Redeemer of Shadows

by Michelle M. Pillow

  Grabbing the hem of his shirt, he pulled it over his head in a swift movement. Hathor stared nervously at the pale beauty of his skin, eased by the golden glow of the candlelight. A trail of hair disappeared from beneath his navel into the flat waist of his pants. She continued to gaze up at him. He dropped to his knees. Her hands slid over his smooth skin. Then, suddenly, he was all around her, caressing her, touching her, forcing her back onto the bed.

  He traced his lips over her body, slowly stirring her desires. The heady taste of wine swirled in her head, though nothing compared to his mystifying touch. He pulled her dress up her thighs, unveiling athletically long legs.

  Stopping with a groan as he reached her thigh-high hose, he dipped his fingers under the edge of the top seam. With rapt concentration, he slid the stockings beneath her knees. Leaning over, he kissed the inside of her creamy thigh. His fangs brushed over the skin.

  Hathor tensed in pleasure. He forced her legs apart. His hand trailed up her calf, beginning at the toes and urging her knee up. Servaes came over her, kissing her covered stomach, breathing hotly near her navel as his hand slid along her hip beneath her lacy panties. His eyes bore into her, hot with desire and hunger, looking up the valley of her breasts. Her hands were in his hair, lightly pushing and pulling as he moved. She touched his bare shoulders, his smooth chest. Before she realized what was happening, he’d worked her dress over her head.

  “Oh,” she sighed, feeling very soft and achingly feminine compared to him.

  The cool air hit her naked flesh. Servaes’ moan joined hers, only more bestial. His lips found sanctuary between her breasts while his body conquered the distance between them. He breathed his fiery passion against the lacy black line of her bra. His tongue lapped the thin barrier until it was wet and her nipple budded through silk. She panted, moaned, begged for more.

  Flesh rubbed along silken flesh. Hands stroked tender arches and curves. They explored every unfamiliar valley of each other’s bodies until they became well versed in shared passion. Servaes held true to his promise. He didn’t go too fast, his touch not too rough. He instinctively knew how to make her respond until neither of them could think, neither could protest. All they knew was each other, the impassioned blood that connected them, and the arousal begging to be released.

  With a gasp, Hathor’s legs were forced yet farther apart, accommodating his weight. She rubbed her stocking-covered calves over his breeches. Servaes fit against her, stroking her through the barrier of her panties. His arousal slid against her, begging to be unleashed. She found the laces at his waist. Without thought, she tugged at them, loosening his pants. Using her feet, she pulled the material off his hips and down his legs.

  Servaes chuckled, a low husky sound that held no mocking—only the dominant pleasure of a conqueror. Leaning up to see her sprawled beneath him, he smiled. The temptation of her blood called to him, as did every subtle movement of her body as she responded to freely his touch.

  He took one of his nails and laid it on her skin just above her breasts. With a stroke of his finger, light and swift, he cut through her bra. The material instantly released her breasts, falling away to leave her chest exposed.

  Next his nail moved over her flat stomach to circle the dip of her navel. Hathor’s hips arched in response, trying to put an end to her torture. Servaes licked his lips, wanting to taste the buds of her ripened nipples. He held back. With a slash, he drew his finger over one hip and then the other. Her panties fell open at the sides. Servaes grinned. Taking the broken material, he pulled it slowly from between her legs, letting it rub against her heated center in a slow caress.

  “Mm.” Hathor moaned, her legs working restlessly against him. He pressed his hand to her stomach and she pushed up to seek an end to the agony he stirred inside her.

  Servaes wouldn’t let her find her release just yet. He’d searched endless lifetimes for her and, now that he found her again, he would finish what he’d wanted to do in his human life. He would claim her soul completely. She would never belong to another. No matter how unfair he told himself it was, he couldn’t stop. When he was with her, there was a greater force at play, driving him on to complete possession.

  Servaes felt his freed manhood to brush the soft skin of her inner thigh. A deep sound resonated in his throat. Instantly his mouth was on her breasts, sucking and licking them. Hathor gasped, moaned, panted, pleaded. His name left her lips on a desperate whisper, “Servaes.”

  He could deny himself no longer. The wetness of her sex drew his hand, and his fingers plundered and stroked the velvet of her depths. Next he found her with his shaft, bringing the hard tip of his arousal to her opening. His hips moved impatiently, dipping slowly to test her resolve.

  “Are you ready for me, chéri?” he asked, his voice tightly drawn. The question felt odd, but he couldn’t read her thoughts. His only answer was her deep moan and the searching of her willing hips.

  Servaes looked into her eyes, trying to delve within her thoughts. He lowered his mouth to her neck. His hand found the soft globe of her breast in a hungry caress. He felt her mind clinging to every movement, every whispering touch of his body. With a primal growl, he thrust himself forward. His arousal moved, swift and deep, to bury inside her. Hathor cried out in surprise. Servaes held still within her tight folds.

  “I want to taste you,” he groaned against her throat. His mouth opened, fangs poised and ready. Her hips moved in a shallow caress, adjusting against him. “I want you to taste my passion for you. Take my blood inside of you as your sweet body takes me.”

  Hathor wiggled her hips against him, trying to calm the anguish of unfulfilled desire. His thrusts grew bolder, quicker and deeper.

  When she didn’t answer him, Servaes restated his plea. The beast inside him filled his voice with a primal insistence, “Please, chéri. Let me drink of your desire. Taste me within you.”

  “Yes,” Hathor screamed. Her body tingled in ways she couldn’t understand. Their minds joined and they felt the other’s passion heightening their own.

  As the word escaped her, Servaes bit his wrist, puncturing his vein with sharpened teeth. Licking the blood from his mouth, he offered himself to her parted lips. As she turned her head to drink, he just as quickly latched his teeth into her neck.

  Hathor groaned and bucked at the deepness of his kiss. The white heat of his fangs only hurt for an instant as his mouth soothed the ache with a euphoric motion. His blood dripped in her mouth, his lips drank from her throat, and his hips continued to move within her.

  The desire in his blood swam through her, heightening her own tingling emotions. She was claimed by his bite, by the length of his thrusting arousal as it delved deep and hard within her. In his frenzied passion, Servaes grabbed her, lifting her up off the bed. His strength threw them into the hard bedroom wall, their bodies never drawing apart as they dangled above the floor.

  He wildly stroked her, feeling her all around him, inside of him. The color of her crimson blood filled his eyes. The black pupils grew large in the dominant red—like a beast. Pulling away from her neck, he let his wrist fall from her mouth. The wounds healed instantly. He gazed deeply into her soul, his wicked look piercing into her, changing colors in his need. He kissed her, never taking his eyes away from her as she looked trustingly back, accepting what he gave her and what he was.

  The heat of their straining bodies built to the point of explosion. Hathor cried out in approval as wondrous colors and sensations blurred around them. Her body lit with sensations of fire and ice, her limbs grew numb and tensed, her bones melted in ecstasy.

  The balcony doors burst open. A gust of wind surrounded them with the natural force of their deeds. Servaes met her climax with a release that had waited for centuries.

  Their bodies froze in an endless trace of time. For the moment, as the eternal fire subsided to leave behind its glowing warmth, nothing mattered. Hathor fell limply against him. Her breath fanned out over his strong neck and muscled chest. S
ervaes held her, keeping their bodies completely entwined. There was no denying she was entirely his.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  A stout wind swept throughout the chamber to cool it, blowing the flicking candle flames into oblivion. Hathor lifted her head to meet Servaes’ turbulent gaze. At her inspection, his eyes quickly lost all trace of emotion. He smiled, the proud smile of a man knowing he’d brought his woman pleasure. Hathor blushed, unable to look away. Part of her ached for a tender sentiment, a small part she hid from his vampiric probing.

  He’s not the man, she told herself. But she already knew that. A part of her didn’t even care, declaring she should take him however she could get him and damn the future cost.

  Servaes drew her down the wall to the bed. The breeze caressed her naked body, making her shiver. As she landed on the soft cushion, she noticed the blood on his lips and chin. Hesitantly, she felt her neck. It was smooth and didn’t hurt. Servaes chuckled, a low, sultry sound. Reaching behind him, he took up his shirt and wiped his mouth on it, then moved to do the same for her.

  The shirt moved across her lips and the smell of him engulfed her. She closed her eyes, waiting for him to finish. When she again looked at him, it was with a trace of sadness.

  Servaes studied her as he fitted her along his side. She felt the connection of their blood. He plagued her senses. Even if she banished him from her, and he left, she would never be free of him. She wanted to hate the vampire he’d become, but couldn’t.

  Servaes couldn’t offer her what she needed. She needed a man who could stay with her, be with her, and grow old with her. The beautiful creature before her would never fade, never die. Hathor couldn’t bear the knowledge that time would march across her body and death would come calling while he carried on.

  “What is it, chéri?” he asked. “Why the tears? I didn’t hurt you.”

  There was a questioning tone in the last statement.

  Hathor shook her head in denial, but refused to tell him how she felt. There was no use. He never promised her anything but passion, which he gave her.

  “I’m cold,” she said at last. Her shivers didn’t come from the draft.

  Servaes lifted his hand, shutting the balcony doors with a gesture. Then, flicking his finger, he latched them so they wouldn’t open again. The silvery moonlight trailed in around them, lighting them with a softened blue glimmer. Using his power, he lifted her up and brought the blankets from beneath them to settle over their bodies. He pulled her into his arms.

  “Better?” he asked against her temple. She managed a weak nod.

  “Can I get pregnant?” She suddenly drew back to study the chiseled lines of his face. “What I mean is can I with you?”

  “No, chéri. Children are something I cannot give you.”

  “Oh,” she mumbled, unsure how to feel. What would they have been anyway? Human? Vampire? A strange half-breed?

  Servaes studied her. “Give me your mind. Let me read you.”

  Hathor started to shake her head in denial but, when she saw the desperate look on his face, she nodded. Closing her eyes, she relaxed. She felt him, his thoughts, as he entered her. She didn’t fight it as he probed within her, though she was frightened by what he might discover.

  Closing his eyes, Servaes instantly pulled back in surprise. His eyes delved intensely into her as he withdrew his thoughts from her. His face gave away nothing. Carefully, he whispered, “You love me.”

  Hesitantly, she nodded. He had discovered it easily. She should have known he would for the truth of it flowed through her so intensely.

  “And you knew I would find it,” he said. Again Hathor nodded, unable to speak. She watched him from beneath her lashes. He snapped out in frustration, “I am not that man on the boat. I am not that human form that strolled with you in the gardens. I am a creature. You must understand that. The man you love died. We are not the same.”

  “You are the one who danced with me in the gardens. You saved my life,” she said as calmly as she could muster.

  “Your life was merely spared. There are those who still want you dead.” His eyes grew wide with blackness. “I have saved nothing.”

  “But —”

  “I have no humanity,” he growled, withdrawing completely from her.

  “Loneliness,” she stated coolly. “There is humanity in that. I can feel the loneliness within you. I never asked you to love me in return.”

  “Quit saying that. Quit thinking it. You don’t know what you feel,” he protested furiously. “You’re confused. My blood has confused your mind, clouded your thoughts. It’s too much for your human brain to handle. You’re bewitched.”

  “Why are you so angry?” she asked suddenly. As she watched, his body blurred, speeding up until he was before her in his pants. She gasped, clutching the covers to her naked breasts. Her heart beat warily at the look he gave her, dispassionate and outraged. There was death in him, and darkness. With sudden realization, she said, “It is you who is afraid. You’re afraid of what I offer you, because I don’t demand anything in return. I give you my heart freely, and that scares you.”

  “I?” Cruelly, he came for her, grasping her roughly under the chin. He dropped the mask from his features, letting her see the full force of the demon he truly could be. Hathor flinched in fright. The veil was lifted. His pale skin transformed in the moonlight, pulling and pulsing with little blue veins. His eyes filled with the angry red of blood—her blood. Her fingers dug into his wrists to no avail, the nails clawing at the unaffected skin. Growling, he said with the voice of a demon, “Tell me then. What do you propose? If you love me, will you join me? Shall I make you one of the undead? Would you like to taste all the world has to offer? Together we could trail the earth, leaving a kingdom of corpses in our paths. We could rule the planet, eating our way through the humanity you think to love so much. Here, let me show it to you.”

  He moved so swiftly she couldn’t protest. Servaes put his hand on her forehead, sending her a rush of dark images. Horrible depictions of death and blood in a torrent she couldn’t slow or deny. There were centuries of the lowest souls mankind had to offer, marched before her, seen only as a vampire could see them—their true inner depths, the darkest pleasure of their cruelest thoughts and deeds.

  Hathor’s mouth opened wide with a suspended gasp. The cords of her throat strained in hard lines. Her eyes rolled in her head. She heard the screams of his past victims—saw the endless line of their faces frozen in fear, in rapture, in dread, in destruction. And there was death, so much death.

  The victim’s faces disturbed her initially. But beyond that, she saw why they were chosen. She saw the deeds of their numerous sins. She saw the woman he punished that first night in the club, saw the agony he visited back upon her. The woman was strapping her five young children down in her van, having drugged the older ones on generic sleeping pills she’d ordered secretly from Mexico. Then, she watched as her children screamed, tumbling into the water to their deaths. Hathor felt the sickening sense of freedom the woman experienced, complacent in her deed. The murderer’s pleasure flowed throughout Hathor’s limbs, choking her with the flood of enjoyment. Hathor tried to fight it, but it was real, and it was there, and it sickened her beyond measure.

  The mother blamed an innocent maid for their disappearance and paid her lawyer well to make sure the poorer woman was found guilty of the deed. The maid was the only one who had loved the kids. It wasn’t as if the murderer couldn’t afford to raise her children. She was rich, but resented them for keeping her from her wild, lustful ways. She hated them for driving men away from her. The maid shot herself after being held responsible for the crime.

  Servaes withdrew his hand from Hathor’s sweat-beaded forehead. Hathor gasped and shuddered. Her body fell limp. Her mouth fell open for breath. He forcibly held her before him, making her face his turbulent and cruel expression.

  “Would you like to see more, my love?” he spat sarcastically. The words formed around hi
s lengthened fangs in a hiss of ridicule. His gaze was fraught with the red of blood and anger. The words were like a slap across her face. Her eyes cleared and widened at his malicious tone. His fangs, like daggers, were unleashed as he spoke. “Does it look enchanting? I could show you centuries of cruelty. Just say the word, and I will give you this gift of immortality. See then how much you think to love your vampire.”

  Hathor trembled, truly frightened of him for the first time. His face was contorted with pain. She detected his sadness as surely as if it was her own. The mother’s pleasure still flowed inside of her—a sick and twisted feeling that overwhelmed her heart with misery. That someone could find such joy in the pain of others terrified Hathor. Tears streamed down her face as she begged, “Stop. Please, stop it. I don’t want to be a killer. I don’t want to see any more. I hate that you made me feel it.”

  The eyes of the children haunted her, as did the contentment of the mother’s sense of freedom. It shocked her. Hathor loved Servaes for making the mother suffer before she died. She hated him for showing so much of his world to her. He gripped her tightly as she tried to wiggle free.

  “Don’t they excite you?” he inquired coldly. “Does the death not quicken your blood?”

  “You have made your point, Marquis.” The images he gave her swirled in her mind, confusing her thoughts.

  His eyes narrowed lazily and his lips curled up in a savage smile. “You cannot love me. What you love is a dead man.”

  Hathor felt more than saw him leave her. She blinked slowly, falling back onto the bed. When she opened her eyes, she was alone. Servaes was gone. She couldn’t help but wonder if he was right. Did she truly only love the human him? Or could she also love the vampire?