A Vampire Bundle

by Alexandra Ivy

  He knew she would be upset, even hysterical.

  But that sudden fear in her eyes as she backed from him was enough to stir his most primal feelings.

  Bloody hell, why did he care if she had returned to thinking him a monster? He had endured over three hundred years chained to the Phoenix without giving a damn about Selena as a person. Unless one counted the delicious dreams of draining her dry.

  She had been no more than his captor. The tangible source of his smoldering fury.

  But Abby . . .

  It did matter, he grimly accepted. It mattered too damn much.

  Reluctantly he studied the fragile, too-pale features, knowing he would do whatever necessary to ease her distress.

  “Please listen to me, Abby,” he murmured.

  She gave another shake of her head. “No, just stay away from me.”

  Stay away? The irony brought a wry smile to his lips.

  “I’m afraid I can’t do that. We are now bound together. Neither of us can leave the other. It’s part of the spell.”

  Her eyes widened in horror before they abruptly narrowed. “Now I know that you’re lying. You did leave me.”

  “I did not go far, and it was with the knowledge that I would soon return to your side,” he said softly, subtly moving forward. “Had I deliberately intended to flee, the pain would have been unbearable. Trust me, I tried enough times over the centuries to be certain.”

  She licked her dry lips. “No.”

  “Abby, can you tell me honestly that you did not feel my absence? Deep within you?”

  The truth was etched upon her pale features even as she shook her head in denial. “This . . . can’t be. I would know if some creature was living inside me.”

  “Do you want proof?”

  She pressed even tighter to the paneling. “What do you mean?”

  Dante slowly held out his hand. “Come.”

  Abby paused, staring at his hand for long moments before at last placing her fingers on his own. Dante felt a rush of warmth at her unspoken display of trust. And another rush of warmth at the sensation of her soft skin brushing his own.

  Heady stuff for a vampire who had been cold for an eternity.

  With a gentle tug, he led her across the room to the large mirror hanging above the marble fireplace. Then, stepping behind her, he placed his hands upon her shoulders.

  “Tell me what you see,” he commanded in low tones.

  She gave an impatient sound. “I see . . . oh.” She leaned forward to peer into the mirror. “God, you have no reflection.”

  Dante rolled his eyes heavenward. “Of course not, I’m a vampire.”

  “It’s just so weird.”

  “Abby, look at yourself,” he rasped.

  “What?” Her brows drew together. “You want me to see I’m a wreck? News flash, I already knew that.”

  “Look at your eyes.”

  “My eyes? I—” Her words abruptly broke off as she reached with shaking fingers to touch her reflection. And no wonder. The soft brown eyes that had always fascinated him were now a brilliant, sapphire blue. The same blue that had marked Selena. A visible sign of the Phoenix that she could no longer deny. “No. No, no, no.”

  She stumbled backward, straight into his arms. Gently Dante turned her about and pressed her head to his chest as he brushed his hand over her curls.

  “Easy, love,” he murmured. “It’s going to be okay.”

  A violent shiver raced through her body before she pulled back her head to stab him with a tearful glare.

  “How? How is it going to be okay? I have some . . . creature inside me.” She gave a sudden gasp. “Oh God, that’s why the demons were trying to kill me, isn’t it?”

  His arms tightened about her. He could lie, of course. And for a few minutes she might actually be comforted. But in the end, he knew that she would have to know the truth.

  “Yes. They sensed the spirit within you as well as the fact you are vulnerable. They will halt at nothing to regain their Prince.”

  A stark terror darkened the brilliance of her newly blue eyes. “I’m going to die.”

  “No,” he swore in vicious denial. “I will not allow that to happen.”

  “And how long do you suppose we can fight off every demon on earth? Unless you intend for us to hide here for the next fifty billion years?”

  Shifting, he placed his fingers beneath her chin and forced her to meet his stern gaze.

  “It will not be necessary. With every passing hour, the Phoenix gathers its strength.”

  “The Phoenix is gathering strength?” She gave a short, humorless laugh. “Inside me? Is that supposed to be reassuring?”

  A hint of tenderness eased his stark expression. “I only mean that it soon will be capable of masking itself so that the demons cannot sense its presence.”

  Far from comforted, Abby regarded him warily. “And what else will this thing be doing inside me?”

  “I can’t say for certain,” he reluctantly admitted. “Selena did not consider me her confidant. I was merely her chained beast.”

  Her head dropped back onto his chest. “My God, what am I going to do?”

  He laid his cheek upon the top of her head, readily surrounding himself in her sweet warmth. “I do have a suggestion.”

  “What?”

  “We must seek out the witches.”

  He felt her suck in a shocked gasp. “The witches? You mean the women who put this Phoenix into Selena?”

  His features hardened. Even after three centuries, he vividly recalled every moment he endured at the hands of the coven. The black dungeon. The chains that had burned his very flesh. The magic that had leashed him like a neutered dog.

  His searing hatred had not eased, but his concern for Abby was even greater. There was no one else who could help her.

  “Yes.”

  “But”—she pulled back to regard him with a frown—“surely they are dead by now?”

  “Their powers are linked to the Phoenix. As long as it lives, so do they.”

  “And you think they could help me?”

  “Perhaps,” he offered cautiously.

  “Then let’s go to them.” She reached up to clutch the lapels of his silk shirt. “Where are they?”

  “Actually, I’m not entirely certain.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “As I said, Selena kept most of her secrets to herself, but I do know that she met the witches on occasion. They must have a coven close by.”

  “In Chicago?”

  He gave a faint shake of his head, having already considered the possible locations. “Not in the city. They will need a place that is well secluded.”

  “Why?”

  Dante hesitated. Although he had determined not to hide the truth from Abby, he conceded that there was no need for graphic details. Not when they were only bound to upset her further.

  “They perform . . . certain rites that they would not want others to witness.”

  Thankfully she was too distracted to consider the nature of the rites. Instead she chewed her bottom lip until Dante shivered with the need to soothe it with a soft kiss.

  “Then how can we possibly find them?”

  Now it was Dante who was distracted. The scent of her satin skin, the feel of her soft curves, the delicious heat that stirred his passions.

  “Leave that to me,” he muttered, his hands slipping down the curve of her spine to rest upon the swell of her hips. “Now, what would you say to a hot bath?”

  “A bath?” The frantic urgency faded as a dreamy longing settled upon her face. “I would say that it sounds like heaven.”

  Dante silently groaned at the thought of seeing that dreamy expression for an entirely different reason than hot water and soapy bubbles. Reasons such as his hands skimming over that silken skin and tumbling those honey curls while his lips blazed paths that had never been blazed before.

  Abruptly he stepped away, not at all accustomed to restraining his passion
s. The witches might have stolen his lust for hunting humans, but every other lust remained in exquisite working order.

  “Come along, lover. You shall have your bath.”

  Turning on his heel, Dante moved to a door neatly hidden by the paneling. A press on the hidden lever and the door swung open to reveal a narrow hall. With a glance over his shoulder to ensure that Abby was following, he led her past the various bedrooms to the master bathroom.

  With a flick of the switch, muted light filled the room. From behind him he heard a faint gasp, and then Abby was stepping into the center of the room with a dazed expression.

  For a moment Dante regarded her in puzzlement, but as she reached out to run a hand over the marble tub that was the size of a small swimming pool, a smile touched his lips. Of course. For one unaccustomed to Viper’s extravagant taste, the perfect replication of a Grecian bath would be somewhat surprising. And perhaps just a tad overwhelming.

  “Viper is never subtle,” he murmured, sweeping past her to turn on the faucets that were shaped as goddesses.

  “It’s beautiful.”

  “Yes.”

  Pausing to pour a measure of scented bubble bath into the cascading water, Dante turned back toward Abby and then firmly reached out to begin unbuttoning her grimy shirt.

  Her eyes widened as he nimbly dealt with the fastenings and stripped the offending garment from her slender form. Without hesitation, he performed a similar duty to her khaki pants and slid them down the length of her legs.

  “Dante,” she at last managed to croak, “what are you doing?”

  Flowing to his knees, he removed her shoes and pulled away the slacks to toss them into a pile in the corner.

  “Preparing you for your bath, my lady,” he murmured, rising to tackle the lacy bra.

  Instinctively her hands rose in protest. “You can’t . . .”

  His gaze collided with her own as he swept aside her hands and undid the clasp to her bra with one motion.

  “Trust me, my love.”

  She swallowed heavily, but clearly too weary, or perhaps as caught in the spell-tingling moment as he was, she didn’t protest. Still holding her gaze, he caught her silk panties in his fingers and slowly slid them down before at last lifting her in his arms and carrying her to the waiting bath.

  With a careful tenderness, he lowered her into the water and reached for a washcloth that was folded in a pretty seashell.

  He was forced to kneel upon the marble floor as he began the slow task of scrubbing her skin clean. Not that he noticed the hardness beneath his knees or the warm steam that was making his silk shirt cling to his body. His every thought was consumed with the sensual delight of touching this woman.

  “So soft,” he husked, rubbing the cloth down the length of her arm. “Like warm ivory.”

  Leaning back her head, Abby allowed her eyes to drift closed. “That feels wonderful.”

  Wonderful. Yes. And wicked. And sinfully tempting.

  A slow, simmering hunger woke within Dante as he continued his self-imposed torment. Lying in the tub built for the worship of goddesses, she might have floated down from Mt. Olympus itself with her long, slender limbs and honey curls floating about her fragile face.

  Careful to do nothing that might startle her out of her oblivion, he washed her creamy skin and then the honey curls. The warmth of her filled his cold body. Filled him and made his blood run hot as he rinsed the last of the shampoo from her hair.

  Barely aware of what he did, Dante softly cradled her face and traced her cheeks with his thumbs. Such delicate beauty, he admired in silent satisfaction. Not the absurd physical beauty that humans held in such high regard and could change at the drop of a hat. Hell, anyone could buy that sort of beauty from a plastic surgeon. But Abby possessed a spiritual beauty that called to him with irresistible force.

  Slowly, ever so slowly, he lowered his head and stroked his lips over her mouth. For a moment she seemed to stiffen, but even as he prepared to pull back, her lips astonishingly parted in silent invitation.

  The capitulation was as soft as a whisper, and yet Dante felt a bolt of pleasure shimmer through his body.

  Bloody hell. He had dreamed and ached for this woman for weeks. Months. Now he trembled with the sheer force of keeping himself from devouring her.

  His fingers tightened upon her face. He could taste soap upon her lips and smell the heat of her blood. Sweet, forbidden magic raced through him as his kisses deepened with demand.

  Beneath him Abby offered a sigh of appreciation as she lifted her damp arms to wrap them about his neck. Dante moaned his approval. He savored the fierce sensations clenching his body. His passions had always run high. He had enjoyed countless women over the centuries. But never had he been stirred with such a relentless force.

  It was as if she had awakened a slumbering hunger that would not be satisfied with anything less than absolute possession.

  Parting her lips with his tongue, he explored the moist cavern of her mouth. He needed more. Her body pressed beneath him. Her legs wrapped about his waist. Her hips lifting to sheath him deep into her body.

  Her fingers clenched in his hair even as his mouth shifted, tracing a path of searing fire over her cheek and down the curve of her neck.

  He felt as if he were drowning as he nuzzled the frantic pulse at the base of her throat and moved his hands down to brush over her slender curves. Abby shuddered in response before her fingers were suddenly cupping his face and her body arching upward.

  “Dante?” she demanded in soft confusion.

  Lost in his heated passions, Dante wanted to ignore her whisper. It would be so easy. Beneath his hands he could feel her shiver with a longing that matched his own. Why shouldn’t he provide the sweet release that lurked so tantalizingly close?

  It was the unwanted memory of his own words that made his head slowly lift.

  Trust me, he had commanded as he had prepared her for her bath.

  Damn. He had urged her to put aside her natural caution and place herself in his hands. Perhaps the most difficult thing for a woman such as Abby to do. Whatever his desire for her, he could not risk any belated sense of betrayal. Both their lives depended upon her faith in him.

  Grimly lifting himself upright, Dante gathered Abby carefully in his arms and wrapped her in a warm towel. “Come, it’s time you were safely tucked into bed.”

  For a moment she stiffened, as if embarrassed by her blatant reaction to his touch. Then with a rueful sigh she allowed her head to drop onto his shoulder.

  “I’m so tired,” she muttered.

  “I know, my sweet. We will rest here today.”

  He dropped an absent kiss on the top of her head as he moved through the door that connected directly with the master bedroom. Despite the fact that morning had long ago arrived, not even a stray hint of light marred the perfect darkness. Still he had no difficulty in finding his way across the lush carpeting to the bed. Sweeping aside the blankets, he laid Abby onto the satin sheets and pulled the duvet over her.

  About to pull away, he was caught off guard when she abruptly reached out to grasp his hand.

  “Dante?”

  “Yes?”

  “We will be safe here?”

  “Nothing will harm you here.”

  “And”—there was a pause as if she battled something within herself—“you will be near?”

  A small smile touched his lips. He knew this woman would rather have a root canal, a bad perm, and cellulite rather than confess her vulnerability.

  “I’ll be right at your side, lover,” he promised as he gracefully moved to lie on the bed and take her into his arms. Covering them both with the duvet, he allowed her warmth to cloak about him. “For all eternity.”

  The once-proud Victorian church with its stained-glass windows and walnut pews had long since fallen into ruin. With the closing of the paper mill, the small town that had been called to worship had abandoned hope and faith and at last migrated to richer pastures. E
ven the attached graveyard was now only a shell of tumbled crypts and tenacious weeds.

  Beneath the remains of stone and forgotten corpses, however, the vast catacombs were kept with meticulous care.

  Not a rat would dare enter the maze of tunnels or stone chambers that had been polished as smooth as marble over the ages. No spiderweb would disturb the stark simplicity.

  Hardly what one might expect from a demon’s dark temple. But then Rafael, the master of the cult, was not a usual demon.

  In truth, he wasn’t a demon at all.

  A tall sparse man with gaunt features, he had once been as drearily mortal as any other. But he had given his humanity and soul to the Dark Prince centuries before.

  In reward for his cold cruelty, and perchance for evil, he had quickly risen through the ranks into a position of power. A power that had become all but impotent since the arrival of the witches and their damnable Phoenix.

  Pacing through his shadowed chamber, Rafael absently stroked his thin fingers over the heavy silver pendant that hung about his neck.

  So much depended upon him.

  Upon his actions tonight.

  He could not fail.

  Hearing the sound of the approaching footsteps that he had been awaiting, Rafael smoothed his features to a cold mask of invincibility. Now, more than ever, he needed to use the lethal reputation he had earned over the long years.

  There was a tentative knock. Calling the visitor to enter, Rafael carefully surveyed the young apprentice.

  He was standing as still and forbidding as granite as he watched the apprentice close the door and move toward the center of the room. The younger man did not yet have the shaved head of a convert. Such an honor would not be allowed unless he survived the trials. Many came to worship the Prince, but few survived.

  His shrewd gaze easily pierced the modest demeanor of the younger man, discerning the sharpness to the countenance and the cunning in the pale eyes.

  Oh yes, he would do quite well, he decided with an inward smile.

  Clearly unnerved by the relentless gaze, the apprentice nervously shifted. “You summoned me, Master Rafael?”