
RED AS BLOODbyMorgana de Winter
© copyright January 2004, Morgana de WinterCover art by Eliza Black, © copyright January 2004New Concepts Publishing5202 Humphreys RoadLake Park, GA 31636www.newconceptspublishing.com
"Trespassers, especially beautiful ones, are violated. Survivors are lunch."
Cerise Bordeaux stared at the man who had abruptly appeared before her on the forest path. There was humor in his voice, but his eyes gleamed with intent. She felt her heart flutter with a combination of fright and, god help her, excitement. He was as beautiful as the devil himself, and just as clearly a minion. There was no doubt in her mind that he was the vampire lord of legend, Daegon Erlansson.
Cerise had anticipated encountering problems when she made the decision to go in search of her sister, who had been taken by some demon and held captive. It wasn't as if she actually knew where to look for her sister. Then too, she had the worst sense of direction.
She hadn't expected to encounter this sort of problem, however. She'd been lost for hours. It seemed to her that fate had laden her with enough problems without adding the accursed vampire lord to her troubles. Misfortune piled upon misfortune. First a wolf had startled her mare, whom she'd depended upon to show her the way. The frightened mare had swept her from the saddle with the aid of a low-hanging limb, and she had been trying ever since to catch up to the horse. Now this.
"I saw no signs," Cerise said carefully, casting about for a weapon.. There was nothing within reach but dirt and dried brush, and thinking realistically, she didn't have much hope of fending off a vampire should he choose to attack.
"Perhaps because there are none?"
Cerise gave him an indignant look and crossed her arms over her chest. "Well, if that is the case, I fail to see how you can accuse me of trespassing."
Daegon gave her an odd sort of look. "My dear child, have you no notion of who these wood belong to?"
Cerise considered lying, but it was likely, being a son of the devil, that he could read minds. With alarm, she wondered if he could manipulate them too. 'Twas best not to think on that route. "Obviously you," she retorted, opting somewhat for the truth, "But how was I to know that?"
Daegon tilted his head to one side, studying her as if he had just discovered a rare find. Something lit in his eyes, and she was certain it boded ill. "And now that you do know?" he asked curiously.
"I shall leave, of course. Only point the way to me, for I am lost in these accursed woods and have been half the day."
A thin smile curled the vampire lord's lips. He was really quite handsome, Cerise thought vaguely. Not so handsome that she was willing to allow him to violate her, but far more handsome than any living man she knew. Or dead either, for that matter.
A thin beard cut across the line of his jaw, and along with the mustache, lent him a dastardly look, more akin to a wicked rogue than some demon spawn. Hair like the night parted on his high forehead, curling over his shoulders in wanton disarray. His face was haunted angles; a distinctly squared jaw line; blade of a nose; thick brows that arched high and pulled deep when he frowned; hollow cheeks and sharply high cheekbones. But it was his eyes that were so arresting. They seemed to stare straight through her, into the chaos of her mind. Color indistinguishable with the night, she could only guess what hue they were, but she rather imagined a soulless black, or perhaps red as the blood of his victims.
She shuddered at the thought, unable to consider the mental image of feeding, but the vision of him suckling a woman's neck toyed with her imagination. Would it be painful, or the ecstasy others believed? She liked that line of thought even less, and half wondered if he'd planted the image in her mind merely to toy with her.
"I do believe I am going to enjoy this," he murmured, taking a step toward her.
Her eyes widened. She took a step back. "There's no need to be nasty about this. I am perfectly willing to leave."
He moved a step closer. "Ah, but you're assuming that I would allow it."
Deciding discretion was the better part of valor, Cerise whirled and fled back down the path, in the direction from which she had come. She was certain if she just followed the path, she could at least find her way back to where her horse had thrown her. A wicked laugh echoed through the forest around her, raising the hair on the back of her neck like a shock. It sounded unnervingly close. She didn't dare risk a look behind her. Instead, throwing caution to the wind, she leapt from the path and tore off through the woods.
Her breath was coming so hard and fast, she felt dizzy from it, but she didn't dare slow her steps. She plowed through the frost-killed brush, still thick enough to hamper her speed, but she hoped it would disguise her path through the wood. Leaping a low tangle of vines, she jumped behind the broad trunk of a tree and paused, trying to steady her breath, trying to listen for sounds of pursuit.
"You are flushed, my dear," murmured a voice directly in her ear.
Cerise spun around with a startled gasp and gaped at the man who had appeared seemingly from out of nowhere.
"The color becomes you."
Cerise screamed and stomped his foot, shoving his chest at the same moment. She wasn't certain whether she'd actually managed to knock him from his feet, or if he'd merely vanished again, but she didn't wait around to find out. She turned toward the path once more, or at least the direction she thought which the path lay. The trees seemed to reach out to grab her, tearing at her clothing as she fled as fast as her feet could carry her. A briar caught her bodice, ripping it from neckline almost to her waist. Gasping, she grasped the edges of her torn bodice and ran faster.
Before she quite knew what had happened, she stumbled into a tiny brook. She gaped at the water swirling around her feet. Her legs immediately began going numb with the cold. She didn't think she could feel much more miserable, unless someone tipped a bucket of the water over her head.
Cerise searched her mind, grasping for bearings. She didn't remember crossing a brook before. Where was that twice damned path she'd followed?
As she turned, wondering how she'd gotten her sense of direction so twisted around, she saw the vampire lounging on a flat rock that bordered the bank, a half smile curling his lips. Her heart flip-flopped in her chest and she froze.
He trailed a hand in the water, his smile inviting, as if they were on a picnic together. "You seem a little breathless, sweeting. Shall I remove that tiresome corset as well?"
Cerise stared at him, trying to cover herself with little success. She tucked the edges of her bodice into her corset as she gave him an evil eye. "You villain! It was you who ripped my bodice!"
He looked pleased with himself. Cerise wanted to slap him. "A paltry trick."
"A low trick," she retorted, putting every ounce of disgust she held into her voice. Her reaction served only to amuse him more. Seeing he was no imminent threat at that moment, Cerise looked around a little desperately as she tried to get her bearings.
He pointed over his shoulder. "The path is that way, my love."
Cerise glared at him indignantly. As if she would believe him. She wasn't about to fall for that one.
Hiking her wet skirts to her knees, she slogged through the creek and up the other side. She developed a stitch in her ribs as she ran, and she clutched the pain, forcing herself onward. Her heart leapt with relief when she stumbled from the woods and onto a brightly lit meadow. She knew she could put more distance between her and that wicked man if she left the woods and crossed the clearing.
She had almost made it halfway across when she stumbled over something and felt herself rushing toward the ground. She shrieked and threw up her hands to catch herself. Two arms encircled her before she could strike the ground, a firm body surprisingly muscled cushioning her fall. Half stunned, Cerise looked up at the man who held her.
Him. As if it could be anyone else.
He lifted his brows. "And I had thought you were playing hard to get. You are a wanton, my love, to throw yourself in my arms this way." His arms tightened around her, plumping her breasts to the top of her corset until she thought they would burst from the encasement. He smiled as he looked from her breasts and into her eyes. There was something decidedly the lady killer in gaze.
"You tripped me," she accused. "Unhand me. Now, my lord."
"Daegon," he corrected, confirming her worst suspicions, "And cease this fun? My love, you know not what you ask."
Something had crept down to one buttock cheek. It felt like a hand. When she squirmed to look back, it squeezed. Cerise jumped in surprise, shocked to her toes. She pushed at his chest, glaring at him, wishing he'd remove that offensive palm from her backside. "I am no wanton, my lord. It is you and your vile games that put me in this position."
His smile turned devilish, making her heart flutter. "You prefer another?" He rolled suddenly, landing atop her as he bore her against the soft earth of the meadow. His hands slipped from her back and came down on either side of her head, holding her hands trapped between their melded bodies.
Cerise began to lose feeling in her fingertips. He felt as heavy as solid muscle. She couldn't locate an ounce of fat to pinch, no soft spot upon his body she could strike from her position. Her heart pounded from her exertion. Her lungs fought to drag in air. She felt a little faint.
"You know ... that ... is not ... what ... I meant," she gritted out, struggling beneath him.
His mouth quirked with amusement. He lifted slightly, decreasing his weight enough she could breathe without heaving and crushing her breasts against his chest with every breath. "Think you I read minds?"
"I would not be surprised. I've heard stories of your ilk. What is your intent now?" she asked, not particularly wanting to know the answer, but she rather thought it would behoove her to be prepared. He might actually tell her the truth and give her fair warning.
He arched a brow. "What manner of stories? Perhaps the vampire's kiss?" His voice dropped an octave, slipping to a sensual purr that rubbed along her nerves like a cat. "Have you an interest to know the touch of a vampire?"
Alarm flared through her combining with an odd sort of thrill that she didn't want to examine at the moment. Of course, it could be only fright, for she was not in the best position to fight him off.
He didn't await her answer, but leaned close as though to kiss her. Cerise snapped her teeth at him, missing him by inches. He pulled back in surprise, and she shoved at his chest, wedging her knee between him, pushing with all her might. His impetus rolled him off of her. He grabbed at her feet as she rolled to her knees. She kicked backwards like a horse, striking soft flesh.
Cerise scrambled away, getting to her feet. Heedless of all else, she picked up her skirts and ran through the meadow toward the dark shadow of trees. She dashed past the trunks, heading into blackness absolute, ignoring the tear of limbs and brambles. Her thighs burned as if afire, taxed to the limit of endurance. Her sides felt ready to split, and her feet felt heavy, as though she traveled a bog rather than dry, wintry woods. She felt at any moment, her beleaguered heart would give out.
Her pace unconsciously slowed as she melted deeper into the woods. She would never find the path now. Even the moonlight deserted her in her need. That devil had pursued her until she scarce had a notion of what was up or down.
Ahead, a light shone suddenly, pouring from the sky like silver. Cerise chased it with a last burst of energy, pushing through the trees into a meadow. She stopped at the edge, looking around in confusion. She dropped her skirts, clutching her chest as she caught her breath. This couldn't be the same clearing. She couldn't have traveled in a circle. It just wasn't possible.
"Confused?" an annoyingly familiar voice said behind her.
Cerise whirled around, found him studying her with amusement. Rage overtook her. She wanted to see blood ... and not her own. "You bastard! You, you ... you just let me think I could escape!"
"I cannot help that you cannot accept the consequences of your actions, my dear. I gave you warning you couldn't leave unless I allow it."
With a growl that came from some forgotten place deep inside her, she curled her hands into talons and lunged for his throat.
He stepped aside, catching her arms as she sailed past him, twirling her around until she was ensnared in his arms and helpless to escape or shred the hide from his bones. Cerise gave him a murderous look as he regarded her like a child throwing a tantrum. If she thought her head could withstand it, she would have butted the smug smile from his face.
"Such violence," he murmured, tsking with disapproval. He sighed, rolling one shoulder in a stretch. "I believe we've played enough now," he said, lazily regarding her.
The heat of anger was too much combined with the exhaustion of her flight. She was so tired--tired and ready to admit she'd been defeated. Had he played fair as any decent man would, she was certain he would not be the victor. If she lived past this day, he would regret it, though she rather doubted she would. Didn't all hunters toy with their prey before killing?
"Just be done with it," she said with a breathless voice, full of exhaustion. She tilted her head to the side and squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for the pain.
He chuckled, mild laughter rumbling in his chest. She felt it seep through her own. He seemed to take great delight in her misery.
She startled as one arm moved from her back and his fingers cupped her jaw. He tipped her back, arching her neck, brushing his fingers across her lips and down her throat. Tingles spread from his fingertips like a spiraling web, warm, soothing. She thought he would be cold, not vibrantly heated like a living man. Languor twined through her limbs.
"I'm honored you give yourself to me, fair Cerise," he whispered, spreading warmth across her collarbone.
His heat seeped into her skin, into her muscles, paralyzing her to his touch. She should have been alarmed, frightened, but she couldn't conjure such rabid emotions, only a vague curiosity. "How did you know ... my...," she murmured as a haze enveloped her in its embrace.
Cerise rolled onto her back and arched as the fangs sank deep in her throat. Her lungs stilled as the rapture flooded her and pooled between her thighs with biting intensity. Blood throbbed in her clit, a pounding that begged the soothing rough touch of his fingers. Wet arousal dampened her thighs, making her feel slippery with want. She squeezed her thighs together, enjoying the pleasurable cramp the movement created in her womb.
His hands slipped along her skin like roughened silk, moving across her shoulders to her breasts. He squeezed her gently then flicked his fingertips over her nipples, his short nails slightly abrasive, making them harden in response. Tingles spread from her nipples through her breasts, winding down to the secret place of her.
His mouth broke from her neck with a slight sucking sound, and then his lips followed the trail of his hands, nibbling, fangs scraping. He nipped her nipple with his teeth, stroking a hand down her belly, smoothing through the short hair that covered her sex. Cerise trembled at the touch, so close to what she needed. She arched as he suckled her breast to the point of pain, rubbing his tongue against her distended nipple. He freed her suddenly. She wanted to moan at the loss of heat but couldn't find her voice.
Her belly jerked as his teeth scored her ribcage. Her breath grew harsh as he moved lower, down past her navel. The heat of his breath stirred the fine hair at her apex, almost tickling but far, far worse. He wedged his hands between her thighs, parting them, scraping her flesh in maddening circles as he breathed hotly against her cleft.
A sharpness dragged against the inside of one thigh, up to the crease of her leg. Slowly it moved, pressure increasing until pain and pleasure exploded as he sank his fangs into her thigh.
She gasped at the ecstasy, to have him inside her, sucking her life's essence for his own. She wanted more of him, to feel him deeper. She wanted to feel him inside the tight core of her femininity. He sensed her weakness, exploited it, moving his tongue against her to increase the languorous flow. It was wrong to want this so much, to crave his feeding. Her clit begged attention, aching at his neglect. She wanted to resist him, but she couldn't move her body. Only over her eyes had she any power. She wanted to see him nestled between her thighs---needed to with a sudden desperation. She opened her lids to look upon her lover, her murderer.
There was no one above her. She was alone.
A sense of ease drenched her. It had only been a nightmare. Cerise mentally collapsed in relief, sighing as she closed her eyes against the proof that she was half insane. Never had a dream been so vivid. She could almost feel the heat of his touch on her skin, smell the scent of blood. Her nipples ached as though bitten, and her womb cramped with unfulfilled longing. Moreover, her entire body ached. It hurt even to think too hard.
Cerise's eyes popped open as that realization and another dawned in the sluggish workings of her exhausted brain.
She had no canopy above her bed.
Cerise swallowed past a sudden lump in her throat, easing the covers up to her nose as if they'd protected her from devils unseen. Eyes slanted, almost closed, she peered around from her supine position, hoping the slight movements wouldn't betray her.
Gauzy drapery surrounded her like a tent, barely checking the wash of candle light in the room.
This wasn't her bed.
The simple, juvenile thought echoed in haunting resonance through her soul. She'd been captured by ... by that ... beast.
Was he in here? Had he just left her, or did he watch her even now, gauging her reactions and enjoying her terror. Strangely, she didn't feel nearly as frightened as she should have been, which only lent credence to the fact that he possessed some power over the mind. She should've been frightened silly, but the fact that she still lived meant he had some use for her, though what, she couldn't imagine. Nefarious, most likely. As long as she was valuable in some way, she had hope of hanging to life. Of course, that might also mean he had no intention of allowing her to leave. The thought made her shudder.
Her peripheral vision was cut off by layers of pillows closed in on her flanks. Toward her feet through the mist of drapes, she could make out a dark, arched window beside which sat an upholstered chair, turned to face the bed rather than the window. She wondered if he'd sat there and watched her sleep, gloating over her vulnerability. She could think of no other motive for a centuries old being to possess other than wanting morbid amusements. She refused to think of the way he had looked at her in the wood, that glint in his eyes, the way he'd caused her bodice to be torn.
She frowned, giving the chair a thunderous look.
To see anything else, she'd have to sit up ... and possibly alert anyone---him--that she was awake. She decided it was worth the risk and struggled up onto her elbows.
The room was empty. Candles glowed from ornate sconces resembling climbing rose vines clinging to the wood paneled walls. A candelabra sat on the bedside table, as if it had just been set down. On the far wall near the window, a tall mirror embraced the corner, reflecting the glowing light with mellow softness. To it's right was a wash stand with a basin set in the rich wood and a pitcher beside it.
There was no doubt in her mind where she was and who had taken her. She startled mentally as a thought struck---had the dream merely been that, a nightmare and not real? Or had he actually done those ... things to her. More disturbing than that, had she responded to him as she had in the dream?
Cerise gasped in horror even thinking about it. Her father would tan her hide if he knew. Moreover, how could she face a ... man ... who had such intimate knowledge of her? Cerise felt a blush creep up to her hairline. She wasn't entirely certain, even if he had not touched her, that she could look him in the eye and not remember the dream. Why would she even dream such a thing if not inspired by actual events?
She was sore all over, from her hairline to her toes. There was no way of knowing if something had happened unless she examined herself for bite marks.
Cerise caught the curtains and flung them aside, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed. A pained groan escaped her as her poor, abused muscles were put into action once more. She felt like hunting him down and hammering a stake through his heart just for chasing her into exhaustion, never mind him feeding off her.
Cerise dropped down to the floor and swayed on weak knees. Exertion never affected her thus before. The weakness worried her. How much blood had he taken to leave her this way? It couldn't all be resultant from the running. She hated to think she was so out of sorts that she lacked any stamina.
A door stood a short distance from her bed, directly to its right. She straightened and staggered toward it, leaning heavily against the wood as she tried the knob. It was locked, of course. A pity he wasn't more trusting of her incapacitation.
Grunting with frustration and giving the knob a final try, she turned and stumbled to the wash stand. She poured out some water and splashed her face, feeling a little more alert. It was still hot, a rare luxury indeed. He couldn't have left her long ago, which likely meant he wouldn't be returning for a while. That would leave her enough time to prepare some sort of ambush. But first she had to make sure she wasn't compromised.
Cerise faced the full length mirror and gaped at herself. That blackguard had removed her clothing! Of all the-- No doubt it had been drenched by her own blood. Then again, her gown was irreparably torn from briars. Her hair was a mess too, though not as bad as she'd supposed. He'd taken a comb to it, for there were no leaves or sticks in her hair, and she distinctly remembered picking some up along the way.
The thought of a vampire lord doing something so mundane as brushing her hair while she slept did odd little things to her belly, invoking unpleasant memories of his hands touching her neck, her jaw, her breasts. Cerise pushed the annoyance to the back of her mind. He'd probably been stuck by a bramble and removed them only for his own comfort. She was certain he'd enjoyed seeing her displayed naked and vulnerable before him.
That villain.
Anger was better. It would keep her alive. She had to focus so she'd have some chance of fighting him.
The gown, she saw when she finally looked, fastened in the front, and she quickly shrugged out of it. She was surprised to find her own undergarments beneath. He still had no honor, but it made her feel a little better to know he hadn't seen her without them.
Unless, he'd taken them off and put them on again.
Cerise felt a glimmer of panic. She stood closer to the mirror, lifting the heavy mass of her hair from her neck as she examined her skin. There was nothing but a few mild scratches. She rubbed the back of her neck, but the results were the same.
In the dream, he'd touched her all over.
She sucked in a deep breath and unfastened her corset with effort, dropping it to the floor along with her shift. Her skin itched from its confinement, and she absently scratched herself as she searched. She rubbed her hands over her breasts and belly, checking her sides for the slightest wound. She saw nothing.
He'd gone down there though.
She shuddered, feeling his hot breath between her thighs all over again. It had seemed so real.... Cerise looked at herself in the mirror, swallowing hard. Surely to god he wouldn't have done anything there. She flushed pink all over just thinking about it. She had no choice but to proceed.
Slowly, she peeled her garters and stockings off, checking her legs, finding nothing. Which left one place....
Steeling her nerves for horror, Cerise widened her stance, but it wasn't enough, and she looked wholly ridiculous in the position. Face aflame with embarrassment, she propped one foot on the wash stand. It put her too far from the mirror to really get a good look, however.
Cerise blew out a frustrated breath, planted a hand on each inner thigh, and bent over. She couldn't ... quite ... see. Just a little more. Cerise tipped her bottom higher, pressing her hands to spread her lips, carefully maintaining her balance.
Two black booted feet came into her line of sight, one propped against the baseboard in a casual stance
Cerise screamed and straightened from her precarious position, covering her privates futilely as she whirled around to see if her mind had split and was playing tricks on her.
It was him!
Wearing snug breeches and a billowing black silk shirt that hung open far down his chest, he looked the epitome of the rogue. And his interest was centered wholly on her nakedness. Arms crossed over his chest, emphasizing the muscles exposed by the slit of his neckline, he arched one brow, dragging a leisurely gaze down her body. He looked as if he'd been standing at the bed for quite a while, enjoying the show.
Cerise flashed at least three shades of red, frozen in place, unable to move for fear she'd expose herself more, but more so because shock had paralyzed her muscles. Her hair covered her breasts, but it left far too much exposed to risk movement. Cerise thought she would die from mortification on the spot. That she didn't proved the gods favored mankind over women.
Daegon watched every emotion flit across her face. He couldn't look away, couldn't move. Neither fear or surprise held him rooted. His inability to move stemmed from an unwillingness to risk breaking his control by allowing himself to come near her. He skated the edge, caught between desire and need. A step closer to her, to the subtle, blossoming scent of her lingering arousal, the flame of her embarrassment, and he could slip.
Swift, searing lust had rushed his groin the moment he'd walked in and saw her stripping her stockings off in a way that suggested she teased knowingly. He knew she did not, for he'd used his power as was habit and disguised his entrance into her room. She'd had no way of knowing he watched her from behind and in the mirror, groaned internally as she'd rubbed her hands up and down her legs. The soft shake of her breasts mesmerized him. The shape of her buttocks beckoned the slip of his cock between her cheeks, beguiling formed like the halves of a heart. He burned to taste those sweet curves and bury his tongue into her from behind, to smear her cream over her lips and lick the dew from her core.
She was a fierce creature, lithe and strong, unlike any woman he'd ever known, for she did not fear him as she should, and it was not a matter of a lack of intelligence. One look into her eyes confirmed she was quick-witted---a survivor. He could not remember being so intrigued by a woman before, so mentally stimulated. Her fire amused him, and he yearned to know how brightly it would burn.
His blood swarmed thinking of diving into her heat.
When she'd finished examining her legs and bent over, tilting those pink lips up for his eyes, he thought he'd explode. Now she stood, covering herself ashamedly, her pretty nipples peeking from the glorious cascade of her red hair. The brilliant, deep red enhanced the pale luminescence of her skin, striking contrast with the delicate blue lacework of veins on her flesh. Her nipples were small, untouched by man, never suckled and plucked by a man's ravenous mouth. His salivary glands spasmed with sharp pain as the need to taste took hold, resonated in the swift flow of blood to his cock. His breeches were too tight to contain him, and he longed to free the beast and satisfy its appetite.
Needs surfaced, restrained for longer than he could remember. A hunger lit inside him, a hunger unappeased by mortal woman. Had she that power, the power to calm the rage of his mind and bring fruit to the emptiness of his soul?
She looked at him now, unafraid, anger blooming in her cheeks and darkening her emerald eyes. He wanted that fire to burn in desire, to have her look on him not in fear or hate, but in desire. Lust burned brighter, consumed all in its path. The temptation to succumb to human carnality was great.
It took an effort not to cross the room and fling her to the floor, to free his cock and ram it inside her. Every instinct hummed with the need to take, commanded to conquer. He dug his fingers into his arms, drawing blood to the surface of his skin, bruising his own flesh as he fought to control himself. How long had he lived alone? How long had it been since he'd fed the gnawing hunger that consumed his black soul? The questions left him as frustrated as the pain in his groin.
He could not remember and knew that he must seek to appease the raging want or risk hurting her unintentionally.
With ease born from centuries of use, he covered the ravenous need with amusement. He would not give her to know how dangerous he was in this mood.
"Quite the picture you make," he drawled, lazily perusing her as if she were a buffet of tempting morsels. There was a hungry intent in his eyes, shadowed with humor, but unmistakably there.
Cerise pulsed all over with heat. She bent and quickly snatched up her shift, outrage slowly replacing mortification. "How dare you come in here! Have I no privacy?"
Daegon ignored her remarks as if she had not even uttered them. "What, pray tell, were you doing? Besides so lovely exposing your pert bottom for my amusement?"
"You should know," she said accusingly, feeling quite like there wasn't enough fabric in the world that could keep his burning stare from searing her flesh. The shift draped in front of her legs, but she dared not lift her hands to put it on.
"I do not."
Cerise glared at him. "I was checking for bite marks."
A black brow arched with intrigue. "Oh? And did you find any?"
"I don't know. That is, I was interrupted."
His mouth quirked in a way that made her stomach tighten. "Do not stop on my behalf. Please, continue."
Cerise gasped indignantly. "I will not!" She couldn't believe he would suggest something so ... so obscene. She couldn't believe he would even jest about such a thing.
"Pity." His eyes flickered with something indistinct. She saw now they were a deep blue, the color a fair man would have, not one dark as he, and certainly not red or a soulless black as she'd imagined. She'd known some fair-haired men whose hair had turned dark with age. Had he once been a child? It was hard to imagine him as a boy. And then she was angry at herself for even noticing the color of his eyes and forgetting what position she'd been put in by his actions.
"Get out of my room," she said in a quietly demanding voice.
He made no move to comply. "Why should I?"
Because a gentleman would do so. "So that I may dress."
One corner of his lips twitched. "This is my room."
"Then I shall leave." She bent and snatched her garments from the floor, watching him with half an eye. She was too angry to care if he saw anything. Hadn't he seen it all already? And in any case, she didn't care what he thought of her, or how he looked at her with those eyes that made her blood sizzle.
Arms full, she stopped when she came abreast of him, not missing his gaze as it raked down her one final time. Still, he hadn't moved, hadn't so much as straightened from his casual stance against the bed post. "You're not going to stop me?"
He gestured toward the door with one sweeping arm. "By all means, go."
Knowing she showed her surprise in her eyes, Cerise tossed her head haughtily and strode from the room, feigning more confidence than she held at that moment. She felt his eyes scorch her backside as she left and put an extra sway in her step for meanness. She passed through the doorway into a hall, and immediately felt the difference in the air and on the floor.
Without breaking stride, she checked her pile of clothing for her stockings and located one, stopping to roll it up one leg. She picked through the pile for her other stocking, but she'd somehow managed to leave it behind, and she was not going back.
Cerise slipped the one off again and dropped her bundle to the floor as she pulled her shift over her head. She felt immediately better now that she was covered once more. Pulling the ends of her hair free from the shift, she stooped and pushed through the pile, looking for her corset.
It wasn't there. She was certain she'd picked it up. Instead, she found the missing stocking underneath the gown.
Cerise blew out a frustrated breath and hopped on one foot at a time as she slipped her stockings up each leg. Her garters were gone too, she found, and nothing stopped the tops from rolling down to her knees. She reached beneath her shift and pushed them back up, clamping her thighs together to hold them in place.
Looking down at the floor, she was dismayed to see the gown gone and her corset in its place.
A masculine chuckle erupted behind her.
Cerise whirled around, glaring at him. He held the gown, his eyes glinting with mirth, a barely repressed smile teasing the corners of his lips.
Flabbergasted, she reached for the gown, but he snatched it back. "You ... you...." She frowned at him, incredulous of the lengths he'd go to merely for entertainment's sake. She wondered just how accurate the stories were of the damned vampire lord. He certainly hadn't acted the part in the length of time she'd known him.
Cerise growled under her breath. "I'm glad you find this so amusing."
Cerise turned her back on him and trudged down the hall, looking for some branch that led in the direction the window in her room faced. The shadowy hall extended as far back as she could see, but she soon came upon a wide staircase. A huge chandelier hung above, glowing with the brilliance of a rainbow refracted from the teardrops of thousands of crystals. The glowing piece sparkled as though alit with magic, and she stared up at it in wonder.
"There are many such wonders in my castle," Daegon said quietly behind her.
Cerise shook off the enchantment binding her in place. "A pity I am not staying to see them."
He made no response.
Cerise followed the wide, curving staircase down into a foyer encased in marble work shot with rose veins. She had never seen such marvelous stone, nor such craftsmanship. The stonework curved around doorways, carved into bass relief around the perimeter of the room. Around another door, it resembled an archway of vines and roses, like the gateway into a wondrous garden.
Pretty it was, but she couldn't allow herself to be distracted by ornamentation.
Set in the center of the wall facing the stair was a huge door standing between her and freedom. Here, her attention riveted. She looked at it longingly, wondering how far he would allow her to go before snatching her hope away.
Cerise took a step toward it, but her progress was interrupted by his voice behind her.
"What of your gown?"
She glanced over her shoulder. He propped against the banister, watching her as he swung the gown in one hand.
"Keep it. It is yours, after all." She rushed for the door, meaning to escape before he could stop her.
"I wouldn't, if I were you."
Some warning tone in his voice stayed her hand from turning the knob. "Why not? I have no sane reason to remain."
"There are hounds out there," he said simply.
She could handle hounds if that was all that stood in her way. When he did nothing more to halt her, she pulled the door open and raced outside, stopping after only two steps toward freedom.
Huge, slathering dogs, like shaved wolves, brought their heads up as they caught her scent. Black in the moonlight, they stared at her, eyes glowing blood red, teeth gleaming wicked as broken bones from torn flesh. Her heart froze as they put their heads to the ground and bounded across the clear courtyard straight for her.
Cerise shrieked, dashed inside, and slammed the door behind her. She heard the dog's talons scrape the stoop. Their growls rumbled through the door and into her back.
When she finally managed to catch her breath, Cerise looked up at Daegon with a killer glare. "Those are hell hounds. You could have warned me."
He shrugged, dropping the gown as he stepped off the bottom stair. "I did."
She could have been devoured. He was completely devoid of softer, human emotion. A creature incapable of even remote redemption. Cerise strode forward and scooped the dress up, itching to slap him, but not daring so far. "You are as accursed as those beasts outside."
Darkness swallowed his eyes with smoldering anger. "You are a fool to goad this beast," he snarled.
Cerise blanched as he seized her wrist with breath-taking suddenness, forcing her nerveless fingers to drop the gown. Finally, she'd aroused the predator inside him, the vampire lord of legend. The tempestuous emotions he'd brought out in her before were nothing in comparison to what she felt now. Terror and excitement raged out of control in her. Her heart pounded with a fierce rush of adrenaline, so hard she swore he could hear the race of her blood.
He advanced on her with a surge of strength that had her backing away, trepidation rising in intoxicating waves. She came to a halt as her backside met the wall, and still he didn't stop, not until his body was within a breath of her own. Her lungs fought to drag in air. Her chest rose and fell with ragged breath as though she'd run from him.
Heat and tension permeated him, stealing across the narrow space to invade her flesh. His muscles were rigid with repressed power, agitated from restraint. Cerise sensed he could attack at any moment, that he was prepared to intercept any move she might make to try and escape.
"You have no notion how much a beast I can be, Cerise," he growled softly, leaning close.
His aggression aggravated her senses, made them riot out of control. She was aroused and she didn't know why, couldn't understand her response. She only knew she must diffuse his anger if she were to survive it.
The moisture had fled her body, sucked to the core of her femininity, leaving her mouth and throat unbearably dry. Cerise moistened her lips, meaning to apologize for her abrasive impulsiveness, but his gaze seized on the slight movement of her tongue and her voice died in her throat. Her knees went weak as a fresh surge of hot, pulsing excitement filled her.
"I didn't mean to offend," she said breathlessly, her nipples hardening with the nearness of his chest, aching to feel him crushed against her.
"You said exactly what you meant to say," he snarled softly, snatching her other wrist and pinning both arms above her head. He leaned closer, his gaze capturing hers as his chest pressed against her breasts. She wanted to moan at his pressure, at the weight of him against her. Her breasts felt impossibly heavy, swollen. His eyes were filled with dark intent, smoky with sensual menace.
Cerise's sex clenched in anticipation. Her mind reeled in abhorrence at her response, yet she was incapable of denying it. Some enchantment stole over her, suffocating her natural inclination to fight him, leaving a watered version of herself that craved the touch of the forbidden. Her entire body felt seized by demanding need. She felt like she would burn up with it if he didn't touch her, more. Rougher.
"No," she whispered, shaking her head weakly, her voice thready with pent-up emotion and breathless expectation. Her lips parted to drag air in as he bridged the distance between their mouths.
Her body jolted as his lips covered hers. Cerise could barely restrain a whimper of arousal as the wet heat of his tongue slipped along the seam of her lips with haunting precision. Her arms strained-- to do what, she didn't know, but some insane urge made her want to close herself around him. His hands tightened around her wrists as if he were more than aware of the reaction she fought to hide.
His tongue surged inside her mouth, possessive fire that melted the fragile strength of her resistance. Cerise jerked against him, yearning to free her hands and escape his sensual invasion. It was too much, too intimate. The invasion of something so vitally him---his taste, his scent--made her quiver inside with revulsion and longing. He tasted hot, wild and dangerous, some inscrutable taste that was at once intoxicating and frightening with intensity. His voracious tongue swept through her mouth, tasting her with a savage hunger that bordered on starvation.
His chest crushed against her breasts, engorged her nipples to the point of pain. The shift offered no protection from the hardness of his chest, from the feel of his muscles melding against her.
Cerise whimpered, clenching her hands in frustration. He slanted his mouth over hers, tangling his tongue with her own, seeking to seduce her into a dark lust that would consume her if he himself did not first.
He groaned against her lips, pressing her into the wall, bending his legs to rub the hard bulge of his arousal against her mound in rough promise.
He clasped her wrists in one hand, moving his free hand down to thrust her shift up, until his fingers grazed the length of one thigh. Cerise struggled against sensation, against the desire to welcome his touch. He shoved a knee between her legs, pulling her shift taut on the front of her thighs.
His hard muscled thigh rubbed against her moistened slit with a deliberate slide that had her trembling, had her blood racing with exhilaration. His tongue continued to taste her, but he'd changed now, savored instead of devoured. Cerise felt trapped. Her clit throbbed with needy longing. Her cleft felt smothered by her shift, unable to feel the intensity she longed for.
She shook her head, grappling for sanity, willing her body to calm.
He tugged her lip with his teeth, the sharp edges of his fangs scraping her. He tore his mouth from hers, dragging his lips down, along her jaw, rocking his thigh between her legs, grinding against her mound.
Daegon was drowning in the scent and feel and taste of her. She was sweeter than he'd imagined, spicy with fear and arousal. He slid his tongue over her throat, licking up the delicious sweetness of her skin as though she could satisfy the gnawing hunger inside him. He whispered over her neck, piercing her skin with his fangs, enjoying her shudder of pain and pleasure.
His cock throbbed in his breeches, sensing the nearness of her cleft, straining for freedom and heat and moist darkness. The need thundered through his blood, overpowering reason. Fury made him rougher. He nicked her throat with his fangs. She moaned, arching her neck, the victim instinctively reaching for the ecstasy of the bite.
Rapacious hunger swallowed him. His fangs lengthened, growing with the need for blood, to ravage flesh. He fought the darkness, but couldn't hold it back. He tasted a drop of her blood on his tongue and a hard spasm of lust convulsed in his shaft. He groaned in agony and ecstasy, sucking her neck, marking her with his possession.
She consumed him, overwhelmed his reason. He couldn't taste enough of her, couldn't feel enough of her. The fire burned, sizzled in his veins. He wanted to sink into her---his fangs, his cock.
Pain erupted in his groin, hot as molten metal searing his skin. He longed to thrust his cock into her core and quench the fire.
He reached for her thigh, ripping her shift as he hooked around her knee and hauled her leg up to his hip. The violence felt good, but he wanted more, he wanted her to scream with pleasure only he could give. He bent his knees, coming up against her mound with a surge of strength that had her crying out in pleasure.
Her wet heat seeped through his breeches as he ground his engorged cock against her clit. He absorbed her scent, got drunk off her musky desire and frightened, aroused whimpers.
She'd awakened the predator with her tongue and anger. How good it would feel wrapped around his shaft, suckling him until he came inside her mouth.
The pounding of her heart beat against his chest, edging the blind desire to unexpected heights. Some distant part of his mind cried out in warning, recognized her desire had become fear alone. He halted his movements, his breath ragged against her neck, harsh as the frigid pain coursing through his veins.
How much the beast he'd become, fueled by desire and unable to resist destroying those weaker than himself. A shudder wracked her body, resonating in the hatred he bore himself.
He released her hands and moved away from her, watching as she tilted her head, covering her face and shame with her hair. She closed her arms around her chest, hugging herself as though cold. He knew she did it to protect herself, knew his actions had caused the change in her.
She hadn't feared him before. Now she knew the nature of the beast, knew the hunger he possessed ... knew that he could not contain it in her presence. There would be no calming her, no opportunity to gain her trust now.
Did he truly want it?
He did not. He wanted only to part her soft folds and sink inside her and appease the greed of his soul. He cared nothing for human life---only for their nourishment and his own entertainment.
"Get to your room," he growled softly, angry at himself for losing control, angry at allowing her to break into his barriers.
Without a word, she scurried back up the stairs. Daegon watched her go, his anger dissipating but the eager arousal still thudding in his groin. He lied to himself, as he always did.
In the shadows, he heard a woman's whispering voice. A taunting song filled the hall, spidery words of a language long dead. She sang to him, as she did every night.
Tonight, the words pierced him with bittersweet longing ... a longing to change the destiny he had created for himself so long ago in one act of unforgivable cruelty. But it was not to be.
Cerise slammed the door behind her and rushed to the wash stand, set the pitcher on the floor, and pulled the stand along until she could push it in front of the door. She tried the handle but couldn't budge the door open. Satisfied he could no longer sneak into her room, she threw back the curtains surrounding her bed and collapsed on top of it. Her hands shook, and she clasped a pillow to combat the agitation flooding her.
She lay still, waiting for the achy trembles to subside. Her womanhood felt unbearably slick from what he'd done to her. She breathed shakily in remembrance, hoping to never see him again.
She didn't know why he'd stopped, but she was thankful. With a few practiced moves, he'd made her mad to feel his touch. She couldn't handle such desperation. It was unlike her to need something so badly. And she knew exactly what it was he made her crave. The ache between her legs begged to be satisfied. She'd seen what happened in Raedan when night stole over the household. The servants and soldiers satisfied carnal needs in any dark corner they could find. Some became heavy with child.
Was Daegon Erlansson even capable of fathering a child? Would he create demon spawn such as himself, creatures that drank blood to survive?
No matter how human he looked, she could not forget he was a creature of evil. His actions this night reinforced that fact.
She simply had to find some way of escaping him. Surely he would sleep some time, and without his guard, she would leave. She was fairly certain there was no one else in the castle. For all its beauty, there was something hauntingly cold about its halls, an emptiness that defied description.
If she didn't know better, she would swear it was haunted. She shuddered, hugging the pillow tight to her chest. But it was haunted---by the undead.
The set of her thoughts brought her no comfort, only more questions and unease. She knew this place would drain her of life force, even if he did not.
Cerise stood from the bed and strode to the window, looking out on the nightscape. As far as she could see under the pale light, there were nothing but woods for miles. She had no notion how far it was to reach home, or even what direction Raedan lay in. She'd wanted to help her sister but realized now, she needed her own hero to sweep her away. Of course, Cerise had no intention of waiting for rescue. She would have to take care of herself.
Bianca was the eldest, and she felt if anyone could survive in a harsh environment, it would be her. As to herself, she didn't intend to remain in the vampire lord's castle for long.
Her stomach gave a loud rumble, and she rubbed it absently, wondering how long she'd been there. The last thing she remembered eating had been luncheon, and then she'd lost her horse soon after, along with her supplies.
She would need to replenish her supplies for her trip and, if possible, find some means of conveyance. At the least, she had to find sturdy slippers, a coat, and another gown to protect her from the chill settling on the land. She wondered how much she could gather from the castle without him becoming aware of it. Then too, there was the matter of the hounds outside.
Feeling the weight of too many questions and not enough answers made her tired. Cerise turned from the window and took the pitcher up she'd set on the floor when moving the stand. She quenched her thirst and set it down again, dowsing the candles as she went.
She crawled into bed, snuffing the candle flame beside her, wondering how long her respite would last.
Daegon watched the even rise and fall of her chest, the peaceful expression on her face, feeling the longing that embraced him every night when the moon reached its zenith and descended. She was blessed and she did not realize it, advantaged by such a simple act, as every living being was.
She slept.
Envy embittered him, as it always did when encountered with one of the many simple pleasures he could not enjoy. Yet he did not wish it otherwise for her. He enjoyed watching her slumber. She was unaware of her sensual nature in bed, the way she rubbed her legs together as she turned, the way she moved a ticklish lock of hair from her throat. She even talked in her sleep, and he found it fascinating to listen to the jumble of expressions that poured from her mouth.
When first he heard this, he'd been surprised and thought her awake. She was amazingly coherent, until he began talking back to her, asking her how she felt. Then her words grew bizarre, as bizarre, he imagined, as her dreams were. Touching her to calm her only enflamed her, it seemed, for she'd begun moaning and begging for his touch.
He grew aroused remembering what had happened only a few short hours ago. Night surpassed the day as winter's hand neared. 'Twas hard to believe he'd found her so soon after dusk, harder still to know that morning was but a breath away.
Morning, night, it hardly mattered to him. Both were the same, both everlasting torture. Exhaustion enveloped him, but he did not sleep. He couldn't. He had not in so long, his mind had cracked into insanity and he'd been brought back from the brink with the sheer, innumerable passage of time.
He knew she would not allow him respite in madness, nor in sleep or any other means of escaping his eternal existence. The accursed knew no bounds.
Daegon frowned and closed the curtains, turning away from her sleeping form as he set the tray of cheese, fruit, and bread he'd carried inside down on the bedside table.
He wasn't sure why he had come to her again, what made him crave the burn of her hatred. Perhaps it was the mere need for human contact, perhaps not. Whatever the reason, it angered him to give in to it, even more than it angered him to feel any softness toward the woman.
He faced her again, whisking the drapes aside. Her mouth parted on a sigh. He wondered if she dreamed of him, of the kiss he'd stolen. He would steal it again, if only to feel her breath and know the taste of life.
Daegon bent and smoothed silky tendrils of hair from her cheek, caressing her jaw line with his thumb. He bent and brushed his lips against hers, warming to the feel of her lips pliant and soft against his own. She moaned breathlessly, and he pulled back, sweeping from the room before she could awake.
Such sweet torment he craved....
Cerise startled as a rush of air danced across her skin. She shivered and sat up, blinking and looking around the room. Unable to see, she fumbled against the table, searching for the flint, and encountered a tray of food.
Cerise turned back to the room, peering in the darkness, but she felt he'd gone already. She was angry and frustrated that he'd broken through her barricade, but not surprised. He was all powerful, after all. It did surprise her, however, that he'd anticipated her hunger and brought her food. The simple acts he performed for her left her confused. It was something any servant could perform, but the fact that he looked after her needs struck her as incongruous. She didn't imagine immortal beings would possess empathy for the lesser kind. That he considered her comfort while she slept was strangely pleasing and unlike the predator she'd seen in the foyer.
She knew him as an enigma, strange parts that made up a whole she couldn't begin to fathom. He could have killed her at any time, yet he didn't. He could have harmed her when she angered him, but he only kissed and touched her.
His responses were unlike what she'd expected, and that unnerved her. He was too unpredictable. Thankful as she was to be unhurt, she couldn't risk that he would tire of her and change.
Still, she could enjoy what he'd given her.
"Thank you," Cerise whispered to the empty room, feeling more than a little foolish.
Taking a morsel of food, she devoured it hungrily, thankful to have something to fill her belly, even if it was an odd hour. She ate only a few bites and left the rest to break her fast, settling down to sleep.
She'd slept far too little when the clear light of morning burst through the window with the blare of a trumpet call. Cerise groaned into her pillow, hating the daylight, but knowing it was her one opportunity to explore and not chance meeting her captor.
The wash stand, she saw when she crawled out of bed, had been mysteriously moved back into place and fresh water had been brought in.
That damned vampire just traipsed in and out of her room and she none the wiser. She was irritated more at herself for her oblivion than for his entrance. How like her to sleep like the dead with danger nearby.
Along with fresh, hot water, he'd also left her a comb, hair pins, and a fresh gown laid out on the chair. There were also new stockings, garters, and a shift, each piece trimmed with the same lace as a matching set. He'd neglected to bring back her corset, however. Just as well, for she hated wearing the contraption.
Cerise cleaned herself, combed and pinned her hair up, and dressed. She felt more than a little odd wearing garments he'd selected for her and wondered how he'd come by them and how they could fit her so well.
Cerise shrugged and went to the door, finding it unlocked to her surprise. She half thought she'd have to crawl out the window. He knew, of course, that as long as the hell hounds remained outside, she could go nowhere.
Deciding she would first search the upper levels of the castle for the supplies she needed, Cerise peered out into the hall. The candles had snuffed themselves out sometime during the night, and the wide passage swam with shadows unstirred by light. She went back in and retrieved the candelabra, lit it, and continued on.
Somewhere, he had to have a store of women's garments. If she could find it, she could retrieve some slippers and a coat, possibly some sort of pack as well.
Shadows danced as the flame flickered from the movement of her progress. She found several doors along the way, but checking inside each, she only managed to find rooms full of dusty cobwebs. In one, there was an abandoned desk with a dull letter opener laid atop it, filmy with dust. Finding nothing else of use, she took the slim-bladed knife and proceeded to the next room.
They were grand apartments, or were once upon a time. Each looked as if no soul had passed through them in a century or more.
Inside the next room she searched she found a tight, woven bag filled with dead flowers that crumbled to dust when she shook them out.
Other rooms were the same, yielding nothing she could use. When she reached the end of the hall, however, she found a locked door that mirrored her own at the opposite end. She became immediately intrigued. There was only one reason to lock a room.
Cerise pressed her ear to the door, listening for sounds of movement. She couldn't hear anything, and felt fairly confident Daegon used the room to lock away secrets, things he didn't want her to see or have. That meant they were like as not to be highly useful to her.
Taking the letter opener from her bag, she set it and the candelabra on the floor and slipped her blade in the tight space between the door and jam. She hammered the hilt with the palm of her hand, working it into the crack. Giving it a little bend as she pushed her shoulder into the door, she popped the door open.
A gust of wind whistled through the open doorway, soft and eerie as a voice, snuffing the fragile flame of her candle. Cerise shuddered and stepped inside. Sunlight shafted through a window on the far wall facing the doorway. A desk and chair stood in the center of the room, facing the window, and along the walls were books. Leather and oil saturated the room with a warm, cozy scent that beckoned her deeper inside despite the chill that initially gripped her.
The covers were all the same, midnight blue trimmed in gold, perfectly aligned on the shelves. Above her reach to her right, she could see a stack of parchments with broken seals and some with frayed ribbons hanging down.
She didn't see anything particularly special about the room. It looked like nothing more than a study.
Cerise walked to the desk and sat in the chair. Atop its surface lay another book, this one open to blank pages. She laid the knife down and idly flipped back through the pages, encountering a bold scrawl.
Curious, she studied the writing for several moments. It was unfamiliar and hard to read, but slowly, she began to make out the words and began to read. She realized fairly quickly that it was a personal journal. She was tempted to see what he might have written about her, but the thought of the embarrassing moments she had endured since meeting him killed the temptation abruptly.
She decided she really didn't want to know what he might have written about her and turned to the beginning of the book. It seemed to be a recording of thoughts and events earlier in the year. After a few moments, she began to feel a little uncomfortable reading his thoughts and feelings. She sat the book aside and rose from the chair, wandering down the wall of books, searching for titles. To her surprise, she saw that each book appeared identical in every way to the book she'd found on his desk except for the fact that there was a number picked out on the spine in gold.
Confusion filled her for several moments, and she turned and looked at the books that surrounded her. They couldn't all be journals. It dawned on her that he was a vampire. He might have lived for eons. She dismissed that thought. Vampire or not, he couldn't be that old. Perhaps it was only that he was bored and wrote quite a lot about his daily activities.
She had no business, she knew, prying, and yet she was curious about this man who had taken her prisoner. She would've liked to lie to herself that it was a search for some tool that she might use in her own defense, but the plain truth was he fascinated her. She wanted to know how he had come to be as he was today.
Moving down the shelves, she began searching for his earliest journals, wondering even as she did so, how old he was when he became a vampire. Had he been born one? Or had something terrible happened to him?
The first book she picked up and thumbed through was written in a more childish handwriting than the book on the desk, and she knew without even reading, that it had to be from his childhood. She looked through it, reading passages here and there, beginning to get an image in her mind of a happy, carefree child. He could not have been born a vampire, she decided.
There was nothing in the book to indicate such a thing. Slipping it back into its place, she took another book out and began to look through it in the same manner. The handwriting was still immature, however, and so too the thoughts recorded on the pages. Returning it to the shelf, she counted the volumes, deciding that each represented a year.
Finally, she stopped when she reached the thirtieth volume and pulled it from the shelf. Moving to the window seat where she had more light, she scanned the pages. Her heart skipped a beat when she read the passage 'My beloved wife...'.
She gasped. It had never crossed her mind that he had been married. Her thoughts turned chaotic. She closed the book abruptly, her heart hammering erratically in her breast. This, she knew, absolutely, that she had no right to intrude in. She stared down at the book in her hands, fighting the curiosity that gnawed at her. She desperately wanted to know what had happened between him and his wife. Had she died long years ago, leaving him to mourn endlessly?
Cerise opened the hard-cover, nervously fluttering the pages between her fingers. Finally, unable to resist, she opened the book to the first page. The book, she discovered, began in his thirty fifth year. She scanned through several pages that spoke of unrest.
She had just discovered a passage that mentioned his beloved wife, when the door slammed open, striking the wall so hard several books fell from the shelves.
Cerise jumped, dropping the book from suddenly nerveless fingers as she gaped at the man standing on the threshold. Rage had transformed him. He was almost unrecognizable.
Leaping to her feet, Cerise nudged the book with her toe, pushing it surreptitiously beneath the drapes that surrounded the window seat. "Daegon," she exclaimed. "You're awake."
Daegon's eyes narrowed. "Obviously this comes as a great surprise to you."
Cerise smiled at him a little weakly. "Vampires sleep during the day, don't they?"
He eyed her for a long moment, but instead of answering her question he glanced around the room. "Curiously enough, I was under the impression that the door to my study was locked."
Cerise glanced guiltily at the letter opener she'd left on his desk and then focused her gaze on the floor at her feet.
"Ah," Daegon said, striding to the desk and lifting the letter knife, studying it thoughtfully. "I was wondering where I'd left my letter knife. Where did you find it, my love?"
She looked up at him wide-eyed. "On your desk?"
"I'm certain it wasn't there the last time I looked."
Cerise took a deep, shuddering breath and decided to make a break for it. "Well, I'm glad you found it, my lord," she said, smiling brightly and scurrying for the door.
Daegon caught her arm as she tried to rush past him, pulling her to a stop. "Bored, my dear?"
She gaped at him, wondering where this was leading. "Why no, why do you ask?"
He turned to face her, catching her other arm and dragging her up against him. A flush of heat assailed her at the powerful, dangerous feel of him against her. His eyes blazed with anger. "Surely you must be, to seek entertainment in my personal journals."
Cerise felt a tell-tale crimson tide flood her cheeks. "Your journals?" she echoed. "You have journals in here? I always thought that I would like to keep a journal. I never seem to find the time for it, however."
"You have not touched them?"
She forced a chuckle. "Why, my lord, I wouldn't consider looking in anyone's personal journal."
"No?"
"No."
"Why, I wonder, is that volume lying beside the window seat beneath the drapes?"
Cerise stared at him, thinking quickly. "You must have left it there, my lord, and forgotten."
"Alas," he said, "I am cursed with a flawless memory."
Artlessness hadn't helped at all. Cerise decided to try a new tact. "Well, I'm sure I don't know," she snapped.
His eyes narrowed. "Angry as I was at your trespass, I might have let it go if you had only been honest with me. I don't care for liars, my dear. I'm afraid I'll have to punish you."
Cerise gaped at him in dawning horror. She'd been so certain she could talk her way out of this, she hadn't even tried to resist when he had grabbed her. Now he held her in an unbreakable grip. She struggled anyway, trying to break free. For a moment, she thought she had managed to break his hold, and in the next breath, she discovered that he had only released her to scoop her up into his arms.
Without a word, his face set in grim lines, he strode from the room, ignoring Cerise's efforts to wiggle out of his arms. By the time he'd reached her room, she was gasping with exertion and so tired, it was only fear that drove her on. Reaching her room, he kicked the door open with one booted foot, crossed it in three swift strides, and dropped her onto the bed.
The plush mattress bogged her down. The bed covers tangled around her as if they had a mind of their own. Cerise kicked out at Daegon as he came onto the mattress, digging her nails into the covers to drag herself to the other side, out of his reach. Her feet struck air, and he caught her flailing legs, pinning each one in turn as he stripped her stockings off. He hauled her back toward him, his strength overpowering her, flipping her onto her back.
Daegon straddled her bucking body, hard muscled thighs clamped tightly around her hips. Cerise pummeled him with her fists, but it was like striking a stone statue. He was immovable, unyielding. He caught one of her wrists and knotted a stocking around it.
Cerise screamed and scratched him, trying to pry his fingers loose as he tied the other end to a bed post, pulling her arm taut. He caught her free hand, giving her a thunderous, black look that had shivers crawling up her spine. In seconds, he had it bound to the opposite post.
She glared up at him when he stilled, looking down on her. Sensual malevolence gleamed in his sapphire eyes. His chest rose and fell with heavy breath. He lifted one knee from her hip, settling it between her thighs as he slid a hand up her gown, beneath her shift.
Cerise's heart halted as his fingers smoothed up her thigh. He watched her under heavy brows, stopping his exploration at her garter, slipping his finger beneath it, around it. He dragged it slowly, sensually down her leg until he'd freed it from her. He moved back, keeping one leg trapped beneath him, prisoner to the feel of his heat and hardness.
He grasped her ankle and lifted it to his mouth. He kissed the fine bones, his lips hot, soft. She didn't ask what he planned---her toes curled with the knowledge, shy and eager all at once. He nibbled the arch of her foot as he massaged her calf and instep with strong fingers. Closing her eyes, Cerise moaned, pleasure spreading up her leg in a warm rush. Already her trapped foot felt neglected. She thought she could accustom herself to his brand of punishment.
His teeth grazed her toes, tugging them, lips pulling in sucking kisses. Tingles shot through her. She wanted to beg for more. His mouth pulled away suddenly, and something wrapped tight around her ankle. Cerise's eyes popped open to see him secure her leg to the bed post with her garter stretched taut.
She felt immediately betrayed. She began bucking again, clenching and unclenching her hands with the desire dig into his flesh. "You bastard!"
He said nothing as he removed her second garter and locked her kicking leg into place. He sat up on his knees, between her spread legs, studying her a long moment as she shot daggers at him. As if coming to a decision, he leaned forward, grasped the neckline of her bodice, and ripped her gown and shift until her breasts erupted from the torn fabric.
Cerise gasped in outrage, struggling until she became aware that his eyes had transfixed to the swaying shake of her breasts as she moved. He looked on her with such dark hunger in his eyes. She shuddered, her body convulsing with a piercing ripple of desperation. His mouth tightened in a grim line and he continued his path of destruction until her gown and shift lay in two halves, one on each side of her body.
He stood up and walked around the bed, studying her naked curves. From her line of sight, it was horrific. Her skin was pale save for the blushing rose of her nipples, standing at attention, and the thatch of auburn hair at the apex of her thighs. Mortification swept in a heated wave down her flesh, leaving her pink with embarrassment. There was nothing she could do to stop him from looking his fill of her.
Watching her blush, his face expressionless, he reached into a pocket of his coat and withdrew a handkerchief from its depths, slowly folding it into a triangle. She knew what he was going to do. She tried to twist her face away from him, but there was only so much she could do to escape the inevitable. He tied the kerchief around her eyes.
She felt the rustle of air as he straightened and moved away. His boots sounded hollow on the wooden floor. She followed the sound of his steps to the foot of the bed. Did he truly stand there as she guessed? Watching her? Studying her exposed lips and breasts?
A soft sound, barely perceptible reached her ears. She realized it was the sound of cloth falling to the floor. The bed dipped near her feet. Her muscles jerked in response. Her breath quickened. Her skin tingled with heightened awareness of his approach. Dear god, what had he planned? She shivered, imaging him naked, imaging what that beast betwixt his legs must look like. Would he use it on her---would he hurt her with it?
Insufferably, heat suffused her limbs and the shadowy cleft between her thighs. Moisture dampened her folds, cooling in the air they were exposed to.
His hands closed around her ankles, and her skin jumped. Gooseflesh rose on her skin as he skimmed his palms up her smooth musculature, his thumbs drawing along the inside of her legs.
His thumbs skated the crease of her thighs, so close to her weeping folds, her sex clenched in anticipation. He passed them, and she barely restrained a whimper as he moved up her hips across her belly.
She felt the abrasion of his breeches between her thighs as he settled closer, lifting her up until her buttocks rested on his splayed thighs. His fingers traveled up her ribs, skimming the sensitive curve beneath each breast. Her nipples drew up into hardened beads.
He rounded each curve with his thumbs, the pads callused, abrasive in a way that was purely male. That feathery touch was too much. She felt his weight sink into her chest, hold still her lungs. She couldn't get enough air for the expectant hush holding her in thrall.
His lips were suddenly there, increasing the unbearable ache, plucking one nipple like a succulent berry. Fire curled in her breast. She arched her back, straining against her restraints. His mouth covered her distended nipple and sucked, hard. His fingers worked her other breast in a slow, firm massage until it was swollen and heavy with the need to feel his mouth upon it.
Cerise shuddered when he attended to her other breast the same as he had the first---with molten fire that licked at her every nerve. She didn't know how much more she could take, and his punishment had only begun....
She bit her bottom lip as his mouth trailed down her ribs, nipping her flesh with teeth, lathing with tongue. His wet kisses dried on the path behind him, cool in the air, shivering on her skin.
She thought she would die of anticipation by the time he swept past her navel and lower stomach, descending to the hair that covered her sex.
His fingers played in it, tickling down to her swollen lips. They twitched with the teasing sensation. She felt his breath, hot and heavy against her apex. And then his tongue swiped a path up her creamy slit.
Cerise gasped at the pure, shocking contact. She jolted as he pushed through her folds and found her clit. Her hips jerked up as heated ecstasy spread from the stab of his flicking tongue against the bud. She moaned, straining to get closer. Her core clenched with arousal, cramping her womb with a great longing for something more.
Sensing her body's demand, he plunged one long, tapered finger into her vagina. Cerise screamed, jerking her hips in an effort to tilt them to the pleasure. She was unaware of the desperate pleas erupting from her throat.
He growled against her, the baritone rumbling inside her with trembling sensation. Burning, searing waves of lust rose to a crescendo as he lapped her, stroked that finger inside the rippling core of her.
He withdrew suddenly, leaving her achingly on the edge of something, something she wanted so badly, she screamed with frustration.
He bit the inside of one thigh. Her vaginal muscles clenched with agony. Her clit throbbed with neglect. She wanted to kill him, realizing now the extent of his punishment---the buildup of sexual desire and the pain of denial.
"You bastard," she ground out, shaking with fury and receding pleasure.
He nipped her thigh sharply in response, sliding back until his hands wrapped tight on the rounded curves of her buttocks. He titled her to him and buried his mouth in her mound. He squeezed her cheeks, bringing her close, closer, so that his tongue thrust deep inside her vagina.
He curled inside her, his nose rubbing her clit until she thought he would smother. She didn't care. All that mattered was the pleasure, building inside her again with each liquid, fluttering curl. He ate greedily until the walls of her sex shook with ragged tremors. Then he withdrew once more, plying the inside of her thighs with his teeth and tongue.
He nipped her hips, allowing her desire to subside. Perspiration dotted her skin, between her breasts, soaked her hair. He slid his body up hers, the silk of his shirt agony on her sensitized skin. He tortured her nipples once more, pulling them with his lips, suckling them. She begged him to stop. She begged him to continue. She fought her bindings, unsure if she were free if she'd kill him or cling to him.
As her shaking calmed, he dipped down and began again, stopping each time she neared that place she so desperately needed to go. She was mindless with need. Her belly cramped with pain. Her skin hurt under the slightest touch.
He released her, and she felt that he sat on his knees, looking down on her. She was almost thankful he didn't touch her, unsure which was the greater torment---the constant arousal or the loss of it before release.
She heard a rustle and then he leaned forward. A hot, hard object nuzzled her aching cleft, sweeping through her slick, agitated folds. She shook her head, unable to find her voice. She trembled, her vagina seizing in mindless response. This, this would ease the suffering.
She felt his shudder rip through her thighs. He groaned, and the sliding became a push. It stopped, nestled in the entrance of her vagina, so close to where she needed it.
"Stop this torment," she begged, her pride finally giving way to blistering need. She squirmed as much as she could, trying to get away, trying to get closer.
"I cannot. Not until you tell me what I want to hear." He pushed again, retreated, and slipped along her folds. The rigid length of him tortured her clit. She felt bruised, battered, her flesh so sensitized, her nerves felt damaged. The brush of his thighs spread tingles through her system. The slide of his cock debilitated her.
"What? What do you want?" she begged, digging her nails into her palms, fighting the growing need like impending doom.
"You know," he ground out, coming down on top of her, squashing her breasts, teasing her nipples. He ground his engorged length against her clit.
She cried out from the bruising pressure. She knew what he wanted now. She would give it to him, if only to halt the pain.
"I looked at it," she gasped, her belly spasming painfully. "I ... I didn't read it. I looked. I lied. Please, please stop this. I can take no more without going mad," she said, shattered, rambling mindlessly in agony.
A shudder rippled through his body. His muscles went rigid. A soulful groan poured from deep inside him. He tore himself from her, coming off the bed. His breath was harsh, cutting down her own heaving cries.
"You drive me to the brink," he whispered hoarsely, and then she heard the door slam shut.
Cerise screamed in rage and frustration, her energy renewing in a burst that had her fighting her bonds until she collapsed in exhaustion.
Cerise didn't know how long she lay there, her body tingling, convulsing as if she were dying with some strange malady that had taken root.
She had no way of seeing to know how late the hour grew. No chance to free herself and no means of venting her anger other than screaming herself hoarse and cursing his name. It may have been hours, minutes---she didn't know. She knew only that she continued to pulse with impending desire up to the moment he returned.
She was not aware of his presence until the blindfold was removed. She blinked blearily up at him. His dark eyes met hers. His expression was indescribably gentle, remorseful. His hair was ruffled, as if he'd been gripping his temples in frustration. She'd never seen him without being groomed to perfection. It made him look more human to see his brow creased with lines of concern.
He bent close, as if to press a kiss on her lips, but she turned her face away before she could find out if that was his intent. Instead, he moved to her wrists to work the knots loose. When he untied her, her arms and legs dropped weakly to the bed. She had not the energy to even roll to her side and cover herself from his sight.
He scooped her tenderly into his arms, slipping her torn garments off her back. She tried to fight him off, but she was too weak and too tired to do more than push at his chest feebly. She'd been sapped of all strength, her pride struggling to mend its shattered pieces.
She knew she deserved some punishment for invading his privacy, but it didn't change the fact that she was furious at him for leaving her wanting and subjecting her to sensual torture in the first place. She thought she would rather prefer a beating than to face that ever again. His arrogance in assuming he had that right was insufferable.
He turned with her in his arms, and she saw he'd brought in a bath. Steam curled from the hot water, smelling invitingly like crushed rose hips. She hadn't heard anything and knew he must have used his power to hide his movements, as he had in the forest.
He bent, dipping her feet into the water, guiding her in until the water slid sensual fingers along the tips of her breasts. Cerise bit her lip, twinges of pain sluicing through her nerves. It felt wondrously relaxing on her sore muscles, almost too good. She was still too sensitive from his actions to enjoy it as she should.
Daegon wet a cloth and rubbed a sweet smelling soap against the linen, working up a lather. He settled himself on a short stool behind her, unspeaking, his movements exacting and quiet. He pushed his sleeves up, bringing his bare arms around her as he rubbed the cloth over her breasts. She'd been so aroused before, having his arms around her plunged her straight into erotic desperation. When his slippery fingers and the cloth slid over her slick nipples, she thought she would die.
Cerise bit back a moan, overcome by a whirlwind of sensation. "Please don't. It ... hurts," she said, breathless with the stormy eroticism zipping through her bloodstream like lightning.
He kissed the side of her neck, sliding his hands beneath the water. "I want to make it better," he murmured hotly, his breath singeing her delicate skin, evoking a primitive response in her. "Don't you want me to make it better?"
"I don't ... know," she said, her voice breaking as his fingers found the aching bud nestled between her swollen, nether lips. The first touch of his finger on her near bruised flesh released a violent spasm in her womb. A torrent of fire rippled through her.
Cerise cried out as his fingers curled against her, rubbing a tight circle that had her rigid, gripping the sides of the tub to keep from drowning. She sloshed the water as her hips came off the tub and wrenched up to meet him. He pressed harder, biting her neck as his fingers rasped her clit. He sucked her flesh to near pain, teeth scoring the tender chords of her neck
Her skin tingled, demanding his touch. Blood throbbed with achy intensity in that hardened nub. Her nerve endings screamed with shocking pleasure as the agony tore through her muscles.
She cried out, tears streaking her face. Bone and flesh melded, dissolved, shrinking down to one finite point, where his fingers strummed an ageless tune. Shudders ripped through her body as her orgasm rippled out, slowly easing only when he released her.
She collapsed, physically and emotionally. Heated waves lapped at her nipples, making her tremble. Her vaginal muscles quivered with shaky release.
Daegon tugged her earlobe, pressing a kiss to her ear. "Better?"
She fought to find her voice. Her throat was dry, scratchy from her cries. "I ... I'm not sure," she managed.
"I will leave you then. I've laid out new gowns for you. When you are ready, come to the foyer."
She nodded, lost in her thoughts. She was so achy and empty, she thought nothing could fill her. The pleasure she found at his touch couldn't overcome the fear and anger he'd sprung in her. She didn't know what to think now. She was thankful for surcease but still angry over what he'd done. He appeared remorseful, however. Dare she trust it? She did not.
And didn't he deserve some form of punishment for keeping her here against her will? It wasn't right, but she had no idea of what she could do. Vengeance was not her way, and even thinking of trying to gain some hold over him made her feel weepy with exhaustion.
Cerise cleaned herself off as best she could, washing the sweat and dirt from her hair. When she was done, she lay for a while, soaking the heat into her muscles, relaxing. Ever since setting out to save her sister, Bianca, from the demon knight who held her captive, she had had no opportunity for calm, no rest. She had been in constant turmoil since Daegon found her, and she was thankful for the brief reprieve.
She couldn't imagine what he wanted with her downstairs. She only hoped he would not seek to punish her again. She knew now what faced liars in his household, and she could not go through that again without breaking into madness.
When the water had cooled beyond the point of soothing, Cerise got out and dried herself with the abundance of towels he'd left on the washstand. She wished there was a fire place inside, or at least a brazier near to dry her hair by. Despite the coming winter, the room was surprisingly insulated against drafts. She hadn't felt truly uncomfortable since she'd been there, unlike her own home, which required fires in nearly every room to make it bearable.
She determined it must be magic that kept the castle fit, as it were, for it made sense, though she'd seen little enough of Daegon's demonstration of power. Cerise rubbed her hair as dry as she could then wrapped a length of linen around her head to sap the remaining water from her hair.
She saw Daegon had brought her more fine gowns and undergarments. The stockings, this time, were so finely spun, they were nearly transparent and felt exquisitely soft to the touch. She rolled them up her legs, holding them in place with garters crafted of delicate lace that resembled flowering vines. The shift was paper thin, but strong, slinky as it glided over her curves like loving hands. Looking at herself in the mirror, she saw she looked like a bride prepared for her wedding night, sensual, innocent, with dusky rose blooming at her apex and nipples. What would he think to see her this way? Would it drive him crazed with lust? Would his eyes darken as he crossed the room and ripped the fragile fabric from her shoulders?
She seemed all too capable of bringing his repressed violence to the fore. Insanely, it excited her to know he was barely in control of his emotions, that her presence upset him. She knew it was a death wish, to feel that way, and still, she couldn't help her perversity in wanting to provoke him. Perhaps she had a streak of vengeance burning her soul after all.
She turned back to the chair, examining what else he'd brought for her. He'd selected three choices of gown: a sapphire blue velvet trimmed with white lace; a rich lilac frosted with glittering beads that made it appear almost silver; and a green the shade of a moss laden lagoon, trimmed with gold that shimmered in the flickering candlelight like it was molten. He seemed to know her mind intimately, know the hues she loved best, the textures that beckoned her fingers to touch them.
She took the green and stepped into it, pulling it up over her shoulders. The neckline plunged deeply, perfectly matched to the shift beneath it, exposing the deep valley of her breasts. With a corset, she would have literally spilled out from the bodice.
It was an old fashioned gown, with sleeves shaped like bells that cut up to the crook of her elbow. She thought it beautiful though, romantic, like something from a bygone era.
She tightened the lacings in back as best she could, but there was only so much she could do. Her hair, she saw when she took down the towel, was still slightly damp. It took her a long while to work the tangles out, and she decided to wear it piled atop her head rather than chance ruining the gown with the residual moisture.
She looked at herself in the full length mirror, wondering what he would think of her. Her neck was richly exposed, looking fragile, vulnerable, almost inviting of his bite. She shivered, imaging what it would feel like, telling herself she wanted no part of it but secretly knowing it tempted her. The paleness of her breasts seemed enhanced by the vivid gown. It drew out the color of her eyes, made her hair, by contrast, appear as red as blood.
Blood ... life force ... energy.... Why had he not taken it from her?
Cerise shook off the morbid turn of her thoughts, slid her feet into the slippers he had so thoughtfully had brought and left her room. The hallway outside was awash with light, allowing her to proceed without the worry of stumbling over herself in the dark. She reached the grand staircase within minutes and descended. As she neared the halfway mark, Daegon stepped out from an archway and stood at the base of the stairs, awaiting her, propped against the banister with deceptive leisure.
Her breath caught in her throat.
Something had changed in him. There was a hungry heat to his eyes that hadn't been there before, more intense than she'd seen so briefly in the study and when he'd tied her to the bed. As he watched her descent, she felt as though he devoured her with his gaze, that he couldn't look away.
She couldn't look away either.
Time seemed to slow, each step, each breath punctuated by a pound of her heart. He was so darkly beautiful, so hauntingly edged. It made her chest hurt to look at him. The predator rested for now, appeased, but it lingered with sensual intent in his eyes.
She knew he was pleased by her appearance, and a blind thrill of excitement surged in her.
As she reached the bottom step, he took her hand from the banister and brought it to his lips. A shiver arced up her spine at the soft brush of breath and skin.
He released her, lingering a moment too long. His mouth quirked and a brow arched with interest. "The emerald suits you ... very well, my love."
Something in the velvet murmur of his voice resonated with suggestion. It was a simple compliment, yet she felt the same as if he'd told her he'd like nothing more than to strip it from her body. Where she stood, on the step, put her eyes level with his own. She was incapable of not recognizing how much he wanted her.
"Thank you, my lord. Alas, I could not lace the gown as tightly as it was meant to be." Indeed, her breasts felt dangerously close to exposure.
"Allow me," he said softly, bidding her step off and turn around. He tightened the lacing in back, his hands lingering at her waist as he finished. She couldn't help but remember what he'd done with those hands, how he'd touched her, brought her agony and ecstasy.
He grasped her nape before she could turn and thank him. Her heart beat an erratic tune in her chest as he slid his fingers up into the hair at the base of her skull. Shivers of awareness snaked over her.
Her lips parted on a breath as she arched her neck, enjoying the possessive grip of his fingers. Of a sudden, he pulled the pins from her hair with his right hand and set it free. Her hair spilled down her back. He slipped a hand down to her ribcage, pulling her back against him. He curved his fingers up her neck, cupping her jaw to tilt her face back. She turned slightly, into him, her hand near his groin, her hip nestled to his. He was powerfully hard, in control of her, the pressure of his fingers light but commanding.
Her lids grew heavy. Her breath stilled. A hush settled over her, expectant, breathless. A long moment passed as he watched her and, finally, he covered her lips with his own.
She felt shocked by the contact, her breath stolen from her lungs. She had to pull away, had to drag air inside her. His hand tightened at her ribs as if sensing her inner struggle. His thumb grazed the under curve of one breast as he nibbled her lips with coaxing debilitation.
Her womb clenched on a harsh contraction. She parted her lips, shuddering with pleasure as his tongue edged the seam of her mouth. He didn't plunge inside, and she was suddenly desperate to feel him inside her, to taste the spiciness of his mouth and the heat of his breath.
He pulled back, caressing her jaw and looking long in her eyes. His pupils overwhelmed his irises, making them hypnotically dark. "I've prepared dinner. I know you must be weak from hunger."
Cerise blinked at him. Eating was the furthest thing from her mind at the moment. She felt hazy, as though an enchantment had been laid upon her.
"I do feel weak," she admitted.
One corner of his mouth twitched with amusement. He released her and took her arm in his, leading her through the marble archway that resembled an arbor. They walked through a parlor with a roaring fire dominating one wall, through another doorway into the dining room.
Arched windows lined one wall, and through them, she could see the rising moon tinting the plum sky with silver. In the center of the room stood a long table with legs carved to resemble those of a lion. Ten chairs surrounded it, the seats covered with embroidery, and the arms and legs similar to that of the table.
On the table at one end, silver flatware was set, its shine so perfect, it sparkled as brilliantly as diamonds under the chandelier's glow. Covered dishes were placed in intricate order, and he guided her to the chair of honor, seating her.
Cerise placed her napkin across her lap as he uncovered the dishes, revealing a tempting variety of food, from soup brimming with vegetables, to roasted venison served with a creamy sauce that smelled of fine cheese.
Everything looked delicious and smelled better. He poured her a glass of burgundy wine and settled himself in a chair to her right.
Cerise stared at the food and looked at him. "Am I dining alone?" she asked, feeling extremely uncomfortable at the reminder of his vampirism. Surely he could not subsist on blood alone?
"You are. I have not the ability for consumption of food or drink ... of any type."
Confronting his inhumanity disturbed her far more than she was willing to admit. Still uncomfortable, she ate some of the soup, but soon pushed it aside to begin her main course.
"How came you by these foods, then, if you cannot eat?"
"I've stocked the kitchen for you."
"Hmmmm." She nodded.
His eyes glittered, almost hungry as she slipped a forkful of meat between her lips. He seemed on the edge of his seat, though his position hadn't changed.
She couldn't help but notice his interest had increased since she'd begun to dine. She began to realize, belatedly, that watching her eat was a torment and pleasure to him. She smiled internally, becoming much more absorbed in eating than she had been a moment ago.
She slid her fork out of her mouth, slowly, closing her eyes as if delighting in the texture and taste. She heard his breath catch and knew her observation had been correct.
She tore off a chunk of bread, easing it into her mouth, pretending she didn't notice his rapt attention. 'Neath her lashes, she watched his eyes darken with longing.
Punishment for punishment. It was sweet, lent a spice lacking before in any meal she'd ever partaken of.
"How came you the ability to walk in daylight?" she asked, sipping her wine as she watched him.
He swallowed hard, frowning. "I am not as you imagine, my dear."
"What are you then?"
His jaw hardened as sauce dripped from her fork on the corner of her lip. She licked it off, reveling in his subtle shudder and smoky eyes.
"I am eternal. Empty. Unchanging. I am as I have always been and always will be," he said, his voice a hoarse, tortured whisper.
Daegon stood up abruptly and left the table, leaving her alone among the plates he'd so carefully prepared.
Cerise stared at the plates, feeling terrible. She shuddered, remembering the journals in his study. Shelves and shelves filled with journals---a year for each one. How long had it been since he was human? How long had it been since he'd enjoyed the simple pleasures of life? She felt suddenly sick for eating and promoting torment in him. She pushed her plate aside, choking down a swallow of wine.
The food, so delicious before, lay heavy in her belly. She wanted it out of her. The full sensation made her ill, to know that he was empty---eternally so. How could he go on as he did, how could he not go mad?
A swell of empathy shuddered inside her. She wanted to atone for throwing what he couldn't have in his face, but she didn't know where he'd gone, and didn't know how to begin making amends.
He hadn't seemed angry. She realized now what made his eyes so arresting to her ... it was sorrow.
It explained his intrigue with her, his amusement. But he'd stopped being amused when she'd lied to him, and she feared that would never change. She'd lost something she hadn't realized she wanted---his trust.
Trust broken could not be regained. Cerise stood up from the table, intent on going to bed. She would have to find some way to leave, and soon.
She'd lost the fear for her life, but now she feared something far worse, and she dared not even think it's name.
Tomorrow, she would go to the kitchens and get the supplies she needed. At last, she had a plan with a chance of succeeding.
It was now or never.
Cerise hefted the bag on her shoulder, gathering her courage to face the trial before her. It could be that she would die this day, but she rather hoped not.
She slowly turned the knob, cracked the door open, and peered outside. Three, huge hell hounds were gathered in a circle, their heads to the ground, devouring the pile of meat she'd thrown out to them.
She stepped outside, holding her breath, praying. One of the hounds lifted its head, sniffed in her direction, and went back to eating.
Cerise wanted to jump for joy. It worked! They were just hungry!
She moved beyond the safety of the door, tiptoeing cautiously around them. At the rate they were going, they'd have the pile devoured within a few minutes. She backed away, turning slowly toward the courtyard gate. It looked miles away from her perspective, but she knew she could make it.
She walked a little away from the dogs, reached into her bag, and dropped more packages of meat on the ground. She didn't think they minded the paper wrapping.
Hoping that would hold them, she continued on slowly, glancing back every few minutes to make certain they were still occupied. They'd already started on the second pile and, from the way they were snapping at each other, it was almost gone.
Cerise dumped more meat on the ground and walked a little faster. She could make out a few details of the gate now, namely that it was imposing, probably locked, and would take a considerable amount of effort to climb.
The snarls behind her grew louder, sending chills up her spine. She glanced over her shoulder and saw that they'd begun on the meat and were close to gobbling it up. She reached into her bag and felt the bottom of it. Alarm rose quickly to panic.
She dumped it out, seeing only a few bites of meat for those great, greedy maws. Her heart jumped to her throat and stuck, choking her. She was only halfway across the courtyard---too far from the gate to run, too far from the house to make it to safety.
Cerise backed away from the meat. She didn't want to pass the hounds again. Her legs froze, refusing to move. She had to get back inside, without running and drawing their attention.
Feeling lightheaded from her rapid breathing, she'd only made it a few steps back toward the castle when one of the dogs howled. The hair rose on the back of her neck. She stopped mid-step, wondering if now would be a good time to run.
"What are you doing out here?" a familiar voice spoke behind her.
Cerise whirled around, relief flooding her as Daegon strode toward her, the tails of his coat billowing out in a sudden wind. His look was thunderous, his brow furrowed in anger. He snapped his fingers, almost as an after thought, and the dogs trotted away.
Cerise was too giddy with relief to care that he was angry. When he stopped a few feet from her, she closed the distance, collapsing in his arms. "Daegon," she said breathlessly, feeling reason and calm return as he stroked her back in soothing circles.
"You didn't answer my question, my dear," he said, his voice deceptively cold.
She pulled back and stepped away, looking at him, realizing he was furious. "If you must know, I was feeding your dogs."
"I see."
"They were hungry."
"I feed them. Every day," he bit out, narrowing his eyes.
Cerise had the uncomfortable suspicion that he knew exactly what was going on. As long as he was willing to pretend ignorance, however, she was more than willing to go along with the fantasy.
"Really?" she said cleverly. "Actually, I was certain you must, but they seemed like such sweet little doggies ... and they were behaving as if they were starving. I thought I would offer them a special treat." To keep them from gnawing my leg off.
Daegon studied the 'sweet little doggies' loping away, skeptically a few moments. "They are poor guards, indeed," he said dryly.
"Oh," she said, "You have them here to guard against intruders?"
"And escapees."
She smiled at him a little uncertainly. "Well, I did enjoy my walk. I believe I'll go back to my room now."
Turning, she headed for the door, hoping against hope that he would leave it at that. He caught her before she quite reached the door, forcing her to face him.
"While I must say I find your attempts at subterfuge highly amusing, I don't find your determination to ignore my warnings particularly amusing. I think I made it quite clear that you would not be allowed to leave and that you would be punished if you violated my trust."
Cerise was almost as outraged at his threat as she was at that final thrust. "Trust? You have not trusted me one iota since I arrived here. Why does it make any difference whether I tell you the truth or I lie? You still don't trust me."
"It matters," he said tightly, sweeping her into his arms and carrying her back into the house before she could protest.
Cerise looked at him in dismay. She couldn't face his punishment again. She'd been sore for hours afterward before. "I only meant to go for a walk! Truly!"
"All the way home, I'm sure."
"I think I'd rather you beat me than do what you did to me before!"
He glanced down at her. "As you wish, my love," he said through gritted teeth, turning abruptly away from the stairs toward the dining room, to her horror.
Setting her on her feet, he ordered her to bend over the table. Cerise glanced at him, sorry now that she'd chosen this particular form of punishment. Somehow, however, she didn't think that he would be agreeable to her changing her mind now. She was tempted to make a run for it, to see if she could lock herself in her room before he could catch her, but past experience convinced her that she would only succeed in angering him even more. Besides that, he'd managed to come in even when she had the door barricaded.
Dragging in a deep, shuddering breath, she turned away from him and leaned over the table.
He placed a hand in the middle of her back, pushing until her cheek rested against the surface of the table. She closed her eyes and held her breath, waiting. Abruptly, she felt coolness rush across her buttocks as he tossed her skirts over her head. She made an abortive attempt to jerk upright, and encountered his hand. She'd expected she'd at least have the protection of her skirts and shift to shield her.
Before she could think of a protest, he moved closely behind her, running his hand over her ass and down between her thighs. She swallowed convulsively.
Cerise trembled with the desire unfurling in her. She should hate what he was doing, hate the position she was in. Instead, having him stand over and dominate her elicited more excitement than anger.
Daegon's fingers skimmed her slit leisurely, as if he had all the time in the world to do what he willed.
"You are wet for me, my dear," he whispered, his voice rough with angry passion. "Can it be you crave the sting of my palm?"
Before she could tell him no, he popped her backside with the flat of his hand. The slap sounded loud and angry in the quiet of the room.
Cerise gasped, jerking against the table. He grunted with pure, male satisfaction.
"Do not do this," she began, gasping as he slapped the other side. Wetness pooled in her exposed lips. She bit her lip to keep from crying out with burgeoning pleasure.
"No, my sweet? Do not your lips weep with want of my touch, however rough it may be?" he ground out, popping her cheek again. Her buttocks tingled with the strike of his hand.
"In fear," she said, breathless.
"In desire," he growled roughly, shoving his hand down to cup her sex, seeking proof and finding it. Her muscles spasmed on a hard bite of exquisite expectation.
He pulled his hand from her slit, leaving her wanting. "My fingers glisten with the ambrosia of your body." He breathed deeply. She felt a deep wash of shame and excitement, knowing he caught the scent of her arousal.
"How sweet you smell," he murmured thickly, his voice saturated with lust. "My cock craves the taste of your honeyed core."
The deep, hard sound of his voice made her senses riot out of control.
His hips ground suddenly against her bare cheeks, shocking her in surprise. She felt the abrasion of his hair, the heat of his cock nestle in the crevice of her ass. When had he dropped his breeches? The prospect of him taking her from behind made her rigid with fear and forbidden desire.
His thick shaft slipped down her slick cleft, edging against her vaginal opening. He hit her again, closer to her hip, running his palm in a circle on her ass as he stroked his engorged staff through her wetness.
"Oh god," she moaned, shuddering violently as the sting vibrated along the surface of her cheek, coiling down in her sex. Blood rushed to the surface of her skin, pounding, pounding down to that aching nub. It was too much, too painfully close to ecstasy.
He slapped her cheek, pushing his hips hard against her. She felt the slide become a push, and then she was stretching, stretching unbearably tight. His forceful invasion was unendurable, making her hotter and wetter than she ever imagined.
"Don't," she begged on a gasp, unsure if she wanted him to stop or continue. The edge of pain had her clamping down on him, rigid.
"Is it the staff you fear?" he growled, bending over her back, pushing his cock into her until the pain bloomed into pleasure. "Can you take me? All ... of ... me...?"
She shuddered from his erotic intent, her core convulsing on the hot hardness stretching into her, pushing her beyond her limits. He was too thick, too hard. Tremors erupted in her womb, seeping her folds with wet arousal.
"You can if I will it so," he groaned, leaning over her, moving his hands to grip her cheeks and spread her as he forged a path inside her, through quaking muscles. He pressed against the virginal barrier sealing her, pushing until she swore he'd rend it asunder. He groaned, and a shudder rippled through him into her. He withdrew shakily, her vaginal muscles screaming in pleasurable agony.
Tears wet her face, and she screamed as he withdrew completely and stroked that molten rod against her throbbing clit. He rubbed against her, stoking a fire in her blood that left her dizzy, weak.
He pulled back, pushing his cock into her core with a hard slap on one nether cheek. She cried out at the fierce push and pull of pain and pleasure, each fighting to take hold of her. The thick head of his cock nudging her entrance was pure torture, pure ecstasy.
He withdrew, raking it down her clit furiously, setting a pattern that had her gritting her teeth to keep from crying out. Each time, she thought he would tear her inside, he would pull out and stroke that achy nub. With each thrust, he struck her buttocks, until they pulsed with a pleasure all their own.
Her skin sensitized to the rough slide of his hips, the sinful expansion of his shaft stretching her core.
He bent over her suddenly, resting his chest completely against her back, running his hands up her arms to clasp her wrists. His lips pulled at the back of her exposed neck, sucking a mark of possession on her as he thrust into her rapidly with unbelievable precision, each time pushing that barrier to the limit but never breaking it.
Her sex convulsed on him, clenching rapidly with the shattering waves of bliss climbing over her. The orgasm rippled through her, leaving her heaving for breath.
Still he pumped, torturing her, bringing her to another furious crescendo. And still, he did not stop.
Cerise whimpered, shaking with the intensity. Her blood sizzled through her body, leaving her achingly sensitive.
A low, guttural cry tore from his throat as he withdrew. He collapsed on her suddenly, as though sapped of all energy, gasping, shuddering. He was still hard against her. She felt his shaft twitch, throb in the crevice of her sex.
"What is it?" she asked on a moan, knowing something was wrong.
He breathed raggedly against her ear, his breath hot. "The punishment is ever mine more than yours," he said in a tortured voice, releasing her as he stood.
Cerise pushed herself off the table weakly, dropping her skirts. She turned and looked at him, half afraid of what she'd see.
He'd enclosed his sex, but it strained against his breeches like a wild thing. His eyes were closed, his hair untamed about his shoulders. Pain etched his features in a grim mask.
Slowly, as if he felt her eyes on him, he opened his lids and looked on her. "I can bear the torment of you no longer. Go, prepare yourself and I will take you home."
Finally faced with what she'd wanted all along, Cerise felt ill. She didn't know what was wrong with her, to feel desire and pleasure from a creature of evil.
Yet, he did not seem so to her.
He was tormented by something more than her presence. Some darkness held sway in his life---in his existence. She ached to know the secret he held so dearly. It held her mind captive. She knew the answers lay in his study, but he was sending her away, never to discover the answer.
Cerise raced up the stairs. At the top, she halted, turning to face the direction his study lay, wondering if she dared....
She did. She had to try to get in.
Within minutes, she reached the door, praying to whatever gods still held sway that she could force the door open somehow or pick the lock with her hair pins. When she touched the knob, however, the door swung open on oiled hinges, coming to rest against the wall.
Did he think it useless to keep her from here, or was the lack of obstruction an invitation to discover his secrets?
Cerise held her breath, looking inside as though something would jump out at her. A dusk laden sun lent a warm haze to the room, reflecting in the golden gilding on the book spines. She stepped inside, heart pounding as she moved to retrieve the thirtieth journal. She pulled it from the shelf, clutching it to her chest, waiting for exposure.
She couldn't help but wonder if her thoughts were true, if this was his way of inviting her into the darkness of his mind. Whether yes or no, she had the book now, and she would not relinquish it.
She hurried out, closing the study up behind her. Back in her room, she discovered he'd returned her corset, stockings, and shoes.
She stripped her gown off and laid the journal on the back of the corset, struggling to get it around her. With the added inches, she barely got the garment fastened around her, but she felt confident despite her discomfort, that he would not discover she had his journal until it was too late. She didn't feel so confident about his invitation to risk asking him and chance losing her one opportunity.
Knowing she'd done all she could, Cerise put the gown back on, as well as her own shoes, then went down to the foyer.
Daegon awaited her, his face coldly impassive. A pain swelled inside her, to see him so changed. She stopped in front of him, resisting the overwhelming urge to shiver.
"Ready?" he asked, then paused as if he was going to say something else.
He did not. And she felt the lack of an endearment sharply. She nodded. "Take me home."
He closed the distance between them and wrapped his arms around her. A haze formed in front of her eyes, clouding them. His face swam before her eyes. As darkness closed over her, she realized this was probably the last time he would ever hold her, and tears formed in her eyes.
Cerise woke with a start and looked around at the room she found herself in. Nothing about it was familiar. Try though she might, however, she couldn't recall how she had come to be there. As she sat up in bed, she discovered her younger sister, Adriana, was sitting in a chair across from the bed, watching her.
"Have you had a nightmare, sister?" Adriana asked, looking worried.
Cerise clutched at her pounding heart, wondering a little wildly if that was all that it had been. That simply was not possible, however. She had known Daegon. "How did I come to be here? And where are we?"
Adriana sniffed. "Father has locked us in the tower and vows never to let us leave."
Cerise stared at her in horror. "This cannot be! Why would father do such a thing?"
"It is all Bianca's fault. She escaped from that terrible demon knight and came home. But then she took into her head that she was madly in love with him and ran off again. Father swears that she was ensorceled and vowed never to let that happen to another one of his daughters. He will not see reason. I've done my best to convince him that it was not something that he need worry about, and then you wandered off and got lost in the wood."
Cerise looked at her guiltily. "You know I couldn't help it. I've never been able to find my way, but no one else would go to look for Bianca. We couldn't just abandon her. I had to try. But then that hateful horse threw me, silly thing, and ran off, and before I quite knew it, I was hopelessly lost."
"Is that where you've been so long?" Adriana asked. "Lost in the wood? How ever did you survive so long?"
"Well," Cerise said, glancing away guiltily. "I was not lost all of that time."
"Where were you?"
"I met, upon the road, the most charming gentleman. Actually, he wasn't terribly charming right at first, but he was so very handsome. I just ... couldn't seem to resist him."
Adriana frowned. "You met a charming man in the Hellsing woods? But, Cerise, there is no one there but the damned!"
Cerise was thoughtful a moment. "It is possible that he might have had the tiniest curse laid upon him, but I'm entirely convinced he didn't deserve it."
"What sort of curse?"
Cerise got out of the bed and walked to the window, staring down forlornly at the moonlight on the grounds below them. "He wasn't actually a vampire."
"Oh my god!" Adriana exclaimed. "You don't mean to say that you were captured by Daegon Erlansson, the vampire lord?"
"I have already said he was not precisely a vampire."
"But it was Daegon?"
"Actually, I only called him 'my lord.' I suppose it might have been Daegon. But he was certainly nothing at all like the nasty stories I've heard tell of him."
Adriana gasped. "You've fallen in love with Daegon, the vampire lord?"
Cerise thought it over and realized that her sister was right. She did love him, desperately. And she knew suddenly that he must love her as well, for he had freed her, after all. Nothing more surely spoke of love than a willingness to sacrifice one's own happiness for the happiness of the one a person loved.
"You would've denied it," Adriana said shrewedly, "if that had been the case. He has mesmerized you and stolen your soul."
Cerise sniffed. "He did no such thing.... At least, I do love him with all my heart and soul, and I suppose one could say he has stolen my heart. There was no dark magic used upon me. I have said he was not a vampire. He did not bite me. He did not drink my blood."
"He is accursed or he would not dwell in Hellsing."
Cerise moved back to the bed and sat upon it. "I fear that you may be right. Something terrible happened to him long ago. If only I knew how to free him, I would do it, whatever the cost."
She thought then about the journal and began to search a little desperately for it, fearful that she had only dreamed that she'd taken it, or that Daegon had realized the theft and taken it back. To her relief she found it and hugged it to her chest.
"What is it?" Adriana asked.
"One of his journals," Cerise replied, opening it and tracing the writing on the page lovingly. "I know I shouldn't have taken it, but I simply couldn't bear to leave without taking some token to keep him near to me. I have his thoughts to keep me company now, if I can have nothing else."
Adriana shook her head. "Poor comfort if you ask me, and I'm not at all convinced that you're quite yourself. Perhaps it was wise of father, after all, to lock us away in the tower where we will be safe."
Rising, she stretched and yawned and finally climbed into the bed. "Go to sleep. I'm sure a good night's rest will help your feelings."
Cerise didn't think so. She was fairly certain that she would never be happy again without Daegon, but she found that sadness was as wearisome as a full day's tasks. Finally, she slept.
When Cerise woke the following morning, she pulled his journal from beneath her pillow where she'd placed it the night before for safe keeping, and moved to the seat beneath the window and began to read. She could almost feel that he was with her as she read of his life so long ago. She could almost hear his voice.
At first, she only read to be near him, but as she read, she began to become deeply involved in the story that was unfolding.
He had wed, while still a young man, a woman he considered to be his true love, and for several years had enjoyed more happiness than he could recall in all his life before. But the day came when the king summoned him to help to defend the kingdom from enemy forces, and he had left his beloved to honor his service to his king. When he had joined the king and the armies the king had amassed, he met the king's sorcerer, Morveresson. He distrusted him at once. Many times, it seemed to him, the sorcerer advised the king to do things that angered his loyal subjects. Finally, realizing that the sorcerer's loyalties must lie with their enemies, he tried to convince the king that he should seek a new advisor. The king had not been convinced. He had been certain that Daegon must be wrong, for Morveresson had been with him for many years.
It wasn't until much later that he realized that he had earned a deadly enemy, for it was shortly after that, that he began to have terrible visions. In these visions, he saw his beloved wife betraying him over and over again. Always in these visions, it was she who opened the gates to his castle and invited his enemies in. Finally, he could bear the torment no longer. He'd become convinced that the visions were true and that if he did not return, he would lose all. And so, in a moment of madness, he withdrew his army and raced homeward, refusing to believe anyone who tried to convince him that his fears were groundless. His lady loved him, she would never betray him.
When he reached the plain that lay outside his castle gates, he saw that it had been sacked. Such rage filled him, that he threw caution to the wind and charged upon the castle. His enemies had not expected to be fallen upon from behind, and he and his men slew them, regaining the keep.
The fight had not cooled his anger, however, and he rushed up the castle stairs to find his faithless wife. When he burst into her chambers, he found her lying beneath a window, a stray arrow in her chest. In that moment, he hated her as much as he had once loved her. She had betrayed him and died swiftly, escaping his wrath. As he turned away, he heard her gasp his name.
Turning once more, he discovered that she was not dead as he had thought. She reached for him. 'Daegon, my love. You have come back to me.'
He had stared at her coldly. 'With your dying breath, you lie to me, you faithless harlot? You betrayed me. You opened my castle to my enemies so that my people were slaughtered.'
She began to weep. 'Nay, my lord. I would not. How could you think such a thing of me? I love you with all of my heart.'
He had looked upon her with contempt. 'I have seen it in my visions. I know you are lying. It was the visions that guided me here. It was the visions that thwarted your plans, for I have come and fallen upon my enemies and slaughtered them, and taken back that which is mine.'
She had stared at him piteously, begging him with her eyes to believe in her. Almost, he had succumbed to that pleading look, and it had sickened him that he still loved her despite what she had done to him. Instead of going to her, he had turned away and strode from the room.
But as he reached the door, she called out to him once more. 'Someone has poisoned your mind. You could not love me or you would never believe that I could do such a thing. With my dying breath, I curse you, and pray god will grant me this. That you will remain forever as you are today. Never again will you feel the joy of life, the joy of love. If you cannot trust, then you cannot be trusted, and you do not deserve the love of a woman.'
Cerise sat the book aside, horrified by what she had read. His wife had cursed him. She understood now why Daegon trusted no one. It was true that the sorcerer had blinded him to what he must have known, but the woman who had cursed him could not have truly loved him. If she had, she would have forgiven him, not cursed him to a life of unhappiness.
Cerise set the book aside. She didn't want to read any more. She felt like weeping for his pain, but she knew that would not give him ease. There was only one thing that could---unconditional love. The more she thought about it as the days passed, the more certain she became that she had to find a way to go back to him.
She loved him. She knew that he must love her too. Perhaps, if she could go to him, in time she could teach him to trust. Perhaps that was his only salvation.
For days she paced the tower, trying to think of a way to escape. The servants could not be convinced--she had spent days attempting it. Finally, she realized that she had succeeded in doing nothing but alerting her father to the fact that she was determined to return. As difficult as it was, she settled back to bide her time.
Weeks passed, but Cerise did not spend them idly. Her nimble mind was busy devising a means of escape. When she saw that enough time had passed and the servants no longer looked upon her with suspicion, she put her plan in motion.
Stripping the linens from the bed one night, she began to tear them in thin strips, braiding the strips together frantically, for she knew she must make her rope before dawn.
Adriana was aghast, of course. Cerise thought, for a time, that she would be forced to bind and gag her sister. Finally, however, she told her sister Daegon's tale, and as she had hoped, it appealed to Adriana's soft heart. Adriana stripped the rest of the linens from the bed and began helping her to weave her rope.
The morning lark was singing when at last they finished the rope and tied it to the bed. Cerise tossed the free end out the window and stared down at the darkness, unnerved now that the moment had come.
After staring in terror at the rope for some moments, she turned to her sister and hugged her tightly. "Tell father I love him, and I'm terribly sorry to be such a disobedient daughter, but I love Daegon. I cannot bear not to be without him."
After looking at the rope for several minutes, she bent down and took hold of her skirts in the back, bringing it up between her legs and tucking it into her sash so that it would not hinder her climbing. Seizing her courage, she grabbed the make-shift rope and began lowering herself from the window.
Closing her eyes against the pain, she began muttering her mantra, "I can do this. I love Daegon. I can do this for Daegon."
She was almost halfway down when she realized that as much as she loved Daegon, she was not going to make it to the bottom unless one considered the possibility of dropping like a stone. She paused, gasping, her hands burning like fire. They were going to find her broken body at the bottom of the tower.
"Cerise," Adriana whispered loudly, "are you down yet?"
Cerise looked up at her sister's face in the window and felt dizziness assail her. "Soon," she whispered.
"In about two seconds," she muttered, realizing there was no way she could hold on with one hand and lower herself. Fortunately, it was dark at the bottom. She had no idea how far she was going to fall.
"Daegon," she whispered, "I love you with all my heart."
She let go. She felt herself falling and falling. The jolt startled her. There was surprisingly little pain. She opened her eyes. "Daegon?"
He was smiling at her. "You are mad, my love."
She smiled. "It really is you. You came for me!"
Slowly, they floated to the ground. "Aye, love," he said, "I came because I love you with all my heart too."
"You terrorized my father, Daegon," Cerise chided as Daegon kicked in the door to their bedroom and swept inside, depositing her on the bed.
"He's my father now too," Daegon said, grinning, coming onto the bed and stalking her across the mattress on his knees.
Cerise giggled and said, "He didn't really want us to get married."
"He didn't really want the alternative, either," he said huskily and came down on top of her, rolling them onto their sides so he could access her lacings.
"I feel sure your charm would have swayed him more easily."
He grunted as he pulled at her lacings, then pushed her onto her back and ripped the front of her gown. She moaned in excitement at his aggression.
"Daegon," she said, breathless as he struggled with the tiny fastenings of her corset, "you are going to have to stop ripping my gowns. I like it far too much."
"Aye, my love, I know you do," he said, raking a heated gaze over the tops of her breasts.
Finally, he worked the corset free and flung it across the room. Cerise was breathless with excitement. "Never wear this torturous garment again."
"It is not so bad as that. I'm quite used to it."
"I'm not," he growled, descending for a kiss.
His lips covered hers, and she parted them immediately, thrilling at the hot, shocking glide of his tongue in her mouth. He kissed her greedily, his tongue mating with hers as he pulled at his shirt with one hand. He broke away from her with a frustrated groan, sitting on his knees as he dragged his shirt over his head.
"I see you do not rip your own garments," Cerise said wryly, marveling at the power and strength exuding from him. "Hold a moment," she said when he would have come down on her. "I want to see you."
"Anything you wish, my love." His eyes gleamed as he got off the bed, bent, and removed his boots and breeches.
Cerise's heart skipped a beat to see him so. His chest was covered with hair, but it couldn't hide the sculpted muscles that rippled down his belly to his groin. His legs were powerfully built, sprinkled with hair, and shaped in a way that had her blood pounding and her fingers aching to touch him. But his manhood.... She went weak looking upon it. His shaft stood proudly, thick and engorged, the veins straining with the potent beat of his blood. The head was shaped like a helmet of yore, with a tiny, clear bead of moisture on its tip. Her muscles quivered and moistened with the craving to feel it inside her. She'd waited so long, forever it seemed.
"Enough," he said, his voice hoarse as he came upon the bed, "I can wait to taste you no longer."
He bent and ripped her shift from her body. Cerise gasped, partly in outrage, but mostly in desire. "Daegon," she moaned as he crushed his naked length against her. "I could have removed that easily."
"Then you should have," he growled, kissing her. His tongue thrust inside her mouth, sweeping through her crevices with savoring slowness.
Cerise moaned into his mouth, stealing his breath and taste, suckling him as though she would die if she could not taste him. He groaned and pushed a knee between her thighs, rubbing intimately against her mound.
She arched, gasping as he broke from her mouth to drag his lips down her throat.
"Daegon," she breathed, her senses rioting, "do not tease me so. I cannot stand it."
"You will take all I have to give you this night, my love," he said hot against her breast, dragging his teeth over the already engorged tip.
She cried out as his heat closed over her nipple and sucked, hard. Fire raced through her veins, spiraling out of control. Her womb convulsed on a sharp spasm of desire. He tugged her nipple, rubbing his tongue rough against it, taking her deep into his mouth. He massaged her other breast, piquing it for the touch of his silky lips.
Daegon freed her from the ache of his mouth, closing on her other peak, drawing her nipple into a hard bud that shot flames of desire through her nerves. He suckled her as if drawing nourishment from her body, as if he could not taste enough of her.
A hand pushed down her ribcage and flattened on her belly, smoothing down to cup her sex. She moaned, arching up to meet him, digging her hands in the bed covers. She was panting with the exertion of control, the heated torment. She thought he would melt her, soak her into himself.
Two fingers sought her clit, rubbing the cream against her achy nub. He pulled his fingers free and rubbed them over one nipple. Cerise's desire soared to smell her own arousal, to see the dark heat in his eyes as he caught the scent.
She shuddered as he brought his fingers to his mouth and sucked her essence from them.
"Your honey drives me mad for want of you. I starve for the taste of your sweetness," he said, his voice thick and rough with desire.
Her vagina clenched on a pulse of pleasure at his words. She lowered her lids, looking at him with passion shuttered eyes. He watched her as he bent and flicked his tongue over her coated nipple.
Cerise closed her eyes and arched to him, unable to stand how much she wanted him. "Daegon." Her voice trembled with the intense arousal shooting through her body. She didn't know how much longer she could go on without feeling him inside her.
He moved between her legs as if commanded. His hair-sprinkled thighs abraded hers as he lifted her hips onto his knees. Her lips spread as her thighs widened around him. She was exposed and oh so wonderfully vulnerable to him.
He rested his hands on her hips, holding her down as he lifted on his knees and rocked against her heated cleft. His satiny shaft glided through her wet folds, increasing the agony seizing her womb.
"Daegon," she cried, trembling, tossing her head to each side. "You punish my love with torment."
"Nay, my sweet," he groaned, nudging his shaft head to her entrance. "I ... don't ... want ... to hurt ... you." He groaned in agony as he pushed inside her core.
Cerise felt her tender muscles quiver at his entrance, gasp and clutch his engorged shaft. She was pinned in place, unable to move her hips as she wanted---needed.
"You ... are ... so ... tight," he said, his voice a ragged whisper that shuddered through her.
"Please, hurt me. End it now. I will go mad," she cried, tightening her thighs against him.
A hoarse, guttural cry erupted from his throat as he plunged inside her, ripping past the seal of her body. Cerise screamed as he sank to the hilt inside her, filling her to the limits of endurance.
He sat still for long moments, until the ragged clutch of her vagina eased as it became accustomed to his thickness. Cerise burned where he touched her, agony a ripple that seeped into her muscles. Tears wet her cheeks, but she needed more.
"Do not stop, my love," she whispered brokenly, reaching for him.
"I never wanted to hurt you," he murmured, shifting until he could lay against her, meld his body to her own, their bodies joined together in a place of burning pleasure and pain.
Cerise wrapped her arms around him, clutching him against her, reveling in the feel of his rough chest rubbing her swollen breasts, his hard muscled arms tight against her ribs as he lifted onto his elbows.
Daegon withdrew his shaft, slowly, not missing how she bit her lip to keep from crying out in pain. His cock was in agony to feel her hurt spasms, the tears drying on her face. He kissed her closed lids, pulling with small movements that had his shaft twitching with need.
When he was at her entrance, he pushed inside her again, and out, stroking slowly until her cream worked deep inside her. "Hush, love," he whispered as she gasped and arched, her thighs tight around his hips.
"Please, I need you. Don't stop, no matter my cries," she begged, her soft pleading his undoing.
His heart thumped hard in his chest. His cock seemed to swell with her words, with the aching tight suction of her vagina. Daegon bit off a rough, violent curse, burying his mouth against her neck as he plunged to the hilt inside her and built a stroking tempo into her.
Tormented desire blazed in his groin. His muscles felt ripped, burned with the need to come. His heart ached, shredded with the pain he caused. He wanted her first time to be good, more than she could ever imagine.
Her muscles clenched around him, spasming, sucking at his cock with each stroke. He looked at her face, saw pleasure and pain mingled in her expression. He felt his control slip, grow desperately weak. The misery that had held him for eons slipped away, replaced by the molten fire melting him in her core.
He groaned as frantic need took hold, clouding his mind to anything but her wet tightness. She cried out as his pace increased, gasping for breath, clutching his back and raking her nails across his flesh.
He arched, deepening the stroke, feeling her tighten and pull around him. Fire lanced his groin muscles. His blood boiled in his veins, rushing through his body as if he were dying. His cock felt wounded by her heat, his shaft a great nerve rubbed raw by each thrust.
He drove inside her furiously, distantly recognizing the tremors in her muscles as her own orgasm rippled through her. He slid and thrust, burning alive, his heart thundering in his ears. His needs were ravenous, devouring his control, his mind.
She was his, forever and always.
She tossed her head, screaming, trembling, crying out in a desperate plea that shattered his insides. The orgasm seized him, throbbed inside his cock as his seed erupted inside her womb. He exploded inside, groaning as her greedy womb sucked the seed from his body with waves as powerful as an earthquake. Her muscles bit into him, milking the agony and ecstasy through his veins until he collapsed, weak and spent against her.
He panted against her neck, tasting the salt of her skin, shuddering as her muscles quivered and eased with the force of her climax.
They lay there long moments, breathing each other's scent and cooling from the heat of sensual parlay.
"That was beautiful," Cerise whispered, stroking his wet hair away from his face. "But you are crushing my poor breast with your head."
"My apologies, my dear," he growled, tugging at the nipple near his lips.
"Mmm. Do not, else I would have that beast between your legs service me again."
He grinned against her flesh, flicking his tongue over her nipple playfully. "What would your father say to have such a wanton of a daughter?"
Cerise sat up abruptly. "Oh!"
Daegon propped on an elbow, looking at her. "What is the matter?"
She looked down at him, feeling her heart swell to see him smiling upon her. But her thoughts detracted on the moment. "A thought has just occurred to me. You gave father such a fright, I am sure he will have my sister locked in the tower again by now. Oh, poor Adriana!"
"You are so kind-hearted, my love."
"I am serious, Daegon. She must be rescued. Father will keep her there forever, I am sure." She slanted her eyes at him, knowing he found the look incredibly provocative. "She helped me escape, you know."
Daegon rubbed her nipple between his fingers thoughtfully, ignoring how she slapped his hand away. It never deterred him from touching her. "I know of someone who can set her free. I feel certain, however, that he is precisely the sort of man your father expected to protect your sister from."
Cerise brightened. "Oh, well, Adriana will probably love him then. Bianca and I love our accursed husbands." She chuckled at the fierce look that came in his eyes. He rose on his elbow, reaching behind her neck.
"Indeed," he growled roughly, pulling her down for a hungry kiss.
The End

