Caressed by a Crimson Moon (Rulers of Darkness)

by Amanda J. Greene

  Hadrian pressed another kiss to her palm, making Eva’s words end on a gasp.

  “I should have exercised more restraint.” His eyes darkened as they traveled down her body, desire flickered in their cold, black depths. “My behavior was not at all kingly.”

  Releasing his hold, Hadrian pulled away. Eva barely resisted the urge to reach out and draw him back.

  “So, what is this project,” she asked, trying to sound casual, if possible.

  “This is a test conducted on all new fledglings to determine how strong they will become,” he explained.

  Eva stepped closer. Focusing on the flowers, she tried her best to ignore the blood.

  “New fledglings? You mean, newly transformed vampires?”

  He nodded and withdrew three shriveled flowers still attached to their stems.

  “Have you changed someone?” she asked, glancing about the loft. They were alone.

  “I have changed only one mortal. Falcon,” he answered. “I have put this test together for you.”

  “Me? I have no magic in my blood.”

  “I suspect you do.”

  His statement surprised her. What was it about her that made him think she was anything more than a weak half-breed?

  “I’ll participate, but don’t get your hopes up. I’m only half-shifter.”

  “These dried flowers were once blooms of wolfsbane. If magic is present in your blood it will come back to life. The quicker it is revived and the brighter the glow of colors the stronger the magic. Do you know what determines a vampire’s strength?”

  “No.”

  “By sharing our cursed blood we can transform humans into demons. The magic that runs in our veins is very potent. The stronger the curse, the stronger the magic, the stronger the blood,” he explained.

  “The stronger the vampire,” she added.

  He nodded.

  “Do you plan to test that blood?” She pointed to the glass.

  “Yes, I want to show you the difference between mortal’s blood and ours.”

  “I don’t think anything is going to happen, but I’m game. I’m warning you, I’m squeamish when it comes to blood. Can’t even look at the stuff and the smell…” her words trailed off with a shiver.

  Hadrian smiled and unsheathed the dagger. He dipped the tip into the cooled blood and then held it over the first flower. The crimson liquid dripped onto the shriveled petals.

  “Nothing happen,” Eva whispered.

  “And nothing will. Human’s possess no magic.”

  Hadrian licked the remainder of the blood from the blade before dunking it into the clear solution. When he raised the blade, the unmistakable scent of alcohol assailed her senses.

  At least this is sanitary, she thought.

  Hadrian pricked the tip of his index finger. Blood welled and he held his hand over the second sprig.

  Eva hadn’t noticed the gasp that escaped her lips as she stepped forward, hitting her hips on the edge of the table. Her gaze locked on the flower. Brilliant, vibrant hues of blue and purple blossomed to life as the stem began to sprout.

  “Amazing,” she breathlessly whispered. “I have never seen anything like that. Well, except on TV. Your blood must be really strong.”

  “I was sired by one of the original vampires,” he stated coldly. He rounded the table to stand beside her. “Now, it is your turn.”

  “Damn,” she sighed, nervousness bubbled in her stomach.

  He rinsed the blade again. “Your blood taunted me last night,” he said, his voice deepening, his breath sweeping along her ear. He drew a finger over her palm, mimicking her healed wound. “And it revealed your secrets.”

  “Secrets?” Hell, she could not think straight with this man so close.

  Her blood. He had been talking about her blood.

  “I know what you are, little one.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Allow me to show you.”

  Eva knew she should close her eyes. He was going to prick her finger. He was going to draw blood. The thought made her stomach twist and she prayed she would able to hold down her Fruit Loops, but she could not look away.

  She felt no pain as the blade pricked her finger. A tiny bead of blood welled and Hadrian held her hand over the last dried flower. One drop. Two. Three.

  Eva’s heart hammered against her ribs as her breath seized. Shock cartwheeled down her spine. She felt her jaw drop and her legs went weak. Hadrian caught her to him, supporting her weight with his body. A bomb went off in her head and, for the first time in her life, she swore she would faint. Awe, confusion, astonishment, and fear whirled together like a hurricane in her mind.

  This was…inconceivable. It had to be a mistake. It was a mistake. When Hadrian cut her finger, his blood must have mixed with hers. That was the only possible explanation for the wolfsbane blooming.

  “It–That–I don’t…” Eva shook her head. Closing her eyes, she began to take in one slow, deep breath after the other. Collecting her scattered rational, she began again, “I think your blood mixed with mine.”

  “It did not.”

  “This has to be some kind of trick,” she argued.

  “Never have I led you falsely.”

  “But this,” she waved at her once shriveled sprig, its colors so intense it appeared to be glowing, “is impossible. I’m a half-breed. My blood is weak. Diluted.”

  “Magic is thick in your veins.”

  “No. It’s not. It really is not,” she protested. “I demand a retest.”

  “By all means,” Hadrian insisted. Plucking another dried flower from the beaker he laid it on the table before her.

  “Do you have something else I can use to draw blood?”

  Hadrian went to the china cabinet and retrieved a small pocketknife. He sanitized it with fresh alcohol, flipped it in his hand and offered her the hilt.

  Eva reached out with trembling fingers. She hoped she would have the courage to cut herself.

  Time froze as she struggled to calm her nerves and ignore the storm of mixed emotions that whirled through her.

  Squeezing her eyes shut, she held her breath as the cool metal pierced her thumb. Peeking from beneath her lashes, Eva watched her blood drip onto the new flower.

  She expected to hit the floor, but Hadrian caught her. Her body was numb, her muscles slack, her breathing was shallow while her heart beat out of control as the blossoming flower stared up at her.

  Eva sputter, her head reeling. It took some time before she could finally speak. “This isn’t possible. I’m a half-breed.”

  “Yes, but you are not human.”

  “W–what am I?” Eva’s voice quaked and angry tears stung her eyes as she silently prayed for strength. Chaos. Her thoughts were complete chaos as her world collapsed around her, falling like shards of glass from a perfectly polished, beautifully destroyed mirror. “What kind of freak am I?” she demanded, her hands forming shaking fists as the red of rage colored her vision.

  “You are no ‘freak,’ little one, but a true treasure.”

  She snorted, “Spare me the ‘you are special’ speech. What the hell am I?”

  “You are of shifter and Shaw descendent.”

  “Shaw? No.” She shook her head. “This can’t be. My mother was not a witch. She was mortal. She was human. She was…normal.”

  “You have magic in your blood, there is no escaping, no hiding from what you are.”

  “No.” She shoved against his chest. “I don’t have magic. This has to be a mistake.”

  “Science does not lie,” he stated.

  “No!” Eva began to thrash and Hadrian’s arms tightened like steal bands, trapping her. “My mother was not a Shaw,” she railed. Unleashing the storm of emotions that roiled within her, she pummeled his chest with her tiny fists. She kicked at his shins and scratched at his arms. Hadrian held her firm, absorbing every hit she delivered.

  How could she not have known? Why had her mother said nothing? God, sh
e had lived her entire life believing she was mortal and now…She had no idea what she was or what she would become.

  “Let it out,” Hadrian crooned as she continued to fight. “Let all your anger out.”

  After what seemed like a tortured eternity to Eva, her wild punches slowed until she sagged against his solid chest. She trembled as tears slipped down her cheeks like tiny rivulets, soaking his shirt. Hadrian gathered her closer, as if he were trying to shield her from the pain.

  Fury simmered within her as confusion clouded her mind. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t focus. Everything she knew about herself, everything she knew about her parents had been a lie. Her vision wavered as the sharp, gnarled edge of betrayal pierced her heart. Why did her mother never tell her about her true heritage?

  “All my life, I was lead to believe—Why would she do this?” Eva sniffled.

  “I wish I knew.”

  “And my father, he must have known.”

  Hadrian rested his chin atop her head. He began to stroke her hair, the long silken strands slipping through his fingers. Eva burrowed her face into his chest. His warmth chased away the chill of shock that had taken root in her bones.

  Closing her eyes, she savored the comfort he offered and wrapped her arms about his waist, hugging him tightly. No one had held her or shown her compassion since childhood.

  The sound of a slow, steady heartbeat lulled her as he began to massage her shoulders, her neck, and her back. The tension in her body slowly eased until she was completely relaxed and…purring?

  Yes and she felt completely content and exhausted. Her head ached and her eyes burned with tears. She needed a nice, long soak in the tub, hot chocolate, and some Ibuprofen. But there was one question she had to ask before she could slink off to her room to self-medicate and hide from the world.

  “I’ve growled and I was…just purring. I haven’t been able to sleep because I crave movement. Every night I pace my room for hours or swim laps in the pool. With every passing day I find it more and more difficult to stay still long enough to watch a movie.” Gathering her courage, she asked, “What is happening to me?”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Hadrian did not answer. He did not have to confirm what she could sense. Instinct told her a full moon would rise tonight. When it reached its peak, she would change. Her body would contort. Her muscles would tear, her bones would snap as the animal within her awakened.

  “Oh, god,” she whispered on a shaking breath. Her pulse pounded like a drum in her ears, her anxiety deafening. “Will I become a jaguar?”

  “I don’t believe so. Your witch DNA should prevent a complete transformation.”

  “Should?” she asked. Her fingers trembled as she nervously played with her hair, twisting and braiding it.

  “Last night, I did some research and found nothing of value. I spent nearly fifty years living amongst the various packs that inhabit Central and South America. I learned all that I could of shifter history, biology, physiology and anatomy. I studied their war prone and often war torn cultures. I observed behaviors, interactions, and ceremonies. Not once, in all the time I spent with the packs, did I hear of one such as you.”

  Eva’s shoulders slumped. “Are you saying there has never been a half-breed like me?”

  Should he share with Eva what the Shaw priestess had told him? All those like her had died, none surviving past the change, but she would be different. He would save her. He would share with her his blood, the vile essence of his soul, and bind her life force with his.

  Hadrian felt his incisors sharpen. Running his tongue over them, he groaned. Eva’s blood, he would finally know the taste of Eva’s blood. He had spent countless hours imagining how sweet, how hot she would be.

  “So there is no telling what will happen to me?”

  Eva’s distressed, musical voice slapped him back to attention. “No,” he answered.

  Fear’s icy grip claimed her. There was nothing worse than the unknown. Had there truly been no others like her? The Shaw lived in Europe while shifters were scattered about the Americas and Africa, with few remaining in Asia. It was highly unlikely the two would have ever crossed paths.

  Or, she thought with a horrified shuttered, none had survived to complete maturity.

  Lifting her chin, she used all the strength she had to combat her fear. Fate had dealt her another crap hand, but she would not fold.

  She stepped back, breaking Hadrian’s hold on her. “I just need to know one thing. Could I die?”

  Hadrian’s jaw clenched and she could hear his teeth grind together. His eyes flashed between turbulent red and deadly black as he grated, “I will not allow death to take you.”

  Eva exhaled the breath she had not realized she had been holding. Swallowing hard, she fought the dread that threatened to choke her. Death was a possibility.

  Silence pounded in her ears. She stood cemented to the floor. The stillness was deafening as realization seeped into her. Tonight, when the full moon rose, she could die, painful and bloody.

  Hadrian watched Eva. Would she faint? Would she run? Would she ever break free of the trance that had settled over her? Her breathing was slow, shallow as she continued to stare, unseeing, unblinking. Gods, he wished he could hear her thoughts.

  He hesitantly stepped closer. Instinct roared within him, demanding he take her in his arms, that he reassure her with gentle words. But he knew nothing of comforting others and touching her—

  “Hadrian.” Her voice was low, barely a whisper.

  He moved closer. He could feel the delicious heat of her body.

  “When I transition…will you stay with me?”

  Unable to resist, Hadrian gently brushed her hair from her face, the curls erotically slipping through his fingers.

  “I vow, I will not leave you.”

  “Thank you.”

  Hadrian felt her shiver and steeled himself against the urge to pull her to him.

  “I never thought I would die a virgin,” she sighed.

  “You will not die,” he snapped.

  The violent force of his voice shocked her.

  “Did you hear me, Eva?” His fingers circled her wrist, bruising her. He pulled her to him, leaning over her, his lips a scant whisper from hers. “Death will not have you. Ever.”

  “Okay,” she gasped, her fear, her anxiety of the coming night forgotten, replaced by undeniable need. God, she loved it when he was rough. Something dark within her reveled in it. “You’re right. No need to stress over something that may not happen.”

  “That will not happen,” he corrected.

  Eva nodded. If Hadrian said she was not going to be shaking hands with the Grim Reaper tonight, then she would believe him.

  “Put death from your mind,” he commanded. “All we must think on is whether you will turn jaguar or not. Until midnight, we will play the waiting game,” he added.

  Laughter bubbled within her, destroying the glass cage of uncertainty and anger that surrounded her heart. She loved when Hadrian used modern phrases. It clashed with his old accent and regal demeanor.

  Enchanting was the only word Hadrian could find to describe Eva’s laugh. He stood, spellbound. Damn, she was beautiful. Her eyes sparkled despite the fear that lurked in their amber depths. She was brave, willing and ready to face whatever came at her. Hadrian found himself wishing this strong and gorgeous woman could be his.

  Eva wetted her perfect lips and Hadrian groaned. They were inviting—no, begging for a kiss and, sweet hell, he needed to sample her passion.

  Unable to reign in his desire, he leaned into her, melding their bodies together. Her breasts pressed hard against his chest, her hips cradled his erection.

  Delicious tension coiled through her and gathered at her center. She could sense his resolve weakening and she eagerly rubbed against him, her fingers ran up from his wrists, over the roped muscle of his arms, to his wide shoulders.

  Her breath caught as his lips brushed hers. Not a kiss, but a
tender caress. She trembled. Anticipation mounting, her pulse hammered in her ears, drowning out the world. All that existed was Hadrian. The betrayal of her mother was forgotten and the news of her impeding transformation became a faint memory.

  Hadrian’s hands moved into her hair as his body enveloped her. His low, deep growl vibrated her chest and she would have swooned if he had not been holding her.

  Digging her fingers into his shoulders, she rose to her tiptoes. Their lips brushed again. He groaned as she sighed. His grip tightened. A shot of lightening sprinted down her spine. She stroked his bottom lip with her tongue.

  Hadrian whirled away and she stumbled back, hitting the table. His back was to her, his fists clenching at his sides. She could see the whites of his knuckles as his shoulders heaved.

  Her hand shot to her mouth. Her lips tingled. Her body burned. Tears triggered by the sharp pain of inadequacy, the dull ache of disappointment. She wanted to scream. She wanted to hit him over the head with a very large, very heavy book—repeatedly!

  “Why do you always pull away?” Eva demanded. “Is it because I’m a half-breed? I’m not good enough for you?”

  “I care not of your parentage.” And I’m not good enough for you, he finished, his jaw clenched.

  “Don’t lie!” Her words ended on a threatening growl. “What is wrong with me?”

  “Nothing,” Hadrian snapped.

  Eva roughly ran her hands through her hair, barely able to contain her disappointed anger and sexual frustration.

  “I don’t understand. There has to be something for you to continue to shut me down.” She shook her head. Maybe his refusal was not personal. “Is it because I’m your ward?”

  Hadrian cursed then said, “It isn’t proper for us to have sexual relations.”

  Eva shrugged. She could not possibly care less about what was right. She existed alone on the fringes of otherworldly society, why should she care about what other’s thought? They would judge her and shun her for her birth, not her actions.

  “It’s not as if the alpha would challenge you to a duel in order to defend my honor and I highly doubt he would demand you marry me.” My father may have sent me here hoping Hadrian would kill me. Or he sent me here knowing I would transition and possibly–No, don’t you even dare finish that thought.