Blood Secret (23 page)
Lucy’s hand cupped his chin, forcing his head up. When he looked at her, he saw stark pain in her eyes, but she whispered, “I
understand.
I can imagine how horrible it looked to you.”
understand.
I can imagine how horrible it looked to you.”
She was amazing. She knew what he was, yet sympathized with him.
“I thought I was imagining things,” he said, “until I saw fire licking out of their mouths. There was a thick bush right in front of me, so I dropped into the dirt and scurried under it on my stomach. But I kept thinking of Will. I had to save him. I was halfway out of the hiding place when I heard Will scream. I wanted to run out and go to him, but ...” God, the memory crippled him. The surge of guilt made him want to be sick.
Lucy stroked his cheek, and her touch gave him the strength to face his memories. He saw the glimmer of tears in her eyes.
“God, it was the most awful noise,” he whispered hoarsely. “It went so loud, then it stopped altogether. I knew I had to go, but I couldn’t make my legs move. I lay there, under a bush, half-buried in rotted leaves, quivering. Then I imagined what had happened to my brother, and my stomach clamped tight and I vomited. I fell down beside the pile of my own sickness, and lay there sobbing, hating myself. It was only when I heard a roar and knew the woods were ablaze that I ran out. I did it then, to save my own arse. I didn’t do it to save Will.”
“I am so sorry.” Tears streaked down her face. “You were only nine years of age. You were a boy, fighting against grown men.”
He looked down. Her fists had clenched into fists. “God, love, please ... don’t cry. Not over me.”
“I’m sorry. I can’t help it. I keep thinking of your poor brother, only six years old. And your sisters. But your sister, James’s mother, was spared?”
“I didn’t know it until later. I found all their bodies in the grass. Emma was lying in ... in a pool of blood. I thought she was dead. Later, I found out the blood was not hers. Before I could even touch any of them, I saw that the whole meadow behind me was burning, and it was coming for me like a wave.”
“They had set the fire.”
He nodded. His tongue felt strangely thick. “At first, I was going to stay there and let myself die, too. I didn’t want to live; but I guess I wanted to survive—I stumbled out, lost and sobbing. Smoke and tears blinded me. Then I heard hoofbeats. I thought it was the dragons coming back. That I was dead for certain. They were men I had never seen before, and I fought like a wild man, kicking, punching, biting, and finally one of them grabbed me by the shoulder, pinched my neck, and everything went black. I’d passed out. It took them days to make me understand that they were dragon slayers.”
“Had they rescued Emma, too?”
“Yes. They had worked quickly, with the fire almost upon her. They had saved her. I felt so damned guilty I had not checked all of them to see if any had lived. If they had not carried her away from the flames, she would have burned to death.”
“Dear heaven, you should not have felt guilty!”
But he let her go and fell back against the wall at her side, letting the back of his head slam hard against unyielding, gritty stone. Again and again, he let his head fall back, letting the pain slide down his nerves.
How could he not feel guilty? Memories of his family—of his brother and sisters’ deaths—bludgeoned him. There was no respite now. When he shut his eyes he could see them. When he opened his eyes wide, even though he could see in the dark, his sight could not penetrate fog and he could see their struggles against the silvery backdrop of the mist. In his head, he could still hear their screams. But he could also hear the roar-like screams of dying dragons—the ones he had killed.
Being a dragon slayer had just given him more guilt, more regrets, more nightmares. It hadn’t given peace or any sense of satisfaction. It hadn’t eased pain.
“Please, let me help you,” Lucy said softly. “You must not feel guilty about this. You were right to blame the dragons. The ones who did this were horrible. They deserved to pay.”
“I thought all dragons were bad, Lucy. I did inhuman, brutal things because I believed that. I was wrong. There is no way you can forgive me—I know that.”
“I think ... I think you must feel torn inside. That is how I feel. All mixed up. I do not know what to believe anymore. All I can use is the evidence I have seen. Though you had every reason to hate my kind, you have not hurt me. You love your nephew and are determined to protect him—but you did not kill to do so.”
Any man with sense would wrap his arms around Lucy’s slender back and let her believe in him. Strange, he had surrendered every shred of humanity when he let himself be changed into a vampire so he could hunt dragons, but now he felt the stirrings of a conscience. He grasped her arms gently and met her eyes. “When you first offered yourself to me, Lucy, I intended to hurt you. My duty was to kill you, and I was willing to accept that duty. At first I let you live because I needed you to find James. So, do you hate me now? I am no better than that fiancé who hurt you. What he did still haunts you. It hurt you. I know you cannot forgive him. And I know I deserve the same fate.”
“I—”
“No woman can say she will forget that a man wanted to kill her, love. Do not even try.”
But Lucy tipped up her chin. “If I had known that you were a dragon slayer, I would have been duty-bound to see you dead also. I have to admit: your harsh words shocked me. Will you tell me why you changed your mind?”
To his shock, she pressed her hands on his chest, even after what he had said. She slid them up toward his neck. “Once you had found James, you did not hurt me. You could have easily done so.” Softly, she added, “I don’t think I hate you as much as you hate yourself.”
“Perhaps. But it doesn’t change the fact you should hate me.”
“Tell me why you changed your mind—about slaying me, I mean.”
She deserved some answer, but he couldn’t form the words. He admired her. He had grown to respect her. To care about her. But his heart was hammering and he was shaking hard. Damn, the feeling creeping into his heart was fear. Panic. He had a choice—he could try to claim Lucy, or push her away forever.
He should push her away. Let her go.
But he cupped her face delicately. Closing his eyes, he let her scent guide him—the sweet earthy unique smell of her, tinged with lavender. With his lashes down, Sinjin drank in her quick breaths. It was like tasting salvation. Like seeing dawn after more than a dozen years in the dark. Parting his lips, he kissed her.
18
Together
L
ucy closed her eyes and kissed him. Fear, she realized, had been a powerful thing.
ucy closed her eyes and kissed him. Fear, she realized, had been a powerful thing.
Her greatest fear had been to trust a man. She had been afraid to open her heart again to someone who was willing to hurt her. Sinjin had warned her to fear him. He had all but commanded her to hate him.
But she couldn’t. She, who had never wanted to trust any man, could not hate the man who was duty-bound to kill her. Why?
Instead of retreating inside, as she had done every time she thought of Allan Ferrars, she pressed her body tight against Sinjin. She wrapped her arms around his strong neck, and responded to his melting kiss as passionately as she could.
He thought she should not forgive him for being willing to do his duty as a slayer. But she understood what had driven him to hunt dragons. He had been so deeply and badly hurt; he had felt so helpless, so guilty and angry. When Mr. Ferrars had attacked her, it had forever changed the way her heart worked. Sinjin was the only man who had touched her heart since.
Sinjin’s warm palms cupped her breasts. His full lips pressed kisses down her throat, moving around the taut ribbons of her bonnet to touch sensitive skin. He reached the hollow at the very base and suckled. A throb of pleasure clutched at her quim and she tipped her head back, letting out a sob of need and desire.
Was she mad? She was in the arms of the man she should fear most—but she wasn’t afraid of him at all. Now matter how deeply she tried to dredge up uncertainty and doubt, she couldn’t. Not when she met his shimmering green eyes, and saw the vulnerability within them.
“Touch me,” she urged. “I don’t want to think anymore, or worry, or doubt, or try to fear. All I want is to hold you.”
“Lucy, you have such a beautiful, forgiving heart. It is more than I deserve.” But he tweaked her nipples with each forefinger and thumb, and swept away all her thought.
He pulled her against him, which forced his back to the stone wall, and he let out a groan as he buried his mouth in the crook of her neck again. She closed her eyes, savoring his touch. His hands cradled her breasts, fondled them through her bodice in the firm, hungry way she loved. Then his hands were on her back, massaging, while his tongue laved her neck and made her quiver.
Lower and lower, his hands went. His knee came forward, to press through her skirts against the fierce ache between her thighs.
“Yes,” she whispered, arching her hips toward him. She shamelessly rubbed the juncture of her legs against his thigh. Pressing and pushing and flooding her mind with dizzying pleasure.
“What did I do to deserve your forgiveness?” He whispered the words in a raw rasp by her ear.
She didn’t know. But she tried to find words to explain what she felt. “You showed love. To me. To your nephew. How could I not open my heart to a man who would do that?”
Words were such a dangerous thing. She had never known that. More dangerous than fangs and talons, for they totally exposed a woman’s heart.
“You are so good,” he murmured. “So noble. So perfect.”
Words could also be beautiful and give strength. She had never known that either.
She wanted him. Even though they were outside and only yards away from the bustle of a Mayfair Street. All that existed was this moment. It was as if nothing bad existed: no battles between dragons and dragon slayers, no men with mad delusions of power, no threats to their safety, no fear. Lucy felt as if she had shattered through all the fear and prejudices that should keep a dragon and a dragon slayer apart.
Sinjin’s hands curved around her bottom at the same moment she grasped his hips. Joining. It was what she yearned to do. For it would be more than just the collision of their bodies, the desperate search for an orgasm. It would show trust, and caring, and ... and possibly love?
Deftly, he undid the ribbons of her dark bonnet and licked the length of her neck. Her eyes shut tight, the pressure causing little bursts of light against the dark. Wool was beneath her clutching hands, her fingers coiled and digging in. She was tugging on his trousers hard enough to tear.
He lifted his head, meeting her eyes. Green eyes sparkled, but his gaze looked drugged with desire, and his fingers traced tickling, lazy circles around her nipples. “So perfect,” he whispered again. “You are what a damned man like me should never dream of.”
He was a large, powerful man—a vampire who had been taught to slay. But it was as if the strength and the coldness had been stripped away, leaving the nine-year-old boy who had lost everything and did not know how to cope with so much pain and grief. She understood. She would have wanted to destroy everything she could.
But how could such a thing be coped with? Lucy slid her hands up under his coat, but it was easy to touch his body, and somehow she had to touch his heart. She had to help him to heal from all the pain. He had never let himself heal.
“Why shouldn’t you?” she whispered. “You were damned by what happened to you.”
“You leave me speechless, my love. I will have to show how much I adore you a different way.”
Never had she dreamed Sinjin would drop to his knees in the dirt in front of her. Slowly he pushed her skirts up, and the mass of fabric tumbled over him again, so she clutched her hems and lifted. Possessively, his hands curved around her hips, pulling her quim toward his questing mouth. His tongue licked over her nether lips, twirling around them in the most intimate way. Then he parted them, stroking her clit. Shivers of pleasure rolled down her spine. He lifted, balancing her on his mouth, and her shoulders fell back against the wall. Vines trailed down the smooth stones, tickling her cheeks.
He began rocking her, so she rode lightly and gently on his face. The roofs of Mayfair mansions towered above her. The night was filled with the sounds of the streets: clopping horses, voices calling from the stables in the mews, chatter and laughter rising from gardens and balconies, the strains of music. It all whirled away from her.
This. This mattered. Being with Sinjin. Being adored.
Moans left her lips. His fingers pressed more deeply into her bottom, holding her to him. She loved this—the exquisitely intense twirl of his tongue around her clit. His hot tongue circled her, making her shiver and quake. Then he flicked it, swiftly ... such wonderful speed, her mind melted.
With a glorious cry, she climaxed. Her hands clutched, her bottom thrashed in his firm grip, and she gasped and squeaked and wailed as she came. “Sinjin,” she cried. “Oh, Sin!”
She whirled through the air, landing back on her feet. She had barely opened her eyes, when his hands cupped her face, and his mouth, tasting of her, slanted over her lips, claiming them.
“I like that,” he murmured. “Having you call me Sin.”
“More,” Lucy whispered, when he let her snatch a breath. “I want more.”
She coiled around him, arms locked around his neck, her leg wrapped around his hips. Sweat tingled beneath her dress. He pushed up her skirts, bunching them at her waist. She giggled giddily at the slap of his erection between his thighs as his trousers dropped.
His eyes, normally silvery green, were alight with desire, burning to an almost white-gold hue. He saw her smile, his lips curving up in answer. The white glint of his fangs lapped his full lower lip.
She reached down, wrapped her hand around his shaft. She wore gloves, but could still feel the heat of him against her palm, the rush and pulse of his blood past her fingertips. It was glorious to hold his cock, to caress it. For each press of her fingers, each stroke, she saw the answer flicker in his gleaming eyes, the dip of his lids, the tightening of his mouth.
Her heart ached over what Sinjin had gone through. To lose his family ... to have been chased by dragons, fearing for his life, and forced to hide, buried under leaves. To have wanted to go and save his family but be unable to ... it was awful. Who of her clan could have done such a thing? To exist with mortals, dragons were taught to be peaceful. There were many, though, who used their special strength and power to shift shape for evil purposes.
But what those dragons had done ...
She pulled a shuddering gasp through her lips. She couldn’t think of it. Only him. She must think of Sinjin, of pleasuring him, of easing the pain he had never lost. Squeezing him tightly, she brought her fist up, along the length of his shaft, to the base of the head.
He gave a guttural moan.
Delighted, feeling powerful, Lucy stroked again, savoring his groan of pleasure. The way his shoulders shook. In this, she was strong—strong in a very positive way. Pumping him, she giggled as he cried out. He shouted in pleasure until horses whinnied and raucous male laughter came from down the misty mews, then a man’s voice called, “Blast the fog. Can’t see a thing. Must be a bloke ’aving a poke of a tart out there.”
A tart. She blushed, but Sinjin leaned his head beside hers, his forehead pressed to the cool stone behind her, and murmured, “I’d better keep my mouth shut, love. We have to be quiet. But you steal all my control.” Gently, he brushed his lips along her neck. “I always felt like there was ice inside me. But you warm me. You make the ice melt.”
Another suckle to the base of her throat, a lush, delicious caress. “You make me melt, Lucy.”
A whisk of fabric and his hands were under her skirts. She’d released his cock, to grasp his hips and steady herself. The rigid length slapped the juncture of her thighs lightly, making her gasp.
She still held her skirts and he drew her to him. “Put your leg over my hip, love.”
Lucy did as he asked. He cupped her bare thigh, holding her. The position opened her quim to him, spreading her lips wide, letting him slide in to the hilt. He was so long, and he buried deeply inside her. Deeply enough she felt a twinge of agony, pleasurable agony, with each thrust.
“Stop, my love, or I won’t last. I want to be inside you. I need to be joined with you.”
It was exactly how she felt. She needed to be joined, connected with him. She had to bite her lip to quell moans as he thrust deeply into her. With her hips open to him, he bumped her sensitive clit. And she felt a wonderful, curious, exhilarating tug inside with each stroke of his shaft. He was touching something sensitive.
Something so sensitive ...
She arched up to him, heard him gruffly say, “Yes. Yes, love, work against me. Pleasure yourself.”
She was so sensitive that the orgasm washed over her gently ... gently at first, then it grew strong, and intense, and her legs shook and she made fists and she let out a fierce moan.
“God, Lucy, love ...” His head reared back. Through half-closed eyes, she could see his struggle: how he fought to stay quiet, as his body quaked in his orgasm, how he bit his lips, fangs drawing a bead of his own blood. Then his lips parted, and he let out a lusty yell of delight.
More male laughter came from down the mews, but she didn’t blush. She was watching Sinjin buck with his pleasure, watching the whole journey he took, from his first grimace, to the sudden relaxing of his lips, the sag of his muscles, as his orgasm subsided.
Sweat cooled on her cheeks. He kissed her damp lips, then smiled as he gently tidied her hair, brushing it back from her face. “Now, Lucy, we have to go back to the brothel.”
She hesitated. She had tried to show him love, but did sex actually do so? Suddenly Lucy realized it felt so intimate, but was it truly a joining of hearts as well as bodies? She had made love with him, but she didn’t know what was really in his heart. And fear pricked hers.
“Are you going to come back here? If you are, you cannot do it alone.” Had she done anything to change his mind—to make him want to live and not risk his life so dangerously?
“You are not to follow me again. The prince could be watching the house, waiting for you to come out. I do not want your sisters to go outside either. As for me ... don’t worry, love. I will take care not to be destroyed.”
But she did not believe him.
The walk back to the brothel took only minutes. They left the larger, more elegant streets of Mayfair for the ones on the fringes, where rows of new white townhouses gleamed, even in the gloomy fog. Lucy had been unconscious when she had come to the brothel, but she had seen the house, of course, when she had rushed out to follow Sinjin.
He had told her to stay behind. But she hadn’t been able to.
When they reached Mrs. Simpson’s house, Sinjin rapped on the front door. A doorman pushed aside the wooden cover of the grill, peered at them, then opened the door. Bowing, he bade them to enter.
Jewels flashing at her wrists and throat, the madam hurried toward them. Lines crossed her forehead, and there was such fear in her eyes, Lucy’s stomach plunged, as Sinjin rushed to the woman. He laid his hands on her upper arms, his face sheet-white. “Is it James?”
“He is now awake,” the madam murmured. “But there is something wrong—”
Sinjin released Mrs. Simpson so fiercely she stumbled back. He ran for the stairs. Lifting her skirts, Lucy raced after him. Her disordered hair bounced in her eyes and her bonnet slid back. She grasped the banister and propelled herself up two steps at a time.
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