Blood Deep (18 page)

Miranda’s scent teased him as he drew out her chair and watched her stiffly seat herself. She smelled of sweat, of blood, but also a trace of feminine vanilla and roses. She smelled of life.

And she carried a richer natural perfume—the intoxicating aroma of magic.

He watched her lift her wineglass to her soft lips, and he remembered . . .

Once he had returned home in haste from the battlefield. He had burst into his house. He had found his children sleeping, his wife bathing. She had rejected him that
night—because of the gore still on him, the stench of his
body. Even after he’d bathed, she had been like wood in
his bed, her body stiff and her eyes closed. He knew she
took lovers while he fought. He knew she did not love
him, but what he had not known was how far she would
go to betray him—

He had left her sleeping and had gone to his children.

He had kissed them. He could remember the curve of their
cheeks, the velvet softness of their skin, darkened to honey-bronze by the Mediterranean sun. The smell of that sunshine had clung to their hair.

But he could not remember anything more.

The clink of dishes brought Zayan back to the present. His silvery gray gaze followed each motion of Miranda’s graceful BLOOD DEEP / 145

hands as she ate. Spoonful after spoonful of meat and sauce.

Watching her try to eat daintily with ravenous hunger eased the iciness around his heart. Soft cooing sounds escaped her as she ate. She enjoyed her food with simple passion.

Lukos was drinking—demons could—and watching Miranda, flames reflected in his eyes.

Zayan took his glass, the wine not drunk, and went to the window. He had forgotten this feeling around his heart—tightness, awareness, something much richer than lust.

Then he blinked; dawn was only a few hours away. Far below, a few lights glittered in the tiny village at the base of the hill. A mass of heartbeats thrummed in the town. But above, around the moon, red clouds swirled.

Zayan . . .

The voice of the red power sang in his head. Christ, it had come to him.

Fingers of red mist streaking down from the sky toward the village—

From behind, Miranda cried out, “No! What are you doing?”

Zayan spun away from the window, his every muscle tensed, his body primed to attack Lukos to protect Miranda. Not to claim her—to protect her.

Then he relaxed. A maid had walked into the room—a much younger servant than the others, a fresh-faced young lady with flaxen curls and a peaches-and-cream complexion. To a vampire, she was like a delectable pastry. And with his attention fixed on the red mist, he hadn’t sensed her heartbeat.

Wearing a fetching blush, the maid curtsied. “My lord? You summoned me?” Her smooth throat was a pretty column of ivory.

“Stop this.” Miranda smacked her spoon on the table. She leapt to her feet as the maid padded to Lukos’s side. “Let her go.”

Zayan took a seat. Lukos had trained in the Scholomance, 146 /
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had learned great power from Lucifer, had plotted to rule the world of vampires, but he behaved like a rebellious boy most of the time. Zayan should be pleased; it would turn Miranda’s heart from Lukos, but it would also remind her what they both were, and that would damage his chances of getting those magical words from her—
I love you
—and then getting her power.

“Do not do this to try to prove something to me. Do not do this as revenge for my—my kiss.”

Power rolled off Miranda in her outrage. The magical forces surrounded her like an aura of gold. And the red power would sense it.

Lukos crooked his finger, and without a word exchanged, the pretty maid flounced to him and planted her rounded bottom on his lap. She tilted her head and her curls tumbled away from her neck. Lukos grazed her lace-trimmed cap with his fangs, then leaned to that tempting curve of ivory skin and sank his fangs deep.

Zayan went instantly hard at the small pop of the penetration of flesh. The coppery sweet smell of her rushing blood flooded Zayan’s head. He had not fed for hours, and now hunger pounded in him, a thousand times more demanding than lust.

His fangs erupted.

Damnation, his beastlike nature was exploding out. He could not show it in front of Miranda. Not when he had to capture her heart.

The maid squealed in shock, but she relaxed quickly underneath Lukos’s spell. Her face tipped back in blissful ecstasy.

“Oh, aye, aye, sirrah,” she moaned.

Miranda had snatched up her fork and was stalking toward Lukos.

Zayan heard the race of the Miranda’s heart. He heard the healthy thump of the maid’s strong one. Moaning and gasping, the maid wriggled on Lukos’s lap. She rocked her derriere on him and thrust her breasts forward. Zayan could sense Lukos BLOOD DEEP / 147

was playing, not slaking his thirst. And no doubt this maid had been a plaything of Lord Blackthorne’s—

Miranda was pulling at Lukos’s shoulders.

“Ooh, sir. I’m coming.” The maid bucked on Lukos’s lap.

He had not touched her, just had taken her blood. Lukos lifted his mouth from her neck. Blood darkened the white fangs. Miranda had been pulling on Lukos’s hair—so hard she clutched a few long black strands in her hand.

Lukos bent back to lick the smear of blood and the wounds on the maid’s neck. To heal them. He gently lifted the maid off his lap and she landed on unsteady legs. A dreamy expression touched her pretty face. “Thank ye, sir.” And she stumbled away to the door.

Lukos flashed a wry grin to Miranda. “With her, I can control myself. I wanted to show you that. I didn’t hurt her; it was pleasurable for her. I’m not an ordinary drone of a vampire, I’m a demon. A powerful one. But with you, I can’t control my hungers and desires, angel—”

A quick motion and he had lifted Miranda and planted her on her rump on the edge of the table. Lukos tossed up her skirts. She desperately, angrily, tried to pull them down. “How dare you? After biting her, don’t you touch—”

The blue silk skirts were at her hips, showing the creamy skin of her thigh above her garters. Zayan loved the costume of English maidens—the filmy stockings and pretty garters, the slender flowing skirts, the low-cut bodices that lifted full, bouncy breasts up for his appreciation.

Lukos bent his mouth to Miranda’s wet cunny. Golden curls covered her mound, and the lips below were rose pink and slick. Wildly, she slapped at Lukos’s head, but her blows just glanced off him.

Lukos was not using magic to seduce her, only his skill and her innate, fierce desire.

He ate her cunny greedily. His heartbeat slightly quicken148 /
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ing, Zayan watched Miranda fight the physical pleasure. She had her hands clenched into fists, and each time her body softened, she immediately jerked her spine straight and pummeled Lukos’s shoulders.

Zayan could imagine her taste—the salty, primal essence of her on his lips and tongue. He tossed back the wine, unaware of its flavor. There were only two tastes he hungered for: the slickness of Miranda’s quim and the coppery tang of her blood.

Damn.

Lukos was making her juices flow and their scent maddened him. It filled the air, filled his senses. Zayan wanted to drag Lukos aside and make her climax himself.

Lukos was dipping hothouse grapes into her lush cunny, scooping her juices and touching them to her lips. She looked shocked. Lukos popped the grape into his mouth, then licked his lips.

Zayan wanted to press her down on the snowy white tablecloth and tease her with fruit and wine, but he had to wait, watch, let Lukos do this. Jealousy. Lust. Need. They were weakening emotions. He had deadened emotion when he had first been a soldier. It had flared to life with his marriage—lust and love and possessive need—and had become stronger with the births of his children. With them he had known poignant sweetness, pride, the deepest, richest love. But Claudia had betrayed him and he’d lost his children—

“No!” Miranda cried; then she screamed out, climaxing on top of the table. Her hand sent a glass of wine toppling and a bowl of pudding skidding across the table. Platters of roast pig and beef rattled.

Lukos lifted from her. With her feet against his shoulders, Miranda pushed him back. “That wasn’t seduction,” she gasped.

“And I am furious with you for feeding from that maid.”

Then she lifted her hand and a stream of scarlet light flew from her palm. It hit Lukos’s shoulder, and the vampire howled BLOOD DEEP / 149

in pain. He staggered back, gripping the wound, a look of shock etched on his face.

Zayan stared—the stream of red light was the same color as the red power. Miranda leapt down off the table and ran from the room. Zayan shifted shape to a bat and flew after her in pursuit.

All Miranda could think of was the sight of Lukos’s fangs touching the woman’s neck, then plunging in. She had been horrified, then stunned by his victim’s reaction. The woman’s face had glowed with pure ecstasy—she looked like a woman who had seen angels.

Miranda rushed to her bedroom and locked the door, knowing the gesture was likely insignificant against the men’s strength.

She hugged herself as she paced the large, silent room.

Lukos had not hurt the woman. Why did it bother her so much? Was it the belief that he could lose control and kill? Or was it the fact that when he fed, the experience he shared with other women was so erotic?

Madness. It was mad to feel . . . jealous. Even a mortal man would have had many lovers. She knew men were rarely, if ever, faithful.

She thought of the horrible torture she had seen Lukos endure. Wasn’t it amazing that he was not just a killer? My God, she had seen him lose his eyes. She had seen him covered in blood—

Miranda heard the soft sound—the beat of wings, faintly for it was coming from beyond her closed window.

Let me come in, love.
Zayan’s voice.

When she had been young, Aunt Eugenia had warned her that if a vampire ever came to her father’s house, she was never to open a window or door to it. She had always agreed, while secretly giggling. A vampire coming openly to the house? That was mad.

But now she slowly walked to the window. Her fingers played 150 /
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on the latch. She thought of the images she had seen of Zayan’s children.

What if she could touch him again and see more? What if she could see the face of the killer?

Then she looked down at her hand and saw a red mark appear in the center of her palm. A diamond shape. It vanished but in her shock, she flicked the latch and the window swung wide.

Zayan flew in and materialized before her.

Miranda gasped in amazement. He stood before her naked.

He held out his hand. She saw not a vampire before her, or a hard, ruthless general, but a man driven by desire. A man feeling vulnerability along with his need.

“I dreamed of you. I dreamed of a woman while I was held in captivity—a woman wrought of gold and sunshine. And I understand now that she was you. I know you didn’t see me, I was always making love to you from behind.” He bowed, his long erection wobbling in front of him. “You belong to me, love.

And I remember you saucily told me that I belong to you.”

Miranda stared. She had dreamed of Zayan. He had been the man in her erotic dreams, the man she had never seen. “Those were dreams only.” And she frowned. “Did you put them there?”

He shook his head. “That power I don’t have. I can’t come to you in dreams. You have to bring me to you.”

“What does that mean?”

But he grasped her hand, held it to his mouth for a kiss that made her toes sizzle in her shoes. And he drew her into his embrace, and slanted his mouth over hers.

Suddenly, she felt as fiercely hot and tense and excited as she did in her dreams. But how could she? She had just been jealous over Lukos, and she had shared dark, astonishing fantasies with him. How could she feel such a rush of excitement in Zayan’s arms? But she felt as molten, as intensely aroused, as she had when Lukos had plopped her on the dining room table.

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Zayan’s kiss deepened, his tongue slid in and played with hers, and she moaned in approval, surrender, and pure, hungry lust.

There had been another man in her last dream. If the dreams were the truth, or some kind of prophesy, who was the man with the golden hair?

And in her last dream, she’d been bitten . . .

Moonlight shimmered in, and before Miranda’s eyes it turned fiercely red and bathed Zayan in its vivid glow.

9

Daylight

The red mist swirled around both Zayan and Miranda for seconds, twirling around her throat, making her shiver. It slithered down her breasts toward her belly and hips; then it vanished.

It was the exact same deep, intense scarlet as the light that had shot from her hand. In its wake, it left images in her head.

Visions from her dreams with Zayan. She was flooded by memories of the things she had done with him, with this naked man who stood before her.

“You did that, didn’t you? You sent that burst of red light from my hand to hit Lukos.”

He paused for a moment, and she believed he’d deny it.

Then he slowly, reluctantly, nodded. “I had to, Miranda.”

She should be exasperated, but gazing on him, she couldn’t be. She understood the inspiration of the artists of Rome, who had turned marble into exquisite male bodies. Zayan possessed a warrior’s body. Shoulders that must be as wide as the doorways in the castle and formed of straight planes of bone and solid muscle. His chest was a play of light and shadow, revealing taut ridges and two dark bronze nipples that puckered as he looked at her. She wanted to run her hands down his chest and 154 /
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touch the cobbled beauty of his muscled abdomen. Then grasp his amazing erection, for the thick, heavy shaft lifted proudly to his navel, and the head looked taut enough to burst.

He was beautiful. Every inch of him. Yet, she was cautious now, uncertain if she could touch him.