Blood Wyne (10 page)
I licked my lips. My fangs had descended when he pulled me onto his lap and they had stayed down. Roman was delicious, and deadly, and all of those wonderful things that made power seductive. In the end, I made my decision based on instinct.
“I’ll help you as long as it doesn’t interfere with what my sisters and I are doing. Our work always takes priority.”
I wasn’t about to tell him about the demons, but I had a feeling he already knew. Vampires were cagey, and one as old as Roman didn’t make it this long without holding info over the powerful and influential members of society.
I also knew that, at least Earthside, as vampires aged the territory battles increased. Like lions, only one king could rule over a defined area without a fight breaking out. Which explained why Roman’s brothers and sisters had spread throughout the world, except for the two still living with Blood Wyne. But with Roman around here, it meant that he’d be the oldest and most powerful in the area.
He inclined his head, his gaze beckoning me. “As you will, my lady.” He paused. “Do you dance?”
I nodded, thinking about my dream.
He stood and held out his hand. I took it and he pulled me to my feet. I said nothing as he led me to a door on the left. With a faint smile, Roman drew me through and I gasped as we entered the long chamber that had been in my dream. I wasn’t wearing a fancy dress, but everything else seemed the same.
Roman placed his hands on my shoulders and slowly slid my jacket off, tossing it to the side where it fell against the floor.
With a snap of his fingers, music filled the chamber—wild and free. A piercing ululation gave way to thundering drums, and a woman’s sultry voice swept in to enshroud us in its rhythm.
And then we were dancing, spinning and turning, a combination of tango and waltz. Faster we went, our feet barely skimming the ground, and I found myself laughing at the pure joy of movement. Roman’s eyes flashed, sparkling, as he tightened his grip around my waist and his right hand grasped my own. He broke into a smile that reminded me of a triumphant wolf as he whirled me around the room.
As the song faded, he tumbled onto a backless divan, pulling me down on his lap. I was still laughing, but as I met his gaze, desire flared, sparking off a hunger in me that I hadn’t felt for a man since I’d been on the back of Smoky, getting hot and heavy with Vanzir.
Vanzir had promised a wild ride, free of fear that I might hurt my partner, but somehow, we’d never followed through to the actual act. Rozurial had been a delightful lover, but he was too gentle in spirit, even more gentle than my Nerissa.
With Nerissa, I had passion and love and I never minded holding back, making certain I didn’t lose it and attack her in a fit of blurred hunger and excitement.
But male lovers? I wasn’t looking for emotional attachments. With men, I wanted a no-holds-barred fuckfest where I could let my inner predator out without fear. And Roman smelled like pure, unadulterated sex.
The music shifted to Gary Numan’s “Strange Charm” and I stopped laughing. I leaned forward, straddling Roman’s legs, and crawled up him as he lay back, our gazes locking.
On my hands and knees, staring down at him, the music was the only sound filling the room. And then, before anything else happened, I whispered, “I can’t be anything for you but this. I am in love with the most beautiful woman in the world, and my heart belongs to her, but we have given each other permission to play with the boys.”
He reached up and his fingers traced my face, cupping my chin as he pushed himself to a sitting position so that I was straddling his lap, staring into his face. “I will never ask you for love. There is no place in my heart for such emotion. But Menolly, I desire you. I want you and I have enough respect for you not to force the issue. If you choose to grace me with your body, then I will be a most willing and attentive playmate.”
That was all the encouragement I needed. I leaned forward and his lips caught mine, and then we were standing, his hands under my ass, holding me as I wrapped my legs around his waist. I pushed the memory of Dredge out of my thoughts—he was the only other vampire I’d ever fucked, and only because he’d raped and tortured me, so I’d had no choice.
But Roman . . . Roman’s hands were surprisingly gentle as he carried me over to a thick rug in front of a fireplace and laid me down on the floor. I reached for my jeans, but he stopped me.
“Let me undress you.”
“I need to tell you something about myself,” I said, stopping his hand. Closing my eyes, I paused. Then the words tumbled out in a rush. “I’m heavily scarred . . .”
He stopped, pulling me to a sitting position. “Dredge, correct? That was the Scourge’s preferred method.”
I nodded, biting back the flare of anger that rose at the mention of my sire’s name. “He raped me. He tortured me, scarring me all over my body before he killed and turned me. The scars remained.”
“Your lover, she has no qualms, does she?” He reached out a lazy finger and traced circles on the denim of my jeans, over my knee.
With a shake of the head, I smiled. “No. She taught me to love myself, despite the scars. But they can be disconcerting, and I don’t want you freaking out when I show you my body.”
“Battle scars, my dear.” Roman tipped my chin up with one finger. “Be fiercely proud of them—reclaim them and change them from what they were first intended to do. Take them for your own. They make you the vampire you are. And vampires—we are predators, we are top of the food chain. We walk among the Immortals.”
His eyes, so gray and full of mist, frosted over as he straightened his shoulders. “Your scars no more diminish your beauty than the red of your hair, or the curve of your lips. Your passion, your beauty, reside in your soul, and that you possess intact and for yourself only, no matter what your looks. But trust me, you are a beauty in form as well as spirit.”
I let his words settle, then raised my arms. He eased my turtleneck over my head, gently tossing it to the side, baring my breasts. Slowly, Roman leaned forward, his eyes flickering up at me, and took one nipple in his mouth.
A fire sparked somewhere low, rumbling in my belly, and I let out a little moan. He wrapped his arms around me and laid me back, stretching out beside me, his mouth still working my breast. I gasped as the sensations began to spread through my body, setting off explosions down my spine, toward my thighs.
With one hand, Roman unbuckled my belt and I reached up to help him, but he pushed my hands away and then unzipped me. I lifted my ass and slid the jeans down and somewhere between his lips on my nipple and his lips on my neck, my jeans were off and I was exposed in the dim light that filtered down from the chandeliers on the ceiling.
Roman rose up, kneeling beside me as he slid off his jacket, baring a muscled chest. A thatch of chest hair matched the rich brown of his ponytail, thinning as it trailed in a V toward his abs. His arms were strong, well muscled, and scars laced his wrists and chest—not deliberate, like the scars tattooing my body, but marks left by a whip or a crop. I reached forward and traced one that ran the length of his chest. It had to be thousands of years old, preserved in the flesh, a living fossil of a torture long gone.
“I fought many battles before I was turned,” he whispered. “My mother was a queen even then. We ruled a small country of nomadic warriors. I waged war by her side, with my brothers and sisters, as we conquered neighboring villages and eventually small territories. I nearly died five times.”
“Show me.” My gaze lingered on the scars, taking in the scope of what he was telling me. He might even have existed before the Great Divide, when the worlds were ripped apart.
Roman stood and slid out of his trousers, carefully draping them over a nearby chair. He turned to me, strong, hard, ready. But rather than jump me, he motioned toward a long scar that graced his thigh.
“A wooden spear almost killed me. I recovered, though. I was strong and healthy and the magic of our shamans was strong.” He pointed toward another scar that marred his left side. “Obsidian arrow. Came close to my heart but missed by just enough to spare me.”
He turned and lifted his ponytail. His back was laced with scars from a whip. “When I was caught by an enemy. He tried to whip me to death. Instead, he vanished into the grave and I walked away, bleeding and in pain but triumphant.”
Roman drew his shoulders back, standing so regally that I almost forgot he was naked. The power, the elegance rolled off him in a wave and swept me forward. I rose to my knees and leaned forward, pressing my lips to the scar on his thigh. Following it across his stomach to the scar on his side, I left a trail of soft kisses, nibbling, barely nipping him as he shuddered and his erection hardened.
“Oh my beautiful girl, you are such a wild spirit,” he murmured, his hand gently holding the back of my head as I slid around and began kissing my way up the lacerations that crisscrossed his flesh. He was cold—unlike my Nerissa—but the chill was familiar, matching my own body temperature, and as I pressed my naked length along his back, a hunger began to build.
Hunger for blood, hunger for sex.
I slid my arms around his waist. “I’ve never been with a vampire before, except when . . .”
“
Sshh
. . . don’t sully this moment with his name. Not here. Not now.” Roman turned around and gathered me in his arms, crushing his lips against mine. He let out a low hiss. “There are so many things we can do,” he murmured. “I long to taste you, to feed on you. Will you exchange blood with me?”
Sshh
. . . don’t sully this moment with his name. Not here. Not now.” Roman turned around and gathered me in his arms, crushing his lips against mine. He let out a low hiss. “There are so many things we can do,” he murmured. “I long to taste you, to feed on you. Will you exchange blood with me?”
I found myself nodding, eager to taste him, eager to feel the rush of cool blood in my mouth. The blood that remained in our bodies was nowhere near normal temperature, but it still flowed, still circulated at an almost unbearably slow rhythm, giving no pulse, no fire to the body.
He lowered his lips to my neck. “Let me drink from you, then drink from me, my beauty, and taste my power.” As his fangs touched my flesh, neatly puncturing my neck, a wave of euphoria slid over me and I closed my eyes, spiraling into a river of passion. It flowed, pulling me deep, sucking me under like the fingers of a riptide.
Let me drown forever, let me swim out and never come back.
My thoughts were clouded in shades of honey and amber, of incense and sweet perfume. A rush of images raced through my mind—an ancient riverbed, dry as the moon, carving its way through a series of dunes. The thunder of hooves as a group of warriors rode by under the sun, their leader as glorious as the sun that beat down on them.
Roman. Astride the lead horse, and the look in his eyes one of victory.
My thoughts were clouded in shades of honey and amber, of incense and sweet perfume. A rush of images raced through my mind—an ancient riverbed, dry as the moon, carving its way through a series of dunes. The thunder of hooves as a group of warriors rode by under the sun, their leader as glorious as the sun that beat down on them.
Roman. Astride the lead horse, and the look in his eyes one of victory.
And the scenes changed, a sensual collage of people and places but always, always Roman was there, leading the rush, laughing atop a pile of dead bodies, in the middle of battle, his eyes flashing with life as he staked his claim, and then slowly, the euphoric rush began to fade, just enough for me to disentangle my thoughts, as he gently pulled away.
“And now,” he whispered, baring his neck. “Come on, baby. Bite me. Suck me. Drink me.”
And I did, plunging my fangs into him, feeling the spurt of blood in my mouth as I coaxed the drops to the surface. They were sweet, like sherry or port or flaming liqueur, and as I drove my fangs deeper, I straddled his cock and languorously slid down his length as he thrust up to meet me. He moaned as I licked the wound, willing the blood to fill my mouth. I began to rock my hips against his, reveling in the feel of him inside me, and he encircled my waist with one hand to balance me as he stood, my legs wrapped around him.
The world was a haze of blood and desire, of hunger and touch, and everything dissolved together in a whirl of sensation. And then we were moving—a blur in the night.
Suddenly, I looked up and found that we were standing under the stars. Crystalline clear, they sparkled in the chill of the night, but the cold of the night didn’t bother me as the stiff breeze gusted around us, howling like a Bean Sidhe.
I pulled away from his neck, the blood trickling down my chin as he strode across the yard, carrying me through the snow, until we were in the middle of a private grove of cedar and fir. In the center of the clearing was a dais, black marble, and he carried me to the platform and laid me down, then straddled me. I stared up at the stars, remembering another night when the stars were the last beautiful, untainted thing I would remember seeing. Bloody tears began to pour down my cheeks as I began to whimper.
Roman seemed to understand what was happening. He gently brushed my cheek with his hand. “I am not going to hurt you, Menolly. I’ll stop any time you want. I am not your sire, and you are no longer the vulnerable girl you were. Look at the beauty of the stars, for they mirror the beauty I see lying beneath me.”
“But . . . but . . . the stars are so pure and we are . . .” I struggled to find the words, surprised that these feelings of self-loathing still lurked within me.
He pressed his finger to my lips. “Our lives may be steeped in blood and death, but there is such a beauty to the carnal, to the grave—the beauty of dissolution, the beauty of reintegration with the elements. How can you not believe in your own beauty? In your place in the scheme of things?”
He leaned down and began to kiss me, and his kiss was so caring, so gentle that it opened me up like a flower. And I began to believe again.
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