Tainted Love

by Nancy Morse

  He rolled his eyes. “As you have so often reminded me. But everything has a price.”

  “Aren’t you afraid of what your paramour will think?”

  “Not at all. Marie is well aware that my appetite is too great for her alone to satisfy.”

  “Well, I am not comfortable with her being in the next room.”

  “You’re quite right.” The flame from the whale oil lamp swayed as he strode across the room with a graceful, almost feline quality. He opened the door and called, “Marie!”

  The pretty quadroon girl appeared.

  “I want you to take the carriage and go into town.”

  “What for?” she asked.

  “I am in need of some wine. Yes, that’s it, wine.”

  “But I filled the decanter only yesterday.”

  “Well, I would like it filled again. And here,” he said, pressing coins into her hand. “Buy yourself a pretty lace fan.”

  When Marie was gone, he turned back to Pru, his smile fading to a frown. “Is your pirate that important to you that you would come out in broad daylight to appeal to me to save him?”

  “I’m not afraid of the sunlight,” she said.

  His gaze traversed her cloak of chocolate brown with a cream and turquoise floral print whose hood was deeply pleated and lined with cream silk. “At least you had the good sense not to wear one of your silly bonnets. Bonnets are never seen on the streets. I think a graceful veil is so much more fashionable.”

  “Nor do I care what you think.”

  “How you have changed,” he mused. “What happened to that timid little creature who was so afraid to speak her mind?”

  “You made me into what I am today,” she said broodingly.

  “Yes, I did. And as my creation, you will always belong to me.”

  Pru sucked in her breath at his audacity. “The only place I will belong to you, Nicholas, is in your dreams.”

  “And in my bed. And that is precisely where I want you. Unless, you have changed your mind about needing my help in rescuing your pirate from the Spaniards.”

  For a moment, she battled with herself over whether or not to give him what he wanted. Without his help Stede would be executed. Over the slow, predictable rumble of her conscience she relented. “Where is your bedroom?”

  “Upstairs. First door on the right. But I’ve changed my mind. We can do it right here.” His tone carried an intimacy that should have warned her. This was not to be a simple coupling.

  He stood there with a self-satisfied smirk on his face, as if he had just checkmated her in a game of chess, and then walked with a lazy, assured stride to an armchair and sat down, crossing one leg casually over the other. “Take off your cloak and make yourself comfortable.”

  She unfastened the cloak and draped it across the back of a chair.

  “And now,” he said, his tone dropping to a low, lusty timbre, “take off the rest of your clothes.”

  It wasn’t that he hadn’t seen every inch of her naked body many times before, but to disrobe before his hungry eyes added a new dimension to the usual course of their sexual encounters and made her a little giddy.

  The only sound in the room was that of his breathing, strong and even from deep in his chest. A swamp breeze rustled the branches of the trees and billowed the curtains at the open window. She took a long breath. “You wish to be entertained?”

  The spark in his eyes gave the answer.

  “And then will you do what I have asked?”

  His voice was low and threatening. “You dare to bargain with me?”

  “Everything has a price.”

  “I can’t say I like having my words echoed back at me,” he complained. “But very well. Do your best to entertain me, and I’ll do my best to do what you asked.”

  He was such a clever liar that it was entirely possible he had no intention of helping her save Stede, but at this point, he was her only hope.

  Unfastening the hooks of her dress, she nudged the high-waisted bodice off each shoulder. The soft muslin fell to her waist and then slid like rainwater to the floor, pooling at her ankles. Stepping out of it, she gathered it up and held it against her naked shoulders, the fabric outlining her legs and the curve of her hips. The fixed expression of want and desire in his green eyes and the tongue that swept across his lips to moisten them made her bolder. Her fingers opened and the dress fluttered to the floor.

  The white slippery silk-satin slip she wore beneath the dress gave a smooth line when the muslin flowed over it, but with the dress lying in a heap on the floorboards, it provided scant protection from his lustful stare. She shimmied out of it and was about to send it to the floor to accompany the dress when, acting on impulse, she tossed it to him.

  He caught it in one hand. Drawing it to his face, he ran the incredibly soft fabric across his cheek and breathed in the scent of her that clung to it.

  Having always thought her figure imperfect with its pendulous breasts atop such a narrow waist, she opted for stays that were lighter and longer and not as heavily boned as the ones she used to wear. Although they gave a smooth shape to her gently-flaring hips, they also emphasized the generous curve of her breasts. The tips of her nipples and the circles of dark flesh around them showed through the fabric. Slowly, teasingly she loosened the lacings of the stays. It dropped away. The candlelight fell upon the satin weight of her breasts, drawing his gaze like hungry predators.

  She was enjoying the effect it had on him. His complexion was florid, as though he had recently fed. There was a catch in his throat, and his fingers twitched involuntarily in his lap. He may have been the one giving the commands, but she was the one in control. And once again she felt a surge of triumph in knowing that she could seduce the powerful vampire and reduce him to liquid.

  Slipping her feet out of her shoes, she was dressed now only in stockings of knitted cotton held up by garters mid-thigh, exposing the soft white flesh of her upper thighs and the triangle of darkly curled hair at the apex. Her breasts swung forward as she bent to slowly and seductively roll the stockings down the length of each leg, followed by the garters. She was glad now that she had decided against donning pantaloons, for even though they provided warmth against the autumn chill, they would have been most inappropriate for this evening’s unexpected entertainment.

  For several long moments he just stared at her, licking his lips with anticipation. “Turn around so that I might admire all of you.”

  She turned slowly away from him, and though she could not see him, she felt the heat of his gaze upon her backside. She thought back to the first time she’d been with him, when he had initiated her into the scandalous pleasures of the flesh by lifting her and impaling her on his phallus. How many times since that first night had his hands cupped her buttocks and traced circles around the dimples at the base of her spine? How many nights had she dreamed of his cold, strong fingers stroking the cleft and the brush of his lips across the pale, round flesh?

  “Come to me.”

  His voice called her away from her thoughts and back to him. There was no need to mesmerize her as there had been that first time. She turned willingly and walked with languid movements to where he sat. From the look on his handsome face, he was straining to hold himself in check. In a low voice, with just the barest movement of her lips, she said, “What would you like?”

  Clearing his throat, he said hoarsely, “I would like you to undress me.”

  She smiled at his sharp intake of breath when her breasts brushed his face as she leaned forward and touched the skin at the back of his neck where his hair was tied with a ribbon. The ebony locks came loose, spilling to his shoulders as the ribbon fluttered to the floor. Her hands moved through his hair, fingers crushing the thick, glossy locks, before sliding across his shoulders to play with the buttons on his linen shirt. Hooking a finger in the placket, she drew him to his feet.

  He stood before her, a tall, strongly built presence whose green eyes burned with need and despair. A
wild yearning seized her for the tyranny of his touch. She longed to bury her face in his tangled hair and worship his bigness, to feel him filling her up with his inhuman strength. But he remained motionless as she undid the buttons that ran half-way down his shirt and drew it up over his head. His legs clad in buff-colored leather breeches tied and buttoned at the knees and tucked into the tops of shiny black Hessian boots were braced slightly apart. She had only to reach down to cup the swelling that was so evident beneath the leather, but she held back from the impulse. This was a game to him, a game to be prolonged until it became unbearable.

  Dropping to her knees before him, she lifted his leg. As he steadied himself with hands on her shoulders, she pulled off one boot, then the other one. She rose, sliding sinuously up the length of his body until she was once again standing before him, her hard tiny nipples brushing the bare skin of his chest.

  With deliberate slowness she unbuttoned his breeches. He stood as still as a statue, the breath trapped in his chest as she slid the supple leather past his narrow hips and down the length of his corded thighs.

  She stole a look at him. He looked dark and magnificent in the late afternoon light that slanted through the window. His lids were closed. The sweeping lashes too beautiful to belong to a man almost touched the pale skin beneath his eyes.

  And then, it was as if something released inside of him. Tilting his head toward her, he breathed heat against the nape of her neck, and lifting one hand, cupped the silken weight of her breast and ran his thumb over the nipple.

  He moaned, the sound like that of a wounded animal, when she wrapped her fingers around that part of him that was hard and throbbing.

  With her other hand she caught his and guided it to the moist hair between her legs and clenched her teeth when his fingers slid into the pulsing opening.

  It seemed to go on forever, this game between them of give and take, of pleasing and hurting.

  He put his arm around her, his body drawing closer to hers until there was no space left between them. The strength with which he held her might have crushed her, he was so strong, but she could not deny the excitement of being in his arms and was powerless to stop it. Inclining her backwards, he kissed her. His lips were cool and yet a fire seemed to pass through them that burned to the deepest part of her. If it were possible for her to die, she might have done so right then and there, and it would have been a delirious death. At this moment nothing mattered, not even the pirate whose love she craved. Later she would feel guilt for that, but not now as the pandemonium radiated from the center of her all through her limbs and all she could think about was drowning in the vampire’s lust.

  “Do you want me?” His breath was heavy and warm against her lips, his kiss deep and demanding.

  She tried to say something, but his mouth smothered hers, his tongue diving deep in the kiss, giving her no opportunity to verbalize a response.

  Lifting his head, he gazed at her with fiery green eyes and rasped, “Show me,” as he guided her to the freshly swept floorboards.

  Covering her body with his, cold flesh pressing against cold flesh, his weight spread her legs, moaning as he went in.

  He was frenzied, unable to hold back, kissing her neck and her shoulders and returning again and again to her mouth, his fingers bruising the tender flesh of her buttocks as he pulled her fiercely upwards and against his frantic thrusting.

  Her head fell back against the floorboards and she drew in a sharp breath, surrendering to his conquest, reveling in the superhuman strength that forced her body to respond.

  She buried her face in his shoulder as he pumped his hips, taking full possession of her with all the power that was in him. And she, mindful only of the searing sensations, pushed forward, inviting, demanding, lost in the ecstasy of his invasion, full and hard.

  He groaned and whimpered as one final savage thrust pushed him over the edge, and gazing up at him, she saw the golden eyes of the wolf beneath his half-lowered lids.

  She closed her eyes as her own release washed over her, wave upon wave of unbridled pleasure culminating in an explosive tremor that rocked her to her core.

  His breath rushed into her ear. “Look into my eyes.”

  She arched against his embrace and in a haze of passion heeded his command.

  “What do you see?”

  A reflection shimmered in his wolf-like orbs, a reflection no mirror could capture, of eyes not blue but yellow-gold. Her eyes. The eyes of a wolf.

  The breeze felt cool on her arms as she lay with her back pressed against his chest, her legs tucked beneath his. The light beyond the window was fading to twilight. It was that time of day that was no longer day and not quite night. Along the river road the sun was sinking behind moss-laden oaks, the fires of voodoo ceremonies were ignited on the bayou, and the tall windows of the houses in town were flickering with light from lamps lit with fish oil, bear fat and pelican grease.

  He nibbled insinuatingly at her ear. “Do you believe me now about your eyes?”

  She gave a little sigh, and nestling closer to him, murmured “Um-hmm.” She felt lost and euphoric and, for the moment, uncaring that he’d been right.

  Nestling closer to her, he murmured, “Did I ever tell you about the time I invented champagne? It was, oh, let me think, sixteen ninety-three I believe. I was feeling lost and lonely owing to my unfortunate set of circumstances and sought refuge with the Benedictine monks at the Abbey of Hautvillers near Epernay in France. The monks were quite adept at bottling wine. One of them, Dom Perignon, was in charge of the cellar. After doing a little experimentation of my own, I suggested to him to make a second fermentation process in the bottle, and it was that which produced those delightful bubbles. The English will take their credit for its invention and, of course, the French, but no, it was me. Despite the fact that I had invented the most marvelous drink, when the monks discovered that I had been tampering with their wine, they were furious, so I spread wings and flew out of there in a hurry. You can do it, you know.”

  “Do what?” she asked with a laugh. “Make champagne?”

  He sighed at her sarcasm. “Transform. You’re strong enough. You just don’t know how. Shall I teach you?”

  Disentangling herself from his embrace, she sat up and turned around to look at him. “You mean I can transform into a bat?”

  “If you choose. And what a lovely little bat you would make.” Leaning forward, he lifted her breast in his hand and kissed the satin flesh. “Shall we give it another go?” he teased.

  She brushed his hand aside and squirmed away from him. “Would I be able to fly to the fortress?”

  He stiffened, and the passionate haze that lingered in the aftermath of their lovemaking dissipated in the terrible clarity of the situation. “You weren’t thinking about your pirate a little while ago when it was me who was inside of you.”

  She slanted a haughty look at him. “Don’t be so sure about that.”

  He shoved himself away from her. “You take such delight in wounding me,” he brooded as he got up and went in search of his clothes.

  Pru regretted her quip, but more than that, she could not afford to anger him, not when she so desperately needed his help. “All right,” she admitted, “if you must know, I wasn’t thinking about him when we were…you know.”

  “Are you ashamed to say it? We were fucking, Pru. Fucking. Like all animals do.”

  “Must you be so crude?”

  “All right, we engaged in searing, passionate lovemaking. Is that more suitable for your feigned modesty?”

  “You’re insufferable.”

  “I try.”

  Ignoring his proud grin, she said, “While I admit it was you I was thinking about during it, you should not presume that it was anything more than the basic need to couple which, as you say, all animals do.”

  That wiped the grin from his face. He pulled his shirt on over his head with an angry gesture, nearly ripping the seams and leaving the buttons undone as he shoved his leg
s back into the leather breeches. “Fine. Have it your way. You feel absolutely nothing for me. You’ve made that perfectly clear.”

  She got up and went to him. Drawing near, arms going around his waist, she said in a low purr, “Nicholas, don’t be that way. You know I have feelings for you.”

  He suppressed the tremble aroused by the press of her breasts, soft and provocative, against his chest, and closed his eyes to gain some mental balance. “You mean hatred and disdain?”

  “Well, yes, that. But there are times when I have affection for you, too. My feelings for you are complicated. Don’t ask me to put them in perspective.” She reached up on tiptoes and placed an unexpected kiss upon his lips. “Now, be a good vampire and teach me how to transform.”

  “I’ll teach you, but not today. Marie will be back soon. Besides, you won’t have it mastered soon enough to save your pirate.”

  Releasing him, she spun away and gathered up her garments from the floor. The seduction in her voice was replaced by a curt, matter-of-fact tone. “Then you’ll have to do it for me.”

  He flopped down in the chair, sulking as he pulled on his boots. “I hate the thought of going to that place with all those nasty tropical diseases.”

  “Since when are you afraid of disease?

  I’m not,” he asserted. “But that does not mean I enjoy watching others succumb.”

  His response didn’t surprise her. When he wasn’t being purposely cruel, he could be quite sensitive. She wasn’t lying when she told him that at times she had affection for him. Her head fairly ached with confusion over her feelings for him. Hatred. Disdain. Affection. What else? Surely not love. Never love. Not when there was someone else—a mortal—whose love she craved.

  “And what do you plan on doing while I’m winging my way to the fortress?” he asked.

  Pru shifted uncomfortably, not daring to tell him of her plan to gain the trust of the voodoo queen. “Oh, I don’t know. I’m sure I’ll think of something.”

  Chapter 17