The White Lily (Vampire Blood series)

by Juliette Cross

  “Good afternoon, Miss Snow.”

  She gasped and spun to find him standing right behind her inside the doorway. The butler excused himself.

  “Good afternoon, Your Grace.”

  “I’d prefer Friedrich, if you don’t mind.”

  Something had changed from last they met. The duke always carried himself with poise and control. That remained the same. But there was a darker vibration in his voice—less seduction and more danger in his rolling timbre. Nevertheless, and though she wished otherwise, his presence put her body on full alert, her senses reveling in the dazzling sight and heady scent of him.

  She took a step back. “I-I prefer to keep our relationship formal.”

  His pensive brow smoothed and his wide mouth tipped up on both sides. “I’m afraid that’s not going to happen.” He took a step forward.

  “It isn’t?” Another step back.

  “No. I have a feeling we are going to be the most intimate of friends, Miss Snow.”

  That, she could not allow. No matter how her body reacted to him.

  She turned and walked toward the window, noticing a tray of tea with two cups and a platter of sandwiches on the low serving table. This scene was set for the quaint domesticity of a lady, not for a blood-drinking, sexy-as-sin vampire.

  “This parlor is very…pleasant.”

  She noted the pale blue sheers draping the windows, which looked out to a tiered garden surrounding a fountain. At present, nothing grew and the bushes were layered in snow. The fountain was frozen, but the artistic symmetry of the stone benches and latticework where roses might climb in spring was still a lovely sight.

  “It was my mother’s. I thought you might be more comfortable meeting here.”

  She couldn’t help but look back at him in surprise. His smile widened.

  “Come and have a seat with me, Miss Snow.”

  Puzzled and relieved, she rounded the settee and sat, draping her shawl over the arm. He poured two cups of tea and layered sandwiches onto a plate. He passed her the plate, a serving of tea, and a napkin then settled opposite her in a rose-colored wingback. Though this bright room was less intimidating than his parlor, the man himself appeared no less formidable. Even with a teacup and saucer balancing on one knee as he sprawled in a pink chair.

  She did not know the duke’s history. Not much anyway. Only that his parents were both long deceased. And some tragedy surrounded their deaths. From the look of the room, his mother must’ve been a lovely woman.

  “What is it, Miss Snow? I can see the wheels turning in that lovely head of yours.”

  He gave her one of his smiles that told her she was out of her depth. That was enough to remind her she was angry with him.

  “First, I’d like to tell you that even though you are the Duke of Winter Hill, you have no right to intimidate me into your presence.”

  He tapped his forefinger wearing the lion signet ring on his lap, amusement playing on his ridiculously gorgeous features. She sat even straighter.

  “My dear Miss Snow, I certainly didn’t mean to intimidate you.”

  “Yes, you did.”

  “Perhaps just a little.”

  She spluttered on a sip of tea before setting it back in her lap and replied haughtily, “I do not believe the captain would’ve picked me up like a sack of wheat and put me into your carriage if I’d rejected your penned request.”

  “No. The captain wouldn’t have laid a hand on you.”

  She sighed relief and set her teacup and saucer down to take a bite of her sandwich. “I’m pleased to hear you’re not quite as barbaric as I thought.”

  “That is, he wouldn’t have, but I would’ve taken great pleasure in riding into town and putting you on my mount to carry you back. Though that would’ve wasted an awful lot of time and energy just to start this delightful meeting.”

  Brenna froze, the sandwich halfway to her mouth. She tried to rid her mind of the image of him swooping her onto his black steed and galloping away with her. Her cheeks flushed with heat and she knew they were as pink as the chair he sat upon. All the while, he smiled like the devil he was. Narrowing her eyes, she refused to be lured into a verbal battle with him.

  She inhaled a deep breath and took a bite of her sandwich before setting it back on the plate. Demurely, she sipped her tea, reciting in her head a favorite sonnet to calm her nerves. If he thought he could play games, so could she. She’d thought of another reason besides the wood stove and was ready to lay it on him.

  “Your letter mentioned that you didn’t believe that I’d come to your castle to request the renovations for the schoolhouse.”

  He set his teacup to the side, untouched, and dipped his strong chin in ascent, giving her his full attention.

  “Well, you were quite right. The woodstove was a rather feeble excuse, now that I think of it.”

  She laughed, a forced, mechanical sound. He didn’t say a word. Or move a muscle. His expression holding that lion-like stillness, the predator watching his prey with calm and ease, but with a keen eye. Reveling in his capability to play with his quarry before he pounced.

  Smoothing her skirt over her lap with a raised brow, she said with an amazingly steady voice, “I will be quite honest with you, Your Grace. I did need a little extra coin for the children. I know that your bleeders often receive favor for the, er, exchange. And, you see, I—I’ve been much enamored with you, as all the young ladies in town are, and I’ve always been curious what a vampire’s bite feels like. What it’s really like, not what the rumors say. Feminine curiosity, you see. So I thought, why not? Throw a little caution to the wind and go to the duke’s Rose Courtyard. And in exchange, I’m sure you’d bestow the coin I need for the children.”

  She’d given this entire rambling speech to her lap and finished with a lighthearted chuckle. When she heard no movement or response of any kind, she finally chanced a look to the very quiet vampire sitting across from her.

  And wished she hadn’t.

  His eyes, half-lidded and dark as the deep of the ocean, were so intense and fixed on her that her breath hitched. His gaze fell to her parted lips. She’d never had a man look at her with such open lust and hunger. She was quite sure if she didn’t amend his train of thought quickly, he’d have her pinned beneath him on the settee in about two seconds. And if that didn’t get her heartbeat tripping faster, the single, slow rise and fall of his ring finger certainly did.

  “But, you see, I realized as soon as I stepped into your parlor”—she wiped her moist palms on her lap, her tongue flicking across dry lips—“that I couldn’t do such a thing. As the schoolteacher of Terrington, I have a certain reputation to uphold.” She stood and rounded the settee, toward the window. “It wouldn’t be proper to indulge in such fancies, and so I changed my mind.”

  A rush of wind, and she was pressed to the front of his tall, hard frame, his arm wrapped completely across her back, his fingers curling at her ribcage. His other hand covered her nape, his thumb pressing below her ear. She sucked in a sudden breath.

  “Come now, Miss Snow. We both know that’s a lie.” He forced her gaze upward, his fingers slipping into her hair against her scalp, loosening her bun. A pin popped and fell to the floor. He dipped his head low, lips hovering close. “You want to indulge.”

  This was not at all the reaction she’d expected, her wits scattering to the wind. She’d thought to tease him with something like the truth in order to explain away her folly with the Rose Courtyard. But she quickly realized there was no playing with a man like the duke. Then he drifted even closer and slipped his tongue along her lower lip, his clutch tightening her to him with fierce strength, his large and obvious erection pressing against her belly. Her knees turned to jelly. If he hadn’t been holding her up, she’d be a sagging heap on the floor.

  “Your Grace,” she whispered on a breath, trying to find some elegant and safe way out of this. Did she really want out? She knew the feverish look in his eyes was indeed quite dangerou
s, which unwittingly sent a zing of pleasure down her body. She pressed her hands to his shoulders, curling her fingers and holding on rather than pushing him away.

  “Oh, kitten.” He licked again, a languorous slide of his tongue. “You know you want to give me a good taste.”

  She glared at him. “Quite sure of yourself, aren’t you, Your Grace.”

  This was not going well. Rather than outwit the vampire duke with her teasing refusal, she’d provoked him into taking what he wanted. No, that wasn’t true. He had her body trapped against his in an unbreakable grip, but he wasn’t forcing her to do anything. At the moment, he was breaking her down with a sensual assault. The proper thing to do would be to push him away, perhaps give him a slap for good measure. But that was the farthest thing from her mind. All she knew was that her heart might burst from her chest if he pressed those beautiful lips to hers.

  “You do. You want me to kiss you,” he murmured, nipping her bottom lip with a gentle tug. “And bite you.” His lips roved up her jaw to her ear. “Lick you.” He flicked her earlobe with his tongue then sucked it into his warm mouth, letting it slide out between his teeth without breaking the skin. His voice dropped to a low whisper caressing her skin. “Fuck you.”

  A pulse of heat shot straight between her legs. She squeezed her thighs together, trying to stop the melting sensation unfurling from her middle outward.

  “You are a vulgar, arrogant ass, Your Grace.” She tilted her chin away, giving him her cold profile. At least she hoped it appeared cold, for her body threatened spontaneous combustion should this encounter go on for much longer.

  He chuckled. “Look at me, Brennalyn,” he commanded in a voice full of storm and midnight and wonderful, naughty things.

  The sound of her name on his lips snapped her gaze to him. Then she regretted it. Captured in the deepest, darkest blue—like the inky night hovering near the shell of the moon—she couldn’t look away. His smile slid into something beautiful and wicked and devastating.

  “I can smell your arousal.” His nostrils flared as if to prove he could indeed scent her. She squeezed her legs tighter. He only smiled wider. “Therefore, I know you want me to do everything I said.”

  She curled her fingers into fists atop his chest to keep from sinking them into his shirt for a tighter hold.

  “But I’m feeling merciful today. I don’t mind that you lied about the Rose Courtyard.” He paused, searching her face as if he could see the truth just by reading the lines of her face. She had indeed been lying, but because the truth would expose her work for the Black Lily.

  “Merciful?” she asked on a breath.

  “Yes, kitten.” He stroked his nose along hers. “I can see that you’re overwhelmed. I’ll let you off with just a kiss.”

  “Overwhelmed indeed,” she said on a huff. Then lifted her gaze to his slowly. “Just a kiss?”

  She said it halfway between a question and a statement, still unsure whether she was asking or offering permission. He smiled, flashing his long, sharp fangs. She sucked in a breath.

  “Yes. A kiss. Our first of many.” He lowered again. “Say yes, kitten.”

  She paused as he hovered, awaiting her answer. There was only one thing she could say. “Yes.”

  Before his lips touched hers, he said in a low, gravelly voice, “But the next time I get you alone, I’m going to taste your blood and pleasure you while I’m doing it. So prepare yourself.”

  Then his mouth was on hers, hot and demanding. She whimpered at the sudden intrusion of his tongue. He plundered like he had every right to take what he liked. Rather than make her stiff with defiance, she arched her neck, opened her mouth wider, and slid her tongue along his. His hold on her tightened, his fingers cupping the back of her skull, popping another pin loose. A deep growl rumbled from his chest against hers, her nipples puckering in response to the vibration.

  She knew he was dangerous. She wasn’t a complete fool. But she’d never felt the force of his power until now. She’d known him to be the charming duke who lived on high at Winter Hill, who smiled amiably to the townspeople, who treated his tenants well, who casually enjoyed the pleasures of the flesh. She’d even listened to the stories of other young maids in town who’d been in his bed, whispering of his playful and seductive touch. A man with a gentle, thorough hand who knew how to leave a woman satisfied.

  This was neither playful or seductive. Or remotely gentle. This was rough and raw and demanding. A kiss to impress upon her some urgency he couldn’t say with words.

  When he finally pulled away with a slow slide of his tongue along hers, they were both panting. Though his eyes held the same fixed, dark look of a man in control, his breathless whisper told her he wasn’t.

  “The next time…” She wasn’t sure if he whispered his promise to himself or to her. He nipped her kiss-swollen bottom lip once more then soothed the sting with a warm lick. “Say yes.”

  She frowned, not sure what he demanded she agree to—being his bleeder, letting him pleasure her, letting him do more? “I—”

  He covered her mouth with his, stopping the protest she was about to give. She wasn’t a woman accustomed to obeying commands. And she’d sworn off the need for any man. But this man, this vampire duke, addled her brain into mush and melted her body into compliant flesh and bones, eager to feel more of what he offered.

  He broke the kiss and brushed his lips against hers before he shook his head once. A warning. “Next time, kitten.”

  He arched a brow, demanding she submit.

  “Next time,” she finally agreed on a ragged exhale.

  And she knew with that small admission, she’d opened a door. Perhaps only a crack. But it was enough to let him in. He smiled, his wide mouth too beautiful on a man made for sin.

  Only then did he finally loosen his hold and set her gently on her feet, his broad hands on her waist, waiting for her to catch her balance. When she did, he took a step back and leaned over her hand in a genteel manner, brushing a feathery kiss on her knuckles. He looked up from beneath dark lashes and the devil’s eyes.

  “Till then, Miss Snow.”

  Chapter Six

  That certainly hadn’t gone as planned. Friedrich stared out his study window as the sun slipped beyond the horizon, burnishing the white-washed landscape in a fiery haze. He’d intended to put Miss Snow at ease with tea in his mother’s parlor, lure her with refinement and refreshments into trusting him, so she might trust him with the truth about her involvement with the Black Lily. Then she’d gone and said she’d wanted his bite out of feminine curiosity. Whether it was a lie mattered not. She’d conjured the image of her body pliant and pleasured beneath his own and that was enough to call his beast to the forefront.

  It had shocked him as much as her. Well, perhaps not as much as it did her. But the uncontrollable urge to claim her on the spot, press her against the wall, hike up her skirts, and impale her with cock and fangs was maddening and torturous.

  Fortunately for them both, she’d put him out of his misery and succumbed to his kiss. If one could call it that. Her pliant body bending into his had calmed the beast from ripping through his chest to take what it thought was rightfully his.

  He twisted his signet ring in agitation, a nervous tic, fearing that the brutal madness and bloodlust that had controlled his grandfather had finally caught up to him and might be taking hold. He couldn’t expose her to the darkness that flowed in his blood, the violence of the vampire that dwelled in his lineage. Like his sickening excuse for an uncle. He willed away the image of him feeding his two huntsmen with the blood madness right here in his castle.

  Friedrich wanted Brennalyn Snow. But he needed to keep his distance for now, to get his primal urges under control. For there was something about the black-haired beauty that stirred his blood to a fever pitch.

  As he watched the carriage return from delivering her home, a cold bitterness bloomed in his gut for the dark nature he’d inherited. Mikhail trotted behind on his mount th
en maneuvered ahead as they neared the palace gates.

  “I have a letter for you.”

  He turned to find Grant striding toward him, a grave expression marking his brow. Grant had been gone for three days on his errand to the southern tip of the dukedom to meet the courier of the Black Lily.

  “From Marius?”

  Grant gave a tight nod.

  Friedrich noted the letter stamped with the family’s imperial V in black wax. They didn’t use names in their missives anymore in case they were intercepted. The imperial seal was the only tell that it was truly Marius. Other than the fact that he knew his bold hand. He wasted no time in breaking the seal and opening the letter. It began without the proper greeting, as expected.

  The efforts of recruiting were highly successful. The Black Lily grows by the day. Thank you for sending the replenishment of supplies. We are trying not to use our cache of gold for trade since we need it for weaponry. Your contribution hasn’t gone unappreciated. I promise you. Preparations are being made to return to the mainland soon.

  Disturbing news about Kellswater and the others. I heard firsthand from our mutual friend that this may bode ill for us all. Send word as soon as you have a location for those disappearing. You know where.

  Regarding the other matter, we haven’t heard of a northern faction working independently for us, though my wife is more than pleased to hear that others are rising to the cause. If you discover who is behind the propaganda, this White Lily, ask him to print more for distribution to the east and west. If we are to defeat the crown and unite a new kingdom, we need more than foot soldiers and warriors. His words inspire. Inspiration sways hearts. Courageous hearts win wars.

  Till we meet again, dear friend. Blood of my blood.

  There was a stamp of the flourishing symbol of the Black Lily at the bottom rather than a signature of his name.

  Friedrich’s heart clenched at the intimacy of the letter toward the end. He and Marius had been friends as well as kin. But not overly close. It wasn’t until this egregious business with Marius’s mother, Queen Morgrid, began that Friedrich understood he had to make a choice. Stand with the crown—the queen and his uncle Dominik, who reminded him too much of his father and grandfather—or commit treason by joining his exiled uncle, the former Prince of Varis.