Seized by the Vampire Lord (Dark Lords) (7 page)

He bent close, as if to press a kiss on her lips, but she turned her face away before she could find out if that was his intent.  Instead, he moved to her wrists to work the knots loose.  When he untied her, her arms and legs dropped weakly to the bed.  She had not the energy to even roll to her side and cover herself from his sight.

He scooped her tenderly into his arms, slipping her torn garments off her back.  She tried to fight him off, but she was too weak and too tired to do more than push at his chest feebly.  She’d been sapped of all strength, her pride struggling to mend its shattered pieces.

She knew she deserved some punishment for invading his privacy, but it didn’t change the fact that she was furious at him for leaving her wanting and subjecting her to sensual torture in the first place.  She thought she would rather prefer a beating than to face that ever again.  His arrogance in assuming he had that right was insufferable.

He turned with her in his arms, and she saw he’d brought in a bath.  Steam curled from the hot water, smelling invitingly like crushed rose hips.  She hadn’t heard anything and knew he must have used his power to hide his movements, as he had in the forest.

He bent, dipping her feet into the water, guiding her in until the water slid sensual fingers along the tips of her breasts.  Cerise bit her lip, twinges of pain sluicing through her nerves.  It felt wondrously relaxing on her sore muscles, almost too good.  She was still too sensitive from his actions to enjoy it as she should.

Daegon wet a cloth and rubbed a sweet smelling soap against the linen, working up a lather.  He settled himself on a short stool behind her, unspeaking, his movements exacting and quiet.  He pushed his sleeves up, bringing his bare arms around her as he rubbed the cloth over her breasts.  She’d been so aroused before, having his arms around her plunged her straight into erotic desperation.  When his slippery fingers and the cloth slid over her slick nipples, she thought she would die.

Cerise bit back a moan, overcome by a whirlwind of sensation.  “Please don’t.  It … hurts,” she said, breathless with the stormy eroticism zipping through her bloodstream like lightning.

He kissed the side of her neck, sliding his hands beneath the water.  “I want to make it better,” he murmured hotly, his breath singeing her delicate skin, evoking a primitive response in her.  “Don’t you want me to make it better?”

“I don’t … know,” she said, her voice breaking as his fingers found the aching bud nestled between her swollen, nether lips.  The first touch of his finger on her near bruised flesh released a violent spasm in her womb.  A torrent of fire rippled through her.

Cerise cried out as his fingers curled against her, rubbing a tight circle that had her rigid, gripping the sides of the tub to keep from drowning.  She sloshed the water as her hips came off the tub and wrenched up to meet him.  He pressed harder, biting her neck as his fingers rasped her clit.  He sucked her flesh to near pain, teeth scoring the tender chords of her neck

Her skin tingled, demanding his touch.  Blood throbbed with achy intensity in that hardened nub.  Her nerve endings screamed with shocking pleasure as the agony tore through her muscles.

She cried out, tears streaking her face.  Bone and flesh melded, dissolved, shrinking down to one finite point, where his fingers strummed an ageless tune.  Shudders ripped through her body as her orgasm rippled out, slowly easing only when he released her.

She collapsed, physically and emotionally.  Heated waves lapped at her nipples, making her tremble.  Her vaginal muscles quivered with shaky release.

Daegon tugged her earlobe, pressing a kiss to her ear.  “Better?”

She fought to find her voice.  Her throat was dry, scratchy from her cries.  “I … I’m not sure,” she managed.

“I will leave you then.  I’ve laid out new gowns for you.  When you are ready, come to the foyer.”

She nodded, lost in her thoughts.  She was so achy and empty, she thought nothing could fill her.  The pleasure she found at his touch couldn’t overcome the fear and anger he’d sprung in her.  She didn’t know what to think now.  She was thankful for surcease but still angry over what he’d done.  He appeared remorseful, however. Dare she trust it?  She did not.

And didn’t he deserve some form of punishment for keeping her here against her will?  It wasn’t right, but she had no idea of what she could do.  Vengeance was not her way, and even thinking of trying to gain some hold over him made her feel weepy with exhaustion.

Cerise cleaned herself off as best she could, washing the sweat and dirt from her hair.  When she was done, she lay for a while, soaking the heat into her muscles, relaxing.  Ever since setting out to save her sister, Bianca, from the demon knight who held her captive, she had had no opportunity for calm, no rest.  She had been in constant turmoil since Daegon found her, and she was thankful for the brief reprieve.

She couldn’t imagine what he wanted with her downstairs.  She only hoped he would not seek to punish her again.  She knew now what faced liars in his household, and she could not go through that again without breaking into madness.

When the water had cooled beyond the point of soothing, Cerise got out and dried herself with the abundance of towels he’d left on the washstand.  She wished there was a fire place inside, or at least a brazier near to dry her hair by.  Despite the coming winter, the room was surprisingly insulated against drafts.  She hadn’t felt truly uncomfortable since she’d been there, unlike her own home, which required fires in nearly every room to make it bearable.

She determined it must be magic that kept the castle fit, as it were, for it made sense, though she’d seen little enough of Daegon’s demonstration of power.  Cerise rubbed her hair as dry as she could then wrapped a length of linen around her head to sap the remaining water from her hair.

She saw Daegon had brought her more fine gowns and undergarments.  The stockings, this time, were so finely spun, they were nearly  transparent and felt exquisitely soft to the touch.  She rolled them up her legs, holding them in place with garters crafted of delicate lace that resembled flowering vines.  The shift was paper thin, but strong, slinky as it glided over her curves like loving hands.  Looking at herself in the mirror, she saw she looked like a bride prepared for her wedding night, sensual, innocent, with dusky rose blooming at her apex and nipples.  What would he think to see her this way?  Would it drive him crazed with lust?  Would his eyes darken as he crossed the room and ripped the fragile fabric from her shoulders?

She seemed all too capable of bringing his repressed violence to the fore.  Insanely, it excited her to know he was barely in control of his emotions, that her presence upset him.  She knew it was a death wish, to feel that way, and still, she couldn’t help her perversity in wanting to provoke him.  Perhaps she had a streak of vengeance burning her soul after all.

She turned back to the chair, examining what else he’d brought for her.  He’d selected three choices of gown: a sapphire blue velvet trimmed with white lace; a rich lilac frosted with glittering beads that made it appear almost silver; and a green the shade of a moss laden lagoon, trimmed with gold that shimmered in the flickering candlelight like it was molten.  He seemed to know her mind intimately, know the hues she loved best, the textures that beckoned her fingers to touch them.

She took the green and stepped into it, pulling it up over her shoulders.  The neckline plunged deeply, perfectly matched to the shift beneath it, exposing the deep valley of her breasts.  With a corset, she would have literally spilled out from the bodice.

It was an old fashioned gown, with sleeves shaped like bells that cut up to the crook of her elbow.  She thought it beautiful though, romantic, like something from a bygone era.

She tightened the lacings in back as best she could, but there was only so much she could do.  Her hair, she saw when she took down the towel, was still slightly damp.  It took her a long while to work the tangles out, and she decided to wear it piled atop her head rather than chance ruining the gown with the residual moisture.

She looked at herself in the full length mirror, wondering what he would think of her.  Her neck was richly exposed, looking fragile, vulnerable, almost inviting of his bite.  She shivered, imaging what it would feel like, telling herself she wanted no part of it but secretly knowing it tempted her.  The paleness of her breasts seemed enhanced by the vivid gown.  It drew out the color of her eyes, made her hair, by contrast, appear as red as blood.

Blood … life force … energy….   Why had he not taken it from her?

Cerise shook off the morbid turn of her thoughts, slid her feet into the slippers he had so thoughtfully had brought and left her room.  The hallway outside was awash with light, allowing her to proceed without the worry of stumbling over herself in the dark.  She reached the grand staircase within minutes and descended.  As she neared the halfway mark, Daegon stepped out from an archway and stood at the base of the stairs, awaiting her, propped against the banister with deceptive leisure.

Her breath caught in her throat.

Something had changed in him.  There was a hungry heat to his eyes that hadn’t been there before, more intense than she’d seen so briefly in the study and when he’d tied her to the bed.  As he watched her descent, she felt as though he devoured her with his gaze, that he couldn’t look away.

She couldn’t look away either.

Time seemed to slow, each step, each breath punctuated by a pound of her heart.  He was so darkly beautiful, so hauntingly edged.  It made her chest hurt to look at him.  The predator rested for now, appeased, but it lingered with sensual intent in his eyes.

She knew he was pleased by her appearance, and a blind thrill of excitement surged in her.

As she reached the bottom step, he took her hand from the banister and brought it to his lips.  A shiver arced up her spine at the soft brush of breath and skin.

He released her, lingering a moment too long.  His mouth quirked and a brow arched with interest.  “The emerald suits you … very well, my love.”

Something in the velvet murmur of his voice resonated with suggestion.  It was a simple compliment, yet she felt the same as if he’d told her he’d like nothing more than to strip it from her body.  Where she stood, on the step, put her eyes level with his own.  She was incapable of
not
recognizing how much he wanted her.

“Thank you, my lord.  Alas, I could not lace the gown as tightly as it was meant to be.”  Indeed, her breasts felt dangerously close to exposure.

“Allow me,” he said softly, bidding her step off and turn around.  He tightened the lacing in back, his hands lingering at her waist as he finished.  She couldn’t help but remember what he’d done with those hands, how he’d touched her, brought her agony and ecstasy.

He grasped her nape before she could turn and thank him.  Her heart beat an erratic tune in her chest as he slid his fingers up into the hair at the base of her skull.  Shivers of awareness snaked over her.

Her lips parted on a breath as she arched her neck, enjoying the possessive grip of his fingers.  Of a sudden, he pulled the pins from her hair with his right hand and set it free.  Her hair spilled down her back.  He slipped a hand down to her ribcage, pulling her back against him.  He curved his fingers up her neck, cupping her jaw to tilt her face back.  She turned slightly, into him, her hand near his groin, her hip nestled to his.  He was powerfully hard, in control of her, the pressure of his fingers light but commanding.

Her lids grew heavy.  Her breath stilled.  A hush settled over her, expectant, breathless.  A long moment passed as he watched her and, finally, he covered her lips with his own.

She felt shocked by the contact, her breath stolen from her lungs.  She had to pull away, had to drag air inside her.  His hand tightened at her ribs as if sensing her inner struggle.  His thumb grazed the under curve of one breast as he nibbled her lips with coaxing debilitation.

Her womb clenched on a harsh contraction.  She parted her lips, shuddering with pleasure as his tongue edged the seam of her mouth.  He didn’t plunge inside, and she was suddenly desperate to feel him inside her, to taste the spiciness of his mouth and the heat of his breath.

He pulled back, caressing her jaw and looking long in her eyes.  His pupils overwhelmed his irises, making them hypnotically dark.  “I’ve prepared dinner.  I know you must be weak from hunger.”

Cerise blinked at him.  Eating was the furthest thing from her mind at the moment.  She felt hazy, as though an enchantment had been laid upon her.

“I do feel weak,” she admitted.

One corner of his mouth twitched with amusement.  He released her and took her arm in his, leading her through the marble archway that resembled an arbor.  They walked through a parlor with a roaring fire dominating one wall, through another doorway into the dining room.

Arched windows lined one wall, and through them, she could see the rising moon tinting the plum sky with silver.  In the center of the room stood a long table with legs carved to resemble those of a lion.  Ten chairs surrounded it, the seats covered with embroidery, and the arms and legs similar to that of the table.

On the table at one end, silver flatware was set, its shine so perfect, it sparkled as brilliantly as diamonds under the chandelier’s glow.  Covered dishes were placed in intricate order, and he guided her to the chair of honor, seating her.