Blood Bond

by Alicia Ryan

  “Quite right,” he replied, grinning. “And thank you.”

  “Good luck.”

  He turned to go, and she added, “Let us know how it turns out.”

  He looked back at them. “If you came to the ball you could see for yourself.”

  Laughing, she replied that it would almost be worth it. Almost.

  Then he left, giving them a brief wave from the doorway.

  By now the room had mostly cleared out, and Phillip was looking down at the keys, one hand still clutching his empty glass.

  “You’re not seeing Highmore tonight?” he asked.

  “No, I thought I’d give that virtue thing you’re always harping about a try.”

  “Really?”

  It made her sad to see him look up at her like that. So hopeful. “No, not really. That was a joke.”

  “Oh. So you are seeing him.”

  “No. That much was true. Padworth doesn’t want any rumors about me and Darren being an item. I’ll see him tomorrow—on the down low.”

  “What?”

  “Oh. Uh...we’ll be discreet.”

  “And are you?” he asked. “An...item?”

  She shrugged. “One night hardly makes us an item, but I expect we’ll be seeing more of each other.”

  “I see.”

  At that, she had to laugh. “No, you really don’t.”

  “I wish I did,” he said, his voice low—almost as if he didn’t want her to hear. “I wish I could see. I wish I could feel and know the things you sing about.”

  He gripped his glass tight to his chest. “I know how wrong it is. But still...I wish it.”

  He wasn’t looking at her, and she gave in to the impulse to run a comforting hand through his hair. “Don’t be so sure,” she said. “Once you know a thing, you can’t ever un-know it. There’s no going back.”

  He looked up at her, and she smiled at him. “Besides,” she said, “I kind of like you the way you are.”

  “Not the way you like him.”

  He obviously meant Darren. “That’s not a fair comparison. Darren and I have some...unusual...things in common.”

  Phillip shook his head. “I’ll never understand you, will I?”

  “Does it matter?” she asked. “You wouldn’t have me anyway. We both know that.”

  “I’ve never thought I would have anyone but my future wife.”

  “And I can’t be that.”

  “No,” he said. “That’s not possible.”

  “So why aren’t you out trolling the ball scene like Hartley, looking for virgins?” She dropped down onto the stool beside him.

  “You know why,” he replied. “Hartley can have his pick. My prospects are limited due to my current circumstances. And also, at the moment, I’m spending all my time with you.”

  “Oh, come on. There’s got to be some horny heiress out there looking for a blue-eyed blond with a smokin’ hot bod.”

  She gave him a pointed once-over to try to keep from laughing as his eyes went wide as saucers.

  “In fact,” she went on, “maybe you should take your own advice—find yourself a widow or an unhappy wife who’ll keep you on the side in return for services rendered.”

  “My God, Roxanna, you really know no shame do you?”

  She shrugged. “You didn’t seem to feel any when you suggested the same to me.”

  He ran a hand down his face. “You’ve got me all mixed up.”

  His apparent confusion made her stop joking. “Don’t listen to me, Phillip. You stick to your principles—find a good girl, love her, marry her and be happy.”

  He sighed. “I did love a girl once.”

  She cringed—having to ask, but dreading the answer. “What happened?”

  “She got a better offer,” he said bleakly. “She’s a viscountess now.”

  “Then she’s a fool. There’s no way her viscount can love her half so well as you would have.”

  He shook his head. “No. But apparently love is a paltry offering.”

  “Don’t say that. Love is rarer than diamonds. God knows, I’ve never known any.”

  He gave her a puzzled look. “But some of your songs...”

  “Yeah, they talk about love. But they aren’t my songs. I didn’t write them; I just sing them. Come on,” she said, getting to her feet. “This is depressing, and I’m beat. I’ll see you in the morning, okay?”

  He nodded but didn’t move. “You go,” he said. “I’m going to sit here for a bit longer.”

  She couldn’t make out what was bothering him, so she threw in the towel. “Suit yourself,” she said. “I’m going to bed.”

  Chapter Nine

  It was almost ten before Roxanna made it downstairs the next morning. She’d woken earlier to find her chemise still damp from having been washed out the night before. So she’d just thrown herself back into bed.

  No surprise, then, that Phillip was already in the sitting room when she entered. She was surprised he wasn’t at the piano. Instead, he was sitting in one of the leather chairs in the front row, with his feet up on the one from the other side of the little table. His hands rested on his chest, fingers laced together, and his eyes were closed.

  When he looked up at her approach, she could see they were a tad bloodshot and ringed underneath with dark tinges.

  “Wow,” she said. “You look terrible.”

  He gave a meager laugh. “As always—far too honest. But no, I didn’t sleep much.”

  “We don’t have to practice today,” she offered. “Why don’t you go home and get some rest?”

  “Absolutely not,” he said, shaking his head. “I’d much rather be here.”

  She frowned. “Uh...thanks?”

  “Well, that too, of course. But today is my mother’s turn to host her knitting circle. Home is not where I want to be.”

  “Ah. That explains it. You’re holding out for a wife who doesn’t know how to knit.”

  “That would be a point in her favor, actually,” he said with a smile.

  “And you should find one who sings. With the way you can play...”

  “Yes, well, like I said, it will be some time before I have the need of making out a list of wifely requirements.”

  A tall footman came through the sitting room door. He wasn’t one she recognized, but he wore the standard cream colored pants and gold brocade vest. When he came toward them, Phillip put his feet on the floor and sat up straight.

  The man thrust something at her. “A message for the lady,” he said.

  She took it and looked down at the thick, stiffly folded paper. “Who’s it from?”

  “One of the gentlemen, of course.”

  Then he turned and left the room.

  She unfolded the paper, read the message, and frowned.

  “What’s wrong?” Phillip asked.

  “I...nothing. It’s just odd. It’s from Darren.”

  “Why is that odd?”

  She read the message again. “It says he’s got a room upstairs and I should come up.”

  “Given your...relationship, I don’t see why that’s so odd.”

  She re-folded the paper and tapped it against her other hand. “I thought he went home last night.”

  Phillip shrugged. “Sounds like maybe he just got here.”

  “I don’t think so. He’s not exactly a morning person.”

  “Maybe, for you, he’s changing his habits.”

  Roxanna considered this. He had said he could sometimes go out in daylight. If he hadn’t fed last night, perhaps hunger had provided sufficient motivation to take the risk.

  “Guess I’ll go feed the vampire,” she muttered.

  To her surprise, Phillip broke out into poetry.

  “But first on earth as vampire sent,

  thy corpse shall from its tomb be rent;

  then ghastly haunt thy native place,

  and suck the blood of all thy race.”

  She stared at him. “What’s that?”

 
“Part of a little something by Byron.” He sat further up in his chair. “Why did you call Darren a vampire?”

  “Oh, you know—pale, beautiful, only comes out at night.”

  “Except it seems he’s making an exception.”

  She walked back and put the note on top of the piano. “I guess I can get to the third floor from the back stairs?”

  He nodded. “I suppose it’s safe to assume we’re not practicing this morning after all?”

  “Uh...no. I don’t think so.”

  He stood. “Then I’ll be upstairs in the library. Enjoy your visit with his Lordship.”

  She left him without responding.

  The back stairs were narrow and worn, and she briefly considered how unfair it was that Phillip got to use the front stairs just because he was a man. This century kind of sucks, she said to herself.

  The note had said he was in room number nine, which she found easily enough. She couldn’t explain why she was nervous about knocking.

  But when she did, and the door opened, it wasn’t Darren on the other side.

  She sucked in a breath. “Cranston.”

  Before she’d even gotten the name out, his beefy hand was around her upper arm, dragging her through the door. She got a brief grip on the door frame with her right hand, but he just jerked her harder toward him, and she was no match for his strength.

  He pushed her further into the room, released her, and moved to quickly close the door.

  “You can’t do this,” she said, trying to sound confident.

  He turned. “There’s very little I can’t do, my dear.”

  She gulped. This was so not good. His face was hard and cold, and he was at least twice her size.

  “I don’t want this, Cranston. You have to let me go. If you don’t, I’ll start screaming. Someone up here will be gentleman enough to come to my rescue.”

  He was on her faster than she would have thought possible, slamming her up against the side of a wardrobe with his hand around her throat. She blinked back tears from the blow to the back of her head and tried to suck in air.

  “There’ll be no screams out of you.”

  He was right. If she couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t scream.

  With his other hand, he grabbed her skirt and yanked it up to her waist. He thrust his knee between hers and then upward to part her thighs. Then he rubbed her through the fabric of her chemise.

  She felt like she was going to throw up and suddenly wished he’d choke her into unconsciousness. That would be better than being awake for what he was going to do.

  His hand moved up to her breast, grabbing it through her dress.

  She turned her head to keep from looking at him. He was vile. And he was touching her.

  He ground his erection against her, and she wedged herself tighter against the wood at her back. But there was nowhere to go.

  “Are you ready, my little whore?” His voice sounded raw.

  She managed a whisper between broken gasps. “Never.”

  He shoved her toward the bed, where she landed face down. She tried to push herself up but then felt his weight on her thighs. He pushed her face into the pillows with a splayed hand pressed into the center of her back.

  “Finally,” he said. “You’re where you belong.”

  He jerked her dress up again, and she felt air hit her bare skin.

  No, she thought. Anything but this.

  Humiliation scalded her.

  Then he was touching her again. The hand around her hip bit into her, and she cried out in pain.

  He laughed and dug his fingers harder into her flesh.

  Then there was a horrendous crash, Cranston was no longer on top of her, and something hit hard against the opposite wall.

  It took a moment for all this to register, but she didn’t care. She just wanted to cover herself and get out of that damned room.

  She clamored off the bed and righted her clothes, and it was only then she realized Phillip was in the room as well. And he was thrashing the daylights out of Lord Cranston.

  She watched, shocked, as Phillip rained blow after brutal blow into Cranston’s face and ribcage. Cranston didn’t seem to be able to find an opening; he’d resorted to just trying to protect himself. Then Phillip landed a vicious punch right in the middle of Cranston’s chest, causing his eyes to bulge and his arms to drop. One more blow to the face and he was out cold, falling backward and sliding down the wall.

  Phillip turned and ran to her. “Roxanna,” he breathed out. “Are you...are you hurt?”

  She threw her arms around his chest and started to say something, but only tears would come. He held her while she cried, but when she caught her breath, there was only one thing she could think of.

  “Please. Take me to Darren.”

  He ran his hand down her hair. “Whatever you want. Come. Let’s go downstairs. I’ll get us a hackney.”

  She managed to tell him where to go, and then curled up under his arm after he’d given the directions to the driver and joined her inside the cab. She didn’t like that it was open, but they sat far enough back no one could see them from the street.

  Neither of them spoke until they were standing on Darren’s front landing and his butler had opened the door.

  “We need to see Lord Highmore,” Phillip said. “It’s rather urgent.”

  She recognized Harris, and he seemed to recognize her.

  “His lordship doesn’t accept visitors before tea time, but perhaps, in this case, I’ll inquire if he’d like to make an exception.”

  He stepped back and motioned for them to come in. They did, and he opened a pocket door on the left of the entryway. “Please wait in the drawing room.”

  He entered behind them and crossed to the one window to close the curtain. “I’ll return with his Lordship’s reply,” he told them.

  The room was small, but comfortable, in warm shades of brown and beige. She sat down on the edge of a shapely sofa and smoothed her dress over her legs, trying to block out the feeling of Cranston’s hands underneath it. But it was no good. The urge to vomit returned in force, and she closed her eyes, which made more tears gather behind them.

  “I’m sorry,” Phillip said. “I’m sorry I didn’t get there sooner.”

  She shook her head, glad of the distraction from her thoughts. “It’s a miracle you were there at all.” Opening her eyes, she asked, “How did you know?”

  “I...I don’t know. You seemed worried, so I got worried. On my way upstairs, I stopped at the front to check with Greer. He’s the entrance attendant during the day, but he also keeps the reservation book. I asked if Highmore was reserved upstairs and he said no.” He shook his head and looked at the ceiling. “Then I ran back to check the note, got the room number, and...the rest you know.”

  “You were brilliant.

  “I used to box at school a bit.”

  The door slid open to reveal Darren, wearing dark pants and an open shirt. He looked quickly between them but then settled his gaze on Roxanna. “What’s happened?”

  She felt some of the tension melt out of her bones as soon as he entered the room. More faded as she wrapped herself around him and he folded her in his embrace. She felt him kiss the top of her head.

  “It was Cranston,” Phillip said. “He...he tried to attack her. Did attack her.”

  “What?” It came out as a roar, and Roxanna shuddered.

  He relaxed against her immediately. “Shhh...” he whispered. “You’re safe.”

  She looked up at him. “Help me,” she whispered back.

  His eyes bored into hers, and he nodded, sweeping her up into his arms as he did so.

  He called back to Phillip to wait and then carried her up the stairs to his room.

  The door was open, but he kicked it shut behind them and laid her gently on the bed. For a moment he just looked at her, then his gaze dropped lower, and he put a finger inside the high collar of her dress to pull it down.

  “You’re brui
sing,” he said.

  “There will be more.” She closed her eyes, but not before she saw the muscles in his jaw clench.

  She brought her right arm up in front of her and began undoing the buttons on her sleeve. When she had it rolled up to her elbow, she opened her eyes again. “Please,” she said. She extended her arm to him.

  He didn’t say anything; he just nodded and moved to sit down on the floor beside her. He put his back against the bed and brought her bare arm around in front of him.

  He ran his finger lightly over a spot below the crease of her elbow. “Will this do?”

  She nodded. “Yes.”

  His lips were cool against her skin before he opened them. She felt his fangs brush against her. And then there was the pain.

  Slow, tortuous, beautiful. Her mind soaked it in, dissolved into it. For the moment, at least, there was only sensation. Only oblivion.

  It was a moment before she realized Darren had stopped. He was looking at her questioningly.

  “More.”

  He nodded and bit into her again, a few inches below the first wound. She sighed as his teeth entered her. He knew to go slow. And she felt him drinking this time. Felt that sensation as well, pulling at her. Pulling her toward the dark.

  “Don’t stop,” she whispered. And she knew he wouldn’t. He understood.

  ***

  Darren knew the instant Roxanna lost consciousness, and he lifted his head and licked closed the holes he had made in her golden skin.

  Part of him wanted to give in to the ecstasy coursing through his veins, to revel in it. But it seemed wrong when she’d only come to him for comfort. So he fought to return to reality. Besides, he had to talk to Branham.

  Levering himself off the floor, he laid Roxanna’s arm down on the coverlet. Her hair shone against the pillow, but her eyes were puffy and red.

  He wanted to strip her naked and see where else the bastard had hurt her. He wanted to know how he’d hurt her. But that story would have to come from her, in her own time.

  Phillip was right where he’d left him, standing awkwardly at the drawing-room doorway.

  “How is she?” he asked.

  “She’s...resting.”

  Phillip nodded. “Good.”

  “I want to know what happened. I want you to tell me everything.”