He eased her arms apart and stepped out of her embrace.
“You gave your virginity to—”
“Stop it!” she cried. “I’ve never known love before. And now, I find myself in love with the two of you. I can hardly credit such a thing. And for all you both insist you are quite willing to share, you both keep forcing me to make a choice. In these little, irritating ways.”
“We irritate you, do you?” he grinned and slapped the ground with the broken lilac branch.
“No better sign of true love than that. But you aren’t in love with me, little dove. You just lust for me.”
Why was he so determined to punish himself? To refuse to believe she loved him? “Why shouldn’t I be in love with you?” Althea demanded. “Why would you find it so hard to believe?
What of all the women you—?”
“They weren’t in love with me,” Bastien interrupted. “They were tempted by the promise of real sin. That’s all they wanted from me. Wickedness and sin, and they knew I’d give it to them without censure. But all too often a woman—especially a good one—needs to justify her lusts and so she fancies herself in love. You aren’t in love with me.”
“Well, I fear that I am. And I know my own feelings.”
“If you loved me, sweetheart, you’d never be able to admit it to my face.”
The depth of that statement left her speechless. But in truth, even though she was so easily saying “I love you”, her heart was in turmoil.
“But I will be happy,” he continued, cupping her chin with the hand that did not hold his make-shift whip, “to fuck you.”
Her quim clenched at the forbidden word, even as she wanted to sink into the earth out of embarrassment. She’d admitted she loved him, she had laid her heart open, and all he did was insist she didn’t. What a fool she’d been! Obviously he didn’t love her.
His voice was a dark sinful whisper carried on the breeze. “I suspect you would enjoy a good, sweaty, sticky, legs-hooked-around-my-neck fuck.”
She’d meant to turn and escape. She’d embarrassed herself so much, but what he said rooted her to the spot. “Legs around your neck!”
“For supreme depth of penetration.”
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“You…you couldn’t possibly go deeper than…than you did.”
“A challenge. You do know me, don’t you? I can’t resist a challenge.”
“That’s what I was to you?” Anger overcame the humiliation. “A challenge?”
A sad smile played on his lips. “I told you I loved you,” Bastien promised, “That was the truth, sweetheart.”
“If you do…” Althea began, heart thumping madly, knowing she was about to ask for something he might refuse to give. “Then you’ll promise to me, in all honesty, that you won’t let Yannick die? You know he will turn to dust if you don’t help him destroy Zayan.”
“Yannick, of course.” He groaned and turned away.
“Bastien, please. He’s your brother and I know that you love him. You wouldn’t destroy him in Zayan’s chambers—which must mean—”
His smiled became wicked. “Without Yannick, though, you will be all mine. That is a great temptation.”
She shoved on his broad chest. “And that is exactly what Zayan wants you to think. But I promise you, Sebastien de Wynter, that if you let Yannick die to claim me, I…I will never love you. Not truly. Ever.”
“An enormous price,” he said as he stepped back. But his tone was jaded, nonchalant, and told her nothing.
Footsteps crunched on the path behind them and she jumped in surprise.
“My brother has arrived.”
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Bastien watched Althea’s lovely green eyes, expecting to see a brighter fire now that she knew Yannick was there. Damnation, but she must love his brother deeply. Pleading for his life with such fear etched on her pretty face.
Jealousy burned through Bastien, like destructive fire, as Yannick lifted her gloved fingers to his lips.
Like all the other women he’d been with, Althea wanted him sexually but he needed her heart, not just her lust.
And what had he done to try to win it? Where were his romantic promises? Where was his seductive nature? He’d thrown her promise of love back in her face because he didn’t believe it.
With any other woman, he would have charmed and dazzled. Why had he just lashed out at Althea?
He saw the pain flash across Yannick’s face as Althea pleaded, “Both of you must stay away from me until you kill Zayan. He believes that I will be the instrument to destroy you.”
To Bastien’s surprise, Yannick leveled his gaze at him. “Bastien only risks destruction if he actually attacks Zayan with me.”
“That is what this vampire queen says,” Althea pointed out. “But she might have lied.”
“No, she speaks the truth.” Yannick sighed. “It was the deal I had to make to be freed. I might be protected but, amongst demons, protection always comes at a particularly twisted price.”
Yannick looked back to Althea and Bastien saw the longing in his brother’s expression.
And the resignation.
Yannick believed his destruction to be a certainty. His brother believed he would let him die. He met his brother’s gaze and Yannick gave him a wry grin. It shocked him—he was accustomed to the cool arrogance in his brother’s expression. He was also accustomed to having Yannick look at him as though he was a half-witted child. In truth, he’d given Yannick a lot of reason to doubt his sanity when they’d been mortals. He’d gambled hard, developed a taste for whippings and flailings, and had found himself on the dueling field at the crack of almost every dawn.
“I know, brother,” Yannick said softly, “you won’t kill Zayan.”
For once Bastien held the upper hand, and unexpectedly he had no idea what he wanted to do with it. He gave a jaded shrug. “I didn’t know about your bargain, Yannick. Nor did I know that I risked death if I did try to kill Zayan. Apparently, if we fail, I also evaporate into dust.”
Althea, standing between them, looked back and forth, curls bobbing as she did. A shaft of moonlight caressed her face and he saw teardrops shine at the corners of her eyes.
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His heart clenched as she laid her hand delicately on his sleeve. “Please, Bastien, you musn’t let Yannick die—”
Yannick, Yannick, bloody Yannick.
“But I don’t want you to die.” Two tears broke free and dribbled down her cheeks, diamond bright. “You must take care, you must protect yourself.”
She whirled onto Yannick. “You must take care of him, too!”
Yannick inclined his head. “I always have.”
The exchange between Althea, with tears flowing, and his brother left Bastien stunned.
Althea hadn’t shed one fearful tear in Zayan’s chambers—she wasn’t the sort of woman to give in to hysterics. For her to cry now—
For her to make demands of his brother, the earl—
She truly must care for him.
His heart leapt as Althea grasped his hand, twining her fingers, in fragile ivory silk gloves, with his. She took hold of Yannick’s hand too. Her message was obvious. She wanted to join them, link them, bring them together.
No one had ever cared enough to do that. Their father had driven them apart. Punishing the twin who refused to betray the other’s transgressions. Punishing the one who lost to the other—
at card games, chess, or sports. Their father had used their naturally competitive natures to drive them, and it made them hate—both each other and their father.
As for their mother, she pitted them against each other unintentionally. Yannick was her stalwart one, the one she poured out her pain to. He was her passionate one, the one she bestowed cuddles and kisses to, until she tired of it and sent him away.
Only Althea cared enough about them to want to heal their rift.
Bastien held Althea’s hand tight and bent to kiss her perfumed hair.
She smiled up at him, hope shining through the tears. “You two do love each other! You’ve endured so much together—”
“I don’t know about love,” he drawled, grinning evilly at Yannick, “but I’ve always had to keep in his good graces so he’d loan me the money for my gaming debts.”
But Yannick didn’t smile in return. “Althea is right,” he said. “Goddamn, I always wanted to protect you from Father’s whip—”
“And how did you expect to do that?”
“I was the eldest.”
“By fifteen bloody minutes. And getting thoroughly whipped yourself.”
“But you got it the most.” Yannick spoke almost guiltily. “And the worst.”
Bastien bowed his head. “I apologize for turning you, Yannick. I know you hated to become a vampire. I know you hesitated to free me because you thought it would be nobler to let yourself be destroyed, even though you have always been downright gentlemanly about the way you feed. And I have to admit, I turned you out of spite.”
Yannick shook his head. “In truth, Lucifer controlled you—he played on your anger and forced you to turn me.”
“But it was a desire I already had—to destroy your life.”
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“Because you were afraid. Afraid to face being a vampire alone.”
Bastien hated to admit that was likely true. He didn’t want to relieve those gut-churning days, or the last whipping from his father that had broken his spirit and sent him to the gutter where Zayan had found him. He’d been twenty-five and his father, enraged, had struck while he slept. He’d lain there, bound and shocked, while the blows rained down…
Hell, he should have been able to fight his father. Physically, he could have done…
“I don’t want to talk about our bloody father, may he rot in hell. Or about the past,” Bastien growled. “I want to make love to Althea.”
Althea gasped as she was kissed and shared, like a plaything, between the brothers. Dizzily, she knew the rogues were tormenting her deliberately. First Bastien kissed her breathless, then he took hold her shoulders and turned her gently. As Yannick took his turn, playing magic upon her swollen, moist mouth, Bastien’s hands caressed her bottom through her skirts.
Bastien’s lips danced over the nape of her neck. His hands kneaded on her derrière then parted her cheeks though the thick silk. The most irresistible caress of her anus made her moan into Yannick’s mouth. Her nipples tightened as Yannick gently stroked the backs of his hands over them. Leather gliding over silk.
She reached out to explore both men, touching a wide shoulder here, a solid, silk-covered chest there, a lean hipbone, a stretch of hard thigh.
It was scandalous and enthralling and exciting not to know which man she touched. Yet, she could now tell…some inner sense guided her.
The warm flesh that seared through her thin gloves—that was Yannick’s strong neck. The rasp of stubble against the silk—Bastien’s jawline. Hot mouths explored her neck, the points of fangs drew lines that tingled and tickled, but she felt no fear.
She let them run their lips over her neck. Her heart pumped wildly and she knew they could hear the thrumming sound, knew they could smell her blood. But she trusted—
“I would love to make you ours,” Bastien whispered.
Fear rose so quickly it left her immobilized. Althea stood, frozen, as Bastien gently pricked her neck with the tips of his canines.
No, don’t touch her
. Yannick shoved Bastien back.
Eyes hot with fury, Bastien pushed Yannick.
“No, stop this ridiculous fighting! I will not become a vampire!”
Breathing hard, hands fisted, Bastien and Yannick paced around each other.
“If one of you strikes the other, I will leave this minute. And as for biting me, I’ve got a stake hidden under my dress. Try it and you get that through the heart!”
Bastien stared at her, then laughed. He stepped away from his brother, moving to her side, then moving behind her to embrace her around her waist. “I won’t do it,” he whispered, “I only mean that I wish you could be mine—ours—for all time. Which means quite a lot coming from a man who never thought beyond the night at hand.”
She turned to him. His hands slid over her breasts. He kissed the hollow of her throat, then delved his tongue into her cleavage, thrust up by her corset in a scandalous display. She gave a Blood Red by Sharon Page ©2006 Advance Reader Copy www.SharonPage.com 163
squeal as the wetness traced the valley, teasing her skin. She felt as hot as she had under the thousands of candles in the ballroom.
Yannick lifted her skirts. The froth of petticoats slid up her thighs as the weight of the silk skimmed upward. “Blast,” he groaned. “Drawers.”
“Terribly fast, I’m told,” she whispered, remembering Lady Peter’s shock at the garment.
“But I am not a proper young woman any more, am I?”
“And improper young women should definitely eschew drawers,” Yannick teased. His long fingers found the lace-trimmed slit. She knew the lace was drenched, sticky, perhaps even ruined by the thick fluid—the honey, they called it—dripping from her.
Bastien nibbled the upper curve of her breast at the exact instant Yannick slid two fingers inside her. She feared she might dissolve onto the ground. The ballroom had been horribly hot and she’d sweated into her exquisite clothes, but the heat had been nothing like this.
She felt ready to burst into flames.
The twins were both so handsome in evening dress. Moonlight caught their profiles and highlighted the bulges tenting their trousers. They made no move to undress her, but she ached to take their clothes off.
Fingers trembling, she opened Bastien’s gold silk waistcoat. An embroidered pattern of dragons decorated it. She was acquiring much more experience undressing men. The waistcoat fell open and she made short work of the buttons of his shirt. Spreading the fine linen wide, she exposed his beautiful chest to the night.