Darkness In The Flames

by Kelly, Sahara

  Marcus looked—appalling.

  Rowan took immediate control, asking for two quiet rooms and brandy for Marcus. They would be staying two nights, he announced, then recommencing their journey south.

  It was settled within a matter of moments—a sleepy maid with tousled hair obviously roused from her bed to tend to the new guests. The rooms were adequate for their needs and the brandy—thankfully—prompt in arriving.

  “Drink this. Why didn’t you tell me you were exhausted?” Rowan nearly snarled at Marcus as he thrust the snifter into his hand.

  “I didn’t know I was.” Marcus took the glass and sipped. “Mmm. This is good. I doubt it ever saw a tax duty.”

  “Who cares? As long as it helps.”

  “Oh it helps. Make no mistake about that.” Marcus drained the glass. “I’ll be better after some rest. Honestly.” His brown eyes were veiled beneath lids that drooped. “Sometimes I overtax myself. But that doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy it.” A tired grin crossed his face. “I shall assume we’ll be here for two nights?”

  “Absolutely.” Rowan was adamant. “I’ll not risk your health on what may turn out to be a wild goose chase.”

  Marcus snorted. “Don’t fuss. And it isn’t a wild goose chase—you know that as well as I do.” He yawned. “Go to your rest, Rowan. I shall sleep now, I think. Tonight we’ll do as you suggest—just ease ourselves here. ‘Tis private and quiet. A night’s reflection will probably do us both some good.”

  “Do you need anything else?” Rowan lingered at the door, knowing he should go to his room but unwilling to leave.

  “Not tonight, my friend. Not tonight.”

  “Rest well then.” Rowan nodded and left.

  Marcus did rest well. As he struggled back to wakefulness he realized the sun was sinking low. He must have slept around the clock.

  Stretching, he cursed the disease that occasionally took its toll on his strength. For too long he’d taken for granted his ability to live life to its fullest—now he had to take into account these damned periods of fatigue. They interrupted his desire to pursue his interests or—as now—to travel long hours in the saddle without interruption.

  Dressing, he decided that tonight he would talk to Rowan about some matters that were gnawing at his mind—most notably Thérèse. It would not be an easy subject, either, since Rowan’s heart was clearly involved and the things they must discuss might not sit well with a man in love with such a creature.

  She must be destroyed. Marcus felt that with greater certainty every moment he spent with Rowan. The feeding he’d observed had reinforced that belief. It was wrong—very wrong—for a man to be condemned to such activities. It had to take a toll on Rowan too. It contravened the laws of man and God, this drawing of blood from a victim who knew nothing of Rowan, Thérèse or their kind.

  Rowan accomplished the feat without harm to his prey, but what if there were others lacking such skills? What if Thérèse were creating an army of such creatures? Who was she, anyway? Where did she come from?

  Marcus’ own experiences with her were limited and he had no answers to these questions himself. She liked to fuck, was apparently not discerning in her choice of victims other than that they be aroused males and concluded her orgasm by either ripping the throat from her mate or turning him into a thing of darkness.

  Thoughtfully he ambled down the stairs to the taproom and found a quiet corner by the fire. The mistress of the house offered him a meal, which he gladly accepted. He was just finishing the last of the cheese when Rowan entered and spied him.

  “You look a lot better, thank God.” A smile crossed the beautiful face.

  Marcus smiled back. “Thanks to you. Brandy, sleep and now a dish of our hostess’s fine dinner and I’m right as rain again.” He ran his gaze over Rowan’s face in his turn. “You look well rested too.”

  “I am. I passed a peaceful night—or should I say day. No dreams, no visions to awaken me. And after—” He lowered his voice. “After my own meal, I too am refreshed.”

  “That is excellent news.” Marcus beckoned a serving maid and ordered them both a brandy. “Just for appearances, you understand.” He muttered the aside to Rowan.

  Rowan grinned. “I can’t really taste it and don’t need it, but I am not averse to the occasional sip now and again.”

  “Good.” Marcus leaned back and stretched out his legs before him. “May we touch on a subject close to us both?”

  “Of course.” Rowan looked curious.

  “Thérèse.”

  “Ah.” A fleeting expression of some sort crossed Rowan’s face, but it was gone in an instant before Marcus could identify it.

  “If you could…” Marcus paused for a moment. “If you had the ability to destroy her, Rowan, would you? Could you?”

  The silence that fell after Marcus’ question was lengthy, broken only by the low murmur of voices from the taproom next door.

  Finally Rowan sighed. “I don’t know, Marcus. I have asked myself the same question many times, believe me.”

  “Fair enough.” Marcus nodded. “When we factor in the matter of your own existence, I can well understand your answer. But…” He leaned forward, staring intently at Rowan. “The more I consider this situation, the more I am convinced that at some point she will have to be destroyed.”

  Rowan’s eyes closed and he moved his head, a slight gesture of denial perhaps, or just a shudder of pain.

  “Rowan, she cannot be allowed to continue to do what she does. To kill, to create new demons, to condemn innocent men to a life in the shadows of her evil ways.”

  Rowan sucked in a breath and released it on a sigh. “I know. The rational part of me knows this, has always known this. But there is another part…” He opened his eyes and gazed at Marcus.

  “Yes. The part that sees Thérèse as a beautiful woman. The part that loves her. I understand, Rowan. Or at least I’m trying to.” He pursed his lips in thought. “I am relieved that you can clearly see her for what she is, not just as the woman you love. It may make things easier should we be faced with some difficult decisions.”

  Rowan shrugged. “She cannot be destroyed, Marcus. No matter how much we may consider the various possibilities—her power has kept her this way for who knows how long. I doubt that we possess the skills to finish the business.”

  “Hmm.” Marcus tapped a finger on his chin in thought. “That raises a question in my mind.” He turned to Rowan. “Do you know anything about her?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean—who is she? Where does she live? How long has she been preying on the unwary traveler to Rogaška? Does she only feed there? And most of all, how long has she been what she is now? Who was she before she met this untimely fate? She can’t have been born a vampire, can she? She must have been turned, just as she turned you…”

  “And who turned her, I wonder?” Rowan finished the train of thought himself. “These are good questions, Marcus. I’m not sure how they can help me but they are certainly fascinating.”

  “I’m willing to wager we’re not the first to ask them, either.” Marcus looked resigned. “She must have other victims. Other men plagued by the same curiosity.”

  Rowan’s lips twisted. “I’m sure. But it gives me no pleasure to think along those lines.”

  “I’m sorry.” Marcus’ tone was regretful. “This is a difficult subject, Rowan. I do realize that.” He continued. “May I ask…do you talk? When she visits your dreams or whatever she does, do you ever have a conversation? Is there an interaction between you two?”

  Rowan chuckled. “Mostly we just fuck.”

  “Ah. Well, yes. But besides that…”

  “Let me think.” Rowan stared into the fire. “Rarely do we talk in the way I think you mean. We satisfy our lusts together or with others. She sets the scene—I am merely a player.”

  “Why?”

  “Why what?”

  Marcus steepled his fingers and stared at Rowan over their tips
. “Why does she always call the tune? Have you ever tried to not respond in the way she expects?”

  “Umm…” Rowan thought. “Well, no. Not really. It’s just—I want her so much, Marcus. I ache with wanting her. When I finally get to be with her, I’m nearly insane with the desire to possess her once more. I can’t say I’ve ever really considered not playing along with her games.”

  “I wonder if it’s time for you to try. To see what happens if you hold back a little, Rowan. Fight the need to claim her and perhaps get her to talk to you. Anything you can learn about her might help.”

  “Help destroy her, you mean.” Rowan’s shoulders sagged. “It’s been two years, Marcus. Two years of this feverish desire for a woman who may not even exist in my reality. I want it ended and yet…”

  “And yet it would end your dreams too.”

  Rowan looked up. “Not just that. If she is destroyed, then what if I am destroyed too? I’m a creature of her making. Her other victims are all her creations, assuming there are others. What happens to us if we kill her?”

  It was Marcus’ turn to stare into the fire. “I don’t know.” He was silent for a few minutes. “I would not lose you, Rowan. Not for anything. You have become important to me in more ways than you could imagine.”

  “I know. I feel the same. The love I have for Thérèse—well, that’s one thing. What I feel for you—it’s something else again. Something I cannot possibly put into words.”

  “We are like-minded souls with burdens that neither of us expected to bear. I’ve found immeasurable comfort in sharing mine with you.” Marcus sighed. “And it would seem you have found the same. Dreams, visions and darkness notwithstanding, you’ve brought something into my life, Rowan. Hope maybe. Friendship definitely.”

  Rowan’s lips curled into a wicked smile. “Don’t forget desire. I’ve found great pleasure with you, Marcus. I would do so again.”

  Marcus’ brown eyes glittered as he met Rowan’s gaze. “As would I.”

  Rowan stood. “Then perhaps you’d do me the honor of accompanying me upstairs. I think it’s time we rested. Don’t you?” He let one hand drift to his hip, brushing his jacket aside and turning so that Marcus could plainly see the arousal jutting from beneath his breeches. “If you’re feeling strong enough, of course.”

  Marcus licked his lips, sending a little grin of delight to Rowan’s face.

  “Hmm. I think I might be able to handle—some rest.”

  Rest, apparently, wasn’t what either had in mind.

  Each man hurried, fingers tugging at clothing, eyes roving over the other’s body as it was revealed in the dim candlelight of Rowan’s room. Both knew they would spend their waking hours in bed together there and that Rowan would need the darkness for his consequent “sleep”.

  Marcus groaned as Rowan’s smooth skin brushed against his and the covers enfolded them in a private cocoon of pleasure.

  Rowan’s answering groan came when Marcus reached between them and found Rowan’s cock, hard and ready.

  The desire they felt blossomed into passion—a passion heightened by the emotions roiling from one to the other. A need to share, to give unselfishly to the other some of what each had received in return.

  They moved, turned, caressed and settled again, finding the most erotic places to kiss and lick and suck, only to move once more into new places—new sensations. Marcus bit back a cry as Rowan delicately laved the balls hardening between his thighs, a muffled sound since he was enjoying the sensation of Rowan’s cock in his mouth at the time.

  The scent of their loving was all around them, heightening these stolen moments of ecstasy.

  “God, Rowan…” His whisper broke the silence.

  “Marcus…” Rowan’s answer was even softer, a broken gasp of delight.

  The simple joys of arousing and being aroused—the knowledge that each man had offered so much more than their bodies and the incredible joy of realizing the offer had been accepted—it was a mind fuck every bit as much as a physical release of their desires.

  And when Rowan finally turned on his side, mutely asking for Marcus to claim him and end the quivering need that tensed his muscles and sent shudders across his spine, Marcus was ready to respond with a cock that cried tears of readiness.

  They joined, Marcus sinking deep between Rowan’s buttocks, a welcome thrust that each man acknowledged with a sigh from their souls.

  Within moments they were both erupting, Rowan into Marcus’ grasp and Marcus into Rowan’s body.

  It was a mutual orgasm that bound them irrevocably to each other—as lovers, as friends, as fellow travelers along a road ill defined by the customary boundaries of mortal existence.

  Marcus did not know how much time he had to live—Rowan could not foresee his own death. Each man faced an uncertain future, but found sanctuary and peace in the embrace of the other.

  It was a unique coupling, something they both seemed to realize and appreciate. When it was done they held each other tightly, taking comfort and pleasure in the touch of another so closely attuned. Issues of mortality and immortality faded into the distance as kisses were exchanged and soft words muttered between them.

  “Had I more time, Rowan…” Marcus rested his head on the pillows.

  “Had I not met Thérèse, Marcus…”

  They shared a wry chuckle. “The Fates are against us, it would seem.” Marcus sighed.

  “I don’t know about that.” Rowan stretched himself comfortably. “They managed to get us together. I shall never regret that particular twist in their plans.”

  “Neither shall I.” Marcus was silent for a moment. “I know not where our paths will take us, Rowan. Nor do I know what awaits us at the end. But I know that I shall not regret meeting you, loving you, sharing this journey with you.”

  “’Tis more than sex, isn’t it?” Rowan’s head turned on the pillow as he glanced at Marcus. “I cannot explain what we share. Others would turn away in distaste and not understand what lies between us.”

  Marcus nodded. “To many this would appear an aberration. Although not an uncommon one. Yet you love Thérèse with a passion that surpasses any I can imagine. You must. For to remain defensive of one such as she—well, that requires a love way beyond understanding.”

  “Am I defensive?” Rowan pondered Marcus’ words. “I suppose I am. And yet—I see Thérèse for what she is. An evil creature preying on victims to sustain her needs. It’s just that—”

  “Just what?” Marcus gently touched Rowan—a gesture of affection and encouragement.

  “It’s just that beneath her wickedness I sense something. Something sad perhaps. A pain she hides too well. She has her own agonies, Marcus. And I cannot begin to imagine what they must be like.”

  “Rowan, you must try and talk to her. Really talk to her. Find out about her history, her life—whatever you can.”

  “So that I can use that information to destroy her?” Rowan’s voice was rough. “That will be difficult.”

  “I know.” Marcus sounded somber. “But perhaps if you consider that you might be freeing her rather than destroying her, it would help.”

  Both men were silent for a few minutes, thinking their own thoughts.

  Then Rowan spoke. “I will try.”

  Marcus answered. “And I will be there for you when you do.”

  Those words were more prophetic that Marcus could have realized, because as the sun rose and Rowan tumbled into his comatose rest—the visions began.

  He found himself staring at Thérèse.

  And for the oddest moment it appeared as if she was crying.

  Chapter Six

  Rowan blinked as darkness whirled through his senses and he found himself in a small room, bare walls surrounding him and a piece of material covering what must be one window.

  It was sparsely furnished—a simple rustic bed, one stool—no more than that. The tang of farm animals assailed his nostrils and he stared at Thérèse as she sat on the bed, all traces
of emotion gone. Just the usual sensual smile of welcome curving her lush lips.

  “Rowan, my darling. Come to me.”

  He tilted his head. “Where are we?”

  “Together. Does anything else matter?” She held out one hand. “Come. Fuck me, my love. Claim me with that fine cock of yours. Send me flying. See how I ache for you?” She lifted the thin silks of her insubstantial dress and parted her thighs, revealing swollen moist folds. “Ahh. This pussy wants you, darling. Can’t you see?”

  Rowan’s body leaped in response. “I see.” He hardened immediately, unable to control his reactions to the fiery red curls atop her mound or the droplets of her juices that glittered on her fingers as she caressed herself lasciviously.

  “Then come. Make me come. Fuck me hard, my sweet. I need you. Suck me with that strong mouth, bury your face here where I want you so much, then fuck me Rowan. Fuck me.”

  It was the undercurrent of urgency that cut through Rowan’s rising desire and held him back. Something about her was different—more desperate, perhaps. It was enough to keep him from going to her as he ordinarily would have done.

  “Thérèse, what’s wrong?”

  “Wrong? Nothing’s wrong. I yearn for you. Come here…to me…”

  Rowan neared the bed and leaned over her, cupping her pussy with his hand and playing with the swollen folds of flesh. “I yearn for you too. But you seem…troubled.”

  She sighed as he found her clit and toyed with it, slicking her juices around it, teasing it from its hiding place. “When you touch me like that, there is no trouble anywhere, Rowan.”

  He withdrew his hand. “And when I do not?”

  She lifted her chin and opened her eyes wide, staring intently at him. “Why do you tease me so? I want you. Here and now. What more is there?” She slid one of her own hands between her thighs to replace his touch. “If you will not fuck me, then I shall take care of it myself.”

  He watched for a moment as her fingers became shiny and the sounds from her pussy as she delved within darted through the silence between them. Then he grabbed her wrist, expecting her to erupt and dump him flat on his back while she took what she desired from him.