Mark of the Rose: The Tudor Vampire Chronicles (18 page)

Read Mark of the Rose: The Tudor Vampire Chronicles Online

Authors: Kate Pearce

Tags: #Romance, #Paranormal, #Fiction

BOOK: Mark of the Rose: The Tudor Vampire Chronicles
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Verity considered the goblets. She did not want a child, but did she want to join in the festivities and lose herself in a night of lust? Since her first Beltane experience she’d abstained from all the physical aspects of the festivals. If Rhys came to worship at the fire tonight, would she welcome him?
She clutched her cloak more tightly around herself. She’d lived with her fear for so long it had almost become part of her. But surely things were different now. Hadn’t she finally broken with her past and set out on the path to becoming the woman and Vampire slayer she had always wanted to be? She deserved a reward. She deserved to have Rhys—in a union sanctioned by their gods and understood by them both to be for only one night. If she chose him, would he give her that night? Verity took a deep breath and reached for the goblet on the left.
 
 
Rhys walked through the stubble of the wheat field and followed the sounds of the drums and the sweet scent of herbs down to the hidden glade where his people were celebrating Lughnasadh. He’d stayed long enough at the palace to be sure that Queen Jane had indeed gone to spend the night with the king and Elias and Olivia were watching over them.
When he entered the sacred oak grove, his heart sped up and echoed the driving tempo of the drums. As he walked around the white chalk circle and felt the heated blast from the fire, magic stirred beneath his feet. He paused at the stone altar to offer a gift of gold to the priests and was rewarded for his contribution with a goblet of sweet honeyed mead, which he downed in one swallow.
The mellow taste of honey and herbs slid down his throat and threaded quickly through his body, warming his already aroused and wanting senses. He prowled the perimeter of the circle, his gaze fixed on the female dancers. To his disappointment he couldn’t see Verity among them. Anxiety edged his anticipation and he continued to scan the grove. Had she found someone else to share her evening with? The mere thought of her kissing another man made him uneasy. But he had no right to feel like that. He stared into the flames, wanting her and yet fearing that her power over him was both contrary and cruel. And she hadn’t promised him anything. In truth she’d just told him she was going to the festival. Mayhap she had given up on him entirely and had decided to find another man.
Rhys turned away from the flames and back toward the musicians. He wished he’d brought his harp. At least then he could have joined in the music making and felt a part of the celebration. How was it that he felt so alone even among his own people? Had he become so caught up in tracking and killing Vampires that he’d forgotten how to be human?
When someone grabbed his arm, he jumped and almost reached for his nonexistent dagger. Weapons weren’t allowed at the festivals, which didn’t sit well with him. He turned to find a beautiful dark-haired woman staggering against him. Instinctively his arms went around her, and she pressed her scantily clad form against his chest.
“Oh thank you, sir,” she gasped. “I thought I might fall.”
He looked into her eyes and saw that the pupils were enormous. She was clearly under the influence of the herbs. He tried to set her away from him, but she clung like bindweed, her ample breasts and hard nipples pressing against the linen of his shirt. She reached up to touch his face and he didn’t stop her.
“You are handsome, sir,” she whispered. “I would gladly dance for you alone all night.”
He disengaged her clinging hands from his shoulders and stepped back. “That is a very generous offer, my lady, but I must decline.”
She pouted and brushed her hand down over the front of his hose. “Are you sure? You seem quite eager to me.”
He smiled then, and took another two steps back. “Alack, I have another lady in mind.”
“And she won’t share?”
Unbidden, a most salacious image formed in Rhys’s mind and his mouth went dry. Whatever had been in the mead had already affected his senses. He managed to shake his head and the woman blew him a kiss and turned back to the dance.
Rhys raised a trembling hand to his lips. Mayhap this hadn’t been such a good idea after all. He should take his thwarted lust and go back to bed.
 
 
Verity watched from the shadows as Rhys held the dark-haired woman in his arms and fought a most unladylike urge to rush at the woman and pull her hair before she slapped Rhys’s face. Rhys was dressed in a simple linen shirt that was open at the throat and a pair of soft leather hose that clung to his muscled thighs. His hair glinted like cinders in a burning fire and he was smiling.
She waited, her fingers digging into her palms, until Rhys disengaged himself from the woman and sent her on her way.
Her breath hissed out with relief. She wanted him. There was no use pretending otherwise. Her whole body ached for his touch. Surely it was time to vanquish the ghosts of her past and share herself with someone she truly desired for the first time in her life?
Verity took a stumbling step toward Rhys, but he seemed to be staring blindly into the fire. As she passed, she made sure to brush against him. He started and looked down at her. She smiled and let her cloak slip from her shoulders.
His hazel eyes widened as she was revealed in her thinnest shift. “Verity.”
He held out his hand, but she kept moving until she was within the sacred circle of the dance. The music called to her and she closed her eyes and began to sway to the ancient rhythm. She felt the swath of her long unbound hair slide against her back like a sheaf of silken corn and enjoyed the raging heat of the fire on her skin. Gloriously free, she raised her arms to the heavens and let the music flow through her.
The tempo grew faster, and she was no longer aware of the watchers or of the musicians, only of the power coursing through her, connecting her to the earth and her gods. Power that made her yearn to leap out of her skin and just be . . .
A shadow obscured her vision and her body slammed into a hard, unyielding object.
“Verity . . .”
She lifted her head and Rhys’s face swam into view, his gaze fierce and primitive, his strong arms caging her. She licked her lips and then his, heard him groan as he thrust his hand into her hair and kissed her back. She kept moving against him, the sway of her hips meeting his, her soft belly undulating against the hardness of his arousal.
Desire flowed through her and she pushed on his chest, driving him out of the light, and the circle, and into the shadows of the stones. He yielded to her, his mouth still welded to hers, his hands hard and possessive as they roamed her body.
She used all her strength to push him backward until he slid down one of the upright stones and sat gazing up at her. She followed him down and ended up on her knees between his bent thighs. With a sigh, she lowered her head and kissed the heavy bulge in his hose, tasted the soft leather and the hint of his arousal. His hand fisted in her hair and she laughed, making him arch against her as though he sought the delights of her mouth.
With greedy hands she released him from his clothing and cupped his tight balls in the palm of her hand. His breath hissed out as she licked a dainty path from the root of his shaft to the top and then circled the already wet and thrusting crown with the tip of her tongue.
“Ah . . .” His soft groan and the kick of his shaft against her tongue was enough to embolden her further. She sucked him into her mouth and his hand relaxed to cradle her skull while his thumb smoothed an unsteady path around her ear.
His scent engulfed her senses and she breathed him in, took him even deeper until he was groaning with each steady stroke. She grabbed his left hand and guided it to her breast, moaned around his shaft as he plucked at her nipple, drawing it as taut as his quivering shaft and making it just as needy.
He palmed her buttocks and urged her closer. His clever fingers slid lower to play with her already wet and wanting quim, drawing from her what she drew from him, an endless stream of pleasure.
With a gasp she released his shaft and sat back on her heels. He made a rough sound of denial and reached for her. Verity tugged at his shirt and he pulled it over his head, leaving her staring at his muscled chest.
She placed her hand over his heated skin and felt the rapid beating of his heart. “I want you, Rhys.”
“Then take what you want.”
Verity knelt and positioned herself over his lap. He bit down hard on his lip as his cock brushed her inner thigh and then he wrapped his hand around the base.
“Take it.”
Verity slowly lowered herself on him, letting her weight and their wetness do their work. She couldn’t help but watch as he breached her. With a ragged sigh he let go of his cock and placed his hand on her hip.
Verity took a deep, steadying breath as she finally sank down fully over him. The heat from his shaft throbbed inside her, making her pulse with need in return. She felt so full she didn’t want to move ever again. She slowly raised her head and found him gazing at her. His hazel eyes reflected the dancing flames and his luscious mouth was a mixture of hard and soft that she yearned to touch.
She kissed him gently on the lips and used her tongue to outline his mouth. His hand moved to her shoulder, but she ignored the weight of it and concentrated on learning his mouth, what he liked, what he loved, and what made his shaft kick and swell within her like an untamed horse. Instinctively she squeezed back and swallowed a gasp of pleasure as tremors of delight radiated through her quim.
“Ah,
duw
, do that again.” Rhys groaned.
Verity complied, enjoying the sensation of her hips rocking into the motion while she locked her mouth with his and felt his rising desire. Soon it wasn’t enough and she had to move on him harder, rising and falling. His hands grasped her hips and his mouth locked on hers until the wet slam and glide of her body made him release his seed and sent her into a spasm of pleasure.
The sound of the drums reverberated in her ears and she became aware of people dancing and coupling around them. She didn’t want to raise her head and look at Rhys. She wanted to stay where she was until he grew hard inside her and she could satisfy her desire for him once more.
One of his hands smoothed her hair in an endless caress and the other comfortably cupped her buttocks. Her face was pressed into the crook of his shoulder and she could hear his steady breathing. She felt nothing like her anxious younger self. She was a woman now, and this time her choice felt right.
 
 
Rhys opened his eyes and stared out over the darkened glade. The fire had died down, but people were still dancing and the scents of mulled wine and baked festival meats hung in the air. Verity shifted in his arms and he fought an impulse to tighten his grip and keep her pressed against him. He hadn’t felt so alive in years. Or so complete.
She stirred again and this time he reluctantly let her push against his chest and sit up. Her thin shift clung to her body, wet from his mouth, their shared heat, and their passion. He wanted to put his mouth on her breast and use his tongue and teeth on her nipples . . .
She moved off him and his cock slid free of her body, the sudden coldness making him wince. She stood and her glorious golden hair swung forward, shielding her face and her body. Her hands were no longer touching him but smoothing down her rumpled shift. She half turned away and he tensed. Would she leave him like this? Still aroused and wanting her so badly he ached?
She held out her hand like a queen. “Dance with me.”
He struggled to his feet, his hose still unfastened and his shirt forgotten.
He took her hand. “I’m no good at dancing.”
She smiled and led him into the circle, her slender body swaying to the drums and pipes. He could do nothing but follow her, place his hands on her hips and allow his body to share her pleasure in yet another way. After a while she laughed up at him and then twirled away between the dancers.
He followed where she led him, sometimes catching her long enough to kiss or touch her, sometimes not, until his blood was on fire and all his hunting instincts roared at him to capture her and hold on.
She darted behind the altar and through the line of standing stones, her laughter urging him on, his body on fire for her. He waited until she hid behind one of the stones and then doubled back and came at her from behind. She shrieked as he caught her arm and wound his fist in her hair to reel her in.
The laughter in her eyes turned to passion when he backed her against the stones and brought his mouth down to ravage hers. It was his turn to take and plunder and possess, hers to let him, to sigh and gasp as he lifted her over his desperate prick and pounded into her. Her feet settled over his buttocks, her heels digging in and urging him onward. He needed no urging; the roar of his blood demanded he take his prize and fill her with his seed.
Her fingernails dug into his bare skin and she tightened around his prick and took her pleasure. He resisted the urge to join her, but pushed her on, climbing to another level of need and then another, until he could no longer do anything but thrust into her and breathe through the most shattering climax of his life.

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