A Royal Craving (3 page)

P
arry left the library, chuckling at Davian's reaction. The servant never failed to get riled up and on edge. Asher had been right to hire him. He must remember to thank him for the entertainment.

Sienna stood outside the door like a lost little girl, with her hands behind her back. “You frightened the poor boy half to death.” She laughed, warming his heart.

He had been worried about her illness and the toll it had taken on her that he could not remember the last time she had laughed. It must have been at least a year ago.

“Where is the fun encouraging him to keep his clothes
on
?” Sienna protested, with a pout that did not sway him in the slightest.

“You must curb your attraction to humans. They are such weak creatures,” Parry objected.

“You would not think so if Davian were a woman who had fallen under your spell,” she argued.

Parry scoffed; the gender of the human had nothing to do with it. Davian would never be anything but downright attractive. Instead of confessing, he led Sienna to her room and tried to fake it. “Sister, that is the most ridiculous notion I have ever heard,” he complained.

He kissed her forehead as they reached the door to her suite and sent her to rest. He would hear no more of her foolish talk.

Parry headed to his own suite, with some thinking to do.

He spotted one of the servants stoking the hallway fire for his brother's return that night. Prosper had been out of town for three nights, speaking with the human council about the terms of the upcoming treaty signing.

Parry found the notion of a fire being lit for his return lightened his heart. He missed his brother and looked forward to speaking with him, when he returned.

He made his way to his room, bored and convinced he would always be bored. It had much to do with Davian, but he refused to look below the surface, to discover why.

He reached his room and stopped at the side of his four poster bed, contemplating his next move. He was hungry, so pulled the cord that rang the servants bell in the hallway and waited for someone to answer it.

Just a few minutes later, Davian answered the call with an intriguing flush rising up his neck. Such a pale young man, but handsome, with sandy hair and freckles.

Parry only realised he was staring when Davian shifted uncomfortably and the flush crept up his cheeks. “Join me?” he asked, as he sat on the edge of his bed and patted the cover.

Davian stood inside the door, looking terrified.

“I will not hurt you,” he swore.

Taking a deep breath, Davian nervously took the seat beside him. Without a glance in his direction, he tilted his head, to grant Parry access to his neck.

“Not tonight. I think somewhere else is more enticing.” He refused the offer, trying to tease away the young man's fear.

Davian held out his wrist; an action which made Parry smile.

He took the offered limb and brought it to his mouth. He was not ignorant of the audible gulp, anticipating his bite, as the servant turned away. The poor child could not even look at him.

Parry ran the tip of his tongue over the unblemished skin and kissed the throbbing pulse. “You offer no other vein?” he asked, in hope of venturing beyond this odd stalemate in their relationship.

They were nothing more than servant and Master, yet he could feel the pulsing chemistry between them, hinting at much more.

Davian stared, wide eyed and innocent, with a glare that could take down most men. “As a free citizen, I do not,” he protested, again forgetting or refusing to grant him the title of his position.

Did Davian not see him as his Master or did some deeper emotion linger beneath the surface?

Parry released his wrist, growing ever more intrigued by this lad. There would be countless more opportunities and he could see now that he required a seduction. “Then you may go,” he excused him, willing to court him as tradition required.

This was the first male he had felt an attraction to, after fifty years of existence. Davian also had the honour of being the first to refuse him. But if he required courting, then Parry would work hard to gain his love and loyalty.

“I-I can go?” Davian asked.

“Yes, pet,” Parry brushed a strand of hair from his eyes. “I am hungry. Please bring a glass, when you return. I have a task for you that does not involve blood,” he promised, letting his touch drift down the curve of his cheek.

The skin turned pink under his fingertip, as the servant avoided his gaze. “Yes, Master,” he said, sliding across the bed, before rising. He nodded, then left.

Parry watched him leave, troubled by his attraction. It had been at least twenty years since he had felt true emotion for someone, which, incidentally, was as many years as Davian had been alive.

He lay on the bed, as he waited for the servant's return. He must figure out how he felt, before planning how to seduce the lad. He could not properly court Davian, if he did not know him. But convincing the servant to spend time with him, so he could
get
to know him, would be the hard part. The servant was either terrified or hated him; he could not tell which.

Davian returned promptly, to place a glass of blood on the bedside table.

Parry offered a smile and patted the bed. “Bring me the book from the table by the window. Then join me,” he asked.

Davian quickly did as he asked, gathering the book, only to hover by the bed.

Curious as to why he would not look at him, Parry patted the bed. “Sit with me. I am tired and wish you to read to me.” He admitted to one of his desires, unsurprised when the lad fought him.

“I would be happy to read to you, Master, if you move away from the bed,” Davian requested.

Not accustomed to servants giving him orders, Parry blanched, as he realised he did not think of Davian as a servant. “I am lonely and tired. I wish only to enjoy your company and the sound of your voice. Please sit,” he begged, not beyond showing the unfamiliar emotions the servant had brought out in him.

Comfortable in a pair of loose trousers and a shirt open at the collar, he was content to remain where he lay. But if Davian persisted, he would sit by the window and cover every inch of his skin, if asked.

Davian stared at the book in his hands, a classic tale of love and adventure that had been Parry's favourite since he was a child.

Without a word, the servant climbed onto the bed and sat by his feet, deliberately choosing to sit as far from him as possible.

Parry did not comment. He merely waited patiently, as the young man sat with his back against the end of the bed and wriggled into a comfortable position. When he spotted a frown and the arch of his back, Parry held out his right hand, until a pillow materialised.

Davian nodded graciously and took it, to place at his back. He opened the cover and froze, with wary eyes, as Parry moved.

He sat up and lay his pillow by the servant's thigh. If this was as close as he would be permitted, he would make the most of the offer. He lay his head on the pillow and on his back, staring at the ceiling.

“Is there anywhere you would like me to start, Master?” Davian asked.

“The beginning. Always at the beginning.”

P
rosper arrived at his sister's home after midnight. His thoughts lingered on the young boy he met tonight; stunningly attractive, yet fragile in a way that extended beyond his human blood.

Breathless, Prosper leaned on his cane, as he walked into the house to find a welcoming fire ready for him. He used his mind to extinguish it, as he and his family had an affinity with nature. They could manipulate natural fibres and the elements, but no talent had given him the chance of love.

He nodded to Tabitha, who stood outside his sister's suite, in thanks for the fire. She bobbed into a curtsey and scurried off.

Prosper opened the door to his sister's rooms, to find the bedroom door closed. His sister must be sleeping. He spotted her constant companion, Jael, reading a medical text in the living room. “How is she this night?” he asked.

“Weak, Master, but recovering,” Jael answered dutifully.

He kissed the top of her head and offered a smile, glad to hear the news of her recovery. “You are doing a fine job,” he admitted, grateful for her studies in the medical field. Already a licensed nurse, Jael now studied to become a doctor.

Jael blushed and turned to her book, shyly, as he left.

Prosper looked in on Parry, before turning in. He was surprised to find the servant, Davian, reading from Parry's favourite book. He seemed unaware that Parry slept, his head resting by the lad's thigh.

Prosper nodded to Davian, who nodded in return and continued reading aloud.

Why were his siblings tired? Was their life so boring that they must sleep to pass time?

He retreated to his own chambers, troubled by that thought.

A vampire life was not easy; living forever came with responsibility and boredom, but could be fulfilling if spent wisely.

As the King of his people and now the humans, Prosper did not have the luxury of deciding how to spent his time. But for one night, he would make an exception.

As his bedroom door closed behind him, he began disrobing. Tired, confused and not in the best of moods, Prosper knew he must do this. Before
he
came.

Prosper stood before the mirror in his room, naked. He forced himself to look and take in every flaw, every unsightly aspect of his body. He must be reminded of who and what he was, before the boy came. Before that beautiful, perfect boy came into his life and his eyes told him what his own could see.

He did not want to see pity and sorrow or fear and disgust in the human, without reminding himself that he had every right to feel that way. The boy had not seen his hideousness. He did not know to fear him.

Prosper lifted his right hand and stared at it. It was covered in scars, burns, bumps and scrapes that, as a vampire, should have healed. Thank God he had been wearing gloves tonight. That sweet boy had not felt his touch and known what form of monster he had given himself to.

He brought his eyes to the mirror, taking in the burns that spread down his left cheek and trailed onto his neck; the scars on his temple and chest. He touched the longest scar, that extended from the base of his neck to his abdomen.

He saw his hands, withered and old. They were not those of his age or race. His hair thinned from decay, greying at the sides and front; his skin pale, his eyes shrouded in heavy black bags. They had once been a vibrant green, as that beautiful boy's were, but now looked dead and worn. Their colour was fading.

Prosper barely recognised himself. He turned from the mirror, wondering what he had been thinking, bringing the boy to the house. But it was too late. He had made his bargain. He had infected his sister, risked his brother's life daily, yet someone as ugly and deformed as he had become King of the Vampires.

“Politicians,” he grumbled, refusing to look at his shame any longer. “They care more for profit than vanity.” He scoffed in derision. This was the image of an immortal creature of beauty, untouched by the passage of time?

He glanced at the mirror, hating himself.

The vampire in him had faded, long ago.

Prosper managed to distract himself with paperwork. He still had much to do before the sun came up.

Jolted from his work, with a knock on the door, he panicked when he realised who it would be. The two hours had flown and Archer had brought the boy.

He looked at the closed door, unsure of what to do. He could tell Asher to take the boy home, but then he would be alone and he did not want that.

“Come in,” he called, using his speed to leave his seat and hide in the shadows of the room. He hoped to delay the inevitable disappointment.

Asher entered with the boy behind him. “The boy, Master,” he explained, as he dropped two bags by the bed, tipped his hat and left the room.

Prosper wished he had not gone. He did not want to be alone with the boy. Taking a deep breath, he decided to be brave. “Welcome to my home,” he began.

The boy cocked his head in his direction. “Master?”

“I will try to ensure you do not regret your decision,” he admitted, though he expected to witness regret and disappointment, in a moment. “You are here as my companion. Do not show fear or resistance toward me,” he continued, trying to keep the tremble from his voice. It would only betray his longing for love; something he could not dare ask for.

“Of course, Master. Anything you wish,” the boy promised.

Prosper could not breathe again and struggled to focus. “I will reveal myself and do not want you to scream or turn away,” he commanded. He did not want to know what he thought.

When he focused and used his vampire eyes to see clearly, he found the boy smiling, but trying to hide it, as he bit his lip.

“Yes, Master,” he promised, with amusement.

Facing his fear, Prosper used his speed to move directly in front of the boy. He did not know what to do, so waited for the boy to move first.

The human raised his eyes from Prosper's chest, standing too close for their height to allow eye-to-eye contact. He met his gaze without fear, exploring his scars and burns, before returning his steady gaze, full of questions. “I am sorry, Master, but I am unclear why you expected a negative reaction,” the boy admitted, in a quiet voice.

Prosper decided to explain what should have been obvious. “In the human world, little one, I am considered a burden. Damaged and broken,” he informed him. “In the vampire world, I am an abomination. My birthright kept me from being culled, as my situation would demand.”

The sweet boy frowned and asked; “What of being deaf, Master?”

“I am sorry…deaf?” Prosper had not mentioned being deaf, but knew rumours abounded in human and vampire circles, about his condition.

When the boy smiled, his heart fluttered. It did not beat, but he felt the sensation as though it were real.

“I have been deaf since birth, Master,” the nineteen-year-old said. “I hear nothing, thus my eyes have taken on their responsibility. When you thought I could not see you in the shadows, I could. But I can only know what you are saying by reading your lips,” he explained.

Prosper opened his mouth, but no sound emerged. This revelation made sense of much, but changed everything, all at once. The strangely low timbre of the boy's voice and the lack of inflection in some statements, confirmed that he was indeed deaf.

Clearly intelligible, in ways that children born deaf in this new world were not, this boy must have been taught how to disguise the telltale signs in his voice.

“You did not hear me?” Prosper asked, realising how remiss he had been and the futility of hiding in shadows.

“I have never heard you, Master,” the boy corrected.

Prosper leaned against his desk, studying the calm, adoring look in the boy's eyes that he did not deserve. “I said nothing of consequence,” he confessed, curious about his bravery. “When you dropped to your knees this night, did you see me?” he enquired.

“I saw your shadow and looked up.” He nodded.

“You are truly not fearful of my appearance?” Prosper asked, in wonder of how this could happen. He believed he would live for eternity, never knowing affection from another man.

“I see your scars as I see my ears…useless accessories which make you kinder to those many would deem inferior,” he replied, with honesty. “Your scars run free upon your skin; my own hide beneath the surface. They are different and the same, in ways only we can know.”

Prosper was captivated by his words and how he spoke. He brushed his fingers through the boy's short dark hair; it felt like silk. He would never tire of looking at this natural beauty. “You truly are ravishing,” he confessed.

The boy's smile grew so wide that he had no doubt over his feelings. He wanted to be thought beautiful, but the faint flush over his cheekbones suggested that he had not often been praised for it.

Prosper would remedy that.

There was life and happiness in the human's green eyes, joy in the curve of his smile. He appeared healthy and stood taller than their first meeting. His hair appeared thick and healthy, despite a hunger that Prosper sensed gnawing at his insides. Skinny and lacking height, he stood a head smaller than Prosper's six foot, yet seemed relaxed in his presence. Dare he even suggest…comfortable.

Prosper did not care that he was deaf. If this child could look past his scars, he would do anything in his power to communicate. If that meant gazing at each other, so the boy could read his lips, all the better.