“Are you going to just stand there and ogle me or come and join me?” He lifted his gaze, the ever-present smirk creasing that beautiful mouth.
Clearing her throat, she sauntered forward with false confidence. “I wasn’t ogling. I was…admiring.” The confession fell teasingly from her lips, adding levity to the tension steadily building. A tension of the dark, sensual variety that always built the closer she drew to him.
She perched on the chaise at his back, not quite brave enough to take the overstuffed leather chair on the other side of the hearth facing him.
“You were ogling,” he said definitively before turning to her, unabashed by his nakedness. “But I don’t mind. I did my fair share while you were sleeping.” He held out a hand.
With a shy smile, she stood and placed her hand in his, letting him pull her into a soft embrace. He held her close, studying her with concern marking his brow.
“How are you feeling?”
She scoffed out an inelegant snort. “I feel…pleasured. Sated. But also, hungry…again.” She let her lashes fall, focusing on the soft line down his sternum. She said more softly, “And I feel afraid and desperate and furious.”
He pressed her cheek to his chest and whispered into her hair. “We’ll find Helena. We’ll get her back. I promise.”
She clung to him, curling her nails into the sinewy muscles of his back. “What if we’re too late?” she whispered.
“We won’t be. Which is why we need to make this work.”
“Make what work?”
“This.” He let her go and guided her to the overstuffed chair. He knelt before her and started on the row of buttons.
“I think your scent is probably well and truly beneath my skin,” she admitted, though she had no vampire senses to test her theory. She only knew that she’d definitely given over to him, yielded body, heart, and soul. As much as that still pricked and stung, the fragile fear of being abandoned ever present.
His dark-sapphire gaze flicked from the slow descent of his hands, her breathing becoming heavy.
“I’ll not take a chance with your life, sweet kitten.” He parted the shirt, leaving it on but agape and rocked back, drinking in what it revealed.
“Now who’s ogling?” she teased.
He pressed up onto his knees, his shadowy silhouette with the fire behind him engulfing her. “Darling, I’ve ogled you every second you’re in my presence.”
She chuckled. “Not very noble. For a duke.”
“As you pointed out”—he slid his hands under her knees, pulled her forward, then spread her legs—“I’m a naughty duke. Now lean back, kitten. And hold on.”
She let her shoulders rest against the chair and dug her nails into the arms, preparing for his next onslaught. She wasn’t sure if a woman’s body could combust from being overly pleasured, but she was quite sure she’d find out.
He feasted his heavy-lidded gaze on her intimate folds, which she knew must be glistening. She’d felt the telltale pooling of moisture the second she saw him standing before the fire like a sex god. He opened his mouth and slid his forefinger inside, wetting it thoroughly. Then he glided his slick finger over her sensitive bud. She flinched, as it had been well-used in the night.
His gaze flicked up, watching her as he slowed his wicked finger to a tormenting, tender circle. Her mouth fell open. Her breath quickened. But his intent, rapturous visage spoke of a man truly caught. And she wondered, unable to hold back the question.
“Are you mine?”
His startled gaze sharpened on hers, his fangs protruding from his parted mouth.
“If I am yours,” she said, asking again, “then are you mine?”
He let his eyes close on a slow blink before fixing her with a startling look of vulnerability. “I’ve been yours from the very start.” Then he swiftly lifted her thighs over his wide shoulders, bent forward, and opened his hot mouth on her sex, ripping a desperate cry from her throat.
Then they were both caught in a web of passion and seduction and utter devastation of longing and belonging. She could do nothing but rock and writhe against him as he tongued and sucked her toward a trembling, sobbing crash of pleasure that brought tears to her eyes. He kissed her with slow licks as the tears continued to fall. He nuzzled her creamy inner thigh with his mouth and nose. She threaded her fingers into his silky hair and clenched it in a fist.
“Drink,” she commanded.
On a heavy, soul-shaking groan, he opened his mouth and sank his fangs into her thigh. The orgasm she thought had ended pulsed again as she watched his head bent over her as in supplication, drinking like a dying man in need of sustenance only her body could provide.
“Yes,” she whispered, clenching and unclenching her fist in his hair. “Drink from me. Take all you need. I will give you everything.”
After another minute, he withdrew and laved the puncture marks, turning to her with such ferocity, it shocked her. But she was not afraid.
He lifted up on his knees, bringing her body to meet his and thrusting inside her so fast, she sucked in a sharp breath, clawing into the armchair. She held on as he’d told her to do, losing herself in the sensation of Friedrich.
She whispered his name. He fell forward, thrusting slower in long, slick glides. He buried his face in her dark hair and made a choking sound.
“Brenna, Brenna, Brenna.” His raw timbre was of a man who’d known heartbreak and was expecting to feel it again. “What are you doing to me?”
“Shhhh.” She cupped the back of his head, cradling him close as he continued to thrust slow and deep. “Come inside me, my dear duke.”
It was an odd thing to say, seeing as he’d come inside her several times already. She’d capitulated already to this marking, to his thorough use of her body. And yet, her words resonated on another level. It wasn’t just the physical release she spoke of, but the more intimate connection. He’d crashed through her walls and left them to smolder in his wake. She knew this. She gave him the words, the invitation to step through and enter her in every possible way.
“Come inside me,” she repeated against his ear, nipping his lobe.
He scooped his arms around her back, holding her body still as he thrust so hard once, twice, and roared into her hair on the third time, emptying himself inside of her, obeying her command, panting and quivering.
“Thank you, my love,” he whispered on a ragged breath.
She closed her eyes, unable to broach the word “love,” but knowing full well that was what she felt tying her poor, bruised heart to his. She couldn’t say it. Not yet. But she held him close, turning to kiss his square jaw and hoping he’d wait till she could summon the courage he had in such abundance.
...
The next day and night swept Brennalyn into an erotic and emotional maelstrom, until she was sure she’d been molded into a new woman altogether. The sensation of touch took on new meaning, her body primitively aware of Friedrich whenever he drew near. Fingers that had caressed every lovely line of him seemed to hold more strength. Limbs that had been wrapped and draped around his body in every conceivable manner seemed to bear her in a more confident stride. Lips that had kissed over his lithe, sculpted body let loose bolder words. Even more so than before.
But it was more than this. It wasn’t just her nerve endings that were set aflame or her body priming for his touch when he prowled like the lion he was toward her. The recognition in his knowing gaze that he knew her better than any other had—better than any other would—catapulted her into a tempest of feelings she wasn’t sure she could ever contain.
In between their constant lovemaking, he’d fetch plates of food and drink from the kitchen, call for another bath, or bring a bowl and cloth and tenderly clean her. She’d fallen into stupefied intoxication, one moment lingering and blurring into another that she wasn’t sure if it was day or night. Or even cared.
Until early this morning, after he’d laid her across his dark mahogany desk in his study and kissed
and licked her with sultry slowness from her ankles to her knees, lingering at her thighs and the juncture between her legs before gliding upward across her belly and ribs to both her breasts, down both arms to the tips of her fingers, to the hollow between her collarbones, up her throat to her jaw, cheeks, eyes, and finally landing on her mouth where he sipped at her swollen lips for what felt like an eternity. Only then did he say with husky reverence, “It’s time, my love.”
And so it was that she awoke from her duke-induced stupor, bathed once more, dressed in a new gown he’d selected for their four-hour carriage ride toward Izeling Tower, and moved on swift feet to the downstairs parlor, the pretty, pastel one that had been his mother’s. Her new boots clipped quickly on the floor. She didn’t refuse any of his lavish gifts, because she needed to appear like a lady. He’d had Sylvia pack her trunk with her ball gown, shoes, and jewelry as well as more practical clothes for their escape right after. They’d both change into their evening attire once in Izeling. Grant and Sylvia would be accompanying them as their valet and lady’s maid. But only if she passed the test she was marching toward.
She stepped into the parlor to find Grant seated on a chaise, Friedrich pacing by the window, and Mikhail and Dmitri standing at near attention. At the sound of her entry, they all eyed her at the door. Grant stood and whistled. She glanced down at the simple but fitted tailored black bodice overlaying midnight-blue silk that draped to the floor.
“Now that’s a dress. If you don’t mind me saying so,” he said with a wink.
“I do.” Friedrich growled.
Grant chuckled. “I wasn’t speaking to you.”
For the one hundredth time, Brenna noted that this man was not Friedrich’s servant. No servant or man in his employ spoke to the Duke of Winter Hill with such impertinence. She planned to find out on their journey to Izeling.
“Enough,” clipped Friedrich, his impatience and anxiety a stormy energy filling the room. “Come and stand over here, Brennalyn.”
As she moved toward the window where he’d gestured, he maneuvered himself in exact counterpoint around the chaise and toward the door. She stopped and watched as Friedrich affixed himself to the doorframe, crossing his arms and glowering at his captain and second of the Bloodguard. She wasn’t quite sure what they’d done to deserve his ire, or what she’d missed to cause Friedrich’s foul mood.
“It might be best, Your Grace, if you step out of the room,” said Mikhail.
“Not on your fucking life.”
Brenna winced at the stewing anger permeating his entire frame.
“This should be interesting.” Grant grinned.
“Shut up, Grant,” snapped Friedrich. “Get on with it, Captain.”
Mikhail heaved out a sigh as he approached with Dmitri behind him. And though they moved with agile grace and soft steps, her instincts told her to retreat. They would never do her harm, she was sure of it. Yet the feral gaze in both men’s eyes warned her she should run. And run fast. She fisted her hands and held her ground.
“So. What do I do, gentlemen?” she asked in her emboldened voice, not quite sure what the test entailed. Friedrich had told her nothing, only that she must bathe from head to toe, dress in her new gown and freshly cleaned undergarments so there was no lingering scent on her attire, and report to the downstairs parlor. The one that had been his mother’s and was not filled with the scent of the man who owned and dominated this castle.
Mikhail stopped before her, closer than she’d ever been to him. While she’d noticed his handsome features before, she’d not examined him so close with the pale sunlight shining through the casement behind her. The angles of his face were sharper than most vampires, almost as if his maker had taken a blade and cut his jaw, chin, nose, and cheekbones with too-swift slashes, leaving behind a touch of brutality to couple with his beauty.
“Stand where you are, Miss Snow.”
He spoke softly but there was a dangerous thread humming in the deep tenor of his voice. And his eyes. She hadn’t noticed before but one was blue and one was green. At the moment, they were dilated, as were Dmitri’s. Once again, she sensed an alertness that set her on edge and cautioned her to make small, slow movements or else the predators would attack.
She glanced at Friedrich, who remained in place under his black cloud, leaning in the doorframe. She licked her lips, for they’d gone dry. Dmitri made a sound in his throat she wasn’t sure of but thought was a growl. Mikhail gave him a sharp glance.
“If either of you men terrify her anymore, I’ll gut you where you stand,” said Friedrich, low and lethal.
Grant laughed again from his vantage on the chaise, one hand tossed along the back much like Friedrich often did. “Vampires,” he said with a shake of the head.
“Could someone please explain this test before we begin?” asked Brenna, her heart hammering faster.
She didn’t understand why electric energy sizzled in the air. She expected to see sparks popping off Mikhail and Dmitri at any moment.
“I apologize,” offered Mikhail, standing before her with his hands at his back. “You need do nothing, Miss Snow, except stand very, very still. Please make no sudden movements. But I must inform you that we must ask permission to get close to your person.”
“How close?” she asked, her throat gone dry from their nearness already. She sensed danger like the mouse in the field who feels the hawk watching her but cannot see him.
“Quite close,” said Mikhail, his unworldly eyes filling with more black of his pupil.
She glanced at Friedrich whose scowl had deepened. “It’s all right, Brennalyn. They will not harm you,” he said—a warning to them more than a comfort to her. “I’m afraid they must get intimately close to test the marking. It won’t take long.”
Mikhail sidled to the side and commanded with a gesture of his hand, “Dmitri.” That was when Brenna noticed how long and extended Mikhail’s fangs were.
Dmitri cracked his neck to the side and released an audible breath, the intensity of his gray-blue eyes grazing her face, neck, and bosom a palpable, electric current swirling around her. He appeared to be preparing himself for some monumental feat, the moment stretching into a dizzying, tension-crackling daze. She breathed so quickly, her chest rose and fell in swift succession. His gray gaze flicked from the swells of her breasts to her eyes and she sucked in a gasp. Desire hot and hard affixed in his usually temperate, light expression. There was nothing light or mild about him now. She was looking at the beast within as he shifted closer.
She longed to retreat and her feet seemed to shift of their own volition.
Dmitri stilled.
Mikhail hissed in a breath. “Miss Snow,” he ground out. “Do not move. In order to test His Grace’s marking, we’ve had to call our predatory senses to the forefront. Neither of us would ever hurt you, but it is easiest for us if you do not move at all. If you understand.”
She did. The predator longed to pounce, especially when prey tried to run away. She gave a stiff nod. Unable to look at the vampire advancing into her personal space one second longer, she squeezed her eyes shut, her fists balled tight. His body heat surrounded her as he clutched her by the shoulder, keeping her still when his chest brushed her breasts. When he leaned close, his bristled jaw abraded her neck. She hitched in a breath, drawing a purring growl from the vampire. He trailed his nose and mouth up her neck then back down, settling against her pulse, nuzzling the skin for what felt like an eternity.
Suddenly, his heat and touch were gone. She opened her eyes to find him standing behind the chaise halfway across the room. His chest rose and fell with deep drafts. Clenching his jaw, he kept his eyes forward, looking at no one, then gave a tight negative shake of his head. “No trace of her own scent. Only His Grace and…blood.”
Mikhail nodded. “You’re dismissed, Dmitri.”
The vampire simply vanished, having sped so quickly she didn’t see movement or even a blur. He was standing there then he wasn’t.
&
nbsp; She gasped. “He’s very…very fast.”
“Yes,” said Mikhail with the semblance of a smile though it didn’t wipe away the hungry look in his eyes. “One more time, Miss Snow. Then we will leave you in peace.”
“It’s okay,” she said, sparing a glance toward Friedrich, whose murderous countenance made her flinch. She swiveled back to Mikhail, who still stood with his hands at his back. “I trust you, Captain.”
The vampire had always conducted himself in a professional manner, never giving her a hint of the man beneath the veil he wore for the world. But at that moment, his head tilted, one brow lifted in surprise but also pity as he revealed the potent, deadly predator in one heart-stopping blink of his hunter eyes.
For some reason, she couldn’t look away or close her eyes this time, watching him draw closer. His gaze dropped as he lifted her hand in his before turning it over, palm up, and inhaled deep from her wrist to her inner elbow. He let her hand go, then circled behind her, not touching her, but his heat caressed her as he dipped his head low to her bare neck.
She kept her eyes on Friedrich, who watched Mikhail, fierce rage lining every facet of his body. But he didn’t move, appearing like a fuming statue of the most impenetrable stone.
Mikhail completed the circle. She couldn’t look into his eyes anymore, letting her shaky gaze rest on the vee of skin exposed by his unbuttoned linen shirt.
“Do not fear me, Miss Snow.” His voice was a lethal whisper, like the assassin promising his victim that all would be well.
She gave an almost imperceptible nod. He leaned in, hovering at her shoulder as he skimmed up the curve of her neck to just below her ear where he brushed his firm lips in a rough sweep. Brenna squeezed her fists so hard, her nails cut into the fleshy part of her palms. Though her body didn’t react to him in the visceral way she did to Friedrich, there was no denying his dark attraction and that any woman would be well-pleasured if he ever let go of the fierce passion he held so tightly in check. At the same time, she wanted to be free of proximity and this bone-shaking test.
The White Lily (Vampire Blood series) Page 21