Perfect. Max would take care of whatever or whoever was inside here, and then he’d break up whatever was going on with Purcell and Savina.
Surely she couldn’t get into too much trouble in thirty minutes. Even with a vampire.
CHAPTER 11
~ Seduction ~
“This is a lovely spot for a moonlight picnic.” Savina settled onto the blanket Purcell had just spread over a flat spot on the ground. She arranged her dress to show just enough ankle to be provocative, but not enough to be obvious.
He finished suspending the lantern on a low tree branch and sank down next to her. “It’s one of my favorite places here at Crenshaw.” His eyes were hot and already tinged with a soft red glow. She wondered if he realized it, or if he was so new and inexperienced that he didn’t know he was giving himself away. “It’s isolated and private. No one will bother us here, Miss Ellison. Or perhaps I could call you Sabrina?”
If she had been with anyone but Alexander Purcell, Savina would have been delighted by the idea of a nighttime picnic in this small clearing. The place was beautiful, secluded, and fragrant with summer roses and lilies, and the grass upon which they sat was soft and lush beneath the thick blanket. A small pond glimmered in the moonlight beyond, and the lantern cast a small, yellow glow over the area. Everything seemed to be limned with silver and gold.
“Of course,” she smiled, holding his gaze even as her heart thudded madly. Not in a good way. “As long as I can call you Alexander.”
“It would be my pleasure.” He held her eyes for a moment longer. Then, to her relief, turned to open the picnic basket he’d carried.
Savina had been a little surprised when she realized no servants were to accompany them—at least to lug the blanket and basket. Normally, the lord of the manor would never sink to such menial labor. But perhaps he didn’t want anyone to know where they were or what they were doing. Did his servants know about his vampiric change or his affiliation with the Tutela?
She subdued a shiver of distaste. Regardless of what he had in mind, she had the advantage over him—in more than one way. And that wasn’t even counting Max Denton.
Wherever he was. He’d fled her room so quickly, they hadn’t had the chance to discuss anything pertinent at all.
Now her little shiver was a quiver of remembered pleasure rather than one of disgust. Whatever had come over him, up in her bedroom? He’d seemed almost put out that she was spending the evening with Alexander Purcell. And he’d been so different. Soft, tender, wildly seductive.
Was that how he’d been with Felicia?
Was that how he was with every woman he encountered?
That thought soured her interest.
“Something to drink, my dear?” asked her host, yanking Savina back to the matter at hand. He offered her a small cup filled with dark liquid.
For a moment, she paused—for it looked like blood in the dim light of their lantern and the moon. But it smelled like wine, and she lifted it to her mouth to taste.
Just as it touched her lips, she thought better of drinking—or eating—anything a vampire was going to give her. Just in case. So she pretended to take a sip, and while Alexander rummaged in the basket, she dumped out half of the wine in the grass.
He turned back to her, holding a cluster of grapes (which was probably safe to eat) and a pot of cheese (probably not). “May I?” he asked, offering her one of the purple fruits between two fingers.
He meant to feed her. Savina hid her surprise and leaned forward to accept the grape, attempting to appear charmed and not repulsed. If it were Max Denton feeding her grapes on a blanket under the moonlight, she’d be thrilled.
Stop thinking about him, you idiot. Concentrate on this. On proving Father’s innocence.
“Mmm,” she murmured, holding Alexander’s eyes as she took the grape, then eased back into an upright seat. “Tangy.” He offered another, and she took the opportunity to take hold of his leather-covered wrist as she moved closer. With a little nip, she took the grape gently from his fingers.
“This is such a curious glove,” she said, skating her fingers down along its length. “I notice you always wear it. I find it very…interesting.” Her voice dropped on the last word, and she was rewarded when his eyelids flared a little.
“Thank you, my dear,” he replied. “I’m pleased it doesn’t put you off, for I never remove it. Regardless of whatever I might be doing…” His voice turned husky and low with promise.
“Not at all,” she replied, now using both hands to cover the glove. The leather was as soft as she’d suspected—and as thin and supple as his own skin. She cradled his wrist with both hands, aware of how much innuendo was contained in the way she held him and how there would be even more blatant eroticism if she moved her hands up and down the length of his arm. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“It was specially made for me.” His eyes were half-closed, but she could see a definite red glow burning from his shuttered irises. His lips were parted, and his nostrils flared lightly.
She smoothed her hands down in a gentle stroke, then back up again. The three small buckles that held the gauntlet in place teased her, just as she was teasing Alexander. If only one or two of them came undone…
“And you never take it off…?” she said provocatively. “Not for any reason? Not even…” She steeled herself and brought his hand to her lips, pressing light kisses along the back of each finger. When she slipped out her tongue, flicking its tip into the tiny hollow at the juncture of two fingers, his breath caught audibly. “Not even for this?” She turned his cold, undead hand (ugh) to nibble on his knuckles, taking her time, trying to find a way to release the buckles accidentally-on-purpose while avoiding the patches of hair that grew on the backs of his fingers.
He made a sound deep in his throat, and the next thing she knew, he’d leaned forward, sliding his free hand around to cup her head from behind. His grip was strong, his fingers digging into her skull as he pulled her close to cover her mouth with his. She lost her hold on the gauntlet as he pulled her off balance, then slid his arm around her waist.
Savina barely contained a shudder as his lips—one dry and cold, the other warm—moved over hers. His kiss was rough and terse, and she was certain she felt the sharp edge of a fang before she managed to slide her mouth away, propping herself up with one palm. “Alexander,” she murmured. The throaty sound of her voice wasn’t completely manufactured—though it wasn’t from desire, but disgust. “I don’t know what to say.”
“I’ve wanted to kiss you since the first time I saw you…in Vienna. Do you remember? The night we first met?”
“Of course,” she said. “It was a photography exhibit.”
“And you had some images on display. But it was the sight of you—and not any of those photographs—that caught my attention.”
She smiled demurely. That plan had gone precisely as she had intended. Now she needed to get this one back on track. “You’re too sweet, Alexander. I had no idea you thought anything of me.” She reached for his gauntleted arm, pretending to rub it unconsciously. One of the straps was coming loose from its buckle…
“I’ve hardly stopped thinking of you. But I hadn’t been able to learn how to contact you. Imagine my delight when you arrived here, as if conjured up from my dreams.” Again his voice lowered, and again, he moved toward her, pulling his arm free from her hold. “Just in time for my very special fete.” His head blocked the lantern above as he eased her back onto the blanket with firm hands.
“I consider it the most happy of coincidences,” she said, fighting the urge to push him away. He loomed over her, suddenly more broad and wide than she’d realized. A little tremor of apprehension seized her. He was an inhumanly strong vampire, after all.
“Coincidence?” he said, and suddenly his fangs flashed, wide and long and sharp. Her heart lurched. “I think not, my dear. Let’s not play games any longer, for I know precisely why you’re here.” And he plunged toward h
er throat.
CHAPTER 12
~ Circumstances ~
Savina and her companion had just gone out of sight when Max eased himself along one of the French doors that led from the balcony to Purcell’s suite. The doors were ajar, with an opening more than wide enough for him to slip through without moving either of them.
Whoever might be waiting for him inside was going to have a fight on his hands. Or her hands. Max was no misogynist, for he well knew the history of his family—and in particular, of the legendary struggle a century ago between two powerful females: Victoria Gardella and the vampire queen Lilith the Dark. Each of them had been more than a match for his own namesake, Max Pesaro, who was arguably the greatest Venator who ever lived.
Aside from not being sexist about his potential adversary, he supposed it wasn’t out of the realm of possibility that Rastingard had already arrived at Crenshaw. Though he doubted that would be the case, for there’d been no hue and cry about a newcomer. Surely the household would have been in an uproar if the guest of honor were here.
Max paused. He knew how to listen and how to sense another presence—whether it be undead or mortal. Now, he employed that carefully honed ability even as he withdrew a slender but extremely effective stake from his sleeve. Its silver tip was actually the core of an ash stake, like lead in a very thick pencil. The combination was extremely deadly to an undead. And painful too, when the silver touched the creature’s skin.
When Max was certain he knew approximately where the other person was waiting beyond the doors, he lowered himself to the ground so his entrance wouldn’t be detected until it was too late. In perfect silence and without a breath of movement from the door or its curtains, he army-crawled into Purcell’s suite, stake in hand.
Just inside the doorway, he paused, still low to the ground. His would-be assailant was to the right, but a wingback chair and its adjacent table blocked a chin-to-the-rug Max from the other person’s view. He could just make out the imperceptible sound of breathing, and the fact that the telltale chill had grown stronger on the back of his neck told him he was in for a fang-to-stake battle for sure.
Just the sort he liked.
While he was waiting, toying with the best way to get the most fight out of a one-on-one altercation while also being as efficient as possible, Max took the opportunity to scan the room. A desk on the opposite wall—now that was promising. Especially since there seemed to be a letter box on top of it. However, from his vantage point, there was nothing else that seemed worthwhile. He would do a thorough search, but—
A shrill, terrified scream cut through the night…from outside. From a distance.
Savina.
Dammit. No.
Max bolted to his feet and lunged for the balcony. He had one hand on the railing and was just about to launch himself over when he heard the sound of a gunshot from much too close behind him, and instantly a searing, blazing pain in the back of his shoulder. The shock caused him to lose his grip, and he jolted into the side of the railing.
Before he could recover, there was the sound of a pistol hammer being cocked once more.
Damn. A loaded gun. Pretty much the only stopper for a Venator.
Well, that and a hand grenade.
“Well, well, well. Max Denton. I thought that was you lurking about earlier today.”
Dammit to hell. He recognized the sneer in the shooter’s voice.
“Turn around slowly, and drop that puny little stake,” ordered Alexander Purcell’s valet. “You won’t be needing it.”
“Call it puny, but it’ll get the job done. Trust me.” Max bared his teeth as he tossed his weapon at the man’s feet. It rolled along enthusiastically until it came to the edge of the doorway. Meanwhile, he considered his options.
The pain in his shoulder was like fire; it’d been a while since he’d been shot and he’d forgotten what a nuisance it could be. Blood soaked his shirt front and back—the damned bullet had gone all the way through and was probably lodged in the tree across the way. And great buggering hell, the smell of it all was going to attract whatever undead happened to be in the vicinity. It wouldn’t take long before he had a small melee on his hands.
Nevertheless, Max felt a flicker of satisfaction, for the direction from which the shot had come confirmed the whereabouts of the man’s hiding place. He’d been right.
He just wished the bastard hadn’t been such an excellent shot. Or that he’d been half a second faster in vaulting over the railing.
Christ. Savina.
The shock of sudden blood loss must have addled his brain for him to have let her slip his mind for even a second. Max resisted the urge to look toward the picnic spot, but the surge of tension and fear caught him by surprise. What was happening? There’d just been that one scream. Had she gotten away? Was she under Purcell’s control?
God. His lungs tightened painfully. Was Purcell tearing into that beautiful throat, driving his fangs into her soft, silky skin…dragging his brutal nails along her torso? Wrapping the hair around his fist and plunging into her body?
A wave of cold nausea and horrifying memories assaulted him, erasing all other thought from his mind.
Not again. No. Not again.
Max was in motion before he finished the thought, taking both him and the valet by surprise when he grabbed the rail with his uninjured arm and threw himself over.
Hurtling twenty feet down, he landed heavily and with less grace than he would have liked, then bolted to his feet and was off in a staggering run.
Max only made it a few yards when the second gunshot echoed through the night. Pain…right in the back of his thigh. Dammit. He stumbled, caught himself—and then a great force shoved him down from behind.
Something slammed into the back of his head, and everything went dark and still.
CHAPTER 13
~ Evasion ~
Savina had been bitten by vampires in the past. So when Alexander sunk his fangs into her neck, she jolted, but wasn’t shocked into paralysis. She’d expected this—and had been prepared for it.
The fool hadn’t even attempted to enthrall her with his glowing red eyes first; he’d simply lunged. Fortunately for her, he lacked the finesse of a more experienced undead, and although Savina felt the sharp pinpricks of pain in the tender skin of her throat, she remained clear-headed at first.
I know exactly why you’re here. How did he know? A subtle chill cooled her to the tips of her fingers. Max. Had something happened to Max?
Fully aware of the blood flowing from her veins, pulsing harder inside them as the pressure was released, Savina fought to remain calm. Filling her ears, the pounding through her being matched the rhythmic kuh-kuh-kuh as Alexander drank, freeing her lifeblood. Though her mind was growing fuzzy, and she knew it wouldn’t be long before she would become weaker, Savina had to manage two tasks before he pulled away and realized what she’d done to deter him.
Stealthily, disguising her movements as ineffective struggles, she pushed at the gauntlet on his arm while working on the buckles. She focused hard on that, visualizing the leather sheath she’d stroked and examined so closely.
She’d already loosened one buckle previously, and now, as she moaned and shifted beneath him—not completely acting by this point, for the inevitable lull and arousal from being fed upon was beginning to overtake her—Savina managed to completely open the fastening. She pushed at Alexander from the other side as hard as she could, then fell back weakly as her fingers—quickly growing slower and less nimble—picked at a second buckle. First task…nearly completed. But the world was getting murky.
“Alexander,” she moaned. “What…what are you doing?”
Why hadn’t he stopped feeding yet? He should have been repulsed and pulled away by now—she’d swallowed an entire glass of holy water just before rushing down to meet him. Savina’s brain was becoming more sluggish, and the lust Max had created in her body was beginning to rush back with full force.
Suddenly, a s
cream rent the air.
Still sprawled on top of her, Alexander pulled away from her neck, removing his fangs more clumsily than she liked. She panted, freed for the moment from the incessant draw of blood.
As Alexander stared into the darkness, there was a gunshot from the direction of the house, but Savina couldn’t worry about that now. She took the opportunity to yank at the buttons on the front of her dress while her companion was distracted. Second task completed.
By the time he turned to look back at her, the night was silent except for their unsteady breathing…and she’d unfastened her neckline to reveal the top half of her special corset…
When Alexander saw it, he gave a screech and reared back, holding up a hand. The loose buckles on his gauntlet flopped enticingly. “What—what are you doing?” he managed, still cowering as he tried to avoid looking at her. There were three large silver crosses she’d affixed to the front of her corset just before pulling on her frock. One of them also served as the handle of an ash stake.
Savina sent up a quick thank you to Estevan for his cleverness. And for the heavy signet ring on her left hand. Not that she’d ever use it, but she had it if she needed it.
“Here’s a little advice for you, Alexander, darling,” she said, leaning toward him to put the holy relics into closer proximity to her would-be seducer. “Never bite a lady without permission. You might get an unpleasant surprise.”
The effect of the crosses would only last for a limited amount of time—rather like thrusting someone from darkness into bright light—but she hadn’t expected it to wear off so quickly. And even now, as the blood still pulsed steadily from the wounds on her throat, and the world tilted and shifted a little, Alexander’s attention wandered back to the fresh blood. She’d need to attend to those bites sooner rather than later.
Dark and Damaged: Eight Tortured Heroes of Paranormal Romance: Paranormal Romance Boxed Set Page 108