by Zoë Archer
Even in his crazed state, he recognized she offered no resistance. Her body wilted in his arms at the same time her beast of a cat sank his teeth into his booted leg, bringing him back to reality. He shook the cat off and carried Angelique to the bed, placing her upon it. He offered a mumbled apology and left the room.
Sickened by his inability to control his lust, his senses were dulled and he failed to notice the figure leaning against the wall. Evil laughter infiltrated his tortured mind, snapping him out of his self-loathing. Damien jerked his head around and met the red glow of his enemy’s eyes.
Rafaele.
“The day has finally come. The great Damien has fallen victim to a woman.” A sardonic smiled played across Rafaele’s face, exposing long fangs stained red from a recent feeding. “The question remains—is she your life-mate?” He stroked his chin with his thumb and forefinger. “Only time will tell, and I am nothing if not patient.”
Damien crossed to Rafaele, grabbed him by his cloak, and slammed him into the wall. “What is it that you want?” Weary of Rafaele’s constant shadow, Damien longed to live his life in peace.
“You know what I want.” He shoved Damien across the hall, smashing him against the opposite wall. “But, I shall wait until I have proof she is the one. And when I do, she will die.” Rafaele dispersed into a shimmering mist, vanishing as silently as he’d appeared.
Only his fading laugh remained.
No! Damien would not give in to his desires. She would not pay for his past transgressions. It was his burden to bear, not hers. She didn’t deserve to be pulled into the ancient feud. He must keep his distance from her at all costs. Rafaele must never discover the emotions raging inside of him.
Damien would give anything to be able to share his life with another. Raise a family and fill the empty void of centuries of loneliness. But, it was not his destiny. Not his right to desire such a life.
He hesitated outside her door, torn between the need to make sure she was safe and the necessity of getting as far away from her as possible. Rafaele would not show again this night. She would remain unscathed … for now. He scrubbed his face with his hands and turned.
His footsteps echoed through the desolate corridor, mocking his pathetic existence.
~~~
Angelique paced the chamber, rhythmically wringing her hands, wondering what was expected of her. Should she wait for Damien to escort her downstairs to break her fast? Or should she find her own way? It was getting late, and she was hungry. As if to emphasize the point, her stomach grumbled, leaving a hollow feeling.
Lancelot followed her every movement. His head moved right to left to right as she continued her path across the room and back.
Do you mind? You are making me rather dizzy. His tail flicked back and forth in annoyance.
She threw her hands in the air, then let them slap against her legs. “Oh, bother. I suppose I will have to go on my own,” she commented to herself.
A soft knock turned her attention to the door. Lancelot jumped up, ready to attack at a moment’s notice. She tensed, preparing herself for the intense feelings the handsome man seemed to induce. The door creaked open, revealing a short, rotund woman with gray streaked hair, instead of the dark stranger she’d expected. Angelique released the breath she held, allowing her shoulders to relax.
“Pardon, Miss. The master requested I come to fetch you when you woke.”
“Oh.”
She disappeared from view, evidently expecting Angelique to follow. Lancelot hopped off the bed and trailed after them.
“Excuse me,” Angelique called out to the retreating form. “What is your name?”
“Molly, Miss. I am the housekeeper.”
“Nice to make your acquaintance, Molly.” The housekeeper sped up as if she preferred to avoid any conversation, but the strained silence was too much for Angelique to bear. Besides, she had too many questions revolving through her mind, and it was nice to know someone else existed in the mysteriously vacant house. “It’s terribly dark in here. How can you stand it?” Not sure of what to make of Damien’s explanation about his aversion to sunlight, she hoped Molly could shed some insight into the strange affliction.
Molly glanced back, then quickly turned her head, shuffling her feet even faster. “The master does not find the sunlight enjoyable. He prefers…darkness.” She glanced around as if expecting someone to jump out from a shadowed corner.
“Where is Dam…your master? Will he be joining me?” Her pulse surged at the thought of his disturbing presence. And why did she refer to him as master? Was she his slave? Surely not.
Molly jerked her head to look back at Angelique, then snapped it back around. “The master prefers to sleep most of the morning hours and sometimes into the late afternoon, unless the king has need of him.”
Sleep most of the morning and sometimes into the afternoon? Angelique furrowed her brows. And the king allows it? Strange, indeed. Then again, she’d heard about the parties held at the palace that lasted into the wee hours of the morning. So…maybe it wasn’t quite so strange. Life at court was far different than the way she lived her simple existence.
Molly led her to a large table and motioned for her to sit. “Cook will bring your food.” She disappeared around a corner and Angelique was left sitting alone at a long, empty table.
Lancelot jumped onto her lap, kneaded her legs, turned a few times, then settled.
Angelique glanced down at the ball of fur in her lap. Comfortable?
Why yes, thank you. He began to purr, emphasizing his contentment.
You really are insufferable.
It’s part of my charm.
Before she had a chance to retort, a tall, thin woman with a hook-like nose whizzed into the room. She dropped the food onto the table and then made a hasty retreat, not bothering to make polite conversation or even to acknowledge Angelique’s presence.
Something certainly seemed to have the servants on edge. Not that she could blame them. The mansion’s very atmosphere lent an eerie quality, even in the daylight hours. From the little she’d seen so far, it was hard to tell day from night through most of the house, for it remained in darkness, having to rely on candles to light the way.
An invading buzz all of a sudden seized her. Angelique grabbed her head, trying to block out the disturbing sound.
The distant sound of boots clanking on a hard surface alerted her to an incoming visitor. Lancelot lifted his head and hissed.
Damien.
She held her breath and awaited his appearance, her back facing the main entrance of the room. Out of all the chairs around the huge table, why had she chosen this one? She was not about to turn around, even though the anticipation was pure torture.
The footsteps stopped, then started again, but began to fade. She cocked her head to the side and listened intently. The footsteps seemed to approach, but stopped again. Then, closer. Closer. Then, they abruptly stopped. What was he doing? After a brief hesitation and a huff, Damien stood at her side.
Heat emanated from his body, drawing out the chill that had settled in her bones. She swallowed the lump in her throat and slowly lifted her gaze.
Her jaw slackened at the sight of his dark beauty. His raven hair was no longer in a neat queue, but hung loosely about his broad shoulders, lending him an even more dangerous air. His eyes gleamed in the candlelight, mesmerizing her further. Again, he wore all black. She would tend to believe he had worn the same clothing as the day before if not for the crispness of the fabrics.
A hint of sadness and unfulfilled desires rippled across his features before he settled on a scowl. Her gut clenched as his emotions filtered through her—the sadness, the pain, the loneliness—and then the humming quieted in her mind as if he had thrown up a stone wall, blocking her access.
Unable to speak, she could only stare in morbid fascination at the man who hid behind his pain like a penance. What horrible deed had he committed that would warrant a need to punish himself in such a mann
er?
~~~
Damien gazed at the delicate features of the woman who’d set his world spinning around him. Her large violet eyes decorated her heart-shaped face much like stars decorated the sky above. He resisted the urge to devour the lips he knew tasted like sunshine and joy—two things denied him. Curling his fingers into a tight fist, he fought for control.
“I trust you slept well?” he managed to ask between clenched teeth.
“Yes, thank you.” She searched his face as if seeking an answer to an unasked question, her glance flicking back and forth across his features.
“Good, then I shall be on my way. If you need anything, ask Molly. She’s been instructed to see to your comforts. Good—”
“Wait,” she interrupted. “Won’t you join me?” She waved her hand toward the food. “There is way too much for me, and I would hate for it to go to waste.”
What was it with this woman that she could not take her meals alone? Damien glanced at the offerings on the table and grimaced. He could accept the food, but he would pay later with painful stomach spasms when his body rejected it. But that was the least of his worries.
He should leave and put as much distance between them as possible, yet the sweet plea in her eyes made it near impossible to resist. Besides, what could come of a simple meal?
She was all sunshine and innocence, lifting his spirit and filling his soul with hope. He desperately desired to bask in her purity and escape the horrors of his memories. The pain of what could never be ripped at his heart. Maybe he could pretend—just for a time. What would it hurt?
He knew exactly what it would hurt, what it would cost him. But, he didn’t care. He wanted just a little taste of what most men took for granted as their right.
Rafaele would still be ensconced in his tomb of evil. He would not rise until sunset. And it was not a lover’s tryst after all. It was only a meal—two people partaking of food, nothing more. Or so he tried to convince himself.
Never had a woman tempted him to this extent. Why was she so different?
Not wanting to risk any physical contact, he walked to the other side of the table and sat.
Her lips spread into a shy smile, brightening the dark, gloomy room. How he’d longed to have a woman look upon him in such a fashion. Not from lust like the court chits, but from genuine acceptance like the childlike slip of a female sitting across the table bestowed upon him now.
She grabbed the bread next to her and ripped a chunk off, then reached across the table to present it to him. He glanced at the offering. Such a simple gesture, yet it held so much more meaning. It was as if she offered a part of herself, a kernel of trust. Not sure he deserved that trust, he hesitated a moment before accepting it. As their fingers touched, a bolt of warmth shot up his arm and straight to his heart, igniting the part of him that had been dead far too long. Her slight, sharp inhalation alerted Damien she’d felt it, too.
Her eyes were wide and her mouth was partly open as she tried to make sense of the strange sensation. He didn’t need to probe her mind to know her thoughts, for he suffered the same. What was happening between them? He’d never met the woman in passing, so why the strong connection? And why now after so many centuries of keeping a constant vigil over his heart to ensure his emotions never escaped to rain terror down on the innocent?
She blinked several times and cleared her throat with a dainty cough. He studied her every move, hoping to gain some insight into the peculiar woman. She reached out and pulled another piece from the loaf of bread.
A black, furry head popped into view and snatched the bread from her fingers. Giggling, she patted her beast of a cat on the head before he disappeared back under the table to devour his prize.
Her laughter was like music to his soul—pure and real. He imagined what it would be like to be the source of that laughter. The court ladies used laughter as a device to draw attention to themselves and as a means of flirtation. How he hated to play their games—hated the shrill, fake laughter. Hers was pure and innocent—and totally mesmerizing.
When she lifted her gaze to meet his intense stare, the humor wiped from her face. “I … hope you don’t mind. Lancelot has a hearty appetite and it’s past his normal feeding time. I’m afraid he’s a bit impatient.”
“No, not in the least. After all, every beast must feed.” He focused on the vein pulsing to life underneath the smooth, white skin of her throat.
The predator in him wanted to sink his teeth deep into her throat and satisfy his lust, but he knew it would never be enough. One taste and he would be forever lost. And she would become a target for Rafaele’s revenge.
Realizing the façade was becoming much too dangerous, Damien decided it was time to end it before it was too late. He scooted back his chair with such force it crashed to the floor, eliciting a gasp from Angelique and a hiss from the beast in her lap.
“I must attend to matters that require my attention,” Damien nearly shouted, which he immediately regretted when she cowered, a look of shock upon her beautiful face. He softened his voice. “Please forgive my manners, but it is late. I’ve wasted most of the morning already. Feel free to look around, but do not leave. You are my responsibility, and I do not take that lightly.”
“But, you have not eaten. You cannot expect to start your day in hunger.”
“I assure you, I am fine.” He walked around the table, hoping to make his escape without further incident.
She stood and blocked his exit, dumping her incensed cat onto the floor. “But…what shall I do while you are away?”
What did women do? Needlework? Music? He had no experience or knowledge in the area. Damn the king for putting him in this situation. Then, an idea occurred to him. “Have Molly show you to the library. I am certain there will be something of interest for you to peruse to pass the time.”
He turned to leave, but she once again stepped in his path. “When will you return?”
The slight tremble in her voice led him to believe she feared being alone. Or feared something else. Could she sense the danger that now surrounded her like the chilling embrace of a winter storm?
“I will return long before Molly leaves. You will not be alone,” he assured her.
The despair clouding her eyes tugged at his heart. He knew it was folly, but he could no more deny his impulse than deny his body of the life sustaining blood he must ingest. He pulled her into his arms, holding her tight against his chest, savoring the feel of her woman’s curves. Her accelerating pulse excited his every sense. She was temptation in the purest form. He should release her, but he could not bear the thought of the emptiness her absence would create. The emptiness he’d lived with for so long. Not wanting to lose the warmth she encompassed, he squeezed tighter.
“Damien! You’re hurting me.” A slight whimper passed across her lips.
In horror of his inability to control his own strength, he immediately released his hold. She staggered, then righted herself.
He bowed. “Angelique, I apologize. I do not know what overcame me. Please, forgive me.”
Before she had a chance to say another word, he flew from the room as if the very devil were on his heels. Only he knew better, for he himself was the devil.
~~~
Angelique stood frozen in shock. What would cause Damien to act in such a manner? One minute he couldn’t wait to remove himself from her presence, the next he held her so tight she feared he would crush her ribs to dust. Even with her limited experiences, she recognized the passion of his actions.
He wanted something from her. No, it was more than want. She’d felt him as he held her, felt his inner soul. He had a deep-seated need. A void that cried out for fulfillment. She too had an emptiness she’d refused to acknowledge—until now. She’d told herself often enough she was happy living in the woods alone with just her cat for company. No one to persecute her for her abnormal gifts or to take away her freedom. Now she admitted it was nothing more than a lie she’d told herself. And bei
ng with Damien—having him hold her against his body, a body she wanted to be near again—revealed the liar she was. He’d opened her eyes to what it was like to be close to another human—a man.
“Miss, are you finished breaking your fast?”
Angelique startled, unaware the housekeeper had returned. “Yes, thank you, but Damien did not touch his food.”
Molly averted her gaze and mumbled, “The master never eats much.”
Angelique wondered at the meaning of her words, but decided not to press the fidgety housekeeper. “Will you show me to the library?”
“Yes, Miss.” She turned and scurried out of the room.
Angelique scooped up Lancelot and followed Molly into a large room filled floor to ceiling with books. Angelique’s mouth dropped open as she absently bent to drop Lancelot onto the floor. Molly left, closing the door soundlessly behind her. Angelique ran her hand along the leather spines of a row of books, marveling at their beauty.
They are called books. Lancelot stuck his tail in the air and jumped into the leather chair.
I am well aware of what they are. It’s just I have never seen so many in one place.
She pulled one from the shelf and thumbed through the pages. Her mother had allowed her to bring one book along with her when they escaped into the woods that night. It remained her greatest treasure, having read it well over a hundred times.
After removing her dozing cat, she settled into the chair, Damien’s chair. The scent of leather and sweet tobacco swirled into her senses, reminding her of her father. She smiled at the memory.
She cracked the book open and began to read.
~~~
Damien creaked open the doors to the library. The sight that met his eyes almost brought him to his knees. Curled into a ball in his chair, her auburn hair had come loose from its confines and now draped her body. Her eyes were shut, her lips slightly parted, a book laid open upon her lap. She appeared even more innocent in sleep. His heart squeezed in his chest. She was an angel in his hell.
He placed the tray Molly had arranged before leaving on his desk, never taking his eyes off the slumbering Angelique.