Vampire Assassin League Bundle Five - Loneliness (6 page)

CHAPTER EIGHT

The room reverberated with the deep bass tones of his voice. They lingered for long moments before dying out. Rachel trembled in place and tried to absorb it. And him. She’d never come up against such a male specimen. Or such a situation. She doubted any woman had.

Wow.

Make that double wow. And then add a smack for good measure.

Sir Wystan
de
Crecy was a lot of man. He’d changed clothes. It didn’t help. He might as well be standing half-naked before her like before, his chest and belly heaving visually with every breath. He was doing unbelievable things to her hormones. Every cell seemed to be dancing in anticipation. Or something. And this linen bodice material was way too stimulating against her nipples! Rachel had handled all kinds of men. All kinds of sexual situations. This was the first time she’d felt anything approaching the electrical current that seemed to emanate from Wystan and strike right at the deepest part of her.

“You’re the
...shy type, aren’t you?” She ventured the question.

“No.”

His answer came in an unbelievably deep tone. She’d never heard such a voice from a real throat. It sounded like he was sending it through a synthesizer or something. Gooseflesh raced along her skin. He kept his gaze fastened on something beyond the top of her head. And then she watched his Adams Apple move as he gulped.

“It’s okay if you are. Really. It
...explains a lot.”

She stepped closer, daring contact, then licked her lower lip. She felt like a teen again. On the precipice of sexual discovery.
Weird.
She had experience. She’d done a few one-night stands. They’d left her physically satisfied and emotionally blank. She’d sworn off them. But something odd was happening here. Something beyond her grasp of understanding.

She was actually considering sex with some guy she’d just met?

Wait.

She wasn’t just considering it. She was damn near instigating it. Oh, but she felt wicked. Free. Uninhibited. And out-of-this-world excited. She felt young again and twice as giggly. This was going to be amazing fun. Stupendous fun. More fun than she’d ever had before.

She had to force the giddiness down in order to form words.

“Well, Wystan. I
...have some experience. I’ve met...all kinds of personalities. I’d heard you were an introvert. And a recluse. I’m thinking shyness goes pretty much hand-in-hand with those.”

He grunted something that might be an answer. The hairs on the back of her neck rose in response. The man exuded sex appeal with every passing moment. It was juxtaposed with desire that dripped from every syllable she managed to coax from his lips. And then he sent everything ratcheting higher with how his chest rose and fell with each harsh breath.

“Look at me, Wystan.”

He shook his head. Rachel looked up to study him. She was tall. Five-nine was almost catwalk-model height. But he was a hell of a lot taller. Firelight put all kinds of definition to him, too, casting a ridge along his nose, a fringe of spiky shadow from his lashes onto his cheeks. Her entire frame pulsed toward him. Now,
that
she’d never felt before. She got bolder, moving her index finger toward the spot where his vest-thing met the mass of material wound about his throat.

“Why not?”

“I...can’t explain.”

He answered with a tone that sent throbs of something tangible through the room. They encompassed Munson’s snoring. The firelight. The slightest scent of rose petals lingering in the air. Rachel touched his neck cloth, and then wove her fingers into the folds, using it as a handhold to get just the slightest bit closer. Close enough to get singed.

“Why not?” she asked again.

He glanced down at her before studying something over her head. The earth shifted. The world spun. Rachel swayed in place, held there by her fingers entwined with his cravat. The look she’d received was akin to a physical force. His pupils hadn’t looked remotely black. They’d contained flame – blue-white at the center – and twice as hot. He’d shot absolute fire all the way through her. It scorched. Electrified. And she couldn’t gain any air!

Rachel’s lips parted to gain breath. Her heart pained. Her head rocked backwards. She felt like a liquid, ephemeral being.

Wild. Unfettered. Uncontrolled.

And nothing like herself

“There’s a beast within me,” he finally replied.

Rachel laughed. It wasn’t a gay sound. It resembled a harpy who’d found her mark. A siren who’d honed in on her doomed sailor. A sorceress who’d spied her victim. And he was spouting nonsense. But it was a full moon. She was on ancient soil. In an awe-inspiring castle. Amidst all sorts of arcane symbolism. In virtual isolation...with a stranger.

Anything seemed possible.

“You mean...like a werewolf?” she asked, not even questioning the insanity behind such a query.

“No.”

His hands closed about her waist in order to pull her toward him. The exposed flesh above her bodice came into contact with the smooth surface of his velvet jacket. Her fingers gripped tighter to his neck cloth, her legs slammed against his. She could swear she could feel him. Hard. Muscular. Unrelenting. Even through all the layers of fabric swathed about her. And then he lowered his head. Rachel’s eyes went wide on what looked like long, amazingly white fangs. Real...

...
fangs.

Holy shit
.

“Like a vampire,” he said. And then he lowered his head and stabbed them into her neck.

Rachel cried out in shock. It changed almost immediately to a long moan as absolute ecstasy overtook every other sensation. Pleasure filled her, coming in waves that matched how he sucked at her neck, pulling at her life’s fluid, sending rapture shooting through her veins. She’d never felt anything like it. The feeling encased, and enshrouded, and then demanded. Every bit of experience she ever had got shredded and then dispersed, like so many ashes tossed to the wind. Rachel was reeling. Spinning into a vortex of black.

And then it changed. Making a kaleidoscope of color.

She was falling...

Cool sheets met her back. Deep pockets of comfort supported her.
Ah.
She was atop an enormous mattress. In a bed chamber. A quick scan showed all sizes and heights of bureaus and armoires and dressers, their surfaces covered with hundreds of lit candles situated in dozens of candelabra.

Oh my
.

Rachel had never seen anything like it. Candlelight reached through the gauzy material of the canopy, lighting the enclosure with a myriad of golden flickers. It was beautiful. Amazing. Private. Giving an instant impression of an oasis in a sea of castle; a haven in the midst of chaos; a private niche of space; a pagan altar on which to worship. Adore.

Consummate...

Her vision filled with Wystan. But it wasn’t the man she’d been conversing with. Oh. No. This was an intensely sexier version. He was on his knees, facing her. As she watched, he yanked the vest-thing over his head, ripping something, while ruffling the perfect fall of his hair. He chucked the garment somewhere behind him. He didn’t check. She didn’t either. He didn’t move his gaze from hers. And she was captivated. Mesmerized. Fascinated.

He was wearing medieval fashion. His sleeves weren’t sewn to his shirt. They appeared to be tied on at the shoulders and under the arms with little bows of like-shaded fabric. He ignored the ties, and jerked at each sleeve, sending more ripping noise into the enclosure as he pulled them off his arms and sent them over his shoulder to the same place his vest had landed.

Somewhere music started up, filling the space with a swell of sound. A drum thumped to a beat that dragged her heart into rhythm with it. An oboe sent trills along her skin in accompaniment. A flute stirred her thoughts, meshing reality with fantasy. And at the center of the orchestration was Wystan. The remaining piece of fabric he wore for a shirt was wrenched apart and discarded, making muscles ripple throughout his chest. Arms. Abdomen. This guy definitely had abs to die for. Rachel was running her fingers along them the moment he put them on display.

He caught a hand, and brought it to his lips, to place a kiss atop her knuckles. He turned her hand over and traced his tongue in a whorl shape along her palm. A blizzard of shivers raced up her arm. Hit her breasts. Sent her nipples into erect nubs that rubbed against the linen bodice. And then he punctuated everything. Before she could grasp it, he stabbed his fangs into the vein at her wrist.

And then he was sucking and licking, and sending all sorts of sensation with every flick of his tongue.

Rachel writhed and moaned along the bed. Her eyes still locked to his. But his no longer contained anything red. Or fiery. They were solid black. Deep. Dark. Sensual. Relentless. He pulled from the incision he’d made, licking it into nothing more than two, slightly pink spots, and then he lowered his chin and regarded her. Oh! That look stole her ability to breathe. Think. Do anything other than gape.

“My mate. My
...one. True. Mate.”

His words ended with another bit of adulation, this time along her arm. His kiss moved over her wristwatch and then up her arm, under the billowy drape of her sleeve. Rachel flung her head back in a meager search for air. Any air. As much as she could gain. As quickly as she could pull it in. And then he was there. All of him. Solid male. Hard. Muscled. Spectacular. She roamed her hands about his torso, amazed and emboldened by how his skin flinched and jerked with her touch.

His mouth had hers.

Or was it the other way around?

Rachel was panting. Sucking. Dueling with his tongue. She felt a pinprick of pain. Had he really cut her? And then nothing mattered as more throes of pleasure hit. They just got more intense as the kiss deepened. Nothing had ever felt so glorious. Ever.

“How do you unfasten your corset?”

He mouthed it along her lips. Rachel licked at him, tasting something metallic. Salty.

Was that blood?

“How?”

His voice got more demanding. The kiss that followed it had the same intent. Demanding. Unrelenting. Insistent.

“Ties. At the back.”

He flipped her over without a hint of effort. But he wasn’t pulling the little bows apart. She felt the instant pressure just before the release as he simply ripped the entire cross-lacing apart. The corset thing went sailing over the side of the bed. She didn’t even miss it. He was spooned about her, his hands cupping and supporting her linen-covered breasts, while every inhalation he made sent his pecs into her back. And then he was rolling, pulling her atop him. Back-to-front. Not once did he release the torment of her nipples. His thumbs and fingers kept massaging. Kneading. And driving her absolutely mad with anticipation. Rachel’s cries tore her throat. Her thrashing gained her little. He easily held her in place atop him, while stabbing at her backside with his
groin.

And that was changing.

Rachel grabbed his hands, and pulled them away. And he let her. She spun, and then she was straddling him, panting with effort as she looked down at him.
Wow
. There was no better word. Wystan was gorgeous. More sculpted statue than man. Rachel’s throat pinched off, her eyes stung with what couldn’t possibly be tears, and her heart pulsed with a heave that almost hurt. All of that was just ridiculous. This was an aberration...not only of time and space and her personal code of behavior.

It was also beyond the realm of possibility.

No man was this sexy. No man was this handsome.

She rose and fell with each of his breaths. Her legs were still encased in yards of material. The hips she straddled were also clothed. And it felt completely erotic. Sensual. Exciting.

“Ah. Rachel. My love. My...mate.”

The words were huffed between lips that looked swollen and stained with blood. That wasn’t likely or possible. She didn’t believe in fate. She didn’t believe in vampires. And she sure as hell didn’t believe in love at first sight. He couldn’t possibly mean what she thought he’d said. And if he was that naïve, he was in for a nasty surprise. This was a one-night stand.

Not a commitment.

Rachel leaned down to hover atop him, her mouth just out of reach. Open. Grasping. Breathing with him. She flicked a tongue out and connected with his lip. He jerked, lifting them completely off the mattress, while the moan that ensued scored through both of them.

And that was like lighting the fuse. She needed to experience all of him. Deep. And right now.

Now
.

He got the message without words. Rachel rolled to her side in order to tug on the ties of her waistband with fingers that trembled. She shoved the skirts down, shimmying out of the first layer, using hands that shook. The second layer followed. Then the last. And then she was unclasping the buckle on her thigh holster. She shoved it up under one of the pillows. The boots had to go next and those buttons up her ankles gave her all kinds of trouble.

Damn medieval fashion!

She probably should have just taken her knife blade to the stupid things. But finally, it was done. Rachel tossed the boots toward the side of the mattress, watched them disappear, and heard a distinct thud as they landed somewhere on the floor. That left her nothing other than the insubstantial item Munson had called a chemise.