by Billi Jean
“I have bloodied you.” He unbuttoned the first two buttons on his shirt. At her nod, he made room for her to sit on the arm of his chair.
“Your temper always was your biggest obstacle, Christian.” She glided over, prepared to accept his offering—no doubt after she punished him. “I will not be next on her list.”
“Why did you come here today? After all these years, you have never come to me, never shown me more attention than any other man.”
She bent over, revealing the lush expanse of her weighty bosom as she smoothed the hair from his eyes. Above all else, he was a man. Still guided by the power a desirable woman wielded. Agatha was the most suitable choice for his plans. She possessed not only the elegance and refinement of royalty, but also the seductive aphrodisiac of a voluptuous woman. She aroused him every time he neared her. To have her by his side and in his bed would be well worth the centuries of waiting for his chance to rule.
“Perhaps the time has come, my fierce darling, for more direct measures.”
At the endearment his cock stiffened against his dress slacks. He caught her hand. Forced her to meet his gaze. He read the truth in her amber eyes.
“And those measures would be what? You cannot be discovered. Not at this point.” He caressed her ivory cheek. She allowed it. He attempted to draw her into his arms.
She stopped him with a hand to his chest. Her bewitching smile snagged his attention from her lush bosom. She straightened to cross her legs. The sound of her stockings sliding along her silky flesh provoked him further. But he relaxed in his chair. He knew the game she played. He watched the burgundy satin slip along her thigh, revealing the top of her charcoal stocking and the porcelain of her skin.
No woman had ever dared to tease him as Agatha did by breathing. Agatha wasn’t some weakling that would fall to the ground and sob if he struck her. She would punish him in her own way—then demand her due.
“She does not know I even exist. She has nothing to connect me to anything.” She tipped his head up from the sight of her coveted flesh. “But you, on the other hand, believed bringing her forth would cause a stir. You believed the idea of this council would be dropped. That the focus will return to cleaning the Houses. Thus, cause more distrust with Aidan.”
“I am not letting Aidan ruin what has taken me years to create. Bryson was supposed to sense her, and, when he did, attack. He showed more restraint than I believed he possessed. I will not make that mistake again.” Ever again. Bryson proved harder to read than he’d believed. No self-righteous, ignorant commoner should never have been given a position of power. Any other ancient would have struck her down. Then and there.
“I believe this is not your first mistake when it comes to Bryson MacAfee.”
“He is a serf,” he sneered. “He should have never been given a rank.”
“True.”
He studied Agatha, surprised by her agreement.
“I do not feel the lower class should be given the same rise to power as those of us born with royal blood.” She ran the tip of her long, scarlet nail along his throat. A delicious tingle stirred along his cock. If she used that nail there, he would come until his balls cried mercy. “They will never be what we are, just as a dog is not the same as its noble cousin the wolf.”
Agatha was a mystery, a seductive siren he had dreamed of possessing for longer than he had sought to rule. She was much closer to the royal line than he was, which made her perfect for what he desired. Both in his bed and by his side. To sate myself on her prized flesh.
“I always wondered why you sided with our plans.” His voice had dropped several octaves. She barely noticed. Or if she did, she didn’t appear interested.
She waved her hand as if shooing a pesky fly. “My reasons are my own, but in this, we must be clear, Christian, for it will not be my blood that spills forth should you fail. It will not be my body burned to ash, will it?” Her gaze turned razor-sharp as she lingered her fingers on the line of his jaw.
“Never.”
“Will you succeed, Christian? This is the question we will have to answer first, before you gain what you truly desire.”
She settled a hand on his cheek and turned his head to the side. Her hot breath tormented him. The chair groaned as he tightened his hands on the wood. He anticipated her bite almost as much as bedding her.
“I would kill anyone you wish to have you by my side,” he grated. “And in my bed. For that, I would kill Aidan himself.”
Her amber eyes flew wide then narrowed. “I hope you are correct, my darling,” she whispered, licking along his neck. The hot, wet stroke was even better than her sharp nail. “But for now, I will take it.”
Blood for blood.
“Christian.” She whispered his name, then bit him with a suddenness that made his grip on the chair arms crack the wood. Her bite was deep. Her drinking strong, so strong his vision grew dim. He allowed it. The room began to disappear around him. She released him with a breathy sigh. The hot glide of her tongue along the wound sent him near to coming. She closed the mark. Seconds later she was across from his desk, sitting in a chair.
Her face came into focus. The amber of her eyes glowed hotly from the blood he’d provided. Desires reflected in those eyes. For along with sharing blood came the lust for more. She blinked and the heat diminished but still lingered, reassuring him that it was him she wanted.
“There now, all is forgiven. Your blood is strong, my darling. Perhaps soon, we will show everyone how strong.”
“For you?”
A laugh, then she walked over and stroked along his cheek.
He snatched it. “I am not a man to be played with, Agatha.”
“Of course not, darling.”
“I will want you. Often.”
She dared to laugh again. “If you gain the throne, you get more than merely me in your bed, Christian. You will earn a right to rule no one will refute.”
“With you by my side and in my bed.” He would insist on it. On her. To open those thighs and know they were his alone. After so long, to walk beside her and understand the envy other males experienced at his prize.
She lowered her lashes demurely. “Is that your desire?”
“Yes.”
“Then, by all means, I will join you in both, my darling.”
Again he studied her eyes. The heat was there, lingering, not extinguished. He reached out and traced the line of her throat. She didn’t protest. Better she didn’t stop him. He watched her as much as his finger gliding down the gold chain she wore. Without blinking, she managed to fire his loins as if she’d given him a come-hither smile. He swallowed audibly. His fingers sank deeper between her bosoms.
“I want you now.”
She leaned closer, enveloping his fingers in her ultra-soft cleavage. “And you shall have me, but only once you take care of Isobel.” She caressed a hand down his chest, stopping right at his belt. “Then we shall see if you have the strength for what I will want.”
Chapter Eight
The bars of the cell Bryson placed Isobel in were welded with the thickest of metals. They’d been spelled by witches. Traps of spirals, acting as puzzles that would hold a Vampire for years, hung over every inch of the open space. Invisible to the eye—until a Vampire tried to breach the cell. Each bar was also drenched in toxins. They would burn like acid on the skin.
He’d built it during a darker time. For much more brutal prisoners than the woman who now lay on the cold slab of stone. Isobel.
It was designed to keep most Vampires for years.
For her, he worried they would not hold past dawn.
And so, instead of resting upstairs, in comfort on his couch reading, he stayed in the dimly lit corridor outside her cell. He was glued there as if he were welded there more firmly than the bars.
I hit her too hard.
The purple bruise on her cheek disturbed him to the point it was like nails on a chalkboard. He rubbed his chest. The center of it felt odd. His entir
e body felt alien.
It should not bother me that she suffered.
It should not concern me that she sleeps so still.
It should not matter if she had fallen into the deepest and darkest of sleeps.
But it does. It matters. She matters.
He punched the wall. One of the rocks cracked. Mortar dusted the bench. The pain wasn’t punishment enough.
I struck her. If she is mine, how is it that I feel rage, yet confusion when it comes to her? Protect her. Punish her. Which will win out?
“Why are you holding me here?”
He spun, startled to see her sitting up. The worrisome bruise was all but gone. Her pale skin flushed as he watched, even glowed with health.
Isobel.
She was beautiful beyond words. Most of his kind, when they reached maturity, paled and lost their coloring. Not so with her. She had the soft blush to her cheeks, as if sun-kissed. Her every feature captivated him. Delicate and small, with the longest, thickest black hair a woman could possess, she caught and easily held his complete attention. The essence of her sparkled with light. Just like the dark wells of her eyes.
How can an ethereal beauty hide evil?
Dressed in leggings and a simple, overlarge blouse she was more beautiful than any Vampire who had once graced the most noble of Vampire Houses in formal silks and satins.
“You are Bryson.”
He nodded, suddenly recalling that not only was that his name, but that this woman was his. Swiftly with that thought, his worry returned. He adjusted his long coat, glad of the layers hiding his reaction to her.
Does she know? Does she realize I failed her? More than failed her, I sent her to her death.
She arched her delicate eyebrow at his lack of verbal response but made no other move. It fascinated him. If she was bothered by silences she didn’t show it. He could barely keep his questions at bay. He cleared his throat. Understanding dawned on him. If he was to find out more about her, he would have to be the one speaking.
“I am.”
He hoped she’d speak again, but her small face grew cold. Her eyes were the darkest, deepest pools framed by thick, black lashes. She would never need to apply cosmetics. Artifice would only distill her natural beauty. If she were free he could see how beautiful her eyes were up close, not with bars between—
He blinked. Realized he was walking toward her as if to free her and froze.
“Don’t,” he grated harshly. Her power stunned. Or the draw of his mate was indescribably strong. My mate. His erection weighed heavily from his hips. The tip drove him mad, rubbing along the fabric of his jeans.
“Why did you put me in here? Why am I not there?” she asked, lifting her hand gracefully to indicate something above them he wasn’t catching. “With them.”
Them? Did she mean Christian and his Hunters? Or Aidan? He had sensed the Hunters closing in on her in Seattle. “You fear the Hunters?”
Again her expression gave nothing away, but he sensed her unease. The Hunters were called when death was the only objective. They spared no one. They were given complete authority, something that chilled his soul.
“Christian leads the Hunters?”
“Yes.”
She appeared amazed by that.
Did she fear Christian harming her? His fangs tingled. His fists tightened. I would kill him for touching you—
“It will do him no good.”
Her disdain made him smile. It also dispelled any worry over her fearing Christian. There was pride in her tone. There was also an understanding of her power.
When he had first learned that she was his, she had been a shy, insecure young Vampire, always in the shadow of her twin brother. Then she had killed their king. Disappeared. Only she hadn’t, had she? She’d been entombed for over six hundred years. The years of captivity hadn’t broken her. They had made her stronger. But he worried they’d also made her insane.
He settled on the bench across from her cell. She studied him then stared at the bars. “These will not hold me.”
She would learn that pride would do her no good. Eventually.
“They are for now.”
That seemed to stump her.
“What have you been doing since you rose?” he asked, trying for conversational. Inside he was frantic to learn more of her. She had broken a three-foot thick slab of evil by drawing a storm to the area. A storm she had wielded as if she were a weather witch, not a Vampire.
How did she break that altar? And why?
“Killing.”
He ignored that for it wasn’t exactly correct. She had killed, true, but only the one Vampire, possibly two. He would have known if she had taken the life of another. Had she sought someone in Seattle? But there were no ancients there—any longer. Could Samuel have been her target? She wouldn’t have known Samuel was gone, ashes on the wind these past months. He considered another tactic.
“How have you survived?”
Again she made him wait until he had to concentrate on standing in place to keep from opening up the cell and shaking her. Finally, he heard her quietly say, “By killing.”
He would have thought she’d have had trouble adjusting to life in this age. If she did, she wasn’t showing it. The way she had worn her hair back from her face to hide the length in a long, intricate braid intrigued him. It spoke of her understanding this age’s culture. In this day and age, long, lush hair would draw attention.
Above all, no Vampire sought human notice. That alone spoke of her sanity. She hadn’t risen, wild and untamed to rush among humans to feed in frenzy.
“I find that hard to believe.” He watched her fold her hands in her lap, neatly and calmly as if his attention meant nothing to her.
“You have adjusted well to this time.”
She had, nothing about her would stand out. Nothing, except a pair of candy-apple-red combat boots.
Is red her favorite color? He could easily imagine her in all red—the bonding color for Vampires.
Did she take the boots because she likes the color, or is the fit comfortable?
He wanted to know, but he wanted to know everything about her—now, immediately. His neck ached. His shoulders were continually tensing. Even his thighs were tight, as hard at least as his shaft. He studied her neck. If he bonded her, he would gain access to all he wanted—her mind, her reasons for killing…her body.
No. I might betray my king by keeping her alive, but I will never force our bond. Never force her.
Sin like that would take him down a path he wouldn’t return from. He had already sinned enough. To force her would send him straight to Hell. If she were a killer, if she were insane, it would be his duty to take her life. But Isobel appeared sane, human even, until you met her gaze. Only then did you realize she was more beautiful than any other creature –
He halted, again almost rising to his feet to go to her. That kind of power stunned him into shouting, “Stop it! I will leave you down here, alone, with no blood for decades—”
She smiled, catching him off guard. The pinkness of her fuller bottom lip, the dip in the upper one, both…so close he could lean in and suck, lick and know they were his. Angered again, he fisted his hands until his knuckles protested.
“Do not think I jest with you. My threats are real, Isobel.”
She appeared to consider that, then said in a wondering tone, “Do you believe your threats will somehow cause me to do something?”
He laughed, enchanted with her when he knew better. “Behaving would be a start.”
She squinted at him as if he’d suddenly sprouted another head.
“If you wish to survive, you will have to do as I say, understood?”
“No.”
No? He considered her response but still had to clarify. “No, you don’t understand?”
“I understand.” She lifted her feet and scooted back on the bed, drawing her knees up and rested her wrists on them.
See? It wasn’t so hard, he wanted to
say. The trick was listening.
“Good. The first thing—”
“I understand, Bryson, that no matter what, I will not survive. So I will not do as you say, nor do what anyone else says. You may leave. I will rest now.” She matched words to leaning her head on the wall and closing her eyes. She thought to test my resolve? “Later, I will leave this place.”
“I hope you try, Isobel. It would be amusing to watch, since I know, and you have to realize, that I can easily stop you. It would be all too simple to take you to Aidan.”
“If you had wanted to do this, you would have. Instead, I am here.” She opened her eyes again. Deep, dark pools he wanted to drown in stared at him unblinking. “Why is that?”
He stood and stepped close to the bars. They would have no impact on him, for he had designed the cage that held her. “Isobel, if I wanted you dead you would be. For now, I want answers. Tell me why you murdered Aaron.”
She grimaced and stared at him as if that extra head had grown back. Slowly she closed her eyes and sank back against the wall of the cell with a heavy sigh.
He had the oddest sensation she thought him…an idiot.
He watched her intently. She didn’t move. Anyone else would have been unable to sit there. If his gaze bothered her she didn’t show it.
His tolerance unraveled. Control slipped. “Why were you after Samuel? Was he on the council with Gia?”
She tensed her fingers. He only noticed because every nuance of her was burned into his brain. Her reaction seemed to indicate he had guessed correctly.
What had Aaron been thinking? Gia, he could see, with her blood line, but Samuel had always been weak and pathetic.
“He is dead.”
This time she didn’t tense, but he noticed her complete attention was on him. So, it was Samuel she sought?
“How are you finding the members?”
No response. The members were secret. He had never known for certain who was on the king’s council. He’d guessed. Perhaps she did as well.