Darkness In The Flames

by Kelly, Sahara

  For the first time, Nick found he could sense Verity—he could sense her responses, experience the feel of her sheath as it throbbed and clenched at his cock. It was so strange, magnifying his own body’s sensations and giving him a peek into Verity’s whirling vortex of release.

  How different. And yet how incredible.

  Stunned, Nick let his orgasm wash over him, his balls emptying themselves into the welcome and love that was Verity. He’d forgotten the time, the world, Adrian and Katherine, even Thérèse.

  And as he finally eased, slipping his fangs free of her neck, he knew they’d passed a milestone on this night. That the bond they’d created with each other would never be severed. Not by evil or by whatever kind of death they might eventually be granted.

  Verity was his mate. For eternity.

  Carefully he removed the pegs from her nipples and kissed the swollen peaks. Beneath his gaze they softened, pink and rosy from his punishment.

  Dark eyes watched him. “You are amazing.” Her voice was hoarse, as if she’d screamed aloud for hours.

  Nick found he had to clear his own throat before answering. “Only with you, my love. Only with you.”

  He clambered over Verity and settled himself next to her, enjoying her closeness, the scent of their loving and the way she nestled into him. Once again he was struck by how well their bodies fit—curves complementing dips and vice versa. Her height was no disadvantage to him but an asset.

  He tugged her close and kissed her. “Are you all right?”

  “Mmm. Sticky, but definitely mmm.” She purred against his neck. “You?”

  “I think mmm is appropriate, yes.”

  They lay together for a little time, words unnecessary between them. The joy of being lovers, of reaching such pleasure together, made any other conversation irrelevant. Both knew what the other was feeling—sated, fulfilled and loved.

  “We must try this again soon.” Verity giggled. “That was rather fun, you know. The thing with the clothes pegs and whatever else you used.”

  “I swiped a spur from my riding boot.” He chuckled back. “But remind me to replace the clothes pegs before the servants miss them. That would be hard to explain.”

  “A spur, huh?” Verity sounded thoughtful. “I wonder what I could do with a spur.”

  “You, my sweet, are entirely too inventive for your own good. Or for mine when it comes down to it. I’m not sure I’ll be allowing you near my riding boots anytime soon.”

  “As if you could stop me.” She laughed again. “I shall have to give it some thought.”

  In the few moments of silence that followed, the smile fell away from Nick’s face. His scattered wits had reassembled themselves and the remembrance of this night’s deeper purpose made itself known once more.

  Verity was already sharing his thoughts. “Nick, did you see her? Did you see Thérèse? Was she here?”

  “Did you?”

  Verity shook her head. “No. Nothing. No sense that we were being watched, nothing at all. Other than you, of course.” She laid a hand lovingly on his waist as she turned into his arms.

  Nick sighed. “I didn’t see her either. I don’t believe she was here.”

  Verity stroked him idly. “Well, perhaps Adrian and Katherine have had better luck. He has been a vampire longer than you. Perhaps their loving sends out stronger vibrations or something.” She leaned her head back and looked at him. “Although God knows how anything could be stronger than what we share.”

  Nick had no answers. Those—if there were any to be had out of this night’s pleasures—would come later on. For now, all he could do was kiss the woman he loved.

  Which he did, with great enthusiasm.

  *~*~*~*

  They gathered in Sir Sidney’s library, lovers dressed casually after their evening’s passion was spent. They weren’t as easy with each other as they’d liked to be, at least to Verity’s way of thinking.

  But then again, they were all private people, preferring to keep their lusts to themselves and their mates. Some things were just not easily shared—this was one of them.

  Sidney was sighing and shaking his head. “She didn’t come.”

  “No, but I did. Twice.”

  Verity nearly fell off her chair as a spurt of laughter rocked her. Katherine’s response was as calm as it was unexpected.

  Adrian blushed, then grinned, a hugely male grin of accomplishment.

  “Katherine. That will do, my dear, you’re embarrassing your husband.” Sidney reproved her, trying to hide his own laughter in a polite cough. “He glanced at Nick. “And you kept to the timetable?”

  Nick nodded. “As near as possible, yes.”

  Verity raised her eyebrows. “You had a timetable?”

  It was Nick’s turn to grin. “Sort of. Adrian and I both decided that if possible we’d…er…shoot for midnight. Trying to see if a cumulative effect might work…” His voice tailed off as both Verity and Katherine looked crestfallen.

  “And I thought it was all about us.”

  Katherine’s complaint echoed Verity’s thoughts. “Me too.”

  “It was, sweetheart. Do you honestly think I’d have stolen those clothes pegs if it had been otherwise?” Nick spread his hands in a gesture of sincerity.

  “Clothes pegs? Hmmm…” Katherine thought about that.

  Once more Sir Sidney cleared his throat. “Yes, well, never mind that. You may continue such discussions when I’m not present. Please.” He turned away, shoulders shaking a little with laughter.

  Adrian adroitly stepped into the conversational breach. “The end result, no matter how delightful for all of us…” He flashed a hot dark look at his wife. “The end result was that Thérèse did not appear. To any of us. At any time.” He turned to Sidney. “What do you think, Father? What does it mean?”

  Sidney stared out of the window at the sea, lost in thought. Then he answered. “I wish I knew. There are many possibilities. But I suppose we can pretty firmly deduce that she has either lost interest in you for the time being, which I doubt, or that our recent attack diminished her powers. I’d prefer to believe the latter.”

  Nick’s eyes turned to the sword over the fireplace. “There is one other possibility.”

  Sidney looked at him. “There is?”

  “Yes.” He moved to the mantel and touched the sword briefly. “She’s scared of this. The sword, this place—there’s something here that she cannot fight. And we magnify its effect against her.”

  Silence fell as they all considered this idea.

  “It could be true, you know.” Adrian sounded pensive.

  “It does fit all the facts we have at hand, skimpy though they are.” Katherine nodded.

  Verity stood up from her chair and went to Nick, reaching for his hand. “I’d love to believe it, Nick. It may be true indeed. But she’s not gone forever, is she?”

  Nick shook his head. “No. She’s not gone forever.”

  Verity sighed and leaned against him. “Then I suppose we have forever to defeat her, don’t we?”

  Epilogue

  It was nearly dawn. The first fingers of light would emerge within moments from the horizon, spreading the warmth of a new day and sending Adrian and Nick inside to their rest.

  Sidney stood with them, breathing in the soft night air and the tang of the sea. On either side of him they stood, strong and tall, yet weighed down by such darkness that Sidney sometimes wanted to weep for them.

  His son, Adrian. A man so rich in love and kindness, yet lacking the essential elements that made him mortal. He could not have asked for a better son, a better friend or a stronger right arm. That night on the beach had changed both their lives for the better, Sidney knew.

  And now Nick. Equally strong, a man whose mind matched Sidney’s in its constant desire to learn, to explore and to ask unanswerable questions of life itself. Also a man bowed by the weight of shadows, cursed by an evil it seemed none of them could touch.

  Both men
shared these shadows, but they also shared something else—the passion that only a perfect mate could bring. The love between Adrian and Katherine was deep, plumbing depths Sidney couldn’t begin to fathom.

  But he did believe that Nick and Verity also loved as intensely. It seemed that when one of their kind found the right soul, when their desires melded into a love that burned hotter than the sun—well, then all things were possible.

  Adrian gave his father a quick hug. “We must go in. Katherine will be abed by now, and probably Verity too.”

  “Indeed we must. Sleep well, Sir Sidney.” Nick rested his palm on Sidney’s shoulder for a moment in an affectionate gesture.

  “Goodnight Father.” Adrian hugged him. “Are you coming?”

  “I’ll wait for a bit, I think. But I will be along shortly. Just leave the door unlatched, will you?”

  They strode back to St. Chesswell’s, a matched pair—of what? Vampires?

  Sidney hated that word. They were not vicious, blood-sucking phantasms from stories made up to scare children or cheap publications designed to thrill the masses.

  They were, in Sidney’s eyes, immortals. Men who had been changed enough to warrant the description Mortuus Victus—the dead who live.

  He would continue his researches, he mused. Start Nick and Verity on some of the herbal concoctions that had worked so well with Adrian and then Katherine. Certainly there was still the sunlight issue to deal with, but now his son could ingest small amounts of food and drink. He needed blood only rarely these days. And what he needed he took from his wife.

  Yes, he would continue to attempt a cure for all of them. There was much to learn, much to discover.

  An idea struck him. He was a scientist. Many viewed him as a rambling and rather dusty old man possessed of outrageous notions, but he was still, fundamentally, a scientist.

  If he traveled to London, visited some equally dusty old colleagues, offered to present a paper—it could work.

  The sun rose unnoticed as Sir Sidney Chesswell stood on his cliffs, staring into the eternal mystery of life and death, formulating plans. He would speak to a select gathering of his peers about his experiments, managing to convey a message to others who might not attend. A message to those who suffered from the curse of an evil hand, one belonging to a vicious red-haired demon.

  They should come to him—to St. Chesswell’s. The more he could gather to his side, the greater the power they would have. He must be cautious, of course…

  His thoughts turned to his subject material, busily composing the introduction to his lecture. Then a bird soared high on the dawn air with a joyous scream, breaking his concentration.

  Sidney sighed and realized the night was ended. A new day was dawning.

  One that seemed rife with possibilities—but still contained one unanswered question.

  Where was Thérèse?

  *~*~*~*

  Another man, far away from the shores of the Solent, was wondering the same thing. It was a question that was never far from his thoughts—never had been since he’d encountered her in Europe at that lovely estate with the musical name. Rogaška.

  Just the sound of the word evoked memories of heat and passion and desire beyond comprehension. He’d given his soul to her that night, willingly surrendering to the lusts she aroused in him, fucking her for what had seemed like hours on end.

  Only to be granted a taste of her body then deserted, left to survive as best he might. Left with little in the way of humanity and even less in the way of tolerance for mortal pursuits. Women held his interest for a night at most, men offered different pleasures but were equally transitory. His vast holdings bored him. His estate purred along, needing only the occasional signature or two. Getting drunk wasn’t an option.

  These days, or nights, only one thing could arouse his interest—a good game of cards.

  He’d forced himself to accept the truth. Thérèse had stolen so much from him. His seed, his blood, his heartbeat and his mortality. And through some obscure twist of fate, she’d taken something else too.

  His heart.

  TO BE CONTINUED

  My Lady Vampire Anthology

  Book Three - ROWAN

  Author’s Note

  My references to the atrocities committed against alleged witches in the Middle Ages are based on extensive—and very disturbing—research. There are records of many terrible crimes, based on ignorance and superstition—and not always toward women. Men were also accused of the Black Arts and suffered the same fate, although their role is a lesser one than that of their female counterparts who comprised about eighty percent of the accused victims.

  Contrary to popular belief, prisoners found guilty of witchcraft were seldom burned at the stake. The usual punishment was hanging, followed by burning of the corpse. It was assumed this would ultimately destroy the evil that had allegedly possessed the “witch” before her death. According to the latest estimates, there were over a hundred thousand trials of “witches” and since many ended in executions, the numbers are staggering. Between 1450 and 1750 somewhere around sixty thousand witches were put to death in Europe. The last recorded witchcraft trial in England was in 1712—barely three hundred years ago.

  Although we may consider ourselves civilized today, the business of witch-hunting still continues. Several African countries actively pursue “witches”, and executions are still resulting from such charges. As recently as 1999 a wave of hysteria swept Tanzania, causing the deaths of hundreds accused of witchcraft.

  Whatever the social, economic or religious causes for these superstitions, it appears that man will always find a good reason to explore his savage nature and wreak havoc on others. Until something drastic occurs to alter our perceptions, such violence sadly remains part of humankind.

  Prologue

  Present-day England

  Somewhere on the coast of Hampshire…

  “You know, Gran, that’s one butt-ugly thing for an old lady to have hanging in her living room.”

  “Who are you calling old, girl?”

  Casey grinned. “Sorry. Slip of the tongue.” She stared at the massive sword mounted on a simple wood frame. “But still…”

  Her grandmother pulled a blanket around her knees and tugged a little more yarn out of the bag beside her. “Show some respect. That sword goes back in our family for uncounted generations.”

  Casey snorted. “Right. Some ancestor probably dug it up from a pile of muck in his back garden. Doesn’t look as if they cleaned it too well afterward, either.”

  There was a murky patch of something embedded in the metal of the sword, dark and rusty, covering about nine or ten inches of the thing, staining the point and a portion of the blade. Casey shrugged, sending her red hair flying around her shoulders. “Different decorating tastes, I suppose.”

  Her grandmother looked up from her knitting. “Doesn’t it make you think of knights or jousts? Handsome men on big horses claiming their brides from ancient castles?”

  “Nope.” She turned away. “Makes me think of scouring pads and a good cleaner.”

  “You’ve got no romance in your soul.”

  “Hah.” Casey chuckled as she settled down next to her grandmother and poured another cup of tea for herself. “I have romance. Plenty of it.”

  “I’m not talking about that kind of romance.” The needles clicked against each other. “I’m talking about the kind that chills your soul and then stops your heart for a minute or two before it starts up again—differently.” She stopped knitting for a moment. “The kind where people would die for each other, or kill for each other, to be together. The kind…” She wrinkled her nose. “Oh hell, if I have to explain it…”

  “You mean you and Grandpa…” Casey paused.

  “Damn no, not us. We just had your plain old ordinary romance. A good one, mind you, no question. But not that type of passion.”

  Casey snuggled in to the corner of the couch. “So tell me.”

  “You won�
�t believe a word of it. And I’m not sure it’s right for your young ears.”

  Casey rolled her eyes. “Good lord, Gran. I’m almost twenty-three. I’m not, no matter what Mum says, a virgin. It’s hard to shock me. Remember I’m going to med school next year. When you’re pre-med or taking any courses along those lines it’s hard after a while to be shocked by anything, come to think of it.”

  The old woman gazed at Casey over the rim of her glasses, a speculative look that surprised Casey a little. She wasn’t used to such a sharply acute stare from her grandmother. There must be something more to this tale than a simple family history.

  “Go on, Gran. Tell me? I’m here for a few days to relax and spend time with my dearest grandma. It’s the perfect time for you to share the benefit of your years. Pass along those tales that have been handed down from generation to generation. Give me the chance to tell my grandkids someday.”

  Gran lifted an eyebrow. “You’re going to be a doctor. You’ll have forgotten all about it by the time you have your own kids.”

  “Gonna make me drag it out of you, aren’t you?”

  “Yep.”

  “You’re a silver-haired demon.” Casey laughed. “Sent to torment me. Good thing I love you to bits.”

  The needles resumed their clacking over the sound of an airplane as it took off from a distant airport and Casey smiled a little at the familiar sound. England was lovely at this time of year, green and soft, welcoming—just like her grandmother’s house. She was glad she’d come down here for a portion of her vacation. She felt at home in a comfortable sort of way and never more so when sitting like this—beside her grandmother—tucked into the ritual of afternoon tea, yummy cookies or biscuits as her Gran persisted in calling them—and listening to tales of the past.

  They talked on the phone every week or so, but being here in person? This was very special.

  “So this sword. It’s a broadsword, isn’t it? I saw something like it in the movies.” She encouraged the old woman to begin the story.