Seducing the Vampire

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Seducing the Vampire Page 24

by Michele Hauf


  He lifted Viviane into his arms. “Pull the fabric over your face. Quickly!”

  He dashed deep into the forest, tracking the scent and indications his home was near. But when he arrived on the west side edging his property, Rhys stopped and pressed his shoulder to an oak tree. His breaths exhaled across Viviane’s hooded head. The pain returned, but it was not because of torn muscles.

  “What is it?” Viviane peeked out from under the hood and gasped. “That is your home?”

  Rhys swallowed back a howl. “It was.”

  Flames engulfed the small country cottage Rhys had lived in for three decades. He had built it himself, cutting the wood and taking care in fashioning the joins to create an airtight fit in the walls. Fieldstones that he’d plastered about the fireplace tumbled to the ground. Fire sparks danced hundreds of feet in the air. A few pine trees had ignited close by.

  The pack had shown their disapproval over his actions. No longer could Rhys claim an alliance with either side of his nature. The vampires hated him on principle. The werewolves, he had betrayed.

  Even Faery would haunt him relentlessly, yet never embrace him.

  Wrapping his arms about Viviane he squeezed away the need to shout his anger to the world. Because he could not be angry for the choices he had made. He would make the same choice again if he knew in advance the results would be so devastating.

  “You can live with me,” she whispered against his ear. “We’ll return to my home in Venice. You will like it there.”

  “We will take care of one another,” he agreed.

  He turned and stomped into the forest, where sunlight filtered through the tree canopy, and laid Viviane on a bed of leaves. Not nearly as soft or fragrant as the roses she deserved. “I’ll gather pine bows to make you a shelter. Stay put.”

  THEY EMBRACED BENEATH THE shelter all day. Rhys snoozed. Viviane sensed he needed the rest for his body to completely heal. She drowsed, but was aware, not far off, of the fire that tore apart her lover’s home.

  By late evening, the couple broached the gates of Paris. Viviane stood a-tatter, a gray wolf at her side. Viviane was able to slip through behind a large tumbrel packed with cabbage heads nestled in hay, Rhys loping ahead of her and using the shadows as cover.

  By the time she reached Henri’s home, her feet ached, for she’d not been wearing shoes when the wolves had kidnapped her, and her back felt as though she’d carried a load of stones for leagues.

  Rhys was tired as well, for as soon as they reached her property, he scampered to the back courtyard and lay down, panting, his tongue lolling out his mouth.

  “I’ll bring out some water.”

  Rhys whined and tucked his nose under a paw. He lay before Orlando’s grave. So much he had lost.

  “Because of me.”

  She turned and stepped on a scatter of roses. So many of them, wilted and strewn by a breeze. She bent and collected a few white petals and pressed them into her palm. If only he had arrived with these earlier, before the wolves had taken her.

  Sniffing away tears, she found a bucket, and filled it from the well inside the tepidarium.

  AFTER SHIFTING, RHYS WRAPPED up in the wool blanket folded neatly and left outside the back door. Viviane had brought his wolf water, and left him alone, which he appreciated. The waxing moon shimmered the water remaining in the bucket.

  He glanced to the grave. “Forgive me, Orlando. And blessings for your rest.”

  He tried the door handle, finding it open. Navigating the dark town house on bare feet, his fingers tracing the walls, he felt the gouges his werewolf had left behind when chasing Viviane. It was a part of him he could never change. She would have to accept that if she truly loved him. Pray, she could.

  He ascended the stairs and sought the small glow of light lacing a guest chamber door, and walked in. Viviane sat in a copper tub lined in white linen.

  “Come to me,” she pleaded on a whisper.

  He dropped the blanket and settled into the tub. There wasn’t much water and it was tepid. She soaped his hair and picked out leaf fragments and sticks. The talon wounds had all healed.

  Viviane eased a cloth gently over his skin. Could she touch the wound that had bruised his heart? He didn’t want her to. It should remain a reminder of his faithful companion, Orlando, and of what Rhys had sacrificed for his own happiness.

  Two scars he wore on his heart now. Orlando and Emeline.

  Meeting her silent eyes, he was not sure he could endure taking another scar, yet he would fight vampires and werewolves and any other who attempted to part the two of them.

  He nestled his cheek against her breasts and closed his eyes. “Mine,” he whispered. “You are mine.”

  She kissed the crown of his head and traced lazy circles across his back. No longer did he care his physical home had burned to the ground. In Viviane’s arms he found home. A man required nothing more than love and acceptance to survive.

  “I love you.”

  “You are loved,” she replied.

  He melted against her breast and dared to sleep.

  RHYS WANTED TO START putting affairs together for William Montfalcon. He would tidy up his home and find the title and ensure Claude Mourreigh received it all.

  Viviane had come along because leaving her behind was unthinkable. The two could not move more than arm’s reach from one another without feeling alone.

  They closed the front door and Rhys did not have to seek a candle. The moon was high in the sky, but a day until it was full.

  He stroked the hood from Viviane’s head and it caught on the lacquered stick piercing the chignon. Midnight hair spilled over her shoulders.

  “Mmm, I’ve undone you, LaMourette.”

  “Not completely, lover.” Drawing her fingers over her neck, she lazily moved across her breasts, then tugged the thin blue ribbon, which barely closed the gray bodice over the black corset beneath.

  Rhys bent to bite the ribbons free from the tight bow. They didn’t make it upstairs to the bedchamber. This evening they christened the chaise longue with their sexual antics. And the Aubusson rug stretched between two chairs in the sitting room. And the wall of books where Rhys’s fingers slipped into the space left by the missing volume of sonnets as he plunged himself inside his lover’s hot body.

  Well after midnight, they had made it to the stairs.

  His shoulders and arms stretched across a stair riser, Rhys dropped his head to rest against the next step.

  “I don’t want to leave you for a night,” he decided of his departure tomorrow evening.

  “We sated your wolf tonight. Why can we not do it tomorrow?”

  “The full moon is the one night I must give my werewolf rein. Or rather, my vampire.”

  “Twice now your werewolf has not harmed me.”

  “Which baffles the hell out of me.”

  “Perhaps your werewolf was confused?”

  “Please, Viviane, let’s take this slowly.”

  “Very well. I am willing to do that because I love you and your werewolf who is ruled by a bloodthirsty vampire. I’ve been thinking about what you said, the boon you owe Faery. I would sacrifice our child for you.”

  He touched her mouth, seeking with his silence.

  She nodded. “I have seen your vampire’s rage, and know it is a good thing it is not allowed release more than a day or two a month. Besides, I could have more children. To be honest, I am not sure I’d make such a good mother.”

  “You would be a fierce mother, Viviane. You’ve a protective instinct about you. And I would marvel to stand over you with our child cradled in your arms.”

  “Our second child,” she corrected.

  That she accepted his bizarre bargain warmed Rhys’s soul. He did not deserve Viviane, but he would challenge no man to take her from him.

  “What shall I do with myself when you are gone? I’ll miss you desperately.”

  “Whatever you do, be sure you don’t go out on your own. Promise me, Vivian
e.”

  “I promise. But I don’t believe Lord Salignac is going to do anything to me. He’s more bluster than bite.”

  She knew the enemy so little. Constantine had allowed Emeline to die. He made it clear he would kill or torture Rhys if given opportunity.

  “You need to understand Constantine is never the one who wields the killing blow, but rather the one who orchestrates heinous deeds. Viviane, I did not want to tell you, but…”

  “He sent William Montfalcon after Henri,” she guessed.

  Rhys nodded. “I figured it out after seeing the bill and confronted him about it.”

  “As a Council representative what will you do to him?”

  “I must report him to win my position with the Council.” He hugged her tightly. “They would kill him. I don’t know if I can do that to my brother.”

  “He killed your lover.”

  “I want to tell you how it happened, so you will understand why it is not so easy for me to condemn my brother. Constantine did not kill Emeline.” Rhys exhaled heavily. “He allowed her to die.”

  “But you said—”

  “I know. At times it feels as though he was the one to draw the silver blade across her throat, but in reality, he merely stood back and let it happen when I could not get to her fast enough.”

  She drew up his hand and pressed her lips to the palm. Her breath tickled. “Tell me?”

  And so the last of his secrets would be out.

  “We had come to heads, Constantine and I. A few decades ago I had the grand idea to start a tribe of half-breeds. I located a few here in Paris. Same as me, half wolf, half vampire. Naturally, Constantine was appalled and he attacked.

  “We were battling one another at the edge of a forest west of the city. We faced Constantine and three vampires. I don’t believe in shifting to werewolf form to gain the advantage, and he was my brother, you understand. Emeline was strong and fancied herself a warrior. I didn’t like that.”

  “Were the others in your tribe like you? Enchanted to tame their wolves.”

  “No. Far as I know, I’m the only one with the particular problem where my mind is not as my body. Anyway, I was standing off two vampires, and I noticed Constantine standing inside the forest before two hunters.”

  “Vampire hunters? The Order of the Stake?”

  “Hunters of all sorts, possibly the Order of the Stake, though I had thought they only pursued vampires. We had noticed them, my men and I, in the city earlier that evening. I knew they had been stalking us, but had not thought they had followed us out of the city. I saw they held a woman and knew it was Emeline.”

  Rhys bowed his head, catching it in his palm. Viviane hugged him, holding him closely. He felt her heart pound against his chest, her pulse thud against his neck.

  “I saw Constantine step back, lifting his arms as if in retreat. And the hunters took off with Emeline. I knew he had no investment in keeping her alive, yet I could not believe he would just let them take her.

  “Enraged, I shifted. I took the heads off the two vampires and leaped to pin my brother on the ground. I howled and raised my paw to slash at him, but stopped before doing so. He was my brother. Even goaded by my vampire mind, my werewolf would not harm him. Isn’t that incredible?”

  “Not for you, Rhys. You are kind before cruel.”

  “Not if I do not know you.” She slipped her fingers along his hairline, dashing back the strands from his face. “I raced into the forest and found the hunters over Emeline’s body. One had drawn out the silver blade from her heart. I took off his head in one swipe. The other hunter I let run a ways before taking him apart with talons. I slaughtered them.

  “By the time I returned to Emeline she was dead. Constantine was nowhere to be seen. I should have followed him to Paris and killed him.”

  “No,” Viviane cooed. “You would not have.”

  “He didn’t kill her,” Rhys murmured, “but he didn’t stop it from happening. And so I cannot kill him, but if ever the chance to stop his death were presented me, I would not stop it. And do you know…” He grimaced, fighting tears. “I had no idea she was pregnant, but it was apparent when looking over her body.”

  “I am so sorry.”

  “When I saw the talon on your vanity… Constantine must have returned to her body while I pursued the hunters and claimed the talon. What kind of monster is he?”

  “Not a man who will ever find peace, surely.”

  Rhys didn’t say more; he did not need to.

  “You did not continue with the tribe following that?”

  “No. I became a recluse for years, then decided Emeline would have wanted me to live, and so I kept to the country and the packs that accepted me. It is also when Orlando came to me. He gave me hope. I wanted to forget the pain from my past and move forward. As now. You are my future, yes?”

  “Oh, yes.”

  “Then I’m going to secure the bravo we discussed a few days ago.”

  Loose hair tumbled down her back as she sat. “He won’t come inside, will he?”

  “No, I’ll have him posted outside. But, Viviane, one day. Twenty-four short hours. You can catch up on reading sonnets.”

  “I hold a sonnet in my heart for you.”

  She turned into his arms and laid her head upon his shoulder. Rhys traced her mouth and slid his fingers down her neck. “When I return let’s leave the city.”

  “Yes.”

  “So simple as that?”

  “Of course! During your absence I’ll spend the day packing Henri’s estate.”

  “How many trunks will I need to provide?”

  “Two. Or perhaps, three. I’ll send them on to Venice. It is a magical city.”

  “To magic,” he said. But she’d already filled him with more magic than he thought possible.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  IT WAS NIGHTFALL BEFORE they dragged their sex-wearied bodies from the bed and Viviane tugged a chemise over her shoulders. Rhys dressed in breeches and his leather greatcoat and gathered his tricorn.

  She trailed him about the house, her fingers laced within his, as he checked the doors and windows.

  He repeated what he’d explained more than once already. “Be sure to have the bravo escort you when you go to Henri’s to pack, Viviane.”

  “I will be quite well, lover.”

  He stopped at the front door, and drew Viviane’s lithe body against his. The chemise was so thin her nipples darkened the fabric. He pressed a palm over one to enjoy the hard play of it against his flesh.

  “I know you are capable, and not like the weak mortal women. But you understand my concerns?”

  “I do, and I don’t know what to say to keep you from worry.”

  “Nothing will calm my worry until I return to hold you in my arms again. I love you, Viviane.”

  She kissed him, a sweet, blissful lingering of their mouths that filled him with regret.

  “I am yours,” she said into his mouth. And turned her head to nestle against his neck.

  TO THINK, HE HAD GOTTEN RID of half his kin for her, Constantine fumed. Prove your alliance to me, she had said. And so he had. Only to have her slap him across the jaw with a humiliating repudiation. “A half-breed.”

  He wanted to shout, to yell, to tear things apart and beat upon them until they were bloody. Instead he would exact perfect revenge against the two of them.

  Lord de Salignac prowled the brothel’s close confines. He visited when all options to finding a stray blood source were unavailable. Incense and sex salted the air. Fabric smooth and silken brushed his hands and legs. Tonight he did not want a street beggar or a foul-smelling orphan who lurked beneath the bridges strapping the Seine. He needed a very specific beauty.

  The madam Celeste Demorreau, a young thing who had inherited the position from her mother, hooked her arm along his, and walked him about the receiving room where dozens of potentials lounged and preened at one another. Some kissed lazily in hopes of attracting his eye with the subv
ersive display.

  Looking over the top of his round, violet-lensed spectacles, Constantine scanned the room. He favored an encounter with the twosome embracing at the wall.

  “My lord?” the madam prompted.

  Constantine focused. “She must have dark hair,” he said in a low voice that kept their conversation private from the women. “Slender, and…an ample bosom.”

  “There is a new girl. She’s rather shy, but I think she will fit your requirements. This way.”

  Leading him through the halls draped in alternating white and black velvet fabric, the madam stopped before a threadbare tapestry and cast it aside to reveal a woman seated before a vanity. Her reflection pursed small red lips. A narrow face with wide, bold eyes, a curious sadness gave her a solemn grace. She looked similar to Viviane. Not as beautiful, but she would do.

  “Have her sent to my home.”

  “But that is not usual—”

  “Your mother has not told you of our arrangements?”

  She nodded. “Forgive me, my lord. Yes, I am aware. Tomorrow evening?”

  “Excellent.”

  RHYS HAD SENT WORD to the Council that the werewolf who had murdered the vampires was dead. He hesitated mentioning Salignac’s involvement; if it should later be learned, Rhys’s integrity would be questioned.

  Which was why he thanked the Council for their consideration, but explained he could not accept a position at this time. They need not know he was in love and wanted to spend every moment by his lover’s side. Nor need they know he could not betray the brother he hated.

  It had not been a difficult decision. Perhaps later he would develop renewed interest to serve, but for now, love ruled.

  The German landau coach was exactly what Rhys needed. Actually, it was what Viviane needed. He stroked a palm along the highly varnished black exterior. Inside the seats adjusted on hinges to fold down for sleeping. And the windows had sturdy wood shades that blocked all light from entering.

  They could travel during the day, allowing Viviane to sleep completely protected from the sun. And it was well sprung, necessary for the journey to Venice, which Rhys guessed would be well over a fortnight.

 

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