Dark Rapture (41 page)

The harsh lights they used for filming Wild Child’s video seeped over the battlements and crept into the room by way of the wide bay window set into the alcove. They cast a hazy glow across the stone floor and shimmered across the mica-flecked stone walls.

“Can’t keep your hands off me, eh DelaCourte?” Scarlet turned in Sebastian’s embrace and let her chin drop to her chest as the comforting touch of his hands smoothed over her shoulders.

“Any objections?”

“No, it has been more than an hour since you last touched me. I was beginning to feel neglected.”

She pressed her back against his body, and from behind he floated his fingers down her flowered silk dress and to her waist, producing a tingling thrill inside her blood. Streams of midnight hair fell away from her neck as she tilted her head to the side. His hands encircled her waist, slipping back and away every so often, as if he was losing hold, or maybe, just teasing.

Exhaling deeply, Scarlet closed her eyes as he cupped her breasts. His touch, so delicate, almost invisible, always rendered her helpless. No man had ever such power over her senses. She dropped her hands to her sides, allowing Sebastian free reign over her shivering flesh.

The fine feathery softness of his hair whispered across her cheek as his lips touched the exposed vein on her neck, teasing and granting promises of divine passion. They hovered, and then pressed, then disappeared, and touched.

A prick of sharpness touched her neck. Scarlet flashed her eyes open to meet her lover’s gaze. The vanity mirror reflected her image, her dress unbuttoned to reveal the firm mounds of her breasts, her hair flipped to the side and Sebastian’s devilish-little-boy smile.

“You think so?” she teased.

“Just a taste?” He drew his fangs across her skin.

Her body flamed with a thousand tiny sparks. Deny Sebastian a thing? Never. Scarlet pressed her palms over his hands, squeezing his fingers around her breasts. “If you insist—”

“Baz!”

The red slash of the searchlight crossed back and forth before the window. Gary stood above on the roof, Scarlet knew.

“He’s on to me,” Sebastian said with a heavy sigh. “We’re going to have to find a girlfriend for your brother. The man has too much time on his hands.”

“Sebastian!”

Scarlet reluctantly left Sebastian’s embrace and leaned out the open window. “He’s coming! Keep your undies on!”

“Keep your undies on?” Sebastian served her a questioning lift of his brow.

“Yep.” She sashayed toward him, and planted a kiss on his thick lower lip. “But that doesn’t mean I’ll be keeping mine on for very long.”

“
Cheríe
, you vixen. You think I’ll be able to work now with that image in my mind?”

She pushed him toward the door, loving every minute she could tease her lover. “I’ll be waiting.”

Chapter Two

Cantabria Mountains, Spain - 13th Century

“She’s arrived! By the saints, hurry, we must ready her for the master.”

Paquita tucked her apron ties into the back of her skirt and brushed her floured hands across the coarse wool. “Put the gooseberry pies into the hearth and run below and bring up the elderberry wine. I must have a look over the child before we feed her to the beast.”

***

Esmarelda’s eyes followed the outside walls of the massive castle up to the battlements, fortified with spiked timbers and wedges of broken glass. She’d seen one other castle in her lifetime, in Palencia on her way to the farm with Papa. Castle Trastamara put the other to shame. Its fortress walls stretched far down the treacherous mountainside they had traveled and was surrounded by a wide moat on the south side; the north side, set on a cliff, plunged straight to hell, as Rogero had so eloquently put it.

“Rogero!” A friendly shout tunneled out one of the murder holes set into the castle portico. Slowly the crossed iron gate rose and Esmarelda was delivered into the inner walls.

She pulled at the dress she wore. It was of balding crimson velvet with slashed sleeves to reveal beneath her threadbare silver gown. Once her mother’s wedding dress, she had preserved it in hopes Esmarelda would some day wear it. “I wish you were here, Mama.”

A plump red face appeared to help Esmarelda down from Rogero’s horse. “Step down, missy, and let me have a look over ye. Don’t fright, dear. I’m quite harmless.”

The woman brushed her swollen hands over her flour dusted apron and tossed a wink to Rogero. Taking a deep breath and drawing on the inner strength that had been planted by her father, Esmarelda stepped onto the grounds.

“You’ll be takin’ the girl inside.” A scrawny young man in wilted olive hose appeared as Esmarelda was about to speak. “The master wishes to see her.”

Esmarelda looked to the old woman who rolled her eyes and huffed. She threaded an arm through hers and led her inside.

“Very well. We’ll be in a hurry this fine evening, are we? Don’t worry, child, he may scare ye a bit, but ‘tis just his way. You look to be a strong young lass.” She squeezed Esmarelda’s upper arm gently which was taut with a layer of muscle from farm work. “I lay bets Rogero won’t be matching his wager this time.”

Not having the slightest clue as to what the woman spoke about, Esmarelda was quickly led through the entry hall and down a spiraling stair. She barely had time to find her breath when the woman stopped beneath a torch and gestured to the door beyond.

“My name is Paquita,” she said and squeezed Esmarelda’s hand. “I am the castle chatelaine. I do the cooking and the cleaning and keep the entire castle in order. If you need something you come to me. Except…” She swallowed and the entire bag of flesh beneath her chin jiggled. “…if ye have concerns regarding the master. I can be of no help to ye there.”

***

The thick iron-banded door swung open and Paquita led Esmarelda down another set of stairs into a circular chamber lighted with six hissing torches. There were a handful of men, possibly servants, one with a ledger and quill, others holding weapons and armor and three women, all of them older, each bearing water jugs and wearing dull colors.

As her eyes adjusted to the light, Esmarelda looked around, smiling to each person she saw. They immediately looked to the floor and she in turn glanced away. She thought it very strange the things Paquita had said about her future husband. And with the general way things had gone so far she wondered what, exactly, her father had gotten her into.

She wondered no longer as she heard a husky baritone voice behind her. She spun around to see a thin, elegant young man seated on a throne set high upon four steps.

“Step forward,” he said in a voice serrated and syrupy at the same time. He remained quiet as his deep black eyes looked her over.

Too intrigued to feel on display, Esmarelda took two steps forward. He sat with one leg propped over the arm of his carved mahogany throne, chin in hand, his elbow resting on the other chair arm. Dressed entirely in black, he appeared quite gaunt. He wore a short black doublet striped in gray leather, his leather chausses were studded with silver rivets. A shower of smooth raven hair spilled across his shoulders and down to his elbows, matching perfectly the darkness in his eyes. A half-grin fixed on his pale face and a glint of scarlet flashed as the ring on his finger caught the torchlight.

At first glance one would never think to call him attractive, Esmarelda mused. But with a second and perhaps even third glance she began to feel the intrigue, the curiosity to learn more about this elegant and enticing stranger.

“Turn around,” he said, motioning with his fingers.

With all eyes in the room on her, Esmarelda reluctantly turned. The women’s heads remained bowed so she could not see their eyes. The men, on the other hand, boldly looked her over as she turned. Faltering only once, she came back face to face with the prince. It was unnerving, this inspection of sorts, but she held her head high, hoping to impress upon the prince and all watching she was not afraid.

Though, she was, just a bit.

Her father had once told her all men are the same. The kings and queens, the dukes and knights, they were all born into the world the same as the common man. Each came naked and not knowing more than to suckle from their mother and to piss when they pleased.

Esmarelda smiled to imagine the stout lackey who stood directly behind the prince as a naked babe in his mother’s arms.

“Quite a lovely smile.”

The prince’s words brought her back to reality. She felt an embarrassing blush heat her cheeks.

“But what of the rest of you?” The prince clapped his hands together and gestured to the lackey standing to Esmarelda’s right. He approached and before she knew what was happening, Esmarelda felt the cool rush of air as the man ripped the bodice of her dress away, revealing her naked breasts to the entire room. Quickly she clutched her arms to her chest. But then she noticed the prince’s look. He was pleased.

Embarrassed as she was, Esmarelda forced herself to put her arms down. He was testing her. And she would not fail. She stood proud before the prince, feeling her nipples pucker to rigid alertness under the discomforting scrutiny.

The prince leaned forward in his chair, his hand going to his chin as his eyebrow rose in an elegant arch. “Excellent. Paquita, prepare her. We shall wed at the stroke of midnight.”

Paquita came up behind Esmarelda and slipped an arm around her, pulling her torn bodice over her breasts. As they made way back up the stairs, Esmarelda heard the chatelaine mutter, “Always at midnight.”

***

Los Angeles - Present day

A longing resided deep within her. An emptiness that needed fulfillment. She was determined to discover the truth about herself. How that would happen though, she wasn’t sure.

“Maybe in here,” Scarlet said a she set the diary aside. “I hope.”

Though she and Sebastian were not in-born vampires like Vince—a vampire sired by a vampire and born of a mortal woman—she prayed Vince’s family history would provide clues to her own vampirism. As it was, she knew nothing of her kind other than what Sebastian had taught her. Which was very little.

Releasing a heavy sigh, Scarlet strode down the hallway and into her bedroom and was immediately overtaken by the music that filled the air. Sebastian sat on the bed practicing one of the many flamenco selections he had chosen for his new album. She knelt on the floor before him, resting her cheek on his suede-covered knee. He didn’t stop playing, only smiled, and closed his eyes in satisfaction as his hands danced swiftly over the strings and his head nodded to the beat.

Scarlet closed her eyes, allowing herself to be transported by his magic. A magic that spun her into a dream world of Spanish senoritas dressed in ruffled dresses with long trains and elegant senores, their dark eyes shaded beneath their black Cordoban hats, serenading their ladies from below an opened window.

Sebastian’s music never failed to seduce. It seeped through Scarlet’s flesh and traveled her veins on a one-way collision course to her heart. He was an exquisite lover, gentle and fierce, giving and masterful. But the physical love he gave her could never match the feeling of unbounded freedom she experienced when caught in the sensuous rhythm of his music.

He began a rapid
rasgueado
with successive flicks of his fingers across the strings and Scarlet stood, her mind tangled in a dream. She took his long raven hair into her fingers. It slipped over her skin like an elusive black seal skimming just beneath the surface of a wishing pool. She ran her lips across the silken strands, taking in the sweet, cinnamon spice that cloaked his body like a gentle mist.

Sebastian tilted his head back to receive her kiss, all the while, never missing a single stroke. His lips opened to Scarlet’s demands. Music and passion intertwined and Scarlet was unable to fight the commands Sebastian’s guitar demanded of her body. She danced around in front of him and knelt on the bed, cupping his face in her hands and kissed him deeply, bringing his music to a halt.

“
Chèrie
,” he spoke into her mouth as she teased her tongue across his thick lower lip. “I will never get this song perfected if you do that.”

“Mmm, that’s all right. You’ve plenty time to work on it later.” She ground her hips forward, but the guitar prevented her from feeling her lover’s excitement. “What do you call that one? It’s so sensuous. It makes me want to kiss you, and to think of things better said only in whispers.” She demonstrated by blowing gently in his ear.

“
Dançar com a Imortalidade
.”

Scarlet sat on her knees and pulled a finger across the strings of Sebastian’s guitar, which he affectionately called, Lucia. Lucia meaning Bringer of Light, as he had once explained to her. “Even sounds sensuous. Is that Spanish?”

“Portuguese, my love. It means; To Dance With Immortality.”

“Portuguese?” She wrinkled her nose. “Where did you pick that up?”

He shrugged. “I spent some time in Portugal many years ago. It’s not so strange. I am half Portuguese, you know that.”

“Well, yes, but—” Also French and Italian, from his mother’s side, she remembered. His father, whom he had never known, had been a Portuguese musician.

“I also speak Spanish and a little bit of Rumanian, but that is a very complicated language to understand. I never use it.”

Scarlet leant back on her hands, looking him over as he spoke so casually of his many talents. There was still so much she did not know about this beautiful vampire she called lover. He had lived for over two centuries before meeting her. Besides knowing he had been born and raised as a nobleman in Paris—circa the eighteenth century, by his mother and a reluctant step-father—and was currently a much celebrated musician on the rock n’ roll circuit, she knew little else of his life.

What had he done for those two centuries after being transformed into a vampire? Where had he gone? Had he loved others? The questions clung to the back of her throat, but she had yet to find a delicate way to broach the subject for Sebastian valued his privacy.

He leaned forward and kissed the warmth where the sun shimmered on her dark curls. His nose nuzzled into the slope of her neck as he playfully bit through her hair and nibbled. “Scarlet Rose, my
escurido anjo
, my dark angel.” He drew his tongue up her neck, sending shivers down her spine. His hand found the curve of her breast and he began to work his skillful magic.

“Ahem.” Anthony’s voice jarred them both from their explorations. “The dress has arrived.”

Scarlet peeked over Sebastian’s shoulder. Anthony’s short crop of blonde hair was the only thing visible above the load in his arms. “Oh, that’s gorgeous!”

Leaving Sebastian with his mouth hanging open, Scarlet rushed to free their house servant from the jumble of red and black ruffles that splashed before his face and tumbled down to his knees.

“Did they deliver the shoes too?” Sebastian asked.

“Yes.” Scarlet lifted the dress from Anthony’s outstretched arms to reveal the footwear in question. “They’re here.”

After Anthony’s exit, Sebastian set Lucia aside with a frustrated groan and a quick adjustment to the front of his jeans to ease the pressure. “That man has the most impeccable timing.”

Eager to try on the costume, Scarlet kicked off her shoes and unbuttoned her dress before the approving eyes of her lover. “Yes, but how many other mortals do you know who would knowingly work for a couple of vampires?”

Sebastian sighed and absently plucked Lucia’s E string. “Good help is so hard to find nowadays.”

He lay back on the bed and stared up at the waves of diaphanous white chiffon strung across the canopy while Scarlet wiggled and adjusted the ruffles around her shoulders.

“This is so sexy.” Scarlet shimmied her shoulders and admired the
bata de cola,
the flamenco dancing dress, in the mirror.

Two layers of thick red and black ruffles were set off the shoulder, melting into a smoothly gathered waistline. A triple row of ruffles started above her knee, trailing down into a long train that flowed across the stone floor. She was going to pose for the cover of Sebastian’s next CD, having been convinced by Sebastian that if he were to have a woman on his cover, it could only be her.