Blood Deep
“A New Queen of Erotic Romance”
—
Romantic Times
Praise for
BLOOD RED
2007 National Readers’ Choice Award Winner for Erotic Romance
“A blazing path into forbidden dreams . . .”
—
Romantic Times BOOKreviews
“Ms. Page weaves an erotic and suspenseful tale that . . . puts you on a sexual roller coaster and doesn’t let you off . . . If you’re a lover of vampire romance, curl up on a cold winter night with
Blood Red
to warm your heart!” —
Just Erotic Romance Reviews
(Gold Star Award)
“An erotically charged tale . . . a wonderful action-packed story that combines suspense, intrigue, horror, bondage and yes, a whole lot of sex.”
—Coffee Time Romance
Praise for
BLOOD ROSE
“Page’s
Blood Rose
has scorching love scenes to make you sweat and an intriguing plot to hold it all together.”
—
New York Times
best-selling author Hannah Howell
“
Blood Rose
is an action-packed, sexy paranormal over-flowing with suspense, horror and romance. Sharon Page is a master of the ménage—
prepare to be seduced!”
—Kathryn Smith,
USA Today
best-selling author
“The female protagonist is completely believable, and the two vampire-slaying heroes . . . are simply hot! This is a thoroughly entertaining read.”
—
Romantic Times
“Buffy the Vampire Slayer meets Regency England! Two sexy, to-die-for heroes, a courageous heroine, and a luscious ménage make
Blood Rose
a sinful treat.”
—Jennifer Ashley,
USA Today
best-selling author
“A chilling tale of vampires with loads of suspense and intrigue combined with searing erotic heat . . . the magic of pure sexual steam that can only mean one thing—it’s another winner from Sharon Page!”
—Renee Bernard,
USA Today
best-selling author
“Intriguing paranormal romance along the same lines of Laurell K.
Hamilton’s early work . . . magic, mischief, and ménages.”
—Fresh Fiction
Praise for
SIN
2006 National Readers’ Choice Award Winner for Erotic Romance
“How do you have an orgasm without sex? Read
Sin
by Sharon Page! . . .
Thoroughly wicked, totally wild, utterly wanton and very witty in its execution,
Sin
is the ultimate indulgence.”
—
Just Erotic Romance Reviews
(Gold Star Award)
“Strong, character-driven romance . . . extremely sensual and erotic.”
—
Romantic Times BOOKreviews
“Sinfully delicious. Sharon Page is a pure pleasure to read.”
—Sunny,
New York Times
best-selling author of
Over the Moon
(anthology) and
Mona Lisa Awakening
“Sharon Page blends history, emotion, and hot, hot, hot sex within an amazing love story. Blazing erotica!”
—Kathryn Smith,
USA Today
best-selling author
“An erotic page turner that must be read only in an air conditioned room as the book is hot hot hot . . . Sharon Page is now on my ‘must be read’ list.”
—Romance Junkies
Praise for
BLACK SILK
RT TOP PICK 4 1⁄2 Stars: “This wonderful, well-written Regency has emotion, blindingly hot sex, complicated characters, and a surprise ending.”
—Romantic Times BOOKreviews
“I can sum this novel up in one word: wow! . . . Not only were the en
counters burn-your-fingers-hot but also emotional and romantic.” Gold Star Award!
—
Just Erotic Romance Reviews
Praise for
HOT SILK
“With an interesting plot, likable characters, suspense, sexual adventure, and romance, this story satisfies.”
—Romantic Times BOOKreviews
“A delightfully sensual story of love . . . Outstanding read!”
—Coffee Time Romance
Blood Deep
SHARON PAGE
APHRODISIA
KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.
http://www.kensingtonbooks.com
Blood Deep
Prologue
Magic
London
April 1807
Lord Sebastien de Wynter was bound to the bed, his arms and legs spread wide. A white sheet lay over the ridge of his erection. Four dark-haired courtesans smothered him with kisses—
one hungrily mashed her lips to his, one licked circles around the root of his cock, a third leaned over his chest and suckled his nipples. The last flicked her tongue around the toes of Sebastien’s right foot.
Zayan smiled at his friend’s long, fierce moans. He saw Sebastien thrash in pleasure against the ropes binding him. Good.
It was what Zayan needed tonight. It let him forget . . .
“Master?” The woman’s soft questioning voice floated to Zayan. She was tied up as Sebastien was, but her ropes held her up against a wall. Weights of beaten gold dangled from clamps at her nipples. He had hung small globes of black iron from hooks he threaded through piercings in her labia. She waited, submissively, for him to take her on the next step.
“I wish to learn, Master. I wish to be trained to serve ye.”
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Sharon Page
Soft, throaty, hers was an exquisite voice marred only by her country accent.
She expected to be whipped, but he did not want to do that.
He had waited two thousand years for this night.
Slowly, everything in the brothel’s large salon—every being, living and undead—took on a red glow. The red shadow crept around them all, perfectly matching each form in the act of writhing, jiggling, and driving toward sexual ecstasy. No one else saw the caressing mantel of red. He did. Brilliant crimson, it was the exotic, vivid color of blood.
It began faintly at first, a light outline. On his courtesan, the glow traced the full curve of her bare breasts, the flare of her wide hips. It burned brighter at the points of her nipples, partly hidden by the metal clamps. It glowed fiercely at the junction of her thighs where the weights dragged at her nether lips.
Zayan dropped his head back and let his hands rest on his thighs, palms up. He lay on a mound of silk cushions, surrounded by courtesans waiting to attend him.
The spoils of war . . .
This had once been his life, two thousand years ago, when he had been a mortal man. To return from battle and be treated like a god. To feast on the most delectable treats—plump grapes, luscious figs, roast meats. And the orgies. Women to feed him succulent food, pour his wine, and pleasure him with their tongues and their scented bodies.
He closed his eyes.
Blood. In his mind, sightless eyes stared at him from pale faces surrounded by a halo of blood. He had seen thousands of blank, lifeless eyes. He had joined in the games his men played with skulls, artfully kicking them back and forth.
He had never thought he would see blind, unseeing eyes on the people he loved.
Do you remember their faces?
A woman’s voice. It came from the haze of red that now BLOOD DEEP / 3
filled the room, and gave him the peace and serenity that other men sought from opiates.
This had been the voice that had sung to him as he had surveyed his battlefield and saw his army mowed down as though smote by the gods. Lush and alluring, it had called to him. It had promised him everything he needed to be victorious, and its price had not seemed like a price at the time. . . .
His soul. Immortality. To become undead.
Do you remember the sound of their laughter? Do you even
remember their smells as you held them close?
No. He fought every day to remember, but the faces of his children drifted farther away.
Embrace me and I can return them to you. Embrace me and
I can give you what you truly need.
A woman waggled her bare bottom in his face. She had a thick ivory wand pushed up inside, and long, luxurious peacock feathers flowed from its base like an exotic tail. Another approached and presented her derriere to his view. She had two candles in her bottom, tied with a white satin ribbon. Another series of ribbons were wound around that one and affixed her candles to her thighs and her waist. The wicks were lit and the molten wax dripped. Some droplets hit her stockings and she squealed. The last courtesan whispered, “I have nothing inside, Master. Won’t you fill me?”
The woman with the peacock’s tail was toying with her own swollen clit, lazily teasing and playing, obviously highly aroused.
But her strokes quickly became more deliberate.
“Patience,” he barked. “No climax yet.”
“I wish to be stuffed with your magnificent cock,” simpered the courtesan who had begged to be filled.
“No, slave. Candles for you.”
He grabbed one thick one and slathered it with molten oil.
At his command, the other girls gently eased it into the moaning tart’s quim.
4 /
Sharon Page
“Light her candle from yours, my sweet.”
And they amused him by trying to transfer the light from one of the two wicks to the long one on the thick white candle, without using their hands. They cheered their success, their faces flushed and strained from prolonging their arousal.
But he would not free them.
He needed them like this.
The red power fed on this heightened sexual need, and it gave him blissful freedom from the agony that now racked his body, the shrieking pain that ripped through his head. Opium hadn’t worked for him, but feeding this mystical power did.
“Pleasure me,” he commanded the bevy of women. Panting, they kneeled before him. The red mist swirled around him. But before the first prostitute could touch him, her irises turned red. Red fluid poured from her eye and she screamed in horror.
She clawed at her face. The others tried to pull her arms away. Zayan jolted up, grasped her wrists, and dragged her to him. He sent a rush of healing magic through her, but she still screamed and thrashed.
She slumped in his arms. Spittle bubbled at the corner of her mouth.
The red fluid no longer poured from her eyes, and it slowly vanished as though it had never existed.
By the gods, what had happened? He was supposed to take the power into him tonight. It had been promised. For two thousand years he had waited to take the full magnitude of the power the red mist could bestow.
Thank you,
a voice mocked him from somewhere inside his mind, and blissfully, the pounding, searing pain lightened in his head.
He felt a sigh rush through his body. When the mist came, it seemed to possess him. It spoke inside him in the way he was able to do with mortals.
Her soul is too scarred to satisfy me long.
BLOOD DEEP / 5
The power had never taken a soul before, but it did not surprise him. He took the blood, and through him the red power consumed the victim’s life and soul.
But he felt an odd tightening of his heart as he laid the limp girl gently to the floor. The other courtesans were whimpering, and a crowd was beginning to surround them—other patrons and whores must have heard or sensed the disturbance and were coming to see.
“She just collapsed.”
A woman sobbed.
“Was she sick?”
Sebastien, obviously now freed from his bonds, pushed his way through the crowd, his face stricken. He was wild, sensual, but softhearted; he had almost torn one abusive customer limb from limb. Pain touched his silvery green reflective eyes—eyes that fiercely snapped up. “What in blazes happened to her? Did you kill her?”
“He didn’t touch her!” one of the courtesans cried.
“She just collapsed.”
She had been a favorite of Sebastien’s and he lifted her in his arms.
No one spoke of the red fluid.
“Take her to one of the bedchambers,” he demanded. Servants rushed to do his bidding, but Sebastien was the one to carry her away.
Zayan straightened. Why this ache around his heart?
Remorse, Zayan,
whispered the voice.
If you help me, I can
give you what you desire most. You cannot have my power—I
cannot give that to you. You did not understand. But I will give
you your children and your soul. I will return them both to you
as though two thousand years never passed. I can give you heaven
on earth. I can give you both peace and love, and you remember,
I know, how sweet they were. But you must serve me. The price
6 /
Sharon Page
is your service—for a few more years, until you find the ultimate
prize.
Of course she could not give him the power—he’d been betrayed again by a woman.
I have served you, damn it, when I
vowed to serve no one
, he roared in his head.
For that, return
my children to me.
He had been the most feared Roman general. He had carved a brutal swath through the Gauls. He had been legendary—
struck a hundred times by killing blows, only to rise again. Then his emperor, his closest friend, and his
wife
had all betrayed him. He had vowed never to serve again—but for the chance at immortality he had broken that vow.