Marissa Day (6 page)

Mother seized Miranda’s wrist and dragged her to her feet. “We’ll go in the side door. I always knew you never listened to me, and now I have my proof. I despair. If I wasn’t there at your birth, I’d wonder if you really are my daughter ...”

Continuing on this theme, Mother dragged Miranda around the side of the house, her hand clamped on Miranda’s wrist like a manacle. Miranda staggered along in her mother’s wake because she could not do anything else. The light lanced into her eyes and the fire burned through her bones, robbing her of any ability to think.

“Oh, Perkins, thank heavens!” Mother wrapped her arms around Miranda’s shoulders. “My daughter has taken ill. Send for my carriage at once.”

“Yes, madame. Mellon, help the lady. Lace, send for Miss Prosper’s maid.”

Those were the last words she understood for some time. Miranda felt as if she had been removed into a private space of pain. There was no time, barely any sensation of movement, only the endless fire in her sinews and skin. She had just enough awareness to feel herself lifted into the carriage. Sometime later, she recognized rocking and jouncing as the conveyance rolled over the London streets’ ruts and cobbles.

Miranda’s lungs began to burn, and she could not catch her breath. Other hands raised her up, supporting her. She wheezed and shivered as they helped her climb the stairs. Conversation went on around her, but she could make little sense of it.

“Will madame wish to send for the doctor?”

“Oh, I don’t think there will be any need at present. A warm bed, a night’s rest, and I am sure she will be right as rain.”

“Yes, madame.”

The door closed and Miranda shivered beneath her blankets. The silk nightgown in which she had been dressed provided no comfort. The cold gave way once more to fire, and with the fire came a vision like a flash of lightning. She saw two men staggering through the dark streets, leaning together, struggling even as she struggled.

Miranda twisted her head sideways, trying to bury her face in the pillows to shut out the visions and the voice.

“Stop it,” she begged. Her throat burned; her vitals burned; her very soul burned. “Please, make it stop!”

“Corwin,” she croaked.
Corwin!

Another vision lanced through her. She saw him, saw them, standing in the mews behind the house, staring up at her window. Darius had his arms wrapped around Corwin. Corwin dug his hand into his side, like a man trying to stop the pain of his own wound.

“You’ll kill yourself trying to ghostwalk up there,” Darius muttered.

Corwin shook his head hard. “There’s no other way fast enough.”

Miranda heard other voices, these much closer.

“Miss Prosper! Oh, do wake up, Miss Prosper!”

“I don’t like this. She’s in a real delirium now.”

“Should we fetch her mother?”

“Madame Bitch? Not likely. Get round to Dr. Harrington’s. Sharp, now!”

“Madame won’t like it.”

“I’ll take the blame if it comes to that. Go!”

“Yes, ma’am.”

A rough hand touched Miranda’s forehead. Miranda recognized it as belonging to Louise, her maid. But Louise was not whom Miranda needed, and Miranda tried to shake her off, but she could scarcely move. The terrible light was devouring her from the inside.

“What on Earth!” cried Louise.

A cold wind wafted over Miranda’s face. She shivered violently and struggled to lift her head. The burning within blurred her eyesight, but she saw two tall men being faced down by stout Louise.

“Get out of here!” cried Louise. “Get out of here at once, you shameless things, or I’ll rouse the house!”

Faintly, beyond the fire, Miranda felt a prickling across her skin that was both new and intimately familiar.

One of the shadowed forms moved closer. “Get away from her!” snapped Louise, and she darted forward, but the other man—Darius, Miranda was now sure—blocked her path.

“You will find the girl and tell her there’s no need for the doctor. The fever has broken, and Miss Prosper has asked to be left to rest. You will check in on her again in the morning. Go now.”

Louise swayed on her feet. “Yes, sir,” she said, her words slurring badly.

“You will be saving her life. This is the only way to save her life.”

“Yes, sir.” Louise’s tone had changed, growing brisk and efficient. She bustled out the door and shut it firmly behind herself.

Miranda dropped back onto the pillow. The tide of pain dragged her under, threatening to drown her.

“Corwin,” she whispered. “I’m burning alive.”

“Shhh, shhh, Miranda.” She felt the mattress dip and she was aware of a warmth and human presence beside her. “It’s all right. You’ve just drunk a wine that is too strong for you.” A man’s hand stroked her cheek. Corwin! But there was something wrong. His hand was cold and weak. Miranda forced open her eyes, but she could see nothing of him but shadow.

“Are you here to help me die?” she whispered.

“No, dearest.” He was panting now. “We are here to help you live.”

“Save your strength, Corwin,” said Darius gruffly. The mattress dipped again as Darius sat on her other side.

“You have taken something Corwin needs, Miranda Prosper,” Darius said. “You must give it back.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You must touch him, Miranda.”

The thought made her stomach clench, and for a moment she thought she would vomit. “No. I can’t.” She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to turn her face away.

The mattress shifted again, and Miranda was aware of Darius lying down behind her.

“Look at him,” commanded Darius, reaching around to cup her chin and lift it so her face was angled toward Corwin in front of her. Darius’s breath was warm and strangely gentle against her ear and his hand firm and strong as he held her. “Look at him with me, Miranda.”

Darius pressed himself behind her. Her nightgown made only the thinnest of barriers between them. She could feel every inch of his naked body against her: his chest, his thighs, his cock. She felt his heart hammering. His hand glided down her arm, making the cloth slide against her skin, and slowly, his living warmth began to seep into her. All these sensations seemed to cause Miranda’s internal strength to stir. She found she could bear her pain more easily. She could open her eyes to look at Corwin.

Corwin sprawled on the bed, as pale as marble and almost as still. She could take in all of him with her freshly cleared gaze, as if he were a sculptor’s masterpiece—so beautiful, so perfectly masculine, and at the same time so weakened that it was plainly all he could do to raise his eyes toward her.

“Touch him, Miranda,” whispered Darius in her ear.

“I can’t.” Fire burned beneath Miranda’s skin, seeking exit through her pores. “I’ll hurt him.”

“No. Not this time. I’ll help you.”

Gently but irresistibly, Darius lifted her hand. He laid Miranda’s palm against Corwin’s and folded their fingers together. Miranda shook as their skin made contact, but Darius held her—held them—in place, his strong hand covering their two weak ones, and the burning tide within her ebbed further yet.

“That’s it,” murmured Darius. “Open yourself to him, Miranda. To us. Let the fire inside you flow free.”

“It will kill him.”

“No, Miranda. It will heal him. Trust me.”

Darius lifted her palm away from Corwin’s and glided it up Corwin’s arm, making her stroke the sick man’s chilled flesh. Something ethereal reached from Darius into her, nestling itself inside her. She could feel Darius’s strength, not just in his grip, or in his cock—which was growing hard where it pressed against the small of her silk-clad back—but in spirit somehow. Where Darius’s strength entered, the fire Miranda had imbibed drained away from her heart. It flowed into her veins, down her arms to her hands, to her palms and fingertips.

Darius took her other hand and laid it on Corwin’s right arm. Embracing her with his hard-muscled arms, Darius sat himself and her up and leaned her over Corwin’s pale form. His chest pressed against her back, his hands continued to move hers, showing her how to touch Corwin; how she should caress his shoulders and stroke his chest, gently chafing his nipples with her palms. Darius breathed deeply and slowly, and the rhythm of his breathing crept into Miranda, until she found her breath matching with his. With each intake of air, she felt the fire leave her, to be replaced with the twined scents of the men—scents of night air, sweat, musk and something more.

Darius moved their hands lower, stroking Corwin’s hard, flat abdomen. Corwin sighed. He stretched and he shifted. Darius moved her hands up to stroke Corwin’s shoulders again, then down once more to rest her palm over Corwin’s heart.

Corwin was still pale, but the terrible haunted look had left his eyes, replaced by the bright spark she had seen there before. She could feel both of their rhythms now—Darius’s breath and his heart at her back, Corwin’s heart beneath her hands. It seemed that those unique rhythms synchronized and merged with her own, becoming one pulsation strong enough to surround the flames, to seize them and change them.

Darius lifted both her hands away from Corwin’s chest. Miranda whimpered; she could not help it. She did not want to leave off touching Corwin. She felt Darius’s mouth smile against her cheek as he lowered her hands to Corwin’s cock.

A sigh escaped Miranda as the velvet softness filled her hands. She tried to stroke Corwin herself, but Darius would not permit it. His hands commanded hers, running them up and down Corwin’s cock. It began to swell under their attentions, and Miranda felt her heart leap. Darius’s breathing grew ragged. His own cock pressed urgently against her hip as he controlled her hands, forcing her to go slowly, to caress Corwin’s shaft, to cup his balls and finger the blunt tip.

To make Corwin sigh again. To make him say, “Yes. Oh, yes.”

Miranda felt her spirit open wider, and the remaining fire—dangerous no longer—reached out. She knew instinctively she wanted to bring this inner flame to Corwin. She wanted that as much as she wanted to bring his cock inside her, but she didn’t know how it could be done.

“Kiss him, Miranda,” said Darius, as if he read her thoughts. “Lie down with him.”

Miranda needed no further urging. She kissed Corwin, strongly, and openly. She felt Darius move away, but in no way was his strength gone from her. Corwin caught her in his arms and rolled her onto the bed beneath him. He pinned her against the mattress and thrust his tongue deeply into her mouth. Miranda laced her fingers through his hair and kissed back hungrily. At the same time, she spread her thighs so his hardening cock could press more closely against her pussy. Her nipples tightened and strained as he moved on top of her. The slick coolness of her thin nightdress grew hot from their fevered skins. She stroked his back, all the way to his taut ass, and dug her fingers in, making him gasp, making him rub his cock harder against her.

“Now.” Darius positioned himself so he could lift Miranda’s head and pillow it against his strong thighs. He reached down and slid his hands between Miranda and Corwin, cupping her breasts in his palms and massaging them. Where before his touch had eased the fires, now it brightened them, joyfully. She arched her back, thrusting up with her breasts to seek Darius’s hands and her hips to meet Corwin’s cock. Corwin stretched over her, taking his weight on his elbows, as he ground his hips against hers, making his hard cock circle against her straining nub. She felt something brush her cheek, and realized it was Darius’s tight balls and erect cock caressing her face as he rolled and teased her nipples with rough fingers. Miranda gasped. She moaned. Fire, all was fire, but now it was beautiful, and if she should turn to ashes from it, it was all she desired.

Corwin shoved her nightdress up around her waist, and Darius drew it over her head and cast it aside. Cold air washed across her, making her skin prickle deliciously. Corwin ran his hands up her thighs, lifting first one leg, then the other, and wrapping them around his waist so he could move into the embrace of her thighs.

“Yes,” she groaned, rubbing his hips with her thighs’ sensitive inner flesh. “Yes, now!”

“Yes, now,” said Darius.

Obedient to her, to them both, Corwin thrust deep inside her. She gasped with the pleasure of it, instinctively reaching out with hands and spirit to caress him. Darius’s masterful hands on her breasts and the wicked caress of his hard cock against her cheek urged her on, opening her spirit yet further. The bright fire flowed from her to Corwin. Their heartbeats surrounded her, capturing her with their rhythm, as Corwin thrust again, and again.

Darius lowered her head down onto the pillows, which freed Miranda to grip Corwin’s thighs with her hands and force him down into her, harder and deeper. She felt Darius move beside her. He captured her right hand and wrapped her fingers firmly around the thick, velvet heat of his shaft. Delight assailed her as Darius made her hand move on him in time with Corwin’s thrusts, using her shamelessly for his pleasure even as she drank in the pleasure that flowed from them both. She opened herself wide so she could return that ecstasy, that nameless strength, to them both.

Miranda rocked her hips, again and again, drawing Corwin’s cock into her until it could go no deeper, digging the fingers of her left hand into his ass. She pumped Darius’s swelling cock furiously, loving the sensation of his hand holding hers as she did. It was too good. She could not contain the fire, the delight, anymore, and her climax rolled over her, delirium and delight, fire and passion, sending her into spasm after spasm.

Corwin cried out and she had just enough control left to raise her bucking hips to meet his as his climax racked him. Then Darius thrust into her palm, his wordless lion’s roar washing over them all and his seed spilling hot over their hands.