I was surprised, when I pushed the heavy door open, to hear the crackling of a fire. The library itself was overwhelming—floor to ceiling bookshelves took up most of the walls, and where there weren’t shelves, there were huge, arched windows with reading nooks built into them. There was antique velvet and wood furniture scattered throughout, chaises and sofas, and as I stepped into the room, I saw the stone fireplace at the far wall. To my shock, there was a man leaned against the mantel, his back to me. There was something very familiar about him, but I couldn’t place it until I was fully in the room, and he turned at the sound of my footsteps to face me.
It was the man who had looked at me when I was walking back to the sweetheart’s table at the reception. The one I suspected was another vampire. By the firelight, I was even more sure of it. The firelight carved shadows out of his face, making him look positively ancient. It was expressionless as he took in my presence, his hands shoved into his trouser pockets. He was wearing the same clothing he’d had on at the wedding, but he’d shed the jacket and tie, and his white shirt was partially unbuttoned. I could see the hint of his chest, muscled and tanned, and I felt the same wash of desire that I’d felt before, when Dimitri had touched me. What was it about these men that affected me so?
“What are you doing here?” I blurted out, and bit my lip the moment I said it, regretting speaking at all.
He regarded me casually, raising an eyebrow. “I live here, cherie.” His voice had the hint of a French accent. “You’re Anna, yes?”
“You know who I am,” I said, my voice more biting than I intended it to be. “You were at the wedding.”
“Oh, yes. That lovely spectacle. I was there. Didn’t you see me, standing next to Dimitri at the altar?”
“I did,” I said. “So you’re friends?”
“Friends.” He rolled the word over his tongue, as if he were tasting it. “Yes. That is a word for what we are.”
“But, but you live here?”
“As do you, now.”
“I’m Dimitri’s wife,” I said, a touch haughtily. If I was going to inhabit the role, I supposed I might as well get comfortable with it. “Of course I live here.”
He walked towards me, his stride lazy, and stopped barely an inch away. I could smell the wood smoke from the fire and the hint of his cologne. His skin was flushed slightly. He reached out, his finger tipping my chin up so that he could meet my eyes. “Yes,” he said softly. “Dimitri’s wife.” His fingers were warmer than Dimitri’s had been. I wondered what that might mean. “Dimitri’s wife,” he repeated. “Such an innocent little thing. Such a shame, on your wedding night.” His fingers trailed up my cheek and cupped my face, his thumb brushing over the shell of my ear. “Such a beautiful bride you made.”
“Dimitri promised not to touch me,” I said, shivering a little from the sensation of his hand on my face.
“Yes, Dimitri said that to me,” he said, his accent thickening. “But I made no vows to you.”
I shuddered. What could he possibly mean by that?
“Are you cold, cherie? Come over by the fire.” He took my hand, and I felt how strong his grip was. I followed him to the fireplace.
“Don’t worry, cherie,” he said, seeing the expression on my face. “I won’t hurt you. Dimitri would never forgive me. But you are so very beautiful.”
I had never thought of myself as beautiful. I had never thought of myself as anything but very plain. It had been such a strange night, all silk and lace and candles, ancient buildings and creatures just as ancient. I felt as if I’d slipped into some other strange dimension, as if I were part of some story that I’d read. How could this be reality, this home in the midst of Manhattan, so full of the past, and a centuries old Frenchman who looked like a brooding, handsome poet caressing my face?
I felt the heat of the fire creeping into my bones, softening me. His fingers slipped from my cheek to my neck, tracing down the column of it, the tip of one finger settling in the hollow of my throat. “Dimitri would let you molder in that room all your life, and he is so much of a gentleman he would never try to convince you otherwise. There is nothing more valuable to him than his word.” His finger traced my collarbone and I shuddered. I felt hot and languid, some sensation creeping through my veins that I had no words for.
“I will not harm you, cherie,” he whispered. “Say the word and I will stop touching you. I will walk you back to your room and bolt the door, I will sleep at the foot of the steps for you so that nothing may ever harm you.” He was closer to me now than he had been before, his body nearly touching mine. “You looked like a princess tonight, like a queen, a woman who should command men to kneel at her feet, not a bride coming as payment for a debt.” His hand slipped to my shoulder, fingers trailing down my arm. I could feel my skin prickling under his touch, and then his hand was on my waist, and he pulled me against him.
He was lean and muscled, his body hard as stone. His fingers curled into my back, pressing against the place on my spine where Dimitri had touched me earlier, his touch so much softer than this. It had been easy to tell Dimitri to leave, easy to dismiss his hesitant touch. This was much harder to deny, and suddenly I didn’t know if I wanted to. This man had done nothing to me or my family. He had never hurt me. And he had called me a queen, was looking down into my eyes with the kind of desire I’d always dreamed of.
“You should know what it is like to be loved by a man,” he murmured. “And what better man to show you than a Frenchman, yes?” His mouth curled up on one side, laughing at his own joke. “Let me kiss you, mon amie,” he whispered, and then his lips were on mine.
I had been kissed before. More than once. Or at least, I thought I had. But those were not kisses compared to this. His lips were somehow soft and demanding all at once, sweet and insistent. His hand pressed into my back, pulling me tightly against him, and his other hand cupped my face, his fingers in my hair. I felt the press of his tongue against my lips and I parted them involuntarily, letting him taste me. I felt his hips arch against mine, felt how hard he was, and his fingers slipped from my face to my neck. He pulled away from the kiss, his forehead pressed to mine, his breath sharp and fast. “I wish I could taste you, mon amie.” He pressed his lips to my throat, his fingers threading through my hair and pulling my head back gently. “How delicious you would taste. How sweet.”
Minutes ago, I would have been horrified at the very thought. But now, with desire suffusing my body, making me ache for something I wasn’t even entirely able to comprehend, I was having difficulty objecting.
He let go of my hair. “I can’t,” he murmured. “He would not forgive that.” And then his hand was under my chin, pulling my mouth to his once more, and I began to think of the chaise lounge just beyond us, and what it might feel like to be trapped under the length of his body. My hands drifted to his waist, my back arching into his hold on me, and for a blissful moment, I was lost.
And then I heard the door crash open, and felt him stiffen, pulling away from my mouth.
“What the hell are you doing, Raoul?”
Chapter 5: Dimitri
I don’t know what woke me up in the middle of the night. I normally sleep like, for lack of a better term, the dead. But I did wake, and Raoul was gone. I wasn’t altogether surprised. He’d been distant when I’d come to bed after leaving Anna, brooding by the fire for several long minutes after I’d undressed and slid into bed. Perhaps I hadn’t been all that understanding of how he was feeling. But it was difficult to deal with his emotions when I was feeling out of sorts myself. I hadn’t expected to feel anything when I’d offered to help Anna with her buttons. It had been an altruistic gesture, as I’d seen how uncomfortable she was with all of it, and I didn’t think she would wake the maid. I’d suspected she’d have slept in her wedding dress rather than do such a thing, and I wanted her to be comfortable. So I’d offered, and been mildly surprised when she accepted.
I’d been even more surprised at the way the sight of he
r pale skin, slowly revealing itself from under the creamy satin, had affected me. Perhaps it was the memories of Katerina, leftover from our long-ago wedding day. Perhaps it was the oddness of expecting to sleep in a room that was not my bride’s on our wedding night. Perhaps it was a little of everything. But I’d ached, with every shiver of her skin when my fingers grazed it, to reach for her and pull her into my arms. I’d imagined, as I’d undone the buttons, turning her around to face me, bending to kiss her soft, full lips. I’d imagined laying her back on the bed and sliding the dress away from her body, revealing it inch by inch. I’d thought of what it would feel like to bury myself inside of her, to make her truly my bride.
I knew that none of that was remotely within the realm of possibility, and I’d given her my word not to touch her without her consent—not that I ever would have, anyway. So I’d withdrawn from the room, my last glimpse her standing in the middle of the room, frail and delicate, clutching the dress to her arms.
I’d still been aching when I’d gone to Raoul’s and my room. So I’d had very little patience with his mood. And I wasn’t shocked to find his side of the bed empty when I’d woken. I knew he’d be in the library, and so I’d climbed out of bed, intending to go to him and apologize. And then I’d opened the door and seen him by the fire, Anna clasped in his arms, his lips on hers, her body soft and compliant.
I’d wanted, for one furious, red-washed moment, to kill him. Anna was mine by law, even if I’d likely never have her body or her love, and with the memory of undressing her so fresh in my mind, it drove me nearly mad to see anyone else touching her in such a way. And not just anyone, but Raoul. My friend, my bedmate, and my partner. And he was seducing my wife.
Raoul’s face was expressionless as he turned to face me. Anna was flushed and trembling, her eyes wide with fear. She rushed to me, grabbing my hand. “Dimitri,” she breathed. “I’m so sorry. I wasn’t thinking. It was a mistake, Dimitri, please don’t do anything rash. It won’t happen again. Please, please don’t kill him.”
For a wild moment, I thought she was begging for Raoul’s life, and I wondered how he’d gained her loyalty so quickly. And then I realized that she was thinking of her father, and I hated myself, and this blasted situation we were all in, more than ever. She truly believed I’d kill her father because she’d kissed Raoul.
I touched her arm, trying to calm her. “Anna. Anna, I won’t harm Anthony. It’s not your fault. Raoul has a certain…effect on human women. The French are less…stoic about these things.”
“You looked so angry,” she whispered, looking up at me with her wide, dark eyes. “I’m sorry, Dimitri.”
“You’re not the one I’m angry with.” I gently nudged her towards one of the seats, and walked purposefully towards Raoul. He was leaning back against the mantle now, an unapologetic look on his face.
“How could you?” I murmured, gritting my teeth. “That’s my wife, Raoul.”
“You said quite plainly you had no intentions of claiming her in any physical way,” Raoul said, shrugging. “This was a marriage of convenience, yes? So why shouldn’t I try my luck? After all, she has nothing to be angry with me about.”
I felt a stab of anger at his words, and curled my hands into fists. “Didn’t you think that perhaps you ought to talk to me first, before helping yourself to what’s mine?”
“I would think it’s Anna’s decision as much as yours. Or did you expect her to live her whole life as a virgin, since you’ve sworn not to touch her?”
“I said I wouldn’t unless she wanted me to. I’m no monk, Raoul, you should know that.” My tone was dark and biting. “Or have you forgotten what things are like between us in our bed?”
I heard a soft gasp behind me, and I remembered too late that Anna had known nothing of Raoul, or of our relationship. But it was too late to worry about that now.
“She will never want you to,” Raoul said softly. “She hates you, I expect, and she has every right. So you’ll doom her to live a life without love, without sex, like some kind of nun?”
I blinked at Raoul. “What on earth makes you want her so badly?”
“Stop it!” I heard Anna shout suddenly, and I turned, astonished. She was standing next to the chair I’d directed her to, her fists clenched at her sides, and her dark eyes nearly had sparks flying out of them, she looked so angry.
“Stop it,” she repeated, her voice lower now, but no less firm. She looked at me directly. “I’m your wife, Dimitri. It was wrong of me to let…Raoul…touch me.” She said his name oddly, and from the look on Raoul’s face, I deduced that he hadn’t even introduced himself before trying to seduce her. It didn’t surprise me.
“I am your wife by law,” she continued, “but I am no one’s property. I will not be haggled over by the two of you as if I’m a pack of steaks for dinner. Raoul is right, Dimitri,” she said, her voice low and angry. “I do hate you. I hate you because you threatened my family, because you gave me no choice but to marry you, because I’m now forced to live my life without, as Raoul put it, love or sex, or else my father dies.”
She stepped back. “I am going to bed now. Please, leave me alone. Both of you. At least you have each other.”
She spun on her heel and fled out of the room, and Raoul and I were both left staring after her, at a loss for what to say.
***
Three Months Later
I was sitting at my desk in my study, the door firmly closed behind me, staring at the papers in front of me. As was rapidly becoming par for the course these days, I was distracted. And it was because of Anna.
On the surface, the past three months had passed relatively smoothly. After the incident in the library, Raoul had kept his distance from Anna, physically, at least. But I saw the way he looked at her—at meals, passing in the hallway, at events—and I saw the way she avoided his gaze, her eyes dropping to the side and her skin flushing in that uniquely human way. I hadn’t seen much of what had passed between them in the library, but their reactions to each other made it hard not to imagine it.
When I’d proposed the match between Anna and I, I’d put any idea of bedding her firmly out of my head. When she’d glided down that aisle looking like a candlelit princess, I’d made sure to appreciate her beauty in only the most purely aesthetic way. And while I’d felt the stirrings of lust when I’d kissed her, first at the altar and then again at the reception, I hadn’t dared to let my mind wander further.
But undressing her that night had lit the first spark. And then…seeing her in the library, her back arched, her body bowed against Raoul, I’d had even more of an idea of what I was missing out on. I’d kept myself away from humans for the last fifty years or so, since my last human lover had left me, and been only with Raoul and Bernard. But Anna was igniting my desire again, and every time I closed my eyes, I saw her in the library again, and wished for her hands and mouth on me. But I’d made a promise, and I wouldn’t break it.
It didn’t stop me from trying to thaw the ice between us in small ways. I’d briefly touch her hand in passing, letting my fingers linger a little too long before continuing on my way. I’d catch her eyes when she was day-dreaming about something, and let my gaze skim over her in a way that let her know what I was thinking about. She’d always blush, her chest and throat and face flushing delightfully pink, and it was all I could do not to go to her and grab her. It was torture.
With every passing day and week, I grew more and more frustrated. Anna and I barely spoke, but as three months became six, the distance between her and Raoul started to narrow, they were becoming something like friends, and I found myself growing even more jealous of that. Anna fulfilled all of her duties as my wife perfectly, joining us for every meal, spending most of her evenings in the library or the family room with us, and attending events on my arm, Raoul close behind. We never went out on anything resembling a “date” …no fancy restaurants or movies. But she didn’t seem to mind the solitude. At any given time, I could find her cu
rled up in the library with a book, or working on an art project—she was apparently a master at watercolors—or in the small gardens behind the house. Every once in a while, she would send a message to me letting me know she was meeting a friend, but it was rare. And as a result of the time we all spent together, we should have all grown closer. But while she and Raoul seemed to have found a balance, she remained distant from me. And I grew more and more irritable.
One evening, after a charity gala I’d thrown at a nearby hotel ballroom, I retreated to the library as quickly as I could once we walked through the door, not even bothering to take Anna’s coat or say goodnight to her or Raoul. I slumped onto the chaise lounge near the fireplace, staring bitterly into the flames. This wasn’t who I was. I had never been the brooding, emotional one—that was Raoul, with his affectations and romances and poetry. I was stoic, businesslike, hard and relentless when I needed to be.
This had to stop. I had to put Anna out of my head. Let her and Raoul have their fling if they must, and turn a blind eye to it so they would stop smoldering under my nose. I would stop being jealous. I would stop thinking about Anna in a wedding gown, the sliver of pale skin showing in the moonlight under my fingers. I would stop dreaming about her the way I’d once dreamed about another woman standing in a castle bedroom in the moonlight, her skin bared to my hands. Anna was not Katerina. I had been a different man when I’d loved Katerina, and I could not now indulge the feelings that I was harboring for Anna. I had to put her out of my head—her laugh, the way her mouth curved when she smiled, the dry jokes she sometimes made on the nights when she’d had a few glasses of wine and was less tense around us. She was a woman I could have loved, but she was my wife by circumstance and not by choice, and I should not—could not—love her.
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