Love At First Bite

by Sherrilyn Kenyon

  “Once I would not have counted that a boon,” Davie said. He looked down at Emma and his eyes were soft. Then he glanced to Rufford. “I release you from your vow, you know.”

  “Thought you would,” Rufford said wryly. “I’m glad my services will not be needed.”

  “Yes… well,” Davie continued, surveying the room. “I was wondering if any of you monks from Mirso Monastery are… are priests or… or capable of performing marriage rites. Miss Fairfield and I have recited the vows… unofficially, but we’d like to consecrate them.”

  A small man in a simple black woolen robe stood. “You could call us experts in Vows. I’ll perform your rites.”

  “Brother Flavio, would the Elders approve? The Rules dictate that we live one to a city. That doesn’t allow for marriage.” The mustachioed vampire frowned.

  Brother Flavio cocked his head. “I wonder if that Rule is the reason no children are born, Delanus. These two are new enough that they might get precious children.” He looked from Rufford to the Countess and back to Emma and Davie. “We have several pairings represented here. I don’t think they mean to live one to a city.” He approached Davie and Emma. He had to look up into Davie’s face. He searched it for what seemed a long time and then turned his attention to Emma. She couldn’t help but flush, but she held her head high and looked him straight in the eye.

  “Kneel,” he said.

  Davie grabbed a cushion from one of the chairs for her knees and knelt beside her. He fairly glowed. And she knew that before she had crossed her line she had only been half-alive. Her spirit was strong now and she wanted Davie in a spiritual way that was much larger than she could have imagined before and in a profane way as well.

  Brother Flavio motioned to Rufford and the Countess, who came to range themselves on either side. “You two shall witness, who have gone before.”

  “Your blood calls, one to the other, life to life,” Brother Flavio intoned. “Will you answer her blood, Major Ware?”

  “I will,” Davie said firmly in that baritone rumble she loved so.

  “His blood calls to your blood, Miss Fairfield. Will you answer?”

  “I will,” she said, thinking how far the drawing rooms of England were behind her now.

  “Then for all the years there are, the Companion will sing inside you, one to the other.”

  It was like a singing, a humming vibration of energy deep in her veins that sang to her.

  “You are now joined.”

  Applause broke out around the circle that had gathered. Whistles sounded. “Here, here!” and, “A toast!” “Ware, you dog, kiss her!”

  Davie leaned down. His eyes glowed, not red but blue. “Forever,” he murmured, and just brushed her lips.

  “Forever,” she whispered, and pulled his head down to kiss him thoroughly. Sensations flooded her that could not be described but hinted that a lifetime of trying might be worthwhile.

  “Whoa, boy!” Rufford chortled, patting Davie on the back. “Get thee upstairs for that sort of thing. My virgin eyes are seared with such displays of passion.”

  Davie got up and pulled Emma up beside him. He tucked her into his side. She fit well there, and the warmth of his body made her blood rise. “As you will.” He nodded crisply and pulled Emma toward the stairs. At the bottom, he paused. “Consider my duty discharged, Rufford. This is no place for my wife. You’ll have to clean up the remains here yourself.”

  Davie had given over duty for her sake. It was the final gift that he could give her. Emma saw Rufford grin. “I recommend the New World,” he said. “Plenty of room there.”

  The sun was rising outside. She knew it even though the draperies of their room were pulled shut and the shutters latched against it. The world already seemed new. They had the whole day ahead of them for loving.

  A forever of days.

  THE FORGOTTEN ONE

  by

  Ronda Thompson

  With love to Joanie, Teresa and Cheryl. We’ve had some great laughs together, girlfriends! Oh, and what the heck, to Gerry, too, who brought us all together.

  Chapter One

  Blackthorn Manor, England, 1821

  Lady Anne Baldwin had a reputation. And not a good one, or rather, too good of one. She was said to be kind and sweet, well mannered, and docile as a lamb for the most part. She’d tried hard her whole life to be a pleasing child to an aunt and uncle who found themselves suddenly burdened with an orphaned child when they planned to have none of their own.

  But sometimes Anne did not feel like being good. Tonight was one of those times. She’d stolen from the manor house in the middle of the night to ride her horse across the moors. Something strictly forbidden to her since childhood.

  A midnight ride in itself wasn’t so daring, not since Blackthorn Manor in Yorkshire was quite isolated and she doubted that she would encounter anyone… but perhaps she might encounter some thing.

  It was rumored that wolves still roamed the sparse woods surrounding Blackthorn Manor. The night was dangerous. And it was the prospect of facing it head-on that made Anne’s heart pound faster, her blood sing through her veins. A wild hair had put her upon the path to rebellion. Anne had become bored with herself, and so she imagined others must find her every bit as boring.

  No one had come to call on her since she took up residence at the country home. In three months’ time she would turn twenty-one and not an offer for her hand on the table. It was because she was boring, Anne conceded. But she vowed she would change that… at least for one night.

  The stable was dark and deserted. Anne hadn’t thought to bring a candle or a lantern. Being bad was new to her, or she supposed she wouldn’t have taken time to dress in a modest riding habit, stockings, and sensible boots or put her hair up. She should have crept from the house with her hair down, clad only in her nightgown. The fact that she hadn’t disappointed her.

  Storm, her mare, startled Anne when she nickered a greeting.

  “Quiet,” Anne whispered. “You mustn’t wake the stable help. We are having an adventure.”

  A bridle hung on a peg next to the stall. Even in the dark Anne had no trouble finding it, then slipping it over Storm’s head. A saddle would be more difficult. She’d have to go to the tack room and probably bang about until she woke someone. Did she dare ride bareback? Doing so would also call for her riding astride.

  Once, when Anne was twelve, she’d told her old groom, Barton, that she wished to ride astride like a man. Barton had nearly fallen from his own mount in shock. He’d said a young lady must never embrace a horse between her legs. He’d said it wasn’t proper. But it was a night for brave deeds and Anne decided she would ride bareback. She further decided that she would do so with her hair down, clad only in her underwear.

  Reaching up, she unpinned her hair, allowing the thick mass to tumble down around her shoulders. With more trepidation, she considered the buttons down the front of her modest riding habit. She debated whether undressing might be carrying the rebellion a bit too far, then realized it was a sensible thought and she was to have none of those tonight.

  After Anne rid herself of the gown, she shivered in the night air. Groping in the darkness, she found a bench, hiked up her petticoat, and balanced her foot on the bench. She removed her boots and rolled a delicate stocking down her leg.

  She was in the process of removing the other one when she felt the first strange sensation. That of someone watching her. Gooseflesh rose on her arms. She glanced around the dark, deserted stable. Storm snorted and stomped in her stall, as if the horse also caught wind of something amiss.

  “Is someone there?” Anne whispered.

  No answer.

  “Easy, girl,” she soothed the horse. Anne suspected the animal had sensed her own sudden unease and was simply reacting to it. She glanced around once more but saw nothing… but wait, she did see something. Along the front stalls she saw a pair of glowing eyes.

  Her heart lurched. What was it? A wild animal? But it co
uldn’t be unless it was perched upon something, for the eyes were not close to the ground but higher up. A flint struck. The small flame moved to the end of a cigarillo and for a moment too brief to identify features, revealed that the presence with her was at least a human one.

  “Are you a horse thief?”

  The breath Anne held escaped in a relieved sigh. “You frightened me,” she said. Whoever the man was, she didn’t recognize his voice. “Who are you?”

  He didn’t answer, instead she felt as if his eyes were moving over her. Anne knew that was impossible. He surely couldn’t see her any better than she could him.

  “I’m the new stable master,” he finally answered.

  She’d heard her uncle mention securing a new man to run his rather impressive stable. Although sheep were the best they could do in the terrain, Uncle Theodore had a weakness for horses and prided himself on having the best. Should she introduce herself to the new stable master? Manners dictated that she should, but would he tell on her? Anne knew that her guardians, the Earl and Countess, would consider her behavior tonight inexcusable. They might go so far as to ban her from the stable and riding altogether. What difference would it make if she lied? He couldn’t see her.

  “I am Lady Anne, ah, her maid,” she said. “I thought I’d go for a midnight ride.”

  “In nothing but skin and silk?”

  Heat flooded her cheeks. How could he possibly know she wore only her unmentionables? He must have heard her moving about and somehow deduced she was undressing. “I borrowed the lady’s riding gown, but then thought better of wearing it.”

  “You don’t talk like a servant.”

  Drat, she was as unskilled at deceit as she was at being bad. Anne should have thought to mimic the cockney accent of most of the servants. He spoke with a different accent, as well. His words carried a soft burr. Scottish?

  “My lady insists that my manners be highborn, even if I am not,” she explained.

  “And where are you off to? To meet a lover? Did you undress to save time?”

  Again, the fact that he knew she wore only her undergarments unsettled Anne. Her plans must be abandoned now, all things considered. “I’ve changed my mind about a midnight ride,” she said. “I’ll just gather my things and go.”

  The glowing tip of the cigarillo fell to the ground. It disappeared a second later, Anne assumed beneath his boot.

  “No need to go… without.”

  What did he mean by that? Anne groped in the darkness for her discarded clothing. When she straightened, she felt him at her back. His heat penetrated her chilled skin. He pulled her hair over one shoulder.

  “Your lover will be sorely disappointed.”

  His familiarity with her stunned her, or Anne assumed that was the reason she stood rooted to the spot. “It makes no matter to me,” she managed to say, her voice breathless.

  Ever so soft, his lips brushed the side of her neck. “Then it makes no matter to me, either, lass.”

  A shiver raced up her spine. Her face flamed. “What do you think you’re doing?” she demanded, her voice stronger.

  “I don’t think I’m doing anything,” he answered. “I know what I’m doing.”

  He pulled her against him. Shocked, Anne dropped the clothing she had gathered. His body was hard… everywhere. He was taller than her; she could judge that much. Taller. Bigger. Stronger.

  “I insist that you release me this instant,” she warned. “I am not the sort who—” Anne abruptly cut her sentence short. She’d told him she was a maid, had not corrected him when he’d assumed she was off to meet her lover. She’d lied to him. What should she do now?

  “Do you know how sweet you smell?”

  The deepness of his voice raised the fine hairs on her arms. Anne had never heard a voice quite like his. Deep yet soft, lilting. It was hypnotic.

  “I’m wondering if you feel just as good.”

  Slowly, his hands slid up her rib cage. Anne swallowed loudly, but again, she did not struggle. She wasn’t certain if she was hypnotized or frozen with fear. His hands stopped just below the lower fullness of her breasts. A second later he cupped her firmly. Anne gasped. No man had dared touch her intimately before. She turned her head to protest, but he captured her mouth before she could utter a word. While his mouth boldly claimed hers, his scent found her, almost as physical as his touch.

  It was an earthy scent, musky, male, mesmerizing. The scent filled her head with visions of naked bodies entwined upon rumpled sheets—of sweat-slick skin and quiet whispers. She moaned softly against his lips, and never breaking contact, he turned her to face him. His mouth pressed against hers until she opened to him. Then his tongue slipped inside.

  Anne had never had a man’s tongue inside of her mouth, and if anyone had told her men were wont to do such things, she would have thought it repulsive. But it wasn’t repulsive. His slow invasion made her breathless. He tasted of mint and a hint of tobacco. His scent fogged her mind as his mouth worked against hers and stirred feelings she had never felt before. What was happening to her? Why couldn’t she push him away? Bite him, do whatever she must to be free of him? Why didn’t she want to?

  “Please,” she whispered.

  “Please what? Do this?” He stopped kissing her long enough to press his warm mouth to her ear and nibble her earlobe. His thumbs brushed across her nipples and sent a jolt all the way down to her woman’s core. Her knees shook beneath her petticoat. She ached in places she should not ache. None of this should be happening.

  Sin had come to live in her stable and Anne was allowing it to have its way with her. She had wanted to do something daring tonight, but never had she imagined this. She shook her head, trying to clear her mind. It was if he’d cast a spell over her and she couldn’t break free. But she must.

  “You take liberties,” she managed to say, and thank God her voice sounded stronger.

  “I take what I can get,” he countered. “I take what you will give me, and I’ll give you all that you desire in return.”

  It took almost more strength than she had for Anne to step away from him. His hands dropped away from her breasts, and still they tingled from his touch. “And what do you have to give me?” she asked, her voice too snooty to be that of a maid. It was, in fact, a tone Anne never used. She wasn’t the type to lord it over the servants.

  The man reached forward and pulled her back into his arms. “Enough to satisfy a little thief out for a midnight tryst with her lover. Enough to bet you’ll be back for more of the same tomorrow night.”

  His hips pressed against her, and innocent or not, Anne thought she understood what he offered her. She also understood that what he offered her was quite a lot. A maid for one night and she had been set upon and kissed for the first time in her life, touched in places no other man would dare touch her, and promised something she had no idea if any woman should or would want. At least Anne thought she knew what he had offered her.

  “What is it you think to give me again?” she asked, staring up at him, although she couldn’t make out a single feature upon his face.

  He bent close. “Pleasure beyond your wildest imagination. You wanted a midnight ride. I’ll give you one you won’t forget.”

  When she swallowed, Anne was embarrassed to hear the gulping noise she made in the silence. No other man had dared to speak to her in such a manner. “You are arrogant,” she said.

  “Just confident,” he argued. “There’s a nice straw mattress in the loft overhead.” His mouth brushed her neck and she shivered. “Come with me.”

  Anne had carried being bad too far. But she had trouble thinking when he stood so near, when he put off that intoxicating scent, when he whispered foul things in her ear. She realized she wanted to go to the loft with him. Whatever he was doing to her, she wanted more of it. But Anne was not a serving maid in truth, she was a proper young woman, and she was on the verge of making a mistake that could ruin the rest of her life. She found the sense to push him away an
d take a step back.

  “I must return to the house. Maybe another maid will happen along shortly and you can try your luck with her.”

  He pulled her back into his arms. “I don’t want another. She couldn’t be as beautiful as you are to me. Or smell as sweet, or taste as good, or fire my hunger as no woman has fired it before.”

  Anne had been complimented by men, but never so boldly. This man was obviously trying to seduce her. And it was working. She was so very close to surrendering. Her will, usually too strong for her own good, seemed to melt away in his arms. This was ridiculous and she had carried the game too far.

  “If you do not step away and allow me to leave, I will scream,” she said.

  The man withdrew so suddenly she shivered with the absence of his heat. Her eyes had adjusted just enough to the darkness to make out the white of his shirt. He seemed now to be leaning against a stall.

  “No need to scream, lass. I never meant to keep you against your will. I thought you were looking for sport. I only meant to provide it.”

  Something in his lazy manner, his calmness when her nerves were rubbed raw, her senses more heightened than they had ever been in her life, greatly annoyed Anne. “You are very accommodating,” she snapped, and felt an irrational flare of jealousy. Jealousy of herself? She was confused and needed to escape the devil and his intoxicating scent.

  Quickly Anne bent and retrieved her things. “You’ll see to the horse,” she instructed automatically, then realized her tone was that of a person used to issuing orders and having them followed. “I mean, please,” she added. “I’ve bridled her.”

  His teeth flashed white in the darkness. “I’ll see to her,” he said. “And I’m thinking on another night, I’ll see to you, as well.”

  She wanted to argue the matter with him, but Anne had already said too much in his presence. He might not recognize her face in the light of day, but if she continued to converse with him, he would recognize her voice.

  As much as she wanted to flounce away, her head held high as if his last statement had not affected her, Anne had no choice but to move slowly through the dark stable. She felt his eyes watching her. Even that was almost like a caress. Good God, who was this man who could so easily turn a female’s mind to mush with nothing more than the sound of his voice, the touch of his lips, his strange scent? She pitied the poor maids sure to run across his path in the days ahead… or was “pity” the right word?