Midnight Pleasures

by Amanda Ashley

  He rose from the chair in one smooth, effortless motion, carrying her with him as if she weighed less than nothing at all.

  "I need more than that, my sweet Rhianna," he replied, his voice rough with emotion.

  He brushed his lips over hers, then carried her swiftly up the dark winding staircase, his cloak billowing out behind him like the devil's breath.

  It was obvious early on that Bevins had fallen in love with Rhianna's mother. His step was lighter, and he smiled frequently for no apparent reason. And every Friday evening he asked Rayven if he might borrow the carriage on Saturday night.

  "Mayhap we'll have another wedding soon," Rayven mused as they lingered at the dinner table one night.

  "Maybe," Rhianna replied dubiously. Bevins had been seeing her mother once a week for over three months now.

  "You don't think so?"

  Rhianna made a vague gesture with her hand. "I think… That is, it doesn't seem as though…" She shook her head, not certain how to say what she was thinking.

  "Go on."

  "I think she's using him."

  Rayven frowned. "Using Bevins? To what end?"

  "Never mind."

  "Tell me, Rhianna."

  There was no way to ignore that tone of voice, or the look in his eye.

  "Well, we both know she's never liked you. Or trusted you. She's heard all the gossip. I think she's seeing Bevins because she's hoping hell tell her…" She glanced at the delicate crystal goblet in Rayven's hand. "You know."

  "I see," Rayven remarked, and wondered why the possibility had not occurred to him sooner.

  He placed the glass on the table, then leaned back, his elbows braced on the arms of the chair, his chin resting on his folded hands. He regarded Rhianna thoughtfully for a long moment. "What do you think I should do about it?"

  "I don't know. Perhaps we should leave here."

  "Do you want to leave?"

  Rhianna shook her head. "No."

  Her family was here, the only family she had. The only family she would ever have should Rayven let her stay on when their year was ended.

  "And if Bevins should betray my trust, do you think your mother would believe him?"

  A slight smile played over Rhianna's lips. "I think my mother would believe you were the very Devil himself, my lord husband."

  "And what do you think, my sweet?"

  The smile faded from Rhianna's lips. "What do you mean?"

  He hated himself for asking, hated the doubts that continued to plague him. "You have lived with me here now for six months. I have taken your innocence, the very essence of your life. If I were to give you leave to go, would you take it?"

  Slowly, she shook her head. "Do you still doubt me, my lord? Why can you not believe in my love, in me?"

  A fleeting image of Rhianna and Montroy dancing together flashed through Rayven's mind, two mortals, vibrant with life, radiating health and youth and strength.

  He lowered his arms, his hands clenching and unclenching in his lap as he imagined his bride and the viscount together, hating the idea even as he admitted that they looked as though they belonged together. Montroy loved Rhianna. He could give her everything she wanted and needed, everything she deserved. A home, a family, and a title all wrapped up in wealth and respectability.

  Rhianna watched the emotions that flickered over Rayven's usually impassive face. She saw the doubts that continued to plague him. She had loved him without reservation, had offered him her heart and soul, the very blood that flowed through her veins, and it wasn't enough. How could they ever have a life together if he refused to accept the love she offered?

  Rising, she tossed her napkin on the table and ran out of the room, out of the castle.

  Outside, she stared into the darkness, then ran down the garden path that led to the maze.

  He would never believe she loved him, never believe that he was worthy of her affection. When the time came, he would send her away. She had hoped to make him love her so deeply that he would let her stay with him as long as she lived. Only now did she realize how foolish that hope was. Why would he want to watch her grow old and bent? Her skin would wrinkle, her hair would turn gray, yet he would remain forever as he was, young and virile, with a young man's desires.

  She was breathless when she reached the heart of the maze. There was a burning ache in her side. Gasping for air, she dropped down onto the stone bench and buried her face in her hands.

  "Rhianna."

  Her head jerked up, startled to find him standing before her, a tall silhouette clad in the darkness of the night. "How… how did you… get here so… fast?"

  One dark brow rose in amusement. "How indeed?"

  Of course, she thought. He was Vampyre. A child of the night. Able to travel with preternatural speed.

  He knelt before her, his cloak fluttering as it settled gracefully around him. "I love you, Rhianna," he said, taking her hands in his. "With every fiber of my being, every breath in my body, I love you."

  "But you don't believe that I love you in return."

  "I don't deserve your love."

  "But you have it just the same."

  "I know." He smiled, a sad smile touched with bitterness. "It's a heavy burden to bear."

  "A burden?" The hurt in her eyes ripped his heart to shreds.

  He nodded. "I should never have brought you here, never have touched you." He stroked her cheek, let his fingertips slide down the graceful curve of her throat. "It pains me to love you, to know that I will soon have to let you go." He took a deep breath. "To know that someday you will marry a man worthy of your love and bear his children."

  Rhianna shook her head. "It doesn't have to be that way."

  "Ah, but it does, my sweet. Your nearness sorely tempts me. It's wrong for me to keep you here, to make you live in shadow. You need to live as you were meant to live, and I…" He stared at the pulse throbbing in the hollow of her throat. "For too long I have denied what I am."

  "Rayven, don't." She clasped his hands to her breast, frightened by the hopelessness she saw in his eyes, by the resignation in his voice.

  She's mortal. Take her. Take what you want. What you need.

  He drew back, fighting the hunger rising within him, fighting the longing to drink and drink and drink, until he was drunk with the taste of her, admitting, for the first time, that he had been playing a dangerous game. He had fooled himself into thinking he had conquered the hunger.

  He had consumed the blood of sheep and told himself all was well.

  He had bought young women and kept them in the castle, drinking from them while they slept, sending them away when he had taken all they could spare.

  He had taken frugal sips of Rhianna's blood and applauded himself for his self-control.

  And all the while he had been lying to himself, telling himself that he was no longer a monster because he no longer killed to survive.

  He looked at Rhianna, burning like a flame in the darkness of his mind. Need and hunger rose up within him, hot and swift as lava exploding from a volcano. He tried to fight it, and knew that, this time, he was not strong enough. Knew if he took her now, he would destroy her and in so doing, destroy himself as well.

  "My lord? Rayven? Are you well?"

  "I need Bevins."

  "My lord, are you ill?" She gazed into his face, alarmed by the feverish brightness of his eyes, the harsh rasp of his breathing, the taut line of his jaw.

  "Bevins." Grimacing with pain, he rocked back on his heels, his fists tightly clenched. "Bevins!"

  Rhianna stared at him, her heart pounding with fear. His cloak wrapped tightly around him, a cocoon of thick black velvet and silk. In the pale light cast by the moon, she could see that the material rippled gently over his back and shoulders, as though trying to comfort him.

  Frightened by what she was seeing, she stood up. She whirled around at the sound of footsteps, breathed a sigh of relief when she saw Bevins running toward them.

  "What's happened
?" he asked.

  Rhianna shook her head. "I don't know."

  Bevins took one look at Rayven, then dropped to his knees beside him. "Go back to the house, milady," he said as he rolled up his sleeve. "Go. Now."

  "No." She shook her head. "I want to help."

  Bevins looked up and met her worried gaze. "It's what he wants," Bevins said quietly.

  She wanted to argue, to beg Rayven to turn to her for help. If he needed nourishment, she wanted to be the one to provide it. She wanted to cry out at the unfairness of it all, at what he was.

  "Rhi… anna. Go." His voice was raw, stretched thin with the pain knifing through him. "Please go."

  "Yes, my lord." She turned away, her vision blurred by tears she had not realized she was shedding.

  Bevins waited until Rhianna was out of sight, then he thrust his arm in front of Rayven, grimaced as he felt the sharp bite of the vampyre's fangs pierce the tender skin along his wrist. He clenched his fist, wondering, as he always did when the madness came on his master, if Rayven would be able to stop feeding before it was too late.

  Catching a glimpse of the blood lust burning like perdition's flames in the vampyre's eyes, Bevins turned away, knowing his master did not like him to watch, did not like anyone to see him when the hunger was fast upon him, when the thin veneer of humanity shattered beneath a need too great to ignore, a craving too powerful to resist.

  It was a look Tom Bevins had seen before, when he lay dying in a dark alley over fifty years before.

  A look that, once seen, was never to be forgotten.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Rhianna huddled under the covers, listening to the clock chime the hour. It was a quarter past four in the morning, and Rayven still hadn't come to bed.

  At midnight, she had crept downstairs, hoping to find him sitting in the study, but the room had been dark and empty.

  She had found Bevins in the kitchen. He had been sitting at the table, a heavy blanket draped over his shoulders, a large glass of brandy cradled between hands that trembled. Feeling her gaze, he had looked up, then glanced away. But that one haunted look had stilled the questions on her lips. It was the look of a man who had glimpsed the fathomless pits of hell, had stood close enough to feel the heat of the flames.

  She had turned and run back to the tower. That had been hours ago.

  Where was Rayven?

  It would be dawn soon.

  Why didn't he come to bed?

  Rising, she wrapped a quilt around her shoulders and left the tower. The floor was cold beneath her bare feet as she made her way down the narrow winding staircase to the first floor.

  No lights shone.

  Drawing the blanket more closely around her shoulders, she walked slowly toward the study.

  She knew he was inside as soon as she put her hand on the latch.

  "My lord?" She opened the door and peered into the darkness. "Rayven?" She stepped into the room and closed the door behind her. "I know you're in here."

  "Go back to bed, Rhianna."

  "It's lonely there without you."

  "I cannot come to you tonight."

  "Are you ill, my lord?"

  He laughed softly, bitterly. "I am never ill, my sweet. Only sick in mind and spirit."

  She took another step toward him. "Let me help you."

  "There is nothing you can do, Rhianna."

  "But…"

  "If you care for me as much as you say, you will go back to bed." He drew in a ragged breath and released it slowly. "Go now, while I am willing, and able, to let you go."

  "Rayven, please…"

  "Leave me."

  He spoke from between clenched teeth, his voice harsh, resounding with the power he held tightly leashed within him.

  With a strangled cry, she turned and fled the room.

  His side of the bed was empty in the morning. Alarmed, she drew on her robe and hurried down the stairs. "Bevins! Bevins!"

  "Yes, milady?" He stepped out of the kitchen, looking much improved from the night before.

  "Where is he? He didn't come to bed. The sun…" She shook her head, her eyes wide with a fear she dared not voice aloud.

  "He is well, milady."

  "Where is he? He hasn't…" She took a deep breath. "He hasn't left the castle?" He hasn't left me. The words, unspoken, seemed to hover in the air between them.

  "No, milady."

  She frowned. "But if he's here, where is he?"

  Bevins hesitated a minute, as though deciding whether he should tell her or not.

  "Tell me."

  "He's in the cellar."

  "The cellar!"

  Bevins's gaze slid away from hers. "He takes his rest there, on occasion."

  "In the cellar? Why ever for?"

  "I'm afraid only my Lord Rayven can tell you that."

  She turned toward the door, felt Bevins's hand upon her arm. "He will not like it if you go there."

  "I'm his wife and the mistress of this castle," Rhianna said, surprised by the faintly imperious tone of her voice. "I will permit no secrets between my lord Rayven and myself."

  Bevins removed his hand from her arm, then bowed. "As you wish, Lady Rhianna."

  She met his gaze, an apology on the tip of her tongue. She had never treated Tom like a servant and was ashamed she had done so now.

  Bevins shook his head. "You need not apologize, my lady." He pulled a long white candle from a drawer and lit it for her. "You'll have need of this." He reached into his pocket and withdrew a large brass key. "And this."

  Taking both candle and key, Rhianna turned away, her heart hammering in her breast as she made her way toward the long narrow flight of stairs that led down to the cellar.

  A wave of cold air met her as she opened the door. For a moment, she stood at the top of the steps, looking down into the darkness beyond. Why had he chosen to rest down there? What would she find?

  Summoning her courage, reminding herself that he was her husband, she descended the steps. Holding the candle higher, she saw several well-stocked wine racks, dozens of barrels and boxes, an enormous trunk covered with dust.

  Lifting the hem of her nightgown with her free hand, she made her way deeper into the cellar. The air was dank and musty. Dusty cobwebs hung from the corners of the ceiling. The floor of hard-packed earth was cold beneath her feet. Images of hairy spiders and rats flitted across her mind.

  When she reached the far end of the room, she stopped. And then she saw it, a narrow iron-strapped door to her left.

  He was there.

  With a hand that trembled, she slid the key into the lock. Dropping the key into the pocket of her robe, she took a deep breath and opened the door.

  Praying for courage, she crossed the threshold.

  The room was empty save for the coffin set against the far wall. A long black coffin, with the lid closed. And carved into the top of the lid was the image of a raven in flight.

  Bile rose in her throat as she stared at the casket.

  Aren't vampyres supposed to sleep in coffins? she had once asked.

  And he had replied I find them narrow and confining.

  Terror settled in her stomach like a chunk of winter ice. This was what he was. He had told her so plainly enough. He had let her see his face with the mask of humanity gone. And she still had not understood completely, nor, she realized, fully believed, until now.

  With a determination she had never known she possessed, she forced herself to cross the floor, to lift the satin-smooth heavy lid, to look inside.

  He lay on a bed of white velvet. His cloak was wrapped around him, the black of his cloak and hair a sharp contrast to the casket's lining.

  Her husband. A vampyre.

  He stirred, as though aware of her presence, and his cloak settled more firmly around him, as if to restrain him.

  A look of pain crossed his face, and then a single word whispered past his lips.

  "Rhianna."

  Tears welled in her eyes and ran down her c
heeks. Tears of sorrow and pity, tears of compassion and soul-deep anguish. Tears that fell faster and faster, wetting the robe she clutched to her breast, dripping onto Rayven's cloak. Tears that refused to stop. A river of silent tears that she feared would drown them both.

  She had the feeling that he knew she was there. She could feel him struggling through layers of darkness, fighting to be free of the deathlike sleep that imprisoned him, and she knew she could not face him now.

  And then Bevins was there beside her, offering her his arm, leading her away.

  He woke with the setting of the sun, his nostrils filled with her scent. He vaulted from the casket, hands clenched in anger. She had been here. He had not dreamed her presence while he lay helpless in the dark, but then, he never dreamed. She had been there.

  Bevins! Attend me! Now!

  He paced the floor while he waited for his servant, the certainty of what he must do cutting through him like a knife. He whirled around as the door to the cellar opened.

  Bevins eyed him warily. "My lord?"

  "I'm leaving here. Tonight."

  "I shall pack your things."

  "No. I'm taking nothing with me." His gaze met Bevins's. "Nothing."

  'Very well. I shall be ready."

  Rayven shook his head. "No. I want you to stay here, with… with her." He couldn't say her name aloud, not now.

  "I don't understand."

  "I am not as other men, and I find I cannot pretend any longer."

  "My lord, perhaps if you did not keep so much to yourself. Perhaps if you went into the village of an evening and spent time with the people, let them see you. Perhaps if they knew you were the one providing funds for the shelter, it would help to dispel the rumors."

  "No. It will be better for Rhianna, for all of us, if I leave." Rayven turned away, his arms folded over his chest. "I want you to stay with her as long as she needs you. When she's…" He took a deep breath. "When she's found someone else, you will come to me."

  Someone else, he thought bitterly. Someone like Montroy.

  "Yes, my lord." Tom Bevins cleared his throat. "Will you be telling her this yourself?"

  "No." Rayven shook his head, despising himself for his cowardice. "I'll need paper and pen."