Diana's Hound: Bloodhounds, Book 4

by Moira Rogers

  Her brain ground to a halt. She wound her arms around his neck and wrapped one leg around his hip, grinding against him.

  He jerked her head back hard and stared, his heavy breaths falling on her lips. “If we give in to this, we’re doomed before we start. What fool would believe I want to rid myself of you?”

  Who would believe it anyway, when Diana couldn’t look at him without panting? “What do we do?”

  A groan. “Fuck if I know,” he muttered, the words vibrating against her mouth as he seized it again.

  Oh yes.

  Diana shivered as her tongue dueled with his, and the shiver set off another when her lower body rocked closer to his hardness. She dragged her mouth to his jaw. “Inside. Now.”

  “No.” His grip turned steely. “Here, or nothing.”

  He was setting a boundary, she realized. It was a mostly logical conclusion—if they stayed in the hall, they couldn’t go too far. Behavior restricted by locale.

  If only he knew the things she could do, even in a hallway.

  Diana licked her way along his jaw to the spot beneath his ear. “Here?” she asked softly before dropping her mouth to the base of his neck. “Or here?”

  A rumble of warning rolled up through his chest but seemed to stick in his throat, as if he couldn’t quite bring himself to protest.

  As if he was afraid she might stop.

  Too much or too fast and he’d push her away. So she rubbed her thumb over his collarbone, following the caress with her tongue and then her teeth, careful not to stray too far down, lest he think she meant to drop to her knees right there.

  Not yet, no matter how much she wanted it.

  The instinct proved wise. His grip in her hair loosened until his fingers slipped away. He touched her slowly, grazing her chin and her throat before swooping lower.

  She barely held pleading words in check, but she couldn’t stop her head from falling back on a moan. His thumb pressed to her throat, where her pulse beat strong and fast. “I’m little better than an animal now.”

  Diana tensed as the words penetrated the fog of pleasure in her brain. An animal. Lord, if he thought such things about himself, what must he think of her?

  She feared the answer, enough to step away until her back hit the opposite wall in the narrow corridor. “Good night, N—”

  He surged across the space between them, his movements a blur that ended when his forearms crashed to the wall on either side of her head. She ended up caged by skin and muscle, surrounded by him. “Don’t run.”

  “I’m not.” She swallowed hard. “I’m going to bed. It’s a better idea than tormenting myself with things I can’t have.”

  He fixed a stare on her mouth. “Not having isn’t the torment. Having and then losing is.”

  She itched to trace his frown, to ease the stern set of his lips. “You think too much. Don’t you ever just close your eyes and feel?”

  “Never in all my life. And not once since I came back from the dead.”

  It must have been madness that led her to frame his face with her hands. “So do it now. Close your eyes.”

  A deep breath pushed his bare chest against her breasts. He studied her face, his gaze roving from her lips to her eyes, tracing her nose and her brow, drinking her in like he needed to glut himself on the sight of her before closing his eyes.

  When he finally did, he tensed. “It won’t stop me from thinking. Nothing does.”

  “Shh.” She allowed herself one moment to smooth his brow before pressing a soft kiss to his lips. Slow, easy—chaste, by most people’s definitions. Harmless.

  Nowhere near harmless. Diana gripped his upper arms and forced herself to keep the kiss light, no mean feat when it kindled fire in her belly, made her long to tilt her head and urge his lips apart with her tongue.

  It took forever for the rigid lines of his body to ease. Not completely—he was still hard, especially when his hips brushed hers, revealing the steely length of his cock—but she could feel him melting into her.

  Diana trembled as another warmth bloomed, this time a tender ache in her chest. So much more dangerous than the desire. So much more moving.

  She broke the kiss, leaned her forehead against his cheek and dragged in a breath, redolent with the scent of him, of cloves and black powder. “See?”

  A rusty chuckle rasped free of him. “No, love. I still have my eyes shut.”

  “Funny.” One more quick kiss, and Diana pushed at his shoulders. “When do you want to leave in the morning?”

  “We can leave for the air station as soon as you’re ready.” He moved back just enough to give her space to slip away. “Once we reach Eternity, we’ll have to be more careful about keeping me out of the sunlight.”

  “Among other things,” she murmured, her cheeks heating.

  “Among other things,” he agreed. He brushed a thumb over her lower lip, a reverent touch of unspeakable gentleness. “Sweet dreams, Diana.”

  Sweet? Not likely. She was sure they’d be sweaty and naked—downright filthy, even—but nowhere near sweet.

  And yet, they were.

  Chapter Five

  Eternity was unlike any place on Earth.

  No, Nate reflected as their ship started its slow descent into the valley that housed the fantastical vampire city. Eternity was unlike any place that still existed. Anyone with a passing familiarity with art or history would feel the nagging familiarity as soon as he laid eyes upon it. One with more expansive knowledge would have no trouble recognizing a recreation of Venice at its zenith.

  Why anyone would go to the trouble to divert a nearby river into man-made canals and line them with buildings torn from the pages of history defied explanation. In the hard months following his transformation, he’d often wondered if he was merely an echo of his former self, doomed to never think a new thought because the spark that birthed innovation belonged only to the living.

  Looking upon Eternity, he wondered if any vampire was capable of original thought. Perhaps they all looked backwards instead of ahead, doomed to repeat that which had already happened.

  Diana took it in with a wrinkle of her nose. “This place smells.”

  Nate choked on a laugh. “You’d think they would have improved upon the original.”

  “I suppose.” She stared at the scene below them, at the canals and the wide moat surrounding the city, with a shake of her head. “I wonder how much water they had to reroute to do this. It seems like a waste of resources. Venice has the water anyway, but this place doesn’t.”

  “They’ve dried up at least one lake.” He pulled aside the sheer curtain that surrounded the passenger compartment and pointed to the distant ridge marking the other side of the valley. “You can’t see them from the city, but there are enough steam boilers past those hills to power New York City for a decade. And they make quite clever use of wind power, as well. It’s a pity so much innovation has been wasted on such a frivolous goal.”

  “To say the least.” She tugged at the high, stiff collar on her white lace dress.

  He couldn’t spend too much time looking at that dress. There was something obscene about the way it fit her, something heightened by how modest it should have been even as it fluttered in the breeze. He’d seen Diana in clothes that hugged every curve, but those had been honest and earthy. They’d been her.

  The white lace was something else entirely. Clearing his throat, he let the curtain fall into place. “Are you ready for this?”

  “I don’t know, Na—” She broke off with a glance back toward the helm—and the bored, oblivious pilot.

  “We talked about this, love,” he said casually. “Oliver.” It was, after all, his middle name, and easy enough to remember.

  “Perhaps I should call you master,” she mused. “Sir has a nice, deferential ring to it.”

  May the good Lord damn him for how hard his cock grew. Despite the sheer canopy above them, the confines of the airship were too constricting, as unlivable as his pa
nts. “Sir is far preferable to master, in my opinion.”

  “Yes? Well, your opinion would be the one to matter, wouldn’t it?” After a moment, she made a disgusted noise and covered her face. “I’m sorry. I think I just realized it’s true. They really will see me as property. It’s unsettling.”

  Which made his arousal inexcusable. He focused on that disgust to shame his body into compliance. “It’s a despicable practice, from start to finish.”

  “I know many women are treated as such outside of Eternity, but I never have been.”

  At least her husband hadn’t been the sort to treat a wife unkindly, then. “I didn’t truly understand the trials a woman faces until Satira was left mostly in my care.”

  “It’s better for some, and worse for others.” She shook her head and laid her hand on his knee. “You’re not like that, I know.”

  “Age brings wisdom in some matters.”

  “The wisdom not to think of women as chattel? It seems rather like a lifelong commitment.”

  Her fingertips were warm. The longer they lay on his leg, the more they burned through the suddenly too-thin fabric of his trousers. “I enjoyed the privilege of not having to form an opinion on the matter for a surprisingly long stretch of my life.”

  She arched an eyebrow. “You had no opinions regarding the roles and duties of women until Satira became your ward?”

  He lowered his voice. “I became a Guild inventor at seventeen, Diana. I lived and breathed my work. I rarely encountered a woman who wasn’t a prostitute before my thirty-fifth year.”

  “Fascinating.”

  “Only as a study in a small, sad life.”

  “Or second chances.” Moving swiftly, she leaned over and kissed his cheek.

  It took willpower drawn from every atom of his being not to spill her across his lap. “You have a rare talent for finding the unexpected bright side in any gloomy situation.”

  “Anything for a smile, sir.”

  He couldn’t help but give her one. “And anything for you, pet.”

  She smoothed a hand over the front of her dress. “You may as well call me April.”

  The girl survived. Her name is April.

  He swallowed and tried the name he’d whispered a thousand times in his mind. “April.”

  She nodded slowly and withdrew to her side of the seat. “I feel small when I hear that name. It will serve us well here.”

  That he couldn’t let stand. He grasped her chin and forced her to look at him. “You should feel dangerous when you hear it. You should feel strong, full of the kind of fire most men would open their wrists to possess. You, April, survived an ordeal that has killed every man I’ve ever seen with the exception of one.”

  Her expression remained still. Solemn. “Now who’s looking for a silver lining?”

  The ship drifted toward a platform atop one of the tallest buildings in Eternity, and the pilot angled it toward an unoccupied gangway as a pair of stewards hustled to moor it. The side access door swung open, and Diana reached for the wide, dark parasol resting by her feet. “Allow me, sir.”

  Sir. No, the word wouldn’t hold the same seductive lure when she used it as a warning. As a reminder. At least there was that small mercy. He waved a hand at her in permission, telling himself that this charade only had to last until they were safely behind closed doors again.

  He prayed that it was soon.

  She stepped out onto the gangway and opened the parasol, lending him its shade. The port was bustling, and they made their way through the mostly human crowd and to the elevators.

  At the base of the gray stone building, there was an awning over the path, one with voluminous canvas sides only partially tied up in the waning daylight.

  “They think of everything,” Diana said brightly.

  They would. He suffered her to hold the parasol over his head and focused on facts. Facts would secure him against this surreal role he had to play. “I’ve heard there are tunnels beneath the canals, too. Some built of—” no, only an inventor would understand the seeming magic behind the construction, “—of a magical sort of glass that allows one to view the boats and sky above.”

  The doorman at the head of the walkway watched them closely, and Diana waited until they were out of earshot to answer. “I should like to avoid that, if possible. Too much like a grave.”

  “As you desire…” Not April. Not here. “Pet.”

  The walk to the Black Lily was short, with only one stop to ask for directions from a man loaded down with playbills and black books, guides to the city’s social life and vice offerings. Nate bought one and tucked it into his vest pocket as they continued.

  The Black Lily stood at the edge of a small square, built of gray brick like the airship tower and marked only by a sign above the door—a delicate flower outlined in black and red. The two stone-faced men manning the wide doors pulled them open, and Nate urged Diana inside ahead of him.

  “You’ve arrived.” A pale man dressed in a velvet greatcoat walked into the main room, a woman on his heels. “Iris, show our guests to my private study. I’ll see to their things and be along in a moment.”

  The woman nodded and dropped a brief curtsy to Nate, her elaborate red and gold gown trailing the floor as she moved. She looked as if she’d stepped out of a painting of a Venice courtesan, complete with miles of pale, bare skin without a bite mark in sight.

  Odd, when she was as human as Ophelia or Satira.

  She smiled at Diana and gestured for them to follow her past the stairs. “Does your lady need anything for her comfort? Food or juice?” The woman’s gaze flickered to the high neck of Diana’s gown. “I could have wine brought, as well.”

  Nate didn’t give Diana a chance to demur. “Yes, please, Iris. To all of the above. It’s been a long flight for both of us.”

  She nodded and led a twisting path through a maze of corridors until he began to suspect they were traveling in circles, and she sought to confuse his sense of direction. When she finally pushed open a door, Nate guided Diana through with a hand at the small of her back.

  The study was more like a library, with twelve-foot ceilings and shelves of books lining every available inch of three walls. A large hearth took up the fourth wall, and Iris led them to several chairs grouped around the fire.

  “Jonah will be along soon,” she told him, gesturing to a padded leather chair large enough to be called a throne. “Your lady can take a seat as well, or select a cushion.” She didn’t wait to see which they’d choose. She simply took her leave, pulling the door shut behind her.

  Nate cleared his throat. “If this man is an associate of Archer’s, there’s no need for you to sit on the floor.”

  Diana flashed him a knowing look. “And if I want to?”

  He couldn’t take that bait. “Sit where you will, love.”

  She dropped across one end of a loveseat. “I’m getting cranky. Ignore me.”

  “Be as cranky as you please.” He smiled wanly. “No one will believe you’re truly a bloodhound if you’re not.”

  The study door swung open. “Forgive my manners. I’ve been finalizing arrangements for a musicale this evening—an event which should draw some attention for you, and a healthy profit for myself. A winning proposition all around.” The vampire stopped in front of the fire with a small bow. “Jonah Knight, at your service.”

  “Mr. Knight.” Nate extended a hand. “Oliver Powell. My associate is April.”

  “And a bloodhound, no less.” Jonah’s light green eyes danced over her as he shook Nate’s hand. “It’s astounding. I cannot sense a thing out of the ordinary. She might as well be human.”

  “You mightn’t,” she said quietly.

  He chuckled. “Yes, well. Archer skimped on details, as you might imagine, but I promised I’d assist you in your mission here. To that end, I would appreciate it if you didn’t kill me.”

  “She won’t,” Nate promised. “The fact that you can’t sense her is something I’d antic
ipated, but it does mean we’ll have to prove her nature.”

  Jonah waved that away. “I wouldn’t worry about that as of yet. I’d worry about you.”

  Nate lifted his eyebrows. “Me?”

  “Mmm. She doesn’t feel like a bloodhound, which is good…but you don’t feel like a vampire. Which is bad.”

  Nate had anticipated this too, in the darkest part of the night. “I haven’t taken blood in some time. I’m afraid that has altered me.”

  Diana rose. “Is it the blood substitute?”

  Jonah crossed his arms over his chest, his eyes alight with curiosity. “Substitute?”

  Nate reached into his inner vest pocket and pulled out his tin snuffbox. “It’s a powder,” he explained, twisting the cover off to reveal the contents. “My own refinement on the original design. This is the concentrated essence—a pinch mixed with wine will dull the blood hunger for twenty-four hours.”

  The vampire’s eyes narrowed. “A single pinch for an entire day?”

  “A boon.” Nate carefully refastened the cover. “It comes with a price, though. A heavy one for anyone who sought to become a vampire for the power. As you’ve mentioned, I have very little.”

  “Indeed.” Jonah rubbed his chin. “There’s no way around it, I’m afraid. Even with your miracle powder there, you’ll need to feed for the duration of your stay here in Eternity. I can arrange that, if you’d like. A willing partner, of course.”

  Diana made a soft noise of protest, and Nate did everything in his power not to look at her as he answered. “I’ll think on it once we’re settled.”

  “Your suite, yes. You’ll want to rest and get your bearings before this evening.” He held out an arm. “This way.”

  The suite to which Jonah led them was worthy of a city as ridiculous as Eternity. Heavy black drapes had been drawn back from glass doors leading to balconies draped in some sort of night-blooming flower that couldn’t possibly still be in season. The bed was large enough for five or six to comfortably sleep—or do any other activity that a vast expanse of mattress invited.