by Ranae Rose
“It doesn’t matter,” Damon said. “You will never achieve immortality. That is what Véronique promised you in exchange for marriage, isn’t it?”
Griffith gave a ghost of a nod.
“You’re dying. You’d better start praying that God will have more mercy on your soul than you’ve shown your victims.” Damon finally abandoned Griffith, turning instead to his sleeping wife. The man sputtered and wheezed, prompting Damon to gently lift Elsie and carry her a few yards away, where he could hold her in some semblance of privacy. Her body was limp, her limbs weighed down by the chains. He draped her across his lap and removed his coat, wrapping it around her near nakedness. He said her name and stroked the fine curve of her cheek, receiving no response. How long would it take for the effects of the vervian to wear off? Her body had probably broken during the fall. Repressed by the herb, it couldn’t heal. He had to remove the chains. Fastened with steel locks and too thick for even him to break by hand, he would need the key. He cradled her in his arms, rising.
He walked around the side of the townhouse and approached the gaping doorway cautiously, ready to defend Elsie. When he’d leapt out the window there had been sounds of combat coming from the house, but he’d lost track of them as he’d questioned Griffith, and now they were gone, leaving the place eerily silent. “Lucinda?” Worry pricked his conscience. God send that Lucinda and Jenny were all right. He’d had no choice but to leave them to face Véronique alone.
“Here,” his sister’s voice rang out from the back of the house.
Damon turned to his left, striding through a short hall and into a small kitchen. Two bodies lay on the floor. Lucinda stood over them.
“What happened to Jenny?” He didn’t ask what had happened to Véronique. The vampiress lay still and silent, and he could see the gaping hole in her ribs. Not dead – perhaps rendered unconscious by the shock of having her heart cut out, just as she’d removed her victims’.
“Véronique cut her,” Lucinda said, her voice tight and a little higher than usual. “She picked up the knife you dropped and pulled it across Jenny’s throat.”
Jenny moved suddenly, a blur of dust-smeared skirts and disheveled red curls. “It’s only a surface wound,” she said, pushing herself halfway to a sitting position. A long line that sliced across her white throat had spilled a liberal amount of blood down her front. Damon marveled at her as she spoke, looking like the living dead.
“Only a surface wound? It looks serious.”
Jenny opened her mouth to reply, but slumped onto the floorboards before she could manage, her eyes drifting shut.
Lucinda stooped down to help, repositioning Jenny so she could lie more comfortably. “It’s true her throat wasn’t cut, but she’s lost a great deal of blood.” She looked uncharacteristically nervous, though she certainly wasn’t squeamish – no vampire could be.
“Is the smell affecting you?” Damon asked knowingly, recognizing the gleam in his sister’s eyes.
She cast her gaze down to the dirty floorboards, carefully avoiding looking at the limp figure at her feet.
“Go,” Damon said. “Hurry to the house and have a carriage brought here. Have Tom drive – he won’t breathe a word to anyone. I’ll stay here with these two.”
Lucinda nodded. “All right.” She laid Jenny back down, took a step forward and paused. Stooping, she picked up Véronique, hefting her limp body in her arms with none of the care she’d shown Jenny, as if the other vampiress were no more than a sack of flour. “I’ll finish what I’ve started with her along the way.”
Something glimmered as Lucinda shifted, exposing Véronique to the faint moonlight that was just barely filtering in through a grimy window. “Wait. What’s that around her neck?”
“This?” Lucinda wrapped her hand around a dangling cord and pulled, snapping it easily. “It looks like a key.”
“Give it here.” Damon took it eagerly and slid it into the padlock attached to the chain that bound Elsie’s arms. He breathed a deep sigh when it clicked and turned. As he tossed the lock aside, the heavy chain fell away, freeing Elsie’s slender wrists. The steel links had worn deep grooves into her flesh. He ran his fingers over them, tracing the peaks and valleys of her abused skin.
“I shall return soon.” Lucinda stepped out into the violet night, disappearing around a street corner with preternatural speed.
Damon sank down against the wall, draping Elsie across his lap and freeing her feet. Her ankles were just as damaged as her wrists. He smoothed her hair back from her forehead and brushed a kiss across her temple. He would have her home and in their bed before midnight, as promised.
****
Damon sat in the armchair by the bed, shoulders drooping wearily as he read, or at least pretended to, by the violet light that spilled through the window. Flipping a page, he was vaguely aware that he hadn’t absorbed a word of it. Come to think of it, he had to struggle just to remember the title. It slipped out of his mind’s grasp, a few words he didn’t have room for in his thoughts. Try as he might to provide a little entertainment for his frayed nerves, he couldn’t distract himself from the figure lying still in the center of the large bed, head tipped back on a mountain of pillows with soft brown waves spilled around her face.
One of her wrists lay on the blanket at her side, slender and white. The grooves the chains had left in her flesh were gone, leaving her skin smooth and perfect again. It had been nearly twenty-four hours since she’d fallen through the window, and not a minute passed that Damon didn’t glance at her face, searching for any sign of wakefulness. Most times he let his gaze linger, drinking in the graceful lines of her features. Little more than a day ago, he would have given anything just to see her, and he hadn’t forgotten it.
Admiring her naturally caused him to burn with the desire to touch her. He’d given in more than once, seizing any opportunity to smooth her hair back from her face or brush a collarbone or wrist while adjusting the dress he’d replaced her shift with. The garment had been torn in a dozen different places when she’d fallen through the window, then splattered with Griffith’s blood and smeared with dirt from the alley. He’d burn it or toss it in the river later, when he had a chance. For now, leaving her side was out of the question. He looked to her face again. Her eyelids might flutter open at any moment. The vervian her captors had forced into her had affected her body, leaving it weakened, and her fall had hurt her in ways it shouldn’t have. She’d been healing slowly, but it could have been much worse – had she been human, the impact likely would have killed her, as it had Griffith.
Surely the effects of the vervian were wearing away – her healed wrists were evidence of that. Too exhausted from worry and lack of sleep to keep up the pretense of reading, Damon closed the novel he held in his lap and let his mind wander. His thoughts inevitably turned to the reunion that would occur whenever Elsie would finally emerge from her slumber, and before he knew it they’d blurred to dreams that made his cock harden as he slept, his head lolling against his shoulder.
****
Elsie drifted out of sleep and into consciousness, relishing the last little bits of her dream before it slipped away from her entirely, the details forgotten all too quickly. She’d been dreaming of Damon again – that was all she could remember. His pleasant scent still filled her nostrils, the heady combination of musk and spice she’d come to know so well. She wanted to inhale deeply and greedily fill her lungs, but if she did that the smell would be gone, revealed for the phantom leftover of a dream it was. She forced herself to breathe normally, savoring her husband’s scent.
It never faded away. After what seemed a lifetime of shallow breathing, Elsie noticed that the scent hadn’t faded. She wasn’t in pain anymore, either. The heavy, pinching weights around her wrists and ankles were gone. She tentatively flexed a hand and found it free and perfectly mobile. Her fingertips brushed something soft as she wriggled them – certainly not floorboards. She opened her eyes, finding herself back where the ordeal o
f her kidnapping had begun – the large four-poster in her and Damon’s London bedroom. This time there was no one in the bed with her, though there was someone slumped in a nearby chair.
Swinging her legs over the side and sliding out from under the sheets, Elsie abandoned rest. Her body felt spry and supple despite the fact that memories were beginning to come back to her, including a vivid recollection of plunging through a shattered window and to the ground below. She’d been counting on the resilience that came naturally to vampires to protect her from the impact. It seemed to have worked, though why she remembered nothing after hitting the ground was a mystery. She didn’t take the time to contemplate the matter. The man asleep in the chair in front of her captivated her thoughts completely, leaving no room for anything else. “Damon.”
She slipped a hand between his cheek and the hard edge of the wooden chair he’d fallen asleep in, unable to resist burying the other in his hair, which had fallen over one closed eye in a dark arch.
His coal-black lashes lifted from the fair skin beneath his eyes, fluttering as he came awake. “Elsie!” All traces of sleep quickly faded from his eyes, leaving them wide and shining. “How long have you been awake?” His glance darted toward the bed, where the hollow in the mattress marked where she’d slept so recently.
“Only a moment,” she replied, unable to resist wrapping her arms around his neck.
“How do you feel?” He stood, resting his hands lightly on her shoulders, as if afraid of hurting her. His hard cock shone a little light on his forced delicacy when it brushed Elsie’s belly, teasing her through the thin fabric of the simple gown someone had dressed her in. It certainly offered more coverage than her wispy shift had, but without any undergarments beneath, it was still decidedly sparse.
“Perfectly fine.” She crushed herself against him, pressing her body against his.
He groaned, finally wrapping his arms around her. His cock was trapped between their bodies, rigid. “I was dreaming about you,” he said, as if in explanation.
“What about me?” She shifted against him, unable to suppress a smile when he groaned again. Little bits of her own dream were beginning to come back to her, causing her core to dampen as his erection teased her, awakening desires the frightfulness of the past twenty-four hours had mostly managed to suppress.
In answer, he swept her feet out from under her in one deft movement, cradling her for half a moment before depositing her on the bed. “Would you rather I told you or showed you?”
“Show me.”
“Very well.” He pulled his shirt over his head, tossing it aside. She barely had time to admire the broad slopes of his shoulders and hard lines of his torso before he peeled off his pantaloons and stripped until he was completely naked. His erection stretched toward her, long and stiff, surrounded by a bed of dark curls. Her core tightened at the sight, nearly paralyzing her with longing. When she’d dreamed, she’d dreamed of this.
“Help me out of my dress.”
He settled on the edge of the bed and slipped his hands beneath the hem of her skirts, running them up her thighs and dipping his fingers into the wet cleft between. They slid easily over her slick flesh, and he didn’t hesitate to push a finger inside, sending a spike of sudden pleasure through her core as he curved his finger and stroked a particularly sensitive spot. She gasped, aching for more. She could see his cock, as hard as ever, a drop of moisture glistening at the tip. Her channel tingled and tightened as she thought about Damon burying it inside her. “In my dream you were touching me too.”
“What?” Elsie gasped, reluctantly abandoning her fantasy of spreading her thighs wide and feeling Damon sink his cock between them.
He quickly undid the few buttons at the back of her gown’s collar and pulled it over her head. “Your fingers were wrapped around my cock.” He took one of her hands in his and guided it to his crotch, pressing her palm against his stiff shaft. “Let me show you.” He closed his hand around hers.
She curled her fingers around his erection, letting him guide her through the first few strokes simply because she liked to watch him touch himself, and this was the second best thing. When he pulled his hand off of hers she slowed her pace, taking the time to run her thumb over the thick, blunt tip and feel the hint of dampness that had spilled from it. He moaned, the sound escaping through his slightly parted lips.
“Kiss me, Damon.” Her lips burned for his.
He pressed his mouth against hers, his tongue slipping inside to claim hers. She gladly eased herself down against the mattress when the weight of his body pressed against her, opening her thighs so that he fit perfectly between them, automatically brought to the brink of entering her. She still clutched his cock and took advantage of the fact, guiding it so that the tip brushed her damp, tingling folds, daring him to enter her. It was every bit as much a tease for her as it was to him – perhaps even more so. He kept his hips perfectly still as he dipped his tongue deeper into her mouth, allowing her to continue, but not giving in.
She brought her hand down the length of his shaft, pushing her fist until it met firm flesh and dark hair. He groaned, ending their kiss as he shifted his hips, pressing the tip of his cock into her. Her channel tightened in response, aching for more. She relinquished her hold on his erection, freeing him to give it to her.
He eased into her, filling her just as she’d imagined, slowly stretching her ready flesh. It was a deliciously tight fit.
“God, I missed you Elsie.”
Her kidnapping hadn’t lasted long, but she understood his meaning. Worry over when she’d see him again had made the day seem longer than it was. And perhaps it was because they were newly wed, but even one day was more than she preferred to spend away from him. If she had her way, he’d take her like this, in their own bed, every night. “I love you Damon.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him tight against her, so that his cheek brushed hers and his face was buried in her hair. “I suppose I should thank you for rescuing me.”
He raised his head as far as her tight embrace would allow. “What, this isn’t thanks?” He flexed his hips, pushing his cock deep into her. “I assumed that leaping onto me as soon as you woke was your way of expressing gratitude.” His lips brushed her cheek as they curled in a smile.
“Not really. The truth is, I’d been dreaming about you too.”
“Well in that case,” he said, pausing to fill her with another slow stroke, “you should save your thanks for later. I’m afraid you owe most of your gratitude to people other than me.”
She gasped for a few moments, waiting for him to be still so she could reply. Gradually he slowed, finally pausing. “Nonsense. You’re always trying to take the blame and avoid the credit. I know you too well to be fooled, Damon.”
“Just wait until after this. I’ll tell you the whole story. You’ll see.” He pushed into her, filling her quickly and thoroughly, allowing her no chance for a rebuttal.
She moaned, tightening her grip around his neck and brushing her lips across his cheek as a wave of pleasure rolled through her core, promising more. Her nipples were hard, peaked and tingling beneath the comforting weight of his body. She pressed her face into his hair, breathing deeply, taking in as much of his scent as she could. There was no reason not to be greedy – he would always be there for her, whether she only wanted to feel his embrace or needed rescuing from a kidnapping. He was her husband, after all, and the benefits of being Mrs. Damon Remington clearly outweighed the dangers.
5 Months Later
“Elsie, there you are. I’ve been looking all over the house for you. I have wonderful news.”
Elsie turned from where she’d been sitting in a chair by the bedroom window, working on a bit of embroidery in the lilac evening light. She wasn’t very good at needlework, but it was Lucinda’s latest craze, and she’d given Elsie a basket of supplies as a gift. She put down her pathetic attempt at a rose pattern and smiled at Damon. He’d been out on business with his father all day and
she’d waited for him at the London house, eagerly anticipating his return. “What is it?”
He was looking unusually cheerful for having spent the entire day with his father. Usually he came home from such a day tired and discouraged, ready to flee to the country house for at least another fortnight. She’d quickly discovered that the easiest – and most enjoyable – way to cheer him up on those occasions was to pull him into bed. He hardly looked as if he needed that now, though the gleam in his dark eyes and the excited curve of his full, sensual lips caused her to glance askance at the large four-poster anyway.
He crossed the room in a few long strides, resting a hand on her shoulder and pausing to politely admire her lackluster embroidery. “Father and I had a very serious discussion today.”
Elsie’s interest peaked. Damon didn’t usually smile while making such a statement. “Oh?”
“Yes. Elsie, he’s going to America.”
“America? Is it some sort of business trip, then?”
“Not a visit, no. He’s means to set up there. Indefinitely. He wants to pursue new business opportunities in Philadelphia.”
Elsie’s stomach lurched, and she shot a cautious glance at the excited gleam in Damon’s eyes. “Does he mean for us to go with him?” She gazed at the cityscape that stretched beyond the window, already feeling homesick. Surely Damon didn’t hate London enough to want to abandon England and start over in Philadelphia…did he?
“No, no. He and mother are going alone. We will remain here, where I will take charge of all our business in London.”
Elsie leapt up from her chair, throwing her arms around Damon. “Truly?” She’d watched him agonize over the ruthless way his father ran his factories often enough to know that this was a dream come true for him.
“Yes. He’ll be leaving for America in one month. After that, I’ll be left to manage the factories here.”