Rose's Rapture: Lords of the Night, Book Two

by Jordan Summers

  He knew he’d do as his friend bid. He owed him that much, but naught more. He’d learned his lesson long ago not to trifle with humans beyond gaining sustenance and relief for his other insatiable appetites.

  The one time he’d ignored that rule cost him everything. It had been six hundred years since he’d laid his dear Agnes in her grave. Six hundred years since he’d accidentally killed her—his one and only true love—by draining her during a feeding frenzy brought on by his emotional connection to her.

  His love cost Agnes her life.

  Never again.

  Hamish no longer allowed his cock or his fangs to control his behavior, which meant never feeding from the women he knew. No matter how tempting they may be. Although not to his liking, Hamish hired common whores to assuage both needs. Their blood was hot and they kept their mouths shut. He refused to address or acknowledge his growing dissatisfaction of the arrangement. This encounter with Richard’s friend would be cordial, but indifferent. He’d see to it.

  * * * * *

  CHAPTER TWO

  Rose had been in her home for a month and the invitations for visits kept pouring in. She had no idea there would be so many gatherings in the country. The latest came in the form of a ball to be held at nearby McKeon Manor.

  She had prepared a missive to decline the invitation when the Mistress of McKeon Manor, Abigail McKeon herself arrived on her doorstep for an impromptu visit.

  “Lady Abigail McKeon is here to see you, madam,” Geoffrey said. “Are you available?”

  “Yes, please show here in.” Rose put aside the invitations and stood to greet her unexpected guest.

  Lady Abigail McKeon swept into the library like a golden-haired Athena. Not a curl was out of place and her light gray muslin dress fit her resplendently. “It’s so wonderful to finally meet you,” she said, clasping Rose’s hand and touching cheeks. Her smile lit up the room.

  “And you.” Rose smiled tentatively. “Please sit,” she gestured toward the chairs under the window. “Geoffrey, please ring for tea.”

  He gave a slight nod, then the door shut leaving the women alone.

  “I do hope you forgive my boldness,” Abigail said, “but I just had to meet the mysterious lady who had moved into Hyde Hall. You are quite the sensation. I daresay half the countryside has been trying to catch a glimpse of you. I had no idea Lord Lyon had parted with the property until a few weeks ago.”

  “Do you know Lord Lyon well?” Rose toyed with a loose thread on the arm of her chair to hide her nervousness.

  Abigail shook her head, sending a wayward curl bouncing against her heart-shaped face. “I never had the pleasure of meeting him, but my husband—God rest him—said he was a fine man.”

  “He is indeed,” Rose said. “So you are a widower?”

  Abigail’s blue eyes dimmed to match the gray of her dress. “Yes, it’s been five years now.”

  “Any children?” Rose asked, hoping she hadn’t been all alone. She knew firsthand how lonely life could be without family in it.

  Abigail swallowed hard. “We were not blessed with any.”

  “I’m sorry.” Rose touched her hand.

  Abigail waved the concern away. “What’s for you won’t go by you. What about you, are you married?”

  Rose froze as she considered how to answer that question without lying. It was one of the many reasons she’d kept to herself. She didn’t like lying, especially to people she hoped to call friend. She drew breath. “I lost my fiancé long ago.” It was the truth. He wasn’t dead to her knowledge, but he had left her when she needed him most.

  “Well then, we’ll just have to keep each other company,” Abigail said, fluffing her skirt.

  As the afternoon wore on, Rose realized that she’d found a kindred spirit in Abigail. Like Rose, she was now a woman of independent means and intended to stay that way. By the time tea had been served, they’d become fast friends.

  Rose knew facing her neighbors would occur sooner or later. She simply preferred later. Yet, she couldn’t decline Abigail’s request that she attend her ball. Not after meeting her. Rose reluctantly agreed to be at the ball in a fortnight. She prayed she hadn’t made a mistake.

  Abigail McKeon left Hyde Hall after securing Lady Rose Carlson’s acceptance. It was a social coup and would have the tongues wagging all over the countryside for months to come. The fact that she’d gained a friend only added to her happiness. As her carriage passed the pillars with the horrifying fanged stone creatures perched upon them, the hair on her nape rose. Heat suddenly infused her body, the likes of which she hadn’t experienced since her dear husband was alive, setting her aflame.

  Her head whipped around in time to see glowing eyes fading in the distance. Abigail brought a hand to her heart and blinked. The stone statue appeared normal. Well as normal as a fanged monster with an insidiously long tongue could look. The creature’s eyes peered back from a set of empty sockets, not the glowing red fire balls she’d witnessed a moment ago.

  Fire balls? What was she thinking?

  Abigail shook her head at her folly, then turned back to stare at the road. Statues didn’t stare with red eyes and they most certainly didn’t come to life. Even as the thoughts crossed her mind, Abigail couldn’t ignore the sensation crawling over her skin.

  * * * * *

  Lazarus watched the golden haired woman pass by his perch, her beauty nearly causing him to lose form. Lose form? Shock infused him. How long had it been since a woman of her elegance entranced him? Five centuries? Ten perhaps? He couldn’t recall and didn’t care. All that matter was that he’d finally found her. After all these years of being trapped within the stone, he’d found the woman who could free him.

  Her blue eyes widened when she gaze fell upon him. Awareness flared. He saw the flutter of her pulse and the deepening of her breath. The sight brought her ample bosom into sharp relief against her muslin dress. Her nipples all but begged for his touch. She pursed her full lips and swallowed hard, her delicate throat lightly convulsing.

  She’d seen him. She had truly seen him. A mere moment perhaps, but it had been enough. Like a gasp of air on a warm spring morn, she’d brought life back to his frozen limbs. Or at least she would once night fell.

  One chance encounter had released the first tumble of the invisible lock that held him. He could almost feel his body extending, his wings flapping, his muscles rippling to life. He wanted to stretch, to walk, to fly. But first, he needed to capture the woman. Once he seduced her and she accepted him for what he was, the rest of his bindings would fall away forever. The curse would be broken. He’d no longer be trapped in stone or subjected to roaming only during the night. Evening couldn’t come fast enough.

  Soon he’d find…he’d find…

  Lazarus had gotten so excited that he had forgotten one small detail. What an interesting dilemma. Who was this mysterious woman? And who now occupied Hyde Manor?

  The only being he’d ever seen over the centuries had been the vampyre and he was in no hurry to release him. Or so it had seemed since he never heeded Lazarus’s call. When was the last time he’d seen him? Could’ve been five years, could’ve been a century. Time blurred into an eternal glom.

  Mentally shaking himself, Lazarus smiled inwardly. It was a good thing he was no longer around. He didn’t need a baobhan sith interfering with his seduction, when glorious freedom lie a fuck away. He closed his eyes, reveling at the thought.

  Lazarus reached out with his senses, following the black carriage until it rounded the bend. She couldn’t be traveling far, she was neither packed nor dressed for a long journey. Which meant she lived somewhere close.

  If he wasn’t already made of stone, he would’ve hardened at the thought. His tongue lulled from his mouth in a permanent lick, exposing his fangs for the world to see. Yet, she hadn’t turned away in horror. No, she’d looked upon him in fascination. He’d use her curiosity to draw her nearer, reinforce it with the aphrodisiac in his kiss, and then he’d p
ounce.

  He would take the nights and use them to their full advantage, until he could secure the rest. He didn’t want to think about how long it had been since he’d felt the warmth of a woman or heard her gentle moans as he rode her to completion. For a creature that fed on passion, it was an eternity.

  Soon, my lady. Soon.

  * * * * *

  It took Rose over two hours to pick out a suitable ball gown. No matter how many she tried on they all fit the same way, draping her legs, accentuating their length, while hugging her generous curves. Curse Richard and his expert eye. Wasn’t there something in her wardrobe that could blend with the wall?

  One more fruitless search and Rose had her answer. Perhaps she’d been too hasty when she’d burned her clothes. She sighed, catching her reflection in the mirror. There was nothing immodest about any of the gowns, yet she felt exposed. Rose debated whether to feign a headache, but knew she wouldn’t. After all, she was no coward and she’d promised Abigail.

  She entered McKeon Manor an hour later, her fingers trembling as she handed the servant her invitation. Packed with a colorful crowd, the room swelled with the sound of merriment. Musicians played in the corner of the great hall. It appeared as if the entire countryside had turned out in their finery. She was formally announced, which immediately caused a rush of whispers. Rose’s face flamed, but she held her ground.

  Abigail rushed forward. She greeted her friend. Fear must have shadowed Rose’s features because Abigail gave her a reassuring squeeze before releasing her. Rose forced a smile, giving a quick nod of thanks. She took a deep breath then entered the fray.

  Magnificent tapestries hung from the walls, depicting Scottish history. Rose marveled at the sheer opulence of the fabric. Curious glances darted her way. Rose did her best to ignore them. She realized as she continued deeper into the masses that they meant no malicious intent. It wasn’t their fault that she was on edge, terrified someone from her old life might recognize her.

  Rose’s senses whirled as she inhaled, catching a cacophony of perfume and the scent of roasting meat. She brought a gloved hand to her cheeks, feeling their warmth beneath her covered fingertips. She couldn’t breathe.

  The press of the crowd only made the sensation worse. She rose to her toes in search of a nearby door, any place to escape. Rose needed to get out of the ballroom, if only for a moment. Faces blurred in front of her as panic set in. Her chest squeezed, threatening to crush her heart.

  Spotting open French doors on the far side of the room, Rose feigned casualness she did not feel and made her way toward them, slipping out onto a small terrace. She took a shuddering breath, inhaling the sweet grass filled air into her lungs. She strode along the balustrade, running her fingers over the flat stone slabs.

  Something about this mysterious wild land soothed her, a healing balm to her shattered soul. Never in her life had she imagined that she’d end up in Scotland. Truth be told, Rose thought she’d die in the brothel from consumption. Sure, she’d dreamed of leaving, but hadn’t actually thought Richard, Lord Lyon would settle down. Rose had promised him that she’d stay in the brothel until he found his blood-mate, so she could supply him with blood and she’d kept her word. Unlike the men from her past, Rose never went back on a vow.

  She strolled deeper into the darkness, allowing it to envelop her, calm her, hide her from prying eyes. Coming here was a bad idea. She wasn’t ready. She didn’t know if she’d ever be prepared to face good society again.

  Rose had almost calmed her racing heart when she caught movement out of the corner of her eye. She swung around, her reticule raised above her head ready to strike. A man stepped out of the shadows, so dark in coloring that it was as if he’d brought them with him into the light. Rose gasped, staggering back as she craned her neck to get a better look at his face.

  “You startled me.” Her hand went protectively to her throat. “I thought I was alone.”

  The man’s eyes glowed red until the candlelight reached his face, dispersing the glom. He reminded her of a hungry fox thrown amongst a pen of chicks. She took a deep breath, trying to rein in her suddenly scattered wits. She had far too much experience to be so easily swept away.

  She took in his features. Handsome didn’t even begin to describe his rugged beauty. Something about him reminded her of the untamed land. Rose’s pulse fluttered in her throat and her mouth went dry as he neared. His eyes, the color of the windswept moors, assessed her with a mixture of curiosity and…was that apprehension?

  Rose almost laughed at the thought. Given his massive size, she saw no need for caution on his part. If anything, she should be concerned. With no effort at all he could easily overpower her. Laughter filtered out of the ballroom carried on the wind, reminding her that they weren’t in the brothel. They were on a terrace near a ballroom full of people. She had nothing to fear. He slowed, stopping within arms-length.

  “I see you had the same idea as I.” His Scottish burr trickled over her skin like warm honey, leaving her pleasantly warm.

  Rose suppressed a quiver. “I-It was rather stuffy inside. The crowd,” she added absently with a swish of her hand. The temperature outside had suddenly risen, too. “I didn’t realize anyone was out here. I hope I haven’t disturbed you.”

  “Not at all.” He shook his head. “I haven’t seen you before. What’s your name, lass?” His gaze sought her red hair, before slowly lowering inch by excruciating inch down the length of her body.

  The act was as intimate as a lover’s caress and just as devastating to Rose’s heightened senses. She swallowed hard. “I’m new to the area. My name is Rose Carlson. Lady Rose Carlson,” she added, realizing she’d made another social blunder. How many could she make before tongues began to wag?

  “My Lady.” He bowed over her gloved hand, placing a chaste kiss upon her knuckles. “I’m Hamish MacDougall. Laird Hamish MacDougall,” he said, mirroring her words, an amused smile teasing his lips.

  Rose felt the contact all the way to her toes, hot, searing, strangely intoxicating—and completely out of character for her.

  “Will you stroll with me?” His voice dropped in cadence and he didn’t wait for a response. Hamish tugged her hand gently until it rested upon his sleeve, while he led her deeper into the shadows.

  Without thought, Rose found herself following, her mind curiously blank. Something told her she shouldn’t go with him, that something wasn’t right, but the words refused to leave her lips. Everything around her faded, including the sounds from the ball. She couldn’t seem to focus. Rose felt blissfully light and airy as if she floated between wake and sleep.

  “Has anyone ever told you, you smell like the flower that holds your name?” Hamish asked, sliding closer.

  “No.” It took some effort to shake her head.

  He bent near her ear until his hot breath brushed the curls at the side of her head. His lips trailed lower following her hairline until he reached the side of her neck. He inhaled and Rose felt, rather than saw, him shudder. “Where do you live, lass?” he asked.

  She quivered in anticipation. Of what, she did not know. Rose tried to concentrate on his question. “I reside at Hyde Hall,” she murmured breathlessly.

  Hamish jerked back as if he’d been slapped. His pointed gaze shot to her face, narrowing slightly. His posture grew rigid and he took a step away.

  Rose blinked in confusion, her mind slowly clearing. She looked around. How had they gotten to this end of the terrace? What had they been discussing? She couldn’t recall much. “Did I say something wrong?” she asked, trying to figure out what had happened.

  His lip curled into what Rose thought was meant to be a smile, but looked more like a ghostly grimace. “No, of course not.” He gave her a curt nod, his social mask clearly back in place. “I was surprised by your answer. I didn’t know Hyde Hall was occupied. It’s been vacant for quite some time.”

  “I moved in not long ago,” she said.

  “I see,” Hamish said. His dem
eanor had gone from seductive to Artic from one breath to the next.

  Rose frowned.

  “May I escort you back inside?” he asked. “The dancing should be set to begin.”

  “You dance?” She didn’t mean to sound so surprised, but Rose had difficulty imagining Hamish MacDougall waltzing around the room.

  He glowered. “No, I do not.”

  Rose forced a polite smile and inclined her head. “Very well.” She wasn’t sure what had happened. Everything seemed a bit hazy. One minute they’d been conversing congenially, she thought, the next he was practically rushing her back inside. Her mind remained curiously blank. She wished she had a better grasp of social graces. Maybe then she’d be able to ask. She’d obviously done something wrong, something that offended the Scottish laird enough to try to rid himself of her company. Rose knew she shouldn’t care, but for some reason Hamish’s rejection stung.

  * * * * *

  Hamish had smelled her before she’d come into view, a subtle scent of warm woman, with a hint of flowers, and delicious blood. For a moment, he couldn’t place the rare delicacy that had wandered near. Then he’d spotted her.

  Copper-colored hair framed her delicate face, while her emerald gown and matching jewels draped her lush curves like a second skin. His cock had thickened as blood rushed south. He licked his suddenly dry lips, realizing that he’d actually punctured the inside of his mouth with his fangs. He’d swallowed the blood with a growl. He hadn’t wanted his own essence, not when she was so near at hand.

  A simple taste of her would’ve filled his senses and prevented the maddening smell of the crowd from crushing his defenses and triggering bloodlust. All he’d had to do was wait.

  But instead, he’d found himself leaving the shadows and stepping forward to introduce himself?

  The second his hand clasped hers, he knew she would be the perfect nectar to squelch his insatiable need. Or she would’ve been, had he not realized who she was after a moment of conversation. Like a ray of light dispersing the early morning fog, his plans for sustenance disappeared.