Blood Deep (12 page)

She jerked back. She moved down the seat away from him, smoothing her clothes. The surprise and betrayal in her eyes lanced his heart. It had been almost a millennium since he’d felt pain there. He remembered now why he had turned that kind of pain into hatred and thirst for revenge. He, who had known torture at Lucifer’s hands, found the hurt in this woman’s eyes crippling. He couldn’t understand it.

She had captivated him with her arousing fantasy. She had not wanted just to dominate him. She’d fantasized of bringing him to his knees with her sensuality. He’d learned what English ladies were like in the nineteenth century. Even though he’d been imprisoned for a thousand years by Lucifer for his act of rebellion, he had been allowed, on each solstice and each equinox, to cast himself into the body of a mortal man.

For one night each season, he had been able to experience life. It was meant to be a torture as much as a reprieve. One night gave him a hunger to live again, but he would be banished from the mortal body with the dawn. As the sun rose, he would find he was once more in his rock prison.

Nearly four thousand nights he’d been free of his prison—

almost eleven mortal years. For the first decades, he had spent those nights in search of his younger sister, Ara. Lucifer had taken her prisoner to make him obedient. Had the devil released her as he’d promised?

But he had not found Ara. And after one hundred years of searching on those four nights of freedom, he had known there was no reason to hunt anymore. If she had been freed, she would have been dead. She would have gone on to the afterlife—an innocent, good woman—which meant he, the demon, had lost her forever.

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For Ara, he wanted to rip Satan apart with his own hands.

But he needed power to do it—the power of the mate described in his prophecy. He’d thought he could find that power with Serena Lark, the woman who had been the child of the union between Eve, the first vampiress, and a fallen angel. He had thought she was the woman of the prophecy. But Serena had never glowed with the power that radiated off Miranda like a golden halo.

Could he take Miranda’s power and use it to find the vengeance he craved, once and for all?

And he, who lusted for revenge above all else, wanted now to get on his knees before Miranda, kiss her hands, make her forgive him for his sudden cold cruelty, and speak to her heart—

He couldn’t let himself do it.

The carriage door flew open, and Zayan leaped inside, cape flowing around him, eyes silver and wild with feral excitement.

“They are on the hunt for the woman they believe is a witch.

We must—” He broke off, and Lukos saw the vampire’s gaze lock on Miranda’s crumpled skirts. No doubt the vampire could scent the smell of sex in the carriage. Even a mortal man would be able to do it.

Zayan’s eyes turned vivid red with rage.

Lukos tensed, ready to fight to the death—or for them, since they were undead, the ultimate destruction.

It took a great deal of trust for him to let himself be tied up.

Drake Swift pulled at the ropes that bound his wrists and secured him to the posts of the enormous bed. Had he not done exactly the same thing to Serena, long ago, while trying to seduce her and capture her heart? She’d trusted him, and that meant he could not refuse her wish to be the dominant in this erotic game now.

He did trust her. After a lifetime of trusting no one, he would trust his wife Serena and Jonathon, the Earl of Sommersby, 94 /
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with his life. Or rather his existence, not his life, since he was a vampire.

He glanced up now to see his lovely wife. She was pacing at the end of the bed. Her hair hung in loose black waves to the small of her back. Her wrapper was open, revealing her larger breasts and the taut curve of her ripened, pregnant belly. She tapped her chin, letting her gaze slowly slide up his body from bound ankles to secured wrists. Heat rushed over his skin in the wake of her blatantly aroused look. “Now that I have you bound, I am not certain what I should do with you.”

“Leave him there,” urged a masculine voice from the door.

“Leave him and come to
my
bed.”

“Don’t even think of it, Sommersby,” Drake called out. He craned his neck to see Serena’s other husband—and his former partner when he had been a vampire slayer—lounging in the doorway. “I’d shift shape to a bat and reach your bed before you did.”

Jonathon chuckled.

Serena placed her hand on her hips. “I thought you had both agreed not to argue while I am enceinte. I do not wish my twins to be learning these habits.”

“We’re not arguing,” Drake and Jonathon protested together.

Serena, though married to both he and Jonathon, had taken Jonathon’s name. Drake had insisted on it. She should be a countess, he had decided. English society would not have accepted a love affair between an unmarried woman and an earl, so it had to be marriage. And Jonathon and Serena were obviously so much in love that society would have noticed. Of course, Drake and Serena were deeply in love too. But no one cared who Drake Swift was married to. Only their closest friends knew they lived in a ménage à trois. And those friends were those who knew they were also vampires.

Drake grinned. “I think you should be fair, little lark, and tie BLOOD DEEP / 95

Jonathon up too.” His cock lifted from his groin as she crooked her finger to bid Sommersby to come for a little punishment. . . .

Serena sighed. They had fallen to the mattress in a tangle of heaving chests and sweaty limbs. “A bath,” Drake suggested.

“I’ve ordered one to be prepared.

“Ooh, lovely,” Serena gasped. But she rolled away from him, cradling her heavy stomach. She was a lucky woman to have two such delicious men. Drake would be the leader in bondage games, and she and Jonathon would follow. Then Jonathon would lay her down afterward and lick her cunny for an hour, as he’d done tonight, until she was weak from orgasms and wondering if she could melt away to nothing in sheer sexual exhaustion.

Tonight, she had tortured her two bound men by sucking each one in turn but stopping as they came close to climax. She was certain they could break their bonds, but each played the game. And then, to add to their exquisite torture, she’d slid two ivory wands inside their tight derrieres and one up her own.

She’d ridden them both and climaxed hard for each one, before they had exploded in their own ecstasies.

But now, glancing up, she saw the strain in both men’s eyes.

She knew the men, just as she was, were terrified to face the truth that their twins might not survive. She knew both were working to find a solution in their own ways. Drake through using his charm to coax all the knowledge he could from the vampire queens. Jonathon had been forcing himself to work in his laboratory even during daylight hours.

They were men and believed they must be stoic—unflappable, unemotional, rational, and strong. They must be the strength on which she could rely.

In silence, she took both men’s hands and led them to the bath.

* * *

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Serena’s belly floated, buoyant in the water. It took some of the weight and pain away, and soothed her back. Her breasts were large and full, her nipples dark, and they bobbed as the water sloshed.

She finished washing Jonathon, soaping her hands and rubbing them over his solid, well-muscled chest. Each man possessed shoulders as wide as the huge bathtub, and because of their large, long-limbed frames, Drake and Jonathon sat at each end of the tub, and she nestled in the middle, between them.

Serena hated to spoil the erotic pleasure of the moment, but knew she could not avoid it any longer. “There is something we must speak about,” she said. “I know you men will not. You are afraid to worry me.”

She stepped up out of the water, and the rivulets ran down her body. Drips gathered around her protruding navel. Instantly, both Jonathon and Drake were on their feet to help her from the tub. With each of her men’s hands clamped securely on her wrists, she clambered to the step, then stepped down to the thick mat beside the tub. She reached for a towel that hung by the fireplace.

The men were waiting and she had to speak of it. “Althea’s baby is not thriving,” she said softly.

Jonathon swung out of the bath and grabbed a white towel to wrap around his waist—actually below his waist, just at the line of his hipbones. He picked up another and rubbed at his hair with one hand, but wrapped the other around her and drew her close. “We’ll find the answer, Serena. Your mother has agreed to help us.”

She clutched the towel to her heavy breasts. “I don’t think she knows how, Jonathon. I have searched through the library here, and the one at the monastery—” That one was a famed library of the Royal Society, tended by the monks for several centuries. She and Althea had been the first women permitted to enter.

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And that had been only at the insistence of Lord Denby, the Head of the Society. He was the only member of the society who knew that she and Althea were here. He was too afraid that rogue members would try to destroy Althea’s child—a vampire child—and would try to kill Serena before she could give birth to her twins.

“There is an answer, Serena. The books talk of born vampires.”

“But we’ve never found any. And no book speaks of how the vampire children survived. If we cannot figure out how to feed them—”

“We will.” Drake’s deep voice cut through her rising panic.

She trusted both Jonathon and Drake, but she knew there were some disasters that even the deepest love could not prevent.

“I don’t believe my mother can help. She barely remembers how I survived. She surrendered me to a mortal wet nurse. And that has not worked for Serry.”

Jonathon tossed aside the damp towel he’d used on his dark brown hair. Wild and tangled, it hung rakishly around his dark eyes. “I just received a letter from Denby. I just read it before our . . . session.”

She had to smile at his choice of words. They had all just done the most erotic things. And she heard the uplift of his voice.

The hope.

“Has he found an answer? A way to save our children?”

Jonathon kissed to top of her wet hair, then turned her and began gently drying her hair with a towel. “The Society has discovered a young woman living in London with a power they have never seen before. Apparently, she has the power to resurrect the dead.”

She jerked around, which meant he tugged her hair.

“What?” cried Drake from the tub. Sloshing water told her he was getting out.

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“Miss Eugenia Bond claims that her niece has this power.

She finally revealed this to Lord Denby. She was attacked by a vampire with her own stake, and the lady in question—Miranda Bond—brought her back to life. Just by laying her hand on the victim’s chest, Miss Miranda Bond is capable of returning life. Either by bringing back the soul or imparting some sort of force into the body that jolts the heart back to life.” He paused, thoughtfully. “I would like to study her.”

“Jonathon . . .” But she knew his methods of study would not be like his father’s. His father cut vampires open to try to understand how they worked. The late Earl of Sommersby had dissected dead vampires and “live” ones.

Serena bit her lip. “Do you mean that you think this woman could bring our children back to life if they . . . die?”

Drake was at her side. He stroked her shoulder and faced Jonathon. “Or return their souls to them and make them mortal before that happens?”

Jonathon nodded. “This may be the only answer.”

“But we don’t know. And this lady is in London.”

“We would have to travel. With Althea’s young baby and you—”

“Ready to pop out two babies at any moment,” she added ruefully. “But it’s March and some of the passes are still filled with snow.”

“Denby says the Society is trying to protect her. Eugenia has been keeping the girl’s power a secret, but a slayer named James Ryder has found her.”

“Ryder,” Drake spat.

Serena swallowed hard. “I’ve never heard of a slayer named Ryder.”

“He’s rogue. For years he’s worked for himself—he offers vampires protection for a price. He’s even killed some of the demons that the Society has been protecting because he was paid to do it by other vampires. He’s driven by greed.”

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“So someone wants to kill this woman?” Serena asked.

“If she can revert vampires to mortals, there are a lot of the undead who would want to see her destroyed,” Drake answered.

She shivered. She knew what it was to have both demons and the Society in pursuit of her.

“So we must go to London.” There was no other choice. She looked up at Jonathon and Drake. “But could I be made mortal? Could our children? If we are born of the undead, do we even have souls?” She looked from Drake’s silvery green eyes to Jonathon’s, as dark and reflective as jet in the low light of the fire. “Would you both choose to be mortal again?”

“I would choose to be whatever you wish to be and can be, Serena,” Drake vowed.

“As would I,” Jonathon added.

But Drake had been made by Lukos—he had never had a choice. And Jonathon had chosen to be made a vampire by Drake to save his life.

What right did she have to keep them from making the choice that was really in their hearts?

Drake waited until Serena was asleep. She lay on their large bed, turned on her side. A pillow was caught between her legs, and one partly supported her rounded belly, for this made her more comfortable when she slept.

Drake lit a cheroot and walked out to the balcony. Clouds raced past the half moon, and the peaks of the Carpathians were lost in a haziness that meant a snowstorm approached.

Jonathon was leaning on the carved balustrade, also smoking.

Drake joined him. Jonathon acknowledged him with a brief nod, while not turning his gaze from the turbulent sky.

“I felt an awareness of Lukos today. Since he was my sire, I am connected to him.”

Jonathon nodded. Drake had sired Jonathon.