by Nancy Morse
“You live very well,” she concluded, looking back at him. “The only thing that seems to be absent is a clock, but then, I don’t suppose you have much need to know the time of day.”
“No, indeed,” came his flat response.
“What will it be like, living forever in darkness?”
“It’s not so bad,” he said. “The night is filled with wondrous things if you know where to look.”
“Will I be hunted?”
“Well, yes, there is that. But I will teach you how to stay one step ahead of the hunters.”
“And the Sanctum?” she asked with a shiver. “The secret society you told me about? Now that Edmund is gone, will there be others?”
“I dare say there are other first born sons devoted to the task of our destruction, but I have managed to elude them for centuries, and you should be able to do the same. Oh Prudence, don’t look so grim. It’s not all that bad. Look at the bright side. Now you can do what you will, take what you want, without consequence.”
And be as miserable about it as you, she thought with a grimace.
“I’ve never seen you eat food,” she said. “Do you?”
“Of course. I’m particularly fond of pigeon and sirloin of beef roast. Venison not so much. I like milk if taken from the cow immediately before consumption. And pudding and chocolate. Oh, and let’s not forget strawberries. I find them most enjoyable.”
The reminder of strawberries brought the color to Pru’s cheeks and an instant warming inside which had nothing at all to do with the sherry. Why did she have to feel something like that now when she was hating him so thoroughly and plotting her revenge? It was all worked out in her mind. She knew precisely what she would do.
She glanced up at him as he stood before the fireplace, one arm resting casually on the mantle, a silhouette against the light of the candles, just enough luminosity on his face to define those pale, handsome features, his eyes downcast, candleglow glinting upon his lashes. She could do it now, she thought wickedly. Catch him unaware and make him pay for his crime. But a stronger impulse held the unspeakable act at bay.
“You know,” she said, the seductive tone of her voice drawing his eyes toward her, “it’s terribly warm in the room.”
Placing the glass of sherry on the table beside the sofa, she reached up and began to take down her hair, letting the pins fall silently to the carpet. The braided coronet tumbled across one shoulder. With her fingers she separated the thick plait until it fell like cords of silk across the nape of her neck and down her back. She shook her head, fanning it loose.
His eyes stuck to her like hapless moths to a flame. “Shall I open a window for you?”
“No. I don’t think that would help.”
He came slowly forward, his shadow falling across the carpet, until he was standing before her. “Is there anything I can do for you?”
The candlelight glistened on her moistened lips. “Perhaps there is something I can do for you.”
A crooked little smile crossed his mouth. “You are a contrary creature, aren’t you?”
“Contrary? I don’t think so. Creature?” She rose slowly to stand before him. “Would you like to see what kind of creature I am?”
As she spoke, she toyed with the laces at her bodice, twirling them around her finger, slowly pulling them open and pulling her dress down to reveal the smooth bare skin of her shoulders before pushing it past her hips to the floor around her feet. She heard the sharp intake of his breath and saw the green of his eyes brighten with anticipation. Sweeping her hair up off her neck, she turned her back to him, and asked sweetly, “Would you unhook me please?”
His fingers worked swiftly to comply, unhooking her stays. When the garment was loosened, she allowed him to grasp a handful of her hair and bring it to his face to breathe in its fragrance for a moment before turning back around to face him.
She slipped quickly out of the stays and pushed her shift down past her shoulders and elbows, forming a pool of fabric around her ankles. She bent forward to step out of the silk and linen at her feet, and as she did, her hair fell toward her face, cascading over her shoulders so that when she stood erect, it concealed her breasts beneath a blanket of dark burnished gold. With slow, purposeful movements, she swept her hair back to reveal the plump white mounds with their rosy tips. Her eyes never left his face as she cupped her breasts, pushing them together to form a deep, hidden valley, and then slid her hands slowly, provocatively down her sides to her waist and over the flare of her hips.
His eyes widened and his tongue darted out to moisten his lips when she cupped the downy mound between her legs with one hand while with the other hand she reached forward and without ceremony grasped the hardened bulge that strained at his trousers.
“Prudence,” he said with a gasp. “What are you doing?”
“I am taking what I want,” she answered.
He leaned forward and reached for her, but she pulled back. “You must first finish undressing me.”
He obeyed, dropping to his knees before her. He cupped one calf, and then the other, as he lifted each leg to remove her buckled shoes with the small curved heels, then slid his hands up and down the white thread stockings before peeling each one off in turn while she balanced herself with her hands on his shoulders.
When she was naked before him, he rose and again advanced toward her, but she stopped him with her palm against his chest. “Not yet.”
With deliberate slowness she unfastened the buttons of his shirt, feeling deliciously wicked at the heavy rise and fall of his breast. Yes, she would get him exactly where she wanted him, and then she would make him pay for his evil deeds. With two buttons left to go, she grasped his shirt in both hands and ripped it fully open, pushing it off his shoulders and down his arms and flinging it away to fall in a soft heap on the carpet.
She ran her hands over his bare chest, across the little nipples that pricked her palms like tender thorns, and over the taut muscles of his stomach, watching with wicked satisfaction as every caress was reflected on his pale face.
Bringing her face close, she licked the salty flesh. He made a rough, licentious sound when she drew one taut nipple into her mouth and tugged at it with her teeth. She could feel the heavy throbbing of his muscles, smell the scent of him mingled with the rich earth upon which he was obliged to rest, and it drove her further into her determination to subdue him, to tame him, to destroy him.
She bit him, hurt him, kneading his flesh with her fingers that were stronger than she had ever felt them. But he made no protest. His head tilted back, eyes closed to the ceiling in pleasure. The sound of his breathing was like the wind, growing stronger and more violent with every inhalation.
“Oh,” he rasped, “you are a very naughty girl.”
Glancing downward, she could see his manhood throbbing against his trousers. Not yet, she whispered to herself. She wanted him to beg for it. The way he had given her no opportunity to beg for her mortality.
Taking his hand in hers, she led him to the sofa and pushed him down on it.
Standing naked before him, she watched the rise and fall of his chest grow heavier, stronger, more erratic as his eyes traveled over her.
“Do not torture me like this. Let me touch you,” he cried, his voice like a plea.
She moved closer, standing with her legs apart, her secret places now within easy reach. This time when he put his hand out, she did not pull back.
He touched her, forcing a gasp from her throat. She tried to concentrate on her purpose, but his fingers massaging her, teasing her, making her wet, forced the wicked plot aside in favor of pure, unadulterated pleasure. His hands were between her legs, forcing them wider apart as he slid forward on the sofa and brought his face to that spot of undisciplined desire.
Her fingers burrowed into his hair and she arched against him, panting and writhing. Looking down, she watched him as he pleasured her, his long dusky eyelashes fanning his cheeks, his lips suckling, his tongue
teasing her to madness. His fingers pressed into the soft flesh of her buttocks, locking her to him. What would once have been immoral ecstasy was now sweet madness. The shame she once felt from such an act was now a wanton need. The embarrassment was gone, replaced by a desire to have him see and touch and taste and know every inch of her. White hot heat spread through her, making her nipples ache with fullness. Drops of wetness of her own carnal juices mingled with his saliva to trickle down the insides of her thighs, tickling the tender flesh.
With a sudden gesture, she grasped a handful of his long, silky hair and pulled his head back. He looked up at her, a mixture of surprise and relish brightening his green eyes, wetness upon his lips, but she just smiled dangerously and pushed him onto the sofa, pressing his back against the cushions.
She came toward him like a great cat advancing on its prey, and dropped to her knees, moving into the space between his legs. She eased the buttons of his trousers out of their slots one by one, slowly, until he finally reached for the last few and tore them open himself, sending them flying off into the air. His phallus thrust itself from the opening of his trousers with a defiant will of its own, red and rigid, blue veins pulsing at its sides and drops of dew glistening on its tip. Her gaze moved from his arousal to his face. His eager expression told her what he wanted. She molded her hand around his shaft and heard him suck in his breath.
“Tell me what you want,” she whispered, her breath fanning his swollen member.
“You know what I want.” His voice was a low, taut grinding sound, the kind a man makes when he can scarcely breathe with pent-up lust.
“You must ask me nicely for it,” she teased.
He gave out with a short, strained laugh. “You would have me plead with you?”
Pru’s fingers tightened. “I would have you beg.”
For the barest moment he said nothing, his breath coming hard and fast, his member throbbing inches away from the pleasure she could give it. “I have never begged for anything in my life,” he said hungrily.
She moved her face away and placed her hands upon his knees as if to rise.
He swallowed hard between breaths and gripped her shoulders with cruel strength, holding her there.
Smiling up at him, she said, “How badly do you want it? Bad enough to beg?”
In a voice seething with anger and lust, he said, “I could snap your neck, you insolent bitch.”
“But you won’t.”
For several moments their gazed locked, sizzling green striking cold, hard blue.
His grip tightened painfully at her shoulders as he pushed her head slowly forward. “All right, damn you. Do it. Please. Do it. I beg you.”
Yes, she thought triumphantly, beg for it. Beg as if nothing in the world matters except this.
She touched her lips to him and felt his shuddering response. He groaned and splayed his long elegant fingers in her hair, twisting and twining the burnished tresses. He tasted of sweat and semen when she drew the shaft into her mouth, just the tip at first, swirling her tongue around the soft ridge, and then taking it fully, while her hands slid up and down the long muscular tightness of his thighs beneath the coarse fabric of his trousers.
His long lashes closed over his eyes, his back arched and his hips thrust in rhythm to her maddening strokes. He was at her mercy now, as she had been at his as she had lain in a mud puddle on the cobblestones. She was taking his will from him as surely as he had taken hers, leaving him no choice but to succumb to her desire as she had succumbed to his. He had made her into this thing that she had become. Long before last night he had turned her into a wanton woman, made her crave the desires of the flesh as desperately as she craved life. But he had taken life from her, and there was nothing left to crave except this carnal pleasure and the insane desire to destroy him as he had destroyed her.
Drawing her lips from him, she rose and straddled his legs. Her hand found his wet and swollen member and guided its tip toward her opening.
He made a sound, part groan, part laughter, at the aggressive power of her body. His hips thrust upwards, seeking entry, but she hovered just above him, prolonging the agony.
“Let me fill you,” he rasped.
She came down hard on him, her body tightening around him.
Placing his hands on her hips, he lifted her up and down, up and down, impaling her on himself. Her plump breasts shook with each thrust, the hardened nipples brushing his face. Tilting his head toward her, he opened his mouth over her nipple and sucked hard, drawing a moan from deep in her throat. Her hair fell forward, catching glints of candlelight along each strand, the fragrant waves washing over his face.
She had wanted to bring him to his knees, to make him feel powerless and defenseless. But she should have known better. It was she who felt helpless to withstand her own dark hungers. She who was defenseless against this desperate pleasure. She who no longer recognized herself. Decent. Reckless. Modest. Wanton. Alive. Dead.
Even her climax, when it came, was a betrayal. Wave upon wave of unbridled pleasure shook her to the very core of her being. There was no sense of triumph in it, only a stark reminder of what she was, what he had made her into—a creature of the flesh, of the night, of eternity.
Damn him for this. Damn him.
CHAPTER 27
“You know, Prudence, I think I much prefer you when you are hating me.”
His voice, so damnably casual as he straightened his trousers, pressed upon her nerves. He was back to his old self now, arrogant, haughty, in full possession of his overconfident nature. For a few moments in time he had been an ordinary man quivering with sexual desire, but the figure that stood before her now was the cold, calculating vampire she had come to loathe. It only strengthened her resolve to do what she knew she had to do.
“We two make quite a team,” he went on. “Rather like a pair of wild horses hitched to a runaway carriage.”
“I never thought of myself as a mare,” Pru said sourly.
He scooped up his shirt from the carpet and donned it. “Think of the times we will have. The things we will do. The love we will make. If tonight was any sample of what is to come, I thank God that I have the rest of eternity and you to share it with. You are quite the little tigress. I must say, being a vampire agrees with you.”
Pru grimaced and got up from the sofa to go in search of her clothes. She pulled her shift on over her head and reached for her stays.
“Allow me,” he said.
“I can do it myself,” she replied, brushing away from him. “How do you think I have managed all these years without you?”
“As you wish.” He backed away and went to pour himself a glass of sherry.
Pru hooked her stays in front and then twisted the garment around so that the hooks were at her back where they belonged. She slipped the shift over her head. With a rustle of silk she pulled the dress up over her hips and arms and laced the bodice. The candlelight glinted off the hair pins she retrieved from the carpet. With practiced hands, she plaited her long hair and wound it atop her head in a coronet. She glanced about the room, seeking a mirror in which to view her handiwork, and realized with a start that it would not matter even if there was one.
“Will I never be able to see my reflection again?” she muttered, unaware that she had spoken her dismal thoughts aloud, until she heard him answer.
“Not in a mirror, no. A puddle, perhaps, although not as clearly.”
She whirled to him then, her face flushed with incomprehension. “How can you be so casual about it?”
“It is what it is,” he said fatalistically. “I guess you can call me a pragmatist. It’s a trait you too shall acquire over time.”
“Did you never want to see yourself?” she questioned, appalled at his seeming lack of caring.
He shrugged elegantly in his shirtsleeves. “You learn to see yourself through the eyes of others.”
“And if others see you as a monster?”
He arched a dark brow at her. “
Are we speaking hypothetically? Ah, I can tell from the look on your face that we are not.” He took a sip from the glass and allowed a bored sigh to escape his lips. “Oh well. As I said, it is what it is.”
Pru did not trust herself to reply. If she did, her words might betray the thoughts hatching in her mind.
Still, tears of despair tore at the back of her throat as one question raged through her mind. She watched him from the corners of her eyes, so smug and self-assured, so overbearing as to think they were a team. Indeed! A team of what? Killers? Blood drinkers? Did he really imagine them as two merry vampires romping their way through eternity? She wanted to weep, to shout, to tear at him in any way she could.
She bit her lip, but the questioning words came crashing out. “Why did you do this to me?” she demanded desperately.
An impenetrable look darkened his eyes, and he answered warily, “You were dying in my arms.”
Pru groaned. “You should have let me die.”
“I could not,” he admitted softly.
“It was not your decision to make.”
His voice strengthened. “I felt you draw your last breath.”
“You should have left my fate in the hands of God.”
He placed the glass of sherry on the mantle and approached her, green eyes tense and alive. “To lay half dead waiting for your life to drain away at the hands of evil is worse than anything you can imagine. Believe me, I know. Ask your father. He knows. Did you not smell the stink of your father’s dying spirit each time you entered his room?”
She stared at him in horror. The smell of the sickroom had not gone unnoticed, nor did the way poor Papa lay like a marble statue on his bed, his breath so shallow at times that she’d had to place an ear close to his lips to confirm that he still breathed. The doctors’ pronouncements, each one worse than the last, had filled her with dread and sent her one fateful night to the bridge where she had first met the vampire that would change her life forever.