by Nancy Morse
“Your tea,” he said as he handed the cup to her. “I have taken the liberty of including some of these wonderful little berries. The children collect them and string them on pieces of straw and sell them in the market. They’re quite good.”
Pru sat down and accepted the cup from him. She sipped the tea and licked the savory flavor from her lips. “This is unusually good.”
“It’s a special blend I discovered at the market,” he said from over the rim of his cup. How quaint this is, he thought sardonically, sipping tea as if we were at a social gathering and making small talk to pass the time. “So, tell me,” he ventured, “how is your father?” He was instantly sorry he asked when she placed the cup down, not having ingested nearly enough of the potion for it to do its trick.
“Not well, I’m afraid,” she said broodingly. Her lower lip trembled, but she caught it in her teeth just shy of tears and looked down at her lap.
“That is too bad,” he said, attempting a sympathetic tone that he did not truly feel. “Perhaps your spirits will rise when you hear the piece I am about to play for you.”
Lifting her chin, she said, “There’s to be a concert next month at Vauxhall Gardens. Papa was planning to play the piece himself. It has all been arranged. It’s been awhile since he performed, and he was so looking forward to it, but now…” A sudden thought occurred to her, brightening her saucer eyes. “Will you perform in his place?”
Nicolae smiled with false modesty. “Why don’t I play the piece for you and let you decide if it’s worthy of a public audience?” His eyes darted to the teacup she lifted to her lips and he smiled inwardly as she drank.
He placed his own teacup on a side table and took his seat behind the violoncello, drawing the lower bout between his knees and the upper bout against his chest. Grasping the bow in his right hand, he drew it across the strings, beginning the Prelude.
The strong recurring theme of the arpeggiated notes of the chord played in rapid succession, followed by a scale-based cadenza movement that built to the final, powerful chords were as the music master had written them. But what came next was a difficult flowing eight-note movement. This part of the suite was written in much more free form than anything that preceded it, containing more cadenza-like movements and virtuosic passages. It was quite literally a symphony for the violoncello, evoking joy in every note and triumph in every chord. He had achieved a perfect balance between the formal approach of the music master and his own romantic, rhapsodic interpretation in a profoundly moving performance.
Moonlight radiance filtered into the room through a gap in the heavy drapery, catching his face in shadow and pearly light. The music curled like smoke from a distant fire, infiltrating every corner and crevice, hauntingly beautiful and serene one moment, fierce and anger-filled the next. It seemed to flow from a place somewhere inside of him that was untouched by awareness, a subconscious magic that stemmed from a wordless place.
A palpable silence settled over the room. Nicolae’s head was bent, dark locks obscuring his eyes, his breathing challenged. The music stirred his emotions to such depths that he struggled to regain composure. When he opened his eyes, he saw that Pru was looking at him. There was a smile of admiration on her face. When most mortals looked upon him with revulsion and horror, there was only what could best be described as wonder in her blue eyes that were shiny with tears. It touched him unexpectedly with a new feeling, unfamiliar now for so long it was all but forgotten…happiness.
No, no, he must not lose sight of his objective. And besides, the brew he’d ingested was working much too effectively for him to turn back now.
He rose from his seat behind the violoncello, drawing her eyes to his and holding her gaze as he came toward her. The swelling in his breeches grew stronger with every step he took, but she did not notice, for like the hapless fly, she was already secured in his web, held fast by piercing emerald eyes that held sway over her.
He dropped to one knee before her. “Did you like it?”
“Oh yes,” Pru breathed. “It was beautiful. Like a prayer.”
All the heavenly prayers in the world will not save you now, he thought as he took her hand in his.
“You play with such…” She strained to find the words to describe the fluid splendor of his music. “…such depth of soul.”
He dropped her hand as if it were a flaming hot poker and scrambled to his feet. “Do you mock me madam?”
The savage contempt in his voice was as sharp as a backhanded slap across the face. She opened her mouth to speak, to say something, anything, but no words emerged.
Nicolae towered over her, a mercilessly cruel look on his face that made him appear uncivilized, quite as if the music had been made by someone that bore no resemblance to the man who stood before her now.
Pressed against the back of the chair, she looked up at him, and said in a softly apologetic voice, “I don’t understand.”
She looked positively pathetic trying to hold back her tears. How could she know that he was a vile, soulless creature? His stance softened and the fury died from his eyes when he realized the extent of his overreaction. He reached again for her hand.
“Come with me,” he whispered.
She drew back at what sounded at once like a request and a command.
He was prepared for her resistance, especially in light of his outburst. Those with strong wills always required more time to mesmerize. But as this was one sweet plum ripe for plucking, his gaze intensified, growing more heated and demanding until he sensed that she was sufficiently under his control. “Come,” he coaxed in a deceptively gentle voice. “There is much I want to show you.” Drawing her to her feet, his gaze never leaving hers, he led her out of the room, up the winding staircase and into the bedroom.
***
Pru looked past him at the large four-poster bed that was draped with yards of heavy fabric, and in a far-away part of herself she felt a faint bolt of alarm. She knew she should turn and run, yet she could not. His eyes were so mystical and beautiful, the sound of his voice as sweet as a melody. His confounding behavior was all but forgotten. Her head was swimming with thoughts, none of which made any sense and all converging on a single revelation. Somehow she knew without knowing that all her questions were about to be answered, all her longings about to be fulfilled. And if she was fearful of the outcome, the fear only seemed to heighten the anticipation.
He caught her gaze once again with his. “How do you feel?”
“I…I don’t know. I can scarcely breathe. It must be the music. Yes, the music.”
He asked, “Do you wish to leave?”
“No,” she answered truthfully.
“And if you stay, you know what is going to happen, do you not?”
“No. Yes.”
He smiled that sweet diabolical smile of his, and said, “I am going to devour you.” Giving her no time to respond or to react, he brought his face close and touched his lips to hers.
He tasted like strawberries and cinnamon as his tongue moved over her lips, his warm breath mingling with hers. Pru’s whole body trembled with sheer joy. His kiss was light and airy, yet filled with the promise of so much more that all modesty and every bit of virtue she had seemed to vanish into thin air when, in truth, she willingly let them go. Her mouth opened, inviting a kiss that was so ardent and powerful it sucked the breath right out of her lungs. Her pulse beat erratically in her ears. Her will was lost amidst this newly discovered amorous pleasure.
He forced her back up against the hard surface of the door, kissing her, holding her so close that she could feel the press of his hardened anatomy even through her voluminous skirts. A sound emerged from the back of her throat, a whimper that seemed to come from some far-off place as the last vestiges of salvation slipped away. She wanted this…craved this. Even though she had no tangible idea of what this really was.
Her hands were pressed against his chest as if to keep him at bay, yet her fingers moved toward his arms, wrapping a
round the taut muscles to draw him closer still. He responded with an animal growl, a sound so startlingly realistic that she gave pause, but before it could truly register upon her brain, he was tearing at her clothes, and God help her, she was letting him. Without knowing how, the dress of silk and satin was suddenly pooled around her ankles. The lace kerchief she had foolishly used to conceal her bosom fluttered to the carpet. The hoop of linen stiffened with cane was dispatched, followed by the linen stays as his hands hastily undid the front lacing, and finally the linen shift she wore next to her bare skin floated away like a feather on the air.
Pru shivered, not from the cold, for the fire that sputtered in the corner hearth threw enough heat into the room, but from the fact that she was now completely and utterly naked. Never before had a man looked upon her thus. She felt a flood of embarrassment rise to her cheeks, tinting them with color. This could not be happening. Stop. Oh, please stop. Yet the words did not come. He was running his hands all along her arms, caressing the curve of her shoulders, across her collarbone, pausing at the pulsing hollow of her throat as if it held some secret significance before moving downward to cup both breasts, their heaviness spilling over his palms, rubbing the hardened tips with his thumbs until they fairly ached with pleasure.
Mindless sensations raced through her being. He was kissing her again, his lips burning a trail from her mouth to her throat, pausing there again to run his tongue over the silky smooth flesh, the breath catching in his throat as he did, and then continuing downward, tugging at her swollen nipples with his teeth, first one, then the other, gently at first, then harder, making her wince with torturously sweet pain.
She was holding him tight to her, feeling the rasp of his garments against her naked flesh, reveling in the delicious sensations he was arousing in her, and oh so mindful of the hard bite of his phallus against her, telling her there was yet more of this erotic pleasure to discover. But she had no idea what the true nature of it was, until he took a half-step back and trailed his forefinger across her belly to her most intimate place, where it lingered at the dark curls for a moment before slipping between her secret folds. She gasped, part shock, part libidinous reaction, when his fingers entered her. His exploration was shocking and lascivious and spread white hot pleasure through her.
Her body trembled, wrenching soft cries from her when he pushed harder. Withdrawing his fingers, he worked swiftly to unbutton his trousers, pushing them down past his boots. When his engorged member was freed of the confines of his trousers, he reached up and placed his palms on either side of her face. They were both breathing deeply. In a voice that was smooth and commanding and filled with centuries of experience, he told her, “Look into my eyes.”
All her life Pru had obeyed men. Her father. Edmund. And now this immoral man. Slowly, she lifted her gaze to his.
“There is something you must do for me. If I ask it, will you do it?”
She shuddered with apprehension, yet when his gaze was fixed so strongly upon hers, she was incapable of refusing any wish or command he might make. She gave a tremulous nod of her head.
He took her hand and guided it toward his swollen phallus. “Don’t be afraid.”
“I’ve never—”
“I will guide you. Place you hand thus.”
Her hand shook as he placed it upon himself, wrapping her fingers around its thickness. Pru sucked in her breath. This part of him was all heat and dark fire, at once compelling and dangerous.
“You hold great power in your hand,” he whispered against her flesh. “You can bring me to my knees with such power.”
“What would you have me do?” she asked in a voice that seemed not to be her own.
“I would have you move your hand smoothly up and down, like so.” He taught her the movements and then let go of her hand. “Yes,” he rasped, his breath coming now in short, rapid bursts. “That’s it.”
She was an avid pupil, but there was still so much more to learn. Her body was on fire, too enflamed to notice the coldness of his touch as he placed his hands on her shoulders and exerted downward pressure. She looked at him questioningly. “I would have you on your knees,” he said.
She could not know the reason for this strange request until she was kneeling before him and his hand at the back of her head guided her face closer and the tip of his phallus brushed her cheek, and then the objective was all too apparent. She turned her head to the side. “I cannot.”
“You can. You must.”
“No, please.”
“Prudence, look at me.”
She was too afraid to refuse the almost cruel command in his tone and looked upwards with pleading eyes and dilated pupils.
His green gaze burned fiercely into hers. “You will do this,” he said thickly. “You will do whatever I ask.”
She swallowed hard. What was happening to her? Why was she no longer in control of her own will? Why was it that the only will that mattered was his?
With malicious authority, he said, “Consider this my gift to you. And you will take great pleasure in receiving it.”
“Yes, Nicolae.”
Her lips moved to that part of him that held no secrets and opened to receive his gift.
He was a wicked man, Satan himself, to ask such an unholy thing of her. Yet the taste of him was not all together unpleasant, and to hear the guttural moans that escaped his lips and feel the spasms that wracked his body, before too long she felt a sense of triumph in knowing that she could indeed bring him to his knees. It made her feel strong and powerful in ways she’d never felt before.
When he could stand no more of her maddening kisses, he lifted her back up and clasped her against him. His hands moved to the soft flesh of her buttocks. Grasping her there, he lifted her into the air before him, held her there for a moment and brought her down with force, impaling her on his hardened member.
Her cry of pain attested to the fact that she was, indeed, a virgin, uninitiated in the ritual of lovemaking. She was moist and hot and so sublimely tight that it took every ounce of willpower he possessed to keep himself from coming too fast.
The force of his penetration, the tearing of the hidden shield that guarded her virtue, made her flinch with pain. She struggled, but only half-heartedly. Even if she had not been seduced by his mesmerizing eyes, even if she had fought him in earnest, she would have been no match for his strength.
The hurt was drowned out by the almost primitive desire that drove him. His penetration burned so deeply inside of her that she could no longer tell if it was truly pain or pleasure. She lifted her arms around his neck and clung to him, wrapping her slender legs around him, drawing him in deeper and feeling the contraction of the muscles of his buttocks against her calves as he thrust into her. He moaned, lifting her with each stroke and pulling her back down upon him, thrusting harder and faster…faster…using his immortal strength to withhold the moment of his own release until he was sure she was on the brink.
Pain and pleasure, fear and euphoria enveloped her. Something was happening, something almost other-worldly. She gulped in the air, unable to draw enough of it into her lungs to satisfy their need. Every muscle in her body tensed in anticipation of something coming. Every nerve ending screamed for sweet release. When it came, her body wracked with involuntary convulsions and she cried out with joy over what she had just discovered and sorrow over the innocence she had just lost.
***
Nicolae felt the tension drain from her body just as he poured his profane seed into her, shuddering over and over again with such force, his moans sounding like those of a wounded beast in torment. He gave one final bursting shudder, the summation of everything that was lustful and corrupt, an unearthly growl rising from deep within his chest.
Between shaking breaths he lifted her off of himself, held the swaying woman upright while he pulled his downed trousers back up over his boots, and carried her limp body to the bed where he placed her down. Come morning she would recall little of what had occu
rred here tonight.
He stood for several moments looking down at her as she lay exhausted on the linens. Somewhere in the frenzy of their coupling her hair had tumbled loose from the braid and now fanned over the pillow in disarray. Her face was flushed, her saucer eyes were closed, dark lashes wet with tears. Immortal though he might be, he was still capable of being aroused by a sensual woman, and this one, with her imperfect features and plump breasts, was a sensual feast.
She was a fool, however, for thinking that one such as he possessed a soul. Anger and frustration tore at him. Oh, that it were so. Well, he had shown her the true nature of what he was. He had meant to use her, and use her he had. But what he had not counted on was this blasted feeling of…what? Regret? Hardly. Pity? Not likely. What, then? Salvation? Now, there was a novel thought. The deed was done. Why, then, wasn’t he feeling like the triumphant warrior? He turned away with disgust.
It was then he felt the wet sticky blood that had come from her and which now stained the tip of his member crimson. His green eyes brightened. A taste. Just a taste. With the tip of his finger he wiped a glistening red drop away and brought it to his mouth. He smoothed the blood over his lips. Sweet. Like honey. He ran his tongue over his lips and felt his pulse begin to pound, not as before with carnal desire, but from the age-old curse that made him what he was.