The Jewel

by Avelyn McCrae

  Because Andrei wanted to control the Spirit of Death.

  If Andrei knew anything at all about Constantin or the men he called his own, he would know the impossibility of such a thing. They were all loyal to their sire, but more than that, they believed in the same things. Honor. Integrity. Justice. All things Andrei mocked in every plot he hatched, every underhanded move he made.

  They moved silently through the ballroom, a smooth, gliding phalanx of black. Black tailored suits. Black silk shirts. Black Italian leather shoes. And formal black travelling cloaks. Simple, elegant.

  Led by Constantin, their small entourage included Gabriel, Benjamin, and himself. Stefan, Julian, and Alexander weren’t far away, positioned nearby in case they were needed.

  They stopped before the ornate dais where Andrei sat upon an actual throne, with scantily clad sycophants, both male and female, sprawled seductively around the base. More trinkets, Viktor thought with a hint of disgust, as useless as everything else in the place. He tried imagining Constantin in a similar pose and failed.

  “Constantin,” Andrei said, standing at their approach. “You honor me with your presence.”

  A shimmer of white and gold flashed beyond the vampire lord. It was only then that Viktor noticed the woman behind the throne. He could see her, yet he couldn’t.

  An unnerving feeling of déjà vu pricked at his senses. He could sense her more than he could see her; a shadow amongst shadows until she stepped out and revealed herself.

  Beautiful didn’t begin to describe her. Long, silken tresses, dressed in intricate braids and adorned with priceless jewels. Clear, golden eyes, a perfect marriage of gold and diamonds. Creamy, pristine skin that looked softer than the elven silks draping her luscious curves and begging to be stroked.

  In addition to an odd, surprising sense of familiarity, an unusual bolt of lust fired down his spine. Clearly, this was the consort they had heard so much about.

  Slightly unnerved, Viktor buried his response beneath impenetrable layers of discipline.

  Constantin inclined his head slightly in acknowledgement and addressed Andrei with an old-world, formal greeting.

  “Still so proper, even after all these years,” Andrei said with an amused tilt to his lips. “Have you not yet learned to loosen up, old friend? It’s not the Middle Ages anymore.”

  Constantin gave a patient smile. “I am a creature set in his ways, it seems.”

  “Just so.” Andrei looked the other men up and down, his gaze assessing, but not nearly as assessing as the gorgeous creature beside him. There was no doubt in Viktor’s mind who the real threat was.

  “And who accompanies you into my humble abode this evening?”

  None of them answered. In the presence of their sire, formal custom dictated Constantin answer for them, unless he commanded them otherwise.

  When none of them answered, Andrei chuckled. “So obeisant.”

  “Respectful,” Constantin corrected calmly. “My advisors, Gabriel, Viktor, and Benjamin.” Each man inclined his head slightly in acknowledgement as their name was mentioned.

  “Welcome, gentlemen. Allow me to introduce you to my consort, Gemmalyn.”

  They politely inclined their heads once again.

  Viktor forced his eyes back to Andrei. Out of his peripheral vision, he saw the ghost of a scowl befall the beauty’s mouth. Clearly, she was not used to being dismissed so easily. He could understand why. Even with advanced warning, his formidable self-discipline was being sorely tested.

  Viktor felt the subtle tingle of magic ghosting along his skin, but he gave no indication of it. The energy was curious, not malicious. Probing, but not overly invasive. Examining each of them, an attempt to discern if Thanatos was indeed among them. It mattered not. Neither Andrei nor his consort would find the answers they were looking for, not from him, and not from his brethren.

  “Every bit as somber as you, I see,” Andrei addressed Constantin again with amusement. “Yes, well, do try to enjoy yourselves this evening. I assure you, your every desire has been anticipated.”

  Andrei’s voice held a subtle warning, supporting the fact the man was far more clever than he pretended. How many had entered these halls with Andrei’s downfall on their minds, leaving instead with an unexpected alliance?

  Though he had already catalogued every detail of the ornate stage and the players upon it, Viktor glanced around dutifully. Their small team, with their simple, conservative black ensembles, stood in high contrast to the garish celebration taking place around them. It was hedonism taken to a new level. Young beauties, both male and female, eagerly jostled to appease lusty immortals, in and out of the pillow-filled alcoves. Guests, wearing finery, were draped in jewels in a classic game of one-upmanship. Tables groaned under the weight of roasted meats and decadent delicacies, and no less than a dozen fountains flowed with everything from mead to nectar. There was even one specifically for vampires, though most of his kind preferred the pulsing rush of feeding directly from the vein.

  Constantin bowed slightly, and the rest of them followed suit. They drifted apart into pairs, as was the plan. Gabriel remained with their sire, while Viktor and Benjamin patrolled the perimeter. It was expected; for all of the feigned frivolity, trust was for fools.

  Satisfied that there was no immediate threat, Benjamin allowed himself to be drawn into one of the alcoves. That, too, was part of the plan. Constantin had disappeared an hour or so earlier, but Viktor wasn’t worried. His sire was more than capable of taking care of himself.

  He declined yet another offer of blood and sex, preferring to observe rather than partake.

  “Surely, Constantin would not begrudge his best warrior a moment or two of indulgence.” Andrei’s voice came from his left.

  Viktor allowed his lips to curl slightly. “Clearly not, as Gabriel is enjoying your very generous hospitality.” He glanced toward the corner, where his vampire brother was both fangs- and cock-deep in a buxom wench.

  “Come now, Viktor,” Andrei said quietly. “I have not gotten to where I am by being unable to recognize where the true threat lies.”

  Viktor kept his face impassive, neither acknowledging nor denying the claim.

  Andrei chuckled. “I have always coveted Constantin’s ability to mold such modest, loyal soldiers. Tell me, Viktor, where did he find you?”

  “In an alley behind a whorehouse,” Viktor answered honestly.

  Andrei laughed and clapped his hands together. “How delightful! Leave it to Constantin to find such a diamond among the dregs.”

  “You flatter me,” Viktor said with a slight bow, his eyes never leaving Andrei’s. “Particularly when your reputation for finding and recognizing rare jewels is legendary.”

  If he hadn’t been watching so closely, he would have missed the momentary flash in Andrei’s eyes before he once again smoothed his features into a mask of hospitality. “You are too kind, Viktor. Perhaps, if nothing here appeals to you, you would like to partake of my ... private collection?”

  Viktor knew what he was being offered, but it made no difference. If he desired a willing woman, he would have one. He didn’t. “No, thank you. But I hear your miscellany of medieval weaponry is unmatched.”

  Andrei raised an eyebrow, his pale eyes dancing with mirth. “Really? That is what you desire?”

  Viktor smiled, revealing a pearly white fang. “No disrespect intended, but a bec de corbin in mint condition is far rarer than a lusty wench.”

  “So very true, and spoken like a true weapons master. That is your official title, is it not? But there is no reason you cannot have both. Gemma!”

  “You offer your consort?” Viktor mused thoughtfully as the beautiful woman from earlier made her way across the room, drawing more than one set of eyes with the hypnotic sway of her rounded hips.

  Blood heated in his veins, and his cock roused in interest instantly. While he was not entirely immune to female charms, none had ever stirred his loins quite so effectively.

&n
bsp; ’Tis not natural. ’Tis magic. The mental reminder cooled his desire enough to regain control.

  Andrei smirked. “I offer you nothing but a tour guide. What she offers you is completely up to her.” To his consort, he said, “Gemmalyn, my dear, Viktor has requested a private tour of our medieval weapons collection. Do you mind?”

  “It will be my pleasure.” Her sultry voice resonated through him like a siren’s call as she offered her hand.

  Viktor did not take it, bowing instead with a sweep of his arm. “After you.”

  She blinked, but recovered quickly. “Ah, a gentleman among rogues. How very unexpected. And rare.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Some might have thought it was foolish, allowing herself to be alone with a man like Viktor, in a room of deadly implements, but Gemma wasn’t worried. She had acquired plenty of strength, skill, knowledge, and abilities over the years, siphoning from lust-drunk fools who had mistakenly thought they could charm and woo her into their beds.

  But this man, this vampire who seemed completely unaffected by her feminine charms, inexplicably tempted her. He was tall and well-built, the elegance of his black ensemble unable to hide the breadth of his shoulders or the lean, toned strength of his legs. His movements were a study in masculine grace; his silent glide a pleasure to watch.

  His facial features held the perfection common among vampires—perfect, smooth skin softened the hard, sculpted angles. Hair of dark auburn practically begged her fingers to loosen the leather tie holding it in check and run her fingers through it. Yet it was his eyes that most affected her. Eyes of palest amber, leading her to believe they had been a glorious topaz in his mortal life.

  The man was clearly a warrior. Danger, smooth and dark, simmered beneath the veneer of manners and civility. It called to her own power, a primal song deep and resounding in her core. And yet, it felt like something more. Something ... familiar.

  “Viktor, is it not?” she asked as she led him out of the grand ballroom and down a torch-lit corridor.

  “Yes,” he answered. One word, and the rich timbre of his voice made her nipples harden and heat pool between her legs.

  She extended her senses discreetly, but found nothing that hinted at anything more than vampire.

  They turned right, then left, then left again. He remained to her left and just slightly behind, silent, even as her ridiculous stilettos clicked out a steady rhythm.

  She refrained from looking back over her shoulder, feeling his presence. It wrapped around her like a seductive cloak, teasing her, building her arousal. The feelings were foreign, but not unwelcome. She was not a virgin, so she knew she must have been intimate in her human life, but those memories were far beyond her reach. No, the only time she could recall feeling like this was when her unknown lover visited her in dreams.

  She inhaled sharply, the familiarity now making sense. This man, this assassin—for she knew in her bones she was walking beside Thanatos—was a vampiric doppelgänger for her dream lover.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  “Yes, of course.” She tamped down the shocking realization even as familiar images of him moving between her thighs paraded before her mind’s eye. Had those dreams been premonitions? Or memories?

  They reached the armory. Gemma murmured a few words under her breath as she grasped the handle gracing the ten-foot, solid, red oak door and pressed down. It swung open noiselessly on well-oiled hinges, revealing a collection any museum would be envious of.

  Beneath vaulted ceilings, the sharpened metal of dozens of ancient blades gleamed. Oil-rubbed maces loomed menacingly. The tools of both mortals and immortals spanned millennia, many acquired by her hand, surrounded them in a breathtaking display. And yet, when she turned around, the warrior’s eyes were not on any of them. They were on her.

  “Your sire must have much faith in you,” he murmured.

  Gemma wrenched her features into a mask of mild interest. “Why do you say that?”

  “Because he has placed you, unescorted, into the hands of an unknown and in such a dangerous venue.”

  She smiled at him. “You are no threat to me.”

  Without warning, he grabbed her wrist and pulled her close. “Are you so certain of that?” he whispered.

  The feel of his hard body against hers sent waves of desire crashing through her. His scent, an intoxicating mix of cold male and warm sunshine, brought her dream visions to the forefront of her conscious mind. Visions of making love beneath a canopy of trees, of this man’s weight upon her as he entered her body over and over, his thick cock pounding deep while she wrapped her legs around his hips and drew him deeper.

  Her body pressed harder, wanting more of that delicious friction, while some tiny voice in the back of her head urged caution. He was dangerous, it warned. A skilled, lethal assassin.

  She didn’t care. He made her feel again, and the only stabbing she felt came from the long, erect cock pressing against her.

  Deep in her chest, her dormant heart thudded to life, flooding her body with the heat of passion, slicking the folds between her legs while her core clenched with sudden, intense need.

  “Yes, I am certain.” He might be dangerous, but at that moment, she was far more so.

  She curled one hand around his neck, scraping her sharp nails along his vein. The other she slid between his legs in a bold caress.

  Viktor hardened further in her hand, flames dancing as the amber in his eyes deepened with his passion.

  “Not so unaffected, then,” she purred.

  “Do not act so surprised,” he said, tightening his embrace. “ ’Tis said no man can resist the jewel.”

  In the blink of an eye, she was several feet away from him, her chest heaving. “What did you say?”

  He licked his lips, his eyes focused intently on hers. The eyes of a lethal predator.

  If she tried to run, he would be on her in a heartbeat. More terrifying, she would allow it, craving the feel of his body once again.

  “Gemma. Jewel, in Italian. That is your name, is it not?”

  Caution gave way to relief, followed closely by a flare of hunger.

  In the next moment, his fine tailored trousers were around his ankles and Gemma wrapped her mouth around his manhood. Her lips curled in female triumph as his cool exterior splintered. Big, strong fingers tangled in her hair with a grip that would have crushed a mortal’s skull, and a guttural moan found its way to her ears.

  She allowed her tongue to go slightly raspy, like a wolf’s, and treated him to long licks before clutching his firm ass with her sharp claws and sucking him deep. The taste of him, salty and sweet and all male, danced on her tongue, so decadent after centuries of only blood.

  Her power surged, feeding on his passion, wrapping them both in a cocoon of frenetic, pulsing energy.

  “Enough!” he bit out, lifting her easily.

  Gemma howled in vehement protest until she saw the same intense longing in his eyes.

  He silenced her protest by crushing his mouth to hers. He snaked his tongue in and took control, scraping roughly on one of her elongated fangs. The taste of his blood, mixed with that of his cock, rocketed her arousal to new heights.

  With one arm, he held her firmly, while he made quick work of her priceless gown with the other. Soon, he cupped her breast with his large, rough palm and the hairs of his muscular thigh pressed between her legs. It felt glorious! More than glorious. It felt perfect, it felt right, and exactly what her dream lover would have done.

  Viktor dipped his head and licked at her nipple, which grew diamond-hard in a heartbeat. He turned to the other and repeated the process, murmuring a few words of appreciation in an ancient language.

  “You are so beautiful,” he murmured, his eyes glittering. “I desire your exotic honey upon my tongue.”

  Before she could blink, he had turned them both around and hefted her up against the wall. Gemma squealed in delight, draping her legs over his broad shoulders.

&n
bsp; With his hands cupping her arse, he buried his face in her silken folds. Gemma’s head swam as her body bowed, taking pleasure in the scrape of his fangs, the talent of that exceptional tongue. Quick, staccato licks against her bud. Long, languorous licks culminating in stabbing penetrations. He seemed to know exactly what she needed and how to give it to her.

  She scraped her perfect nails against the base of his scalp in encouragement. When the peak of her climax began to subside, he sank his fangs deep into the inside of her thigh and drank deeply, sending her soaring even higher until white-hot waves of ecstasy overwhelmed her.

  When he had milked every last drop from her orgasm, he licked the punctures on her tender flesh closed then lifted his gaze.

  Once again, she was stricken by how beautiful he was. Smug male triumph made him even more beautiful, but there was no mistaking the simmering, hungry lust in his eyes.

  She knew what he wanted. What he needed.

  “Yes,” she whispered, answering his unspoken question.

  He lowered her in a smooth glide, impaling her with a single, powerful rock of his hips. Her tight sheath, already slick from his preparations, welcomed the intrusion. Thick and hard, he filled her until it was impossible to tell where she left off and he began.

  He paused and looked into her eyes. Really looked. And that was when she saw everything she was feeling mirrored in his eyes. The wonder. The confusion. The absolute bliss.

  Who was this man, this lethal stranger to whom she so willingly gave that which she had withheld for five hundred years?

  She didn’t have time to dwell on that question, because he once again took control of her mouth about the same time he began to move. Long, thorough strokes made her moan. The desire she had believed sated was once again stoked, creating a slow burn deep in her core.