by Michele Hauf
“You want me to love you?” she whispered against his mouth. Celadon crinkled to concern and she touched his mouth with a finger.
He licked her skin. The acrid taste of the glue used between the book’s pages lingered, and beneath that a saltiness. And underlying that the pulse of hot, thick blood. Tension coiled in his chest. The hunger would not be so easily put aside.
The moon is soon full. You’ve but to wait it out. You do want a normal life.
Yes, normality. Domesticity. This woman by his side. Constancy.
You have finished a marvelous rage and you think now of simple pleasures?
“C-could you love me if I was a madman?” The curve gracing her lips smoothed. “Could you? Would you visit me every day at Bicêtre?”
“Don’t say things like that, Gabriel.”
“It is what the imminent future holds.”
“No, you are strong. You will—”
“And what if I am not strong? What if I succumb? You see I slip into the rage so easily.” She pushed from his embrace but he skipped around in front of her. “Roxane, could you love a vampire? A man who craves your blood and cannot be happy unless he is sucking at your neck?” Again he pulled her into a tight embrace. Tension made her curves hard against him; she did not want to surrender, to fit into him. “Can you imagine what it must be like? Two people sharing their blood. Like a sort of dark communion of the souls.”
“Gabriel, don’t, you cannot—”
“I can do whatever I please, Roxane. Do you love me? Tell me true.”
“I...could…”
He pushed his fingers through her hair. Illuminated in paleness, those thick satin lips parted in a weak cry. Trailing kisses down her chin and neck, he kissed hard at the pulsing vein.
“Don’t be foolish, Gabriel. You will make it to the moon. You can do it.”
“What if I prefer to follow the night?”
“F-follow the night?” With but a twist of her shoulders she freed herself from his hold. Roxane started toward the door, backwards, facing him to—keep the predator in sight? “You romanticize the vampire!”
“Where are you going? Do you flee from me?”
She stopped in the doorway, her fingers clinging to the gilded chair rail. “You have no idea what it will be like to become a killer—”
“Where do you obtain your information on vampires? Tell me.” He stalked across the room. Each step pushed her out and into the hallway. She was fleeing him!
He rushed forward. “You believe they are evil and wicked. Do you imagine I could become so evil? Look at me, Roxane. My veins are lined in lace!” And comprehension voiced itself. “I would make the most incredible vampire.”
To finally voice it gave power to the entreaty. Yes. The vicomte Gabriel Baptiste Renan, a vampire.
Shuffling up the steps to the mirrored hallway, Roxane pressed herself to the wall.
Gabriel followed at a sure pace.
“You overwhelm me, Gabriel. I cannot imagine things like that. I only want to—”
“To hide from me?”
Dare he bring up the overheard conversation? It would force her to be truthful with him.
“I do want to love you, but I cannot consider it until Damian is—”
“Is what?”
“Shows signs of recovery.”
“You honestly believe your brother can recover from madness?” Could he find her truth in the depths of those moistened eyes? I want to be the ice king, reigning within her ice-forest eyes.
“Damian is the world to me, Gabriel.”
“Indeed.”
No crown of icicles for him this day. A strong and determined woman, Roxane would not bring him into her plot to befriend the vampire Anjou.
But he could be stronger for her.
He rushed ahead of her and opened the door to her bed chamber. Her eyes darted from the doorway, a dash to her sanctity. Sensing her trepidation he stepped from the doorway. She slid around and inside.
She was frightened of him!
You do not want to frighten, you want to seduce.
Roxane stood inside the doorway. The guest chamber was dark, the velvet curtains pulled before the windows to keep away the moon, the vicious temptress. Gabriel literally swayed with the rage. A violent rage. A pitiful rage. A tempting rage of madness, sadness, and desperation she could not disregard.
He hadn’t moved from the spot outside her door. He remained, listening, waiting. She could verily feel his wicked desire current through the air.
He’d frightened her. Her wrist ached—by morning a bruise would show. But she could not close the door. The vicomte’s parents had abandoned him in the quest for unnatural satisfaction. No wonder he desperately craved attention.
Drawing in a deep breath, she exhaled. With that breath she released apprehension and fear. And found deep within, the desire. This man struggled with a force far greater than the two of them combined.
Lifting her head, she nodded. Gabriel’s hand slid across hers and she led him inside her room. Into the darkness, and into her soul.
SEVENTEEN
Gabriel followed Roxane to the bedside where she lifted the tinder box to light a candle. He placed a hand over hers. “No.”
The action of them setting the box on the table together upset a crystal vase of flowers. He bent to pluck up a shard of clear glass and set it on the table.
“I’ll help you.”
“No need. Toussaint will get it in the morning. Just step carefully.”
Her breaths came quickly. Gabriel relaxed as well as a man can relax when his heart was pounding and the inner screams for blood tormented. Fisting one hand to his stomach he strained against the cries for relief. Concentrate on the woman. Scent of rosemary. Eyes so pleading and open.
She slid onto the bed and extended her arms to invite him. Tugging the shirt over his head, he dropped it over the glass shards and the scattered flowers, and climbed onto the bed.
Intent in her own desires, Roxane’s fingers worked the buttons on his breeches. His cock strained for release. As did the hunger. His head tucked to the curve of her neck, Gabriel gritted his jaw.
“Put it from your thoughts,” she whispered. Buttons released, his heavy organ thumped upon her stomach. “Think only of now. The two of us.” She kissed the side of his forehead and lured him to kiss her mouth. He bulleted kisses down her jaw and along her soft as talcum neck. Beware the pulse. He did not veer where he knew the thick vein pulsed close to the surface. As well, beware the tiny vial suspended on the delicate chain. It slipped over her shoulder and landed on the sheets. The urge to toss it across the room, dispel any hint of danger, was not there. Bring on the challenge!
So hot, her flesh, oozing rosemary, woman, and the sweetest taste of perspiration. He dashed his tongue along the crisp lace that guarded her treasures like a crenellated battlement. There were no ties in front of this stiffened bodice, a trap of satin and stitches.
“Turn over,” he urged, and pressed a trail of fervent kisses over her shoulder and back of her neck, as he worked at the laces paralleling her spine.
Ribbons zinged through threaded grommets as he hastily unloosed her restraints, unstringing an instrument so he may command her song. The final grommet set free the laces and the whole bodice slid from her body. Roxane slipped her arms from the sleeves and rolled to her back. Flushed cheeks and parted lips drew him to drink from her mouth. Heaven on earth. Drown within this woman. Float? No, not if it meant a struggle. He must release, surrender to her allure.
Pulling open the ties of her thin chemise revealed her breasts. Pebbled nipples teased his fingers to pinch and roll. So hard, his cock. He adjusted his hips, allowing it to slide between her legs, all heat, moist and inviting.
“So luscious.” He cupped her breasts. With an expert move, she directed his cock into her moist folds. Enveloped by hot woman, Gabriel knew he should be concerned with something—ah, his climax approached swiftly.
Roxane seduced hi
m without suspecting his inner torment. Hunger called strongly. It demanded to be fed. And as his seed filled her, he fought the urge to take her body—and blood.
Moonlight painted a colorless swath across Roxane’s stomach. She lay, eyes closed, arms splayed carelessly above her head, nested in the pillows. Relaxed, unfettered by concern. Basking.
Gabriel gauged the tension tracing his muscles. He had come and so had she. But while he should be basking alongside her, the hunger had only grown.
“You are an exquisite lover, Gabriel. You own me with your kisses.”
“I like the sound of that—owning you.” Gripping the sheets in tight fists, he glanced at the night table. A shard of glass sparkled beneath the candle glow. “I must own you again.”
“Yes.” She touched his hand. “Here,” she whispered, and placed his hand over her mons. He slid his finger over her delicate folds to the exquisite peak of her pleasure. Hot and plump, it was primed for command. And so he instructed her body to follow, deeper into the bliss and the darkness that would shield her eyes from the truth of the moment.
Gasps and moans quickened his pulse. Wicked, he who sought to deceive, to disguise. To take the blood.
Slave to his manipulations, Roxanne shivered, close to release. At that moment he held her in a sexual vice surely unlike the vampire’s thrall. Or was it similar?
A glint of moonlight alerted. He picked up a shard and pressed the glass inside his palm to judge the edge sharp—
—then tore it across Roxane’s wrist.
He bent and pressed his mouth over the gash. Blood oozed between his lips. Sweeter than he had imagined. Not at all foul.
“What…what are you—no!” Roxane’s struggles upset his hold, but he persisted. Her fingers clasped his hand. “Gabriel, no, this is folly!”
He licked the blood from his lips. “There is no other I choose to help me change. Don’t struggle, Roxane, I won’t harm you.” He pinned down her shoulder. Her bloody fingers clutched at the satin counterpane. “Relax. You’re so close. Come into me. Let me take you over the edge.”
“No, Gabriel, you must not!”
He persisted in stroking her, coaxing her. She struggled between surrender and the fight that would not be defeated.
Bending her hand down and lifting her wrist he fastened his mouth to her life. A delicious future waited. The vicomte Renan would follow the night.
Roxane’s blood harbored sweetness, yet it also tasted like he’d bitten the rim of a copper platter, and of pain and sorrow, and so much darkness. He drew it in like a desert wanderer in need of moisture.
“You cannot…”
While he took he also gave. Her body jerked violently, answering the call of his sensual command. Orgasm surfed through her, stiffening every limb, then, as quickly, relaxing her into oblivion.
“My blood,” she murmured.
He moved his hand over her mouth, not wanting to hurt, only to chase away her protests. She bit his finger. He pressed harder. “Trust I will not harm you. I love you.”
And all the while he sucked at her wrist, drinking full and deep from her life. And in a moment of lucid awareness he realized that if he drank too much she might die.
“I am…” Roxane whispered. “…so sorry.”
“Do not regret,” he said. “Regret is not a part of life. This night I begin to live.”
Blood coated his hands and trickled down his chest. He glided his fingers through the slick crimson and licked them clean. No aversion.
A manic chuckle burst from his lips and he smiled a grand and wicked smile. He had done it!
What have you done?
“I have lost the battle to freedom,” he announced. “Again. No pity, no regret. Bring on the night. Open the world’s veins to my lips. I must admit, I rather favor the taste. Roxane?”
Grasping her bleeding wrist she rolled toward him on the bed. Shock widened her eyes. He had not asked permission. But had he not done it with the consideration of a master?
“You should not have…” Her tongue was heavy, made drunk by the throes of passion and loss of blood. “You are not dead?”
“Why in Hades would I be? I’ve taken the plunge, my pretty vampire slayer. Will you now uncork your precious vial and send me to my grave?”
“This blood…” She clasped the vial lying on the bed sheets.
Both focused on the jiggle of crimson inside the narrow glass vial. Would she do it?
“It…it is mine.”
“Yours?”
“It is my blood, Gabriel. I am a witch.”
EIGHTEEN
“A witch?” Gabriel shot up from Roxane’s bed. A bit discombobulated, he teetered. Hell, he’d consumed blood. He had done it!
And yet she sought to bring him down.
“Witch? What further insanity will you concoct to keep me from my goal?”
“Gabriel, it is not a mistruth.”
“Too late. I have won.”
And he would have his triumph, naysayers be damned. Plucking up his discarded shirt he strode from the room.
Roxane shouted behind him. “You have won nothing but the vampire’s curse!”
She lied. It was not a curse but the gift of immortality.
He stopped before his chamber door and pulled the shirt over his head. Frustration building, he kicked the door with his bare feet. “Lies!”
Why this sudden decision to be a witch? If she sought to scare him from vampirism, it was too late.
And yet, he did care. Cared so much he could feel her words drag on his heart. It slowed his steps as he entered the room and stretched out the beats of blood in his ear. Struggling between what he had done and what Roxane had announced—
A witch? Bah! She lied either regarding the vial of blood about her neck or the fact that she was something she was not.
What a moment to try fool him.
He had done it. He’d taken the blood. And, remarkably, he didn’t feel shame. Rather, elation coursed through his bones. Light—dare he think it?—and satisfied.
Strolling through the rainbow streaming from above, his palms up, he caught a shower of color. My first moments as a vampire. He felt no different. And yet, his entire world would now change. A streak of indigo cut across his skin. A turn of his wrist captured a blob of celadon.
Startled, he shook his hand as if to dislodge the color from his flesh. But he could not put aside the color from his thoughts. Roxane. He had done this for her. To give her hope regarding her brother. Why the woman’s sudden need to frighten him?
Not that he was in the least frightened.
Hmm... Gabriel stood still. Waiting, wondering. Is this how it feels? I don’t feel different.
He swiped a hand across his mouth. He studied the liquid glistening on his flesh. Candlelight melted into the grenadine glitter.
A wicked grin curved his lips and he spat out a dose of laughter. Hell, he felt marvelous. He had done it. No going back. No madness or filthy cell for this swish. Damn, la Luna! He had won.
“Gabriel?”
The voice of his carelessly discarded victim cut through his macabre joy. He closed his eyes. How cruel that you pounced upon her like a predator upon prey!
He had been caught in the hunger.
Must you kill?
No, you can leave them to wake with no memory of your bite.
He should have thought things through, been more cautious. Then, he had not the ability to enthrall. But now?
You should not have bitten her at all.
It had not been a bite, but a slash from the glass shard. And his saliva must have worked to seal the wound. She would be safe. He hadn’t planned it. Well, yes, he had. From the moment he’d arrived at his doorstep and sent Toussaint away he had known how this night would play out.
You could have been more considerate. To trick her so?
“Gabriel?”
“Go away.”
Apologize, you cur!
A bit late for that, eh?
&n
bsp; “I don’t understand what has happened—”
“I drank your blood,” he explained calmly, pacing beneath the oculus, hands folded behind his back. The loose shirt skirted his bare thighs. “I completed the transformation. I have won the race against madness, only to find you’ve now gone mad thinking you are a witch.”
“I am as I say.”
He paused, turning a cold eye on the shivering waif in paisley robe and tangled strawberry hair. She clutched her wrist, blood coating her fingers. And there, the robe was loosely tied, revealing the mark between her breasts. Some sort of witch mark? Surely not a mark of birth, but something unnatural and evil?
“I should have said something earlier.”
“Oh really?” Bitter laughter spat from him.
“Yes, but there never seemed to be a right time. Toussaint has all these omens against witches—”
“You were dealing with a man soon to become a vampire and you couldn’t just out with it? For example: Pardon me, vicomte, you’ve been bitten by a vampire. By the by, I am a witch.”
“Gabriel, please.”
“That mark on your breasts is a witch mark?” Now was no time for this inane conversation. He had stepped over the edge. The selfish need for privacy overwhelmed. To cherish a few moments of consideration for what he had become. “Never mind. You had opportunity to explain; you chose not to. Leave me. Can you not see I’ve much to contend with?”
He pushed her into the mirrored hallway and slammed the door. A single fist pounded the other side of the door. Spreading his arms out wide, he lifted his head and closed his eyes, drawing the night through his pores in waves of myriad color.