Blood Secret

by Sharon Page

  Damn, he was hungry. He hadn’t felt the craving this hard for a long time.

  But he wouldn’t be uncontrollably hungry. He couldn’t be. Not like when he was first turned into a vampire.

  There was no way on Earth he wanted to hurt Lucy.

  Lucy had never felt quite so much like a damsel from a gothic novel. Lamplight gleamed on Sinjin’s loose, long blond hair as he carried her into her bedroom. His shirt was open at his throat and his eyes were a seducer’s—heavy-lidded and sensual. But his teeth had changed. He now possessed fangs, long, curved white fangs that overlapped his full lower lip.

  A breathtakingly handsome man held her in his arms—but he possessed fangs that looked like they belonged on a beast. He was like her: both human and something different. Like her, he was a mystical being that wasn’t supposed to exist at all.

  Sinjin had let her shift shape, even though, as a dragon, she could tear a human apart if she wanted to. He had trusted her.

  And she trusted him. She could trust him to do this and not hurt her. He lowered her onto the bed, and she rolled onto her hip and drew her hair back to expose her neck. Gathering courage, she whispered, “Come, please. I want you to do it.”

  Easy to say, but it proved much harder to wait and try to look calm as he approached. Would it hurt? What a daft thought—he was going to bite her deeply enough to draw her blood. Of course it would hurt.

  But surely, as a dragon, she could bear it better than a mortal woman.

  He kneeled on the bed. He looked so serious. Deathly so. He cupped her shoulders and rolled her onto her back. He did it all in silence, never moving his silvery gaze from her face. Broad shoulders loomed over her. She fought not to flinch as he cupped her cheek. Just hours before, she had loved his touch, now she was searching his eyes, to see if he had ... well, lost all his humanity. What did a vampire look like when he bit into his prey? She knew what a fighting dragon looked like, and she did not want to see Sinjin look so fierce and brutal.

  Lucy couldn’t bear to see him look anything like her fiancé had done on the night he had raped that girl. On the night he had attacked her.

  She let her lashes sweep down, so she couldn’t see him. But the moment his lips touched her throat, she instinctively jerked back.

  “All right, Lucy. I shouldn’t do this—”

  “You must. I am quite fine.”

  A sad smile touched his mouth. “You aren’t, love. I promise it won’t hurt. You will see. The fangs of a vampire actually take the feeling away from the skin when they touch. There is something else you will feel. Intense pleasure.”

  “Really? Well then, let us do this. Now I want to know what it will be like.”

  She tipped her head to the side on the silky counterpane. Lightly, he ran his tongue along her neck. Closing her eyes, she let out a breathy giggle.

  Then his lip stroked her and she felt a jolt of sexual arousal. The light scrape of teeth—she’d thought it would hurt, but it didn’t. It sent sizzling sensations down through her body.

  The tips of his fangs grazed her skin. With her eyes shut, waiting for the pain that would surely come when he bit her. “Before you do this ... are you still angry with my family, with me, about James?”

  “Angry with you?” He cradled her waist, and lifted her so she was lying across his lap. She had never seen such tenderness in a man’s eyes. “Lucy, you made him laugh. I have taken care of him since he was three years of age, and I could never do that. I’m not angry with you—I am forever in your debt. For eternity, I am in your debt. You can ask anything of me. Do you want me to stop? Have you changed your mind?”

  “No. Oh no! Now I am ready. Now that I know you aren’t angry ...” Then she added, “Thank you.”

  His brows drew into a frown. “Sweetheart, why are you thanking me?”

  “For forgiving me. For ... for trusting me. So you can do it now.”

  Again Sinjin moved to her neck and once more his fangs stroked along her throat. Where he touched, it tickled at first, then warmth washed over her skin and she could no longer feel his touch.

  “Mmm,” he murmured. “Your skin tastes delicious.”

  Lucy gazed down. She could see his long blond hair, his lashes shielding his eyes. From where she lay, she couldn’t see his mouth as he prepared to bite.

  Oh! A swift, sharp twinge hit her, then an intense tingle raced through her neck. It wasn’t pain. It was a jolt of pleasure and it made her tip back her head and moan. Dear heaven, she could feel him drawing her blood, yet it didn’t frighten her, it gave her rhythmic tugs of pleasure, like the way it felt when he thrust inside her.

  He cupped her breasts, and her nipples stood up at once. She felt so extra-sensitive around her breasts. Just the stroke of his thumb over her bodice made her squirm on his lap. His erection grew beneath it—it must be straining against his trousers. Each pulse of her blood reaching his mouth brought a wave of delight through her.

  She’d never dreamed it would feel like this. She arched and writhed, and lifted her neck so he could take more.

  He began to pull back.

  No—

  She was going to come, and she couldn’t let him stop. She needed just a bit more. She grasped Sinjin’s hair, so he couldn’t go away, winding her fingers in the silky length.

  “Love, you have to let me go.”

  “No, please no.” She wriggled her hips, aching and needing and wanting just a bit more.

  “No, Lucy, I can’t take more. I wouldn’t stop.” His hand crept down, her skirts went up, and his fingers slid between her nether lips. All it took was one stroke over her aroused, aching nub, and all the coiled tension exploded. It was like cracking a whip. Her body arched sharply, she let out a keening cry, and she let ecstasy take her.

  The pulsing, the delight, the throbbing of her body, and the twitching inside ... it went on forever. Until she was floppy and weak, draped over his lap like silk ribbon.

  He had given orgasms before, but this had been the most intense. She was still panting, still breathing hard. So much pleasure, caused by his fangs in her neck and his fingers playing between her legs. Heavens, now she knew what he meant. His bite hadn’t hurt. It had been erotic.

  Dazed, Lucy opened her eyes, seeking his face. Stark lines ringed his mouth. Blood smeared his lower lip and he hastily ran the back of his hand across it, sweeping it away.

  She smiled and squirmed once more, purring with contentment. But no smile touched his mouth.

  “You didn’t hurt me.”

  “I could have. Hell, Lucy, I was afraid I wasn’t going to be able to stop.”

  “You did.” She rolled off his lap, landing on her bed. At least she wore only her short stays, which gave her some ability to move. She clasped his hand. Why did he seem so filled with anguish, with remorse? “I am not afraid of you, Sinjin. How could I be? You are not afraid of me.”

  Abruptly he rose from the bed, jumping to his feet. “It’s late, Lucy. I should let you sleep.” He yanked his fingers through his hair, brushing it back from his face. His hair was matted and tangled—he had not combed it in days. She remembered how he had looked on the night she had gone to his house to barter for Jack’s debts. His hair had been beautifully styled, his cravat knotted with pristine elegance.

  Now he looked like a haggard wreck.

  Feeding from her had bothered him. She touched her neck, the tips of her fingers found two small punctures. Surely these small holes wouldn’t have meant her death. She remembered how her fiancé had slashed her with his claws. Big, brutal wounds in her belly, on her legs. It had taken months for them to heal completely, even with the magical healing properties that dragons possessed, and still those had not killed her.

  Had Sinjin truly come close to taking too much of her blood? Wouldn’t she feel much weaker if he had? All she felt was the velvety sensation that came after a climax.

  But something was tormenting him. He would not meet her eyes.

  “Come to bed with m
e,” she said.

  “I can’t. I don’t know if my resolve will break—if my hunger will take control and I will feed from you again.”

  “I wouldn’t mind.”

  “You would if I took every drop, Lucy. You said you weren’t afraid of me. Love, you should be.”

  Obviously he believed those words would make her retreat, for he turned away and headed for the door. She had been in danger from a man before. She had seen a man she trusted turn into a monster willing to kill her. Every instinct screamed at her to believe him—that she was a fool to get up from the bed, cross her arms over her chest, and state, “Well, I cannot fear you. I care too much about you to be afraid of you.”

  “Christ, what more do I have to do to make you understand—?”

  “You could talk to me! You could tell me why I am now supposed to be afraid of you when you didn’t hurt me, when you stopped, when you proved you have control.”

  “Damn,” he muttered. He yanked his hand so viciously through his hair that he pulled some out and glinting strands of gold fluttered through the air.

  She had to admit, seeing his anger made her knees shake.

  What was she doing? She barely knew this man, but she was letting herself trust him. Since Mr. Ferrars she had not trusted any man. Even her brother had let her down, had stamped on her faith in him. In the last two days, she’d learned even her father had kept secrets from her.

  Why did she trust this angry man?

  Was it because he was showing his fury—directed currently at his poor hair? Was it because he wasn’t hiding what he felt behind kisses, hugs, kind words?

  Sinjin was the most honest man she had ever encountered.

  “Hades, Lucy, I do not deserve your trust,” he snapped. Then he was gone and the door slammed behind him.

  Blasted moors. Nighttime had brought a plunge in the temperature, and the pelting rain had turned into stinging, bouncing hail. Small ice pellets danced on the rocky ground and encased the matted grass in an icy coating.

  Sinjin paced through the rear garden, alongside the high granite wall. He’d planned to smoke a cheroot, but instead, he hunched his shoulders and let the hail punish him as he prowled back and forth.

  There was no way he was going to kill her. There was no question in his mind now, and his duty could go to hell. But how did he protect Lucy and her family from his bloody prince? For he suspected Lucy would never let him spare her but murder her brother and sisters.

  That gave him a moment’s pause—not killing Lucy meant he also had to save her damned brother, and he wasn’t sure Jack Drake, the Earl of Wrenshire, deserved to be saved. There was a hell of a lot Lucy did not know about her brother.

  But he couldn’t take her family and leave her alive. He would be consigning her to the same hell he had endured. It would be torture. It would be worse than killing her.

  How many times, when he’d been young, had he wished he could have been taken along with his mother and father, his brother and sisters?

  Sparing Lucy and her family meant putting James in mortal peril. How did he ensure his nephew was safe?

  He could take James and run, but that would leave Lucy in London without his protection. If he fled somewhere like Africa, America, Tortola ... would Lucy come with him? Would she do it willingly? He would also bring her sisters, as they were younger, innocent, female, and therefore unable to protect themselves. Her damned brother could fend for himself.

  The prince would try to hunt him down. The demon commanded disciples all over the world. Alone, Sinjin could survive. But encumbered with a five-year-old child and three women would he have any hope of evading capture? By taking them to “safety,” would he be condemning them all to death?

  Kill Lucy and he guaranteed James’s safety.

  Another child’s screams echoed in his head. Desperate wails of terror and pain. He knew what a dying child sounded like. He’d heard his younger brother die.

  Could he do it? If he coaxed Lucy to convert to dragon form, he would just be killing a beast—

  No. No, he couldn’t do it. He’d cut out his own heart first. He’d walk outdoors at noon and let the sun burn him to dust. In fact, he would do any of those things now if he did not have to protect James. His death would serve no purpose—if he destroyed himself rather than kill Lucy, the prince would send another slayer in his place.

  The only way to keep Lucy alive was to make her run away with him. They would never have peace, they would never feel safe, but at least they would be alive—

  Beneath the clatter of hail, the howl of the wind, Sinjin heard a new sound. The low rumble of human voices. Male voices, he guessed, from the husky, deep tones. He pressed his hand to the wall, and strained to hear beyond the angry sounds of the storm.

  Footsteps, coming up on the path he had spotted before, one that wound down through the moors. Two men, both striding quickly through the pelting hail, and far enough away he could not make out the words, only the pauses when one would wait for the other to speak. He couldn’t hear the men distinctly with the wall between them, so Sinjin jumped to the top of the wall, and crouched there, listening.

  He could see easily in the dark, but the reflective hail disoriented him for a few minutes. He trained his eyes hard on the empty expanse of the moors, the hills blurred by a veil of ice pellets and darkness. Finally, Sinjin distinguished the ribbon of the path. Then he spotted two figures on it.

  Two greatcoats swung as the men strode up the hill. Beaver hats covered their heads, hid their faces. “What are you going to do?” one of them asked. “Take her to him?”

  Her? They had to be coming to the house—the path led to it and there was nothing else around. Who did the man mean? Lucy? They were not here for James, then.

  Sinjin tried to look into their minds, but there was a shield against his probing mind. Which meant they were not mortal. Dragons, most likely.

  Hail hit his face, stinging like needles. Crouched on the top of the wall, Sinjin almost laughed—he had fought dragons, had almost had his limbs torn out, and he was, in truth, dead—but the prickling pellets of ice irritated him.

  “It’s the only choice I have,” the other man answered.

  “He’ll destroy her.”

  At those words, Sinjin’s heart thudded faster.

  “He won’t. He promised me that he won’t. He wants her. He’ll keep her alive, keep her for himself. She won’t be harmed. And it’s either give her to him, where she’ll be kept safe, or die.” The second man’s voice was softer. It was hoarse and pleading, weak and desperate.

  It was also a voice Sinjin knew. It was the voice of Lucy’s brother.

  Who in Hades was the “he” that the earl was talking about? And was the “her” actually Lucy, or one of her sisters? Lucy had told him that her younger sister intended to marry a lecherous old rake to save the family fortunes. Was it that union that her brother was talking about?

  His instincts told him it wasn’t, that Wrenshire was talking about Lucy. It explained why her brother was coming to this house—he had been told Lucy was here. The men were silent now—Sinjin couldn’t hear anything else. Perched on the wall, with his hand resting on it for balance, he thought over the conversation he’d heard.

  Wrenshire’s companion had warned Lucy could be destroyed. Her brother had assured the man she wouldn’t. Hell, the brother had racked up a debt of thirty thousand pounds to him. Sinjin suspected the brother would sell any one of his sisters’ souls for his own purposes. He believed Lucy’s brother was lying. Gut instinct warned that Lucy was in danger. He had no idea from what or from whom, but instinct had kept him alive when he battled dragons, and his senses were screaming at him now.

  That damned brother would betray her.

  He wasn’t going to lose her.

  James was in the house, potentially an innocent victim. Fear made his fangs explode out of his mouth. Coat swirling around him, Sinjin jumped down from the wall and ran back to the house.

  Lu
cy stood at the window of her bedroom, her nose pressed to the cool glass pane.

  Despite the sated exhaustion that came after orgasms, she had not been able to sleep. She had tried, tossing and turning in her bed. She had tried every position possible in which to sleep, even on top of the covers, with her head at the bottom of the bed.

  Nothing had worked.

  Finally she had gotten up. She had changed into her nightdress, had plaited her hair. She fiddled with the end of the braid as she looked out of the window. An hour earlier, she had watched Sinjin stride past. At first, she’d felt fear: Was he planning to go to the village? Was he still hungry? Then she had run down the corridor to an unused bedroom. She had plastered herself to the glass of the big window. There was almost no light, but she had spotted the reflection of his eyes as he had looked back to the house. She had barely followed that gleam as it moved alongside the garden wall—dragons did have superior eyesight. It took a while to understand he was pacing, up and down along the high stone wall, in the freezing hail.

  Why?

  What was tormenting him so?

  She had returned to her room. Her dress and shoes waited for her—it had been so tempting to get dressed, then go to hunt Sinjin down and force him to talk. But she suspected he would refuse to tell her anything. Likely he would walk away from her again.

  So she had stayed at the window, unsure what to do—she who had been forced to take charge in her family after her mother’s death. She hadn’t been able to allow herself to be uncertain. But she was doing so now.

  She had been watching for him to come in, and now she saw him. Long legs ate up the stretch of paths that ran through the garden. His hat was gone, and ice had frosted his hair. Sinjin looked up at her window, and she recoiled at the fierce look on his face. It was a look of agony. Of fear.

  Lucy pulled on her robe and rushed out of her room. She was halfway down the steps to the foyer when Sinjin ran in from the servants’ door. Ice coated his shoulders and arms, crackling as he moved. His hair glinted with it, as though diamonds were sprinkled on his head. He charged to the door, and checked the bolt, giving it an extra, incredibly strong shove to ensure it was drawn tight.