Seized by the Vampire Lord (Dark Lords) (4 page)

He advanced on her with a surge of strength that had her backing away, trepidation rising in intoxicating waves.  She came to a halt as her backside met the wall, and still he didn’t stop, not until his body was within a breath of her own.  Her lungs fought to drag in air.  Her chest rose and fell with ragged breath as though she’d run from him.

Heat and tension permeated him, stealing across the narrow space to invade her flesh.  His muscles were rigid with repressed power, agitated from restraint.  Cerise sensed he could attack at any moment, that he was prepared to intercept any move she might make to try and escape.

“You have no notion how much a beast I can be, Cerise,” he growled softly, leaning close.

His aggression aggravated her senses, made them riot out of control.  She was aroused and she didn’t know why, couldn’t understand her response.  She only knew she must diffuse his anger if she were to survive it.

The moisture had fled her body, sucked to the core of her femininity, leaving her mouth and throat unbearably dry.  Cerise moistened her lips, meaning to apologize for her abrasive impulsiveness, but his gaze seized on the slight movement of her tongue and her voice died in her throat.  Her knees went weak as a fresh surge of hot, pulsing excitement filled her.

“I didn’t mean to offend,” she said breathlessly, her nipples hardening with the nearness of his chest, aching to feel him crushed against her.

“You said exactly what you meant to say,” he snarled softly, snatching her other wrist and pinning both arms above her head.  He leaned closer, his gaze capturing hers as his chest pressed against her breasts.  She wanted to moan at his pressure, at the weight of him against her.  Her breasts felt impossibly heavy, swollen.  His eyes were filled with dark intent, smoky with sensual menace.

Cerise’s sex clenched in anticipation.  Her mind reeled in abhorrence at her response, yet she was incapable of denying it.  Some enchantment stole over her, suffocating her natural inclination to fight him, leaving a watered version of herself that craved the touch of the forbidden.  Her entire body felt seized by demanding need.  She felt like she would burn up with it if he didn’t touch her, more.  Rougher.

“No,” she whispered, shaking her head weakly, her voice thready with pent-up emotion and breathless expectation.  Her lips parted to drag air in as he bridged the distance between their mouths.

Her body jolted as his lips covered hers.  Cerise could barely restrain a whimper of arousal as the wet heat of his tongue slipped along the seam of her lips with haunting precision.  Her arms strained—to do what, she didn’t know, but some insane urge made her want to close herself around him.  His hands tightened around her wrists as if he were more than aware of the reaction she fought to hide.

His tongue surged inside her mouth, possessive fire that melted the fragile strength of her resistance.  Cerise jerked against him, yearning to free her hands and escape his sensual invasion.  It was too much, too intimate.  The invasion of something so vitally him—his taste, his scent—made her quiver inside with revulsion and longing.  He tasted hot, wild and dangerous, some inscrutable taste that was at once intoxicating and frightening with intensity.  His voracious tongue swept through her mouth, tasting her with a savage hunger that bordered on starvation.

His chest crushed against her breasts, engorged her nipples to the point of pain.  The shift offered no protection from the hardness of his chest, from the feel of his muscles melding against her.

Cerise whimpered, clenching her hands in frustration.  He slanted his mouth over hers, tangling his tongue with her own, seeking to seduce her into a dark lust that would consume her if he himself did not first.

He groaned against her lips, pressing her into the wall, bending his legs to rub the hard bulge of his arousal against her mound in rough promise.

He clasped her wrists in one hand, moving his free hand down to thrust her shift up, until his fingers grazed the length of one thigh.  Cerise struggled against sensation, against the desire to welcome his touch.  He shoved a knee between her legs, pulling her shift taut on the front of her thighs.

His hard muscled thigh rubbed against her moistened slit with a deliberate slide that had her trembling, had her blood racing with exhilaration.  His tongue continued to taste her, but he’d changed now, savored instead of devoured.  Cerise felt trapped.  Her clit throbbed with needy longing.  Her cleft felt smothered by her shift, unable to feel the intensity she longed for.

She shook her head, grappling for sanity, willing her body to calm.

He tugged her lip with his teeth, the sharp edges of his fangs scraping her.  He tore his mouth from hers, dragging his lips down, along her jaw, rocking his thigh between her legs, grinding against her mound.

Daegon was drowning in the scent and feel and taste of her.  She was sweeter than he’d imagined, spicy with fear and arousal.  He slid his tongue over her throat, licking up the delicious sweetness of her skin as though she could satisfy the gnawing hunger inside him.  He whispered over her neck, piercing her skin with his fangs, enjoying her shudder of pain and pleasure.

His cock throbbed in his breeches, sensing the nearness of her cleft, straining for freedom and heat and moist darkness.  The need thundered through his blood, overpowering reason.  Fury made him rougher.  He nicked her throat with his fangs.  She moaned, arching her neck, the victim instinctively reaching for the ecstasy of the bite.

Rapacious hunger swallowed him.  His fangs lengthened, growing with the need for blood, to ravage flesh.  He fought the darkness, but couldn’t hold it back.  He tasted a drop of her blood on his tongue and a hard spasm of lust convulsed in his shaft.  He groaned in agony and ecstasy, sucking her neck, marking her with his possession.

She consumed him, overwhelmed his reason.  He couldn’t taste enough of her, couldn’t feel enough of her.  The fire burned, sizzled in his veins.  He wanted to sink into her—his fangs, his cock.

Pain erupted in his groin, hot as molten metal searing his skin.  He longed to thrust his cock into her core and quench the fire.

He reached for her thigh, ripping her shift as he hooked around her knee and hauled her leg up to his hip.  The violence felt good, but he wanted more, he wanted her to scream with pleasure only he could give.  He bent his knees, coming up against her mound with a surge of strength that had her crying out in pleasure.

Her wet heat seeped through his breeches as he ground his engorged cock against her clit.  He absorbed her scent, got drunk off her musky desire and frightened, aroused whimpers.

She’d awakened the predator with her tongue and anger.  How good it would feel wrapped around his shaft, suckling him until he came inside her mouth.

The pounding of her heart beat against his chest, edging the blind desire to unexpected heights.  Some distant part of his mind cried out in warning, recognized her desire had become fear alone.  He halted his movements, his breath ragged against her neck, harsh as the frigid pain coursing through his veins.

How much the beast he’d become, fueled by desire and unable to resist destroying those weaker than himself.  A shudder wracked her body, resonating in the hatred he bore himself.

He released her hands and moved away from her, watching as she tilted her head, covering her face and shame with her hair.  She closed her arms around her chest, hugging herself as though cold.  He knew she did it to protect herself, knew his actions had caused the change in her.

She hadn’t feared him before.  Now she knew the nature of the beast, knew the hunger he possessed … knew that he could not contain it in her presence.  There would be no calming her, no opportunity to gain her trust now.

Did he truly want it?

He did not.  He wanted only to part her soft folds and sink inside her and appease the greed of his soul.  He cared nothing for human life—only for their nourishment and his own entertainment.

“Get to your room,” he growled softly, angry at himself for losing control, angry at allowing her to break into his barriers.

Without a word, she scurried back up the stairs.  Daegon watched her go, his anger dissipating but the eager arousal still thudding in his groin.  He lied to himself, as he always did.

In the shadows, he heard a woman’s whispering voice.  A taunting song filled the hall, spidery words of a language long dead.  She sang to him, as she did every night.

Tonight, the words pierced him with bittersweet longing … a longing to change the destiny he had created for himself so long ago in one act of unforgivable cruelty.  But it was not to be.

Chapter Four

Cerise slammed the door behind her and rushed to the wash stand, set the pitcher on the floor, and pulled the stand along until she could push it in front of the door.  She tried the handle but couldn’t budge the door open.  Satisfied he could no longer sneak into her room, she threw back the curtains surrounding her bed and collapsed on top of it.  Her hands shook, and she clasped a pillow to combat the agitation flooding her.

She lay still, waiting for the achy trembles to subside.  Her womanhood felt unbearably slick from what he’d done to her.  She breathed shakily in remembrance, hoping to never see him again.

She didn’t know why he’d stopped, but she was thankful.  With a few practiced moves, he’d made her mad to feel his touch.  She couldn’t handle such desperation.  It was unlike her to need something so badly.  And she knew exactly what it was he made her crave.  The ache between her legs begged to be satisfied.  She’d seen what happened in Raedan when night stole over the household.  The servants and soldiers satisfied carnal needs in any dark corner they could find.  Some became heavy with child.

Was Daegon Erlansson even capable of fathering a child?  Would he create demon spawn such as himself, creatures that drank blood to survive?

No matter how human he looked, she could not forget he was a creature of evil.  His actions this night reinforced that fact.

She simply had to find some way of escaping him.  Surely he would sleep some time, and without his guard, she would leave.  She was fairly certain there was no one else in the castle.  For all its beauty, there was something hauntingly cold about its halls, an emptiness that defied description.

If she didn’t know better, she would swear it
was
haunted.  She shuddered, hugging the pillow tight to her chest.  But it was haunted—by the undead.

The set of her thoughts brought her no comfort, only more questions and unease.  She knew this place would drain her of life force, even if he did not.

Cerise stood from the bed and strode to the window, looking out on the nightscape.  As far as she could see under the pale light, there were nothing but woods for miles.  She had no notion how far it was to reach home, or even what direction Raedan lay in.  She’d wanted to help her sister but realized now, she needed her own hero to sweep her away.  Of course, Cerise had no intention of waiting for rescue.  She would have to take care of herself.

Bianca was the eldest, and she felt if anyone could survive in a harsh environment, it would be her.  As to herself, she didn’t intend to remain in the vampire lord’s castle for long.

Her stomach gave a loud rumble, and she rubbed it absently, wondering how long she’d been there.  The last thing she remembered eating had been luncheon, and then she’d lost her horse soon after, along with her supplies.

She would need to replenish her supplies for her trip and, if possible, find some means of conveyance.  At the least, she had to find sturdy slippers, a coat, and another gown to protect her from the chill settling on the land.  She wondered how much she could gather from the castle without him becoming aware of it.  Then too, there was the matter of the hounds outside.

Feeling the weight of too many questions and not enough answers made her tired.  Cerise turned from the window and took the pitcher up she’d set on the floor when moving the stand.  She quenched her thirst and set it down again, dowsing the candles as she went.

She crawled into bed, snuffing the candle flame beside her, wondering how long her respite would last.

* * * *

Daegon watched the even rise and fall of her chest, the peaceful expression on her face, feeling the longing that embraced him every night when the moon reached its zenith and descended.  She was blessed and she did not realize it, advantaged by such a simple act, as every living being was.

She slept.

Envy embittered him, as it always did when encountered with one of the many simple pleasures he could not enjoy.  Yet he did not wish it otherwise for her.  He enjoyed watching her slumber.  She was unaware of her sensual nature in bed, the way she rubbed her legs together as she turned, the way she moved a ticklish lock of hair from her throat.  She even talked in her sleep, and he found it fascinating to listen to the jumble of expressions that poured from her mouth.

When first he heard this, he’d been surprised and thought her awake.  She was amazingly coherent, until he began talking back to her, asking her how she felt.  Then her words grew bizarre, as bizarre, he imagined, as her dreams were.  Touching her to calm her only enflamed her, it seemed, for she’d begun moaning and begging for his touch.

He grew aroused remembering what had happened only a few short hours ago.  Night surpassed the day as winter’s hand neared.  ‘Twas hard to believe he’d found her so soon after dusk, harder still to know that morning was but a breath away.