Surprised, Bethan teetered, almost losing her balance. Haydn caught her, spun her away from him, and once again lifted her skirts. Bethan found herself bent from the waist, her hands gripping the sides of the smooth wood.
“I have not had you this way,” he whispered. “I know you will like it.”
Bethan shivered as he moved close against her back and pressed her down. His mouth was warm and hungry on her neck as his lips traced a line of wet kisses along the sensitive nape. Her body pulsed, tightened. Heat and wetness collected between her legs and desire burned through her blood.
There was a rustling of clothes as he stepped out of his lower garments. She felt him reach between her legs, probing for entrance. She arched her back as his hardness slid deep inside her, the urgency of his mating making her dizzy.
Haydn griped her hips, holding her in place to receive his deep thrusts, pounding into her again and again. He was buried so deeply it was shocking, yet even more arousing. She felt him pulsing inside her, almost inside her womb, and felt her own throbbing response.
“Come for me,” he commanded, reaching down to stroke her.
For a moment, her mind and body hung suspended in time and then her body obeyed, the sensations bursting hotly into an explosion of bliss.
When she floated down from her pleasure, she realized he was still hard and thrusting inside her. She relaxed her body, then tightened her inner muscles. He cried out and she felt the hot rush of his seed flood her womb, his shout of contentment carrying through the small chamber.
Sated, he collapsed on top of her and she felt comforted by his warmth and weight. Harmony and contentment stole over her and she forgot her earlier distress.
He turned her onto her back and smiled down at her. His face was flushed, his eyes sparkling wildly. Bethan grinned back at him, feeling sly and wanton, empowered by her womanhood.
He caressed her gently with his fingertip, trailing a path across her face to the corner of her lips, then back to her ear. “You appear more content, more relaxed.”
“I am.” She reached up to touch his cheek, running her fingers tenderly over the dark, rough stubble on his jaw.
He moved closer, joining her on the table. She wondered idly if it would hold their weight, then realized with a laugh that she didn’t much care. All that mattered was being with him.
Bethan nestled against his warmth as he wrapped his arms around her and brought her into his embrace. In the perfection of that moment Bethan realized she had finally found the safe place she had always feared she would never find. Here, in Haydn’s arms, the possibilities of her life seemed endlessly joyful. Because she loved him.
Deep within the secret of her heart she longed for the day when he would return that love. Ever practical, ever realistic, she knew that day might never come.
She felt a sharp stab of sadness, but shook it away. No matter what happened, she knew she would always love him. And no one could ever take that away from her.
Bethan frowned as she entered her bedchamber. Her thoughts were on the hall moot to be held tomorrow, where local issues would be decided. She worried that she would be unable to sit calmly, passively as her stepfather sat in judgment of the villeins. Perhaps she should ask Haydn to intervene, even though it would be difficult for him to express an opinion contrary to de Bellemare. Still, something needed to be done to protect her people from the Lord of Lampeter’s barbaric sense of justice.
She was so preoccupied with her troubles that she was at first unaware of her husband’s presence in the chamber. He stood in the far corner of the room, his back toward the door. She opened her mouth to call out a greeting, but before she had a chance to speak she saw him lift the object he held in his hands and raise it to his face.
A strange, forbidden sense of danger washed over her. In silence, she crept forward, peering closer for a better look. A rabbit. Haydn held a rabbit in his hands. But why?
Her uneasiness grew and then suddenly, shockingly Haydn pressed the wiggling animal to his mouth and sank his teeth into the hare’s neck. It squealed, twitched, then shook, struggling to break free.
Terror clutched at Bethan’s heart. For a long moment she stood and stared in dumbstruck silence, refusing to believe what her eyes and ears revealed. Haydn was suckling the blood from the animal while it still lived, swallowing every drop.
Bethan closed her eyes, slowed her breath. She fought the pain, but was unable to hide the truth from herself. She had read a description of this very act so often it was vividly committed to memory. Witnessing it now was a verification of a truth she could hardly believe, was loath to accept.
Haydn was a vampire! A vampire!
Her heart was pounding so hard the sound thundered in her ears. She stumbled backward, but must have made a noise, for his head turned sharply in her direction.
“Bethan?”
His voice sounded rough, gravelly. He looked the same and yet…her gaze was pulled to the small, dark red smear at the corner of his mouth.
“Blood,” she whispered. Her right hand moved and she hastily made the sign of the cross.
Haydn wiped his mouth with his sleeve, then tried to disarm her with a smile. But as his lips parted, she saw the fangs of his teeth, stark white except for the hint of blood that clung to the tips.
“My God, don’t come near me!” Bethan screamed. She lifted the pitcher of wine she held in her left hand and with all her might threw it at him. It hit the stone floor and shattered, splattering wine everywhere.
“Bethan, calm down.”
Haydn stepped over the mess on the floor and moved toward her. Dazed, she took a step back. Only one, for she was too astonished, too horrified by what she had discovered to command her limbs.
“Unnatural beast! You lied to me! You betrayed me!” She let out a broken cry, hurting from the depths of her soul. “I trusted you! I believed you would help us finally break free of de Bellemare’s cruelty. But you are just like him. An unnatural creature of darkness and evil.”
Haydn paled slightly. “No! You misunderstand. I am not like de Bellemare.”
“There is no misunderstanding. I saw you bite that hare, I heard you suckle the blood from the wound you made like a babe drinks milk from his mother’s breast.” She spoke in a trembling voice, laced with pain and anger. “My ears have not deceived me. My eyes have not deceived me.”
She had trusted him. She had confided in him. What a fool! She should have been wiser, smarter, less innocent and foolish. She had given him her affection, her body. She had given it all willingly, joyfully, and with utter abandon.
She had loved him. And he had betrayed her. Bethan’s muscles began to shake and she felt her legs threatening to give way beneath her. Haydn grabbed her and pulled her close. For a second she allowed his strength to keep her standing. But she was no longer fooled by his expression of concern.
She backed out of his embrace as though it burned her to feel his touch. “Are you going to kill me?”
“Kill you?” His silver eyes narrowed. The pupils shifted and for an instant, his eyes flared with red. “I could. Or I could turn you, and make you as I am. Which frightens you more, I wonder?”
Her eyes began to water, but she refused to give in to the tears. She needed to think, to plan, to somehow make this right. But all she seemed capable of doing was to stare at Haydn in despair. “It feels like I have walked into a hideous nightmare from which I shall never awaken.”
“Bethan,” he muttered, reaching out to her. “You have nothing to fear from me. I am the same as I was before you discovered this truth. It changes nothing.” His breath hissed between his teeth. “Christ’s blood, there is no need to stare at me as if I were a monster.”
A sob twisted out of her throat. “But you are a monster, a soulless villain, no different from my murderous stepfather.”
“I am not.” His voice was low and taut. “I do not prey on humans as he does, I do not gain pleasure by showing cruelty to others, I do not revel
in another’s pain and suffering.”
“Does he know that you are one of his kind?”
“No.” Haydn shook his head, his gaze locked on hers. “He knew of my parents and killed them because he feared they would try to stop him from building his empire of power. I was not at the manor on the night he attacked. I think he suspected I might have been taken as a prisoner. I believe that is why he ordered so many killed when you rescued me. De Bellemare wanted to make sure I was destroyed.”
“So that part is true? You came here for revenge?”
Something fierce leapt in his eyes. “Yes. I never promised anything else. I agreed to marry you because it was the only way to stay at Lampeter within de Bellemare’s presence. From the beginning, I informed you I would not stay after my task was completed.”
“And bedding me?”
“That was your choice.”
The bitterness of that statement made her lift her chin and stare into his eyes. “I never would have allowed it if I had known the truth.”
“Are you certain?”
Bethan stiffened, her throat clogging tightly. It was unnerving to realize that though she might wish to hide it, deny it, her body had craved his, her desire for him had been strong and complete. Remembering the passion they had shared sent a wave of confusion through her, followed quickly by a stab of fear when she thought of the consequences. “What if I am carrying your child?”
He looked taken aback by her question. “There is hardly cause for worry.”
“Not worry? Are you mad? How will I ever tolerate giving birth to an unnatural, evil creature?”
“You would hate an innocent babe?”
His words brought on more confusion, for the hurt in his tone was unmistakable. “I would fear it,” she answered honestly.
“Then you must look to your precious book for answers. Amazingly, it does contain some correct facts. A full-blooded vampire is unable to produce a viable child with a human female. You have no cause to worry. Or fear.”
She shook her head and almost grinned in nervous agitation. Nothing to fear! Saints above, she was so frightened she did not know what to do. Everything she thought she knew, thought she believed had just crashed and crumpled before her. She could feel the tears sliding down her cheeks, all the more powerful because they were silent.
She closed her eyes, flinching from the ferocity on Haydn’s face. Why was he so angry? Clearly she was the one who had been wronged, deceived.
“I am expected on the practice field. ’Tis unwise to be late.” He reached beyond her and picked up his sword. “We will talk of this later.”
Temples throbbing, she walked to the window and stared blindly outside. She valiantly tried to analyze the situation with some calm, but her mind and body failed to cooperate. Feeling ready to collapse, Bethan covered her face with her hands.
The man she loved was a vampire. A demon. Something unnatural, unholy. How could she love such a creature, a monster?
Bethan’s eyes burned as the tears continued to fall and the true extent of her emotions surfaced.
How could she not?
Six
For Haydn, the next two days passed in a haze of guilt and remorse. Bethan avoided him, speaking only when it was necessary, barring the door of their chamber at night, forcing him to stay elsewhere. He knew it would not help to brood over what could not be changed, but that did not ease his frustration.
In an odd way, it was almost a relief to finally have the truth revealed. He knew this was coming, had realized soon after he acknowledged to himself the depth of his feelings for Bethan that this was to be his fate.
He would forever love a woman who would never accept him. And what he was, an unnatural creature of darkness and evil as she so bitterly declared, could never be changed. Haydn admitted there was no one to blame but himself. He knew better than to allow himself to feed inside the castle, where there was a chance he might be seen. But he had grown complacent, comfortable within the walls of their bedchamber, and his carelessness had been his undoing.
In one way he hated that he had been caught, that his secret had been revealed in such a crude manner. Yet far worse, his mistake had caused Bethan great pain and for that he was truly sorry. It hurt remembering the agitation in her voice, the fear on her face. He could not change who he was, what he was, but he would have done anything within his power to spare Bethan this agony.
Seeing her pain had cut him in a way he had not thought possible. He had tried to apologize, but her agony was too raw, her sorrow too fresh for her to contemplate forgiveness.
Perhaps in time…? Haydn let out a grunt of laughter at his foolish thoughts. The passage of time would make no difference, would bring no comfort. All he could do now was fulfill his promise to Bethan, to complete the task he had vowed to accomplish by coming to Lampeter.
He must destroy Agnarr de Bellemare. It was the least he owed his wife.
The sleepy guards at the town gates gave Haydn a passing nod as he rode out. The loneliness he felt at his estrangement from Bethan was especially acute tonight. Perhaps the solitude of the darkness would ease his pain, the thrill of the hunt in the thick woods beyond the castle walls would focus his restless energy on something besides his torment.
Securing his mount to a thick tree at the edge of the forest, Haydn continued on foot, sprinting through the dense foliage, his senses attuned to the life pulsing around him.
The hunt would serve two purposes, to occupy his mind and nourish his body. Fresh blood was necessary for him to build his strength, to keep his senses on alert for the coming confrontation with de Bellemare. And after being discovered by Bethan, Haydn had vowed never to feed again within the castle walls.
He slowed his pace, listened, sniffed, and caught the scent of a deer. Pleased with the discovery, he began to track his prey. A scurrying noise drew his attention to a dense thicket of bramble off to his left. A twig snapped and Haydn drew his bow, making ready to let an arrow fly. He would strike the deer in the leg, preventing it from swift flight. Once it was captured, he could feast at leisure on the nutritious blood, slowly, painlessly, draining it, yet stopping while the animal still clung to life.
He peered around the trunk of a large oak, poised to shoot, yet Haydn saw not a deer, but a young boy of eight or nine, a brace of rabbits clutched in his hand. Haydn shifted his weight from one foot to the other, then heard a sharp intake of breath as the lad discovered him.
With a frightened shriek, the boy turned and ran but after a handful of steps was forced to stop. The area was thick with underbrush on all sides, making it impossible to flee with any speed. Haydn stepped from behind the tree trunk, and the lad’s eyes opened wide, darting nervously from him to the vast stretch of forest that surrounded them on all sides.
“You cannot outrun me,” Haydn cautioned in a low voice. “’Twould be foolish to try.”
The boy trembled with indecision. It was illegal to poach in the lord’s woods, an offense punishable by death. At least if he ran, he might have a chance of escape.
Haydn could feel his tension, smell his fear. He quickly, too, became aware of the isolation of their predicament. It was within his power to dispense justice however he saw fit. No one would be the wiser and he doubted the lad would ever breathe a word of what had happened, fearing for his life.
But there was something else to consider. The tender blood of a human victim would bring Haydn added strength. The lad was young, his flesh, though dirty, would be sweet and pure. The additional strength of drinking human blood could make the difference in defeating de Bellemare.
Haydn lunged forward, then stopped, his hand on the trunk of the large tree. He took a long, deep breath. Control. He needed control, he needed the strength to discipline his urges.
“For…forgive me, my lord,” the lad whispered, and then he burst into frightened tears.
The bloodlust inside him quickly faded as he mastered his urges. Haydn’s lips twitched. “If I turn my back, then
I cannot be a witness to one who steals from his master,” he said casually.
Hoping the boy possessed the wits to understand, Haydn leisurely pivoted on his heel. There was a rustle of underbrush, followed by the snapping of several twigs. Haydn slowly counted to ten, then turned back. The boy was gone, the only hint of his presence the brace of rabbits set on the forest floor.
With a grim smile, Haydn retrieved the animals. They were still warm. Placing them near his mouth, he feasted on the blood, feeling the strength return to his body with each swallow. When he had drained them both, he walked to his horse and left the protection of the deep woods.
Riding back through the village, he dropped the now bloodless hares on the doorstep of the first cottage, knowing the inhabitants would be too grateful for the unexpected bounty to question their odd state. Then with a heavy sigh he returned to the castle and his lonely sleeping spot in front of the fireplace in the great hall.
The following morning Haydn arose with a new sense of purpose. After breaking his fast with a small piece of hard cheese and a tankard of ale, he went in search of his wife. She was quickly found, rushing from their chamber, her brow creased with worry.
At the sight of her, the air boiled with tension. Yet as he drew closer something inside him cracked and melted. She looked tired and sad. He wanted to reach out, to touch her hair, to soothe her hurts. Instead, he straightened, leaving his arms hanging by his side.
“I have spent this night pondering my next move,” he told her. “’Tis past time that I confronted de Bellemare. The longer I wait, the harder it will be. I must destroy him, before he destroys us.”
Bethan nodded her head. “That is what I have come to tell you. I think I have found the entrance to his secret lair.”
“Show me.”
“We must act quickly. Sir Colwyn told me de Bellemare left the castle less than an hour ago. He is not expected back until later.”
“He has probably gone outside to hunt for fresh prey,” Haydn speculated aloud.
Nature of the Beast Page 17