A Royal Craving (7 page)

Spencer responded to his kiss, immediately. Fingers massaged the back of his scalp and a tongue toyed with his.

Careful not to hurt him, Prosper began rocking, slowly. As a vampire, he could have multiple orgasms in a short time, but his companion could not. He wanted to offer the intimacy his human lover craved, while never losing the fire.

E
arly the next morning, Parry wandered the halls of the house. Restless and hungry, he ventured to the kitchen to find something tasty to enjoy, but found nothing. The cook had gone to bed.

It was too early to call his friend Gustavo, who may at least have been able to entertain him for a while, or offer some wise words of comfort and reassurance. And he chose not to ring the servants bell, as it would wake the entire staff. He would check the bar in the living room, where Prosper kept a flask of blood, before turning in.

Checking the bar meant passing Prosper's suite, where muffled voices drew his attention. Curious, he ventured closer.

Bringing a male into the house and having a love life would be a turning point for his brother. And change made him inquisitive.

He entered the suite, but did not bother being quiet. He passed through the living room, toward the bedroom door, peeking inside to discover secrets.

Prosper lay on his bed with the same boy from earlier. Unfortunately, he could see they were naked, through the open muslin curtains of the bed.

“They mean nothing, Prosper,” the boy said, with feeling. “All they do is show me how strong and brave you are, to have suffered the making of them and come out the other side a better man,” the rather masculine voice said.

“There are those who say they love me who cannot look at me. How can you say they mean nothing?” Prosper asked.

Parry lingered. He did not like the sound of this discussion, but could tell why young hands wandered over his brother's skin. The boy freely explored his scars and burns, with inquisitiveness.

“It is not your skin that makes them turn away, but their own selfish hearts,” Spencer reassured his brother. “They see you and cannot understand how you bore the pain of such markings. They fear what they do not understand,” he professed. “They do not care or understand what happened, but they dare to judge you regardless. They are cowards; weak, mindless fools who are incapable of bearing the burden you carry.”

The boy spoke softly, but Parry heard every word. And he grew to feel an affection for him because of it.

The sensible part of his brain fought against that notion. The boy was human and had caused a sudden change in his brother. Prosper had used his title as a means of getting what he wanted. In his whole life, his brother had never dared.

Parry had to wonder what made this boy so special? Was it how he spoke, how he saw his scars?

He chose to leave his brother to enjoy his new pleasure in peace. If Spencer had encouraged him to throw his innocence aside, all the better.

He returned to his room, distracted by the events in Prosper's. Halfway there, he caught sight of Davian, sneaking out of the servants quarters.

He followed the boy into the library, where he lit a candle and rearranged books on the bottom shelf.

Curious, Parry utilised his speed to stand behind the servant, without letting him know.

Davian pulled books at random and mixed them up, even some of those he had previously fixed.

Parry knew he had been taking his sweet time arranging the books the way he had ordered him to. But he had never imagined the servant would deliberately undo his work during the daylight hours, when his employers were asleep. He wondered what it meant for his attraction.

Was Davian extending his task, so Parry could continue to find and torment him? Or simply being lazy, unable to do other chores, as long as he worked on the library?

“Davian,” he whispered in his ear, and the lad trembled.

He turned, with a curious frown. “Parry. What are you doing out of bed?” he asked.

He sounded like a disapproving lover who had found his desire somewhere other than where he had left him. It intrigued Parry. “I am hungry,” he announced. “I want you to prepare something and sit with me.” He did not want to be alone, especially after that promising tremble.

The lad did not hesitate; he nodded and led the way to the kitchen. “The Master had the blood stores hidden, because he worried Mistress Sienna would overfeed, when at her most volatile. Eamon deemed it wise to continue the precaution until she is cured,” Davian explained, as he passed through the kitchen to the pantry.

The plan made even more sense when he opened the pantry door and reached into a hole in the wall. The blood hid behind two large slabs of beef, that would assault the sensitive senses of every vampire to step into the small room.

Davian pulled out two bags of blood, before replacing the meat. He smiled, sending shock waves of pleasure through Parry's veins, as the servant took the blood bags across the threshold into the kitchen.

That smile spoke volumes about Davian's true feelings. The lad could be civil and sweet; Parry need only create a bond that would prove he could love and be loved in return.

Davian pulled a knife from a drawer, to split open one of the bags. He poured the contents into a glass and used the second bag to fill another. He slid the first over the counter, proving that he knew his habits well; Parry always had two glasses, this late into the night.

Parry watched the object of his affection, as the servant took a stool across the counter. He did not understand. “Should it not be heated?” he asked, unaware of the correct procedure for preparing blood for consumption. A servant had always prepared it, when he was not drinking fresh from the vein.

Davian's smile widened. “Trust me,” he pressed, gesturing to the glass, in encouragement.

Sceptically, Parry lifted the glass from the counter, watching the liquid sway. It seemed fresh, so he risked a tentative sip. His eyebrow raised, as he noticed the heat of the blood, as though straight from a live donor.

“I told you,” the servant gloated, adorably. “The Master believes it is best kept at human temperature. There was a special heater built into the wall last year, that keeps the blood at its natural temperature,” he announced, proud of the contraption that had been put together long before his arrival.

“Are you a donor to our collection?” Parry asked.

Davian bit his lower lip. “No, Master. The King forbade me from supplying my blood. Only those who are willing to donate regularly are permitted,” he confessed.

“You are unwilling?” Parry guessed, taking a longer sip. Now Davian mentioned it, it tasted sweet but innocent, like Jael.

“No, Master,” Davian began, panicked. “I am…unsure. I cannot abide the sight of blood.” He made his admission with a squint, waiting on the derision of a vampire who lived off blood.

Parry sped to his side, sad and concerned, until Davian opened captivating blue eyes. “You are right to feel that way. If you were not scared, you would not be human,” he soothed, cupping his chin.

Before he could stop himself, he pressed his lips to Davian's. When they parted, he realised he had kissed him with blood on his lips.

Davian licked them clean and looked away, blinking rapidly.

Parry did not know what to make of it, as he returned to his seat.

For half an hour, he encouraged Davian to talk of casual affairs, to distract him from their first, and potentially last, kiss. When he could not delay any longer and his weariness returned, he escorted Davian to the servants quarters and retired to sleep for yet another day.

P
rosper woke with uneasiness gnawing at him. Glancing at his bedside clock, he rejoiced to find that he had slept through the entire day.

All the same, something was wrong. His arms were empty.

He had spent the night and some of the morning holding Spencer, talking of their future, making love. He should not have woken alone.

He must be a terrible lover. Should he not have known if his companion woke early, as a human would? Yet, he found his lover's side of the bed relatively warm; it could not have been long since he woke.

His trouble eased, Prosper headed into the bathroom, to bathe and dress as a human, for the pure enjoyment of the actions. He liked the sensation that pulling on a silk shirt sent through him, as the material brushed his burns and scars. He enjoyed the simplicity of getting distracted while buttoning his shirt and having to match the buttons to the right holes, a second time.

Once ready to face the world, he headed for the dining room, where he expected to find his siblings.

Parry sat at the dining table, with a large glass of stored blood.

Spencer walked into the room, before Prosper had a chance to speak, looking positively blinding in a pair of tight fitting trousers and a shirt open at the neck.

“Parry insisted.” He blushed, taking a moment to turn, slowly, to show off the outfit.

Prosper turned to his brother, stunned that he had taken the initiative to find suitable clothes for his lover.

“He could not be seen in the rags he arrived in,” Parry excused his thoughtfulness.

As usual, his twin tried to pretend he did not have emotions or the occasional weakness for a human. Prosper did not buy the act and his brother knew it, but he silently agreed not to mention it.

Spencer looked healthier than last night; his eyes were no longer tired or weak from hunger and he shone with a radiance that rendered Prosper speechless. He looked as he should, for a lad of his age.

He smiled at the obvious happiness his companion displayed on seeing him. He looked nervous, as though Prosper would disapprove. “You look exquisite.”

Spencer crossed the two steps to take his hand and kissed him.

“Good evening,” Prosper greeted, surprised Spencer had managed to keep to his sleeping schedule, even after their long night of talking and exploring. “I find it unsettling to wake alone, now you are here. You must rouse me when you waken, until you have adjusted,” he asked. He wanted to wake with Spencer, to feel his body against his.

“I promise,” Spencer agreed so easily he thought he must be dreaming. It seemed impossible for any one man to be the wonders that his companion had proven to be.

Prosper turned to thank his brother, but Parry got there first, waving him away as he sat back and put his feet on the edge of the table.

“The clothes are a minor improvement. He is not exactly attractive, is he?” he grumbled, in his usual manner.

“I am more attractive than your manners, I am sure,” Spencer retaliated, while staring at his brother.

Prosper laughed, though he remained alone in his humour. Humans did not often talk back to a vampire, but to a Royal vampire invited greater danger. He would explain to his lover soon that Parry meant no harm. His twin was a brash young man, in his prime and did not feel comfortable expressing favourable emotions.

“He can read lips,” Prosper explained, for his brother's sake.

“Of course he can,” Parry sighed.

Prosper ignored his brother, aware of his worry. How could any conversation remain private, if one person in the room could read their lips?

Fortunately, Spencer never wished to invade anyone's privacy. He only wanted a quiet, happy life.

Gently, Prosper turned Spencer to look at him, until he had his full attention. “You are beautiful to me,” he promised. No matter what Parry implied, he would never see anything but a strong, beautiful young man. He could not have asked for a better match.

Spencer smiled at the compliment and kissed the burned side of his face, before backing away. “Parry had the cook make me something to eat. I should check on it,” he suggested, never taking his eyes off him until he turned and left the room.

Prosper turned to his brother. “Thank you for your forethought, Parry. I have clearly not thought this through.” He thanked him gratefully, planning to take care of that.

Spencer had few clothes and those he had were passed from his father. They were worn and dirty, from his living conditions and overuse; they would not be fit for the social functions he and his family must attend.

But when he refocused on his brother, he found him staring, stupidly. Then he looked toward the door, where a movement caught his eye.

Sienna walked into the room, wearing a ridiculously extravagant ball gown.

“What?” Prosper asked, confused as to why they stared.

“He kissed your left cheek,” his sister explained.

He frowned in confusion and touched the kiss his companion had left on his cheek. The burns were evident, immediately. “Ah, and you think that is abnormal?” he wondered, uncertain how to feel about their stunned silence.

Were they happy for him? Disgusted that Spencer risked it? He did not know, but Sienna kept smiling in that damned annoying way.

“No. I think it is wonderful. It has been years since you let anyone look at them…but to kiss them…oh, Prosper,” she gushed, moving closer and hugging him tight.

Prosper was stunned; his sister had not been affectionate toward him since her illness. Even his brother appeared shocked by her sudden display.

With his family thoroughly scandalised by his advance into the world, Prosper pried his sister from him and left the room. He would leave them to their gossip and join Spencer.

“I do believe our brother is in love,” Parry commented.

Prosper's disapproval thickened, as he heard those words and the happy sigh Sienna let slip. His siblings thought he would be a hermit his entire life; he must correct that assumption.