Bound By Blood

by Kimberly Hoyt

  Lowering his head, he kissed her with brushes and strokes, gliding deeper and hotter when she opened to admit him. He crowded her, stole her breath, trading masculine passion for a kittenish moan. She nipped his lip when he started to withdraw, earning a look of dark promise. Sliding her fingers under the crook of his arm when he offered it, she let him lead her from the opera house to the waiting limousine.

  Their night was not finished yet.

  New York sparkled around them as they drove through the streets. People in coats and scarves, cheeks pink from the cold, hurried along the sidewalks. Flurries turned into fat, lazy flakes that spiraled down from the dark sky. With the taste of him still on her tongue, Laurel tried to guess their next destination. Three turns and two stoplights later, the car pulled up outside a glittering storefront. Warm, welcoming light spilled from the huge windows.

  It took Laurel all of a second to realize what Sebastian had planned; a shopping spree to end all shopping sprees. Somehow, he had managed to secure Saks after hours. On Christmas eve. After he helped her out, she stood on her tiptoes and kissed his mouth. It was becoming a familiar--and pleasant--habit.

  "Thank you, Sebastian. I don't know how you did it, but thank you."

  “Do you know how beautiful you are? Sebastian directed Laurel's attention forward. Their reflections stared out at him from every angle, an elegant hall of mirrors. Juxtaposed behind her petite, blonde beauty, he was dark and broad shouldered, eyes as blue as gasflame.

  Watching her. Always watching her.

  "I feel that way when you look at me like you do," she said.

  Gentle in counterpoint to the hunger she stirred in him, he brushed touches down her arms. When he reached her hands, he fanned his fingers between hers and guided her arms into the air; a slow motion snow-angel.

  “I want you to always feel beautiful,” he rumbled close to her ear. He felt her shiver against him. Saw her gaze move between the reflection of his eyes and his hands on her body. “Your skin deserves nothing but the finest silks and satins.” Dragging his hands down her up-stretched arms, he traced the contour of her with feather light fingertips. Down, down, following the lines of her feminine hips. He mapped the red velvet dress against the outsides of her thighs. Skimming her shape, drawing attention to the perfection he saw when he looked at her.

  His lips grazed her ear and he closed his eyes against the urge to plunder the flesh that pulsed so prettily along the outside of her neck. He reveled in the way she responded to him, the way goosebumps erupted over her skin.

  Sebastian touched her nowhere untoward, did not cross the lines he had established for himself when it came to their physical relationship. Oh, but the desire. He was hard with it where he stood behind her, cloaked in the elegance of Armani and starched linen. A façade to hide the deceit of his existence.

  Behind them, the department store glittered and beckoned, its treasures laid at Laurel's feet. On nothing but a word and a hefty bonus, the manager had agreed to stay open late. Tucked into a small purse, a card with unlimited purchasing power was at her disposal.

  A gasp drew him from his thoughts. Her eyes were round with surprise at the price tag between her fingers.

  "Sebastian, this is exorbitant--"

  "Price doesn't matter," he said.

  She met his eyes in the mirror. "It's three th--"

  "It still doesn't matter. Try on the others. I want to see you in all of them." He drew the tip of his nose along her cheek, scenting her, and stepped out of the dressing room.

  A plush chair flanked by end tables became his temporary throne. Wine and fruit and chocolate were arrayed to his left, flowers in vases to his right. He heard every slither of silk, every rustle of velvet while she changed. Picking up his glass, he nicked his tongue and let the blood taint his wine. Stretching his legs, he waited with the patience of a saint.

  She came out in silver, in dramatic shades of blue, in soft, feminine floral. Some exposed the slender shape of her calves, flirty and fun, and others hugged her curves all the way to the ankle. More mirrors surrounded her, a carnival instead of a hall, turning one Laurel into hundreds.

  He watched with a dark hunger that grew by the second. A hunger he'd learned how to control-- one that she tested every time she blushed or smiled.

  "I really like this one," she said, arriving on the short dais in front of his chair. He could tell by the way she held her body that she felt special in it, that she wanted him to like it, too.

  And he did.

  White, with floral embroidery flaring up from the scalloped hem and across the neckline, it suited her. It showed a small amount of thigh and all of her arms.

  "I like it, Laurel. Keep it." He wondered if he looked as predatory as he felt. It had been a long time, longer than he could recall, that a woman went out of her way to please him like this.

  Stepping down, she walked toward his chair rather than the dressing room. Leaning in, she kissed the corner of his mouth and whispered in his ear. "I will. Thank you."

  Hand snaking around her nape before she could retreat, he pulled her in for a kiss. Shallow and brief, it nevertheless left him wanting more. He released her, satisfied at the sultry way she licked the taste of him from her lip.

  She smiled, a look of longing in her eyes that faded to mischief, and turned to go change. A pair of black boxers flew through the air from over her shoulder and landed on his stomach.

  "Remember. You promised to let me pick something for you to try on, too," she said with a stroke of girlish laughter.

  On the butt of the briefs, in large white letters, it said: Lust.

  Surprised into a laugh of his own, he lifted them up and examined them-- no. No, he would not be putting those on.

  "I think not, cara mia."

  An hour later, they stood outside the door to her suite. A whole new wardrobe, from casual clothes to lingerie, had been delivered and stowed in the extra bedroom. He had no reason to linger. Soon the sun would drive him to ground, forcing him from her company whether he liked it or not.

  "This was the best Christmas Eve I've ever had, Sebastian. Thanks for making it so special." Laurel, starry eyed and tipsy from all the wine, hadn't stopped smiling for hours.

  He cupped her jaw in his hand, drawing his thumb over the crest of her cheek. "I'm glad you had a good time. I'll see you around six tomorrow night, hm?"

  "Yes. Have a good day at work." She kissed the center of his palm and stepped inside the suite.

  Sebastian felt a pang at the deception he was obligated to perpetrate. "Good night, Laurel."

  She flashed him a final smile and closed the door like she knew he wouldn't leave until he'd heard her engage the locks. Already she grew familiar with his habits.

  He departed the hotel by way of shadows instead of elevators and stairs, sinking into the embrace of the night.

  Laurel sat amidst a flurry of wrapping paper, elegant ribbons and more gifts than she knew what to do with. A new laptop sat on the low table in front of the sofa, a phone rested in her lap, and a slew of electronic gadgets for both littered the seat at her side. Clothes, gloves, a coat, and more jewelry were in their boxes on the floor at her feet.

  Christmas cheer was everywhere.

  She'd spent a fascinating, fun day with Nina while she waited for Sebastian to get off work. By the time the dancer left, Laurel felt she'd made a steadfast friend.

  It had been Sebastian's arrival, though, that set the tone for the holiday. He'd come just after dusk, dressed in tailored slacks of gray and a fitted sweater in black that she'd chosen at Saks. Gone was the suit but not the predatory hunger in his eyes or his expression. They'd spent hours talking over dinner-- a meal that he'd hardly touched because, he explained, he'd been obliged to dine out with his associates. He'd guided her through a handful of slow dances until it was time for gifts. Now he stood near the window with a glass of scotch in his hand, watching her.

  "Thank you so much, Sebastian. You've gone above and beyond with all
this. I love it."

  "I'm pleased you like your gifts, Laurel."

  "But I have something for you, too," she said, setting the phone down so she could rise. A pair of gray pants and a pink shirt clung to her curves, leaving room for movement. She brought out two gifts from behind the sofa, grinning as she set them on the coffee table.

  He seemed surprised that she'd gotten him anything. "Laurel, you didn't have to do that."

  "Yes I did," she said, curling a leg beneath her when she sat back down.

  He set his scotch aside and sat next to her, taking the taller gift in his hands. The lid lifted under the pressure of his fingers, exposing a green leafed plant. Sebastian glanced across at her even as she started to explain.

  "It's a Mountain Laurel. I thought you could plant it at your house so every time it blooms, you'd think of me." Laurel hadn't known what to give a man who had everything. The only thing left were pieces of herself.

  He smiled when he realized the implication, leaving the top off so the plant could breathe. "That's very thoughtful, Laurel. I will have it planted somewhere prominent."

  Leaning across the couch, he brushed a kiss against her mouth. "Thank you."

  Laurel met the kiss and answered with a breathy, "You're welcome."

  Lingering there, he loomed close against her side. She held his eyes until he sat back and picked up the other gift. Flat and square, he had to tear the paper off to get at the framed photo inside. It was a portrait of her, smiling, dimple in her cheek, hair loose around her face.

  Sebastian held it between his palms, staring down like she'd just given him her heart on a platter. "I have wished for just this thing the past few days. It will go perfect on my desk," he finally said.

  Laurel was pleased that he seemed so taken with the gift. "I'm going to frame one of us in front of the tree when we get home."

  He set the picture on the table with care. "A good idea. I was thinking that we might spend the week here, maybe attend a New Year's party."

  The first thing Laurel thought was that her boss would have a fit. Probably fire her. Her next thought was that she didn't care. She could worry about the consequences later.

  A whole week in New York. With Sebastian. "That's an excellent idea! We can see the sights, take walks in Central Park.”

  "In the evening, yes. I'll have to work during the day, but you can shop and explore at your leisure while I'm gone." Watching her, he draped his arm along the back of the seat.

  "Sebastian, I think you've bought me all the clothes in New York." She teased him and laughed when he did.

  "Hardly. You're not allowed to come home with any more of those boxers with writing on the back. --Unless they're for you." He made his stipulation with a grin on his mouth.

  "I will if I want to," she said, sassing him. "Oh, but there is one more thing I'd like for Christmas, Sebastian."

  His amusement ebbed, leaving his eyes warm with regard for her. He arched a brow.

  "I wonder if you wouldn't mind seeing me off into sleep tonight. You know, maybe talk to me about your businesses again or your travels until I'm out." Laurel couldn't think of a better way to end what had been a perfect day. It was an unspoken thing between them that he wouldn't spend the whole night-- although it was already into the wee hours.

  "Go change. I'll take care of this," he said, gesturing to the array of gifts spread around. Laurel searched his eyes, pleased to see that he seemed touched by the idea. Rising off the couch, she disappeared into the bedroom and rifled through the lingerie he'd bought her. It would have been easy to pick something racy and suggestive, but she wasn't trying to test him. Or herself. In the end, she pulled a silk fly-away in red over her head, tying the string across the front. Climbing into bed, she ducked her legs under the covers and waited.

  He came in a few minutes later, pulling aside the draperies so the glittery skyline was in view.

  Laurel expected him to position a chair next to the bed. Instead, he tugged the sweater over his head and laid it down. Even in the half-light, she could see how well defined his muscles were. A dark whorl of hair traveled from his chest all the way to his navel, disappearing beyond the band of his pants. She wouldn't have been human if she didn't appreciate the lean, hard shape of him.

  Walking to the other side of the bed, he slid onto the covers behind her and wrapped an arm around her middle. She noticed he didn't disturb the mattress but it was a stray, distracted thought. Perhaps asking him to do this was too presumptuous or leading. Maybe he thought she was hinting for something deeper than genial conversation-- but no. She knew by the way he touched her that he didn't expect things, didn't have any plans other than to hold her and give her what she wanted. This was intimacy on levels she'd never experienced and it had nothing to do with seduction.

  "Merry Christmas, Laurel," he said near her ear.

  "Merry Christmas, Sebastian." She felt every hard muscle under his warm skin pressed against her back.

  He began with Madrid, voice resonant and low, his breath tickling her cheek. The tales spun out with languid ease, his vague accent luring her under. It happened in stages, the world going hazy at the edges, a pleasant numbness crawling across her mind.

  This, she thought, was what happiness felt like.

  He couldn't remember the last time he celebrated, or enjoyed, Christmas so much. The holidays in his house usually blurred by without any celebration or thought. It was just another day to endure, like the ones before it. Like the ones after. When was the last time they'd even had a tree at the manor? Presents to open? Music of the season playing on the stereo? Experiencing it through a mortal's eyes had reopened his own to the potential joy and merriment that they'd all seemed to forget.

  Pacing through his subterranean sanctuary, he went through the motions of showering, dressing and grooming while he reflected on Laurel. On the sudden turn his life had taken. Their week had been a busy one filled with exclusive parties, idyllic walks through the snow, and carriage rides under the stars. It was a mortal courtship unlike any he had ever known. She made him laugh, made him thoughtful. Hours of conversation had exposed a sweeter side of her that he found as compelling as her warmth, her honesty. They'd seen the New Year in together, sharing an intimate kiss among a crowd of hundreds.

  Being near her was becoming addictive. He'd grown used to holding her at night while she slept, indulging in her innocence, the feel of her breaths under his palm. She never once questioned his restraint, though at times he did. He couldn't bring himself to take her with so much deception between them.

  Upon their arrival back in Sperling, he'd wanted to take her home. To his home. He wanted her under his roof, under his protection. There was danger in that, however. Danger in getting too close. He was already much closer than he should be. A rival could use Laurel as a pawn in this deadly game of power and control. Vampires were always looking for weakness and would exploit his feelings for her if they knew how he felt.

  He buttoned his cuffs and drew on the expensive jacket, snapping the lapels down over his chest. A frown creased his brow.

  A whisper of thought disrupted his internal debate.

  My Prince?

  Yes, Eric?

  You need to come to Madrid immediately. There is trouble here.

  I will be there shortly. Send for Isabella and Caleb.

  I already have.

  Sebastian severed the mind link with his bodyguard and fellow vampire and picked up his cell phone off the table. Glancing around the sanctuary, he wondered how much longer he could keep misleading Laurel.

  They were fast approaching a crossroad and he would be forced to decide whether to tell her-- or give her up.

  Chapter Five

  In his city.

  His.

  Sebastian saw the world through a red film of rage. His gaze panned over the women, some who looked no older than children. Abused, scared, starved, drug addicted.

  Sex slavery. In his city.

  With a handful o
f his men at his back, Sebastian descended on the infested, run-down house with a vengeance. He cut a bloody swath through the front door, the bodies of vampire and man alike falling in his wake like rose petals at the feet of a King.

  That was only the beginning.

  Sebastian spent the next several weeks hunting down the nest of vampires responsible -- a faction who did not hold the same beliefs as Sebastian’s own. A faction who believed mortals were nothing more than a commodity to be preyed on, used, slaughtered at whim. They were of the old beliefs, vampires he and William had ousted centuries before.

  Nightly, the back alleys and dead-end streets ran red with blood beneath the moon. A supernatural war waged beyond the notice of the mortal population of the city. Sebastian did not rest until he had rousted them all -- their thralls, their newbloods, their generals. One by one, the Disciples of the Serpent – as they called themselves – fell beneath the cold tide of his vengeance. He burned their sanctuaries to the ground, smoking them out until one snake came slithering out of the shadows to lay a forked-tongue whisper on his ear.

  And while he chased justice, the vampires in the city held their collective breaths to see who would be standing at the end. Seeing an opportunity, they plotted and schemed, a pack of vipers looking to claw their way up the rung of power.

  The trail of blood eventually led Sebastian to the elder Disciple. With nothing left to hide behind, the ancient and powerful vampire sorcerer met him in open combat. Skilled in the dark-arts, he was not easily dispatched.

  Their battle waged through the night, over the rooftops of the city, and in the end they met on the top of the Almudena Cathedral. It was not by chance that Sebastian had led the Serpent here atop this holy place with its intricate architecture and towering spires. He was injured, weary, blood-starved – they both were – and the Prince wanted to give himself the advantage he could draw from such a place of religious power.

  It was ironic that the vampire Prince could siphon strength from the very things that were supposed to repel him: religious symbols, holy water, prayers, faith. If the myths about vampires were to be believed, these things should have damaged him – and they did damage the more demonic of his species.