Follow The Night (Bewitch The Dark)

by Michele Hauf

  She craved a piece of his being. To truly know the man beneath the mask. Before that mask was replaced with the darkest mask of all.

  “Renan!”

  Both spun at Toussaint’s sudden and erratic entrance. The valet literally skidded into the bedroom, a white-knuckled clutch groping the doorframe.

  “What the hell is it, man? You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”

  “A gargoyle!” Toussaint punctuated his high nervous tones with fluttering hands. “On the roof!”

  Gabriel chuckled. He shot Roxane a sly wink before turning to the agitated valet. “There are all of four gargling drain spouts up on the roof, Toussaint. Did they frighten you?”

  “Th—” Toussaint gaped and swallowed a lungful of air. “I was lighting the lantern and— Th-there’s a new one.”

  “What?”

  Roxane fixed herself to the wall, palms flat. Working her way toward escape, she slid a foot out the doorway behind Toussaint.

  “A new one?” Again Gabriel chuckled. “You are a barmy one, Toussaint. And here I thought it was I who should be showing signs of madness.”

  Roxane started down the hallway, intent on the roof access stairs. She listened for the conversation she had left. The worst could not happen. Not now.

  “If you don’t believe me, have a look for yourself,” Toussaint’s voice shivered down the hallway.

  So soon comes the worst? She rounded the corner and scrambled up the stairs.

  “Roxane? She must have gone to investigate. To the roof!”

  Pushing open the roof door and scrambling up the last stairs, Roxane arrived first. The night swooped upon her with a chill that lodged in her throat. Gasping at her racing heartbeats she pressed a hand to her chest. Distant clops of horse hooves echoed out in dull thuds below. She did not spy the ‘extra’ gargoyle. A scan of the surrounding rooftops and the gray cloud-striped sky found nothing.

  She let out a breath of relief and plopped onto the roof ledge.

  Toussaint’s head plunged up from the stairway as if a ground rodent emerging from his burrow.

  Gabriel followed, a god arising from the depths. Frockcoat tails blowing out behind him and hair listing in the breeze, he winked at Roxane. Just humoring the valet, he conveyed.

  “I see nothing but the usual gargoyles,” he said as he bent over the roof edges to study the stone drain spouts, each extending out two feet. All four matched—extended lizards more like, with curled forepaws and gaping maws—save the one with a chip to its nose. Soot had darkened the heads and talons of them all. “Are you sure you haven’t been imbibing in the champagne I purchased this summer, Toussaint? Those bubbles tend to go straight to one’s head.”

  “But it was right here!” The valet splayed out his hands, bewilderment toggling his voice up an octave. “I swear to it! It was huge and had wings and a monstrous body. I saw it.” He turned to Roxane. “It was there.”

  She shrugged and eyed Gabriel. Play this one carefully. A scan of the surrounding rooftops yielded nothing unusual. Church spires and red-tiled roofs. Small lamplights glittered about the Palais Royale like a frenzied constellation that leaked toward the river and onto the island.

  “I think you should retire early, good man.” Gabriel walked Toussaint to the stairs, an arm about his shoulder. The valet conceded, arms hanging limply at his sides and head bowed. “The lantern throws off such shadows. You were simply mistaken. Yes?”

  Toussaint nodded. With a final preening sweep of the roof, he descended the stairs.

  Gabriel turned to Roxane and extended a hand. “Come.”

  “Let’s stay up here a while,” she suggested.

  “Very well. It is a lovely evening.”

  He held out a hand, entreating her. She placed her palm on his. Spinning her, he drew her against his chest and spread his hands around her waist.

  He smelled divine—cinnamon, fresh air and a trace of masculine musk. The hard planes of his body moving subtly against her hips worked an exquisite tease. In Gabriel’s arms she felt safe.

  If only she could keep him safe.

  From no one but you, my dear. No one but you…

  “The fresh air reminds me of home,” she said, and couldn’t help a sigh.

  “You’ll get back to your parish some day. You’ve told me your mother is dead. What of your father? Is he alive?”

  “My father is here in Paris. Somewhere.” Ask me no more, she silently pleaded.

  “It is good to have family.”

  Shoulders nesting against his chest, her head fell back against his shoulder. What divine pleasure: falling into Gabriel Renan.

  “What of yours?”

  She felt him shrug against her body, but his embrace deepened.

  “Long gone to the Americas,” he said. “Good of father to emancipate his son so I could inherit without waiting for my twenty-fifth birthday. About the only kindness he ever showed me. Cecil and Juin-Marie both had their obsessions. Rather, addiction. Opium took them away from me long before they physically moved.”

  Roxane clasped his hand against her breast. He’d shown her a piece of his soul—finally.

  “Were they ill?”

  “You mean to take the opium in the first place? Not at all. But illness soon arrived, a cruel malady that blinds the user to life.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “I learned to fend for myself at a young age.”

  “You were left alone?”

  “Abandoned to my own discretions. I’m no worse for the wear. At least not on the surface. Money can pretty up any man, hide him safely away. As you’ve seen, Leo is my armor.”

  “Why do you wish to hide, Gabriel?”

  He touched her neck and drew a line to the cleavage she carefully disguised. “I’ll tell you my secrets if you tell me yours.”

  She tilted her head and gazed across the horizon. “Some secrets are not meant to be shared.”

  “Then your secret must be evil,” he said, with a winking grin.

  “No, just personal.”

  “Wouldn’t you share it with a dying man?”

  “You will not die, Gabriel.”

  “Most likely not. But you do concede life will not be the same once Mistress Luna has grown full.”

  He had her there. And why couldn’t she tell him everything? It might deepen their relationship. On the other hand, it could threaten the fragile bond they had created. “I have secrets, but I’m not ready to share them. I don’t know how.”

  “Just speak them.”

  “Soon. I promise.”

  He nodded. “I won’t rush you. It means the world that you trust me, Roxane. I’m so glad you came into my life.”

  FOURTEEN

  Around two a.m., the creaks of an ill-sprung equipage passing below his window startled Gabriel awake. He rubbed a hand over his face and through the sweat that coated his flesh. Odd. It wasn’t at all hot, and the window was open—

  He flashed a look to the window. The white sheer flitted in and out on a gentle breeze.

  He jumped from the bed and pulled down the sash, securing the brass lock with a flick. He scanned the room. The moon let in enough multi-colored light to reassure that all the shadows were of inanimate objects.

  Then he caught himself. “Hell, what is becoming of me? I’m jumping at shadows and shivering over an open window.”

  He glanced outside and up into the sky at the white moon. “Bitch,” he hissed. “You control my life? I will not let you win.” Striding to the vanity he tipped the dregs of a wine bottle into a goblet and tossed it back. Warm but rich, the bouquet and— “Ouch! This wine has bite.”

  Gabriel touched his lower lip. The crimson dot staining his fingertip was not wine—too thick. Examination of the goblet showed a sliver had been chipped from the rim, imperceptible, but sharp.

  You cannot know if it is your blood that will make the change.

  He licked his lip.

  Morbidly curious, he stood in his night shirt before the
cheval mirror. Waiting. Wondering. He separated the taste of wine at the back of his tongue from the metallic taste of blood, barely detectable at the tip of his tongue. Such a small drop could not possibly— “Ah!”

  With a snap of his head, he bent double. Staring at his bare feet, he grimaced as a streak of pain ripped through his gut and shot up his spine. He tumbled forward, landing on his hands and knees. Huffing to dispel the sudden shriek of rage that danced upon his spine, he gasped against the dryness in his mouth. Crawling on all fours he gripped the edge of the bed and pulled himself up.

  Was this it? Had he stupidly succumbed?

  The silver water pitcher on the bedside table was empty. He slashed a hand over the table, upsetting the crystal goblet so it landed on the floor with a spectacular crash.

  Crawling forward, he scented the minion’s blood still locked within the floor boards and anticipated the taste of—of what? Darkness, sin and passion.

  Just a little kiss…

  Another wave of pain doubled him. Something inside of him shouted, clamoring to rise and float upon the surface of these sudden dark desires.

  Resist.

  Dragging himself up by the bedpost, he staggered to the door. He needed something to drink, something to quell the hunger that dried his throat and made his heart pound.

  Take the blood.

  Guttered candles oozed over the silver sconces. Eerie shapes of light moved across the mirrors. Toussaint slept below next to the kitchen in a cozy room far too small for the man. As much as Gabriel insisted he take a room on the upper level, the valet refused.

  Running his hands across the smooth, cool mirrors, he navigated the darkness.

  It was madness that he so needed a drink.

  Needed to drink…

  He straightened and pressed his bare back to the mirrored wall. Perspiration ran in zigzagging rivulets down his stomach.

  What did he want? What did he need?

  Blood.

  Twisting his head to fight the inner cries, he banged his skull against the mirror. Refocus the pain. Don’t think of the visceral desires grasping for relief. It was not the madness!

  The door across the hall swung open and out popped Roxane’s head. Illuminated from behind by a beam of moonlight she appeared a goddess, all fraises et al crème and palest skin. The darkness would not allow colors but he could verily taste the icy forest in her eyes.

  “Gabriel?” She stepped into the hallway. One of his long damask night robes swaddled her shoulders and lithe body. With each step her white chemise slipped in and out of the opening. “What is it?”

  When she touched his face he flinched. Seizing her wrist, he pulled her to his body. “Kiss me,” he growled. “Quench my thirst.”

  She didn’t twist from his grip, but instead answered his demand for her taste, her mouth, her tongue. So she desired as well. Wicked libertine disguised in virginal white, so demanding corruption.

  He drew aside the robe openings and slid a hand over the crisp Holland chemise. Sliding his mouth down her jaw and to her neck, he found the thick vein pulsed madly. Another tease, always a tease.

  “No, Gabriel!” Even as she protested she pulled him closer, gripping his shoulders, her fingernails impressing into his flesh.

  He clamped a palm softly over her mouth. “I won’t bite.” He managed a roguish smile. “Trust me?”

  She shook her head behind his hand.

  “Let me feel you. Smell you.” A deep inhale coated his senses with rosemary. “The hunger demands satisfaction. I crave sensation, the sensual, your scent—mon Dieu—it makes me mad.”

  “Don’t say that,” she whispered.

  “Mad for you,” he reassured. “You’ve the scent of the oranges from the theatre on your flesh. Your hands.” He licked her palm and reveled in her tiny moan. Not a sound of fear, but of want. “Your throat pulses in salty waves.” He slicked his tongue across her throat, over the vein where he forced himself not to pause, to wonder. If he could focus his attention on the woman, the very essence of her, he could overcome the urge to taste darkness on his tongue.

  The mirrors amplified their shadowed liaison as he pinned her to the wall outside her open chamber door. He lifted the chemise to her hips and curled his hand toward her mons, which caused her to clamp her thighs to him.

  “Gabriel!”

  “Don’t tell me no.” The nest of her curls tickled his wrist. Heat seeped from her body. “Please. I need you, Roxane. I want you.”

  “I…I want this—but—”

  “Don’t resist,” he whispered into her ear. “Let me play, Roxane. It keeps my mind from other things.”

  “I am to be but your plaything?”

  “No, my wicked vampire slayer. The sensual play.”

  She gasped as he manipulated a finger into her hot, womanly folds. Drown here. Bury yourself in her passion, her untapped desire.

  “Oh. What are you doing? Gabriel?”

  “Giving you pleasure. Taking my own.” He bowed his head and kissed her breasts through the white fabric, all while manipulating that delicious jewel of womanhood that promised maddeningly erotic delights. “Don’t ask me to stop.”

  “I don’t want you to stop. Oh, that feels—”

  “Good?”

  She nodded. “Splendid. But you must not take my blood.”

  Take the blood!

  “Whatever happens, remember that, Gabriel. You cannot drink my blood. Do you promise me?”

  “Promises are passé.”

  “Please!” She gripped his shoulder, steadying herself against his machinations. A slide of his finger deep within her stirred an unbidden whimper from her lips. “You must not.”

  “You’ll allow me to play?”

  Her nod sweetened the intensity of his cravings.

  “The invitation is implied?”

  “Yes. Please. I like what you are doing. I…want more.”

  He lifted her in his arms and strode into her bedchamber, laying her across the bed. She stretched out across the striped counterpane. Tresses spilled across her décolletage. Illuminated by the moonlight, the white chemise barely covered her mons. Wickedly, she pulled it high to her stomach. He slid a finger into her, working an alchemist’s move that promised transformation. Her body reacted by surging up toward him. Her slender legs spread and her knees bent.

  “I think we’ll dispense with the virginity dilemma this night. What say you?” He flicked out his tongue and touched the pinnacle of her moist folds.

  “Oh, Gabriel!”

  “I’ll take that as an agreement.”

  The scent of her sex drew him to sup. And her moans clued him that she intended to enjoy his sensory feast.

  Wakened by the brightness of morning, Gabriel rolled over and slid his hand to cup the heavy sphere of Roxane’s breast. Her nipple hardened as he teased the ruched raspberry morsel. He sucked it into his mouth. Tender ridges hardened against his tongue. The female breast was an exquisite thing, soft, full and tempting, so changing and always touchable. It was a nice thing to place in one’s mouth, to lick, to suckle, to nip. He could play with it endlessly and never become bored.

  Roxane stirred, stretching an arm and flexing her back, a feline move that lifted her breasts high.

  “Thank you,” he muttered around her nipple.

  “For sacrificing my virginity in the name of your sanity?”

  He had pounced upon her in an attempt to quell the aching hunger. Naughty boy. “If truth be told, yes. Regrets?”

  “None.” She threaded her fingers through his hair. “You are a master, Renan. Your rumored prowess with women has been proven.”

  “Not so much the swish you suspected?”

  “Not in the least.”

  He blew a hot breath across her breasts and admired the fullness, the beauty of her—mon Dieu, but there was a mark between the curves of her breasts. He touched the design. Barely raised, the flesh, like a bruise but not so angry.

  Her eyes still closed, Roxane
was unaware of his observations as she stretched out a leg and wrapped it across his thighs. “Make love to me again, Gabriel.”

  This discovery made him uneasy. Should he question? Surely she was not averse to explaining when she lay so exposed before him?

  “Lover?”

  Perhaps later he would ask. For his thickening cock did not plead for conversation. “I’ll have you know that morning usually brings my quick escape from a woman’s bed. I find myself in a quandary. How to escape my own house?”

  “You wouldn’t dare.”

  “Look what you’ve done to this infamous rake, you’ve brought me to heel.”

  “If that be so then why are you not supping between my legs, rake?”

  “The virgin becomes a whore overnight. I love it.”

  “Perhaps you’ve unearthed the wanton that was always there? Just waiting for release?”

  “You mean like a man waiting for the release of his monster?”

  “Don’t speak of that. Not now.”

  “We cannot avoid the inevitable.”

  “There will be time later to worry, when we are dressed and sipping our morning chocolate.”

  Yes, and time to speak of this remarkable design dashing between her breasts.