Lynn Viehl - [Darkyn 08 - Lords of the Darkyn 01] (18 page)

Unable to bear his own thoughts, Korvel borrowed a mobile phone from one of the women and tried to call Ireland. The answering static frustrated him on a completely different level, for by now the high lord would know something was amiss.

Death had been the only thing that could break the oath Korvel had made as a human to Richard. When his still-human master had returned suffering with plague from the Holy Land, he had summoned Korvel to his chamber, and asked that only he tend to him. And so Korvel had, for a day and night, before succumbing to the same sickness.

Days passed in a feverish blur, but Korvel had clung to life, determined not to fail his master, until the hour when from his pallet he had watched the gravediggers, their noses and mouths covered with rags, carry away the limp body of his lord. Only then did he surrender to the fever scalding his body, and go gratefully into the darkness. It had been a peaceful moment, filled with one final satisfaction: He had kept his oath to the end.

Only it had not been the end. Some days later, he had clawed his way out of the dark, out of his own grave, strangely alive but not alive, to find Richard waiting for him. His master had explained to him that they had both become the dark Kyn, immortals that would live forever.

Humans had discovered them in the graveyard, and Korvel had not even hesitated to sacrifice himself so that his master might escape. He had been dragged away and taken to a crossroads, where the mob had used a copper-spiked rope to hang him from the gallows tree. There he had dangled, too weak to release himself but unable to die, for three weeks. As soon as he lost the strength to struggle, the mortals grew bored and left him to rot—which was when Richard had emerged from the shadows of midnight to cut him down and carry him over his shoulder to a nearby abandoned cottage.

You I trust as no other, Korvel,
his master had said as he sliced open his own wrist to feed him the blood he desperately needed. You will be the eyes at my back, my third blade.

The terror and joy of that second reprieve had preoccupied Korvel as he learned how to survive and protect himself and his master from humans who despised and hunted their kind. It would be another century before he discovered that somehow during Richard’s last days as a mortal he had discovered he was not dying of plague, but making the change from mortal to Kyn. By commanding Korvel rather than one of the women to attend him, Richard had exposed him to the same sickness. His only reason for doing so had to be in hope that his captain would also rise to walk the night.

From that time on Korvel understood that his master had never had any true regard for him. In some ways it had acted upon him like diluted acid, slowly eating away at his heart until he had no feeling left for his master. Still he served the high lord, for even Richard’s most grievous exploitations did not violate his oath. No matter what the high lord felt for him, Korvel would not sacrifice his honor. Only death would end it.

Perhaps that will be my punishment for what I did to Alexandra.
He touched the green scar on his neck. Because I would not free her from the bond between us, now I will never be free of Richard.

A flash of red caught his eye, and Korvel turned his head to see a tall, willowy female step up to the bar. Red satin ribbons snaked through the long ponytail of her shining hair, the ends of which curled against the curve of her buttocks. He could see her bare skin beneath the panel of lace that raced down her long torso; she wore no undergarments beneath the clinging silk sheath. The dark-haired Spaniard standing beside her gaped at her breasts, which were all but falling out of the provocative bodice.

Korvel had seen a thousand women so lovely it hurt the eyes to look upon them, and yet somehow this lady outshone them all.

He briefly regarded the mortal females around him. “You will leave me and return to your rooms to sleep. When you wake you will have no memory of me.”

Like sleepwalkers, the women agreed and rose to walk in single file toward the elevators. Korvel picked up his wine to finish it, but over the rim of his glass his eyes strayed back to the bar, and the elegant perfection of the blond siren’s form.

The woman in red uttered a low, husky laugh as she put her hand on the Spaniard’s shoulder. The man spoke rapidly, gulping down his drink between sentences before he anchored an arm around her waist and pecked at her cheek.

Korvel didn’t know why he wanted to rip the arm from the mortal male’s body. As lovely and tempting as the siren in scarlet was, he had no time to dally with her. Certainly not with Simone upstairs; by now she had to be fuming over his absence. Perhaps his unfulfilled desire for the nun had bloomed into an unreasonable, temper-riddled lust for any woman. But if that were the case, then why had it been so easy to send away the other four, who would have happily permitted him to do anything he wished with them? And why could he not stop looking at this vision in red?

The siren leaned close to her drunken companion, speaking to him as she gestured toward the exit. At that moment the flashing lights above passed over her face.

The woman with the Spaniard
was
Simone.

Disbelief held Korvel locked in stunned silence as he watched the nun behave as shamelessly as a courtesan with her lover, her lips smiling as she spoke to the mortal, her hands landing to pet and stroke and tease until he became overwhelmed and pulled her into his arms. She turned around, hugging his hands to her waist while she led him toward the exit.

Simone was leaving with him. In that dress.

Over my dead body.

Korvel rose to his feet, knocking aside the table as he went after her, growing more furious with every step as he picked up her scent mingled with that of an exotic French perfume. From behind he witnessed the artful sway of her hips and the coy manner in which she looped her arm through the Spaniard’s; she was all but throwing herself at him. And where did she think she was going? Did she mean to leave the hotel? With a drunken stranger? It seemed she did.

The concierge stepped in front of him, temporarily halting his progress. “Monsieur, I must apologize, but—”

“Not now.” Korvel brushed past him, his fists curling as he saw no sign of Simone or her easy conquest.

If she thought she could elude him, she was sadly mistaken. His Kyn senses could track her from a mile away.

Unless she gets into a taxi with that sodding buffoon.

Outside the hotel Korvel scanned the street, relaxing a little when he saw no cars passing. Simone’s scent drew him down the walk and into a side alley, where several cars had been parked.

He strode up to a sedan at which her scent flared strongest and grabbed the door handle. He jerked, metal ripped, and the sedan rocked as the entire door came off. He threw it aside and reached in to pull the Spaniard away from Simone and out of the car.

“Monsieur?” the man squeaked as Korvel lifted him off his feet and held him, legs dangling, in the air. “What are you doing?”

“Far less than I want,” he grated, forcing himself to put the mortal on the ground. “Go back to the club.”

“But…but…my
door!
”

Korvel bared his
dents acérées.
“Go back. Forget all of this. Now. Or I will tear out your throat.”

The Spaniard’s feet slipped and slid over the slush-wet stone as he ran from the alley. Only when he was gone did Korvel look back into the sedan. Simone had gotten out and stood on the other side, her hands braced against the vehicle.

“Are you going to rip out my throat now?” she asked, her tone insultingly polite.

“What were you thinking?” He flung a hand toward the clinging red silk. “And what is that?”

“You told me to buy a dress. I followed your instructions.” She came around the car to stand before him. “Don’t you like it?”

She must still be addled by the drugs, he decided. “Come inside.” He closed the gap between them and took her by the wrist. “I will send for the doctor.”

She didn’t move. “I am not sick.”

“Do the other nuns at the convent dress and behave like trollops?” He tried to pull her along.

She came around him, her skirt riding up as she delivered a side kick to his knee and another to his shin that sent him sprawling. As Korvel lay there, stunned, she walked up to him and planted one shoe on his chest.

“I am not a nun, and you are not my master,” she said calmly. “So you may go back to your women and leave me alone.”

Simone had reached the end of the alley when Korvel jerked her around. “Say that again.”

“Leave me alone.”

He shook his head. “The first of it.”

She moved faster this time, but Korvel felt the coil of her muscles and countered the attack, using just enough strength to subdue her. When she stopped resisting he put his face close to hers. “Say it again.”

“I am not a nun.”

He released her and moved a short distance away, staring at the brick wall as he battled back his temper. He heard her come up behind him, her movements causing the red silk to whisper against her skin.

“I never told you that I was a nun, Captain.” She stood close enough for her breath to warm his air.

“You live in a convent,” he told the wall. “You wear nun’s garments, and pray with a rosary, and do good works. There is—was—a cross hanging about your neck.” He felt steady enough to look directly at her, which he realized at once was a mistake. “What the bloody hell was I supposed to think you were? An exotic dancer?”

“You’re not supposed to think about me at all,” she reminded him. “I’m nothing to you.”

His fangs pulsed as they stretched out in his mouth, as aching and eager as if he had not fed in a week. “Why do you live at the convent, Simone?”

“When I was a girl the sisters were my teachers, and they became very fond of me. When I left my father’s house they offered me a home and a purpose. I wear a habit when I leave the convent because that is what is expected.” She touched the place at her throat where her cross usually hung. “I’ve never taken vows or joined the order. I can’t. I don’t believe in God.”

“In your room, I watched you pray.” His jaw tightened. “Another pretense?”

Simone shrugged. “Habit. I do it because it pleases Flavia to believe I have faith. It is easier than arguing with her.”

“Why let me believe you were a nun?”

“You did not tell me what you believed.” At last a flicker of shame passed over her features. “Besides, if you had asked, I would have told you.”

“I have been calling you ‘sister’ for days,” he said, snarling the words. “You knew precisely what I thought. You
wanted
me to believe you had taken vows. That you were an innocent.”

The laugh she uttered had a tinge of self-mockery. “I offered you sex, Captain.
You
refused
me
.”

“Another of your maneuverings,” he countered. “You knew my honor demanded nothing less.”

“I knew nothing of you, you oblivious ass.” Her upper lip curled. “Your precious honor didn’t stop you last night, did it?”

Simone regretted the taunt from the moment it left her lips. Last night Korvel had not forced or coerced her; she had wanted it as much as he had. If she had refused him he would not have touched her. Now in her anger she had wanted him to feel as wretched about it as she did, but she had succeeded only in shaming herself.

“I shouldn’t have said that. I apologize, Captain.” Unable to look at him another moment, she walked out of the alley.

The few pedestrians Simone passed stared at her, as if they knew what a fool she had made of herself. She changed direction, retreating to a narrow, shadowed lane that led between the gates and walls surrounding some private homes.

The sound of water tickled her ear, and she stopped outside the iron gates leading to a private courtyard. Inside a garden of ivy, lemon trees and evergreens surrounded a tall, tiered fountain. Simone gripped the bars of the gate, resting her forehead against them as she watched the silvery streams cascading into three basins cast to resemble blooming flowers.

The sound of approaching footsteps made her look down at the latch on the gate, which was not locked, and then up at the shuttered windows of the dark house. She opened the gate and slipped inside, ducking behind a lattice of leafy vines. As the scent of larkspur mixed with the greenery around her, she closed her eyes.

“My women.”

Simone looked up at Korvel, and braced herself as he lifted his hand. When he caught a tendril of her hair and drew it away from her face, she shivered. “What about them?”

“You told me to go back to my women.” He traced the contour of her cheek. “You meant the females from the club. You saw me with them, and it made you do this. Why?”

“I woke up and you were gone.” She sounded like a sulky child, but she didn’t care. “I came downstairs to find you, and there you were, with four of them crawling over you. How could you be with them after last night? What’s wrong with me?”

“I used them for blood, Simone, not sex.” He moved his hand to the back of her neck, where his thumb brushed over the fine hairs on her nape. “There is nothing wrong with you.”

“I watched you put your mouth on one of them.” She touched her breast. “Here.”

“In public I must feed with discretion. I took blood from her there so that her dress would cover the marks from my
dents acérées.
” He glanced down. “Are you wearing anything under yours?”

Now he was teasing her. “It doesn’t matter.” Another time she might have joked about her outrageous behavior, but not tonight. Not while the longing for him still twisted inside her. She ducked out from under his arm. “I will return to the hotel and collect our things.”

“I am not done with you.”

Korvel turned her around, backing her up against the iron gate as his big hand slid down over her hip to the hem of her skirt. She forgot to breathe as she felt his fingers stroke up the outside of her thigh.

“Stockings.” He pushed the skirt up out of his way, his fingers inching along the satin ribbon of her garter from the outside of her thigh to her waist. He then slid his hand around her and followed the small of her back down to the bare curve of her bottom.