Byzantine Heartbreak (7 page)

Ryan glanced at Nayara. She nodded. “I’ll begin. You can finish.”

* * * * *

Constantinople. 1443 A.D.

Ryan Daniel Deasmhumhain had been living in Constantinople for nearly a year and in all that time, he had been staying in Nayara’s house, a permanent guest, when he became her lover. It happened abruptly, without planning, but not unexpectedly.

For the year he had been living under her roof, Ryan had been slowly and silently driving Nayara crazy with unrequited lust and a need so raw and strong that she would spend nights walking the streets to cool her ardour.

Then Ryan’s lazy gaze would catch hers across the dinner table, or from where he sprawled on one of the divans...or when he strode in from the street. It seemed whenever he walked into the room, his gaze caught hers and there was a moment of magic that left her throbbing with anguished need.

But at the same time, her love for Salathiel was stronger than ever. They were the happiest they had ever been. Salathiel was spending more time at home than ever before and spending more time with her than she could remember. His businesses were growing and he was rich and successful. Even Ryan was thriving because of his association with Salathiel. It was a period of blessed bounty.

Nayara would not jeopardise these days, not even for a moment with Ryan, or the touch of his lips, which she yearned for.

Mid-summer arrived and the solstice festival raged in the streets outside. The three of them gathered in the cool inner terrace and Salathiel drank wine chilled in the well.

“It has been an extraordinary year,” Salathiel said, lifting his bronzed cup. “I think you have been a lucky charm for us, Ryan. Since you have arrived here, we have had good fortune everywhere.”

“Coincidence,” Ryan drawl, from his lounging position on the divan across from where Salathiel lay with Nayara pulled up against him on his extra long couch. Between them lay a low table, holding dishes of sweetmeats and treats from far off lands that Ryan and Salathiel had brought back on their ships, or their captains had brought to them, for they were the owners of fleets of ships now. “It was a good year and I happened to arrive at the same time. Our kind are usually considered a curse, not a blessing, Lathe.”

Salathiel shook his head vigorously in denial. Nayara could feel the movement through the contact his body had against her back and buttocks. “I would dispute that with my dying breath,” Salathiel declared, his voice lifting in anger. “You...both of you...have enriched my life in ways that could not possibly be considered a curse. That is fear that speaks, from the mouths of those who do not understand you.”

“Quite likely, yes,” Ryan agreed. “But our lives are not always as peaceful as you have allowed them to be, of late.”

Salathiel fell silent.

Nayara wondered what sort of life Ryan had led before he had met Salathiel. The little hints he had given, like this one, seems to paint a dark picture. But then, her life had dark stretches, too.

She pressed herself up closer against Salathiel.

In response, his arm pulled her in tighter against him, as if he sensed her sudden need for comfort and security.

“You say you are happy, Ryan?” Salathiel asked. His voice rumbled against Nayara’s back.

Ryan hesitated. “I suppose...yes,” he said slowly.

“Well, I am happy. I am one of the happiest men alive in this city,” Salathiel declared. “And I would not change a thing about my life at this very moment. That means, my friend, I must ensure
you
are happy.”

Ryan smiled a little, the corners of his mouth lifting. Nayara could almost see his thoughts for herself. He was thinking that Salathiel had over-indulged in the wine already. He wasn’t making sense.

“Agh...you’re thinking I’ve drunk too much,” Salathiel said. He put his cup down with a sharp bang on the marble table top, leaning over Nayara to do it, his long arm having no trouble reaching the table. “Let me explain, Irishman. If you are not perfectly happy here, then you will grow unhappy about some small thing. It will grow and grow in your mind, until one day, you cannot stand it anymore and you will leave. And I won’t have you leaving. You will spoil my perfectly wonderful life.”

“I don’t have any plans to leave just yet, Lathe,” Ryan said gently.

“But you are not happy,” Salathiel retorted. “You are not perfectly happy like I am. You must tell me—us—what you need to make you perfectly happy.”

Ryan’s humour fled. He sat up. “You can’t give me what I need to be happy, Lathe.” He stood up. “I need to check on the manifest for that new captain. I don’t trust—“

“Wait!” Salathiel cried, sitting up and just about spilling Nayara onto the tiles in his haste.

Nayara stood, too. Her heart had started beating hurriedly. Fear rippled through her, although she wasn’t certain why.

“Ryan!” Salathiel called.

Ryan halted on the second broad step that led into the house. He kept his back to them both, his head down. He was barefoot, Nayara realized. He wore only a tunic and the belt that pulled it in around his body, sitting down low on his hips. His shoulders and arms gleamed from the little bit of sun he was exposed to on the docks.

“Tell me what it is you want and I will move heaven and earth, if I can, to give it to you,” Salathiel said.

Ryan lifted his head and turned to face them both. His eyes were gleaming with the intensity of the emotions churning inside him. His hands curled into fists. “It’s not all yours to give, Salathiel.”

His gaze flickered toward Nayara.

Her breath hurt, she pulled it in so sharply. Salathiel’s expression as he looked at her told her all she needed to know. He had seen Ryan’s glance and he knew.

Ryan closed his eyes and lifted his chin, as if he were praying to God. Then he turn silently and walked back into the house.

Salathiel picked up his wine and drained it, then picked up the pitcher and refilled his cup without calling for the servant.

Nayara couldn’t control her heart. It was beating all on its own, slamming against her chest. Hurting. She had no idea what to do. She was afraid to take a step forward. It felt like a canyon had just opened up at her feet, one that she couldn’t cross.

Salathiel lifted the cup to his lips and drank heavily again. Then he placed the cup gently on the table and rose to his feet and turned to face her. He cupped her face and smiled. His blue eyes were warm. “Do you believe I love you, Nia, love of my life?”

“Yes,” she said.

“Do you trust me?”

She hesitated. “Yes,” she said, her voice low.

He kissed her cheek. “Rest easy. I will be gone for a while, but I will be back and then we will talk about this.”

“You will not stay the night?” They had planned a whole night of celebrations, the three of them, for the mid-summer evening... Now, she would spend it alone and terrified.

“I can’t. There is a ship coming in late. I have to inspect the shipment. I will be at the dock all night. I’m sorry, Nia. Word came late this evening.” He stroked her cheek with the back of his knuckles. “I will return tomorrow.” He kissed her gently, but it was devoid of passion and she could tell his thoughts were far away from love.

He strode from the terrace and into the house without looking back, just as Ryan had done.

Ryan found her there an hour later. Nayara was still sitting on the divan, watching the first of the evening stars peek through the trellis at the top of the terrace. She could not cry and was too bewildered to try even if she could.

He sat next to her and looked up. “Lathe came and found me before he headed to the docks,” he said softly. “He went out of his way to tell me where he was going for the night.”

Nayara turned her head to look at Ryan in the deepening night. “He’s giving me to you?” she asked dryly. “How generous of him.”

“He’s removing himself from the equation,” Ryan replied. “The first day I met you, Nayara, he made it very clear that
you
chose
him.
You are the one that chooses to stay with him, day after day, after year. He knows that. He said it, that first day. Now, he’s giving you another choice.”

“You,” she said flatly.

“If you’ll have me,” Ryan replied. “If you’ll reach out and take me. I know you want me, Nayara. I’ve watched you for a year and I know you, now. God, I’ve loved you for most of it. How could I
not
know?”

She gasped. “You can’t love me,” she said slowly. “Salathiel—”

“He knows, too,” Ryan said.

Nayara closed her eyes as her fear bloomed large. “Knows what?” she pleaded.

“All of it, I think,” Ryan replied. His hand, with the long clever fingers, curled around the back of her neck. “He is too clever not to have seen it, Nia.”

She pressed her hand against his chest, feeling the hard wall of muscle and sinew. “Seen what?” she asked, although she already guessed what Ryan’s answer would be.

He drew her head closer to his. “That you love me just as you love Salathiel,” Ryan told her.

He was stronger than her, physically and emotionally. He dominated her, drew her into him. In truth she longed for him to stake the sort of claim that Salathiel never could, being human. Ryan either sensed her need, or was naturally inclined that way. His kiss was hard and demanding and his hands ran along the length of her body, feeling their way, even as his tongue thrust deep into her mouth. There was no gentle seduction. No coy teasing.

Even as he kissed her, Ryan lay her back on the divan, his knee thrusting between her thighs, separating them.

Arousal spread through her like a flame rising up in a fire gone wild. It whooshed the length of her body, making Nayara gasped against Ryan’s lips.

He lifted his head to look at her properly. “Next time will be more sedate. I’ve waited too long for this, Nia.”

Next time
. She shuddered in anticipation, even as his fingers gathered up the hem of her tunic and pushed it above her hips. She fumbled to rid him of his own short tunic and the cumbersome belt.

Ryan naked was as glorious as she had suspected him to be. There were rounded muscles, that rippled over his stomach. And his member was rigid and erect. Throbbing with the limited blood supply a vampire could spare for sex.

He lifted her knee, leaned over her and pushed into her. The sound he made as he buried himself inside her was halfway between a growl and a groan. It came from deep inside him.

Nayara curled her leg over his hip, as her body squeezed and trembled around him. She was already nearing the peak of pleasure and Ryan had done nothing more elaborate than kiss her.

His fingers curled over the edge of her tunic, at the neckline. He ripped it aside with an impatient wrench, baring her breasts. He exhaled heavily at the sight of them. “Perfect,” he muttered and lowered his head to nip and lick at the tips with his teeth and tongue.

He thrust slowly in and out of her as he worked, but that was its own torture. Nayara fell to pieces around him, her hips lifting under the sweet pressure of his thrusting, her body wriggling, until Ryan lifted his head with a low curse.

She felt his shaft spasm and quiver and that triggered her own release. She clutched at Ryan’s shoulders, acquainting herself with their actual width, as she lifted her back off the divan and came with a low, harsh cry.

Ryan gave one last, hard thrust and emptied himself into her, his arms and the tendons in his neck straining as he climaxed.

Then, as he relaxed, he slid his arm under Nayara, picked her up and turned onto his back, bringing her with him.

He brushed her hair out of his face and her eyes. “Now, where was I?” he murmured. “Mmm... I can start here.” And he kissed her again. This time, the kiss was slow, deep and long. Passionate. An expression of emotion, not just a taking.

Next time
, Nayara realized, pleasure tingling through her.

* * * * *

Vienna, 2263 A.D.

“Of course, ‘next time’ lasted all that night and into the next morning,” Nayara finished, with a small smile at Cáel.

“I was making up for lost time,” Ryan observed. He didn’t sound at all uncomfortable, having his sex life discussed so openly. He sat in his chair, an arm resting on the table, relaxed and comfortable in his evening suit.

Cáel shifted on the wrought iron chair, moving his knees to make room for the painfully uncomfortable erection he’d developed as his imagination had built the picture Nayara’s words had provided for him. It had taken all his training and practice to sit still at the table and look unmoved by the tale. He knew without doubt that he couldn’t react sharply to anything these two told him, or they would shut up and no force in the universe would ever get another word from them.

He had them talking now. He had to do whatever it took to
keep
them talking. If that meant suffering through the most powerful arousal known to man and not letting them see it, so be it.

So instead of reacting to Ryan’s amusement, Cáel focused on the original question that had prompted the tale. “Salathiel must have been an extraordinary man. To have trusted you both and loved you, Nayara, enough to give you both what you wanted, in order to keep everyone happy. Is that why you took him—a human—as a lover?”