Rhys kept smiling as Verity approached him, her expression dubious, her dagger clenched firmly in her hand. She made an unconvincing boy; her curves were too lush to conform to the lines of her male attire. Not that he minded the sight. Her soft appearance only confirmed his instincts that she would be unable to fight.
He nodded at her dagger. “You prefer to work in close, then?”
“I prefer not to fight at all.”
Her tremulous words made him want to draw her into his arms and hold her tight, but that wasn’t his aim. He needed to show her that she was unsuited to the life of a slayer, and for that to happen he needed to goad her into admitting she couldn’t exist in a world he had come to dominate.
“Rosalind struggled to lift a sword at first, so I had the smithy make her a lighter blade.” He glanced at the weapons chest. “I’m sure we have one of her blades here. I’ll find it for you.”
“Rhys, I don’t want to hurt you, so why make me do this?”
He brought his dagger up to meet hers. “You won’t hurt me.”
“You are terribly conceited if you think that.” She attempted to stab at him and he dodged easily.
“Am I?” He smiled at her. “Yet you seem incapable of showing me that I’m wrong.”
“Because this isn’t a real fight!”
“Do you think yourself such an expert that you never need to practice?”
She lunged at him again, and he stepped out of her reach, keeping a mocking smile on his lips that he could see infuriated her.
“Well? Why haven’t you beaten me yet? I’m hardly even trying.”
She came at him and he brought his dagger hand up sharply and knocked her blade out of her hands. She made a distressed sound and went down on her knees to retrieve it.
Before she could rise, he locked his arm around her throat and bared her neck to the edge of his blade. “And now you’d be dead.”
“Let go of me.” Her voice shook with fury.
Rhys stepped back and bowed. “Of course, my lady. Shall we proceed or have you had enough?”
Verity got to her feet, whirled around, and ran out of the room. Rhys watched her go as a mixture of emotions shuddered through him. Had he made her cry? He hoped not. Despite everything, he still needed her to observe the queen closely and report back to him.
He set off down the tunnel in pursuit, saw light gleam briefly when she climbed the narrow spiral staircase that opened into the floor of the chapel. He increased his pace and soon had her in his sights as she took the less frequented paths back toward the queen’s suite of rooms.
“My lady—stop.” He called quietly, but she didn’t heed him so he put on a spurt of speed and caught up with her. He touched her shoulder. “Verity.”
She spun round to confront him, her chest heaving, her blue eyes fierce and quite tearless. “Why won’t you leave me alone?”
He held his hands wide. “Because I need to know if you can fight, and running away from me proves nothing.”
She poked him hard in the chest. “You’d already made up your mind that I was useless. I’ll never be Rosalind and thus I’ll never be good enough for you, whatever I do.”
“I don’t expect you to match Rosalind. She trained her whole life to become a slayer.”
“And in your mind there is Rosalind and there is the rest of womankind, who can never compare with her and therefore must be weak and feeble.”
His concern for her disappeared and was replaced by a deepening sense of indignation. “I never said that.”
“You didn’t need to. We all knew how you felt about Rosalind.”
Rhys put away his dagger. “That was a long time ago. We are supposed to be discussing how we will work together, not reminiscing about the past.”
Verity stamped her foot. “I’m not the one stuck in the past! Don’t you think I might have changed in the last ten years?”
Rhys took an impulsive step toward her, which brought them nose to nose. “I have a perfect right to expect you to be able to defend yourself.”
“You have no rights over me at all.” She stomped away from him and headed past one of the secluded fountains that enhanced the gardens.
Rhys lunged after her and caught her arm. “Don’t walk away from me again.”
She rounded on him so suddenly that he caught the back of his boot on the edge of the pond surrounding the fountain. With an all-too-knowing smile, Verity shoved at his chest, sending him backward into the shallow water. As he struggled to sit up, cursing and wiping the water from his eyes, he realized she was poised for flight, her expression one of mingled amusement and fear. With a roar he went after her and she turned and ran. He tackled her to the ground on the soft grass and used his weight to keep her under him. Verity fought the urge to screech as Rhys raised himself off her enough to roll her onto her back. In the moonlight she could plainly see his furious expression. Water dripped off his auburn hair and landed squarely on her face, but she couldn’t do anything about it, as he had her arms pinned to her sides.
“You . . .” His hoarse voice made her tremble and then her fear turned to something else, something that made her want to giggle. She couldn’t stop the smile from emerging. He looked like some ferocious water god. She started to laugh then, her whole body shaking as he continued to stare down at her.
When she tried to draw another breath her shirt stuck to her like a second skin and his weight seemed to restrict the amount of air she could draw into her lungs. His gaze lowered to her chest and she stopped laughing abruptly as he cupped her breast, gasped as his thumb brushed over her taut nipple.
“If you’re going to fight, you should bind them,” he murmured, before lowering his head and sucking her breast into the hot cavern of his mouth. Verity pushed her fingers into the thick, wet strands of his hair and held him there, her body pliant under his, her heart thudding wildly as he drew on her. Heat flowered low in her stomach and she arched her back, drawing a groan from Rhys, who pushed back at her, the hard rod of his cock nudging at her belly.
For an exhilarating moment she allowed herself to enjoy the sensation of a man on top of her, making her feel, making her want . . . But hadn’t she learned that giving in to this sensual dance led to disaster and to ruin—to being tied beneath that man for the rest of one’s days?
She opened her eyes and forced herself to release her grip on his head and shoulders. He groaned against her breast and momentarily lifted his head as if to transfer his lascivious attention to her other nipple.
Just then she heard a movement in the trees above them and she shoved Rhys away. The scent of orange blossom made her draw her dagger and get hurriedly to her feet.
A female Vampire descended gracefully from the tree to Verity’s right. She had long black hair and startling blue eyes and was smiling down at the still-prostrate Rhys. As the Vampire glided toward him, Verity cut in front of her and raised her dagger.
“Get back, Vampire.”
The female stopped and studied Verity, her head on one side. “Who are you?”
“None of your concern. Now leave, or I will kill you.”
“You smell like a Llewellyn.” The Vampire’s blue gaze switched back to Rhys. “Is she a Llewellyn?”
“Aye, she is.” Rhys got slowly to his feet, his expression wary as he faced the two women.
“Then why were you fighting?”
“We weren’t fighting,” Rhys muttered. “We were . . .”
Verity scowled at him. “Do you know
this
Vampire as well?”
The female laughed. “Of course he knows me.”
Verity put her dagger away. “Then how foolish of me to try to defend him.” She gave Rhys a pointed stare. “I’m not sure why the Llewellyns are needed when you seem to have befriended every Vampire at court.”
“That is scarcely true.”
Verity walked a small distance away from the Vampire, who continued to stare at her with great interest. She didn’t want to look at Rhys, but he followed her anyway. Moments ago she’d been writhing under him like a moll from a bawdy house while this female Vampire watched.
“Did you know she was there?”
Rhys pushed the hair away from his face. “My lady, I had all my attention on you.” His slow smile made her stare at his mouth. “You have proved one thing to me tonight. You are more capable than I am of scenting danger and reacting to it.”
Verity sketched him a curtsy. “I thank you for that, at least.”
“I mean it. You have keen instincts. You can at least learn how to defend yourself better.”
“I know how to defend myself.” Verity heard the irritation in her own voice but could do nothing to suppress it and she supposed she had shown little of her ability to Rhys. “And now I’m going to bed so that you can enjoy your chat with your little Vampire friend.”
He reached out and caught her arm. “Verity—”
“If I promise to let you help me perfect my slaying skills, will you let me go?”
He dropped his hand from her elbow. “This is not what you think—I haven’t allied myself with every Vampire at court.” Verity allowed her skepticism to show and Rhys’s expression darkened. “By your leave, I will explain everything to you tomorrow.”
“I’m sure you will, and in the meantime I will seek out some bindings for my breasts.”
His gaze dropped to her damp shirt and he licked a slow line along his lower lip. “Not on my account.”
Verity couldn’t think of anything to say that wouldn’t encourage him to remember how very intimate he had been with her breasts. She nodded at him and at the Vampire and left with as much dignity as she could muster.
Rhys waited until Verity reached the safety of the palace walls and then turned back to the female Vampire, who was still watching him. He studied her carefully, aware that she looked even more beautiful than he had remembered in his dreams. Not that he had dreamed of her, of course, nor cared what had happened to her.
“I am glad that you are still alive, Rhys Williams.”
“And I am glad to see you too, Olivia Del Alonso.”
She sauntered toward him. Her lazy grace reminded him of her half brother, Christopher, and he of all men knew how deceptive that was. She wore all black, much as Christopher tended to do, but she was far more slender and shorter than he. Her coloring was the same, though—the bright blue eyes, slightly olive skin, and crow-black hair.
“What language were you and that woman speaking?”
Olivia’s accent still retained a touch of Spain. Rhys frowned at her. Had he and Verity lapsed into Welsh in those most intimate of moments? He hadn’t noticed, but seeing as it was both his and Verity’s first language, it was hardly surprising.
“It was probably Welsh.”
“Ah, I thought I’d heard it before.” Olivia nodded gravely. “Do you like this Llewellyn woman as much as the other one?”
Rhys rubbed his fingers over his mouth and remembered the feel of Verity’s breast through the wet linen of her shirt. “I like her well enough.”
“Well enough?”
Olivia raised her eyebrows and Rhys felt himself color. He thought desperately of how to change the subject.
“Your brother is in good health.”
Olivia smiled. “I’m glad to hear that. I know you don’t wish to tell me much about him, but I can still sense him. He is of my blood.”
A breeze wafted through the trees and Rhys shivered. He was all too aware of his wet clothing and the fact that Verity was right to wonder at his relationship with this particular Vampire.
“Why have you come back to court, Rhys Williams?”
“I cannot tell you. We are enemies—you know that.”
“You would kill me if you had to?”
He met her accusing gaze. “As you would kill me if I threatened those you protect.”
“If you are back at court it must be for a reason. May-hap I can help.” She hesitated. “I would like us to be friends. I do not want to fight against you, Rhys.”
Her words echoed Verity’s earlier ones and he suddenly felt tired. “But that is the way it is. How can we change who or what we are?”
“My brother managed it.”
“Your brother is an exceptionally brave man. He almost died to achieve what he wanted. Are you willing to risk your immortality? And for what, Olivia? To be my friend?”
She bit down on her lip and disappeared, leaving Rhys alone. He started back toward his lodgings, uncomfortably aware of the water squishing inside his ruined boots and the clammy sensation of cold cloth leaching the heat from his skin.
Sometimes he wondered when it would all end, this hatred, this need to kill or be killed. Why by all the saints would any woman want to befriend him? He’d grown callous in the service of his people, his love for Rosalind turned into a ruthless pursuit of his enemies that had led him across England, Wales, and Scotland and only enhanced his fearsome reputation.
His body hummed with frustration and thwarted lust. He glowered up at the forbidding stone walls of the palace. And where had his wanderings led him? Right back to court and to the same problems he had hoped to leave behind.