She swept out.
“This way,” Sybil said. “I noticed the a back door when I was here last.” She led him out into an alley, just as a voice was raised loudly in the shop beyond.
“Go,” she said. “Run. Hide. I will only slow you down.”
“I won’t leave you to face them alone. What kind of man do you think me?”
She smiled at him, a little saucy quirk of her lips, her eyes lighting with mischief. “Not a man at all.”
Fiery tendrils of flame licked through his veins. A far more powerful sensation than lust. The start of the mating bond. A portent to a miserable existence if not successfully concluded. He stared at her, horrified.
“I will be fine,” she said, obviously misreading his expression. “Not once did they look at me. You are their quarry,” she said. “Go. Quickly.”
The sounds from the front of the shop got louder.
He cursed. “I can’t do it.” Not even if he wanted to. His protective instincts would not allow it. He glanced up and down the alley. Then realized where they were. He grabbed her hand. “This way.”
To her credit, she picked up her skirts and made a good effort, but running at this speed they would be overtaken in seconds. He swept her up in his arms and quickened his pace until he saw it. The back door to the Citadel. Setting her on her feet, he retrieved the key and turned the lock. They dove inside and he slammed the door shut.
Though it was pitch black, he could see perfectly clearly.
She clutched at his arm. “Where are we?”
“Private entrance.” Only to be used in an emergency and never to bring a human inside their domain. Devils of the Abyss! What was going on? He couldn’t even begin to explain what had happened back in the shop. Why he had not been able to leave her. It definitely felt like they were bonding and yet vampires only bonded with vampires. Could she have been abandoned by some vampire mother as a child? It would explain why she could see them.
No time to think of that now. He had to warn Vlad. He hurried them along the underground street, past the squares upon which opened the front doors of the nobility and the well-to-do who gathered close to the King’s Court. Breathless, they arrived the gold beaten door leading to the King’s palace. Set back from the street it had the look of a Roman temple. Flambeaux flickered in the faint breeze. Air brought in through concealed openings. Sybil stared in wonder, but he did not have time for explanations.
He set her on her feet and ran up the three wide steps to stand before a pair of guards between columns that rose into the darkness above their heads. The guard in the uniform of the Mondavia military snapped to attention.
Anton frowned. Why weren’t the King’s Shadow Guard on duty. “I need audience with the King. Right away.”
“The King is closeted with the Council,” the soldier said, angling the point his pike at Anton’s throat while his fellow on the other side of the door watched warily, his pike held at an angle across the door.
Hell’s angels, why had he not been informed of a Council meeting today. Anton stared the guard down. “Good. The Council also needs to hear my news.”
“General Sergai said no interruptions,” the other fellow intoned. “None.” He looked at Sybil, his frowned deepened. “She’s a human.” He stepped forward menacingly.
Anton glared at him. “Know you me not? Stand aside, varlet.”
“I know you, Lord, but Lord Sergai—“
“Sergai,” Anton couldn’t keep the sneer from his voice. “Let me pass.”
Two pikes pointed at his heart. The one place that would kill him instantly. Both men looked miserable but determined.
“Very well. Be so good as to tell the King I wish to see him at the earliest opportunity. I have important news.”
“Yes, Lord,” the first soldier said but his gaze was fixed on Sybil.
A growl rose in Anton’s throat. He cut it off. Not good to demonstrate how far things had gone with this female before he spoke to Vlad.
Calm. Icy calm. He wrapped it around him and tucked Sybil’s hand under his arm. “I have yet to show you my quarters, Miss Lofstrom.” Despite all his efforts he could not smooth the rough edge to his voice and she glanced up sharply.
“Please,” he whispered in her ear.
Satisfaction filled him as she let him lead her away.
Mine.
CHAPTER SIX
SPARTAN. NO OTHER word would do to describe Anton’s quarters. A wooden chair beside the hearth, another at the small trestle table in one corner, white painted walls. No pictures. No mementos. Nothing that spoke of life. Sybil could not help but feel chilled. Were all vampire people like this? She shivered.
Concern crossed his face. He knelt at the hearth and lit the fire.
“Please, make yourself comfortable,” he said rising, looking about him as if he had only just noticed how little comfort the room contained. “Allow me to send for some refreshment.” Without waiting for an answer he crossed the room and pulled the bell rope.
“My lord, you must realize this will never do. I must return home. I cannot be found missing from my bed.” She glanced at the clock. “It wants but an hour until dawn.”
He remained standing by the bell pull, so very aloof. So stern and cold. Alone. And lonely by the bleakness in his eyes. Her heart ached to see it, though why, she was not sure.
“I regret it is not in my power to let you leave. Not until I have made my report to the King.”
And perhaps not even then. He did not say it, but she sensed it.
“Then I am undone. I will lose my employment.”
A knock sounded at the door and a man who could not have been five feet tall entered. His face reminded Sybil of mahogany, His brown eyes twinkled. He bowed low. “You rang, Sire?”
“Mifflin, would you good as to bring tea for my guest, please?”
If it was possible the little man’s brightened even more. “Cakes, Sire?”
“Yes, Mifflin,” the Count said his voice softer than usual, warmer. “Cakes would be excellent.”
When the little man had gone he smiled ruefully. “He has served my family for... a long time. He misses having a mistress to serve.”
“Your family is not here in London?”
“No.” He hesitated, then the gentleness went out of his face and the remoteness returned. “My family is dead.”
Why did she have the feeling he was holding something back. His expression did not invite further questions and her mind turned back to her predicament. “How long will the King keep us waiting, do you think?”
A scratch at the door and Mifflin entered and set a tray on the table. He was not looking as happy as he had before. Indeed, he looked all stiff and indignant. He kept darting looks at her and away. He approached his master and muttered something in his ear.
Clearly something Anton didn’t like because his face became grimmer than ever.
The man stepped away. “Will there be anything else, sire?”
“No, thank you, Mifflin.”
The little man’s gaze shifted to an internal door. “Shall I be required...”
“No, Mifflin, I will not need you again, this day.”
A resentful glance shot her way, before he bowed stiffly and left.
“Oh dear. Did I do something wrong? I seem to have upset him.”
“Sergai’s soldiers have set a guard on my door and they told Mifflin you are a human.” He sounded weary. Bitter.
“Everyone else seemed to know right away.”
“Our servants are not of our race and not... as aware as we are.”
“And now we cannot leave.”
“No.” He gestured to the table. “Please, take some tea.”
Tea might help settle her nerves. She sat down on the bench. “Would you care for a cup?”
He nodded, but as if his mind was elsewhere.
Once she had handed him his cup and taken a few sips of what was really an excellent brew, she put her cup down and looked acro
ss the table. He was putting spoonful after spoonful of sugar into the tea cup without seeing it. “Count Grazki, what worries you?”
He looked up sharply, then away.
“Don’t fob me off, if you please,” she said. “I wish to know the truth.”
The gold in his eyes glittered for a moment, then he shrugged. “Humans are not permitted inside the Citadel.”
“So you have committed some dreadful social solecism by bringing me here?”
A bitter smile twisted his lips as his stirred what must now be syrup. “More than that.”
Her heart hammered against the walls of her chest. “Will you be punished?”
His gaze shot to her face. “It is not me I am concerned about.” He winced as if he had said more than he intended. “We must await the King’s pleasure,” his voice was dark, husky. He got up and crossed to the other side of the room, leaned against the wall as if he could not bear to be near her, when all she wanted was to feel the comfort of his arms around her.
A feeling of dread filled her stomach. “What is the penalty for a human who,” she shook her head trying to think of an appropriate word, “who trespasses in your Citadel, as you called it?”
He didn’t answer.
She got up and went across the room to stand in front of him, forcing him to look at her. “What, Anton?”
“Either we take your memories before you leave or we turn you into one of us.” His voice was hollow. Bleak. “Both are dangerous.”
Her stomach knotted, her knees felt weak, her head spun. She felt his warm strong hands reach out to grasp her arms and support her.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I have frightened you. Vlad is a good and just man. When he realizes how you can help us, he will listen to reason. Provided I can speak with him alone. Without Council interference.”
She stared at him. “Take my memories?” The words echoed in her mind as her head spun.
Sensing her distress, a nauseous mist writhing in his gut, Anton picked her up and carried her into the bedchamber. A single cot against the wall. Stark. Functional. A soldier’s room. Not nearly good enough for this lovely woman. His dark soul told him she was his, though he knew it was impossible.
What the hell had made him tell her the brutal truth?
But he had not told her all of it. Taking her memories would likely kill her.
She had looked on him with such kindness when no one had cared if he lived or died for centuries. Except perhaps Ester. And in return for her kindness, he had brought her to certain death. Unless he could convince Vlad to let her go. Because the idea of another vampire turning her—
He gazed down on her, so pale and white so still, so fragile, yet with such inner strength. She had turned him from a finely honed weapon to putty in her small hands with one look.
For the sake of his people, he could not save her. Must not. Yet he would try.
He picked up her hand, felt the flutter of her pulse, her life force, her blood with its overpowering scent of heather and wild honey.
His fangs lengthened. His tongue tingled. Gods how he wanted to taste her. Sink into her heat like a mindless beast. He’d always thought of humans as distasteful but necessary evils. A wicked temptation sent by the gods to test his people. He’d never been tempted. Until now.
One taste.
He spun away from the cot, fists clenched. What? Would he reward himself for what he had done to her? He willed his fangs to retract. His cock, however, remained as hard as iron. Demanding. Hungry. Wanting. But he’d been ignoring that part of him for most of his adult life, and would continue to do so for the rest of it.
The sound of movement brought him back to her side.
Her eyelids fluttered. Her gaze found his. “Anton?” she said faintly.
“Hush. You fainted.”
She struggled to sit up. “I do not faint. You must think me terribly missish.”
He thought her brave and beautiful. Her courage made him want to weep. He chafed the hand he held between his. “I shocked you. Do not fear, I will find a way out of this.”
Her gaze turned inward, then she smiled sadly. “A swift end is preferable to languishing as my mother did.”
“Sybil,” he said. “You don’t know what you are saying. I won’t let it happen.” Ah, and how was he, the King’s Blade, a killer, to keep such a promise.
“When I started seeing your people, I said nothing in case people thought me a lunatic, as they had thought my mother. They shut her away. It was her imprisonment that ruined her mind.” She shuddered. “Death is preferable. But I want to experience so much more of life.”
She blushed, and he felt her heat scalding against his skin and heard the rush of her blood in her veins and the sweet scent of her arousal. His fangs punched clear of their sheath. Only by strength of will did he not throw himself on top of her and gorge. “Tell me what you want so I am sure I understand.”
She lowered her lashes, her lips curving in a small secret smile. “I never thought I would be kissed. Or realized it would be quite so wonderful. Would you kiss... me again?”
His mouth flooded with moisture. “Kissing you gives me very great pleasure.” He fought the urge of the animal to take, to ravish. “But I am not sure I can stop there. Not with you. Sybil, you are an innocent. A virtuous—”
She touched a finger to his lips, stopping his words. It was all he could do not to suck it into his mouth. He froze in place under that so gentle touch. Submitted to her will, though she would never know it.
“You see,” she said shyly. “When you kiss me. I do not feel so very virtuous. Anton, I do not want to leave here without knowing...”
The blush deepened, making her look very young and vulnerable and so very very dear.
And the beast in him recognized her desire, her lust, and roared to life with satisfaction. His cock pounded. His fangs locked in place. “You want me to make love to you.”
She averted her face. “Would it be... distasteful for such as you?
“Distasteful?” he said blankly. “Gods, I want you so badly it hurts.” And for once he was telling her the complete and utter truth.
Her lids rose, her clear grey eyes searched his face, looking for what? Signs he was lying? The fear in her gaze was enough to bring him to his knees.
“Sybil. Mignonne. Never in my life have I wanted a woman, any woman, as I want you.” He knew his eyes were glowing red with passion.
“Then...” she said softy.
He bent over her and took her lips, stroked her tongue, tenderly caressed her lovely form as she lay on his bed in his room, straining to be gentle, for she was not like his kind and he could easily break her.
“Mine.”
Never had Sybil felt so feminine, or so wonderfully alive, tingling. The heavy weight of his chest pressed against her breasts was achingly sweet, as if her skin had come to life after a long sleep. And there was more. Something restless deep within her core, urgent and demanding. She kissed him back, remembering all she had learned the first time. His low groan deep in his throat sent thrills chasing through her body.
She let her hands wander over impressively wide shoulders beneath his coat of the very best superfine. His shoulders were so very solid and masculine. So very male.
His scent played havoc with her senses, the spice of his cologne mixed with a dark earthy musk that she sensed was all his own, along with the clean tang sweat from their mad dash. When he broke the kiss and looked down at her, she saw his canines, long and sharp and beautifully deadly.
“Oh,” she said, reaching up to touch with a hesitant fingertip.
His eyes, more gold than black, widened, but he did not move away from her exploration.
The point was sharp, yet not as if it had been filed. “I wondered what they looked like.”
He shook his head with a small smile. “It is not something I show every human who comes across my path.”
A small laugh escaped her. “Then I am honoured. Are they weapon
s?”
His gaze dropped to her throat. He licked his lips. “They can be. But I would never use them on you, I swear it.”
He spoke as if she should be afraid. She wasn’t. Yes, the fear of the future was still there in the back of her mind, lurking, waiting to scare her from her wits, but she kept herself firmly in the here and now. She wanted this. Him. Would not permit fear to steal her enjoyment.
Fear had played too large a role in her life for too long.
She was a woman. And for once she knew exactly what she wanted. Anton.
Her insides tightened. Her heart pounded. Her body burned with the heat of need for his touch.
The intensity of it all was unlike anything she had ever known, and while it scared her, it lured her inescapably onward.
She rose up and pressed her lips to his in a brief swift kiss. “Anton. Please,” she whispered.
For one brief moment, she felt him resist, as if he would deny her, then capitulation raced across his face and they were kissing. His tongue stroking hers with skill and tenderness.
The sensations careening through her veins reminded her of when he had carried her in his arms. A feeling like flying through the night. Her blood roared through her veins, her ears blank to all but the sound of his breath which fell hot upon her cheek. A large warm hand roamed her body, until the palm of one came to rest heavy and welcome on her breast.
She moaned her pleasure at the pressure of his caress, and her nipples tightened to hard peaks.
“Too much clothing,” he muttered.
“Yes,” she agreed. “Take them off.”
Sitting up, he laughed softly, a hissing sound under his breath and it caused inner muscles to clench harder. He rose from beside her and went over to the door, sliding a bolt home. “We don’t want Mifflin popping in.” He pulled at the end of his cravat and unwound it from around his neck.
Lips parted, breath coming hard in her throat, she watched him undo the buttons of his shirt, revealing a strong throat and the hollow at its base. And the strangest thing around his neck. A heavy chain of black links. The kind of chain one might put on a wild beast. Not a real chain. Ink. But done with great skill as to be real-looking. She wanted to touch it. Breathless, she watched him pull the shirt over his head.
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