by Sharon Page
“Yes.”
“Christ,” he muttered, which seemed incongruous for a vampire.
Was his surprise, his shock, real? She gazed into his eyes, but they reflected the light of the carriage lamps and told her nothing.
The carriage was filled with silence. Her mind whirled. He truly had seemed surprised to learn there were slayers. But was it real? Was it? Was it?
Finally his words fell into the quiet, splashing like stones cast in a still pond. “I would kill any man who hurt you.”
Did she believe his act? She had stunned him so much with her blunt question it had been easy to appear surprised.
But what surprised Sinjin was the honesty in the last thing he’d growled. If another dragon slayer attacked Lady Lucy, there was no way he could stand by and watch her be hurt. If the prince were to touch her, he would tear the vampire apart. At least, he would try to and likely be destroyed in the attempt. But he would be willing to be torn limb from limb to protect her, if not for protecting James.
Yet he was damn well supposed to kill her. If he didn’t, James would pay.
He had no choice.
He had to assure her he was not a dragon slayer. He had to gain her trust. But she was seated as far from him on the velvet seat as she possibly could. It wasn’t time to move closer to her. He couldn’t use touch yet. He had to seduce her into believing him with his words.
“I didn’t know dragon slayers existed beyond the legends of Saint George,” he said. “I know there are vampire slayers. There is a Royal Society for them. Secretive and not known to most mortals, but it exists.”
“I know about the Royal Society for the Investigation of Mysterious Phenomena. They used to capture people of my clan to study their shape-shifting ability. Then the Royal Society members would give those dragons to the slayers to kill them.”
She kept speaking quickly and nervously. Apparently her father had told her quite a lot about dragon slayers—she knew of the different clans of slayers, knew their history. But she must not know about the prince, Sinjin realized, and the fact that the dragon slayers who served him had been made into vampires.
He knew he was safe the minute she told him, “I thought at first you couldn’t be a slayer, because you are a vampire.”
“I know vampire slayers hate shape-shifters,” he said quickly, “almost as much as they hate vampires. It would stand to reason that those who destroy dragons would hate vampires, and would not let them become dragon slayers.”
She mulled that. He could not read her thoughts, but she wore the fierce stare she took on when thinking deeply. His lie appeared to convince her. She hugged herself still, but not as tightly. “It is strange, though,” she murmured. “It was at the same time my father took your nephew that he negotiated a truce with the slayers. After that, they left us in peace.”
“Thank heaven for it,” he said huskily. “Or my nephew could have been killed.”
She sank her teeth in her lip at that. He saw the pain in her eyes at the thought. Lady Lucy Drake had a very soft heart.
Now was the time to distract her with sex and seduction. And in truth, he needed it—to take the edge off his hunger for blood, give him strength to control his vampire nature.
As he had done on the very first night he had made love to Lady Lucy, Sinjin began to casually remove his clothing.
Lucy could not help but stare.
The duke pulled off his leather gloves, then with one tug of his strong hand he undid the elaborate knot of his cravat. He dropped the rectangle of white fabric, and opened his collar.
She swallowed hard. Her gaze riveted to the sight of his strong neck, the hollow of his throat. He had been made into a vampire. An undead creature had sunk fangs into his throat and had taken his blood and his soul.
It made her shiver to think of it.
She wanted to kiss his exposed neck. She wanted to do it and not fear she was being weak and stupid for wanting him. The way he had said he would kill anyone who hurt her ... it had sounded like the truth.
Suddenly, she thought of his nephew. Was the child truly at their Dartmoor home? Was she right?
The duke pulled his shirt over his head. She lost her breath as his muscles flexed. But her thoughts were filling with worry. Was the child scared? Surely, he would be all right. Her father would never hurt a child, but he might be fearful, being parted from his family.
The duke reached for the fastenings of his trousers. She was panting with the anticipation of seeing him naked, yet she was all mixed up inside with the worry that his nephew wouldn’t be there. And if the boy wasn’t, then what—?
Trousers slid down lean hips. The duke wore nothing underneath. He was hard, his firm shaft pointing toward his navel, glistening with moisture already. He wrapped his hand around his shaft, and her heart raced and her cunny pulsed as he gave a long, slow stroke.
“H-How can you?” she asked shakily.
Greystone looked up in surprise.
Finally she said it. “How can you want to do erotic things when your nephew is missing? My brother is missing and even though I know he is all right—he is just being selfish and annoying—it makes it hard for me to give myself completely to pleasure.”
He sighed. “I don’t have a choice. Sex keeps me distracted. It keeps me from drinking blood.”
“Oh.” Then she realized. “Oh. You mean, if we do not have sex, you will attack someone.”
He nodded. “It helps a great deal.”
She frowned. “Is that really true?”
“It sounds like a lie intended to get me beneath your skirts, you mean? No, it is the truth, my dear.”
Lucy swallowed hard. She had wanted him, now she had a reason to make love to him that had nothing to do with feminine foolishness. She was agreeing to sex to simply ... protect innocent mortals from his hungers. “All right. Then what do you want to do?”
What didn’t he want to do? Mainly he wanted to make their erotic games last. The longer they did, the more they sated his need for blood.
“Relax on the seat, my love, and spread your legs.”
Sinjin lifted a small valise from the other seat and flipped it open. Inside were all the toys he had brought to use on their trip—he had also made a quick stop at his own house before they had left. Taking out a long, slim wand of smooth ivory, he put it to his lips and licked it to moisten it. Lady Lucy breathed in sharply and her eyes widened. Smiling, he laved his tongue up and down the length.
“Lift your skirts,” he commanded.
She did as he bid, drawing up the silk mass of them. She was not wearing drawers and he coaxed her to lift her skirts until she could see the thatch of her dark nether curls. Well, she could barely see them, with the mass of her skirts bunched in front.
“Perfect.” He licked the rod he held once more with the flat of his tongue, then bade her to relax against the velvet back of the seat and simply watch.
She did. His long fingers lightly stroked the curls between her legs, then he touched her nether lips and with small crooks of his finger he coaxed them to part. She was transfixed by the sight of his hands playing. Each jiggle of the coach made his steady hand caress her.
Slowly, he touched the tip of the rod to her passage. She parted her legs wider, moaning, and he took her encouragement and slid it deeply inside.
Gasping at being filled. Moaning. Blushing to have him watching her. Overwhelmed with the eroticism of having her legs spread and her skirts lifted in the carriage to expose her. All these things washed over her.
Then the duke grasped her right leg and lifted it high, forcing her to sit further back. His hand slid beneath the cheeks of her bottom. His finger invaded her anus slightly. It was so good—to have the ivory rod in her quim and the tip of his finger teasing her bottom. She was swaying and not entirely because their carriage was.
He withdrew another toy from his small case and again attended to it by licking it. This one was smaller, with a carved flared end. Watching him s
uck at it made her pant, made her quim pulse and tug at the toy filling her. Winking at her, he took it from his mouth. Cupping her bottom, he parted her cheeks with one hand, then touched the rounded head to her snug entrance.
She moaned and arched toward his hand, delighting in the teasing, intense sensation.
The toy popped inside her. His eyes glowed like green-glass lanterns as he slid it into her bottom, pulling back, then thrusting again. Oh dear heaven, it was wonderful.
Slowly, he pushed it up inside her until the flare touched her cheeks and held it in place. She was sitting on the soft velvet seat, utterly crammed full. Heavens, each jiggle and jostle of the carriage thrust the toys inside her, teasing both her quim and her bottom. He took out another and after thoroughly licking it, he pressed it to her anus, beside the toy already filling her. She gasped. He worked slowly—they must have covered a mile of road while he nudged the ivory wand in her bottom beside the first.
She was on the brink of an orgasm, yet she wanted to draw it out. She tried not to move, for bouncing would make her climax in an instant. Then he grasped the two toys in her rump and the one in her cunny and thrust vigorously. Desperately she tried to hang on, tried not to surrender, but the orgasm struck her in a long, rolling, exquisite wave.
Her fingers clung to the seat and she was screaming in pleasure.
As the orgasm ebbed, she dazedly met Greystone’s amused gaze. Slowly, gently, he drew the wands from her bottom and her quim.
She was splayed over the velvet seat on her tummy. She wore only her short stays so it was comfortable to lie this way. Her skirts frothed around her waist and her bottom was bared. She half-turned. Some of her hair had fallen from her pins and spilled down her back, and she watched as he clasped his hand around his shaft. He looked so intense. His long hair fell around his face. His lips were parted and his mouth was tense with desire.
“Where—” She broke off. She was not quite courageous enough to ask for what she wanted. It was too naughty. Too embarrassing. Even though she had just let him do it.
“Where do I plan to put it?”
Lucy nodded, blushing.
“Where do you want it?”
“I—” Again embarrassment won out over the desire to request what she wanted.
Greystone lightly stroked her nether lips, making her quiver. “There?”
“Ummm—”
“No, that’s not what you want. You want me in your arse.”
Her blush deepened. Even after everything they had done, her face was on fire and her throat was bone-dry as he spoke of it. “Yes,” she managed.
“My pleasure, my dear Lady Lucy.” He spoke hoarsely, too, as though lust and desire were having the same effect on him.
Over her shoulder, she watched as he guided his shaft between her cheeks. She gasped as she felt him stroke the head in the valley. She felt the slickness of his juices. And she could tell the head was taut but soft, and the thick shaft as rigid as ivory.
With his customary gentleness, he eased the head inside her. She closed her eyes, feeling everything. The exquisite pop as he pushed in. The glide of his thick shaft past her sensitive ring. The hot, full feeling of taking him inside.
He thrust into her, panting, moaning, and she rose up to meet him. They began slowly, then moved faster and faster. He was braced over her, holding the seat, and she was gripping it, too.
She pounded wildly back against him, taking him deep, and wanting it fast and hard. It was incredible. Her bottom was slick from his strokes, tingling and sensitive. She loved feeling his hips slam against her cheeks. Loved it. Needed it.
Her fingers played with her slippery clit. Until she was so close, she could not move her fingers anymore. She held them steady and rubbed against them.
“Ooooh,” she cried, and her entire body tensed then seemed to turn to molten liquid. She was coming. Surrendering completely.
He gave a long, harsh moan, and his hips bucked against her.
“Yes,” she cried. She loved having him come. Her bottom felt hot, full. His body pressed more heavily on her as he drank in ragged breaths, but he supported most of his weight. She liked having him lie on her, knowing he was weak with pleasure, too. But he withdrew from her rump and patted her rear lightly.
She saw him pluck a handkerchief from a pocket. With gentle swipes of the soft cloth, he cleaned her bottom with the square of ivory linen.
“When we reach the next inn, we will stop, engage a room to clean up. And you, my dear, will need to eat.”
She sighed. Not quite words of love. But he was thinking of her. Taking care of her. He couldn’t be a dragon slayer. She simply couldn’t believe it.
10
Maiden Flight
“You are going to fall off the seat. Stop trying to stay awake with me at night, my dear. You need your rest.”
The duke held out his arm. Sighing, Lucy fell into his embrace. She was exhausted. They had traveled day and night for three days. In daylight, they kept the shades pulled down on the carriage, and Greystone slept on the seat opposite her. At night, she had wanted to help him keep his feeding under control. So they had engaged in a lot of sex and had not shared very much conversation. They had mostly traded moans and groans while licking, sucking, and pounding. It was their own private sinful world, where they did all kinds of erotic things. It was a wild fantasy that Lucy could have never even dreamed of experiencing.
But after three days of many orgasms and almost no sleep, she was tired.
The duke kissed the top of her head. “Relax against me and go to sleep, love.”
She intended only to rest, not sleep, for she knew he would want to make love again. But her lids were heavy, his strong body felt so wonderful against hers, and she couldn’t fight the droop of her eyelids.
She trusted him. Enough to relax completely in his arms. Enough to snuggle, to shut her eyes, to promise she would stay awake so they could make love again ...
Lucy woke with a start. Something soft and wet pressed against her cheek. Her mouth was slack and open. Her neck ached and she felt as though twisted in a large knot. An arm slid around her, and she was drawn against the duke’s chest once more.
Blearily, she focused on his handsome face.
A soft smile curved his mouth. “You were asleep,” he murmured. “And you were sleeping in the most uncomfortable position. But when I tried to move you and hold you in my arms again, you hit me away.”
Oh dear. The soft, wet thing had been the back of the seat. She’d drooled on it in her sleep. She felt strange, and disoriented. It had to be because she was sleeping. Normally she didn’t feel so dizzy and odd in a carriage, even one swaying on a rough road—
The carriage was not swaying. The wheels were not rumbling. There was no jostling.
“We’ve stopped? Why? Are we at an inn?”
“No. We’ve reached the moors. I thought you might want to stretch your wings.”
“You mean my legs.”
He flashed a grin. “No. Come outside, Lady Lucy.” Greystone stood, though he was too tall to straighten in the carriage. He pushed open the door. She could see nothing but blackness beyond. It was quiet, except for a rush of wind.
The cool air wrapped around her. The duke held out her cloak. She took it; then he jumped down from the carriage. Pulling on the cloak, she followed. She stepped down onto soft grass. Stars twinkled above in a vast, purplish-black sky. The lamps of the carriage sent fingers of light into the darkness, a feeble glow that quickly disappeared. A full moon gleamed in the sky, white and blue, and small. She shivered. The moors were desolate and almost completely empty. Hills surrounded them. Moonlight fell on the ruins of an ancient village, with circles of granite blocks the only thing left behind of a settlement several thousands of years old.
The duke drew her close. Even though he was undead, his body was warm against hers. Her breath made a puff of white in the air. It was March, but cold here, where the wind blew without anything to stop it. The h
ills were covered in new grass and dollops of snow.
Greystone rubbed his hands over her through her cloak. “A little colder than I’d intended.”
“Should we go back into the carriage?” But the overheated compartment had left her groggy. Lucy enjoyed her breaths of bracing air.
The duke regarded her. “How often do you shift, love?”
“I never shift,” she said quickly. But then she hesitated. “No, that isn’t true. I try to control it, to ensure it doesn’t happen, but sometimes I can’t stop it. That was what happened in your bedroom.”
“But you must let yourself shift at times. You must do it deliberately.”
Against his chest, she shook her head. “No. I would never willingly do it.”
He tipped up her chin. His eyes were pale and green, reflecting the carriage light into the darkness. “Why not?”
“I am not supposed to be a beast. I am supposed to be a human being.” She put her hand to her mouth. How could she have called herself a “beast,” drawing his attention to what she truly was?
“You are human, but you are a unique human, love. Just as I am.”
Why was he speaking of this? “You said you try to control your feeding because you do not want to feed on people. That is how I feel—I don’t want to do the awful things that dragons are capable of doing. I am afraid, when I shift shape, that I will lose control. That I will attack and kill.” She gazed around at the emptiness surrounding her. This was why shape-shifters liked the moors. There were almost no people around to bother them.
Slowly, she asked, “You do feed on mortals sometimes, don’t you? From what you said, I thought you tried, at all times, to control your cravings.”
“I try to avoid it as much as I can. But my bad side is something I cannot completely evade. I have to drink blood. But you can shift shape and not hurt humans.”
She shook her head. “When I shift, I become something different. I don’t have the same control. The same ... conscience.”
He had no idea what an unleashed dragon could do. If she let down her control—heavens, she could destroy a village. She could burn innocent people alive. She could bite people in half, tear them to pieces with her claws. She could do everything it was feared mythical dragons could do.
