by Ava March
It would have more than paid his tailor. The man would soon knock on his door, demanding payment. One couldn’t live indefinitely on credit. How long before he was ejected from his bachelor apartments? Any day, judging from his latest run-in with his landlord.
Wincing, he rolled his shoulders, his tense joints popping. He could never return to Bessette’s, just as he could not return to Barton Hall, the family seat of the Duke of Haverton. The man who stopped calling himself Aleric’s father three years ago.
Turning left at the crossroads, he headed north. Misty fog hung lightly over the empty street. Cold seeped into his bones. Winter was beginning to sink its teeth into the city. Not about to turn around to retrieve his black leather gloves, Aleric shoved his bare hands into his coat pockets. Damnation, he detested winter. If only he had been able to hold onto his town carriage for a few more months.
Eager for the warmth of a fire, he crossed Queen Street and cut between two buildings, taking the quickest route home.
Perhaps he should have taken the living at Barton Hall. Done as his father demanded. London had certainly lost all appeal. The reality of the City was far from the idealized land of excitement and adventure that had lured him in his youth. The life of a country vicar would be staid in the extreme, but at least he’d have a roof over his head.
“Bloody hell,” he muttered in disgust. Was he actually considering going back? The stifling restrictions. The numbing monotony. And the begging he would have to do in order to earn his father’s forgiveness—his pride would never recover.
Desolation settled heavily on his shoulders. He scrubbed both hands over his face and then shoved his cold hands back into his pockets. The jangle of a harness caught his attention. He glanced up. A team of four crossed the end of the alley, pulling a carriage along Charles Street at a nice clip. The many lines held in one hand, the driver cracked the whip over the horses’ backs, urging the beasts onward. The carriage traveled out of view. The sounds of the horses’ hooves quickly faded to nothingness.
Fog shrouded most of the moon’s light, casting the alley in an eerie silvery darkness. There was a rustle to his left. Aleric sidestepped in time to avoid stepping on the rat scurrying across his path.
A sense of foreboding wrapped around him. The hairs on his nape prickled. The crunch of gravel beneath his feet echoed off the brick walls of the buildings on either side, the sound unnaturally loud, filling his ears. His attention fixed on Charles Street up ahead, Aleric picked up his pace.
“’Ello, govnor.”
Two dark forms emerged from the dense shadows on the left, one mid-height and wiry, the other short and stocky. Aleric stopped and glanced over his shoulder. A third stood two paces behind him. Tall and massive, the man rivaled the guards at Bessette’s.
Brilliant. The night couldn’t end any worse. “Good evening, gentleman.”
“Turn out ye pockets.”
He sighed. “They’re empty.”
The thieves closed in, two in front and one behind. The giant’s breath fanned the back of his head, ruffling his hair. The stench of unwashed bodies surrounded him. His stomach churned. Even a bath in the Thames would be an improvement for these three.
The shortest man pointed a blade at Aleric’s chest. The steel glinted in the low moonlight. The floppy-brimmed hat pulled low hid the man’s eyes. “That’s wot they all say. Don’t they, Tom?” He stepped closer, pressing the blade against Aleric’s ribs. The sharp point penetrated his coat, waistcoat and shirt to scratch his skin.
Aleric stiffened.
The other man in front of Aleric grinned, revealing the stubs of his few remaining teeth. “Got it right, Frank. Me thinks ’is pockets aren’t so empty.”
Aleric opened his mouth and then shut it. His shoulders slumped. Why argue with fate?
A dark figure dropped through the fog. Tom flew into the brick wall. A sickening thud filled the alley.
The smaller man, Frank, whipped his head around. “Wot the—?” He stumbled into Aleric.
Fire stabbed into the middle of Aleric’s chest, right between his ribs. “Ah!” He shoved the man back and grabbed the blade, the metal handle warm and damp from Frank’s grip. Hissing through his teeth, he yanked the blade free and pressed his palm to the wound. Pain seized every nerve in his body. His legs gave out, knees impacting sharply with the hard ground.
Struggling to draw breath, Aleric looked up. Images blurred then came in to focus.
The dark figure was a man. The faint moonlight caught the long length of his golden hair pulled back in a queue at his nape. His greatcoat billowed as he turned, exposing sleek, bare calves. He grabbed Frank and yanked him up, booted feet dangling inches from the ground.
“Let go, ye bleedin’ bastard!” Frank clawed at the man’s hand, rained punch after punch on his arm.
Fists at the ready, the giant rushed forward. The man’s other arm shot out, fingers wrapping around the giant’s thick neck.
A feral growl reverberated in the alley.
“No! ’Elp, ’elp! Don’t let ’em bite me!” Frank twisted and flailed, but to no avail.
Bellowing in impotent rage, the giant swung his fists, pummeling the man, and kicked up dirt that stung Aleric’s nose. Effortlessly holding him at arm’s length, the man absorbed the impacts, seemingly unaffected by the giant’s attack.
Teeth bared, the man drew Frank in and swooped down to his neck. The panicked screams ceased.
Shock swamped Aleric’s brain. He swayed and caught himself on one arm. Gravel bit into his palm. Warm liquid covered his other hand.
He was bleeding and rather badly at that. Lovely way to end the night.
Frank crumbled to the ground. The man turned on the giant, who screamed in terror. The high pitched sound rattled Aleric’s eardrums. The next instant a second body joined the first at the man’s bare feet.
Panting heavily, the man swiped his forearm across his mouth.
His gaze locked with Aleric’s.
Need, desire, longing. It slammed into Aleric, the force stealing his breath.
Silver eyes flared. Eyes that seemed to hold the moonlight. The man leapt over the bodies.
How the hell had he landed without making a sound? Aleric’s arm shook. His strength dwindled, flowing down his arm. His shirt was plastered to his chest like a sticky, warm linen bandage. At least he couldn’t feel the pain anymore. Perhaps that wasn’t the best of signs. But then again, there’d be less blood for the man to drain from him.
Flicking the length of his greatcoat behind him, the man dropped to his haunches. Disheveled waves of shoulder-length golden hair framed the most beautiful face Aleric had ever seen. Even the two pointed teeth grazing his full bottom lip were somehow gorgeous.
Thick darkness encroached at the edges of his vision. He swayed, head lolling forward, eyes drifting closed. Strong, gentle hands clasped his shoulders, held him steady.
“Aleric?” the man said, concern tightening his voice.
Oh. Now he understood. I’m already dead. Good. He would have made a terrible vicar.
“Aleric!” Raphael shook Aleric’s shoulders. Aleric was as limp as a dead man.
Panic shortened Raphael’s breaths. With one hand cupping the back of his skull, he carefully laid Aleric on his back and unbuttoned his black coat. Crimson blood soaked the canary yellow waistcoat. The sweet scent wafted around him. A powerful lure. He fought back the urge and tore off Aleric’s cravat. He laid a hand to Aleric’s neck, damp skin hot to the touch. A weak pulse thumped against his palm.
Relief coursed through him. He hadn’t lost Aleric. Yet.
“Why didn’t you take your carriage? Don’t you know the streets aren’t safe? And it’s almost December. Where’s your greatcoat?” The words tumbled from his mouth as he wadded the cravat and pressed it to the wound, holding it firm with one hand. “And an alley, Aleric? Alone? Why didn’t you take your usual route home?”
Minutes had been lost while he’d searched for Aleric. Precious m
inutes where he could have dispensed with the three thieves before they’d had a chance to attack. Leaving Aleric oblivious to the danger he’d avoided and oblivious to Raphael’s presence. Just as Raphael had done countless times over the past three years.
The white cravat quickly turned red. Warm blood covered his fingers. Aleric’s breathing slowed and turned shallow.
Time pressed in on Raphael. Seconds remained.
Blasted fragile mortals. The wound was too deep. Aleric wouldn’t be able to heal himself. Unless—
No! He will despise you. Forever.
Bowed over Aleric, Raphael drifted his fingertips over the dark sweep of Aleric’s closed lashes, down the straight bridge of his nose, and traced the firm, parted lips. Soaked up every detail of Aleric’s handsome features. The angle of his cheekbones, the defined line of his jaw, the faint stubble of his night’s beard.
So cruel, to only get to touch him once.
He squeezed his eyes closed. A tremor of purest need racked his body. It came from deep within, from the very core of what was left of his soul. A demand that refused to be denied.
I can’t lose him.
Baring his fangs, he tilted Aleric’s head, exposing his neck, and dropped down. The sharp points of his teeth pierced smooth skin. The supple vein beneath stretched then yielded under Raphael’s assault. Blood flowed into his mouth. Hotter than fire, sweeter than raw sugar on his tongue, and uniquely Aleric. Raphael’s heart slammed against his ribs. Lust ripped through him. Radiated out to his fingers and toes then contracted back to his groin. His cock hardened, pressing painfully against the placket of his breeches. Suspended on the brink of an orgasm, Raphael drank greedily.
Until there was nothing left. Until he had taken every drop.
Trembling from the onslaught of sensation, he flicked his tongue over the wounds, sealing them. Raphael pushed up his sleeve, slashed his wrist with his fangs, and let his own blood drip onto Aleric’s lips and into his open mouth.
“Wake up. Wake up, Aleric. Please,” he muttered urgently.
There was a scratch of gravel followed by a low moan.
He glanced over his shoulder. Sprawled on the ground, the shortest man feebly tried to lift his head. They were coming to. He should have drained more from them, but there was a fine line between recovery and death. A line he hated crossing, no matter if deserved.
A line he hoped he had not just irrevocably crossed.
Cold fear obliterated the lingering lust. Raphael ripped at the knot on his cravat and whipped the linen from his neck. Pulling Aleric into a sitting position, he quickly wrapped the length around Aleric’s chest and over the blade wound, knotting the ends. He grabbed Aleric’s limp hand and leaned into him to settle him onto his shoulder. Using his other hand on Aleric’s strong thigh to hold him steady, Raphael got to his feet.
“It will be all right, Aleric. I’ll have you at my home in a trice.”
Chapter Three
Raphael dunked the cloth in the basin. Cool, clear water shifted to a light shade of crimson. He wrung out the cloth and turned from the washstand. Stepping over the clothing littering the floor, he returned to Aleric’s side.
The impossible had happened. Lord Aleric Vane was in Raphael’s bed, yet Aleric hadn’t moved since he had placed him there. He hadn’t even let out a grunt of discomfort when Raphael removed his coat, waistcoat, shirt and trousers.
Still, Raphael was careful not to disturb the mattress as he settled on the edge of the bed. His touch light, he drew the damp cloth over Aleric’s chest, wiping away the last of the crimson stains. Blood no longer seeped from the deep wound. But that fact brought him no comfort. The lack of blood was his own doing.
Good Lord, drinking from another had never felt like that before. The sensations so strong, so potent. The taste of Aleric so instantly and powerfully addictive, he could not have stopped before he drained him even if he had intended to.
But more important than the experience, the wound that had driven him to rob Aleric of his life’s blood hadn’t healed. Angry and red, it marred the perfection of his chest. A physical sign of Raphael’s failure.
His gaze swept Aleric’s body, nude except for his drawers. His approximately six-foot-two frame took up almost the full length of the bed. Muscular yet honed from his frequent visits to Angelo’s Fencing Academy, Aleric was indeed a handsome man. Someone Raphael needed with an intensity he could not quite explain. And the intensity increased tenfold when he was this close to him.
The cloth dropped from his limp hand to the floor, landing with a dull slap. Though tempting, he hadn’t been able to strip an unconscious man completely bare. Yet the linen drawers were so thin he could make out the shadow of the dark hair on Aleric’s groin and the outline of his flaccid cock, the head of which rested at the very top of his inner thigh.
Except for that blasted wound, Aleric appeared healthy. As if he was simply sleeping and would awake any moment. But Raphael feared the golden glow of Aleric’s skin was only a product of the light from the single candle on the bedside table. His heartbeat was so faint Raphael had to lean close and strain to hear it.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, as he smoothed Aleric’s short, tousled dark hair. “I tried but perhaps it is better this way. It would be beyond cruel to condemn you to this life without your permission. It is so…lonely. And you would have missed the sun. I know I still do.”
Closing his eyes against the sting of tears, he rested his forehead on Aleric’s broad shoulder. A low, pained moan tightened Raphael’s throat.
His heart hurt. It hurt so badly.
“But I will miss you more than the sun.” Cupping Aleric’s jaw, he pressed his lips to the apple of his shoulder. Tears dropped from Raphael’s cheeks, wetting the smooth skin. “How will I go a night without seeing you? Without being near you? Please, Aleric, wake up. I need you.”
Why wasn’t it working? Hell, it should have worked! Impotent frustration mixed with desolation. Raphael sat up and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms. Taking a deep breath, he settled himself as best he could and then stood. His strides pensive, he paced beside the bed.
Though Aleric was his first, the process wasn’t all that complicated. Drain the victim’s blood and replace it with a vampire’s. That knowledge and an instinctive need to feed had somehow been held in the blood of his creator and given to Raphael when he had been turned. Everything else, well, he learned on his own. But Aleric would be his, and Raphael would never abandon a new vampire the way he had been abandoned.
But first, he needed to figure out why Aleric hadn’t turned. He interrupted his pacing to remove his coat and waistcoat, tossing them over his greatcoat on the floor. Perhaps he should seek out Katerina. Ask her. As head of the local vampire clan, she had done it enough times to be an expert in the art of vampire creation. But she wouldn’t be pleased, and that was putting it lightly, that he broke one of her rules and attempted to turn a man on his own. She could very well refuse to aid him, or much worse. Besides that fact, he wasn’t certain how long Aleric could linger in this state. By the time he returned, Aleric could be dead, and the man was too weak to take to Katerina’s.
No matter how much he dreaded it, a visit to the East End would be necessary if somehow, someway, Raphael succeeded tonight. Better to present Aleric and ask for Katerina’s forgiveness than have her vampires believe him a threat to their clan. He’d seen them hunt down strays and scouts that wandered into the City. Eluding them was not an option. Until he needed to test the limit of her benevolence, he would remain here by Aleric’s side.
Pinching the bridge of his nose, he forced himself to recount what he had done. Aleric had not been dead before he tried to turn him. Of that he was certain. He had acted quickly enough. Every last drop of Aleric’s blood had flowed into Raphael, and then he had given Aleric his own.
Raphael stopped in his tracks. He looked to the bed. The candlelight was tricking him. Aleric was much too pale.
He hadn’t g
iven Aleric enough. That damn thief had interrupted him.
Two strides had him at Aleric’s side. Baring his fangs, he pushed up the lace-edged cuff of his shirt and slashed his wrist for the second time that night. Cupping the back of Aleric’s skull with his other hand, he tipped back Aleric’s head and let the blood drip into his open mouth.
With every fiber in his being, he willed Aleric to awaken. “Please, Aleric, please,” he chanted under his breath.
Strong hands grabbed Raphael’s forearm, yanking it down. Dry lips pressed to his wrist. A hot, wet tongue worked against his skin, suckling greedily.
A warm blanket of lust wrapped around Raphael. Lush. Voluptuous. Beyond decadent. His nerves shimmered with the sensation. Startled, he gasped and braced a hand on Aleric’s upper thigh to steady himself. The heat from Aleric’s erection penetrated the thin linen drawers, searing his palm. Raphael instinctively closed his hand over the hard length and stroked, sliding linen over hot skin.
A grunt issued from Aleric’s chest. He lifted his hips, seeking more.
Raphael’s arm shook. Strength seeped from his body, flowed into Aleric. Enough! Jerking his arm back, he broke Aleric’s hold.
Dark lashes trembled against flushed cheeks and then swept up revealing luminescent silver-blue eyes.
Intense desire slammed Raphael, yanked hold of him. A physical force, it pulled him closer to Aleric. He leaned down, his hair falling over his shoulders. His lips hovered over Aleric’s, their harsh breaths mingling. He flicked his tongue, lapping up the droplet of blood on Aleric’s bottom lip.
His gaze locked with Aleric’s, he closed the last remaining distance, moving ever so slowly. Light and tentative, as if fearing one touch would awaken him from a dream, he pressed his lips to Aleric’s.
Sensation crashed over him, swirled around him in a tangible caress for the briefest yet longest of seconds. Then it soaked through his skin, permeating every inch of his body, before settling somewhere deep in the recesses of his very being, in the place his soul once resided.