Caressed by Moonlight (10 page)

“Don’t worry,” he said standing. “I will take my bath in the morning and what in heaven’s name are you wearing?”

Victoria looked down at her nightgown and back up at Dorian confused.

“What do you mean?”

“That couldn’t possibly be safe for you to wear to bed. It looks as if it will choke you to death.”

Victoria fingered the buttons and ruffles at her throat. “It keeps me warm,” she stated.

“You have me to keep you warm. I was not implying anything so you can quell your temper.”

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She gathered her nightgown, raising the hem off the floor, and moved to the bed.

“What do you sleep in?” she asked, pulling back the covers.

“Nothing,” he stated.

Victoria spun around so fast it was amazing she kept her balance, her green eyes wide with shock.

“What?”

“I believe you heard me.”

“You are going to have to start sleeping in something if you are to share a bed with me.”

“Why? What are you afraid of? Nothing is going to happen.”

“You are right, nothing is going to happen and I am not afraid of anything.”

“Good, then I will continue to sleep the way I have always slept.”

Victoria slipped under the covers and glared at her husband.

“Oh, come now kitten, don’t give me that evil look.”

“If I sleep wearing something you should too.”

“You could always sleep in–”

“Don’t finish that,” she said, her hand raised in the air. “I knew you were going to say something like that.”

“See! You’re already getting to know me,” he smiled.

Victoria snorted, rolled her eyes, and turned her back to him.

Dorian chuckled as he removed his clothing. He blew out the one candle that remained lit in the room and sank on to the bed.

Victoria scooted away from him and he chuckled again. Wrapping and arm about her waist, he pulled her back against him. He ignored her murmuring protests and kissed her ear.

“Goodnight, sweet wife.”

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Chapter Fifteen

Raphael trotted down the lane humming an ancient rhyme.

He let out a small sigh as he crossed over the bridge that separated King Dorian's lands from King Hadrian's. He was tired. It was taking him longer than he had expected to get home. He could only travel at night and he was constantly hiding from the hunters that patrolled the roads leading back to his clan's lands. Raphael had chosen to take a lesser-known route, it took longer but he knew it would be safe, and that was crossing over Hadrian's lands. Hunters rarely ever set foot on this territory. Hadrian's Clan had been tearing each other apart over the last seventy-five years, civil war never seemed to end and the witches believed that the clan would destroy themselves.

Dorian had been the only one to believe in Hadrian. He was positive that once the king shook free from his madness he would rule once again. Until that day came, chaos and terror ruled his land.

A peaceful delight washed over Raphael as he reached the end of the old bridge, but it was immediately snatched away by a cold wind. The road ahead was dark and haunted by shadows, sinister trees hung over head, and the brilliant moon rays could not penetrate the darkness. He nudged his horse forward, wearily watching the shadows.

Eyes seared his back as he slowly progressed.

An arrow shot through the air and pierced his shoulder.

Raphael ignored the pain as he brought his mount to a high gallop.

They sprinted down the path. Charging toward the light beyond the trees. Another arrow hit, he howled in pain, blood running freely down his back, soaking his tunic. He sagged in the saddle, but managed to hold on to the reins.

The air was cold and biting as it hit his face with such force he almost toppled from his seat. He knew that if he could reach the open land, he would be safe. His attackers wanted to hide their identity or they would be out on the road before him.

A rain of arrows sailed through the sky. He snarled as one hit home, plunging through his heart. All his strength fled and he fell to the hard earth. The horse plowed on. Raphael cursed, blood slipping from his lips. He lie in a humbled pile, blood pouring from
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his wounds and seeping into the earth. Blackness claimed his site as the sound a viciously familiar voice faded into silence. He would welcome death.

“You are all such poor shots,” Kal snapped at the hunters.

“I had to kill him myself, you useless bags of flesh.”

“Sir, we should be leaving,” a witch said. “Hadrian's patrol men are about. They will no doubt smell his blood.”

Kal nudged Raphael with the toe of his boot and studied the vampire's face. “I wonder what he was doing back,” he whispered to himself, then turning to the witches he said, “The Validus will never cross the border, but we should be moving on to the keep, the sun will be rising in a few hours.” Kal smiled down upon Raphael's body before waving his hand for them all to go back into the forest and retrieve their mounts.

“Should we not rummage through his clothes? He might be carrying something of value,” one witch asked.

“I would have received word if Raphael carried anything of importance. We will return for his ashes tomorrow.”

“The hoof prints lead to the bridge,” Horace announced to his small group of men. He sniffed the air and cringed as he recognized the faint smell of blood that floated on the breeze.

Mylonas blood. He tapped his mount toward the bridge.

“Sir,” one of the warriors called. “What are you doing?

That is Mylonas' land. We are not to cross the bridge.”

“Can you not smell the blood?” Horace asked. “He might have been attacked by hunters, we should go and investigate.

Besides, there are few that know of this crossing, he must be from the royal house. King Hadrian would help the man if he was here and Lord Falcon would do the same.”

Horace crossed the bridge and paused as he waited for his men to follow. He dismounted and hesitantly started down the path. The forest was empty, but he did not trust his senses, witches were tricky creatures. He slowly approached the body of the fallen vampire fearing that it may be a trap. He rolled the man over with the toe of his boot and nodded when he saw Dorian's crest embroidered on the vampire's over coat.

“Take him up,” he ordered.

“But sir, he is dead. There is nothing we can do for him.”

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“The sun will be rising soon and we must get back to the castle,” another soldier added.

“Don't question me!” Horace snapped. “He is not dead yet and if we leave him he will burn. Take him up and place him on my horse.”

Once the men were all saddled, they turned about and raced toward the safety of the keep. They hurried in, closed and secured the large thick doors. The sun was just peeking over the hills.

Horace carried Raphael toward the large table that stood directly in the center of the hall, where their commander sat.

“Lord Falcon!” he called. “We found a Mylonas.”

“On our land?” Falcon asked, shoving his chair back and rising to his feet.

“No, he had used the path that King Hadrian and King Dorian had cut. He must be from the royal house to know of it.”

Falcon nodded. His eyes dropped to the wounded soldier and his liquid silver eyes turned to stone as he recognized the vampire. “Take him to a guest chamber and fetch Edwina.”

Falcon watched his general hurry up the stairs.

Why was Raphael sneaking into his own clan's territory?

He knew that the Red Order had singled Dorian's clan out for extinction and that Dorian had gone off to London in hopes of drawing the hunters away from his people. From what he knew, Dorian’s plan had worked. Very few hunters remained, but even though the number of witches had decreased, Falcon still had men patrolling the boards. The witches had never caused his family any grief, for it was common knowledge that his clan was busy killing themselves.

When Horace stumbled down the steps and sprinted to the kitchen, in search of Edwina, Falcon mounted the stairs. He hoped Raphael would be able to talk, but from what he saw of the vampire he feared that he did not have much time left.

He found the first chamber door open. He stepped in sealing the threshold behind him. Raphael lay on the bed face down, the arrows still in his back. Falcon went to his old friend's side and removed the spears of death and rolled Raphael on his back.

“Good, you already took out the arrows, the wounds should heal quickly now. Were they tipped?” Edwina asked, entering the room. She sat the bucket of water and basket of herbs she carried down, near the foot of the bed.

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“Yes, poison.”

“Damn witches,” she sighed.

“You forget from time to time that you are one,” Falcon said with a chuckle.

“I have lived here since my husband died all those years ago. I’m more like a vampire than a witch. Now step aside, I need to clean his injuries,” the old woman instructed, pushing Falcon aside.

Falcon turned from the bed, preparing to leave the witch to her work. He silently prayed Edwina would be able to perform a miracle. He froze as a cold feeble hand snatched his wrist.

“F–F–Fal–con,” Raphael sputtered. “My–My Pock–et. Kal is th–the one.” His hand slipped and he fell back into a death like sleep.

Edwina watched as Falcon carefully reached into Raphael's coat pocket and pulled out a bloodied piece of parchment barring Dorian's seal. He ripped the paper open and devoured the words.

His growl shook the room.

“Bad news?” Edwina asked. She tore open Raphael's shirt and began washing the blood away.

“I’m going to London.”

He stalked from the room, leaving Edwina to tend to the Mylonas clan’s heir. He flung open his chamber doors, gathered some clothing and shoved them into a small sack. He snatched his mother's necklace from its stand in his armoire and clasped it about his neck. He rubbed the small-enchanted ruby. His mother had been a witch and when he had been changed she made the necklace to protect him from the deadly sun until he aged enough to withstand the rays on his own. He kissed the stone before concealing it beneath his shirt.

Falcon took the stairs two at a time and found Horace sitting at the table. The vampire jumped to attention and greeted him.

“I'm leaving for London this moment,” Falcon announced.

“But sir, it is daylight out,” Horace protested.

“I will survive. While I'm gone you are to lead the clan.”

“Me?”

“Yes, watch over everyone and keep the rebels and hunters away from our lands. I also want you to keep a close eye on Raphael, the injured man you found. He is a close friend of Dorian's and we don't want anything to happen to him.”

“Yes, sir.”

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Falcon turned and headed for the door, he opened it just far enough so he could slip through. The sun was an unwelcome burden to his sensitive eyes. He would have to adjust. He ran to the stables, saddled his mount and galloped down the rode. He had to warn Dorian.

Margaret skipped about the shop, dancing around tables piled with soft linens and silks.

“No ruffles. They are absolutely hideous,” Dorian stated firmly. The seamstress quickly swiped the drawings from the table.

She wanted to please the prince and his new wife as best she could.

Once word got out that Princess Vlakhos was wearing her designs, women would line up for her services.

“How about these dresses, sir?” the dressmaker inquired as she spread more sketches upon the table.

Dorian studied them and shook his head. “No, these are too plain.”

“I like plain,” Victoria insisted.

“I don’t. I want my wife richly clothed in the latest styles and fashions.”

“But I am the one wearing the gowns,” she protested. “You can put jewels on your clothing.”

“Fine,” Dorian sighed. Turning back to the seamstress he said, “The gowns should be made of your finest silks, linens, and muslins, the chemises as well.”

The woman nodded. “Of course, I would use nothing else for the lady. May I suggest emerald green for one of the gowns; it would match the lady’s eyes perfectly.”

“Yes,” Dorian agreed. “And I would also like one gown to be a deep blue, another in light blue, a light yellow, also a cream, a ruby red, and perhaps black. You may decide which color works best for each dress, unless my wife has a preference.”

The seamstress turned her eyes to Victoria, but she had nothing to add. She was shocked at how well he was at designing a woman’s wardrobe. It would seem as if he had dressed many other women in his lifetime; that thought almost made her ill.

“Victoria?” Dorian said. Her face had suddenly gone pale.

“Would you like anything else?”

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“You have chosen everything perfectly,” she said once she found her voice. “But do you think I need all these gowns? I have a few that Lana gave me. I can pick them up when she comes home.”

“I am shocked to find a woman who doesn’t want more clothes,” he said with a light chuckle. “The ones you have are lovely, but not fashionable.”

“I don’t care about fashion,” Victoria added, waving her hand in dismissal.

“Well, now that we are married the way you clothe yourself reflects upon me and I will not have people thinking that I am incapable or unwilling to clothe my wife properly. Please, allow me to spend my money on you,” he begged, his eyes large and round. His sweet face was irresistible and all Victoria wanted to do was smother him with kisses.

“I trust you will have these gowns done in a timely manner,” Dorian asked the dressmaker.

“Yes, sir,” the shopkeeper nodded as she gathered up the papers.

“Dorian you really don't need to spend so much.”

He placed a finger over her lips silencing her protests.

“Your little sister said the same thing and I will tell you what I told her. You two are in my family now and I take care of my family. I give them everything they could ever need or want, and more.”

“Thank you,” she whispered against his finger. The simple movement of her lips was enough to light his blood on fire. His eyes devoured her small frame and he smiled when they returned to her face. A deep blush colored her checks.

“It is my duty and I am growing very tired of hearing you say that phrase.”

“Tory!” Margaret called. “Look at me. What do you think of the hat?”

Victoria turned to find the young girl’s head completely swallowed by an enormous feathered hat. She laughed and hurried over to her sister.

“I think it is a bit too big for you.”

Dorian watched with caring eyes as the pair played with the ridiculous headdresses. Warmth gripped his heart, a warmth that he had never felt before. He rubbed his chest in confusion, but he did not have much time to think on the peculiar feeling. The seamstress totaled the purchase and he happily paid.

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“Are you ready, my dears?” he asked coming up behind the two newest member of his clan.

“Yes,” Victoria said plucking the wide brimmed hat from atop her head. “Come along, Margaret.” The little girl took her hand and Dorian led the way out the door.

The air was cool and bit at their ears and noses. The sky was clouded, the sun barley peaking through their thick haze.

Victoria and Margaret huddled together while Dorian strutted beside the pair as if untouched by the cold.

“Lovely day, isn’t it?”

Dorian stopped at the sound of the familiar voice, his body instinctively prepared for an attack. He slowly turned to find Mark striding toward them. Victoria wrapped a protective arm about Margaret’s shoulders and stepped behind Dorian.

“Yes, it is.” Turning to Victoria he asked, “Will you please go hire a hack to take us home?” He handed her a few coins and she led Margaret away.

“I do believe congratulations are in order,” Mark said mockingly. “A vampire king marrying a lowly human, it is an odd pairing.”

“I don’t think so,” Dorian replied.

“I trust you got my note.”

“Yes and I believe you found some of your follow hunters bodies.”