by Multiple
“Paid,” Fanton gurgled with spittle flying through his fangs. It was the only word he could manage through Cull’s grip on his throat.
“Paying me for the wolfsbane doesn’t mean a damn thing when you let the secret out, you foul-blood sucker!” Cull yelled each word and each word was emphasized by pain lancing across Fanton’s throat.
Fanton tried to kick outward with desperation, hoping to connect with Cull’s body as blood red colors washed over his vision.
“I never should have turned you,” Cull snarled.
Fanton felt the shift and he knew Cull was lunging inward for a fatal rip of his fangs. Fanton thrashed, wrenching his entire body, then in the last second when Cull had to release his throat and his feet hit the ground he kneed Cull’s groin just as Cull’s fangs were tearing into his throat. Fanton yowled, an inhuman sound of agony at the near fatal blow. His hand clutched the shredded cartilage and tendons as he lurched to the side.
In the core of his existence, he knew he’d been within inches of immortal death. His need to survive propelled him when his knees should have buckled and his body should have slammed onto the floor. He staggered with the instincts to hide, to escape. Through the tearing pain, he heard Cull groan, and then cuss. No, fuck, no. Cull was reviving. Fanton hit a wall, bounced off it, and stumbled forward. He nearly fell, was falling, but his free hand not holding his torn throat latched onto a doorknob.
He turned and he pushed, but something slammed into him from behind. “I’ll tear you to bloody pieces like you do those whores!”
Fanton expected to feel the floor. Instead he fell into something solid that gave with a resounding crack. Furniture? He flung out both his hands, even the one holding the pieces of his throat together, while he turned, lashing out with his claws. He hit bone and flesh, hearing ripe grunts of impact expel from Cull’s throat.
He knew this. From his experience mangling bodies. The drive of that sadistic passion infused him and he tore again, hitting. Cull howled, screamed. Fanton pushed away from whatever broken furniture he was on and he wiped his eyes, finally seeing blurry visions. Cull on his knees clutching his torn stomach. He wanted more. More ripping and tearing, he was the master at it. He started forward and stumbled sideways. The headiness of having a kill so close fled with weakness and pain. He groaned, blood bubbled from his torn throat and he realized he was still close to his own end.
Adam clutched the sides of the bookcase he tried to hide alongside as his frantic gaze leaped from one animal to the next. They were animals! He’d never seen men fight like the two vampires did. They seemed to have superhuman strength. And, he’d made a horrible miscalculation sprinting into this room to hide. To further his very bad situation he’d not made it to the patio doors before the two abominations had crashed into the room.
Fear as he’d never felt before clogged his throat as he saw Fanton with the side of his neck ripped open but still able to move. Any man with such an affliction should be dead on the floor. As far as Adam tried to cringe back and hide, it was impossible. He would be seen, if either lethal monster looked up.
His eyes leapt to the patio doors trying to decide if he should try for it, while the monsters’ attentions were clouded by their battle. There was no hope really and he knew it. He knew he had to try. Even as terrified as he was, he prayed Beth wasn’t inside the mansion and he pushed away from the bookcase, sprinting to the windowed doors leading out onto a private patio. His hands closed around the knobs with his heartbeat straining.
“Adam!”
“No!” he screamed, looking back at the slashes of Fanton’s glowing red eyes. His hands fumbled with the knobs. No, no, no. He pushed. Freedom. Then, he saw the impossible … it was Fanton’s body flying across the room with an inhuman leap.
“No!” Adam yelled.
Fanton’s body slammed into him, carrying them through the windows of the door he’d not gotten quite open. Blackness snapped over his vision as the impact took the air from his lungs. The next thing he knew was excruciating pain and heaving breath as instinct had him punching and trying to shove Fanton from on top of him. Terror came when he knew it was impossible to halt. He screamed, begging, “No! Fanton! No!”
Fangs like razors lunged for his neck and he felt slicing pain. It hurt so badly tears poured from his eyes as he shoved against Fanton’s chest. He bucked his body trying to break free, but Fanton’s strength held him as his breath gurgled.
What he thought was pain was nothing compared to the agony that came next. He screeched sounds that wouldn’t fully come from his throat as his limbs thrashed. Pain ripped through every part of his body, as he stiffened, held suspended and he felt his life being sucked out. Each draw Fanton took surged agony through his veins, until his body fell limp and blackness clouded his vision.
What seemed like hours later, he could hear the slowing thud of his heartbeat one after the other as though his chest were a hollow case. Fanton was gone … and his foul, evil stepbrother had taken the essence of his life. His breath rasped, barely gaining any air, and he thought of blood. The dark red, thick liquid, its coppery smell and the way it clung to everything it touched.
Blood was rich with life and for some reason he wanted blood. He craved blood and the hunger for it grew stronger with each shallow breath he took. The need started clawing through him. He needed blood. He had to have blood. It was pain, tearing and slicing through him, and his body convulsed with ravenous lust for blood pouring agony from his pores.
He had no air left to say the word that would relieve his torment as his need for blood pushed him beyond his own breath. He whimpered, shoving his body over to claw forward inch by inch. With each move weaker than the last, until he tried, but couldn’t draw another inch forward. He was nearly dead and his breath rattled his demise. His tongue fell out of his mouth with the tip sliding on the stones, no longer propelled by his lifeless body.
A single, dying thought of blood coating his tongue, snapped like a pistol shot through his body.
Chapter Twenty Three
Beth moaned, caught in a nightmare. One about horrible death and she was terrified, with tears burning her eyes.
“Beth.”
“Help me,” she cried, praying Trinity would come.
“Beth. Sweet. Wake up!”
“Help, help,” she panted, and then her eyelids lifted. “Trinity? Oh!” He was above her and she grabbed him, embracing her arms around his neck, hugging him with the dredges of desperation she could feel from the nightmare. She buried her face into his thick hair smelling of the moors.
“Beth, hush. You are safe.” Trinity’s voice rumbled against her and she trembled with relief hearing his assurances she was safe.
More clarity came into her thoughts. “Oh, I’ve never had such a horrible dream before.” She tried to slow her breathing.
She felt Trinity shifting and she realized the bareness of her breasts was flattened to his solid chest and her legs were intertwined with his legs, but she could feel his pants. She could also feel something else. A harden length pressing against her. All she could think was that he was her husband as quivers gently assaulted her.
The length was thrilling … and intriguing. She felt it bump unyielding against her as Trinity continued to shift, until he’d pulled back so he could look down at her. His hands smoothed away the hair from her damp temple and she saw with awe, so close, that his eyes were yellow in color.
“How beautiful,” she whispered with her fingers reaching as though to touch them, but of course, she couldn’t and she stroked his eyebrow instead.
“Beautiful is not a word I would use for these animal eyes.” His voice was low and measured, his jaw firm and his hair fell forward making a type of cloak about their faces. “They turn yellow for arousal, hunger, danger, or before battle,” he murmured stroking her hair.
A hot blush crept over her cheeks. Everything spoke to the fact he was aroused. It was like a heady male aura around him.
“I co
uld get very used to waking up like this.” His gaze watched her lips. “Without the nightmare,” he added.
“I don’t usually sleep at night,” she murmured without thinking. “Maybe that’s why I had a dream.” The vein in his wrist kept lifting, back and forth, in and out, of her view as he played with her hair.
“You are going to have to tell me why that is.” His voice was firm with resolve.
Tingling like the ones she’d felt when he’d aroused her, began flushing through her body. To have him command her as a husband was somehow very exciting. She nearly forgot the danger of her answer. Fanton. Unwillingly, her body tensed at the horrid answer and Trinity’s gaze sharpened. She didn’t want to think about her vile stepbrother and how she was certain that Fanton was a …
“You’ve lost your welcoming softness, maiden. What frightens you so?” The last words he spoke were a command.
She had no hope to hide from him this close. He could feel every nuance of her emotions if he watched closely enough … and he did. He watched as a hunter centered on its prey. She licked her dry lips.
“I sleep during the daytime and go out at night to avoid my stepbrother,” she whispered, turning her head to the side, evading his gaze.
Trinity looked down on the slender expanse of feminine throat exposed to him. His extraordinary eyes could see the vein and warm blood pumping through it. Yet not even this raised his hackles or lengthened his fangs, because he’d suddenly realized his wife was afraid of something … very afraid and he’d completely missed it within the drama they’d churned through since meeting. He might have caught a bare hint of it that night out on the lawn, but he’d been so distracted by desire for Beth’s blood and lust for her charms he’d overlooked the reason she was collapsed that night.
Now, he knew with certainty she’d run from this fear. Stepbrother. He barely stifled a menacing snarl and was surprised once again at how utterly possessive he felt. It was as primal as before, but this time he controlled the emotions thrumming through his body.
He rose, slowly carrying Beth with him, until she sat on the edge of the bed beside him and he could see her tempting bare breasts and soft attractive face. He appreciated the way her nightgown hung off her elbows as she tried to raise her hands to cover her breasts. He caught her wrists, gently holding them down.
“A husband should be able to view his wife’s intimate flesh.”
One strand of Beth’s inky black hair slid over her shoulder and curled over one plump mound as her cheeks grew blush. He watched the pink blush cover the firm globes of her breasts as the nipples drew tight and rosy, while she peeked at him. The constant arousal he’d been living with and controlling nagged him about how cruel it was to leave such ripe lushness. He realized for the first time what a lucky man he was. This tempting treat was his, all his.
He leaned in and tilted his head for a kiss, which she presented him hesitantly, and then with more resolve, returning his lips’ motion. She was starry-eyed when he lifted from tasting her and her alluring breasts rose and fell with her erratic breathing. At least he would be leaving her affected. He would have smiled if he weren’t governing his arousal so tightly. His little Beth was very affected.
He rose with her gaze following him, and he noticed she found a great deal of interest in his bared chest and lower along the lean muscular handles of his hips, where his pants hung low. An image of her petting and caressing him with free enthusiasm came to him. That would happen one day. He suddenly knew it. Beth was receptive and she would be a highly sensual woman awakened by his hands. Slowly.
“I will leave you to your morning toilet, my pretty little wife,” he murmured, his beast soothed and attentive at the blush he received.
“My lord,” she murmured and he found he like her deference to him as he strode to the door.
“I look forward to seeing you at breakfast.” He bowed slightly. “And afterward when I’m certain all your needs are attended to, we have things to discuss.”
Beth slowly came downstairs an hour later. Fortunately, Trinity had brought along her trunks, however, she’d not packed many day-dresses in her hurry to leave, besides the fact she’d thought she was going to go teach at a very proper ladies school. Therefore, she’d brought along more sturdy attire and less frills. However, she’d saved one attractive dress back just in case and now she was glad she had. After a bath, she’d put on the white and pink flowered day-dress with lace on the sleeves and collar. Admiring the way it showed her cleavage to plum advantage. She so wanted to look pretty for her husband and she thought she’d accomplished it.
Maven told her breakfast was being served in the dining room where they’d eaten last evening. When she entered she found Trinity already there … behind a newspaper. What she could see of him was black-polished, tall boots and buff gray pants as he leaned back in his chair. The moment her skirts rustled in the entrance, his paper shifted and he looked up at her.
“Countess Montrose, good morning.”
Beth watched Trinity rise from his chair as he set his paper aside, while a thrill raced through her on several fronts. His use of her married name and the way his rich blue eyes took in each point of her figure … very slowly. Then there was the hint of the arousal she was beginning to recognize on the lean edges of his face.
“Good morning, Lord Montrose.” She dipped a curtsy and blushed at the way Trinity’s gaze lingered on her chest. Inwardly she was pleased her ministrations had caught his eye.
He surprised her by coming around the large table to meet her at the entrance. “This is my new favorite dress.” His voice was warm, while his arm bracketed her waist and his fingers lifted her chin as his lips lowered for a kiss.
Her palms flattened on his chest as the melting intentions of his mouth molded over her lips. She followed his amorous lips, softening into him. A rumble like a half-growl, half-purr sounded against her mouth. Long moments later, Trinity pulled away and she saw the true regret on his features. She wondered why he was always stopping, and she looked up at him seeing yellow rims outlining his dark blue irises as he rubbed his thumb over her kissed lips.
“You need to eat,” he stated as though he were trying to convince himself.
Beth found she immensely liked the idea her husband was having trouble breaking away from her, so she didn’t help him at all, but continued to lean against him. His hand squeezed the indent of her waist and he looked caught between pulling her mouth up for another kiss and setting her away from him.
She smiled, watching his lips. “So you’ll eat then?” Her gaze lifted from his lips and she was certain she could get lost in the richness of his eyes.
“I eat maidens,” he teased, and his voice vibrated against her as her smile grew bolder. It was delicious fun to play with one’s husband.
“With sugar or salt on top, my lord?” she asked playfully.
He smiled then and her breath caught as she suddenly realized how handsome he was. “I prefer to be on top of you, maiden.”
She blushed and it grew even hotter when she felt his broad hand roam downward from her waist to intimately cup then squeeze her behind.
“But,” he said, releasing her slowly. “You are all sugar.”
Beth dipped her gaze as pleasure from the compliment flowed through her. She’d never felt anything like it before.
“Come now, let’s eat,” he said, clasping her hand as he guided her to a chair. He pulled it out and she sat. “I’ll eat for show,” he said, dipping against her ear to murmur the words.
Beth noticed a dark-brown polished wooden stake setting on the table within arm’s reach of her. Lying next to it was a large silver cross on a chain.
“For you,” Trinity said, rising and walking around the table. “As we’ve spoken about.” He moved to sit in front of her, across the table. “I realize when I made the stake it’s too unwieldy to carry everywhere so I remembered the blessed silver cross.”
She wanted to decry the need for ever using them. She
wanted to tell him she could never use them on him. Never hurt him. However, this was their reality and she realized she trusted her husband’s judgment.
“Am I to wear the cross then?” she asked.
“I think it best. However, if it touches my flesh it will burn a wound that will never heal. Silver is abhorrent to us. We cannot abide it and some believe we are born of the Devil so the holy blessings repulse us.”
Beth looked at him in alarm as she touched the cross, and said, “I will carry it in my pocket then, not around my neck. I could never forgive myself if I hurt you that way.”
“You are too gentle,” he said, not looking pleased by it. He sighed. “Perhaps that is the way of it. You were meant to temper me.”
She didn’t care for being accused of being too gentle by him. She didn’t want to look lesser to him on any count. An apology touched her tongue, but she held it. She wouldn’t apologize for who she was. The cross was hefty as she picked it up, and then she settled it in a pocket on her day dress. She would always feel its weight.
She schooled her features as pleasantly as she could manage, and she asked casually, “Would others of your kind think to do me harm then?”
Trinity’s features drew firm with a dangerous slant. “They would pay dearly should they ever think to harm you.” His voice rumbled through his statement and she shivered at his fierceness. At the same time, she also felt thrilled her husband, so capable, would think to protect her.
She watched him visibly force the tautness out of his features and body. “Yet, we must be practical, Beth. My brothers and I make enemies, and while I cannot mesmerize you, it doesn’t mean other vampires can’t. So no, it wouldn’t be unheard of that you could be used against us.”
That’s why it would do her well to listen to and trust her husband’s judgment, Beth thought, while an odd feeling clawed through her. Trinity had mentioned vampires mesmerizing before. They stopped speaking of such provocative subjects while the servants served them from the sideboard.