Val in her room.
In her bed.
In her.
She closed her eyes and grabbed a pillow to cradle it against her overheated body. Enough of that. Fantasies were one thing, but her reality was that a man like Val would never be interested in a boring, white-cotton woman like her.
She sighed into her pillow and scrunched her face deeper into the pristine cotton, willing her body to relax. Within seconds, she gave in to the demands too much alcohol had placed on her, and she fell asleep.
She looked like a whore.
The vampire settled on the windowsill, mere feet from the woman's sleeping form. A derisive smile curled his lips. Whore or not, she was even more exquisite than he'd ever imagined.
Thick red hair lay tumbled across her pillow in a river of curls. Dark lashes shadowed her cheeks, hiding eyes he knew were a brilliant green. A small, delicately shaped nose with a slight bump at the bridge as if it had been broken at one time. Her mouth was generous with a full lower lip and slightly thinner upper one. Her skin was the creamy delight of a redhead. Her throat was slender, marred only by a small scar at the base on the right side.
Perfection.
A black lace bra barely covered her breasts, full and round. He ached to touch them, to taste them. Her belly looked soft and inviting while her hips and upper thighs were covered by a silk half-slip. Naughty black nylons encased her thighs and lovely calves down to slender ankles and feet. A delicate gold ankle bracelet glittered in the moonlight.
He certainly appreciated her choice in underclothing. But he was surprised that a woman as conservative as Shai would dress like a seasoned harlot beneath her street clothes.
It would be so easy to kill her, he thought dispassionately. He knew exactly where to touch her slender throat and, in mere seconds, she'd be one of the dearly departed. Just another victim found dead in their bed in the city called New York.
He looked at his hands, his pale skin gleaming white in the moonlight. They didn't look like they were over nine hundred years old. Nine hundred years of murder, mayhem and blood. He stroked his chin. For Shai's sake, it would be more humane for her if he did kill her with his hands. Quick and efficient, no fuss no muss. No mortal would want to live through what he'd planned for her. But even when he'd been human, he hadn't been humane.
A mirthless smile curved his mouth.
Oh, how he wanted her. More now than the first time he'd laid eyes on her. Every year, the desire had grown stronger until he'd reached this breaking point. Sitting outside of her bedroom window watching her sleep, lusting after her yet unwilling to touch her.
Yet. Soon her time would come.
A faint, self-deprecating laugh escaped him.
She stirred in sleep, a frown marring the perfection of her face. As if she knew he was there, she turned her face and twisted her body away from his gaze as if to avoid him. The silk half-slip tightened, sliding up to reveal the tops of her stockings and the tiny black thong panties she wore.
The vampire's breath caught in his throat and a faint hiss of air escaped him. Her panties left nothing to the imagination. Moonlight gilded the perfection of her skin, the smooth slopes and tantalizing indentations.
Her backside was larger than considered fashionable by today's standards. But it was perfectly round and taut. He preferred his women to be shaped like women, not sticks with boobs. This beauty had something to hang onto, a backside that would fill his ample hands admirably.
He longed to slip in her window and grab her, pulling her against his raging erection. To bury himself in her softness until she cried. He pictured himself in bed with her, her body moving against him, her eyes sleepy with lust.
A growl escaped his throat.
With one last look at the sleeping woman, he turned away. Mortal women. They were the downfall of many a vampire. To meld with living flesh, breathing and crying out beneath him, on top of him, it didn't matter. It was an addiction and he was in serious need of a fix.
Weakness was weakness and it had to be either destroyed or appeased. He glanced back at her. It was rare that a mortal had reached him the way she did, the way she always had.
Just as her mother had many years before.
He bared his teeth. The moonlight seemed even more brilliant than it had been before. It was time to feed and feed he must. Clicking his jaw in frustration, the vampire caressed her one last time with his gaze. Moving with the near silence of one of the very old, he leapt from the window to the alley thirty feet below.
He landed with a gentle thud and straightened, checking to ensure his clothing was in perfect order before moving toward the mouth of the alley and the darkened streets beyond.
Shai's time would come, as would her companions. He knew that for a certainty. Unfortunately her friends were average, not exceptional like her. If they'd been exceptional, he might have spared them. The only possible exception was Jennifer. She could be a problem. But the rest of them would serve their purpose and serve it well.
First things first, though. There was a merry game to be played. The players in this drama were in place and act one had already commenced.
Laughter filled the night as the vampire faded into the shadows.
"So who's the woman?"
Val started, the forgotten book falling from his fingertips to land on the pine floor with a hollow thump. He looked up to see his unexpected visitor standing near the fireplace, a bemused expression on her face. "Miranda, what a lovely surprise. I didn't hear you pop in."
A silvery laugh echoed in the expanse of the library. "That's a new one." Miranda shed her black velvet cape and draped it over the back of the chair across from him. She stooped to rescue the leather-bound book from the floor. "Wuthering Heights," she read, carefully closing the cover. Her crimson fingernails gleamed in the subdued lighting as she stroked the priceless binding. "First edition, even. Dreaming of unrequited love, my friend?" A smile danced across her face as she perched on the arm of the opposite chair.
"Just enjoying a classic, my dear." Val rose from the chair to reclaim his book from her.
She didn't release it. "What's her name?"
"And why do you think a woman is on my mind?" he asked, careful to keep his tone light.
Her smile turned sad, almost disappointed. "And who knows you better than I? You can fool others, but you can never fool me."
He brushed his finger down her cold cheek. The first time he'd laid eyes on her, he'd thought Miranda was the most beautiful creature he'd ever seen. Hair as black as night fell in thick luscious waves to her tiny waist. Skin the color of clotted cream, by contrast her lips were full and red. Deep blue eyes framed in sooty lashes stared, unflinching in their regard of him. Tall and built like a Rubenesque statue, she was perfection wrapped in a rich, black velvet dress. She was a woman many men would desire.
Miranda was his dark angel, his savior. She'd saved him from himself many times through the years they'd been friends and confidants. But he also knew she wanted more, much more than he could give. It pained him to hurt her so. When he'd met the red-haired angel last night, he'd known it was inevitable that someone would be hurt. Unfortunately, it would be Miranda.
"Never you, Miranda," he whispered.
She released her grip on the book; her gaze unwavering as she folded her hands in her lap like a prim spinster at an afternoon tea. "She's mortal?"
"Yes." His tone was resigned. Didn't she see that he didn't want to hurt her with this?
"Do you love her?"
Anger surged to life. How could he dare love any mortal woman? Their relationship would always be doomed to failure and loss. A vampire would always outlive a mortal, many lifetimes over. "How can I love her?" he bit out. "How can I love anyone?"
"The same way any of us can love." Her tone was soft, her voice musical, sensual. It was that voice which had pulled him back from the edge many times. He felt the lure of it even now.
"I've only met her once."
"She mu
st be quite the woman to have captured your attention."
"It's only lust." He said the words, but they rang hollow to his ears.
"If you believe it's only lust, then you're a bigger fool than I ever knew you were." She looked down to pick at imaginary lint on her skirt. "You realize that mortals can be our downfall?"
"Yes."
She abandoned her task, raising her gaze to meet his. "Do you want to die that badly?" she whispered.
"No, not anymore. I have you to thank for that." He moved away from her and toward the floor-to-ceiling windows. "I don't know how to explain it." Burgundy velvet drapes were pulled back to reveal the clear, starry night. The shadows beyond the glass beckoned his soul and, for the first time in many years, he wanted to curse the night which enshrouded him.
"You don't have to explain, Val," Miranda spoke softly. "You owe me nothing."
"No, you're wrong," he said, his voice harsh. "I owe you everything." He turned to the beauty who stared at him with the face of love. Love that would ease the crushing loneliness of his life. Love he could never return. "Everything."
"You owe me nothing you will not give willingly." Her tone was pained as she rose from her perch. "I'll take nothing you do not offer of yourself." She picked up her cape and moved to stand before him, her cool fingers caressing his face as if committing it to memory. She dropped her hand as tears filled her eyes. "I take my leave of you with a heart filled with love for the boy you once were, and the man you've become."
She vanished, leaving the faint scent of jasmine and a delicate tingling on his skin. His heart heavy, Val turned, his eyes once again searching the darkness of a New York night. How had his life come to this?
* * *
Retribution
Book II: The Shadow Dwellers
by
J. C. Wilder
Copyright © 1999 Lisa Hamilton
Previously published by Dreams Unlimited.
Cover Art by Emily Black
Cover Art copyright © 2001
Published in Canada by LTDBooks, 200 North Service Road West, Unit 1, Suite 301, Oakville, ON L6M 2Y1 [www.ltdbooks.com]
All rights reserved. The use of any part of this publication reproduced, transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written consent of the publisher is an infringement of the copyright law.
National Library of Canada Cataloguing in Publication Data
Wilder, J. C., 1965-
Retribution [computer file]
ISBN 1-55316-072-X (electronic) ISBN 1-55316-930-1 (REB 100 1200)
I. Title.
PS3623.I45R48 2001 813'.6 C2001-902071-6
Dedication
If you are truly blessed, someone will enter your life and demonstrate that courage, strength and dignity are more than just words in the dictionary.
This one's for you Daddy.
Acknowledgements
I would like to thank the following people, without whose support there would be no J. C. Wilder.
Carol - Your friendship and wisdom mean more to me than you will ever know.
Julia - For saying "You Can" every time I say, "I can't."
Debbie - For listening to me blather about vampires, were- cats and witches...oh my!
To the Ladies of the Keep - may the Moet always be chilled, may the bonbons always be Godiva, and may the DB's always dance in your honor.
Chapter 1
Current day - London, England
Conor MacNaughten gripped his partner's generous hips as he thrust into her. Her magnificent breasts, highlighted by the harsh noonday sun, jiggled with his movements and with each thrust an excited cry broke from her lips. Damp blonde hair obscured her features as she dug at the tangled sheets with red-tipped claws. The scent of sex filled the air.
Catherine had the best breasts he'd seen in years, at least for breasts that were organically grown. Large and pert with coral shaded aureoles and distended nipples, these beauties were a feast for a starving man. And Conor MacNaughten considered himself a starving man. His hips never slowing, he leaned forward, took a firm nipple into his mouth and suckled deeply.
A hoarse cry emerged from Catherine's mouth as she bucked wildly beneath him. She reached for him and fisted her hands in his hair. He nipped at her breast, leaving a tiny love bite before lavishing attention on the other as he continued his slow thrusts. Rolling his hips easily as he slipped into her moist heat, he felt the faint tingling in the back of his calves that signaled his approaching orgasm.
"Conor...."
Mac paused, stifling a groan. While her body was any seventeen-year- old's wet dream, her voice was a definite problem. Shrill and somewhat whiny, it was the voice of a petulant five-year-old, not a mature, sexually adventurous woman. And he definitely was not in the mood to listen to it now. It had been over three weeks since he last had sex and he had some lost time to make up.
Without as so much as a "by your leave," he withdrew from her damp heat, and gathered the scattered pillows from the floor. As he bent over, his medallion swung forward on its fine gold chain and hit him on the nose. Impatiently, he tossed it over his shoulder and continued his task, piling the pillows on the bed. Grabbing her by her waist, he then rolled her over onto the pyramid of silk so that her generous backside now pointed upward.
"What are you...."
He cut her off by gently pushing her face down into the sheets, angling her backside even higher and exposing her glistening inner flesh. He thrust deep inside her once again and her muffled squeal of delight emanated from the bedcovers. Taking a firm grip on her hips, Mac settled himself in for a leisurely ride.
Current Day - South of Manchester, England
Terror and rage warred within Jennifer Beaumont's soul as she entered the sprawling house. Rage was winning the battle.
The massive front door slammed with a heavy thud as she kicked it shut. Her Italian leather pumps clicked sharply on the marble floor as she barreled toward the double doors of the library. She tossed her purse in the direction of the glass-topped table in the center of the foyer, where it glanced off the towering vase of pink and white gladioli. The arrangement tottered dangerously before righting itself.
"Damn his miserable hide," she swore as she wrenched the brass doorknob downward. She hit the oak door with the palm of her hand, slamming it backward into the wall with a crash, destroying the cozy scene inside.
The vampire Mikhail stood before the fireplace watching her entrance with an indulgent smile. Hundreds of years ago, she'd thought Mikhail a handsome man. At six feet in height, every inch of it lean-muscled, he cut a striking figure. His pale gold hair was shorn just beneath his ears and neatly combed back to reveal a narrow face with exquisite cheekbones, sharp nose and a full mouth. With his impeccably cut black leather pants that accentuated his strong runner's legs and his flowing white silk shirt, he resembled a golden pirate of old. It was only when she looked into his eyes that she could see his one flaw.
He had no soul. His icy blue eyes reflected only emptiness.
"Damn your black heart, Mikhail," Jennifer ground out. "You've gone too far this time."
He laughed gently and held his arms out as if he expected a welcoming hug. "Darling Jennifer, is this anyway to greet your master?"
Jennifer could barely control the rage that flared as he spoke. She wanted to scream until the fine crystal of the chandelier shattered, raining down on them in piercing shards. She wished to tear him limb from limb, scattering the pieces to the ends of the earth. She wanted to personally escort his black soul to the very gates of hell.
Calling upon her infamous iron will, she restrained herself. Throwing a fit in front of Mikhail would accomplish very little. Indeed, it would only give him the upper hand.
"What have you done?" she bit out.
Mikhail's smiled smoothly, his movements fluid as he picked up a squat Baccarat crystal glass filled with a thick red liquid. Jennifer caught the sc
ent of chilled blood, like cold wet pennies, as he slowly swirled the glass.
"I have no idea what you are speaking of, Jennifer," he purred. Never taking his eyes from hers, he took a sip of the liquid. Jennifer masked her revulsion as he swallowed.
Mikhail's smile broadened as he licked his lips and tipped his head slightly in her direction. "Is this an example of your legendary manners, Jennifer? You storm into my home, damage my library wall and so rudely ignore my guest." With one slim, pale hand, he gestured to the woman seated on the couch. "Your mother would be ashamed of you."
Ignoring his jibe, Jennifer's lip curled as she turned to see Gabrielle DesNoir. Gabrielle's brilliant blue eyes gleamed in stark contrast to the whiteness of her long hair and pale skin. Her full lips were painted a shiny blood red. Her finely honed body was clad in a white leather bustier dress, with matching silk stockings and four-inch pumps.
All in all, she was a perfect advertisement for an ice princess from hell.
Gabrielle was well known and not particularly well liked in most vampire circles. Her appeal lay in the fact that her lover, Mikhail, was one of the most powerful vampires on the planet. Very few immortals dared to say no to him. Gabrielle was a young vampire, only about a hundred years old and still learning. With Mikhail as her mentor, she was far more advanced than the average century-old vampire. She was also known for her lack of scruples, which made her the perfect partner for him.
Jennifer inclined her head in Gabrielle's direction. "Gaby," she acknowledged, knowing how the other woman detested the shortening of her name.
"Chère Jennifer, so lovely to see you again." Gabrielle's voice was thick with a French accent that Jennifer knew to be as false as her current hair color.
Wilder, J. C. - Shadow Dweller 4 Page 15
