by Lyons, Rene
Lex didn’t stop it when her mind opened to him and her every thought was laid bare. He hissed against her lips when the flood of thoughts flowed from her to him. Though she had a limited imagination when it came to sex, she knew enough to know what she wanted—and what she wanted him to do to her and what she wanted to do to him played out in vivid detail.
He pushed Lex aside with a vicious curse. She stumbled, but righted herself by gripping the edge of the desk. ”What’s wrong?”
“Everything,” he ground out, barely able to hold onto his control.
“Constantine... ”
“Go away, Lex.”
Though dizzy and disoriented from his sexual assault, Lex was smart enough to hear the warning in Constantine’s tone. So though she didn’t want to leave him, she knew it was best for him if she did.
Lex said nothing more as she stepped around him to leave the den. When their arms brushed, Constantine hissed a moment before his teeth snapped as if he needed to bite something. Well, not merely something. It was clear he wanted to bite her.
God forgive her, but she wanted to know what it would feel like to have Constantine take her blood.
He must have been reading her mind, since he let out a sound horrific enough to chill her blood. She’d almost reached the door when his voice cut through the quiet.
“Lex,” Her name was a harsh curse falling from his lips. She stopped and turned back to him. “Lock your door.”
When Lex heard Tristan and Raphael in the hall, she thought she’d die of shame. They had to know what they had been doing in here. If they didn’t hear what had gone on—which Lex was sure they had—they’d sense it since the Templars were connected in mind and body.
With a curt nod, Lex left the den and raced up the stairs. She burst like a storm into her room. After she slammed the door closed, she touched her fingers to her swollen lips. Delicious warmth spread through her and she was grateful her first kiss was with Constantine.
Stepping away from her door, she crossed the room and flopped down on her bed and fought to control not just the frantic beat of her heart, but the power surging through her.
She didn’t lock her door.
* * *
With a grunt of frustration, Constantine turned off the computer, ending the rhythmic beat of Enigma’s music.
Lex’s energy continued to throb within him, making it damn difficult to regain his control. Whatever was going on inside of her was strong enough to heat his body, which knew only cold since the time when Michael had ripped his soul from him.
All those centuries ago he woke bleeding and burnt raw on the sands of the Holy Land, left to make the long trek back to England as his body raged with needs that cut through him like a million blades.
During his relentless journey, the sun had come close to destroying him at least a dozen times. By the time he’d touched English soil he’d been nearly mad with hunger and his mind ravaged by memories.
After what had seemed like an endless journey through Hell itself, Constantine had made it to Seacrest Castle in Northumberland. There, the other Templars waited for him, and all in as bad a condition as he was. Lucian, however, was much worse off than them all. He’d been damn near raging mad. It had taken years for him to break out of his stupor and come to some sort of acceptance of his actions after he’d gone back to his ancestral home of Penwick Castle. After what he’d done there, he’d found his way to Seacrest, as they all had. They’d gone there to heal and for refuge. Even now, centuries later, both Seacrests were their only havens.
They all knew the rules they were to exist by and what they needed to do in order to earn redemption. With their souls at stake, and the threat of Hell a constant companion, they’d learned to fight hunger and take only what they needed from humans in order to survive.
Unlike renegades, vampires who prowled the night unfettered by God’s laws, Templars were forced to uphold the Ten Commandments. The Templars had made an oath to God in exchange for the chance of redemption. Renegades had not. They were without morals and conscience. They tortured and slaughtered the living with gruesome abandon. Should Templars veer from their path to Heaven, they’d be thrown down into Hell, where they would rot for eternity.
The fear of such a fate had even Constantine resisting the nature of the creature they were damned as.
As he paced the length of the den, Constantine shook off the affects Lex’s energy. He had a damn good idea what it was inside of her. Yet he’d keep her secret. He wouldn’t betray her trust in this.
Not only did Constantine live by the code of God’s law, he had his own set of rules that governed him. Twisted as it may be, he’d not betray Lex by telling the others until she was ready. This wasn’t his secret to tell and, as one who knew all about secrets, he wouldn’t force her into a situation she wasn’t ready to face. All he could do was watch over her and make damn sure no renegade got to her.
“I thought you’d still be out.”
Glancing at Tristan, who stood in the doorway looking haggard, Constantine sensed the bloodlust was upon him. “Obviously I’m not.”
Tristan cocked a brow imperiously. “You’re playing a dangerous game, Dragon.”
Constantine leveled a chilling look at Tristan, who wasn’t moved in the least. “Stop the cryptic bullshit and say what you came here to say.”
With a shrug, Tristan got right to the point. “Raphael saw you kissing Lex.”
“Well good on him.” How the hell had Constantine missed sensing Rogue? “Did he like what he saw?”
“Don’t be a bloody arse, Dragon. You know damn well you’re playing with fire.”
“Last I heard my father gave the devil his due when that piece of shit died and went to Hell. I don’t need you to step in and take his place.”
In a flash of movement, Tristan came at him with fangs bared. He grabbed a fistful of Constantine’s shirt. Constantine’s fangs slammed down into his bottom lip when Tristan gave him a hard shake.
“Hurt Lex and we’ll all take turns making sure you spend the rest of your miserable existence regretting it.”
With a vicious growl, Constantine knocked away Tristan’s hold. “Fuck you.”
Constantine brushed past Tristan and stalked from the den. Though they crossed swords on the lists countless times over the centuries, he’d never done so in anger. He refused to do battle with a man he’d thought of as a brother. Not even he was that much of an asshole. Although, there were nights when Tristan came dangerously close to hitting that mark of complete and utter bastard.
Tristan watched Constantine storm from the den. He heard him leave the keep and drive off. He hadn’t meant to threaten Dragon, yet he wouldn’t stand by and risk Lex being hurt.
“He cares for her, you know.”
Tristan looked to see Raphael filling the open doorway. “Of course I know. Why the hell do you think I want him to keep away from her? She’s too bloody innocent for a man like him. You know what he’s capable of.”
Raphael moved to the hearth and tried to steal some of the fire’s heat. “It is what it is. And personally, I’m glad. Constantine needs her. If anyone is going to cleanse him of his past, it’s going to be Lex.”
Tristan joined him by the fire. “She’s too innocent.”
“Tristan, leave this alone. Don’t you think Constantine deserves a bit of happiness?”
“Of course I believe he deserves happiness. By God, when I think of all he’s suffered... ”
Raphael clapped a hand on his shoulder and offered him a reassuring smile. “Then step back and let things be. He won’t hurt her. If anything, he’ll hurt himself.”
“That’s what I’m most afraid of.”
Chapter Four
Draegon Castle:
Winter 1295
“You are no dragon, you miserable wretch,” Henry ground out.
Constantine, exhausted beyond measure, dropped his arm. So sore, the limb shook, he wondered how he’d managed to continue fighting f
or as long as he had.
The blade of the sword scraped the ground, cutting a deep line in the frozen dirt. Constantine’s warm breath came out in puffs of white smoke when it hit the cold air with each rasping breath he took. Knowing this day was far from finished; his body rebelled at the notion of lifting the sword—which was nearly as long as he was tall—one more time.
Fifteen hours had passed since he’d come out to the lists just before dawn. With the night upon them, the mid-winter frost had set in. The garrison had long since taken to the hall, escaping the cold of the December night. Constantine, the young soldier he fought and the lord of Draegon remained out in the cold long after all others had migrated to the warmth of the hall.
Constantine’s stomach constricted as it begged for food. His muscles burned. Each ragged breath he dragged into his lungs was an experience in pain. His legs were long past the point of having the strength to hold him. He remained upright out of sheer willpower and fear of his father’s wrath should he dare falter.
Hands numb from cold were barely able to grip the sword. Constantine realized the numbness was a blessing when he chanced to glance down at his bleeding knuckles. The pain was nothing but a mild bother.
With his father looking on, Constantine knew if he gave in to the exhaustion and the pain, he’d suffer Henry’s wrath for it. He called upon reserves of strength and tightened his bleeding fingers around the cold steel of the sword’s handle.
Constantine met his father’s cutting glare with one of his own. “I am a dragon,” he insisted between his ragged breaths.
Henry cocked a brow at him, a sneer twisting his mouth. “Then finish him, boy.”
Constantine looked back at Geoffrey, who lay defeated on the ground. The soldier was beaten. He’d fallen beneath Constantine’s sword, which was no small feat for a child who’d seen only ten winters. To “finish” him would be a disgrace to all Constantine believed being a knight meant.
Raising his chin a notch, Constantine met his father’s frigid glare defiantly. “I will not, Father.”
Henry went red with rage. “You dare defy me, boy?”
Constantine puffed out his chest, ready to face his father’s wrath. “I will not kill him.”
When his father pulled free his sword from the scabbard at his hip, Constantine held fast to his resolve. The long polished blade winked in the moonlight as Henry leveled the tip of the sword at Constantine’s throat. Outwardly, he struggled to appear unfazed. Inwardly, however, he was terrified.
“Kill him or I’ll kill you,” Henry vowed. “Better you die now at my hand than grow into the weak man you promise to be.”
Though his heart thundered with morbid anticipation of death, Constantine raised his chin higher to give his sire better access to his throat. “Do it then,” he taunted with false bravado.
Geoffrey scrambled from the floor and placed himself between father and son. “Nay, my lord,” he cried. “Do not!”
Henry’s angry gaze shot to Geoffrey. “You dare to presume to tell me what to do?”
Geoffrey, instantly contrite, bowed his head. “Nay, my lord, but he is your son.”
Constantine nearly laughed at that. Geoffrey, he knew, was new to Draegon Castle. Geoffrey had yet to learn there was no paternal bond between him and his father.
“All the more reason to end his worthless life now and be done with him.”
Try as he might, Constantine couldn’t stop the tears that slipped from his eyes. He wanted to slap away the evidence of his weakness but he didn’t dare move for fear his father would push the blade in.
“Pathetic,” Henry sneered. “That’s what you are.” He took the sword from Constantine’s throat and put it to Geoffrey’s. The young man’s eyes bulged in horror. “I will not abide insolence from any man who serves me.”
Without hesitation or hint of remorse, Henry rammed the blade in Geoffrey’s throat. The soldier let out a sick, choked sound. His hands flew to his neck as a blood bubbled in his mouth. He fingered the blade sticking in his neck, horrified as he rapidly bled to death.
Henry pulled the sword free and Geoffrey slumped to the ground. Constantine gagged at the sight of the soldier’s blood seeping out over the lists. When he looked back at his father, it was to see Henry bending to wipe the blood from his blade with Geoffrey’s shirt before he rose and sheathed the sword.
“That’s what I expect of you, boy. Anything less and I swear on God you’ll be next.”
With the regal bearing of a king, Henry marched back to the keep as if he hadn’t just taken an innocent young life. Constantine, however, remained frozen to the spot for a long while, staring at Geoffrey until the last of his blood spilled out.
He looked to the imposing crenellated square keep, which rose in the center of the large bailey. A disgusted shiver wracked him. Four more months and he’d be gone from here. He’d go off to Greaves Castle to serve under Ulric Chambers. Constantine prayed he’d finally find a sense of home and belonging there.
Leaning down, Constantine closed the soldier’s eyes and said a quick prayer over his body. When he regained his feet he looked to the sky. A crescent moon cast its faint pale glow upon him. Even with the horror of death lying at his feet, a sense of destiny came over Constantine.
Or was it prophecy that crawled over him?
Something whispered to him that the night was where his fate lay.
Chapter Five
The clash of steel against steel rang out across Seacrest’s courtyard. Out on the lists, Tristan’s sword coming at him was enough to jar him out of his thoughts about Lex. Unfortunately, not long enough for him not to lapse right back into them.
Deflecting Tristan’s attack, Constantine almost wished Guardian would get the better of him. After last night, he needed some sense knocked into him.
What the hell had he been thinking?
Constantine had taken a foolish risk by being alone with Lex. She was too much of a temptation and he’d barely been able to hold himself in check. It had taken all of his restraint to let her leave, especially since her mind opened to him and he’d heard her every thought.
God’s Blood, the things she’d been thinking had almost shattered his resolve. He’d almost pulled her back and put an end to his torture by taking what she offered and being done with it. That would have been a disaster of epic proportions.
Hell, what the fuck did he know about women, and virgins at that? Since everything he touched turned to shit, Constantine was damn sure if he continued to dabble in this madness when it came to her, he’d ruin her.
Constantine averted Tristan’s next attack. He managed to jump to the side and meet Tristan’s blade with his own. It had been a long time since he and Tristan had crossed swords. Though Guardian was an incredible fighter, he lacked the merciless edge Constantine possessed. It gave him the upper hand in battle and had him putting Tristan on the defensive.
Constantine was out here tonight to work off his sexual frustration. It rode him mercilessly all day as he drifted in and out of sleep. More than just the ugliness of his past haunted his dreams. Now they were plagued by Lex as well.
Thank God for Tristan, Constantine thought as Tristan pushed him to the limit of what even a vampire’s body could handle. It came down to one of two things, either he was going to take this frustration out on a Templar or he was going to take it out on a human. Although he had no preference—hell as far as he was concerned there were plenty of humans who needed killing—he didn’t think God would appreciate it if he damaged up one of His children. After all, he was already treading thin ice when it came to the whole redemption thing. He wasn’t about to push his luck any further.
Knowing how hard he was fighting, Constantine almost pitied Tristan. Almost. Constantine had neither the time nor the inclination for a sentiment such as guilt. It was bad enough he was sporting a conscience when it came to Lex. He’d not allow himself further weakness by letting guilt in.
The two Templars were stripped to thei
r waists. With the September moon bathing them, Tristan’s smooth and unadorned skin was a sharp contrast to the large tattoos covering Constantine’s chest and arm.
He bore two warrior-angels. The one over his right pectoral had black wings and wielded a silver sword. On his left was an angel with white wings who brandished a gold sword. Constantine never spoke of why he chose the angels or what they represented. He knew the Templars assumed they symbolized the act of Michael seizing their souls. They were wrong. It was the tattoo on his left upper arm, of a Templar’s sword cutting vertically through a heart, representing the loss of his soul.
