Legends of the Damned: A Collection of Edgy Urban Fantasy and Paranormal Romance Novels

by Lindsey R. Loucks

  “I know. You told him to go ahead to Italy.”

  He swallowed. “I meant after we travel home. I have another small estate on the Lago di Bolsena. I inherited it from my grandmother. She used to make it her home when she was the dowager countess. Father doesn't like it much because it's not as grand as our other estates, but my mother loved it and I do too. I think that's where we should make our home. If Father wants to see us, he can do so there. But only to visit. We should live on our own.”

  Isobel put her hands over her heart, shoulders shaking in relief. “We don't have to live with your father? Oh, thank the stars. That's the best news I've ever heard.”

  Matteo laughed again before wincing and subsided.

  “Lean back, darling,” she urged, gently pushing at his shoulders to recline him on the pillows of his bed.

  Unfastening his breeches, she tugged them down.

  “Isabella, I've had enough sleep to last me a lifetime. There's no way I'm going to bed right now.”

  Laughing to herself, she pulled the cloth free of his legs. “Actually, I had something else in mind,” she said, beginning to unfasten her dress.

  His eyes lit up. “And what might that be?” he asked, even as it became increasingly obvious that she was wiggling out of her gown.

  “Well,” she began, joining him on the bed. “It occurs to me that this is the first time we've been alone together. Truly alone.”

  He coughed, his hips rising as she reached out to massage his legs and then higher.

  “I suppose that's one way of looking at it.” His expression grew serious. “But what if…”

  “If what?”

  He glanced at her and then away quickly. “Suppose you like it better the other way? I still remember how intense it was. I don't want to disappoint you now that I’m just a man,” he said in a low hoarse voice.

  Her brow rose pointedly. “You could never do that.”

  He looked at his hands and grimaced. “I can't even touch you.”

  “Yes, you can.” She smiled softly before pulling off her chemise and crawling to his side. “Everywhere,” she whispered as she offered him her breasts.

  He hesitated before latching onto the creamy mounds eagerly, kissing and sucking each in turn. Shifting closer to her, he drew the rapidly hardening tip of one into his mouth and laved it, and then the other, with his tongue. Isobel moaned, parting her legs involuntarily.

  It did feel different this time, more intense.

  Her husband must have thought so too. “Cara, use your hand. Touch yourself for me,” he rasped. “Open your legs wider so I can see.”

  Blushing hotly, she complied. Moving over, she positioned herself closer to his head, parting her legs.

  His eyes caressed her, so hot she could feel herself growing moist from his gaze alone. Tentatively she touched between her legs, running her fingers up and down over her tender inner lips. She teased herself under his watchful dark eyes, playing with the little nub above her sex until she was breathing heavily.

  So was he. “Isabella, climb over me—over my face. I want to taste you.”

  A thrill passed through her at the idea. He moved down to lie flat on the bed. Heart racing, she shifted and threw her leg over him, positioning herself on her knees just over his face. Using the headboard to brace herself, she lowered those crucial few inches until he was there, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to her soft feminine flesh.

  That caress reverberated through her body. Hands trembling, Isobel gripped the headboard tighter.

  “You taste like nothing else, mi amore,” he whispered, his hot breath puffing over her wet sex. “Move yourself as you will. I want you to guide me.”

  Isobel looked down, meeting his eyes. It was so strange to see him smiling up at her from between her legs. She laughed and nodded, adjusting her hips so that she was hovering above him, shifting up and down so that his lips and tongue could caress her.

  “Oh, God,” she gasped as he sucked her pearl into his mouth. Above him she writhed, rocking back and forth as his mouth worked its magic underneath her.

  His tongue probed her entrance, forcing its way inside her in a wicked twisting motion. The spasms started almost immediately. Her channel gripped him like a velvet vise, throbbing around him. Losing control, Isobel threw her head back and rocked faster until she was grinding down on him.

  Her scream of completion made him laugh, but it was muffled and Isobel hastily collapsed to the side so she wouldn't smother him.

  It took several minutes to catch her breath. When she finally turned to look at him, he was watching her breasts heave up and down with each movement of her chest.

  “It's hell not being able to touch you, cara,” he said, twin notes of longing and frustration in his voice.

  Poor Matteo, he truly did not deserve to lose the use of his hands.

  “I would like to remind you, my lord, that the night isn't over yet.”

  He chuckled and she shifted down the bed, moving over him until her head was level with his manhood.

  Tentatively, she reached out to lick him.

  “What are you doing, amore?” he asked breathlessly.

  “Something the maids used to whisper about...the things they did when they went out walking with their sweetheart. It was considered safe since they didn't risk their positions by falling pregnant.”

  Taking his already swollen manhood in her hands, she put her mouth over the rounded head, licking and sucking, cupping him below and squeezing lightly. Experimenting, she tried to take as much of him in her mouth as she could, but he was too big, so she settled for kissing him up and down his length.

  Matteo didn't seem to care that she couldn't take all of him. His moans filled the air. She liked the sound and the fact that she was the one causing it. It was his turn to writhe helplessly, to be taken to the brink and then pushed over it.

  His hips thrust up, trying to prolong the contact with the warmth of her mouth until he suddenly changed his mind.

  “Cara, stop. Please. I need to be inside you.”

  Still riding the high from pleasuring him she climbed over his thighs, bringing them together with a heady rush of sensual abandon.

  The air in her lungs escaped in a hiss as she sank down on his steely arousal. He was almost too large and thick for her—especially in this position—but she was soft and hot from her earlier climax, enough to work his entire length inside.

  He swore when the tip of him touched her womb, but quickly lost the power of speech when she began to move. Leaning forward and using her arms for leverage, she rose up until he was about to slip out and then quickly back down.

  Below her, he reached up reflexively. His bandaged hands pressed against her hips.

  She hurriedly leaned down to whisper, “No, my darling. You mustn't.”

  He needed to be careful. Taking hold of his wrists, she pressed his arms down to the bed, holding him by the forearms so he couldn't hurt himself.

  She pressed a kiss to his lips before beginning to rock again. Clasping him tightly in her sheath, she pumped up and down, losing herself in the feel of him. Her sheath gripped his shaft hungrily, the friction she generated catalyzing pleasure to blinding ecstasy.

  Giving herself over to the moment, she cried out, hips rocking frantically as her climax rose and crested like a wave. It crashed down with the force of the ocean during a storm.

  Inside of her, Matteo's cock swelled and pulsed as his shout mingled with her own. Holding herself tight around him as the last tremors rocked their bodies, she just barely stopped herself from falling forward onto his bandaged chest.

  The words he was chanting finally penetrated her bliss-fogged mind. “Ti amo, sempre.”

  “Too overcome to speak, she concentrated on regaining the will to move. After a long minute she slipped to the left, pushing up against his side until her breasts and sex were pressed against his arm and hip.

  “I love you, too,” she finally whispered back, stopping his chant wi
th a touch of her fingers.

  He kissed the tips briefly before speaking again.

  “Thank you,” he breathed.

  “For what? I mean aside from the obvious...” she asked with a teasing smile, turning to look up at him.

  “For everything. For saving me and for staying,” he said, the love in his eyes warming her down to her soul.

  She reached up to touch his cheek. “You forgot something.”

  “What?” He frowned.

  “To thank me for proving that what we have now—just the two of us—is better than anything that came before.”

  His eyes lingered on her face with a loving expression. “I know that's true for me. I'm just grateful you feel the same way. And know this, as soon as I can hold you in my arms again, I'm never letting go.”

  “Good,” she murmured, pressing her brow against his shoulder.

  Because she didn't plan on letting go either. And because he had just given her a brilliant idea…

  Epilogue

  Five months later.

  “And this is mint,” Isobel said in a much-improved Italian accent, pointing to the dark green leaves. “In addition to its pleasing taste, it is very beneficial for the digestion as well as other minor ailments.”

  Little Tomas leaned over to inspect the plant she was holding, his small brow creased in concentration. He didn't reply, but that wasn't unusual. He was incredibly intelligent, but Tomas was still growing accustomed to her presence. The only person he was truly comfortable with was his older brother Matteo, whom he called Papa.

  Though shy with her, Tomas did like plants. He would silently trail her in the greenhouse Matteo had built for her whenever she was working in there. That had given her the idea to teach him about herbology.

  In addition to the greenhouse, their countryside home had extensive gardens as well as several small streams and a fantastic view of the crystalline waters of lake Bolsena.

  She made good use of the fertile land, growing everything she needed for her healing practice. There was a lot to teach Tomas about plants and the natural world. She even let him observe when the local villagers came to her for cures to their minor complaints. And despite his tender years, he paid close attention to everything she taught him.

  It had been Isobel's idea to claim Tomas as her son from a previous marriage. No one in Italy knew her, she reasoned, so there was little chance their lie would be discovered. They spread the story after Thomas' adopted parents agreed to give him up.

  The family that had taken him in had just found out they were expecting a second babe. After visiting them, Matteo had become convinced that Tomas was already being neglected in favor of their own son. The problem would only grow worse with a new child, so he'd given them a substantial financial gift and claimed his brother as his own—but not before warning her that no one would believe he was hers. The boy was too obviously a Garibaldi. Everyone would assume he'd sired a bastard before they met.

  Isobel didn't give a fig about the gossip. Despite his reticence with her, she adored Tomas. He was so much like Matteo, it was impossible not to love him. Though unnaturally reserved, the little boy was bright and considerate.

  I can only hope to be as lucky with our own child, she thought pensively chewing her lip.

  Forcing her attention back to Tomas, she continued her lesson. Today that included letting him plant his own strawberry seeds. They would grow year round in the greenhouse.

  Once the Conte had discovered they'd taken his bastard in, he stopped visiting them in the country—although he still demanded Matteo visit him on occasion at their estate in Santa Fiora. Her husband obliged, mainly because Nino’s plot had brought his father’s business practices to his attention. He wanted to make sure the tenants and staff on all their estates were being treated well.

  Isobel never went with him. Her feelings for the Conte were complicated and she couldn’t seem to keep from fighting with him.

  Matteo didn’t mind visiting without her. He wanted time alone with his father so he could pressure him into revealing the whereabouts of his other bastards. From what Nino had said, there had to be more of them. Matteo had been wary about claiming them all, arguing that it wasn't fair to her, but Isobel insisted she wanted a big family.

  However, the Conte was adamant he had no other children, so for the time being there was only Tomas. And soon their own child.

  Another pang of disquiet passed through her. Don't assume the worst, she lectured herself sternly as she contemplated her swollen middle.

  Thankfully she was distracted when Tomas' nurse came to collect him. It was time for his luncheon and then nap. Isobel said goodbye and was intensely gratified when the little one consented to be kissed. She was definitely winning him over.

  Planting the rest of the strawberry seeds on her own, she placed the finished pots on a sunny table. Sprinkling some of her grandmother's special growing solution in each pot, she said a little chant for their speedy growth. It was another recipe she'd found in Helen's books, one she found extremely useful. Especially since both Tomas and Matteo seemed overly fond of hothouse strawberries.

  “I knew I'd find you in here.”

  Isobel turned to see her husband coming through the greenhouse doors. He was looking very fine, in a loose linen shirt and breeches. Despite the heat of the day, he was wearing black kidskin gloves over his hands. Watching him approach, she flushed at the memory of those black gloves moving all over her nude body the night before.

  Though he still bore scars, the underlying musculature of his hands had improved markedly. He could use them with only a little pain now—despite his continued refusal to let her apply more salves, or to drink any of the tonics she prepared for him. Even after they moved to Italy, he insisted the injuries were his penance.

  As a witness and first-hand participant in those dark events, she understood. As his wife, she refused to let him continue to punish himself for something that had been out of his control.

  However, in recent days, Matteo had become skeptical. His hands had recovered too quickly and too well for him not to suspect her. She'd heard him asking his valet if she'd given the cook anything to add to his food or drink. His lack of trust wounded her a little, but since she was healing him on the sly she decided not to dwell on it.

  At least the suspicious glint in his eye didn't stop him from gathering her into his arms and kissing her soundly in greeting. Softening in his embrace, she returned his kiss eagerly. His gloved hands cupped the back of her head before moving down to stretch over her swollen belly.

  “How is she today?”

  “Active. And it's a he,” she said pointedly.

  She knew it for a fact.

  Matteo raised a brow. “You know your dreams don't always come true.”

  “This one will.” She put her hands over his. “How are they today?”

  “Well enough,” he said, lifting his hands and crossing his arms over his chest.

  “That's excellent darling,” she said brightly, avoiding his eyes.

  “Isabella.”

  “Hmm?” she murmured, moving away to needlessly reorganize the strawberry pots.

  “You and I both know that they shouldn't be well—nowhere near. I just haven't figured out how you're doing it. The staff swears up and down that my meals and drink haven't been adulterated at your request. My valet swears the brandy and the grappa have not been tampered with. So, mia streghetta, how did you do it?”

  Isobel pursed her lips and looked down.

  “Mi amore, you have to stop.”

  She looked up at him entreatingly. “I can't.”

  He sat on the bench across from her and took her hands in his. “You have to. I told you—this is my penance. It's important to me. This is the only way to make amends for what I've done.”

  Scowling, she tugged on his glove. “And I've told you, there is no more need to punish yourself. You were a victim, just as I almost was. But you met me,” she said, succeeding in pul
ling off the glove from his hand. “And our meeting was no accident. I know that now. I was supposed to help you and now I'm supposed to love you. So I'm going to do just that, and you will accept it—whether you like it or not.”

  He laughed briefly, until she lifted his hand to her lips to press a soft kiss to its scarred surface.

  His eyes softened. “I happily accept your love and anything else you are willing to give me. Except the continued healing. I've already regained the use of my hands. Anything else is too much to ask. So please, no more charms or spells or whatever else it is that you've done.”

  She sighed. “I told you, I can't stop. But if you choose to forgo treatment, then that is your decision. I shall, however, be extremely disappointed. Although the natural conclusion of the treatment was fast approaching in any case,” she said, patting her belly meaningfully.

  He raised a brow. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  She bit her lip and glanced at him from beneath her lashes. “It means that the charm is in me, my lord.”

  “What?”

  Gesturing to her body, she suppressed a tiny gloating smile. “I put the healing charm in me. Every time you touch me, every time we make love, you are healed just a little bit more.”

  “Isabella!” he gasped, his eyes wide.

  She held up her hands. “I didn't know I was pregnant when I cast the spell! I swear it! But even if had known I would have done it, anyway. In fact, I take comfort in the charm being there for all new reasons now,” she said, casting worried eyes down her body.

  Her husband wrapped his arms around her shoulders tightly. “Everything is going to be fine. No child of ours could be anything but good and pure, no matter when they were conceived.”

  Trying to be convincing, she agreed with him. It was an old argument between them.

  Isobel wasn't sure when she'd fallen pregnant. It was most likely after Matteo had begun to recover from his ordeal, during one their first real lovemaking sessions. But there was the matter of her substitution in the contraceptive mixture of herbs she'd been taking before he was cured. And if her calculations were accurate, then there was a genuine possibility that the child had been conceived before the purge.