Seducing the Vampire (22 page)

Paris, modern day

T
HE WORLD BENEATH THE SURFACE
of Paris toyed with Rhys's sensory perception.

Though in vampire form now, he could follow Dane's feline scent with his eyes closed. His werewolf instincts weren't sure whether to follow her or swat her about, which proved it a good thing he wasn't in that form right now.

The petite, dreadlocked spelunker led the way, her headlamp glancing off the hard limestone walls. Chalk, paint and charcoal marks designated meaningful info to those who had made them. Dane would occasionally tap a red circle or arrow as if confirming her mark on this underworld.

Dane moved slowly Rhys suspected to allow him and Simon to adjust to the uneven terrain and darkness. The darkness did not bother him.

“We're going down, messieurs,” Dane informed them in the no-nonsense tone she had adopted and which he appreciated.

He'd been right to take a chance on her. She knew what she was doing.

Rhys waited while Dane directed Simon to step carefully along the edges of the circular, vertical tunnel.

“You'll have to drop the last six feet,” she instructed.

Simon yelped. His feet gave from the last foothold.
His body thudded against stone. Dane turned to offer Rhys help.

“I'll bring up the rear,” he said.

“You don't trust me?”

“I do, but a gentleman never allows a lady to go last.”

“Now you think I'm a lady?”

“You're no gentleman.”

She took it with an accepting nod and dropped out of sight into a lower tunnel. Rhys followed, finding he was growing less keen on the tunnel's tight confines, and knowing worse was to come.

If a person were confined here for any amount of time surely they would struggle with sanity. And worse, what if their confinement were inside a coffin?

He could not bear to think it, for his stomach convulsed as if the vampire was hungry. It had been weeks since he'd taken blood. So he grasped his werewolf mind, sane, calm and wise. For now.

“I am so sorry, Viviane. I pray you are not alive.”

 

T
WO HOURS INTO THEIR TREK,
the threesome squatted in a three-foot-high tunnel that Dane had—remarkably—not yet explored.

“I've been thinking,” she said, directing her headlight beam onto the dirt floor in respect for the men's eyes. “This coffin was supposedly buried in the eighteenth century?”

“1785, if it was done immediately,” Rhys replied.

That statement put him to a sudden panic. He couldn't get past the possibility that this could be a farce, or perhaps it was that he
did not
want to go beyond that, to actually ruminate on the “evil vampire” from the tale.

Had the vampire lord kept her prisoner for a time?
Before
burying her alive? Truly, had it been his brother? Why had he not killed the bastard long ago?

“It's all right.” Despite Simon's nervousness the assistant knew when to offer Rhys reassurance. “We'll find her.”

“You really believe this, don't you?” Dane asked him.

“No. Yes. I don't know,” Rhys said, feeling sweat sheen his forehead for the first time. “I have to follow this through to put my heart at peace.”

“I understand. But we're losing battery power, guys, and should be heading back up.” Dane dug in her backpack and drew out a fresh piece of red chalk and turned to make her mark on the wall, along with compass and longitude directions. “You cool with calling it a day? Or rather, night. It's almost four in the morning.”

“We should organize a bigger search party.” Rhys spoke his worries out loud. “We'll never manage this alone. There are miles of tunnels to cover. We need another half a dozen men.”

“And we need to spread out,” Dane agreed.

Rhys sighed. The air was heavy and he was exhausted. In spite of the meal he'd eaten earlier, he knew what he needed was warm human blood.

He glanced to Simon, whose eyelids blinked with exhaustion.

“Fine. We retreat and regroup.”

Paris, 1785

V
IVIANE SAT BEFORE THE VANITY
looking over the various pots of rouge and face powder. Kohl for her eyes. Carmine for her lips. Portia normally made up her face because Viviane could not see herself in a mirror to know how she looked.

Now she had not the heart to fuss over her appearance. For she only faced Constantine this night. Not as though she were going to meet a lover, a man she cared for. A man who would ask her to share his life.

A man who had unleashed his darkness upon her—and yet had not harmed her—because he could not. He would not, no matter of what he believed his vampire capable.

Outside her bedchamber window, torchlight flamed and invited late-night revelers to view the carnival on the Seine. Magicians and contortionists entertained well past midnight, entreating one and all to satisfy their macabre curiosity.

A tear dribbled down Viviane's cheek. The mansion was so quiet now. Her peace had been ripped asunder by Constantine's cruel act.

And now she was preparing to sacrifice herself to him. Because Rhys would not have her.

“He is trying to save me.”

A sacrifice she knew must wrench at his heart as
wretchedly as it did hers. He believed his werewolf would harm her. She did not believe that. She had looked into his eyes and had read his soul. So bold, yet gentle.

She slapped the back of her hand across the vanity. Glass pots, brushes and a ewer of stale water clattered across the floor. The crash muffled her despairing wail.

She cried for the loss of her lover's pride and she cried for the girl in the blue dress. She cried for Orlando, whom she should have gotten to know better. But she could not cry for herself.

“I will go to that bastard, but I will not have his child. He will have to force me—”

And she knew he would. If she were to give Constantine a male heir that would mean a new beginning for him, and his tribe. A beginning that did not involve his brother, Rhys.

 

S
QUATTING BESIDE A SOOTED
gargoyle, a hand curled about the stone wing, Rhys observed the city from atop the Louvre. The revelers had passed, their path snaking them north along the Seine to the Place de Grève for their macabre festivities.

The air was so still he could hear voices murmuring in houses. The shifting of horses in their stables. The slithering rhythm of a knife across the whetstone.

The single candle flame in her bedchamber flickered out.

Rhys's heart thumped. He anticipated the seconds it would take for her to arrive on the town house's street level. The kitchen candle extinguished. She would leave out the servant's door, as was usual. Going to
him,
the leader of tribe Nava. To claim her future and ensure her survival. Rhys did not fault her that need. He wished it was he who could meet that need.

You told her to go to him
.

It had been the life-giving option. Viviane would thrive under Constantine's care. He could give her anything she desired.

Save love,
whispered Rhys's heart.

Opening his hand, he inspected the single black hair he'd twisted round his forefinger. Now he carefully threaded the precious strand through the threads torn loose on his sleeve. A part of her.

“Don't do it, Viviane,” he murmured, fingers curling about the gargoyle's neck. “I love you. Maybe I can patron you.” It would require he take her bite and further enrage his werewolf—but if it meant Viviane's life? “You could be my mate.”

And he knew she could not, because his werewolf would rip the vampiress's head from her neck the moment he saw her. So much for saving her life.

And yet he had not harmed her this morning. His werewolf had looked into her eyes, and even goaded by the vampire, but had not the desire to harm her. She had bestilled him.

A moment was all he'd required.

Had he sacrificed his only hope for love?

 

V
IVIANE REFUSED
R
ICHARD'S
suggestion to show her to Constantine's study. She preferred to walk the long, winding path to Hell alone.

It had come to this.

The dark halls creaked under her wary steps. This elaborate palace housed a murderer. Surely, Constantine had killed many mortals in his lifetime. Dark Ones, as well. As tribe leader, a fierce mien was expected.

Only Portia's death mattered to Viviane. The maid
had harmed none. She had been a constant and faithful companion.

She did not want to bow before Constantine.

She could think of nothing but standing in Rhys's arms, because right now those arms, even if they ended in talons, were more giving than any others.

However, the truth could not be disregarded.

She would not sulk about her fate for one moment longer. With head held high, and heart shaky but determined, Viviane LaMourette would begin a new chapter.

One she must learn to tolerate.

Ahead she sensed the heartbeats from more than one being. Constantine's dark allure drew her forward. Lavender and blood spiced the air. The walls were mirrored, yet not a single shadow darkened the silvered glass as she neared the oil lamp.

Drawing her gaze along the seam in the wall, she decided the small knot on the wood chair rail must be the release. A push triggered the latch, and the door swung outward, gushing out a drowning roil of candlelight and the heavy scent of incense. Harpsichord notes tripped out too gaily, warning Viviane that she must remain on guard.

She inhaled resolutely and pressed a palm to her stomach.

Ruby velvet hugged the walls. Black, tooled leather decorated the chaises and ottomans about the expansive room. The carpet looked animal fur. Viviane would not be surprised were it wolf. The crystal chandelier hung low, so one had to walk around it to navigate the room's perimeter.

Everywhere lounged females in all states of undress. Vampires—once mortal—blooded by Constantine. His harem. Their eyes were glassy, their movements lethargic.
One lunged forward, but was caught by the arm of a companion.

Constantine lay sprawled, his shoulders against a tumble of elaborate velvet and satin pillows. His leather breeches were unfastened at the waist to reveal dark hairs tufting out. He wore nothing else. Candle flames worshipped him, flickering smartly across his bare abdomen, not so muscular as Rhys, but neither soft. He was a vision.

Silver flashed as he flicked his fingers to silently command the slender woman draped across his lap to move. She crawled off, leering at Viviane and revealing she was not so neat when taking blood for the crimson drool at the corner of her mouth.

Uncivilized, Viviane thought. The room housed a harem of hobbled animals, kept reined by their master.

I cannot do this. I do not want to be kept like them. Do they not see they are nothing more than chattel?

“Mademoiselle LaMourette,” Constantine said on a lazy drawl. His fingers played with the vampiress's garnet hair. “Did I request your presence this evening?”

She met his dark eyes. No compassion, not a hint of her reflection there. It was not a stare she could endure overlong. Most especially, not for centuries. “I wish to speak to you in private. Send your minions off to their cages.”

One woman snarled. The poor things. They would never know the freedom Viviane had known all her life. Could she master a rescue mission right here and now? Release them to their own designs?

No. They would never survive.

“Whatever you wish to say to me can be said before my kin.” Constantine lay back, his fingers finding the loose curls of a blonde woman who lay on her stomach, her backside completely revealed amidst the sheer fabrics
draped across the divan. “Soon enough they will become your sisters.”

Viviane gritted her teeth to keep from screaming. “No.”

The harpsichord abruptly stopped.

Constantine tilted his head. “What was that?”

She could not do this, could not kneel, or bow or whatever it was he required of her.

“I am not comfortable with this arrangement. Will you please grant me your audience in private? Just a few moments?”

“Not tonight, LaMourette. I've suffered your rebuffs to a certain degree of humiliation. I will no longer bow to your requests. Tell me this—you are untainted by the half-breed's blood?”

She nodded. She would never harm Rhys by biting him, and thus giving his werewolf a greater hunger for blood than it already possessed.

“Then I will consider you.”

Her neck muscles tightened. He would
consider
her? How dare he!

Viviane kept her lips pressed together. Standing here was humiliating enough without the women leering at her.

“I had thought you'd intended to come before me on your knees?”

She had promised nothing of the sort. But it was apparent he would milk this to his advantage. He would bring her to her lowest to show all he could control her.

In a fluid movement, Constantine stood. He turned Viviane toward the chandelier, which was so bright it made it difficult to see. In reaction, she stepped closer to him.

I cannot do this. I will not. Even if I must die alone and starving.

Constantine's touch raised gooseflesh across her skin. Fingers glided to her neck and stopped at her pulse. Normally such a touch would quicken Viviane, draw up her desire. Now it curdled dread throughout her being.

Run. Get away from him
.

“Will you or will you not accept me as your patron?”

“She will not!”

Rhys barged into the room and tugged Viviane from Constantine's grasp.

V
IVIANE MELTED INTO HIS
embrace, yet Rhys sensed her muscles were tense, unsure.

“How did you get in here?” Constantine demanded.

Hordes of glassy-eyed kin congregated behind the vampire lord, curious and unembarrassed by their exposed flesh, yet ridiculously shivering at the sight of him.

To validate their fears, Rhys snarled at them. Surely, their master must have told them about his half-breed brother.

A half-breed who currently waged an inner war against his dark side. It wanted out. It wanted to put taloned paws about Constantine's neck. He could feel the shift tighten his shoulders and pectorals.

“I walked in,” Rhys said through a tight jaw. “Your porter was taking a nap. Happens when you've mortals working the night hours.” He clasped Viviane's hand. “I won't allow you to succumb to his bullying. Come with me now. You don't need to do this.”

“She will die without my patronage.”

Rhys snarled. “She can find another patron who is not so power hungry. One who is willing to love her and treat her with respect.”

Gratitude flashed in Viviane's eyes. Yes, he knew exactly what she desired. And though he could not give it to her, he would walk the world to find someone who could.

“Not you.” Constantine narrowed his eyes. “Never an atrocity such as you.”

The accusation would never cease to hurt. Rhys twisted his neck and tightened his jaw. His fingertips tingled, signaling the werewolf's growing rage.

“Would that I could give Viviane the lifeblood she requires.”

“You're fighting it right now,” his brother said coolly. “You are a beast!”

Viviane buried her face aside his neck and into his hair. “You've the same blood in your veins,” she said to Constantine. “I wonder should your kin not fear you?”

The women suddenly looked at their master anew.

“She lies!” Constantine shouted and beat his chest. “I am bloodborn!”

That insistent declaration Rhys had heard over and over when they were younger.
I am better than you. I am not half-breed. I am bloodborn. Only I am right.

He had agreed with Constantine then. Now, something inside of him shook its head and raged at the entitlement. Rhys would make his own way.

“Will you come with me?” he whispered to Viviane.

She nodded, and he lifted her into his arms.

Constantine growled.

“She's mine,” Rhys announced, his voice growing rough with the emerging werewolf. He twisted his neck, fighting the beast. “If you try to take her from me, or harm her in any way, I will kill you.”

Rhys loped out from the Hôtel de Salignac and into the night, Viviane draped in his arms.

For some reason the shift did not abate. The werewolf was coming upon him. Now.

“I love you,” he said as he took the narrow alleyway to her home. “I can't stop this. I'm shifting. I pray some
day you will forgive me the darkness my soul will not relent.”

“I already have. I love you, Rhys. Always.”

It was the first time he'd heard her say it. But it was too late.

He dashed into the stables and set her down awkwardly. Bones snapping and muscles stretching, Rhys yowled as his beast demanded release.

And the vampire in him sneered at Viviane.

 

B
OLD YELLOW EYES BEAMED
at Viviane. The werewolf rose on hind legs, looming over her. She stumbled when Rhys had released her. He'd been fighting the shift all the way from Constantine's palace. She'd felt his muscles bulge and his voice strain. He'd picked up speed and seams had torn on his sleeves.

The werewolf turned, inspecting the open stable door. With a slash of its paw, it slammed the door shut.

Viviane shuffled backward, her skirts impeding successful escape. Her spine hit the sharp corner of a wood supporting post.

The horses did not stir to have the beast stalking but feet away from them. It was as if they were silenced by the power of Rhys's man-beast form, respectful even.

They'd done this once before, werewolf against vampire. She could survive it again. This time fear did not rise. He'd rescued her, taken her away from a horrible fate. He had won her freedom.

Now she must help him see that truth, to know the honor he possessed, and to claim it.

Lunging forward, Rhys went on all fours, his wide, powerful paws slapping the straw-littered dirt floor. The wolf's body was large, elongated and did not walk as a real wolf for the insinuation of man.

“You want blood, yes?” Viviane defied bravely.

The long maw opened, stretching back black flesh to reveal moon-white fangs. Should those teeth graze her skin, they would open it to bleed.

“You want to bite another vampire?” she challenged. “I know you. You use this big, scary werewolf to frighten others, but you are not, and never will be, the man the werewolf is. You are the vampire.”

Its nose brushed her cheek, none too gently. Talons dug into the dirt beside her thighs. A snort hushed hot breath over her lips.

“Yes, the vampire who is so angry he has not control all the time, he forces Rhys to heinous acts. How dare you. You know, should he be caught, it would be your death, as well.”

Viviane grasped the werewolf's head, one hand behind an ear, the other along its jaw. The hard fangs cut her palm as it wrestled with her grip, but she would not relent.

“Hear me, wolf! You don't want what the vampire pushes you to do. You do not want to harm me.”

She struggled to maintain hold but realized the wolf could shuck her off with ease, so some part of it had to be hearing her beyond the raging vampire who pressed it for blood.

“You love me, Rhys. Your werewolf does. You want to mate with me.”

The gold eyes blinked. A snort hushed breath across her cheek. And Viviane gasped. There, on the shimmering surface of his eyes, she saw her reflection. A blurry, moving image of dark hair and blue eyes. And love.

Is that how she appeared? And only in her lover's eyes. Fitting.

“Fight the vampire,” she whispered, for she had fallen
into his gaze. Into the mirror of her own desperation, her desires and needs. “For us, Rhys.”

The werewolf tugged from her grasp and thrust back its head to howl. The sound reverberated through Viviane's bones, imprinting the perilous cry of one enslaved by a darker half. She dug her fingers into the soft fur behind his ears, wanting to never let go. To believe in his goodness.

The werewolf wanted freedom. The vampire wanted what it needed to survive.

Rhys's neck snapped oddly to the left. The wolf yelped. Viviane sensed he would shift again, and did not try to scramble away, though he stood right over her. Nothing her lover did could scare her.

Fur brushed her face and legs. Grinding growls were abruptly cut off. Whimpers segued with the wrenching noise of snapping bone. A human hand slapped the air and landed on her stomach. Wolf ears changed, the fur receding and the smooth pink ear shell tucking against human skull.

Rhys flipped back his hair, revealing human face, muscles tense and jaw biting as the final changes returned his body to vampire and his mind to werewolf.

He collapsed on her, his head hitting her lap. Viviane embraced his shuddering shoulders. He sobbed softly against her stomach. A man broken by his own inner demons.

“I love you,” was all she could say.

 

A
WARE SHE STROKED HIS HAIR
and drew it across his bare shoulders, Rhys lay still, wallowing in the calming touch. Viviane had spoken to his werewolf mind while the vampire had dominated it. Somehow, he had heard her,
and had stopped his werewolf from attacking her for the blood the vampire craved.

He was weak now. It had been but a day since he'd drunk blood, yet the vampire was never satisfied. He would not—must not—harm Viviane. And in his core, he knew his werewolf would always protect her from his dark side.

That relieved and horrified him. Ever after, she would need protection from his vampire.

Had he done the right thing by taking her away from his brother?

Emotionally it had been right. But physically? Perhaps there were some evils Viviane must endure to survive.

No, you will not relent to Constantine. She is yours. You will make it work.

Her head tilted against the wall, her eyes were closed, yet a soft smile sat on her lips. The tiny curve that had initially captured him now teased him to touch it. “Thank you for trusting me.”

“I will never give up on you, Rhys. On us. Take me inside,” she said, eyes still closed. “Make love to me.”

He carried Viviane through the quiet shadows. Dawn would soon crush the night and he wanted to tuck her away in her bedchamber before that happened.

He laid her on the bed and on the vanity found a tinderbox. Striking the flint sharply, he lit the tinder and a warm glow suffused the room. The draperies were drawn, no sunlight would enter this sanctuary.

Viviane shrugged off her cape. Her hair was tangled. Together, they looked like gypsies come in from the storm.

“My werewolf heard you, even shackled by the vampire,” he offered.

“I know. I wasn't afraid of you. Either of you.” She gestured he come to her.

“You dared me to mate with you.”

He climbed onto the bed and tugged the ties loose about her neck. “I am ready for your werewolf. I want to know all of you, Rhys.”

“Would that my werewolf was ready for you.”

“I wonder if you did bite me, or vice versa, if it may appease your vampire?”

“It would further enrage my werewolf.”

“What if it tamed your vampire?”

He leaned over the bed, putting his palms to each side of her hips. Despite her distraught appearance she smelled luscious. “I will not risk harming you, Viviane. Please accept that.”

“I can. I love you, Rhys. And no matter what my fate holds, which is likely a swift and painful death without a patron, I wish to spend that time with you. If you will have me.”

“If?” He crawled over her and kissed her mouth. So soft and giving. Tender curls slipped beneath his stroking fingers. The heat of her seeped into his body, melting him upon her limbs. “Not if,” he whispered. “Only yes and yes, a thousand times over. I will have you, LaMourette.”

He searched her azure gaze. He would find her heart there. Her truth. Her desire. His sanctity.

A kiss pushed away the world from around them. Limestone walls crumbled in silence and gray night sky wilted. The half-moon dazzled over all.

He did want to bite her, to draw her life into his body. He sensed his vampire was weak, but that merely placed him on a strength level to the common mortal. He could wait until later to feed on a random mortal.

And yet, what harm could drinking her blood do? Only
her bite would aggravate his werewolf. To bite her would simply feed the vampire's hunger. Dare he? They both wanted him to try.

Rhys slipped his hands under her gown and tore the cotton shift down the middle to expose her breasts, her stomach, her mons. Unwilling to do this slowly, to dance with foreplay and ensure she was ready for him, he slid his fingers inside her, seeking her moist heat. She moaned at his entrance, and ground herself against him, indicating what she wanted, what she needed.

Kissing her stomach, he licked to her breasts. There he worshipped her nipples, biting and sucking so hard he brought blood to the surface in a delicious bruise. All the while, he stroked her and she rocked upon his hand in reply to his motions.

“You belong to me.”

“Yes. Yours.”

“I will not own you,” he murmured, “but I will serve you. Please you.”

“Yes.”

“Love you. Adore you.”

“Yes, Rhys, yes!”

She came, her thighs squeezing his hand as her head thrust into the lace counterpane and her hips bucked. He wanted to claim her but more so he wanted to experience her pleasure. To give her what she needed, and bask in the stolen bliss.

And yes, his werewolf mind wanted to allow the vampire to taste her blood.

The vampiress pushed him onto the bed, and crawled over him. She ground her wetness against his erection. Sharp fingernails clutched his arms as she rubbed her breasts over his chest.

He clutched her derriere and squeezed, loving the
rock of her hips as she worked her mons against his hard cock.

“Take it all,” she managed. “Oh, Rhys…”

She slipped her fingers along his tattered breeches. The torn fabric fell away. Her fingers circled him, stroking, following the rhythm of her tongue.

“The deuce, Viviane, you will be the end of me.”

“It will be a sweet death, I promise. Yes, faster. Like that.”

Viviane shoved Rhys into the pillows and climbed upon his naked body. His erection bobbed against her mons. She palmed his shoulders and leaned in for a kiss.

And in the pale light he saw the glint as her fangs descended.

“Now I'm going to claim you. Let no other woman touch your body or desire your kiss. You are mine, always.”

 

V
IVIANE SLID ONTO HER
lover's hardness. It filled her, thickly, snugly, finding its place while marking its claim. She rode him to a swift climax, thrusting back her head when her fangs descended. The agony of denying herself the blood only increased the intensity of orgasm. She felt it would never end, and the exquisite pleasure of it would kill her.

Falling onto the bed, and stretching her arms above her head, she cooed, “That was too good.”

Rhys rolled to his side, fitting his body against hers, his cock, still hard and thick, snugged against her hip.

She hugged him, silently knowing she would die alongside her lover. And she was prepared to do so every moment until they were exactly as blissful as this one.

The only thing that could be more pleasurable prodded. “Let me taste you,” she whispered. “Please.”

Rhys nodded. “I want that. But you must not bite me. Your saliva must not enter my bloodstream.”