Kiss of the Rose (19 page)

Christopher dove for Elias’s dagger and was rewarded by another staggering wave of dizziness, which made him incapable of using his fighting skills with any accuracy.With his immense Vampire strength, Elias easily fended him off and sent him crashing to the ground. Christopher half rose, but had to remain crouched over, his hands on his knees. “Where is she?”

“I will take you there.” Elias grabbed Christopher’s arm, and everything blurred and speeded up. Christopher had the sensation that they were falling through the darkness. He came to himself kneeling on the scrubby grass and retching. He looked up to see Elias smiling down at him.

“How can I help her when I feel like this? Did you put something in my ale?”

Elias cocked his head to one side, his clothing immaculate, not a hair on his head out of place. “You’re not stupid at all, are you? I told the Vampire Council you would be worthy of this mission and I was right.” He reached down and pulled Christopher to his feet, his slight frame deceptively strong.“Do not worry. In a little while you’ll feel like a new man, and you’ll be more than capable of serving the Druid wench.”

Elias turned Christopher around until he could see the smoke rising from yet another bonfire. “Rosalind is down there in that valley, worshipping her gods. Go and find her, and be thankful that I obey orders, or else you’d be sleeping with Master Williams and I’d be taking your place.”

“What?” Christopher blinked and Elias was gone. He took a deep breath as the dizziness faded to be replaced by a sense of quivering anticipation. His heart thumped in his chest and heat shuddered through him. His harried thoughts settled on one thing. Rosalind needed him, and he had to keep her safe.

He started toward the faint flickering lights and the billowing smoke, his breathing ragged, his motion erratic.A steady drumbeat vibrated through the air, echoing the uneven rhythm of his heart, luring him onward to his fate, to his reward, to a Druid orgy.

As he began his descent into the small, bowl-shaped valley, his heavy, furred overgown caught on some branches and he shrugged out of it. He kept moving toward the flickering lights, his eyes straining in the darkness, as he searched for Rosalind.

Shadows merged into human forms, and he paused, his hand braced against an oak tree to watch.The drumming sound was louder now, and interwoven with the sound of voices. The reverberation quickened his blood and sent tremors of heat down his legs. He pulled at the tight laces of his velvet doublet and fought to free himself from its constraint.

Whatever Elias had put in the ale had made him hot-ter than Hades and as skittish as a stallion after scenting his mares. Christopher moved closer, his gaze fixed on a group of women who danced in a circle around the blazing fire.Their hair was unbound and they wore flowered wreaths on their heads; some wore a thin shift but others were completely naked.

Christopher swallowed as his prick hardened at the luscious sight. Without tearing his gaze away from the dancers, he unbuckled the leather belt from around his waist and allowed it to fall to the ground, taking his codpiece and dagger sheath with it. He moved even closer, aware of the men sitting in a predatory circle around the darkened edge of firelight, their gazes fixed on the dancers while they chanted and drummed.

There she was.

Christopher recognized Rosalind and found he could no longer move. Despite the shift she wore, the outlines of her body were illuminated by the flames, displaying the roundness of her breasts, her nipples, and the dark triangle between her thighs. Instinctively, his hand moved to stoke his prick and he whispered her name. He started forward, intent on reaching her and dragging her out of the dance. Just as he moved, the music changed and all the men joined the women, except one who wore the horned stag headdress of a priest.

Despite his sense that he was moving through a dream, Christopher picked up his pace and ran toward Rosalind. He inhaled the sweet smoke pouring from the fire and almost collapsed again as a fresh wave of sensations crashed over him. He caught her arm and swung her around to face him.

Her lips formed a soundless “oh” before he covered them with his own, wrapped her in his arms, and kissed her. A surge of thankfulness, fear, and pure sexual need roared through him as he backed her against the nearest solid object and ravished her mouth with his.

Her hands slid up his shoulders to pull him even closer.Through his linen shirt, her fingernails bit into his skin and he groaned with sheer pleasure. But her mouth wasn’t enough; he needed to taste all of her, to own every inch of her flesh. He kissed his way down her long swanlike neck and cupped her breast, set his lips over the thin muslin, and sucked her nipple into his mouth.

She gasped and arched her back, offering herself to him, offering him everything he’d ever dreamed of. He slid his knee between her thighs until she rode him. The glorious scent of her arousal permeated his senses, adding and enhancing the otherworldly sensations created by the smoke.

He transferred his mouth to her other breast, used his fingers to keep her nipple a tight, thrusting point, and suckled hard. He groaned as her hand fisted in his hair to hold him even more firmly against her. Forgetting all about caution, he simply ground himself against her softness. He wanted her naked; he wanted his mouth on her wet quim, his tongue licking at her slick wetness as she screamed his name…

He raised his head and looked into her eyes.The centers were so black that almost all the brown had disappeared. Did she even know it was him? Did it matter? He had her now, and he was never going to let her go again.With a silent plea, he took her hand, placed it over the front of his hose, and pushed himself urgently into her palm.

Her gaze dropped to his prick, and she whirled around and ran from him, laughing. For a moment he wanted to howl, but he had no time, he had to go after her, had to keep her safe, have her, swive her,
own
her…

As she ran, her long hair streamed out behind her. Drawn by a compulsion older than time, he followed her deeper into the center of the valley, past other couples openly copulating on the ground, past the priests, the drummers, and the dancers, his heart pounding, his cock echoing the pulsing need.

At some deep level he was aware that he was no longer himself, no longer civilized, no longer capable of denying his lust, but he couldn’t stop. It was almost as if he was watching himself in a monstrous court masque or play.

He stumbled and reached out a hand to save himself, felt the shock of stone vibrate beneath his fingertips. Rosalind stopped running, and framed by the inner circle of stones, she looked back at him. She held his gaze as she stripped off her shift. Christopher took one last lingering look over his shoulder at the now distant fire and the other revelers.

He stepped through the upright stones, and almost staggered backward. It felt as if he’d ripped through an unseen curtain and entered a magical void where anything could happen. He inhaled thick, turgid air that seemed to breathe with him and emanated from the stones.

He couldn’t stop.

He had to go after her.

Rosalind held her breath as Christopher paused at the edge of the inner stone circle and looked behind him. She was panting as if there was no air left within the center of the ancient sacred circle.When he entered, the stones vibrated and began to hum as if reacting to his male presence. Waves of heat pulsated through Rosalind as she stared at his long, lean form.

He walked toward her, his face ablaze with determination and lust. Strands of black hair curled around his face. His long legs ate up the ground between them, but he seemed to move so slowly that she could see every tiny motion. As he approached, he stripped off his long shirt and hose, leaving him as naked as she was. His muscles bunched and relaxed and his chest expanded as he breathed as harshly as she did. She couldn’t help staring at his erect cock.

In the last remaining corner of her mind that wasn’t affected by the smoke, she had expected it to be Rhys. But Belenos, the Shining One, the God of Beltaine, demanded his due, and she was unworthy to question the rightness of Christopher’s presence or the God’s will.

No sound from the raucous celebrations around the fire penetrated the inner stillness of the stone circle. It was as if they were alone, newborn, created by the gods to obey their dictates and explore and celebrate the very essence of life. Rosalind backed away from Christopher until she came up against the solid stone block in the dead center of the circle.

He kept coming toward her, his expression intent, his gaze fixed on her body. When he reached out a hand to cup her breast, time seemed to dissolve and become meaningless. She moaned as his thumb grazed her nipple, watched as his mouth descended to suckle her breast, as his fingers slid between her thighs to find her already wet and open for him.

She wasn’t Rosalind and he wasn’t Christopher.They were beyond that now, merely creatures of the gods, with no other purpose than to please each other and offer up their joining to the heavens. He leaned over her, urging her back against the warm stone, his cock a wet, hard, thrusting presence against her soft belly. She reached down between them to stroke him, gloried at the heat and stiffness, at his harsh groan when she moved her fingers over the already wet and swollen head.

His hands settled around her waist and lifted her to sit on the edge of the stone block. He pushed himself between her thighs. Her feet found the footholds carved into the side of the stone and settled there, as if this had happened before. His hips moved against hers in an urgent rhythm that echoed the earlier drums and the sound of her frantic breathing.

His fingers touched her quim, stroking and separating her swollen folds. He flicked the taut bud that made her convulse and lift herself into each deliberate caress. She sighed as he circled his fingers over her soft wetness in an endless spiral until she was moaning and mindless with the pleasure.

“Please,” she whispered.

His hand was shaking as he brushed the hair out of her face and stared down at her. “Rosalind…”

“Please…”

He closed his eyes and lowered his mouth to hers. She felt the tip of his cock probe her slick entrance and went still. With a harsh groan he drew back his hips and then surged forward. Her fingernails dug into his shoulders as he thrust again, and she struggled to accommodate his thick hot length.

“So… tight,” he murmured against her mouth.“So perfect.” He began to move again, thrusting deeper with every long stroke, filling her and molding her to his desires.

She forgot everything but the feel of his body impaling hers and the slick sweat on his skin. His tongue mimicked the thrust of his cock as he groaned and plundered her mouth. Pleasure built in her quim and she began to move with him, arching her back so that he pressed hard against her needy flesh. Sensation narrowed like a sharpened blade until she had to scream into his mouth and she exploded with pleasure.

Christopher increased his pace, his cock driving harder now, his whole body trembling and shuddering with the effort of fucking her against the backdrop of living stones and the sense of an audience that fed on every sigh and thrust and quiver of their joining. He was nothing to them, just male to her female, a staff to her sheath, a source of fertile seed to fill her.

At that salacious notion, his thoughts dissolved into pure sensation. His balls tightened until his seed flooded from his prick in long draining spurts, even as she came around his shaft again. He buried his face in the crook of her shoulder, his beard rasping her tender flesh, his teeth settling against her skin and marking her as his and his alone.

He had no sense of time. It might have been seconds or hours before he managed to open his eyes and look down at her. She stared back at him, her gaze steady, her hair spread around her flushed face like a rumpled curtain of lusciousness. Her fingers drifted over her chest and traced the brand of Mithras over his heart. He eased out of her, aware of the sudden coldness on his shaft, and fought the urge to bury himself right back in her warmth.

He tried to focus on their surroundings. The ancient carvings in the stone seemed to glow in the faint light. Blackness stirred in the pit of his stomach, and even more treacherously in his mind. His knees gave way and he slid to the ground. As he did, a shaft of moonlight struck the stained rock and revealed his seed mingled with Rosalind’s blood, revealed the joint sacrifice they had offered to the pagan gods on their sacred altar.

What in God’s name had he done?

Christopher’s vision darkened and he knew nothing more than the blessed emptiness of oblivion.

Chapter 14

C
hristopher opened his eyes and stared up at the painted limestone ceiling and the curved oak beam directly above his bed. He swallowed hard and shuddered at the disgusting taste in his mouth.What on earth had he drunk last night? He had no recollection of getting himself to bed at all.

He slid a hand under the covers and cupped his prick and balls, aware of both a myriad of aches and pains in his body and a sense of satiation and glorious release. What in God’s teeth had he done? Unwelcome, forbidden images crashed through his mind, and he sat up, clutching the covers at his waist. He groaned as his head pounded in earnest. His torso was covered in scratches, and both his shoulders bore the marks of a woman’s nails.

Rosalind…

Christopher swung his legs over the side of the bed and looked for his clothes. “Roper!” he croaked.

His manservant came through the door, a tankard of ale and a lump of coarse bread balanced on a plate in front of him. “No need to shout, sir. I was just coming.”

“Where are my clothes?”

Roper sniffed disapprovingly as he placed the tray on the bed.“I wouldn’t know, sir. I found you at the bottom of the stairs last night, naked as a babe and dead to the world.”

Christopher shoved his hands through his hair. “You have no idea how I got there, I suppose.”

“No, sir.”