There was something in his eyes, something that should have warned her. But she couldn't curb her anger.
"I already know. You don't desire me at all. You want someone who looks like me, but who is timid and quiet and withdrawn. You touched me while I rested, Roland.
While my body could respond but my mind could not."She shook her head in frustration.
"It isn't me you want."
Roland's grip on her shoulders eased, and his hands slipped slowly down her arms. His gaze stabbing into her eyes, he reached her wrists, encircled them and drew her hands forward. Then he pressed her palms flat to his groin, and moved them slowly up and down over the solid, throbbing length of him.
"You're wrong."His words were nearly a growl.
Rhiannon felt a shudder of absolute longing move through her. She closed her eyes at the force of it. Then his mouth was crushing hers, his arms were around her, pinning hers immobile. He pressed her lips open and thrust his tongue into her mouth, licking its roof, and her teeth and her tongue.
She wanted to put her arms around him, but his crushing embrace prevented that. Her hands worked, all the same, at the button of his trousers. In moments, she was able to close them around the silken, rigid evidence of how very much he did want her. She squeezed, and stroked, and ran the pad of her thumb over the tip.
He moaned into her mouth, and suddenly gripped the front of her blouse and tore it open. He was frantic, a man possessed, she thought, as he ripped the bra away, and bent her backward, bowing to suckle her breast. Ruthlessly he tugged and bit, ravaging her sensitive nipple until her knees quivered and her hands buried in his hair to urge him on.
He fell to his knees then, and yanked the skirt until its seam gave way. He pressed his lips to the front of her panties, hands gripping her buttocks, and she felt his breath and the moistness of his kiss right through them. A second later he ripped them aside, and kissed her there again.
She couldn't stand up much longer. Her legs were jelly. Her knees had dissolved.
Then his tongue parted her folds, and lapped a hot path inside. She fell to the floor, but he came right with her. Growling deep in his throat, he pressed his palms to her inner thighs, and shoved them apart. He buried his face between them.
It was torture, sweet, succulent torture, and he applied it like an attack.
His mouth devoured, his tongue assaulted. His hands fought to widen the gate of her fortress, and he mercilessly deepened his invasion.
She screamed aloud when his conquest was complete, and still the siege continued, rendering her no more than a quivering, panting captive. When her hands tried to push his head away, he caught her wrists in a grip of iron, and plundered on, until every bastion of sanity had been rendered useless.
Then he was moving upward, over her body. Her newly freed, trembling hands shoved his trousers lower, and he plunged himself inside her without a second's hesitation.
His size and the force of his thrusts made her gasp. His mouth covered hers again, and the sweep of his tongue into her throat matched the rhythm of his body, pounding into hers. She pressed at his shoulders once, as a signal he should slow down. This wasn't as she had envisioned it. This wasn't the lovemaking she craved from him. But his hands only caught hers, and pinned them to the floor at her sides. His pace, if anything, became more demanding.
And in moments, her hips arched in response to that demand, and her tongue swirled around his in a savory dance. Harder and harder he rode her, until his lips left her mouth to slide down to her throat.
She tipped her head back as he drew her skin into his mouth. She was approaching a second, shattering climax, and she reached for it, eagerly.
She knew he was there as well when he reared inside her, and she felt the hot pulse of his seed. Then his teeth sank into her throat, and he growled once again. She moaned in a hoarse voice as the climax held her endlessly in its grip, then shook all over as it released her.
Her muscles slowly un twined and relaxed. His mouth was still fastened to her throat. She felt the movements of his lips and knew he still drank. Her essence flowed into him, and' her body began to weaken. The lethargy that crept around her senses was tempting her, calling her to embrace it. But it would be brief, she knew. He would stop at any moment, and her head would clear.
But he didn't. On and on, he took from her, and the ecstasy she felt became tinged with fear.
She pushed at his shoulders.
"Roland..."
He lifted his head with some reluctance. His eyes still glowing with passion, he stared into hers.
"You're delicious,"he whispered.
"All of you."
She felt a sudden confusion inside her. She thought she ought to smile up at him, but instead she felt like crying.
( Why? For God's sake, why? Wasn't this what she'd wanted?
He rolled off her, stood and righted his trousers. He reached a hand down to her.
"Come, it's nearly dawn. You're feeling it already, aren't you?"
She swallowed the lump in her throat. He hadn't even taken off his clothes.
His eyes were hot with lust, but devoid of feeling.
"Yes, I suppose I am."She allowed him to take her hand, and pull her to her feet. But her knees refused to support her, and she swayed away from him.
She caught herself on the arm of the set tee leaning over it like a drunkard.
Her head fell forward. Her hair veiled her face like a dark curtain, through which she could not see. Rather, she heard his ragged breathing slowly take on a normal rhythm. She felt the gradual ebb of his mindless lust.
Roland caught her shoulders, tugging her upright, turning her to face him.
"What is it?"
She lifted her chin to see confusion in his expression. My God, he wasn't even aware. His eyes narrowed, then focused on the fresh wound at her throat. The heightened color left his face all at once. She heard him curse roughly, and that was all. She felt herself falling, but oddly, there was no sense of landing at his feet. Instead, it was as if she simply continued a downward spiral into utter blackness.
The knowledge of what he'd done was like a blade thrust through the mists of passion to plunge into his heart as he caught her in his arms, and lifted her. Her head fell backward, her endless satin hair trailing down his legs as he carried her to the bedroom, and laid her down. He smoothed the ebony locks away from her face and pulled the covers over her pale body. He had to close his eyes tightly for the burning that assailed them. Certainly not tears. He had none. Hadn't had for centuries. What use were tears to a beast?
God, that he'd thought he might someday conquer the bloodthirsty demon within him was a joke. But to have found the proof of it like this. Mentally, he called to Eric. She wouldn't die. As he recalled the way he'd ravaged her, second by second, he knew he hadn't taken enough to kill her. But he might have, had she not stopped him when she had.
There'd been no logic in his brain at that moment. Only sensation.
The feel of his body possessing hers, of her climax milking the seed from him, of her blood filling him, had chased every vestige of morality from his mind, and given free rein to the monster that lurked inside.
He heard the door creak open, but didn't turn. Instead he clasped her limp, slender hand in both of his, and brought it to his lips.
"I'm sorry, Rhiannon. God, I'm sorry."
"Roland, what..."Eric's steps approached from behind, then stopped.
Roland released her hand and turned to. face his friend. Eric wasn't looking at him, however. His gaze fixed upon Rhiannon's white face, and then upon the two tiny wounds at her throat.
"What the hell have you done?"
Roland parted his lips but found himself unable to speak. Then he was shoved roughly aside as Eric went to the bed, leaned over it and touched Rhiannon's face. Roland turned his back. Shame engulfed him.
Remorse filled his every pore.
"I didn't mean--I lost control, Eric.
I nearly"-- Eric gripped Roland's arm and drew him from the room. He closed the bedroom door. His anger struck like a fist, and Roland couldn't blame him for it.
"What the hell were you thinking? How could you allow yourself to"---- "I don't know, dammit!"Roland lowered his head, pressing a palm to his forehead.
"Is she all right?"
Eric sighed hard.
"She'll be weak when she wakes, and more than likely, she'll feel like hell.
She'll need to feed right away. All in all, I'd say she's in better shape than you right now."He shook his head.
"Tell me what happened, Roland. This is so unlike you."
"Oh, but it isn't. It's exactly like me."
"That's ridiculous. You're the most controlled man I know."
"Am I?"Roland paced away, toward the fire. He stared into the glowing coals, inhaled the pungent aroma of the smoldering wood.
"Have you ever wondered why I remain such a staid, quiet individual?
Have you ever once considered what fiendish qualities I might be holding in check? "
"I don't know what you're talking about."Eric came nearer.
Roland faced him, pointing one outstretched finger toward the bedroom.
"That is what happens when I ease the reins of control, Eric. The lust for blood, be it in battle or in passion, takes over.
It's time you knew your dearest friend is no more than evil given form and substance."
Eric frowned. He touched Roland's shoulder, then gripped it hard.
"I've never seen you like this."
"What you've seen of me is a veneer, my friend. Today, you've met me for the first time. Perhaps it would be best if you took your fledgling and the boy, and went as far from me as possible, before I contaminate all of yOU."' "Don't be ridiculous."Eric let his hand fall away.
"We'll talk more tonight. The sun is already cresting the horizon.
You ought to go below."
Roland shook his head.
"No need. I availed myself of your potion."
Eric's frown deepened.
"When?"
Roland shrugged.
"An hour ago. Perhaps less. What does it matter?"
"Why didn't I realize... Roland, sit down. Crawl out of this well of self-loathing and listen to me."Without waiting for Roland's compliance, Eric shoved him toward a chair.
Roland sat, but he wasn't concerned with what Eric had to say. No words could alter the truth.
"It wasn't you, you fool,"Eric all but shouted.
"It was the drug. If anyone is to blame for this debacle, it's me."He pulled a chair close to Roland's and sat down."The drug has a tendency to increase aggressive behavior, At least it did in the animals I initially tested it on. When the same symptoms didn't occur in me, I assumed immortals were immune to that side effect. That was a grave error, obviously."
Roland shook his head slowly.
"What a genuine friend you are to try to accept blame for my true nature. It wasn't the drug, Eric. It was me."
"No. Roland, use your brain and listen. I should have realized that older vampires would be more susceptible to adverse effects than younger ones.
Just as they're more susceptible to other elements.
Sunlight. Pain. Don't you see? The drug caused this."
Roland faced Eric without blinking.
"You truly do not wish to see me for what I am. If the drug did anything at all, it was only to weaken the tenuous grip of my control. The beast within is mine alone, I know it well."
"You're a damned fool if you believe that."
I Roland stood.
"This conversation is senseless. Go below and rest before the sun fries your wits any further."
"I've been below. I took Tamara down not thirty minutes ago. But, like you, I imbibed the drug this dawn. I understood we would take turns at this day shift of ours. And this conversation is not senseless. It makes perfect sense, and if you were not so stubborn, you would know it."
Roland could stand no more of Eric's rationalizing. He started for the great hall. But his persistent friend followed on his heels. At the foot of the worn stone stairs, Roland turned.
"You want a turn guarding the castle, be my guest. But stop hounding me, Eric. I need to be by myself for a time."
Roland hurried up the stairs. Thankfully, Eric remained at the bottom.
He moved past the second level, and the entrance to Jamey's apartment. He continued upward, beyond the third level, and the decaying chambers that hadn't been used since his time as a mortal.
The stairs ended abruptly at a heavy wood door, and Roland shoved it open.
He stepped into the weapons room, a huge, circular tomb, without windows. It was black as pitch, but he could see clearly.
Suits of armor stood like dust-coated specters, the darkness within them eyeing him with what felt to him like condemnation. Well deserved, Roland thought. Broadswords hung upon the stone walls, tarnished with neglect and time. Their finely detailed scabbards were barely discernible through the filth. Crossbows lined the floor in one section, likely inoperable by now.
Bolts stood in a short, wooden box. Hundreds of them, bunched together like a porcupine's quills. Shields leaned against the wall, the faded remnants of the Courtemanche family crest upon their faces.
Roland felt bitter irony when he glanced at the black, rampant lion, teeth bared, upon a field of red.
The beast and the blood. How appropriate.
He tore his gaze from the grim reminders of his past, of his family, and strode toward the ladder at the far end of the room. As he neared the top, he shoved at the trapdoor above him, and climbed through it to the tower room. He found the long, wooden matches upon the table where he'd left them, and struck one against the rough stone wall.
Then he lit the candles until the entire room was aglow.
Like the chamber below, this one was circular. The walls had been lined with slits, from which the archers of old could shoot at intruders if the castle came under siege. Roland had sealed the slits only recently. There were times when he rested here, by day, rather than in the dungeons beneath the earth.
He wouldn't do so again. The dungeons were fitting enough for a man such as he.
For a moment, he stood in the room's center and turned slowly. His paintings stood all around him. Those he'd done as a boy, all but ruined by the ravaging hands of time. Once they'd been fanciful images of dragons and knights and heroic dreams. Then there were the portraits, which had come much later. The faces of his mother, and father. The accusing eyes of his brothers.
Upon an easel, the unfinished portrait of Rhiannon drew him nearer.
He'd come to this room to destroy it, to destroy all of them. He intended to slice them to shreds. He was no painter, no artist. He had not the heart of a poet, but the heart of a villain. What right did he have to hold to these memories of a human' with a soul? They were false. Utter lies, all of them.
He drew a dagger from a sheath at his hip, and lifted it. He strode up to the portrait.
But something stopped him. He knew not what, only that it was a force stronger than his anger. He gazed at the image, that was now only a jumble of vague shapes and outlines. In it, he saw Rhiannon, her almond eyes reaching out to him, filled with warmth, and light. With a strangled sob, he dropped the dagger to the stone floor.
He turned his back to the painting and faced instead a small table where his paints and pallets and brushes stood at the ready. Beside it, stood another ladder. He looked slowly upward, to the trapdoor at the top. Above was the top of the castle.
He used to go up there as a boy, and look out over the woods to the spot where the two rivers joined. Narrow, rapid Tordu, laughing as it bounded into the broad, calm waters of the Loire. As one, the two rivers continued their unending journey southward in a glistening, glittering strand.
Beyond the trapdoor was daylight by now. The warm rays of a golden sun, with nothing overhead to prevent its touch. He started forward, placed his hands on the rungs.
Then he paused, and looked again toward the painting. He moved as a blind man, guided by unseen hands. He grabbed up the brushes, and a pallet.
Her head throbbed, and her stomach seemed alive, the way it twisted and writhed within her. She felt slightly stronger now than she had when she'd first stirred, to find Tamara in worried attendance. She'd fed, and gradually, her strength had begun to filter back into her.
"Where is he?"She saw Tamara's face tighten when she asked the question.
"I don't know. Eric said he'd holed himself up in the tower room all day.
Then at dusk, he went outside. He hasn't come back."The young one searched Rhiannon's eyes.
"You were hoping he'd be here when you woke."
Rhiannon shrugged, hoping to hide her disappointment."I was only curious."
Tamara touched her hand.
"Don't be too disappointed in him, Rhiannon.
Eric said he was pretty distraught over what happened."She frowned, her pretty face puckering."Not that he doesn't deserve to be."
"Oh, posh, Tamara, I'm fine. And don't tell me you don't enjoy a small sip or two in the throes of passion."Tamara blushed.
"Well, yes ... but"-- "I like to think he was so overwhelmed with desire for me that he took leave of his senses. It's rather flattering, actually."
Tamara shook her head.
"Eric thinks the drug was to blame. He feels terrible about it."
Rhiannon tilted her head to one side.
"I know little of chemistry. Do you think he's right?"
"Oh, yes. Eric is a genius about those things."She glanced at Rhiannon, then lowered her lashes.
"Was it ... very nice?"
Rhiannon almost smiled. Perhaps would have, if not for the lingering pain lodged in the center of her chest, for which she had no explanation. She'd never encountered a vampiress so embarrassed to discuss sex.
"My body nearly exploded at his touch,"she said frankly.
"I've wanted him for a very long time, you know."
Tamara faced her fully then.
"So, why do I see such sadness in your eyes?"
Rhiannon blinked and turned away.
"Come on, Rhiannon. If you aren't going to talk to me, then who?"
She met the younger woman's gaze once more. She sensed only genuine caring emanating from her.
"My body was sated."
"But?"
Rhiannon sighed.
"It was almost as if he were alone as he plunged himself into me. Almost as if I weren't even there."
Tamara nodded sagely.
"You wanted tenderness, some cuddling"some talking. I understand."
Rhiannon lifted her brows.
"Cuddling? Where do you come by such ideas, fledgling? Do I honestly look to you like the type of woman who needs cuddling?"
Tamara grinned.
"He'll come around. Give him time."Exasperated with the young woman's nonsense, Rhian-non flung back her covers and got to her feet. She didn't miss the sudden widening of Tamara's eyes, before she turned her back.
Imagine, being so bashful with another woman. Well, Rhiannon certainly had nothing to be embarrassed about.
She went to the dresser, tugged out a pair of designer denims and slipped them on. At the wardrobe, she removed a thin silk blouse in a stunning electric blue, and poked her arms into the sleeves. As she fastened the onyx buttons, Tamara faced her again.
"You're going out, aren't you?"
Rhiannon nodded.
"Yes, and it will be useless for you to tell me to stay here and rest. I'm immortal. Granted, I feel like a brisk wind could blow me away right now, but it will pass."She knelt near the closet and searched for a suitable pair of walking shoes.
"Eric said Roland headed for the woods, just beyond the wall."
Rhiannon turned.
"Reading my mind, are you?"
"I don't have to. I'm a woman."
She'd rested too long, Rhiannon told herself as she crossed the grassy meadow, its dew dampening the hem of her jeans. Cool, moist breezes bathed her face, and the full moon lit her way. She wouldn't try to summon Roland, or to track him down by honing her senses to his. She had a feeling he would only go out of his way to avoid her if he knew she sought him.
At the meadow's edge she leaped the wall, and stepped into the darkness of the woods. Twisted, dark-skinned trees and thorny bushes surrounded her, but she pushed steadily onward, determined to find him. She had no idea what she wanted to say to him, but she knew she had to say something. Tamara had been wrong about her wishing to be cuddled, but right about the talking. She needed, desperately, to talk to Roland. More important, she needed him to talk to her.
The scents of the rivers grew stronger as she neared them, and a fine, silvery mist hung at knee level. Decomposing limbs and plants made the earth beneath her feet like a sponge. It sank with her every step.
She took her time, moving slowly, inhaling deeply to experience every aroma the night had to offer. The spinning in her head eased a bit with each passing moment, and eventually she came upon a well-worn path, meandering among the trees. She followed it, stepping in and out of the abstract patterns the moon's light painted on the ground.
A small gust caused the elms to sway and groan as if in agony . or in ecstasy. Their deep tenor harmonized with the soprano voice of the breeze rushing over the smaller branches high above.
She approached a wrought-iron gate, with an elaborate C twined around its bars. It creaked as she pushed it open.
The wind stiffened. Huge limbs parted, bathing the tiny cemetery in moonglow. Markers stood in uneven rows, most crumbling with age. Five stood apart, large and elaborate.
Roland stood with one hand braced against an obelisk taller than he.
On the face was carved a crest, with two crossed swords above it.
Without turning, he' spoke.
"So, you've found me."
"So I have."She stepped nearer. The crest on the stone was one she knew well. She'd seen the same rampant lion on Roland's shield when she'd found him all those years ago, lying near death on a field of battle.
"A relative? "she asked softly.
"My father."He straightened and waved a hand to the man-size crucifix beside him.
"And my mother."
Rhiannon came forward until she stood very close to him. He didn't look at her. She glanced at the stone, at the likeness of the Savior painstakingly chiseled into it, every detail of his face clear in the swirling white marble."The stone is breathtaking."
"In deference to her devotion."He shook his head.
"I shudder to think what she would say, could she see what I' we become."
She wanted to argue, but sensed it would best be put off for another time.
She moved to the three nearly identical stones in the next row.
Tall blocks, arched at the tops and made of obsidian. They differed only in the scenes etched into their faces.
Roland came behind her and pressed a palm to the proud stag depicted on the first.
"Albert, the hunter,"he said softly.
She could feel the pain emanating from him in waves as he moved to the next marker and touched the knight, seated upon a rearing destrier.
"Eustace, the warrior,"he told her. He then glanced toward the third, with the warship at full sail upon a choppy sea.
"Pierre, the sailor. My brothers. Meet Rhiannon, the latest victim of my cruelty."
"Roland, no"-- "Ah, but you wish to hear the rest of the story, do you not?"
He faced her with bitter hurt in his eyes.
"I believe I left off after the first appearance of the beast that lives in my soul. You remember, how I butchered the men who'd murdered Sir Gareth?"
"You were little more than a boy, and enraged by your grief."
He nodded.
"So you said before. No doubt, after a firsthand encounter with my violent side, you've reformed that opinion."
She studied his face, noting the puffy circles beneath his eyes, the haggard features, the tight jaw.
"Eric believes it was a side effect of the drug."
"Eric would rather believe anything than the truth."He turned away from her.
"Can you stomach the rest of the tale, Rhiannon, or would you prefer to leave now? I've no idea why, but some demon drives me to tell it to you. All of it. Perhaps I need to see your face when you finally realize what I am."
"I know what you are. If you want to tell me, I want to hear it."
His eyes narrowed, and one hand shot out to grip her upper arm.
"You'd best be certain, Rhiannon. Once I begin, you will hear it all, whether you wish to or not."
She stared up into his face, aching for the pain he felt."Are you trying to frighten me, Roland? To drive rile away so you won't have to release this pain or exorcise these demons?"
"There is no exorcising these demons. They are a part of me. And if you are not frightened of me after what I did, then you are a fool."She jerked her arm from his grasp, and drew herself up to her full height.
"Then I am a fool."She walked past i him, away from the markers to a small, grassy knoll be neath a giant of a tree. She sat down there, leaning her back against the rough bark.
"Tell me."
