He briefly closed his eyes, but nodded. “It happens, which is why when Donovan and I and the other lords opened Bête Noire, we made certain every woman under that roof knew what might be expected from her. We explained that each of us had different needs, unique passions let’s say, and in exchange for their offering up their bodies or their blood or whatever the sacrifice, we treat them well, care for them, give them a better life than they would have had otherwise.” He shrugged. “It is safer for them and for us. It’s preferable to be at the club
should something go awry. And, at times, it serves as a hospitable service as well as a safe haven.”

  It was as good as explanation as any, and it opened her eyes to just how horrible and isolating the Cursed Lords’ lives must be. “You have never killed one of those women?”

  “Absolutely not.” The desolation in his gaze didn’t dissipate. “I am careful. I may be many things, but I am not a murderer, for if I did kill, I’d be no better than the people who wish me dead.”

  At least that was something, and she didn’t believe he had anything to do with the death of that maid from a week or so ago. Then fear of a different kind snaked through her insides. “Someone wishes you harm?”

  “Ah, Lizzy.” He patted her cheek and then let his hand drop to his side. “There is always someone who doesn’t like the idea that a being such as me is allowed to walk the Earth, let alone mingle amidst the ton. Though there hasn’t been a threat made against me in many years, it doesn’t mean they don’t exist.”

  “I had no idea.” How could he go through life knowing he might be killed? I cannot focus on that right now. “The women at the club…” The subject had been bothering her since Rafe came back into her life. Perhaps longer. “When you feed on those women, do you… lie with them? Do you take from their bodies too?” A sharp lance of jealousy went through her, and she gasped from the force of it. Obviously, he had needs; all men did, and he certainly wasn’t in a relationship nor did he have a mistress, but—

  “No.” His one-word answer interrupted her thoughts. “If passion is present, perhaps.” A tired grin crossed his features. “However, I haven’t shared carnally with anyone since months before your brother’s nuptials.”

  That made her feel only slightly better, for another thought cropped into her head. It was insanity holding this conversation in a public area where anyone could come upon them, yet the gallery was empty. “When you joined with me that night and you fed, were the two actions connected?” If they were, then that meant it could happen again.

  Do I want to open myself up to that?

  For long moments, Rafe studied her, and she desperately didn’t want him to find her lacking. “Perhaps. My feelings for you have not changed since that night.” His face reflected nothing but honesty. Deep in the depths, now more green than brown, affection dwelled. “In eleven years, no other woman has engaged my heart as you have.”

  Tears stung the backs of her eyelids. “Oh, Rafe.” After all this time, after how she’d treated him, after what she’d said, after how she’d renounced him, he still cared for her. “Like a fairytale hero.” Before he could say anything, she rushed onward. “If a woman fell in love with you, and the curse didn’t break beneath a specific full moon, would you still need to feed?”

  “Yes. As long as I remain a vampire, I will always need to take blood for sustenance.”

  She wasn’t as shocked as she thought she would be. “Would you feed from me?” she asked in a hushed voice and a tremor of unease slid down her spine.

  “My dearest girl.” His eyes darkened and the red ring about the irises glimmered. He glanced at the glass display case. “I would talk the issue over with you, for I won’t assume such a liberty from you again without your consent. That act took you from me for too long. I refuse to risk it.”

  In silence she walked through the gallery with him, not seeing the objects beneath the glass on scattered on the tables. At any given time, he had a choice of whether to give into the beast or not. What sort of control did he practice to keep the vampire at bay? All of this and more she wanted to know. What moved him to tears? Which opera was his favorite? What was his outlook on children and family life? Did he still adore stealing kisses beneath the mistletoe?

  At the end of the gallery, she stopped him with a hand on his arm. “Show me your fangs,” she requested, and her voice was low, throaty as desire for him flared.

  His eyebrows sailed into his hairline. “I beg your pardon?”

  Elizabeth smiled, determined to conquer her fear, and she would do it today, right now. But that didn’t stop her stomach from quaking. “Show me your fangs,” she asked again, this time on an urgent whisper, and she squeezed his forearm.

  He regarded her with an air of one humoring a candidate for Bedlam. “I cannot just pop them in and out on a whim.” When she continued to stare at him, he sighed. “In order for the beast to stir, high emotion must be present and must hold me in its grip.”

  “Well, if that is the key…” She made a show of looking around the gallery. As of yet, no other guests had filtered in, and they were well enough away from the popular exhibits there was every possibility they would have the privacy she wished.

  “What deviltry are you planning?” Amusement filtered through his whispered question even as he took a few steps backward from her.

  A curious lightness came over her, which was quite odd as fear of his beast lingered and held on. “Giving into curiosity, perhaps.” Before her courage could fail, she closed the distance, took hold of his shoulders, and then quickly pulled him close, stood on tiptoe and pressed her lips to his.

  “Elizabeth,” he murmured against her mouth. “Not here. Your reputation…”

  “Hush.” What cared she for that when she was on the verge of conquering her fear of what he was? She looped her arms about his shoulders and shamelessly layered her body against his. When he wrapped his arms around her, she smiled. Her heartbeat thrummed a rapid tattoo, and she once more applied herself to kissing him.

  In fact, she made love to his mouth, nipping, licking, encouraging, enticing—hoping. With a groan, Rafe responded by mimicking her overture, and then she was only too happy to let him assume command of the embrace. Like every time they came together, passion simmered beneath the surface, but he didn’t give into it. Instead, he kissed her as if they had all the time in the world and they weren’t indulging in a highly public place.

  When she wrenched away, her breathing labored, she opened her eyes. The red ring in his glowed with the same intensity she remembered. As she regarded him, his incisors lengthened, stretched into the sharp-tipped fangs that haunted her dreams. Then his fingernails disappeared, and in their place came pointed claws, each a good two inches and no doubt effective weapons when he wished to defend himself… or kill.

  “Dear Lord,” Elizabeth whispered. She couldn’t help staring at the man before her.

  “Please, don’t,” he asked in a barely-there whisper. Rafe looked away, but she caught the embarrassment in his eyes and the flush on his neck.

  “I must,” she whispered back, and with a hand to his cheek, encouraged him around until their gazes met. “This is you, the man I have feared for so long, and today, I intend to put that fear to rest.”

  He shook his head. “It is not that easy, simply looking upon what I become.”

  “It is a start.” Though her belly clenched and her mind screamed for her to run far from him, she ignored it in favor of taking his hand and examining the horrible claws. Hard yet sharp, they were the simplest of weapons. Rafe stood there, patiently letting her touch him and explore, and the hope at the back of his eyes brought tears to hers.

  When Elizabeth touched a fingertip to one of his fangs, he inhaled sharply but he stood stock-still, questions in his gaze. She inspected the second elongated tooth. “How do you talk, kiss with these things in your mouth?” she asked, and a certain amount of admiration lingered in the whispered inquiry. Smaller canines on his lower jaw extended, but not like the tops.

  A strangled sort of chuckle escaped him. “Usually, when the fangs come out, talking and kissing aren’t uppermost in my mind.” He shrugged at her gasp. “It is the truth.” He curled his hands into fists despite the claws, and those hands shook.

  “I know.” Fear held her in its grip so strong she wanted to shove away from him and run, but she held her ground. She forced moisture into her suddenly dry throat with a swallow. “Seeing you like this, knowing how much control you are exerting, I remain in a
we of you.” Daring much, and perhaps risking all, Elizabeth lifted onto tiptoe once more. She kissed him, fully aware of the fangs and dreading the moment when those sharp tips would tear her skin, when they would draw blood, but she fought through the building horror. Though the fangs remained present and though Rafe didn’t embrace her, she warily explored his mouth, and what she discovered sent frissons of need through her blood to settle, throbbing, between her thighs.

  It is possible to kiss a vampire and not get bitten.

  Pulling away, she peered into his face. “I want you, Rafe.” It was the most honest statement she’d ever made. Despite the transformation, she desired him. Her fear hadn’t dissipated, not all the way, for she hadn’t felt the sharp prick of his teeth into her skin, but this was more headway than she’d ever made. “Please.”

  “Bloody hell.” His eyes rounded, and his jaw fell slightly open. “Here? Now?” He surreptitiously glanced about the gallery. “Why?”

  “I need to know you won’t attack, won’t bite me unless I ask.” She nodded in the event he didn’t understand, and her chin quivered. “That you can control your beast when you are under high emotion, and…” She swallowed. “…that we are capable of being together without mucking it up with anger or fear.”

  The ring in his eyes glowed stronger. “I am all of that, and more.” He held out a hand, claws extended, palm up. “Do you trust me?”

  Did she? Seconds went by, marked by the beat of her heart. “Yes.” She slipped her hand into his and he curled his fingers around hers. “You have gotten into my blood and I am having the devil’s own time fighting the attraction,” she admitted in a soft voice.

  His chuckle further worked at her undoing. “Let’s see what we can do about that.” Rafe pulled her down the remainder of the gallery and through a doorway, which spit them out into an equally empty corridor. Doors lined the hall, all closed. “No doubt storage rooms.”