“Look at me.”
She looked up, compelled to obey the command in his voice, as surely as her body demanded she do so. Anything for his heavenly touch to continue.
“Do not fret, beloved. Lose yourself in this moment. Forget about anything my brother might have taught you and remember only me…your husband.”
“Yes, m’lord.” Slowly, her hand dropped back to her side, while his still held it. What had she planned to do with it?
“Touch me.”
Yes, that must be what she had been about to do. Emma ducked her head, too shy to meet his eyes when she stroked the bulge at the front of his hosen. Her eyes widened at the way his hard cock twitched at her light touch. “Does it hurt?”
“Nay.” He thrust his hips, pushing his cock deeper against her hand. “’Tis pleasurable.”
Curiosity compelled her to explore more of the length of him, but propriety stilled her hand. She couldn’t bring herself to cup his cock, nor could she withdraw.
He laughed, pulling her closer to him. She looked up to meet his gaze, searching for a trace of anger, and finding none. Her brow furrowed. Why would Nicholas be angry with her?
A blush heated her cheeks when Nicholas stepped away from her to strip off his surcotte and hauberk. Still, she couldn’t tear her gaze from his muscled chest, dusted with a sprinkling of dark hair. His skin was as pale as the moonlight spilling through the barred window, but wasn’t unappealing. Her hand trembled when she reached out to stroke his chest. The stiff hairs tickled her fingers, and she smiled at the sensation, letting her self-consciousness slip away. Secure in his love, what did she have to fear?
He brought her against his body again, lifting her around the waist to set her on the bed. Emma leaned back with her arms behind her, staring up at him with awe. Something worried at the back of her mind, but looking into his eyes made it easy to banish all thoughts that didn’t involve the moment unfolding between them. She held out an arm. “I love you.”
He closed his eyes for just a second, as if savoring the words. Emma’s insides melted at the vulnerability in his reaction.
Nicholas kicked off his boots and stripped his hosen with hurried movements. Emma’s courage deserted her as his cock sprang free, and she averted her eyes from the nest of curls surrounding the shaft. Instead, she let her eyes remain on his chest as he walked forward with the gait of a panther. As he dropped onto the bed, pushing her onto her back, her nose wrinkled in response to the scent of blood. Was he hurt?
The thought fled when his mouth slanted over hers, and his tongue thrust inside to sweep the depths. She moaned, curling her fingers into his hair. A coppery taste lingered on his tongue, but she couldn’t place it. As her mind tried to focus on identifying it, a kaleidoscope of colors whirled behind her eyes, and her thoughts scattered, becoming unfocused.
She closed her eyes when Nicholas’s thumb slipped inside her pussy, stroking gently. She gasped when he feathered it across her clit, and her hips arched of their own accord, seeking more.
“Wanton,” he said with a growl. His tone was a mix of affection and annoyance.
Emma opened her eyes, prepared to question his reaction, but got lost in the liquid depths of his dark eyes. Her own became unfocused, and a sigh passed her lips when she sank back into the erotic trance imprisoning her.
Her lids drifted closed when Nicholas’s finger slipped inside her, probing at her entrance. She winced as he went deeper, but couldn’t muster the energy to protest. It was more pleasurable than painful anyway, even when his finger was deep inside, wriggling against the walls of her pussy. Her hips were thrusting in leisurely time with his hand, and a sensation she hadn’t experienced before was building inside, hovering on the edge of release.
“Surrender to it, my love.”
Nicholas’s coaxing whisper released the floodgates holding back her natural reaction. A sob escaped Emma when the sensation exploded inside her, feeling as though it dragged her stomach into her pussy, before small ripples of pleasure spread outward, engulfing her body. She clung to him, frightened and exhilarated simultaneously.
“Mine.”
His cold tone brought her back to reality. Her eyes snapped open to stare into his, and she remembered flashes of the events leading them to this moment. Her body still shuddered with pleasure, but fear was sweeping through her in equal measure. It increased at the frigid expression on his face, and the distant way he held himself as he fused his body with hers, as he said once more, “Mine,” with a manner of finality that sent a shiver up her spine.
Emma experienced a brief surge of pain at his possession and saw his eyes widen. She tried to move her mouth to explain William’s summons arrived the very day of their wedding, but her lips refused to form the words when her eyes locked with his. Lightheadedness swept over her, and the vortex of his eyes sucked her into a near oblivion.
“So, William has not tasted you.” He appeared unsettled, and the coldness faded for a moment, before he scowled again. “Nor will he ever.”
She lay still as death under his passionate onslaught, crying internal tears at their joining. Just minutes ago, her body had been singing with joy at his touch, but now everything had changed. In her many girlish fantasies of their wedding night, she had never thought their union would be like this. She had remained ignorant of the ways of coupling, but had expected Nicholas’s touch to be full of love when he demystified the experience. He had been so gentle with her scant moments ago, until it came time to join them. Maybe the action had reminded him of her marriage to William and rekindled his rage.
Her memory had returned, but she was too weak to fight against him. Tears slipped from her eyes when her body responded to each thrust of his, awakening with renewed sensitivity and building anew toward another release. A small sob escaped her when her body betrayed her with another orgasm, as Nicholas’s cock spasmed inside her. Out of his thrall, fear for her soul outweighed the cry of her body for his touch.
After dropping a gentle kiss against her forehead, he rolled away and stood up with his back to her. His shoulders bowed, and he made no move to touch her. He began to pace.
She tried to turn her head to see him when he moved from her line of sight, but couldn’t. Emma dared to hope he would leave, having had his revenge for her supposed sins. While she waited to see what he would do, she grew increasingly lightheaded. Even if he left now, she doubted she would survive the night. The keep’s physician would no doubt bleed her, while priests prayed for her, easing her passage to the next world. William would return home in a fortnight to find her dead. He truly loved her, and she dared not consider how he would take the news.
Emma decided her death would have no witnesses besides Nicholas when she felt the bed dip upon his return. His would be the last face she saw before death claimed her. She wouldn’t find comfort or solace in his harsh visage. His cold rage wouldn’t allow him to understand her actions.
A breath escaped her when he pulled her into his arms. She lay as still as a statue, unable to return his embrace as her life force ebbed.
“I forgive you, my beloved,” he whispered into her ear. “You will join me in eternity.” He leaned down to brush a kiss against her lips. “You are even more beautiful near death.”
She was able to voice a small whimper when his mouth returned to her neck. Once again, his fangs claimed her vein as his loins had so recently taken her innocence. Rather than pain, this time warmth surged through her. Was it the flush of death, or something more?
Minutes later, when he lifted his head, she felt nothing at all, except cold and numb. When he slashed open his wrist with his own fang, she wasn’t repulsed. Not even when he held the dripping wound to her opened mouth and let the blood flow inside did she try to resist. It oozed down her throat and lodged like a small ball of ice in her stomach.
“Soon, you will become. We will rest a while, until your death. Then I shall take you from here.”
Her unblinking eyes remained fastened on the ceiling as she felt unconsciousness slip over her.
“Open your eyes, Emily.”
She heard the summons from far away. The voice was so compelling that she struggled to cast off the dream holding her hostage. For a moment, she was frozen somewhere between Emily and Emma. Slowly, his voice grew stronger and penetrated the dream state, enabling her to blink open bewildered blue eyes.
“You must drink this to speed up the change.”
The man from the funhouse—Nicholas in her dream—hovered over her, holding a crystal goblet filled with dark-red liquid, which he pressed to her lips. She tried to turn her head, but found herself still unable to move. Once more, coppery fluid flowed into her mouth, but this time she choked as it dripped down her throat.
“Drink it all.”
“Perhaps it is too much, master?”
“I know what she needs. Leave us, Tremont.”
Emily’s chest was heavy when she tried to draw in a deep breath, with no success. It was as if she wasn’t breathing at all. To her relief, he withdrew the goblet. His face moved closer to hers, and she could see the silver rings around his pupils, the only color in his eyes aside from black. Stubble was forming on his chin, indicating he had been too busy to shave.
“Sleep now, my beloved. Dream of other times and other lives.” He lifted her hand and kissed the palm. “Dream of me.”
As if obeying his command, her eyes closed as though they had tiny weights tied to them. She returned to the dream of Emma.
* * * * *
Emma woke early in the morning and turned her head. She realized she could now move and scooted away from Nicholas’s still form. He seemed to be in a death-like state. His chest barely rose and fell, with long seconds between each shallow breath. He would have looked dead, but his skin wasn’t pale enough—because of her blood?
Moving carefully, she slid from the bed and examined herself in the cheval looking glass. Dried blood smeared her pure white skin in several places. Heavy purple shadows bruised her eyes. Crimson streaks had dried on her lips, and she hissed with disgust when the stench and taste of blood flooded her nose and mouth. It was only a memory, but was nonetheless repulsive.
Now she knew what her love had become. Vampire. The villagers whispered such words in the night, blaming the creatures for the Plague, deaths of cattle and small children, and any number of misfortunes. She hadn’t known whether to believe or not, until now. She had become one. She knew she must be. She could hear the birds outside her window stirring in their nests and feel the wild ones moving in their dens far away. Their heartbeats echoed in her ears, as did those of the people stirring in her father’s castle and the village beyond. She was more alive and infinitely less alive than she ever had been in her life.
Emma racked her brain, struggling to remember the cures for vampirism. All she could recall were methods to kill them permanently. Holy water, a stake through the heart, sunlight—
She didn’t think twice before rushing to the window in her room. The first rays of sunlight streaked across the sky, and she thrust her bare arm through the iron bars in place for protection during a siege. She waited for incredible pain to consume her as the sun touched her fingers, but the only pain she felt was an aching between her thighs that had been with her since waking. She frowned and reached out farther, until the sun touched her wrist. There was still no burning.
“’Tis not strong enough yet to harm you,” Nicholas said from behind her. He sounded bored. “Even at the highest point of midday, it would do naught but turn your skin a light red, and that would take hours. We are more sensitive to sunlight, but it cannot kill us. You will probably never again ride through a meadow on a summer afternoon, but nor will you find escape in so innocuous a source.”
She cried out with frustration and whirled away from the window. “I curse you to Hell for what you have made me.”
He laughed. “I have given you eternity in my arms, beloved.”
Emma shook her head, clamping her hands over her ears. “I do not want it.” But a small part of her did want it…wanted him…and everything accepting him would entail. She shook her head more vigorously, struggling to deny the urge.
“We shall be together forever.” He spoke more loudly so she could hear.
She tore her hands from her ears to glare at him. “I did not ask for this.”
His lips curved into a mocking smile. “Think of it as a second chance. I heard those words once, when I thought I had lost everything.” Nicholas’s cold laugh filled the room. “Look where they brought me.”
She huddled on the floor, and a wail broke from her, ignoring Nicholas when he rushed forward and tried to quiet her. She broke away from him somehow and crawled across the floor. Salvation beckoned.
“Where will you go that I cannot follow? I will always return you to me.”
She blocked out his confident words and focused on getting to the cross lying so near. He moved behind her as she reached for the cross, stepping on her hand. She grasped the wood in her hands and screamed as it burned into her flesh. Her expression mirrored her agony when she looked into his eyes. Arrogance reflected back at her, but it was tinged with fear.
“Hurts, does it not? I have heard you may overcome the pain if you stop believing.” Nicholas’s mouth twisted. “I have not yet been able to overcome a lifetime of indoctrination.”
She forced herself to endure and even embrace the pain. The cross was her only way back from an eternity of evil. She knew she could never go back to her days as Lady Emma. Nor could she stand a half-existence as what Nicholas had made her, much as her heart wanted her to give in so she could be by his side. Sweet oblivion was the only alternative.
He ground his foot on her hand. “Release it before you burn through your flesh, foolish girl.”
Emma shook her head and gritted her teeth. She forced her wrist to twist unnaturally so she could touch the cross to the bridge of his bare foot. A savage grin split her face when she heard him scream. He backed away, and she hugged the cross against her as she sat up.
His eyes narrowed and focused directly on her face. “Do not, Emma. I command you to release it.”
She felt her arm go numb, and her hand loosened on the cross at his severe tone. She concentrated on maintaining her grip.
“Look at me.”
Sweat beaded her forehead when she brought the cross against her arm, searing the flesh, and blocking out his summons.
“It shall not work. You cannot burn yourself to death with that. You could not if you crucified yourself to a full-size cross.”
She forced her mind away from his voice, making her fingers grasp the wooden symbol firmly.
His voice dropped an octave. “Put it down.”
She raised her arm high in the air, preparing herself.
A hint of desperation crept into his tone. “Suicides go to Hell.”
She turned her head and looked at him, finding it easier to resist the dark pull of his eyes and the dark urgings of her own heart. “I am already dead.” She turned her head away from him again and closed her eyes, sending a prayer to her maker.
Emma bit her lip, wincing as a newly grown fang broke through the tender skin. In one last movement of desperation, she grasped the cross in her hand and brought it toward her chest with all her strength, impaling herself with the blunt end. The strength borne from the change aided the unsharpened stake in its quest for her heart. It was as though a fire had consumed her chest cavity, searing away her heart in a single burst of agony.
Her final scream was mingled pain and pleasure. She had escaped eternal damnation. She only hoped it wasn’t too late for redemption.
Emily’s eyes snapped open, and she sat up in one jerky motion with a scream trapped in her throat. She could still feel the burning wound from the cross and lifted her T-shirt—someone had removed her jacket at some point—to check for a wound. The skin around her lacy white bra was as smooth and creamy as ever. It had all been a dream.
She blinked and looked around the room, realizing everything was fuzzy. What had he done to her? Her eyes burned, and she couldn’t focus on anything. She reached up to take out her contacts for cleaning. Upon removing them, the room came sharply into focus. She frowned. Her vision was never good enough to see across a room without her lenses or glasses, yet she could read the hands of the small chrome clock on the opposite wall: 11:00. But was it a.m. or p.m.?
Emily turned her head to look out the window, but heavy drapes blocked the view. She scooted to the edge of the large bed, briefly noticing how smooth and silky the coverlet was, and swung her bare feet onto the floor. They sank into plush black carpeting as she leaned forward to put the contacts on the black lacquered nightstand.
Lightheadedness swept over her, and Emily paused to rest before attempting to stand. Her gaze drifted around the room, taking in the obvious opulence. Black lacquered dressers and tables of a sturdy and antique design complemented the black carpet. Red accent touches like the drapes, coverlet, and swirls in the marble mantle above the fireplace brought the only relief to the stark color, aside from small touches of chrome. Even the walls were black. She tilted her head to examine the ceiling, finding it too was black. What a depressing color scheme.
Emily took a deep breath and realized she had drawn in only a shallow breath. Her chest seemed paralyzed and incapable of taking in sufficient oxygen, but how could it be? She couldn’t live on tiny breaths. Fear filled her again when she recalled the last moments of her dream as Emma.
How much had truly been a dream? It wasn’t the first time she had dreamed of people in the past, but never in such detail. Only brief snatches here and there. She couldn’t remember having dreamed of Emma before, and certainly never
as
her.
Her stomach gurgled and clenched, reminding Emily how hungry she was. She had no idea how long she had been unconscious in this place, but she had to escape. Her parents must be worried sick. She blanched, imagining how Sara and Troy’s parents would feel when they learned what had happened to their children. Ron probably shared their fate, although she had not seen him or asked about him.
She gained her feet on trembling legs, feeling worse than the time she had the flu and ran a hundred-and-five fever. She had the same disconnected sensation in her head, but the sharp pangs of hunger kept her focused on the here-and-now.
Emily shuffled to main black door and twisted the highly polished chrome knob. It made a quarter-turn before freezing. She tried the other direction, with the same result. As she had anticipated, he had locked her in. Her captor wasn’t likely to make escape easy for her, after all.
She moved to the next door, finding a walk-in closet. The wardrobe was bare, save for her fleece jacket hanging neatly on a hanger. She slammed the closet door and hurried across the room to the last door, twisting the chrome handle, and finding a bathroom. Like the bedroom, the colors were black and red, with small touches of silver chrome.
She walked across the shiny black tile, wincing at the coldness against the soles of her feet, and propped her elbows on the counter. She bowed her head forward and turned on the chrome faucet. When the water was cold enough, she splashed handfuls on her face, hoping to dispel the lingering fuzzy feeling. When she lifted her head, she saw her reflection in the mirror and winced. Her skin was deathly pale. Huge purple bruises under her eyes dominated her face. Crimson smears of blood, freshly moistened by her clumsy face washing, trailed across her cheeks. Once again, she remembered Emma’s image reflected in the antique mirror and couldn’t help noting the similarities to her current appearance.
Emily hastily averted her eyes from the mirror and lifted a fluffy red towel from the rack. After drying her face, she examined the rest of the bathroom. Aside from the grimly depressing black decorating scheme, it was unremarkable.
Feeling slightly refreshed, she left the bathroom and returned to the room where she had awakened. Once more, Emily tried the door. She twisted the knob viciously back and forth, and then rattled it. When the door failed to yield, she pounded on it, raising her voice. “Let me out,” she cried repeatedly. Her tone started out firm and demanding, but as the minutes passed without any acknowledgement, her voice weakened, as did the impact of her fists against the black door.
Finally, she sank to her knees on the thick carpeting and stopped shouting. As tears streaked down her cheeks, she found herself thinking maybe it was better to be ignored than noticed. Who knew what the man planned to do to her?
She crawled across the floor and climbed back onto the bed. Her head pounded, and her stomach twisted itself in knots. Her entire body ached for something, but she didn’t know what. As she lay in the dark, staring up at the black ceiling, Emily became aware of the sounds outside. Traffic, horns and music merged into a thunderous cacophony, indicating she was in a large city. Most of all, she could hear the millions of heartbeats pounding as one inside her head. Her stomach growled, and she had the urge to hold a still-beating heart in her hand. To taste the lifeblood pumping from the organ, before the heart ceased beating when it discovered it had been severed from its body. She longed to savor that eternal stillness, to take it inside her as part of her forever.
Emily cried out at her disturbing thoughts and buried her head under the pillows. The pounding in her head didn’t diminish. Nor did the hunger surging through her. A keening cry broke from her as she struggled to suppress the dark thoughts and emotions overwhelming her. She tried to deny her hunger for blood, even as her body clamored for sustenance.