Weddings From Hell

by Jeaniene Frost

  Leaning down, he trailed hot, wet kisses along her neck. He nipped gently with his teeth—just the barest scrape of fang. She gasped, arching her hips upward so that he was fully buried within her. He wasn’t going to bite her. As good as it would be for both of them, he didn’t want anything to interfere or diminish this moment.

  It had been too long since he’d felt this completeness. Too long since Violet showed him what it felt like to be home. Her arms and legs were wrapped around him like ivy, holding him so tightly he could feel it in his chest—in his heart.

  His mouth went to her breasts, licking and sucking each nipple until they stood tall and distended, red and puckered. Violet gasped and moaned, undulating beneath him. Her fingers caught at his hair, dug into his scalp as she held him to her breast. “Harder,” she begged. “Oh, Payen, harder!”

  He bit her. He didn’t mean to—only wanted to nip at the sweet pebble of flesh in his mouth, but his fangs were fully extended and they pierced the delicate flesh around her aureole. Violet’s back arched, giving herself up to the bite as little keening sounds slipped from between her lips.

  Payen let the taste of her fill his mouth as he plunged inside her. Hot and wet, Violet thrust against him, every stroke bringing him closer to the edge, as she quaked and moaned beneath him.

  Payen’s movements quickened. He was going to come. Every lonely moment of the last five years, every empty night had been worth the pleasure of having Violet wrapped around him, pleading with him to make her climax. He would literally smash down mountains for this woman, the only one who had ever accepted him without question.

  She terrified him, and yet there was nothing so perfect as the peace he felt in her arms. She belonged to him. And God help him, he belonged to her.

  Then it hit. A ragged cry tore from Payen’s throat as he plunged himself down upon her. He stiffened as his climax rocked him, pounding his hips against hers as she arched, crying out her own release against his shoulder.

  It wasn’t until moments later, when he was lying beside her, enjoying listening to the slowing of her breath, that Payen felt the first twinge of regret.

  Chapter 5

  Violet knew what the expression on Payen’s face meant. She had seen it five years ago, just before he walked out of her life.

  “Say you are sorry and I will neuter you,” she growled in a voice strange even to her own ears.

  Payen jerked, guilt lighting his eyes. “Violet, I…”

  “I mean it, Payen. I have a silver letter opener in my desk.”

  A sad smile curved his lips. That he didn’t seem to take her threat seriously wasn’t nearly as much of an insult as the fact that he didn’t take her giving herself to him—on what should have been her wedding night to another man—as seriously as he ought. He was the only man she had ever had sex with—the only man with whom she had ever shared a bed. The only man to whom she had ever given her heart.

  She would not allow him to make her feel soiled for having chosen him.

  His hand braced on the mattress, Payen angled his body toward her. The muscles in his arm bulged beneath the taut gold of his flesh. The slash of his ribs drew her attention to the sheets pooling around his lean hips. He was a beautiful distraction, making her forget her heart’s demands with the temptation of his body.

  Almost.

  “You want to run away,” she murmured, drawing her gaze upward to his face, which was no less breathtaking than the rest of him. “Just like you did five years ago.”

  He reached across the scant distance between them to cup her cheek in his palm. His thumb stroked her flesh softly as he stared into her eyes with a gaze so sweet it broke her heart. It hurt so much—so very much—to know that he wouldn’t allow himself to be with her. “As fast as I can,” he replied.

  She couldn’t hate him, as angry as he made her. “Why?”

  Warm fingers whispered over her lips—a fragile caress, one that made her breath catch with its simple, light reverence. “You know why.”

  “Say it.” The words came out as a hoarse whisper, made rougher by the tightness of her throat. Violet clutched the sheet to her chest, not to shield her nakedness, but to somehow create a barrier between him and her heart. It didn’t work, of course, but it made her feel stronger, kept her from turning her face to his hand, and burrowing there like a needy housecat.

  In the faint light his gaze was brilliant as a polished tiger’s eye. “I’m a vampire.”

  “I know what you are.” Did he think her a stupid child? She had known what he was for years—long before giving him her virginity. Long before she fell in love with him. Shortly after coming to live with Eliza and Henry, they’d been out for an evening ride and her horse had bolted, spooked by a rabbit. Payen had caught her horse—on foot. If that hadn’t been proof enough that he wasn’t human, the fact that he looked no different now than he had more than a decade earlier certainly was.

  His hand fell away from her cheek, but he didn’t move away. He didn’t have to; he’d already put more distance between them than physically possible. “And you are human.”

  A moot point and they both knew it. “That’s remedied easily enough.” When he began to protest—obviously she knew it wasn’t that simple—she cut him off. “You’ll have to do better than that.”

  He spoke so readily she knew the response had been planned—perhaps even rehearsed. “I swore an oath when I drank from the Blood Grail never to change another person.”

  “That was a long time ago, Payen.” So long it was beyond her realm of understanding. He was beyond her realm of understanding, but she didn’t care. She could live to be one hundred and still know only a fraction of his life, and it didn’t matter. She loved him.

  “I gave my word.”

  Brushing back the hair that tumbled over her shoulder, Violet pinned him with a sharp gaze. She wasn’t a girl anymore and she wasn’t going to let him get away from her as easily as he had before. “Who are you trying to convince that we can’t be together? Me? Or yourself?”

  “You,” he replied without hesitation, without malice. Then, with the hint of a smile, “And perhaps I need a reminder myself.”

  The words came rapidly, without thought—without care. “Is a seven-century-old promise worth a chance at happiness?”

  He almost said no, she could see it in his eyes. Stubborn, stupid man. He wanted her as much as she wanted him. Perhaps—and she daren’t let herself believe it—he loved her as much as she loved him. “I made a vow.”

  “And prevented me from saying my own.” A cheap shot, but who cared?

  “You thanked me for that.” His expression, his posture, and his tone were defensive. This time he did pull back. “You wanted me to tell you not to marry Villiers.”

  He wasn’t going to turn this on her, make her somehow to blame. “Because I had hoped that you harbored some feeling for me.” She had nothing left to lose—he had already taken her innocence and her reputation—her heart and soul. What else could he do?

  “I do.” It was a low blow and they both knew it. And it answered her question, obviously he had the power to still do a lot to her. He spoke so smoothly, held her gaze so carefully that only the tiniest flicker of emotion came through, but she saw it.

  He wanted to play, did he? She threw back the blankets and slid from the bed. “Obviously, not enough.”

  “Damn it, Vi. It’s not that simple.”

  “I think it’s amazingly simple.” Snatching her robe from the foot of the bed Violet slipped it on and tied the sash tight around her waist. “Either you love me or you don’t, Payen.”

  The color drained from his face, and Violet’s heart shattered into thousands of sharp, jagged shards.

  Not enough. She fought the pain, tucked it inside her. “That’s what I thought.” But dear God, she had hoped. She had almost believed.

  In a flash he was out of the bed. Gloriously naked, and comfortable with it, he came after her. He stopped just short of touching her. He w
as very careful not to touch her. “You don’t understand.”

  Violet stood her ground. Toe to toe they stood. She wanted to hit him, wanted to shake him and kiss him. Wanted to climb him and take him inside her. She poked him in the chest instead. “Then make me.”

  “My feelings for you are inconsequential.” Payen shoved a hand through his hair on an exasperated sigh. “I knew what I was doing when I became a vampire. I lost everything I had or could have had to become what I am.”

  She watched him for a moment, the subtle flush in his cheeks, the shuttering of his gaze. Why hadn’t she seen it before? Had she been too young to see it—or just blind? “What was her name?”

  His expression closed down completely, but not before she saw the truth there. “What makes you think there was a woman?”

  She spoke plainly, her battered heart slightly buoyed by this new revelation. “Because men are seldom as stupid with anything else as they are when a woman is involved.”

  “You do not think very highly of your own sex.”

  “On the contrary, I think women capable of almost anything. That men are so easily duped by us is what gives me pause.” She placed a hand over his heart, felt the slow—too slow to be human—beating there. “Tell me.”

  “Alyce,” he replied, his gaze clouding with a mixture of memory and regret. “And she’s the reason Stephen Rexley died.”

  The annoyance on Violet’s lovely round face gave way to bewilderment before comprehension dawned in her eyes. “Henry’s ancestor?”

  Payen nodded, turning away from her as he did so. “He was my friend.” He wasn’t going to tell this story naked. He found his trousers on the floor and pulled them on. He needed all the armor he could get.

  Fortunately, or perhaps unfortunately, Violet was patient enough to wait for him to dress before he continued. He pulled on his shirt but didn’t tuck it in and sat on the edge of the bed, regarding her with a tired gaze as he tugged on his shoes. It wasn’t a pleasant story, but one she deserved to hear. He owed her that at the very least.

  Maybe then she’d understand, but he doubted it. Damn, she was so young. To talk of love and promises—what did a girl her age know of either? No doubt she thought him some kind of romantic figure—a white knight—her hero. He was neither.

  She was still waiting patiently, in her thin robe that left little to his imagination—not that he needed imagination to know every delectable curve and hollow.

  He sighed. “We were both Templars charged with protecting the Blood Grail from the Order of the Silver Palm. I had just drunk from the cup and become vampire to better serve our cause. Stephen was uncertain whether or not he could also commit himself to an eternity of standing between the Silver Palm and the power they sought.” He smiled, both sad and amused. “I rushed at the chance to pledge myself.”

  And when the cup was taken by Philip’s men, he tracked the six new vampires for a century, waiting for a chance to steal the chalice back. They did not abuse its power, although they certainly abused their own, but that changed when one of them committed suicide by walking into the dawn. The remaining five turned to the church, and learned that the Blood Grail was safe once more.

  Violet was watching him, her expression strangely unreadable. Normally she was an open book to him. “I imagine you did. You loved Alyce?”

  Impatient minx. But she kept him from dwelling too long. “Yes. She was a girl in the town where Stephen and I lived at the time. We met her through her brother, a young man we would sometimes drink with at the local ale house.” His jaw tightened at the memory of that young man. “I loved her with all the foolishness a young man can. I didn’t know it but so did Stephen.”

  She didn’t seem the least bit bothered by his confession, wise enough to not be jealous of a woman long dead. Perhaps she was less of a girl than he gave her credit for. “Which one of you did Alyce love?”

  Payen chuckled proudly—and a little bitterly. Not a stupid one, his Violet. “Above all, I’d say herself, but that might not be fair. Between the two of us, I think she loved Stephen more. Regardless, she was only interested in one thing from either of us.”

  “Let me guess.” Violet crossed her arms beneath her generous breasts, unknowingly pushing the generous swells of flesh upward like an offering of worship just for him. “Alyce belonged to the Silver Palm.”

  Perhaps he should be surprised that she figured it out, but it did sound like the plot out of a gothic novel or some moral tale against the sin and evils of woman that seemed so popular these days. “Not quite. Her brother did. Back then the Order hadn’t realized that women could be as useful to their organization. That came a little later.” He wasn’t going to think of those women now.

  “So how did she betray you?”

  So transparent. The depth of the story was either lost on her, or he had made too much of it in his own mind. “I did it to myself. I revealed the truth about myself to her.”

  Hazel eyes widened. Was that hurt in the bright depths? Surely she had to know there had been women before her. So many women.

  But never one like her.

  Violet’s long fingers clutched at the front of her robe, twisting the silky fabric. “She betrayed you to her brother.”

  For a moment, Payen wanted nothing more than to take her into his arms and kiss her senseless—forever. The words were said with such horror, such disgust. Perhaps it was because she had no blood relation left to have such loyalty as Alyce’s. Or, perhaps it was because Violet would never betray a man she claimed to care for.

  Which meant she didn’t care for Villiers—not really.

  “Yes. She confessed what she had done to Stephen, why I don’t know. The idiot came to warn me, a hero till the end.”

  “He was killed in the fight? Henry told me he was killed in battle.”

  Payen flinched before meeting her gaze. “That’s what I told him. In truth, the battle didn’t start until after Stephen died. He was killed by Alyce’s brother, who had already murdered his own sister for her disloyalty.”

  Violet frowned. “That must have been horrible for you.”

  “I had my vengeance.” He wasn’t about to tell her what he had done to those men. He didn’t want to think about it, but even after all of these centuries, he could smell their blood in the air, feel the stickiness of it on his hands.

  And his shrewd little Vi, so much sturdier and stronger than her namesake, looked at him as though she too smelled what he smelled and felt what he felt. She would have been right there beside him, a sword in hand.

  She would kill for him, he realized with a sudden jolt—one that hit straight in his heart.

  She also wasn’t about to let him off with a story of old betrayal. “So you don’t want to be with me because I might hand you over to the Silver Palm? You don’t trust me?”

  “That’s not it at all.”

  A sharp dark brow shot up against the pale flesh of her forehead. “You didn’t think I’d reveal you to Rupert? Perhaps he and I are in league already.”

  Payen scowled his offense. “You would never do such a thing.” And he knew she wouldn’t. Had never once thought she might.

  “Then you haven’t cast judgment against all women based on the actions of one?”

  “Of course not.” He was beginning to lose his patience.

  “But because of this, you and I cannot be together.”

  “Damnit, Violet!” Drawing a sharp breath, he rose from the bed and walked toward her once more. He cupped her shoulders with his hands, feeling the supple strength of her beneath his palms. “People I love die.”

  Her dimpled chin lifted defiantly. “People die, Payen. Whether you love them or not.”

  “You don’t understand.” Sadly, he knew of no other way to make her see.

  “I understand perfectly.” She tilted her head. “It’s a little pathetic, frankly.”

  His hands dropped. “Excuse me?” Surely he couldn’t have heard her right.

  “I never
would have thought you such a coward.”

  He had heard her right. Indignation—anger—swelled within him. “I’ve killed men for less than such an insult.”

  Violet practically sneered at him. “You’d never physically hurt me and we both know it.”

  But he heard the thinly veiled barb in her words. He had hurt her emotionally. “I am not a coward.”

  “When it comes to your heart, you are,” she insisted. This time it was she who lifted her hands, placing one on either side of his face. Instinct demanded that he pull away, get himself to safety, but his pride held him still. He would not prove her right.

  “You love me.” Conviction rung in her words, made him frown even deeper.

  “I’ve never made any such declaration,” he insisted pompously.

  Her smile was one of serene indulgence. “You love me, and I love you. But I don’t have the luxury of being able to wait forever, Payen. If you wait too long to realize what it is your heart wants—what you need—I’ll be gone. Ask yourself which you’d rather have, your vow, or me by your side for all eternity.”

  Payen pulled away, shocked and silenced to the depth of his very being by her words. She loved him? Loved him? No, she couldn’t. Yet, there was nothing but truth in her guileless gaze. Nothing but sadness and certainty. She loved him, and she believed that he loved her.

  Christ, what had he gotten himself into?

  He had to get out of there. Had to go. Had to be somewhere she wasn’t. Somewhere far away.

  He backed toward the balcony.

  “Go ahead and run,” Violet said softly. “But if you’re not back here by sunrise, I’ll come looking for you, Payen Carr. I’ll hunt you till the day I die.”

  She would too. He could see it. “Why?”

  Her smile was sad yet determined. “Because I’d rather spend the rest of my life chasing you than missing you.”

  That was it. He could hear no more. He stared at her for what felt like a lifetime, but in reality was but a few seconds, and when his heart could bear the sight of her no more, he turned and fled through the French doors. He vaulted off the balcony and into the sky, shooting frantically toward an unknown destination.