by Suz deMello
“Yes.” The word came out a bit strangled, as though he were swallowing his tongue. She looked up at him, with his cock still in her mouth, and he looked down.
He smiled. Reassured anew, she continued to fondle and play.
“Forever,” he said.
“Um?” She looked up at him. What was he blathering on about now?
He caressed her head. “I’ll love you forever. As good as this. Better.”
She leaned her cheek against his hand and sighed.
“Don’t be afraid,” he said before he took the back of her head in his hands and, controlling her, thrust his cock between her lips again. He swelled, and she gave him a little bite and a suck.
He made a startled noise before a liquid thicker than blood released into her mouth. She swallowed, finding the bitter fluid mixed with his blood to be a strangely heady brew. What was it?
Panting, he caressed the back of her head. After a few moments, he dropped to his knees and kissed her, taking some of his spume, sharing the oddly thick liquid combined with his blood.
She was glad. She wanted to share everything with him. As they kissed, she sensed their souls melding into one.
“Ah, Edgar,” she murmured. “How could ye think I’d ever want another? But what about ye?”
“You’re mine.” Standing, he buttoned his breeches.
“Is that all, yer desire to keep a possession? I’m not Ranger, ye bluidy fool.”
He smiled. “I’m yours as much as you’re mine. I’m scared, but—”
“Scared of what?”
He shrugged. “You could be a vampire,” he said bluntly. “If you should turn fae one day, I’m a dead man. Worse, you could kill one of our people or our children.”
She stood. “That would never happen!”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Look at me da. He’s got more of the vamp blood than I. He’s never lost control.”
A grim smile crossed Edgar’s face. “He killed my father.”
She stared at him, mute.
“You didn’t know? That happened long before you were born. But I remember. My father…” He stopped, clearly embarrassed. “My father attacked your mother. He planned to kidnap her and hold her for ransom. Kieran tore off my father’s head and drank his blood.”
She gasped, then recovered. “Well…well, he deserved it! Wouldnae you defend me?”
“Aye, but not the same way!”
“Are ye jilting me?”
He took her in his arms, holding her close. He felt so warm compared to her coolness, and she understood his hesitation.
He lifted his head and regarded her with a cold, clear stare. She died ten thousand deaths before he said, “Rach air muin, I love you, come what may. Regardless of the risk, I’m yours and you’re mine. Do you agree?”
“Ye dinnae need my agreement, Laird Edgar, and we both ken it.”
“But I’m asking nevertheless. I’ll not have an unwilling wife.”
She laughed a little jerkily. “Do I seem unwilling to ye?”
“Nay, but I wish to hear the words. Damn, Isobel, I need to hear the words.”
A knock sounded on the door. Edgar jerked himself away and, as the door creaked open, flung himself under the bed. Wiping a hand across her mouth—were her lips swollen?—she arranged her skirts as best she could and, as her mother came in, calmed her breath.
“Have you seen Edgar?” Mamma asked.
Isobel stretched her back straight, mindful of her posture. “Isn’t he downstairs in the ballroom?”
“No. No one’s seen him since the two of you traipsed off.” Mamma’s glance wandered the room. Isobel had dropped the semi-repaired shirt and waistcoat near her dresser, out of the line of Mamma’s sight. But if she came inside…
Isobel strode forward. “P’raps he went to a withdrawing room.”
“‘It has been a while, though.”
“Mayhap he fell in.” She giggled.
She sounded false to her ears, but Mamma smiled. “‘Tis droll you are.” She touched Isobel’s cheek. “I’ll miss you, child.”
Isobel blinked back tears. “I’m not gone yet, and in any event, I’ll not be far.”
“True. Our horses will wear an even broader path between MacReiver and Kilburn. Are you coming back down?”
“Yes, directly.” Isobel showed her mother out of the room before breathing a sigh of relief.
Edgar crawled out from beneath the bed. Smuts adorned his disheveled hair and darkened the golden skin of his torso. His breeches were a wreck. He kneeled at her feet. “Behold the most wretched of men.”
She eyed him. “Ye do seem a mite discomposed. That doesnae happen often.”
“Not at all if I can help it.”
She kneeled beside him. “Why? Why do ye believe ye cannae lose control, ever?”
“My father was always drunk.” His fair skin reddened.
Her man was embarrassed and ashamed, and she was sorry she’d asked. But Pandora’s box had been opened, so she put her arm around him and quietly waited.
“One night when he was in his cups, my uncle Seamas and his laddies conceived the mad plan of kidnapping your mother and holding her for ransom. Seamas convinced my father to lead the war party.”
“Och. And when the plan failed—as he knew it must—Seamas became acting laird. And yer guardian.”
“Aye.” He looked into her eyes. His were haunted, the blue shadowed with gray specters, the ghosts of the past. “If your great-grandfather, Sir Gareth, hadn’t attacked my clan and killed Seamas, I believe I would have been murdered. So never think, lass, that I’m ungrateful for your vampire heritage.”
She sat back on her heels and considered, keeping her hand on his bare shoulder. The muscles were tense beneath her fingers.
“So I ask you once again. Will you marry me? Wed me freely, of your own heart, regardless of obligation of family and clan?”
She tightened her grasp. “I love ye. I have always loved ye. And aye, I’ll marry ye.”
“Ahhh…” The tension in him eased and loosened. Holding her close, he buried his face in her hair. After a few moments, he raised his head. “When?”
Epilogue
Kieran Kilburn lay in the bed he'd shared with his Lydia for forty years. Weakness had spread to each of his limbs and his eyesight had grown foggy. He could scarcely see his children and grandchildren crowded around him. But she was clear, drifting toward him from a bright light with her hand extended. Her smile was the sun glowing through a misty morn.
He longed to join her. The last twenty years without her had been full, yea, but most times he’d swum in a sea of loneliness so vast and deep he’d feared he'd drown. But he’d persisted, knowing she and the clan expected it of him. He was their laird. He’d made a commitment and seen it through as best he could.
He blinked and looked around at his progeny. To his left, Ranald, his heir, knelt with his hand over Kier's. On his right, Carrick, his second son. His two daughters, Isobel and Marian, at the foot of his bed, gazing at him with eyes red-rimmed and swollen. They’d returned to Kilburn from their homes in MacReiver and Skye when they’d received word that their sire was leaving this earth.
Close by, holding his wife Isobel's hand, stood Kier’s former foster son Edgar, the MacReiver laird. For decades he'd been close to the Kilburns, a steady ally and a beloved friend. He also had become an elderly man, blond hair now silver with age, but still with the same clear blue eyes from which shone an old soul.
Many of Kier's grandchildren crowded close, though some remained at their homes ‘round about Scotland. All of his children had been prolific. The men were stolid, but he thought he could detect a tremble on the lip of his grandson Torquil.
They’d been close, Kier and Tor. He’d taught the boy to ride, to guddle and gut a fish, to hunt for mushrooms the same way his Lydia had taught him.
He sighed. His ancient bones ached. Nevertheless he turned his hand to grip Ranald’s.
> “Never forget yer duty.” Kier couldnae manage more than a raspy whisper. “The clan.”
“The clan.” Ranald’s eyes were steady. “Yea, Da. We will keep the clan safe.”
Kier raised his other hand. “The clan,” he said, his voice stronger.
Everyone present said, “The clan.” Though they spoke softly in deference to his condition, they spoke firmly and without trembling.
He nodded and closed his eyes.
She came again, emerging from the light. He took her hand and gladly joined her.
About Suz deMello
An award-winning, best-selling traditional romance novelist, Suz deMello uses a pseudonym to protect her privacy. But if you’re a romance fan, you’ve probably read her books or have heard of her. She’s known for layered, compelling novels charged with humor as well as emotion.
Of her journey to the steamier side of writing, Suz says, “I love writing traditional romances, but after several years in the same mode, I felt that I really needed to cut loose as a creative artist and write hot, sexy books that reflect the wilder side of being human.”
Suz’s books are fast-paced with seductive situations, complicated characters and a whole lot of kink!
Suz welcomes comments from readers. You can find her website and email addresses on her author bio page at www.ellorascave.com.
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Also by Suz deMello
Blood is Thicker…
First and Last
For My Master
Gypsy Witch
Highland Vampires 1:Temptation in Tartan
Highland Vampires 2: Desire in Tartan
Highland Vampires 3: Rakes in Tartan
Phoenix and Dragon
Queen’s Quest
Seducing the Hermit
The Wilder Brother
Print books by Suz deMello
Seducing the Hermit
The Wilder Brother
Ellora’s Cave Publishing
www.ellorascave.com
Bridling His Vampire
ISBN 9781419991493
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Bridling His Vampire Copyright © 2014 Suz deMello
Edited by Rebecca Hill
Cover design by Allyse Leodra
Cover photography by Q48
Electronic book publication May 2014
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