Rose's Rapture: Lords of the Night, Book Two (16 page)

Rachel dropped to her knees, clutching her injured arm and coughing as she gulped air into her lungs. It took a second to remember the woman lying on the ground. She didn’t appear to be breathing. Rachel crawled to her and felt for a pulse. There wasn’t one.

“Damn it.”

She dragged herself to Boulevard Raspail and saw her attacker duck into a nearby building. He hadn’t gone far. Rachel had no doubt if he got away he’d be back on the streets in a few days to do the same thing to another woman.

She forced herself to her feet and stumbled down the sidewalk. Rachel gave a quick glance at the oncoming traffic and rushed across the road. Horns blared as the Parisian drivers narrowly missed her. No one braked. She pushed on until she reached a small park that buffeted the building she’d seen the man enter.

Rachel stepped over the low fence, keeping to the shadows. She couldn’t afford to let him catch her off guard. He’d done it once and it had nearly killed her. A taller wrought iron fence ran alongside the green gothic-looking building that resembled an ornate shed. Rachel continued across the garden until she reached the end of the grass.

The wrought iron ended at a small gate, which squeaked in the cool evening breeze. A short nose of an entrance poked out the front of the building. The door was covered in metal mesh. Or at least it had been. The mesh had been ripped away. She glanced down and saw a lock on the ground. It had been smashed. She hadn’t seen a weapon on him—with those teeth he didn’t need one. Yet he’d obviously been carrying something, unless he’d suddenly become a character out of a James Bond film.

Rachel knew she should call the police. It was the sensible thing to do, but by the time she found a phone and someone who could understand her broken French the killer would be long gone, along with Paul’s necklace. She couldn’t allow that to happen, even if all she managed to do was find his hiding place. Despite what the department shrinks thought, she didn’t have a death wish...
most days
.

She pushed the gate open. The metal screeched, announcing her arrival. He’d have to be deaf not to have heard her. Rachel cringed, but kept going until she could squeeze through. The light over the sign above the building had been smashed. Broken bits of bulb crunched under her shoes. The main door was open a crack just enough for her to see the darkness beyond. Rachel turned back and grabbed the mangled lock. It wasn’t a perfect weapon, but at least it would aid her punches. Maybe she could manage to knock out his expensive dental work this time.

Rachel walked back to the door and inched it open. She tilted her head and listened. She could hear the soft fall of footsteps growing fainter by the second. He was getting away. She took a breath and stepped through the opening. The door slid shut behind her, extinguishing what little light had been cast.

She pulled out her lighter and flicked it on. A closed door stood to the left. It was flanked by a tiny archway that opened into a crude office, which lay empty except for a lone chair. Rachel raised the lighter and spotted a ramp, leading off to her right. There didn’t appear to be anywhere else he could’ve gone.

She shored up her courage and followed. Rachel stepped lightly, praying the sound wouldn’t carry. The ramp ended abruptly at a set of winding stairs. She couldn’t see the bottom.

What in the hell was this place?

Her neck began to sting, reminding her once more why she was here. Rachel flipped the lighter closed and began a slow, steady descent. Every twenty or so stairs she’d stop and listen. She couldn’t hear footsteps any longer, only the steady drip of water pinging off rock. The air had gone from fresh to stale.

Rachel was just about to call it quits and turn around, when the stairs ended abruptly. Did she dare use her lighter again? What if he was waiting in the shadows? Did she really have a choice? Rachel’s heart began to pound as she flicked on the lighter.

She was standing at the mouth of a tunnel. It appeared to be the only way she could go unless she wanted to climb the hundred or so stairs she’d just come down. If Rachel hadn’t been claustrophobic before, she would be now. The narrow tunnel had a low ceiling like the entrance of a tomb. She couldn’t stretch her arms out without hitting rock walls.

Rachel began walking. It was impossible to be quiet with loose gravel beneath her feet, so she left the lighter on. She stopped every few yards to listen. It was hard to hear anything over the pounding of her heart. The sound of water dripping was getting louder. The tunnel eventually opened up into a larger chamber. Rachel read the sign above the door. It was written in French.

‘Arrete! C’est ici l‘empire de la mort.’

It was easy enough to translate: Stop! This is the empire of the dead.

 “Terrific,” she murmured, half expecting someone to cue horror music.

Rachel stepped through the archway into a nightmare. Walls of human remains rose from the floor nearly touching the ceiling. Faces of people who’d lived long ago stared at her from empty eye sockets, their bones neatly arranged in macabre designs around their skulls.

Suddenly the room was too warm. Rachel pulled at her scarf as her heart slammed into her ribs. The freak had lured her into the catacombs. There were miles of tunnels down here, according to the brochures she’d picked up in the airport. No one would hear her scream this far below the surface. They wouldn’t even find her body, if he didn’t want it to be found. So much for discovering his hiding place and reporting it to the police. She had to get out of here.

Rachel took a step back—right into a hard male body. She couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe. For a moment, fear kept her paralyzed, then panic set in. A large pale hand covered her mouth before Rachel could draw breath and scream. Her lighter burnt her fingers and she dropped it, plunging them into darkness.

She elbowed the man and tried to smash his nose with her head, but only succeeded in hitting his chest. Rachel braced, expecting a fist to the face. The man made no attempt to strike her. Why should he? He had her right where he wanted her.

A warm breath brushed her neck. His jagged teeth flashed in her mind. He was going to bite her just like he’d bitten the woman and there wasn’t a damn thing she could do to stop him.

“No.” The plea came out garbled behind his hand, but Rachel knew he understood. “Don’t.” She jerked her head and only succeeded in hurting herself.

“Stop fighting,” he hissed, tightening his grip.

Her breath rushed past his long fingers as she bit him.

“Ow, stop that!” He pressed his face closer.

Rachel tensed and began to tremble as she waited to feel the slice of those fake fangs on her flesh. The pain never came. Heat from the body holding her began to sink into her bones. A moment later firm lips brushed her earlobe and she quivered. What was he playing at?

Nuzzling her hair, he inhaled. “American. Figures,” he said with distaste in a low French accent. “You must have a death wish, mademoiselle.”

* * * * *

THE ARRIVAL: ATLANTEAN’S QUEST BOOK ONE-excerpt

Prologue

The jungle air was thick and repressive, palpable to the taste. Like a living entity it vibrated and pulsed with an energy all its own. Animal cries rang out as predator met prey in a violent exchange that played out night after night.

A small pot set in a clearing boiled with pungent herbs and the flesh of the mighty anaconda. Steam hissed, thick fumes of smoke bellowed, wood burned, popping as each piece of kindling was snatched up by the ravenous flame.

The woman, known as Ariel the seer, stood over the crackling fire stirring the contents of the pot. Visible through the sheer material of her earthen skirt, firm muscles in her lithe legs strained. Sweat beaded her delicate brow.

With each swirling pass of the spoon, Ariel’s ample breasts bobbed. Rose-colored nipples marbled from exposure to the warm night air, begging to be caressed and suckled. Long blonde hair fell in loose waves around her trim waist and over her rounded hips. Her aqua gaze fell trancelike upon the brew in search of the elusive vision.

Eros stood to the side of the seer, his massive arms crossed over his wide hairless chest, expanding his biceps to inhuman proportions. He’d braided his blond hair in the ceremonial custom of his people, divided into two plaits that fell to the small of his back. His breathing was even, despite the nervous energy coursing through his muscle-corded body, as he waited for the seer’s vision to form.

Ariel gestured for Eros to come forward.
Tonight the medicine must be stronger. I need your seed to add to the brew.

The words came into his head on a whisper. Such was the way of Atlantean communication.
Unquestioning
,
Eros untied his loincloth, allowing it to fall away from his trim waist and thick thighs.

The night air taunted like a dream-lover’s caress, promising much, delivering little. A faint breeze spilled over his rod, rustling the crisp curls that grew at the base. He reached down to take himself in hand, but the seer stopped his movement with a light touch of her fingertips.

I must be the one who brings your seed forth this night, for the ritual to be complete
.

Eros nodded and dropped his hands to his sides. The seer stepped forward and cupped his heavy sac in her soft palms, transferring his weight back and forth until balance was achieved. Her gentle touch brought forth the desired results. His staff hardened, lengthening to its full ten inches within seconds.

At once, she slipped to her knees impaling her mouth with his throbbing cock. Her lips were hot, moist, made for giving pleasure. He sucked in a breath, but said nothing. Ariel began swirling her tongue around the head of his staff, like she’d done so many times before when he’d sought relief. Her hands gently massaged his balls, supping at him as if he were her first meal after a long starvation.

Eros gave his body up to the pleasurable sensation and closed his eyes, imagining what it would feel like to thrust into his future mate. Like a siren of the sea, the warmth of the seer’s mouth urged, beckoned, and lured the seed from him. He felt his sac draw up as Ariel added pressure and switched to sucking, sliding her hand up and down his thick cock.

As he started to ejaculate, Ariel pulled away, ensuring he spilled his essence into the strange mixture bubbling within the pot. Eros jerked as the last of his fluids were milked from his body.

Ariel returned to the pot as if nothing had occurred and stirred a couple more times. Her eyes intense, focused, waiting.

Excitement filled her mind, spilling over into Eros.
She comes, my King.
Her arrival heralds the new dawn of our people.

Eros lowered his gaze in respect
.
Are you certain?
He normally never questioned the seer, yet tonight he had no choice. Her vision must be true.

For his sake. For the sake of his people.

Ariel hesitated, clearing the smoke from around the gurgling pot with a wave of her slender hand. ‘
Tis true. She will arrive within seven moonrises. ‘Tis more than enough time to bring her here and perform the mating ritual. Remember, you must not join with her until the ceremony has been completed.

Aye,
he answered silently
.

Wait.
She stilled, her eyes widened a bit and her breath caught.
You must use caution, for she does not travel alone.

Eros stiffened, rage coursing through his body.
Do you see her with a mate
?

The seer’s mouth held the trace of a smile. His heart pounded painfully against his ribcage. It should not matter to him whether the woman had chosen a mate, but the ice forming in his veins said it did.

Nay.
Ariel shook her head.
But she is in danger from one who is very near
.

His stomach clenched. His hands fisted so tight he half expected to hear bones breaking.
I will not allow any harm to come to her.

Eros raised his head to the heavens. After all the waiting, his mate was finally coming. He had almost given up hope. But tonight Ariel had seen her. He could barely believe his good fortune.

Soon, he too would lay eyes on his future mate. Until then, there was much to do.

All is as it should be.
Eros looked into the seer’s face and nodded.
You have done your part, now ‘tis time for me to do mine. Be well, Ariel the seer.
He dropped to his knees before her, kissing each bare nipple reverently as was custom, then rose and slipped into the darkness.

Be well, my King
.

* * * * *

Rachel was back in the jungle—naked. Monkeys chattered and parrots screeched as she lay on a soft bed of grass in the small clearing. The blades tickled her bottom and stroked her shoulders as a breeze gently rustled them. Water gurgled and splashed playfully in the background, calling out for those around to join in its merriment. She considered answering its call, but she couldn’t seem to sit up. The smell of exotic orchids wafted on the breeze, perfuming the air, bathing her skin with their luscious scent.

Suddenly all sound stopped. Even the leaves refused to whisper.

Rachel’s heart began to pound, a combination of excitement and fear. Her rosy nipples stabbed skyward.

He was here.

Silent footfalls heralded his approach. Shadows from the trees shifted like a mirage as he strode toward her. Flawlessly muscled, his body chiseled perfection.

Rachel gasped and tried to get a glimpse of his face, but before she could do so, a strange shadowy light filtered over him obscuring his features.

She knew she should scream, but the sight of this stranger’s body and his mammoth cock made her mouth water, her legs tremble, and her insides ache. It had been far too long since she’d had a man, and she
wanted
this one, more than she wanted her next breath. She raised her arms to reach for him, but he pulled back.

Rachel cursed.

The man kneeled between her thighs and pressed them apart, exposing her. The shadows around his face refused to budge. He lowered his head and lapped at her swollen folds. Every nerve ending came alive, as his seeking tongue sent shockwaves through her body. She was already wet. A thin sheen of perspiration broke out on her skin, her nipples puckered even tighter. Rachel moaned, low and deep—animal-like.