by Sharon Page
He grimaced again. “I wish to the gods that they had not had to suffer for me—”
“It was not your fault,” she cried. “Althea—Lady Brookshire told me about your past. I can understand, after you were betrayed by Gaius, by your emperor, by your wife, why you would want to become a vampire.” She gave him a level gaze. “But Althea told me history claims you drank the blood of your victims before you became a vampire. And that you accepted the red power’s offer before your children were killed.”
“The red fog came to me before my children were killed, but I was not ready to serve evil.” He felt his lips kick up in a cold smile. “Strangely, I believed I was on the side of right.”
“I know Lady Brookshire hunted you, because you were supposed to be one of the most evil vampires in existence.”
“So says a vampire slayer. But the truth was, I was as evil as any vampire. I created more vampires, but only out of the dying. And Althea Yates—Lady Brookshire—has a personal reason to despise me. I used her as bait in a plan to destroy her husbands, the Demon Twins, who planned to destroy me. I hoped to pit the two men—Bastien and his brother—against each other, using her as the reason for them to tear each other apart.”
“That plan failed. Instead, they found a love shared between three.”
He stared. “What do you mean?”
“A threesome—a sexual and loving one—apparently makes magic stronger. It was what defeated you.”
“And sent me to imprisonment. Bastien asked for my life to be spared, and one of the vampire queens had me banished to paradise.” A gust of wind threw his hair about his face. He should stop talking and start inventing a plan of protection. But it felt strangely good to pour out his tale.
“Was it really paradise?” she asked, concerned, her eyes revealing her doubts.
He shrugged. “In one sense. But then, roses have thorns.” She did not need to know the details. It had been a place as beautiful as paradise, yet he’d had no food for months on end. Lukos had tried to destroy him numerous times, over his supposed capture of Lukos’s sister. And the damned wolf had been too stubborn to listen to the truth.
He looked down at her. “Do you believe my story? Do you believe it is true?”
“Should I doubt it?” she threw back, and as he inclined his head at her question, she frowned. “Althea told me that your wife knew your children were to be killed, but that she did nothing to stop it. Is that true? How could it be? What sort of woman would do such a thing to her children?”
One obsessed with herself, and seeing her youth and beauty fading. A woman willing to sacrifice anything to be an empress, who saw one fleeting chance to grasp that goal. “It was true of Claudia,” he said softly, for keeping his voice low could hide the pain. “I could say she did it because she was selfish. Or she did it to brutally hurt me.” He twined his fingers through hers and led her to one of the stones that ringed the circle of grass, a stone touched by the red glow of the mist and the silvery blue moonlight.
“Did you love her very much?”
He sat, spread his legs, and drew her between. But she crawled over his thighs, holding up her cloak with one hand, balancing with the other. She perched on the rock at his side.
“I was infatuated with Claudia.” He looked to her, then off toward the trees, where the shadows were black as pitch. “She was exquisite, with an oval face and large dark brown eyes, full lips of the most unusual pink—a color that was earthy and tempting. Her lips almost shone as though moistened by a man’s kisses. She was more beautiful than the goddesses who graced the statues of her palatial home. I became obsessed with her. She was the reason I waged battle, the reason I took the risks that made me a hero, and brought me great wealth. I was determined to prove myself to her, to win her, to become the powerful man that I believed she yearned for.”
“Are you really certain it was because of her that you did those things? Or perhaps she represented just another prize for your ambitions.”
He sat in silence for minutes, then bent to her neck. Gently nuzzled there. “You are a very wise woman, Miranda. When I look into my heart, I could believe what you say to be true. But I was obsessed with Claudia, and she was shallow, vain, and selfish. She had no true capacity to love—” He stopped. “Or perhaps she hated me so much that, while being my wife, she lost any ability to open her heart. She closed it to me, and closed it to our innocent children.”
“I still cannot understand why she would let innocent children be…be hurt. Are you certain it was true? Perhaps your enemy made up that as well.”
“I wanted to believe that, Miranda. After my children died, after I saw the coldness in Claudia’s eyes and knew that she did not care about them, I vowed never to love again. My heart became a lump of ice in my chest. I never thought I would open my heart again. And all I wanted was revenge…”
“What happened to Claudia?”
“I did get my vengeance on my wife, but it was by accident,” Zayan said. “I thought I wanted her dead—I was driven by rage. And my rage summoned the red mist. I had confronted her, the mist wrapped around her and choked her to death.”
Miranda tried to sense Zayan’s emotions over his wife’s death, but she could feel nothing. It was as though she had stuck her hand into a pool of dark, icy water. It was unfathomable and cold. Had Zayan commanded the red fog to kill her so he did not have to do it with his own hands? It was still murder—and how did that make anything right?
“I know you are wondering if I did it deliberately. But I didn’t. Once the fog came, it was beyond my control. I was sorry it happened. Even after all she had done, I was a damned fool—I wanted to love her still. And as I realized that, the fog let out a shriek and attacked her.”
Miranda heard the agony behind his words. I wanted to love her still. Was that also behind Zayan’s pain? Not just that he felt responsible for his children’s murders, but also that he had still wanted to love their ruthless mother?
She could imagine how agonizing that must be. Did he love Claudia even now?
Zayan tipped up her chin. She saw the glint of his fangs, but they no longer mattered to her. What she cared about was the man inside the vampire.
“We have time, a while before I will have to confront the fog to protect you.”
Just as with Claudia, she realized. The fog was coming to him, because of him, and he knew he couldn’t control it. She saw it in his eyes, even as they threw the moonlight back at her. “You’re planning to sacrifice yourself to protect me, aren’t you?”
“I made a choice. I couldn’t hurt you, not even to bring my children back. Nor could I live with the guilt of that choice for eternity—knowing that I had cheated them of their chance to live again.”
Dear heaven, that was the choice he had made—for her. “There has to be another way,” Miranda insisted.
He clasped her hand and lifted it to his lips. Never had the gesture touched her heart more. “What worries me is that I don’t believe I have the strength to defeat it.”
“Lukos and I were able to force it to retreat.” She quickly told him of what they had done to combat the red fog when it had tried to invade the stable. She saw admiration in his eyes, but then any sign of hope drained out of them. “You got it to retreat, but you weren’t able to destroy it.”
She thought of what Althea and Serena had told her. “The vampire slayers told me that…” He was watching her intently and her courage almost failed her. “They told me threesomes enhance magic power.”
“Threesomes?”
“You and Lukos threatened to share me when you captured my carriage.”
“Indeed, we did.”
His eyes were mirrored planes of silver, telling her nothing. Would he agree to it? Could she…do it? Even to save her life? In the carriage, she had been shocked by her wanton side. She had realized she could not be the normal, proper woman she wanted to be, if she had such scandalous sexual desires.
Now, if she gave herself to a
threesome, there was no turning back. She could never be Miss Miranda Bond, decent English lady again. But what would she be?
Miranda was suggesting a threesome.
If it were not for his powerful, preternatural hearing, Zayan would have believed he was mistaken. No, she had never looked more serious. Or more frightened. She looked more frightened of having an erotic, unusual sexual experience than she had of the red fog.
Did threesomes really enhance magic power? Lukos had told him how Serena Lark, the woman Lukos had believed was his destined mate, had used the power of a threesome to grow stronger. Zayan knew Althea Yates had used it.
But in both those cases, the joining of the three had been more than just sex. He believed the magic came from the power of two strong men who were devoted to one woman. And there had been deep, intense emotion between the two men. Yannick and Bastien had shared the bond of brotherhood. Sommersby and Swift had, it appeared, been vampire hunters together—they had saved each other’s lives. They trusted each other.
What was between he and Lukos but hatred? Lukos believed, stubbornly, that Zayan had delivered up Lukos’s mortal sister to Lucifer. He had not—he had never served the devil, only the red power.
The red power had controlled him just as Claudia had done. He had done unspeakable things to please the feminine voice that spoke to him from the red mist. He had been a damned fool, just as he had been over his wife. It had enraged him that his wife had cuckolded him. He’d vowed never to let a woman break his heart that way, never to give a woman power over him by giving her his love.
But he would not be a damned fool and let Miranda be hurt. To protect her, he would share her with Lukos. He would grit his teeth and do it willingly, damn it.
Wind whipped the trees. He turned to Miranda, shouting, “Get down. Go behind the rocks, behind me.”
Miranda did, and he planted himself between her and the wild, fierce gusts. One slammed into his chest, and shoved him back so he almost sprawled over the rocks. He drew on all his strength to straighten up, to forge forward again.
“No,” he shouted. “No, you cannot have her. I’m not going to let you take her.”
15
Power
She was not going to cower behind a rock. Miranda laid her hand on top of Zayan’s, which was outstretched and clamped to the rough, hard boulder at the top of the circle, farthest from the direction of the wind and the fog. She stood at his side to face the red fog that was racing toward them through the trees.
Strangely, when she was facing death and should be petrified, numb with terror, or steeling herself for battle, Miranda remembered Althea’s words. I had dreams about Yannick and Bastien. Erotic dreams of loving and making love to two men. They proved to be premonitions. Both Yannick and Bastien possess special powers. We were destined to be together, the three of us, because our combined love makes us stronger.
Both women had become vampires and had willingly done so—they had been made by the men they loved. Could she still tap into the magic of a shared love if she remained mortal? But then she wasn’t mortal. She didn’t know what she was…
Zayan threw a bolt of his blue magic at the red fog that was now advancing through the trees, rolling over upon itself like a crimson wave. His spell merely bounced off it, scattering through the trees. Branches exploded as the power hit them. Sparks flew and acrid smoke plumed up. But the fog kept moving.
Miranda. Come to me, Miranda, and I will not destroy the vampire you love.
The voice rang evocatively in her mind. It beckoned her, so rich and pure and sultry and powerful, it made her want to obey. She remembered how she had tried to fight against the rich, beautiful sound of Zayan’s and Lukos’s voices in her head, only days ago.
She hesitated. If Zayan could not defeat the red power, she would be dead anyway. She couldn’t let him die senselessly for her—
“Do not even think of it,” Zayan warned, revealing he was connected with her thoughts.
Behind them, leaves snapped in a sudden breeze and branches clattered. Miranda jumped around, still clasping Zayan’s hand. Lukos stood there, naked, his hair flowing out behind him like a black cape.
“I saw into your thoughts, Miranda. I saw what you want. I did not come before because I did not think I could share you with…with the damned Roman general who gave my sister to Lucifer.”
“I didn’t,” Zayan snapped. An unearthly blue light swirled in his reflective eyes. Miranda had never seen that before. “I never served Lucifer, and you are a bloody hardheaded Saxon—”
“Stop!” Miranda cried. “But you came. Why?”
“Because I am willing to lay down my sword—in a sense—to protect you. If this is the only way we can stop this bloody fog, I’m willing to try.” One long stride brought him to her side, and he clasped her hand.
“Together,” he growled. “We will have to concentrate together. Remember, Miranda, as we did in the barn?”
“I will never forget what we did in the barn. Not one moment of it.” It was her way of telling Lukos what he meant to her, her way of doing it while still preserving decorum, which oddly, madly, she felt she should do. “I have realized,” she said as the fingers of fog slithered between the trees into their opening, “that I love you both.”
And she shut her eyes and thought of a quenching, powerful light—something that would burrow into the heart of the fog and blow it apart forever, so it could never wrap around a person or a village again. It could never take life or power or a soul or whatever it craved—
The force of the energy that seemed to explode out through her bare skin drove her back. Zayan and Lukos held her hands tight. She opened her eyes. There was nothing to see, but she felt it. Then she saw a ripple in the air. A ripple of movement that tumbled over on itself like a black ball rolling through the night sky.
Instead of exploding, the black ripples spread through the air; Miranda could see them where they blocked out the trees. They looked like dark arms reaching out to embrace the fog. At once, the fog began to race back on itself. But the black tendrils reached it—touched it—
A unearthly shriek almost burst Miranda’s ears. The vampires at her sides flinched too. The fog raced back with such force, it brought trees falling. Tall trunks that fell like dominoes and slammed against each other. Some hit the ground, shaking it.
The fog was gone. For the first time since they had reached Blackthorne Castle, days before, the sky was clear. Black as jet, like velvet, and festooned with winking stars.
Miranda looked to Zayan. He was straining to listen.
“It’s not destroyed,” he said grimly. “It just retreated. I can still sense it. What went wrong?”
Lukos shook his head. Miranda found her gaze straying down his naked body—it was a beautiful, lithe, powerful form. And now, spared from death, she felt giddy with relief, heady with the need to celebrate life. She wanted to kiss each man. She wanted—wanton woman that she was—to touch their bodies. At the same time. One hand to caress and fondle Zayan, and one to do the same to Lukos.
Althea and Serena had done it. They did it every night, and had frankly admitted they enjoyed it. She’d pushed the thoughts aside when talking to the women, because they made her blush. She’d had to admit she was curious…And now, standing in the quiet grove with Lukos and Zayan, she saw the allure of shared love. At once she was aroused—hot, wet, creamy, and completely ready. She wanted to savor the beauty of both men. She wanted—
Oh heavens. Four hands on her. Four legs to stretch out along hers. And fingers—all those fingers to make magic on her skin. Two mouths to take her nipples, to kiss in her most private, most deliciously sensitive places. Two tight, beautiful masculine derrieres for her to touch, perhaps even to…to kiss.
And two long, hard, swordlike cocks—
Oh. She’d confronted an intense power with courage, but thinking of all the sexual games she could imagine, her strength was draining away, making her weak with need and desire, making h
er breasts ache and her cunny throb.
She wanted to recapture the pleasure she’d known with each man. They had not been able to destroy the red power. And she knew, before Althea and Serena had gone after their foes—she tried to forget that was Zayan and Lukos—they had shared their beds with two men.
“Perhaps we are supposed to…” Courage, courage, Miranda, she advised herself. “To go to bed all together first.”
“What normally happens,” Miranda whispered. “What should I do? Do I lie down? How do we begin?”
“Not so clinical, angel,” Lukos laughed. “We begin like this.” He dropped to his knees, lifted her velvet cloak, and rained kisses over the curves of her rump. She giggled—a sound out of place in the now-hushed grove, beneath the dark sky, in the aftermath of a battle.
Zayan captured her lips. Having two men’s mouths on her was dizzying. Hot lips skated over her everywhere—Zayan’s along her throat to her collarbone, then to the tops of her breasts, lingering there and teasing until she grasped his shoulders to stay standing. Lukos kissed her bottom, licked her inner thighs and set her trembling. He teased her calves with her fingertips—she’d had no idea that would feel erotically pleasurable.
Lukos turned her abruptly, rotated her away from Zayan, and put his mouth to her nether curls. He drew patterns through with his tongue. It tickled. It was wet and compelling.
He was good at this, and he knew it; he smiled confidently as he slicked his tongue over her nether lips and made her quiver.
He gripped her thighs, holding her to his mouth, and she soon knew why. Gentle caresses turned to fierce, exquisite torment. He flicked his tongue fast and hard on her clit. If he hadn’t kept her prisoner, she would have backed away. Zayan parted her cheeks, his hands cradling them, and he licked the puckered entrance of her rear.
Zayan’s tongue plunged, Lukos’s flicked. She clutched Lukos’s shoulder as sensation built. She rocked her hips—forward to Lukos, back to Zayan, sandwiched between their mouths. Their hands stroked, over hips, down her thighs, on the small of her back, the planes of her belly. She was engulfed in delight. Smells came to her—of the new leaves, the sweet night air, of her lovers—