by Brooklyn Ann
Rhys shrugged off the guilt that threatened to engulf him. “What can I say? I am the villain in this situation.” He circled around her in a way that he hoped looked menacing. He needed to remind her who was in charge. “Answer my question. I thought all blue-blooded maids dreamed of nothing but landing a man with a lofty title and running a noble household. Why not you? You’re certainly beautiful enough to take your pick.”
Roses bloomed in her cheeks at his acknowledgement of her beauty. “I do not see how it is any business of yours what I want or don’t want for my future.”
His voice was cold and clipped. “It is my business because if you are planning on being a spinster, the matter of your chastity holds less weight as a bargaining chip.”
She flinched as if he’d struck her and crossed her arms over her chest as if to shield herself from his advances.
Rhys cursed and backed away. “No, I am not plotting to ravage you. I only seek to find the most expedient manner of making your uncle pay my ransom.”
Her face reddened further. “I am not about to aid you in making myself a tool for your benefit.” She paused and added through clenched teeth, “Or my uncle’s.”
She was hurt, he realized. He’d done that to her and so had Blackpool. Her words that he’d overheard twisted in his heart like a blade. “...I am filled with such terror that I almost feel ill with it.... Consigned to a lifetime of thing-hood.”
Thing-hood. Rhys was beginning to grasp what Vivian meant by that. He and Blackpool were indeed using her as a pawn in a game, giving no consideration for her thoughts or feelings.
The realization made him feel terrible. Alas, it was not to be helped. Not if he wanted to keep Emily and her children out of the poorhouse.
Perhaps there was a way to atone for his callousness. “What if I allowed you a chance at gaining your freedom?”
Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. “What do you mean?”
“I suggest we duel. If you draw first blood, I’ll release you.”
She frowned, but there was a glint of hopeful joy in her eyes. “Is this some sort of trick?”
He shook his head. “No. I just think we spar better with swords than words.”
“And you’re confident that you’ll win.” Her lips curved in a reluctant smile.
“I am.” Skilled as she was, Vivian was still a mortal and could not match his speed.
“Then why bother giving me the chance?” Oh, but despite her argument, naked longing emanated from her, with those sparkling eyes and her fingers curling in readiness to hold a sword.
Rhys gestured for her to follow him back to the cave. “Because then at least you’ll have some agency in the matter. Despite the circumstances and my intentions with you, I do regard you as more than a game piece.”
“You’re allowing me, your prisoner to fight you with a sword just to prove you regard me as a human being?” Vivian shook her head and chuckled. “I think you may be the worst villain ever.”
Though he was gratified to see her spirits raised, his pride stung. Without thinking, he seized her shoulders and pulled her against him.
Her mockery could not stand. He needed to remind her who was in control.
He lowered his face until their lips almost met. “Would you prefer me to be more villainous? I could always dispense with the blades and ravage you after all.”
She sucked in a breath, her large brown eyes searching his to see if he was serious. He’d meant to frighten her, but from the way she leaned into him and her tongue wet her lower lip, he may have failed in that goal.
Her hands moved up and splayed against his chest. A low growl rumbled in his throat as his lips almost claimed hers.
Then Vivian shoved him away with such sudden force that he nearly fell on his arse. “I’ll happily duel with you,” she bit out and strode into the cave.
Rhys followed in a daze and unlocked the door he’d carved to keep the cave sealed from both intruders and the sun.
For the last five nights, he’d held commendable restraint in keeping his distance from her, even when Madame Renarde’s eagle eye was not upon him. He’d nearly convinced himself that the kiss they’d shared was forgotten. Now he’d undone it all in grabbing her and pulling her into his embrace.
A terrible mistake, for her scent made hunger roar through his being like a flash-fire. But it wasn’t primarily hunger for her blood, it was lust. Rhys couldn’t remember the last time he’d desired sex before blood. It wasn’t that he lacked virility, plenty of women, both vampire and human, could attest to that. But as a vampire, the blood craving was always at the forefront. For Vivian to disrupt his priorities... it left him deeply unnerved. Was it because she was forbidden fruit? Or was it something else?
No matter, he couldn’t lose that sort of control again. He wasn’t the sort of monster who forced himself on women.
Then his guilty conscience reminded him of the kisses he’d stolen whenever he robbed a particularly beautiful lady.
He wouldn’t steal another kiss from Vivian again. He’d only take what she’d give willingly. The memory of her licking her lips and yielding against him filled him with agonizing temptation.
No, he couldn’t let their relationship become intimate, no matter how much he ached to have her naked in his arms. Not only because she would indeed be ruined afterward, no matter whether she chose spinsterhood or not, but because he could fall in love with her and that would kill him because they could never be together.
Even if she was willing to join him in nocturnal damnation and immortality, Rhys would never consign her to his life. He was a rogue vampire, hunted and despised. If he were to Change Vivian, she would be one too.
Those thoughts cooled his mad passion enough for him to regain composure and look unruffled as Madame Renarde studied him with her usual suspicion.
Now dressed in a rich emerald brocade gown that must have come from the trunk he’d stolen from a stocky countess, the companion appeared as if she outranked Vivian, whose dark blue gown was drab in comparison, probably belonging to a maid.
Despite the lack of bright plumage, Vivian fairly sparkled with youth and excitement. “Rhys and I have come to a bargain that may win us our freedom.”
Madame Renarde blinked in surprise. “And what bargain is that?”
“We shall duel, and if I draw first blood, he will let us go home.” She bent and touched the toes of her boots, stretching in preparation.
The companion’s brows rose to the hairline of her wig as she turned to Rhys with an arch smile. “You must be quite confident in your victory. I hope that will be your downfall, for you don’t know who taught her.”
“I presumed it was you,” he said, suddenly confused.
Madame Renarde’s smile broadened. “Ah, but you do not know who taught me.”
Rhys fought off a twinge of unease at her smug tone and reached beneath his shirt for the chain that held the key to his sword case. Who had taught such an eccentric person the art of fencing?
They marched back outside and walked to the beach, brilliantly illuminated under the light of the full moon.
Rhys and Vivian took their places on the sand with the requisite seven paces from each other and stood en garde.
Madame Renarde sat on a rock between them to overlook the match, ready to call out the slightest violation.
As Vivian raised her blade to salute her opponent, the companion spoke.
“Know this, Rhys.” Madame Renarde regarded him imperiously from her place on the rock. “If you cut her face, or wound her, I will carve out your heart.”
Rhys inclined his head. “And if that should happen, I will gladly allow you.”
The companion did not seem convinced, for it seemed that he and Vivian remained in position for an eternity before she called out, “Pret!” Ready! And finally, “Allez!” Fence!
Vivian nearly took him off guard with a Patinando, a step forward with an appel—a quick beat on the ground from her rear foot at the same time as
the front foot landed, coupled with a compound riposte. A brilliant preliminary attack. Rhys had to concentrate to parry in time at a human speed.
Exhilaration flooded his being as their blades slashed and kissed. Vivian was a brilliant fencer, far superior to many men he’d dueled.
Yet the experience felt different than sparring or fighting with a man. With them, there was a fierce competitive edge, a desire to best them, sometimes to humiliate or even hurt them. With Vivian, the duel felt like a dance, each of them moving in coordinated splendor.
Their bodies moved closer with each thrust and parry, withdrawing, then meeting again. Rhys was captivated with the rosy flush in Vivian’s cheeks, her parted lips, the dark, vibrant cloud of her hair as it flared out with each time she danced away from his blade. Her silvery eyes glittered with raw exhilaration.
The element of primitive danger somehow gave the duel the element of seduction. Each time their blades rang together, Rhys felt a ringing peal in his soul. Each time Vivian retreated, he was driven to pursue her.
Desire throbbed in his veins like a beast at the verge of breaking the chains that restrained it. Vivian executed a movement that had their blades locked and her body inches from his. Her eyes locked on him and they both froze. Her breasts heaved beneath her woolen gown, seeming to beckon him. Her lips parted as she panted from the effort. For a moment, all Rhys could think about was a different sort of exertion.
Her pink tongue licked her lower lip as if in invitation, and Rhys smelled a hint of intoxicating feminine arousal. He bent and almost kissed her, then thankfully remembered what a disaster that would be. So instead of claiming those lush lips, Rhys twisted his blade free and stepped away, blocking her immediate responsive attack.
On and on they fought, while Rhys struggled between enjoyment at the duel and overwhelming lust.
His delight in the duel blinded his common sense. After what had to be an hour of sparring, he finally broke through his haze of rapture and realized that Vivian was reaching the point of exhaustion. Her legs wobbled slightly during her steps, and the tip of her blade quivered. Her hair was plastered to her forehead with a film of sweat and her breath heaved in long gasps.
Yet he still wanted to disarm her, carry her into the cave, and show her other ways in which they could be matched. From the whiff of desire he’d caught from her, Vivian likely shared the same inclination.
That would be folly. Folly that must be stopped for both of their sakes. The idea that had been whispering through the back of his mind now sang aloud in the forefront.
There was only one way to ensure that Vivian would fear him, and that the Lord Vampire of Blackpool would learn that he was dealing with someone on his level.
Every bone in his body ached with reluctance to cut Vivian’s precious flesh, even a mere scratch, but he had to. Not only that, but he must end this dangerous desire sparking between them.
With his preternatural speed, Rhys brought his blade up and under Vivian’s parrying arm, and nicked the side of her neck.
She dropped the blade and gasped as a thin, crimson stream trickled down her throat. Rhys stared at the ruby vintage and bared his fangs, now consumed by only one hunger.
As he stalked towards her, she held up a hand as if to ward him off. “What are you?”
He pulled her into his arms and let her have a good long look at his glowing eyes and sharp teeth. “I think you know.”
Chapter Fifteen
Vivian froze like a frightened hare at the sight of Rhys’s glowing eyes and sharp fangs. Yet she wasn’t frightened, not really. Instead, a strange sort of elation filled her. At last was the explanation for all the odd things she’d noticed about him. How his gunshot wound had healed so fast, how he sometimes seemed to move quicker than what should be possible, his insistence on them all remaining inside the cave during the day.
Most of all, she finally had closure for the things she’d suspected about him. She hadn’t been imagining things, not in the slightest. He was stronger than a man should be, and that first night, when she’d seen him leaning over Madame Renarde’s bunk, blood trickling from his mouth had not been a dream. She wasn’t cracked.
But when Rhys’s mouth closed over her neck, she finally felt a trill of fear. His teeth stung as they sank into her flesh. Then, the pain vanished, replaced by a heavy, drugging pleasure that made her gasp and cling to him. She heard him swallow twice and realized he was drinking her blood. She should struggle, but it felt so good.
Vivian heard Madame Renarde roar. Rhys released Vivian then, holding her shoulders for balance as her legs wobbled beneath her.
Sand flew through the air as Madame Renarde charged the vampire. With impressive speed, she picked up the sword that Vivian had dropped and thrust it at Rhys’s heart.
His hand a blur, Rhys seized the blade. Blood dripped from his hand and he squeezed the sharp steel and Madame Renarde futilely tried to pull it back. “Let go of the sword, Madame, and we may speak civilly.”
“How can I be civil when you’ve bitten my charge?” Madame Renarde snapped. “I told you that if you were to hurt her—”
“It didn’t hurt,” Vivian interrupted, not knowing what possessed her to defend the vampire. Especially with a sword prick and puncture wounds in her neck.
“I can heal her,” Rhys said. Then that eerie amber glow returned to his eyes as he stared down Madame Renarde. “Release the blade and remain still.”
The companion went stock still and the handle of the rapier slipped through her slack fingers. Rhys dropped his end and once more approached Vivian.
She braced herself to run, but then Madame Renarde cried out in panic, “I cannot move!”
“What did you do to her?” Vivian demanded, outraged at the thought of her dearest friend being trapped.
“I merely immobilized her. She’ll be released in a moment.” He gripped Vivian’s upper arms with steely strength. “Now hold still.”
He did not work his magic on her, though, since Vivian’s knees quaked and her feet shuffled on the sand. For a moment she thought Rhys intended to bite her again, but instead he merely placed his bleeding palm on her wound.
After he stepped back, he turned his gaze on Madame Renarde. “You may move now.”
The companion started to lunge at Rhys, then paused and instead rushed to Vivian. “Are you all right, Cherie?”
Vivian nodded. The sting in her neck was fading, replaced by a tingling sensation.
“Mon Dieu!” Madame Renarde gasped. “Your wound is healing.”
Rhys grinned and held up his hand. The slash in his palm knitted back together before her eyes.
“Magic,” Vivian whispered in awe.
“Yes,” Rhys agreed in a self-congratulatory tone.
Madame Renarde regarded him with stormy fury. “You’ve doomed us! We are not supposed to know of your kind.”
“And how do you know that?” Rhys asked with narrowed eyes.
“I used to be a spy,” the companion explained. “I know many of the world’s secrets.”
The vampire seemed at a loss for words. He shifted back and forth on the sand for several moments before he cleared his throat. “We should probably head inside before one of you catches a chill.”
Vivian bent and retrieved the sword Madame Renarde had dropped, though it likely wouldn’t do any good. “And why should we spend another night under the roof of a monster that drinks blood to survive?”
To her shock, Rhys flinched. The word had hurt him. Then his jaw tightened as he favored her with a bitter smirk. “Aside from the obvious fact that you’ve been perfectly safe under my roof before learning what I am, I’ll inform you that you were already biding under a vampire’s care before I abducted you.”
“Uncle is a vampire?” Even as her voice rang with disbelief, Rhys’s words explained everything about her reclusive, nocturnal uncle.
“He’d be your great-great-great uncle at the least.” Rhys gestured for them to follow him inside. “An
d he is not just any vampire, he is the Lord Vampire of Blackpool.”
Vivian was tempted to refuse to return to the cave, but then she shivered as a chill wind picked up, piercing the sweat-soaked fabric of her dress to assault her skin. As if in agreement with the futility of the situation, Madame Renarde sneezed.
Reluctantly, she realized that Rhys had a point. Him being a vampire would hardly change the conditions of their captivity, aside from making the likelihood of escape much more dismal.
When they returned to the cave, Rhys added more wood to the fire and filled the tea kettle. The actions seemed so normal in the face of what she’d learned about him.
Vampire, her mind echoed. A vampire had abducted her. A vampire had talked and laughed with her. A vampire had taught her to curse. A vampire had dueled with her.
A vampire had kissed her.
A sudden thought jolted her. Had he used his mesmerizing powers to coerce her? Then she remembered the desire that flooded her when his lips had claimed hers that fateful night. Desire that returned when he’d held her in his arms earlier. No, she had kissed him willingly.
And that was a much more alarming thought.
So alarming that she’d temporarily lost the significance of the fact that her Uncle Aldric was also a vampire.
Now Rhys’s words earlier this night: “You had best pray to the heavens that you never learn what I know of Lord Thornton.”
Yet he’d now told them. And Madame Renarde had appeared to be more fearful of the knowledge of what Rhys was than of Rhys himself. Was there some sort of group of vampire authorities that killed humans for discovering their secrets? She thought there might be. And Uncle Aldric could be one of those authorities. Rhys said he was the Lord Vampire of all of Blackpool. That must mean that he reigned over all the vampires who lived in that region.
What would Uncle do when he found out that Vivian and Madame Renarde knew what he was?
When Rhys handed her a cup of tea, she voiced her thoughts. “This is what you meant when you said that you and my uncle move in the same circles.”
