Darkness In The Flames (63 page)

A moan from Rowan underscored the other man’s need and Marcus felt his own orgasm building rapidly, his balls tight, his spine alive with the need to erupt.

“Now, Rowan…” He gritted his teeth and released himself, his come spewing into Emilie at the same moment Rowan’s cock trembled and spurted with his own climax. Seconds later, Rowan lifted his head and pierced Emilie’s breast with his fangs.

There was silence, broken only by the sighs of Emilie as she rode out her orgasm and Rowan’s soft suckling as he drank.

Eventually even Emilie’s whimpers faded and Marcus felt her limbs slide from his body as she succumbed to the lassitude and unconsciousness Rowan’s feeding brought on.

Rowan fed as Marcus watched. Gently and thoroughly he took what he needed of her life’s essence, satisfying a hunger Marcus could only wonder about. How was it, this living liquid meal? Did it taste hotly sweet? Or bitter and metallic?

Did it arouse Rowan more or sate his inner lusts much as Marcus had sated his sexual lusts with his hand?

So many unanswered questions. Yet Marcus knew he was lucky not to know. Fortunate that his disease had spared him this desperation, this urgent desire for another’s blood. It was an odd twist of fate, but one that he could—for the moment—appreciate.

He slipped free of Emilie’s sex, his cock softly sliding from her body on a tiny river of their juices. Quietly he let the water take him, refreshing him, restoring him to his normal self.

And eventually, Rowan ceased his feeding.

He lifted his head and looked for Marcus, finding him standing waist deep in the water. “’Tis done.”

The darkness hid the stains that Marcus knew would dapple Rowan’s mouth. The fangs were gone. “She is all right?”

“Yes. She sleeps now. Deeply. She will not wake for hours. And when she does…” He glanced down and gently brushed his hand over her breast. “There will be nothing to tell the tale of these last moments. Only the memory of our play together.”

Rowan leaned over and dropped a light kiss on one nipple. “
Merci
,
Mademoiselle
.
Merci
.”

Chapter Five

Rowan was relieved when they reached the small inn. He was energized, fed and feeling much stronger, but the whole process had never really pleased him. Only when he fed from Thérèse did he attain the sort of satisfaction he craved.

These others—they were simply necessary events in the course of his shadowed existence.

His initial discomfort from feeding around Marcus had faded as they rode together—in fact he’d even been able to talk about it with some semblance of normalcy. If such a thing could possibly be called “normal”.

They’d agreed that Emilie should be carefully tended and both men had carried her to a soft dark spot safe beneath some thick brush. They’d dressed her once more, covered her with her cloak and left a substantial number of coins in and around her belongings. She could not fail to find them and it was unlikely anybody else would pass that way before she awoke.

No, Rowan had no regrets about what they’d done. It had been one of the better feedings he could remember and for that he had Marcus to thank.

Awkwardly, he’d tried. “I owe you a debt of gratitude, my friend.”

“For what?” Marcus had lifted an eyebrow.

“For what you did—for helping me—” Rowan stumbled over the thoughts he wished to express.

“I did little, Rowan. I enjoyed myself with a willing partner and in the process you were able to feed. ‘Twas not unpleasant at all. I merely fucked her.
You
were the one feeding from her.” He glanced at Rowan. “Can you tell me of that process? How does it work?”

Rowan considered the question. “In truth, I’m not really sure. I do not seem to crave such nourishment too often, for which I’m grateful. I’ve gone nearly a month without it, although that seems to be my limit. There is just a gnawing sense of need, an
urgency
if you will—” He paused. Describing the indescribable was proving to be troublesome.

“’Tis as if my belly is as empty as the sky and my soul equally bereft. A unique sensation that has to be experienced to be fully understood, I think. The actual feeding…well, that is as you saw. My fangs pierce the skin—those moments right after climax are best, since the blood is thundering fiercely and my prey scarce aware of her surroundings.” He grinned. “Or
his
.”

Marcus grinned back. “Quite.” He paused. “Forgive my curiosity, but how does it
taste
?”

Rowan laughed. “Questions…such questions I could never have imagined being asked, let alone answering. But to be truthful—I do not know. There is no taste such as you would understand, Marcus. This isn’t a food for my body although it sustains the existence I now endure. It’s more a food for my soul. A heated flow of something that penetrates deeper than my physical being. And now I’m sounding completely absurd.” He chuckled, a rueful sound. “I cannot find the words to explain it any better.”

“Never mind. I think I comprehend some of what you’re saying. And—” Marcus lifted his head. “There’s our destination. Just in time too.”

Rowan sniffed the air. Dawn was close…an annoying feature of the change in seasons. Spring was passing into summer and the sunlit days would get longer, reducing Rowan’s ability to prowl freely. He sighed.

“Tired?” Marcus heard the sigh.

“Yes and no. Feeding sends a surge of energy through me, so I am not tired as you would understand the word. ‘Tis more a weariness of the soul, my friend.”

His hand reached across the distance between the horses and found Marcus’ strong shoulder. “I’m glad we’re together. Glad we’re making this journey even if nothing comes of it. You’ve given me more than you know, Marcus. And I thank you for it.”

There was a moment’s silence. “I thank you too.” Marcus’ response was gruff, as if he were struggling with some emotion.

Perhaps they both were. Rowan knew their bond was deeper than any physical link they’d shared. Both were facing their mortality but in different ways. Maybe that was the thread that united them so strongly.

Whatever it was, Rowan knew he’d discovered something precious that night in the gaming hell. He’d discovered a man who
understood
.

He’d also nearly forgotten Marcus’ condition, but when the dim lamp of the innkeeper showed him Marcus’ face most clearly—he recalled it at once.

Marcus looked—
appalling
.

Rowan took immediate control, asking for two quiet rooms and brandy for Marcus. They would be staying two nights, he announced, then recommencing their journey south.

It was settled within a matter of moments—a sleepy maid with tousled hair obviously roused from her bed to tend to the new guests. The rooms were adequate for their needs and the brandy—thankfully—prompt in arriving.

“Drink this. Why didn’t you tell me you were exhausted?” Rowan nearly snarled at Marcus as he thrust the snifter into his hand.

“I didn’t know I was.” Marcus took the glass and sipped. “Mmm. This is good. I doubt it ever saw a tax duty.”

“Who cares? As long as it helps.”

“Oh it helps. Make no mistake about that.” Marcus drained the glass. “I’ll be better after some rest. Honestly.” His brown eyes were veiled beneath lids that drooped. “Sometimes I overtax myself. But that doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy it.” A tired grin crossed his face. “I shall assume we’ll be here for two nights?”

“Absolutely.” Rowan was adamant. “I’ll not risk your health on what may turn out to be a wild goose chase.”

Marcus snorted. “Don’t fuss. And it isn’t a wild goose chase—you know that as well as I do.” He yawned. “Go to your rest, Rowan. I shall sleep now, I think. Tonight we’ll do as you suggest—just ease ourselves here. ‘Tis private and quiet. A night’s reflection will probably do us both some good.”

“Do you need anything else?” Rowan lingered at the door, knowing he should go to his room but unwilling to leave.

“Not tonight, my friend. Not tonight.”

“Rest well then.” Rowan nodded and left.

Marcus did rest well. As he struggled back to wakefulness he realized the sun was sinking low. He must have slept around the clock.

Stretching, he cursed the disease that occasionally took its toll on his strength. For too long he’d taken for granted his ability to live life to its fullest—now he had to take into account these damned periods of fatigue. They interrupted his desire to pursue his interests or—as now—to travel long hours in the saddle without interruption.

Dressing, he decided that tonight he would talk to Rowan about some matters that were gnawing at his mind—most notably Thérèse. It would not be an easy subject, either, since Rowan’s heart was clearly involved and the things they must discuss might not sit well with a man in love with such a creature.

She
must
be destroyed. Marcus felt that with greater certainty every moment he spent with Rowan. The feeding he’d observed had reinforced that belief. It was wrong—very wrong—for a man to be condemned to such activities. It had to take a toll on Rowan too. It contravened the laws of man and God, this drawing of blood from a victim who knew nothing of Rowan, Thérèse or their kind.

Rowan accomplished the feat without harm to his prey, but what if there were others lacking such skills? What if Thérèse were creating an army of such creatures? Who was she, anyway? Where did she come from?

Marcus’ own experiences with her were limited and he had no answers to these questions himself. She liked to fuck, was apparently not discerning in her choice of victims other than that they be aroused males and concluded her orgasm by either ripping the throat from her mate or
turning
him into a thing of darkness.

Thoughtfully he ambled down the stairs to the taproom and found a quiet corner by the fire. The mistress of the house offered him a meal, which he gladly accepted. He was just finishing the last of the cheese when Rowan entered and spied him.

“You look a lot better, thank God.” A smile crossed the beautiful face.

Marcus smiled back. “Thanks to you. Brandy, sleep and now a dish of our hostess’s fine dinner and I’m right as rain again.” He ran his gaze over Rowan’s face in his turn. “You look well rested too.”

“I am. I passed a peaceful night—or should I say day. No dreams, no visions to awaken me. And after—” He lowered his voice. “After my own meal, I too am refreshed.”

“That is excellent news.” Marcus beckoned a serving maid and ordered them both a brandy. “Just for appearances, you understand.” He muttered the aside to Rowan.

Rowan grinned. “I can’t really taste it and don’t need it, but I am not averse to the occasional sip now and again.”

“Good.” Marcus leaned back and stretched out his legs before him. “May we touch on a subject close to us both?”

“Of course.” Rowan looked curious.

“Thérèse.”

“Ah.” A fleeting expression of some sort crossed Rowan’s face, but it was gone in an instant before Marcus could identify it.

“If you could…” Marcus paused for a moment. “If you had the ability to destroy her, Rowan, would you?
Could
you?”

The silence that fell after Marcus’ question was lengthy, broken only by the low murmur of voices from the taproom next door.

Finally Rowan sighed. “I don’t know, Marcus. I have asked myself the same question many times, believe me.”

“Fair enough.” Marcus nodded. “When we factor in the matter of your own existence, I can well understand your answer.
But
…” He leaned forward, staring intently at Rowan. “The more I consider this situation, the more I am convinced that at some point she will
have
to be destroyed.”

Rowan’s eyes closed and he moved his head, a slight gesture of denial perhaps, or just a shudder of pain.

“Rowan, she cannot be allowed to continue to do what she does. To kill, to create new demons, to condemn innocent men to a life in the shadows of her evil ways.”

Rowan sucked in a breath and released it on a sigh. “I know. The rational part of me knows this, has
always
known this. But there is another part…” He opened his eyes and gazed at Marcus.

“Yes. The part that sees Thérèse as a beautiful woman. The part that loves her. I understand, Rowan. Or at least I’m trying to.” He pursed his lips in thought. “I am relieved that you can clearly see her for what she
is
, not just as the woman you love. It may make things easier should we be faced with some difficult decisions.”

Rowan shrugged. “She cannot be destroyed, Marcus. No matter how much we may consider the various possibilities—her power has kept her this way for who knows how long. I doubt that we possess the skills to finish the business.”

“Hmm.” Marcus tapped a finger on his chin in thought. “That raises a question in my mind.” He turned to Rowan. “Do you know anything about
her
?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean—who
is
she? Where does she live? How long has she been preying on the unwary traveler to Rogaška? Does she only feed there? And most of all, how long has she been what she is now? Who was she before she met this untimely fate? She can’t have been
born
a vampire, can she? She must have been
turned
, just as she turned you…”

“And who turned
her
, I wonder?” Rowan finished the train of thought himself. “These are good questions, Marcus. I’m not sure how they can help me but they are certainly fascinating.”

“I’m willing to wager we’re not the first to ask them, either.” Marcus looked resigned. “She must have other victims. Other men plagued by the same curiosity.”

Rowan’s lips twisted. “I’m sure. But it gives me no pleasure to think along those lines.”

“I’m sorry.” Marcus’ tone was regretful. “This is a difficult subject, Rowan. I do realize that.” He continued. “May I ask…do you talk? When she visits your dreams or whatever she does, do you ever have a conversation? Is there an interaction between you two?”