Until the first vampire launched himself from the blackness with a hiss and fell atop Beatrix.
Before Alder could reach her, the Levenach had spun out of the powerful claws of the bloodsucker, swinging her arms in a wide arc, and without even a cry of effort, drove a readied stake into the undead’s chest with a wet chunk.
The entire confrontation was over within the count of ten, and it had been almost completely soundless. Beatrix Levenach stood over the now-sizzling corpse, her breathing barely labored. She looked up at Alder and the fire in her eyes caused him to squint.
Here then, was the true power of the Levenach witch. Perhaps Beatrix was not the only one in grave danger from the close company the two now shared. If she discovered Alder’s nature, suspected his unnatural hunger, he could very well find himself beneath her sharpened stake.
“That’s one for me, Alder de White.” She smiled at him, and the magic of her caused Alder’s cool blood to roil like floodwaters. “You’ll need be a mite quicker than that if you’re to keep pace with me.”
He answered with a bow, not trusting himself to speak. He wanted to seize her, strip her, drink from her, there in the black forest with the danger all around them. He wanted to confess his own evil to her while he did base and very mortal things to her body. His hunger was nearly out of control.
He had to feed—to quench at least a portion of his black appetite lest he lose all control.
The dead vampire’s corpse blinked into nothingness, and Beatrix nodded, satisfied with her work. “Well, then. Ready?” She turned and continued deeper into the forest.
Alder followed, his senses now tuned to the minutest signs of the wood around them. He could smell another vampire ahead and to the right and could barely suppress his howl. His eyes were all but blind with hunger, but before him, the Levenach glowed, taunting him. Should he not take this next kill, the witch—and perhaps Alder’s immortal soul—was doomed.
Beatrix passed safely by the clump of bushes where Alder sensed the bloodsucker lurking, and continued into the wood. Alder slowed, stepped from the rough path they had been following just before the stand of scrub. He slid the long staff between his shoulder blades and the quiver strapped to his back—Alder had no desire to play with his food at the moment. He was nearly deaf with the bloodrush in his sensitive ears, his nostrils full of the rancid smell of the vampire crouched before him, who followed the Levenach’s progress, readying to strike.
Alder let himself go. Moving so quickly, so quietly that even to himself his motions were a blur, he placed one hand on the vampire’s greasy head and the other on the cusp of his shoulder and pushed his palms away, the cracking of bone perhaps audible to the Levenach, some lengths away. Before the vampire could scream, Alder fell upon the man’s neck, crunching through the skin, his fangs sinking into cold flesh and setting loose the torrent of tainted but powerful blood. He drank and drank and drank….
“Alder?”
The call seemed a whisper, but Alder raised his head, feeling his eyes dilated to their maximum capacity, and he knew that should the Levenach have a chance to look upon his eyes in the light, she would see no white at all. His guts, his veins burned as though he had swallowed glowing coals. For an instant, he half rose, intending with all his instinct to continue his gorging on the redheaded witch woman who now sought him in the black wood. But his heart was slowing, his head clearing, his will reshaping itself into heady control.
She was nearly upon him now. “Alder?” Her tone was filled with alarm.
Alder let the melting corpse slip onto the leaves and then he skittered soundlessly behind a sheltering tree, dropping his head back against the trunk and taking enormous gulps of air. He scrubbed at his mouth, chin, and neck with his forearm, hoping that when she saw the blood on his clothes, she would attribute it only to the kill and not his beastly, quenched thirst.
He knew the moment she came upon the vampire by her anxious tone. “Alder! Where are you?”
He rolled to his feet and stepped from behind the tree on the opposite side of her, causing the Levenach to swing around, her stake at the ready.
“’Tis only I,” he said, his palms out.
“Eternal Mother!” Beatrix gasped and lowered her stake. She took a brief moment to catch her breath and then gestured to the faint, silvery imprint in the leaves, like the intricate trails of a thousand slugs. “You nearly took his head off.”
The vampire’s fortifying blood having sated him, Alder no longer felt that he was in danger of feeding from Beatrix Levenach, although the heavier desire to take her body still ran through him like a hot iron bar.
He smiled. “I could not let you best me.”
She laughed, seeming completely unconcerned that they were surrounded by a hostile wood littered with bloodsuckers. Her mirth and her ease caused Alder to stiffen completely in his breeches. What an odd combination of seasoned killer and soft woman the Levenach was revealing herself to be.
“The night is yet young,” she taunted. “And I’m nae accustomed to losing.”
Alder watched her forge ahead, leading the way once again through the darkness, and Alder’s eyes went once more to the silvery slime where he had drained the vampire of its tainted blood. For the first time, Alder wondered how he would ever bring himself to do the same to Beatrix Levenach when the time came.
Chapter Six
The Levenach, well-secreted away in the cellar, had spoken true—they were winning. Alder de White had been in residence for almost four weeks, and with his help, seventeen vampires had been sent to their ready hell. Although Laszlo still remained elusive, Beatrix felt that they were drawing closer to that devil as well. Soon, the king of the vampires would have no choice but to come out of his hiding and face them directly or flee the Leamhan forest forever.
In the meantime, the vampires’ slaughter had been stanched and the forest folk were feeling more relaxed and hopeful, and most certainly possessed of a more charitable attitude toward the Levenach. The inn was crowded with village folk from wall to wall, and the atmosphere was easy, merry. Beatrix freely shared smiles with the patrons as she served her stew and poured pitchers of ale, marveling at the radical shift in her standing in the community.
Alder had helped with that as well, as the men were fascinated by this English stranger with the odd accent, and the women were sweetly enchanted. Although Alder boldly baited Beatrix nightly, never letting a hunt pass without some erotic comment or look—and lately, a glancing touch—he never encouraged the womenfolk’s attention. They simply seemed unable to help being drawn to the pale, intense man. Beatrix told herself it was not jealousy she felt when a woman engaged Alder in coquettish banter, simply annoyance. Alder would not risk their mission by dallying with a Leamhan woman when the folk were under the assumption that Alder was Beatrix’s intended.
Even though a lie, that thought always succeeded in making Beatrix’s stomach clench, and lately, she had allowed herself the frequent folly of imagining the lie as truth. She told herself it was but a harmless way to pass the time between kills and the washing up.
The only development that gave Beatrix cause for worry was the marked absence of Dunstan from the inn. At first, she attributed the brutish woodsman’s avoidance to the humiliation Alder had dealt him the day he’d rallied the folk in the clearing. But Dunstan was never one to stay away from merrymaking for long, and even the Leamhnaigh were expressing concerns for him and his meek wife.
“He’s nae left his house in days.”
“Freda willna let anyone in—she says Dunny’s feelin’ poorly. Sleeps the day away.”
“The poor woman is worrying herself to naught.”
Although Beatrix held no great affection for Dunstan, she was still the Levenach, and she had decided that before she and Alder began their hunt in earnest that night, she would answer her responsibility and at last make a personal call on Dunstan and Freda’s cottage and inquire as to their welfare. Once that chore was done, she could give
in to her wild desire to hunt down the bloodsuckers, with the bold and mysterious, amorous and dangerous Alder at her side.
What she was to do about him, Beatrix had no idea.
Alder was uneasy. Their hunt that night had been unsuccessful, but he had feared as much as soon as he and the Levenach had left the dark and seemingly deserted abode belonging to the forest man, Dunstan.
To Alder, the timber and mud house had reeked of vampire.
Beatrix’d had little comment on the absence of the mortal man, save to speculate that perhaps he and Freda had left the Leamhan forest for good. Alder did not think that was so, and he was darkly certain that Laszlo had a hand in whatever evil was afoot.
After all, Alder knew from personal experience that it was the king of the vampires’ nature to use those he considered beneath him for his own gain.
Alder remained more alert than usual throughout the deep hours of their hunt, but he neither sensed nor smelled any further sign of the bloodsuckers. They were obviously in hiding, and that worried Alder more than Dunstan’s mysterious disappearance. A trap was being laid, and Alder used every shred of his keen abilities to try to keep himself and Beatrix from falling into it.
They returned to the White Wolf Inn the hour before dawn, tired and dirty and frustrated. Alder was hungry again, but his need for blood was not yet so great that he felt the Levenach’s life was in danger.
Her breeches, on the other hand, were in grave peril.
A thorny bush had snagged a seam of the heavy woolen pants just under Beatrix’s hip early in the hunt, and ripped a wide gash beneath her right buttock. She’d given the damage little comment, and Alder knew it was because she thought him unable to see the crescent-shaped slice of white flesh flashing at him with every other step. But seen it he had, and imagined a great deal more. He was shaking for her by the time she pushed open the back door of the inn and Alder followed her into the darkened kitchen.
Before she could lay hand to a candle, Alder seized her around her waist from behind, causing her to gasp and clasp both of his forearms with her hands. He nuzzled her hair—the scent of the midnight forest clung to her, damp and dark and cold, mingling with her own sweet sweat like a cologne. He felt his fangs growing behind his lips.
“Alder!” she half-laughed. “I’ll step on the cats. Loose me so that I might give us light.”
“I don’t want light,” he murmured against the shell of her ear. “I want you. In the dark. I can’t wait any longer, Levenach. You’re driving me mad.”
Then she did laugh. “You’re only bothered that there was nae kill tonight. But you’ll nae take it out on me.” She tried to pry his arms from about her torso.
He held tight. “Why not?” he cajoled, beyond reason now. He didn’t care about Laszlo, didn’t care about his soul. Beatrix Levenach’s magic had enchanted him, and his flesh wanted hers. Needed it. Hungered for it. He had never felt so strong and yet powerless in the face of this foreign desire. “You, too, feel the frustration of our wasted efforts. You have no man save me. When I am gone, we will both be alone.”
She grew still. “You would talk of leaving already? We have not yet found Laszlo.”
“We will. Soon. Or he will find us.” Alder had heard the hurt in her words and it cooled his lust somewhat. “Levenach, I spoke true when I said that I was dangerous to you. After Laszlo is dead, I cannot stay. You wouldn’t want me to, if you only knew—”
“That you are using me?” Beatrix interjected, and Alder knew a cool stream of fear in his spine. When he did not answer her, she gave a chuckle. “I’m nae the Levenach for lack of brains, Alder de White. I ken that you’ve nae come here out of the goodness of your heart, if even you possess such a tender thing.”
Alder’s breath caught behind his fangs.
“I know verra little about you,” she continued. “But I do know that our lives are intertwined for the time being. If one of us should die before Laszlo is destroyed, so will the other perish. You need me as much as I need you, and that is why I doona fear you.”
“If you don’t fear me, then lie naked with me tonight.”
She turned her head slightly, as if trying to look into his face. “So that I can bear your bastard?”
Alder shook his head. “You won’t.” It was impossible. “I swear to you.”
She was still for a long moment, and Alder turned her in his arms. “I want you, Beatrix Levenach. I have not lain with a woman in longer than you would believe. Not because I’ve had no chance, but because I’ve not had the desire. My desire for you is destructive, it’s eating at me. It makes me think of doing things you would not like. Violent things.”
“You wouldn’t hurt me, Alder,” Beatrix said softly.
“Don’t be so certain.” He could feel her pounding heart against his chest, pushing the current of warm and rich blood beneath the creamy skin of her breasts like a dangerous tide. He dropped his lips to her neck, fool that he was, to taste her skin. He murmured his dark fantasy against her silkiness. “I want to feel your power mixed with mine while I take you. It would be…spectacular. I want to hear you scream.”
She jolted slightly as her knees buckled and her head fell back. “You’re mesmerizing me.”
“Perhaps,” he conceded. “But I could not if you weren’t willing—you’re too powerful, Levenach. And you want me, as well, do you not?”
“Of course I do,” Beatrix insisted in a fierce whisper. He felt her fingertips crawling up his stomach, her nails digging into his skin, leaving welted crescents as her brand on him. She reached into the V of his shirt and slid her hand behind his head over the pucker of his scar, pulling his mouth against her pulsing neck until Alder’s fangs dug into his own lips. It was as if she knew…she knew he wanted to feed from her, and she was teasing him, daring him. “And it would be spectacular.”
He thought he heard a whimper, and he realized it had come from his own throat. Beatrix crooked a knee and hooked her calf behind Alder’s buttocks, pressing herself into his erection. He bucked. She moaned.
“I have to take you,” Alder said, although the statement was more a plea. He ran his tongue down her neck, across the front of her throat, and up the other side to the opposite ear. His fangs may have skimmed her skin, but he could not care. “Beatrix, Beatrix…”
Her hands left his neck and pushed between their bodies to jerk open his breeches. She plunged her hands between the fabric and his hair and seized him. Alder whipped his face away from her neck and hissed as his fangs erupted fully.
Dropping his own hand to the rip in the seat of her pants, Alder tore the backside of her breeches away in one vicious motion. He lifted her under her buttocks and sat her down hard on the edge of a worktable.
“Not here,” she gasped.
“What?” Alder demanded.
“I cook in here.” She seesawed against his groin, trying to scoot off the table.
“I can’t wait to go upstairs.”
“I canna, either—take me to the common room.”
He lifted her again and she locked her legs about his middle as he carried her into the large dark room and deposited her onto a table before the hearth. She fell onto her back and Alder wasted no time creating a seam in the front of her shirt where none had been. Her breasts fell free. The sight of her, her clothes hanging in shreds from her body, with only the most erotic parts exposed, caused Alder’s hips to pump once reflexively. He felt wild and evil and hungry, and like he would tear her to pieces.
As if she could hear his thoughts, Beatrix demanded, “Don’t hold back.”
It was madness he felt, and Alder gladly embraced it as he pushed his breeches down fully. His vampire eyes could clearly see her sex as he positioned himself at her entrance and he gave an openmouthed sigh at the slick, fiery contact. It had been one hundred years since he’d lain with a woman, but never had he been blessed with such a one as was bared before him now. The Levenach, the most powerful witch in all of the highlands, the most beautifu
l, the most pure, the—
On the table before him, Beatrix writhed and panted, her eyes flashing witch fire at him. “Do it!” she shouted at him. “Do it now!” She reached up with one long arm and grasped his shirtfront, jerking him forward and atop her with amazing strength.
Alder fell, catching himself with one palm on the tabletop, his other hand seizing one of the Levenach’s breasts, and he thrust his hips forward. She cried out and pulled him more fully into her with her legs, bucking up against him with another ragged cry.
Alder was blinded with sensations as he rocked into Beatrix, causing the table legs to screech on the floor. He wasn’t worried that he hurt her, for the more he gave, the harder, the more she demanded from him. She urged him on mercilessly, heedless to the fact that Alder was on the brink already. With each greedy command she gave, he swelled, ached. His ears rang and he heard strange sounds, smelled odors that didn’t belong—oil and smoke. The heat…
“Fire,” Beatrix gasped.
“I know,” Alder panted back. “I know, I—”
She shoved at his chest. “Nay, Alder—fire! The inn’s afire!”
She rolled from beneath him and Alder struggled to come into reality and see the yellow flames bubbling over the wooden walls only steps away from where he had been crudely taking the Levenach. The dried mud between the timbers cracked audibly in the heat and the entire room rippled with fire, roiled with oil-laced, choking black smoke.
His passion doused by actual flames, Alder yanked his breeches around his waist once more and spun away from the smoke.
The Levenach had vanished.
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