Follow The Night (Bewitch The Dark) (21 page)

Drawing in a deep breath, she exhaled. With that breath she released apprehension and fear. And found deep within, the desire. This man struggled with a force far greater than the two of them combined.

Lifting her head, she nodded. Gabriel’s hand slid across hers and she led him inside her room. Into the darkness, and into her soul.

Gabriel followed Roxane to the bedside where she lifted the tinder box to light a candle. He placed a hand over hers. “No.”

The action of them setting the box on the table together upset a crystal vase of flowers. He bent to pluck up a shard of clear glass and set it on the table.

“I’ll help you.”

“No need. Toussaint will get it in the morning. Just step carefully.”

Her breaths came quickly. Gabriel relaxed as well as a man can relax when his heart was pounding and the inner screams for blood tormented. Fisting one hand to his stomach he strained against the cries for relief.
Concentrate on the woman
. Scent of rosemary. Eyes so pleading and open.

She slid onto the bed and extended her arms to invite him. Tugging the shirt over his head, he dropped it over the glass shards and the scattered flowers, and climbed onto the bed.

Intent in her own desires, Roxane’s fingers worked the buttons on his breeches. His cock strained for release. As did the hunger. His head tucked to the curve of her neck, Gabriel gritted his jaw.

“Put it from your thoughts,” she whispered. Buttons released, his heavy organ thumped upon her stomach. “Think only of now. The two of us.” She kissed the side of his forehead and lured him to kiss her mouth. He bulleted kisses down her jaw and along her soft as talcum neck.
Beware the pulse
. He did not veer where he knew the thick vein pulsed close to the surface. As well, beware the tiny vial suspended on the delicate chain. It slipped over her shoulder and landed on the sheets. The urge to toss it across the room, dispel any hint of danger, was not there. Bring on the challenge!

So hot, her flesh, oozing rosemary, woman, and the sweetest taste of perspiration. He dashed his tongue along the crisp lace that guarded her treasures like a crenellated battlement. There were no ties in front of this stiffened bodice, a trap of satin and stitches.

“Turn over,” he urged, and pressed a trail of fervent kisses over her shoulder and back of her neck, as he worked at the laces paralleling her spine.

Ribbons zinged through threaded grommets as he hastily unloosed her restraints, unstringing an instrument so he may command her song. The final grommet set free the laces and the whole bodice slid from her body. Roxane slipped her arms from the sleeves and rolled to her back. Flushed cheeks and parted lips drew him to drink from her mouth. Heaven on earth. Drown within this woman. Float? No, not if it meant a struggle. He must release, surrender to her allure.

Pulling open the ties of her thin chemise revealed her breasts. Pebbled nipples teased his fingers to pinch and roll. So hard, his cock. He adjusted his hips, allowing it to slide between her legs, all heat, moist and inviting.

“So luscious.” He cupped her breasts. With an expert move, she directed his cock into her moist folds. Enveloped by hot woman, Gabriel knew he should be concerned with something—ah, his climax approached swiftly.

Roxane seduced him without suspecting his inner torment. Hunger called strongly. It demanded to be fed. And as his seed filled her, he fought the urge to take her body—and blood.

Moonlight painted a colorless swath across Roxane’s stomach. She lay, eyes closed, arms splayed carelessly above her head, nested in the pillows. Relaxed, unfettered by concern. Basking.

Gabriel gauged the tension tracing his muscles. He had come and so had she. But while he should be basking alongside her, the hunger had only grown.

“You are an exquisite lover, Gabriel. You own me with your kisses.”

“I like the sound of that—owning you.” Gripping the sheets in tight fists, he glanced at the night table. A shard of glass sparkled beneath the candle glow. “I must own you again.”

“Yes.” She touched his hand. “Here,” she whispered, and placed his hand over her mons. He slid his finger over her delicate folds to the exquisite peak of her pleasure. Hot and plump, it was primed for command. And so he instructed her body to follow, deeper into the bliss and the darkness that would shield her eyes from the truth of the moment.

Gasps and moans quickened his pulse. Wicked, he who sought to deceive, to disguise.
To take the blood.

Slave to his manipulations, Roxanne shivered, close to release. At that moment he held her in a sexual vice surely unlike the vampire’s thrall. Or was it similar?

“What…what are you—no!” Roxane’s struggles upset his hold, but he persisted. Her fingers clasped his hand. “Gabriel, no, this is folly!”

He licked the blood from his lips. “There is no other I choose to help me change. Don’t struggle, Roxane, I won’t harm you.” He pinned down her shoulder. Her bloody fingers clutched at the satin counterpane. “Relax. You’re so close. Come into me. Let me take you over the edge.”

“No, Gabriel, you must not!”

He persisted in stroking her, coaxing her.
She struggled between surrender
and the fight that would not be defeated.

Bending her hand down and lifting her wrist he fastened his mouth to her life. A delicious future waited. The vicomte Renan would follow the night.

Roxane’s blood harbored sweetness, yet it also tasted like he’d bitten the rim of a copper platter, and of pain and sorrow, and so much darkness. He drew it in like a desert wanderer in need of moisture.

“You cannot…”

While he took he also gave. Her body jerked violently, answering the call of his sensual command. Orgasm surfed through her, stiffening every limb, then, as quickly, relaxing her into oblivion.

“My blood,” she murmured.

He moved his hand over her mouth, not wanting to hurt, only to chase away her protests. She bit his finger. He pressed harder. “Trust I will not harm you. I love you.”

And all the while he sucked at her wrist, drinking full and deep from her life. And in a moment of lucid awareness he realized that if he drank too much she might die.

“I am…” Roxane whispered. “…so sorry.”

“Do not regret,” he said. “Regret is not a part of life. This night I begin to live.”

Blood coated his hands and trickled down his chest. He glided his fingers through the slick crimson and licked them clean. No aversion.

A manic chuckle burst from his lips and he smiled a grand and wicked smile. He had done it!

What have you done?

“I have lost the battle to freedom,” he announced. “Again. No pity, no regret. Bring on the night. Open the world’s veins to my lips. I must admit, I rather favor the taste. Roxane?”

Grasping her bleeding wrist she rolled toward him on the bed. Shock widened her eyes. He had not asked permission. But had he not done it with the consideration of a master?

“You should not have…” Her tongue was heavy, made drunk by the throes of passion and loss of blood. “You are not dead?”

“Why in Hades would I be? I’ve taken the plunge, my pretty vampire slayer. Will you now uncork your precious vial and send me to my grave?”

He stopped before his chamber door and pulled the shirt over his head. Frustration building, he kicked the door with his bare feet. “Lies!”

Why this sudden decision to be a witch? If she sought to scare him from vampirism, it was too late.

And yet, he did care. Cared so much he could feel her words drag on his heart. It slowed his steps as he entered the room and stretched out the beats of blood in his ear. Struggling between what he had done and what Roxane had announced—

A witch? Bah! She lied either regarding the vial of blood about her neck or the fact that she was something she was not.

What a moment to try fool him.

He had done it. He’d taken the blood. And, remarkably, he didn’t feel shame. Rather, elation coursed through his bones. Light—dare he think it?—and satisfied.

Strolling through the rainbow streaming from above, his palms up, he caught a shower of color.
My first moments as a vampire
. He felt no different. And yet, his entire world would now change. A streak of indigo cut across his skin. A turn of his wrist captured a blob of celadon.

Startled, he shook his hand as if to dislodge the color from his flesh. But he could not put aside the color from his thoughts.
Roxane
. He had done this for her. To give her hope regarding her brother. Why the woman’s sudden need to frighten him?

Not that he was in the least frightened.

Hmm... Gabriel stood still. Waiting, wondering.
Is this how it feels? I don’t feel different.

He swiped a hand across his mouth. He studied the liquid glistening on his flesh. Candlelight melted into the grenadine glitter.

A wicked grin curved his lips and he spat out a dose of laughter. Hell, he felt marvelous. He had done it. No going back. No madness or filthy cell for this swish. Damn,
la Luna
! He had won.

“Gabriel?”

The voice of his carelessly discarded victim cut through his macabre joy. He closed his eyes.
How cruel that you pounced upon her like a predator upon prey!

He had been caught in the hunger.

Must you kill?

No, you can leave them to wake with no memory of your bite.

He should have thought things through, been more cautious. Then, he had not the ability to enthrall. But now?

You should not have bitten her at all.

It had not been a bite, but a slash from the glass shard. And his saliva must have worked to seal the wound. She would be safe. He hadn’t planned it. Well, yes, he had. From the moment he’d arrived at his doorstep and sent Toussaint away he had known how this night would play out.

You could have been more considerate. To trick her so?

“Gabriel?”

“Go away.”

Apologize, you cur!

A bit late for that, eh?

“I don’t understand what has happened—”

“I drank your blood,” he explained calmly, pacing beneath the oculus, hands folded behind his back. The loose shirt skirted his bare thighs. “I completed the transformation. I have won the race against madness, only to find you’ve now gone mad thinking you are a witch.”

“I am as I say.”

He paused, turning a cold eye on the shivering waif in paisley robe and tangled strawberry hair. She clutched her wrist, blood coating her fingers. And there, the robe was loosely tied, revealing the mark between her breasts. Some sort of witch mark? Surely not a mark of birth, but something unnatural and evil?

“You were dealing with a man soon to become a vampire and you couldn’t just out with it? For example: Pardon me, vicomte, you’ve been bitten by a vampire. By the by, I am a witch.”

“Gabriel, please.”

“That mark on your breasts is a witch mark?” Now was no time for this inane conversation. He had stepped over the edge. The selfish need for privacy overwhelmed. To cherish a few moments of consideration for what he had become. “Never mind. You had opportunity to explain; you chose not to. Leave me. Can you not see I’ve much to contend with?”

He pushed her into the mirrored hallway and slammed the door. A single fist pounded the other side of the door. Spreading his arms out wide, he lifted his head and closed his eyes, drawing the night through his pores in waves of myriad color.

What cruelty to push her away.

What strange happiness to revel in the leap. The stride to the other side. A new world. A new beginning. No
comfort
. Not even the tinkle of gold watch fobs muffled by ells of Alençon lace. He had done it. For good or for ill. To struggle with the wrongs would only convolute the newness of his reality.

A witch? She had best conjure a more believable lie than that. Did Roxane not remember she had convinced him that witches and vampires were enemies? Or was she merely frightened? She had gone to bed with him hours ago, his lover—literally seducing him up from the vibration of madness that had wanted his soul.