She was chained to a billiard table.
A soft male voice seemed to whisper in her mind, a charming Irish voice. “Such a lovely lass—her skin is the color of pale champagne.”
Serena jerked toward the voice. She saw the others in the light now. Candle glow touched the pale, austere faces of two men sprawled on a sofa and two who lounged in club chairs. White shirts and cravats gleamed, and the light sparkled at the tips of long, sharp fangs. Their eyes—their dark, soulless, eyes—were shadowed and hidden to her.
She was the captive of six vampires.
“You are wondering why we haven’t drunk from you, aren’t you?” Roman asked, his voice so compelling she couldn’t help but turn to him.
He was shirtless, his chest as pale as marble even in the golden light. Dark hair dusted smooth, powerful muscle. His hair fell in long, thick, black waves. She looked up higher, caught her breath.
He was smirking down at her, impudent, confident, but the innocence in his face shocked her. He looked barely twenty years of age and beautiful, with a full-lipped, lush mouth, high cheekbones, straight white teeth, large mirror-like eyes of silvery blue. But he was not innocent.
“Unlock me!” she demanded. “You have fallen into a trap.”
“A trap, my dear?” Roman crossed his arms across his chest. His biceps bulged, solid and enormous.
Never once had she successfully bluffed her charges as a governess, but she couldn’t give in now. She watched Roman stalk along the length of the table toward her bound feet. She knew her eyes were wide, dilated, like mesmerized prey, but she replied, “Of course,” with the lazy disdain the male vampire hunters used.
Low, throaty, damning, Roman’s laugh washed over her.
He touched the chain securing her right foot, running his fingertips along the taut links. The cuff vibrated against her ankle.
I know you are here alone, my dear.
His voice resonated inside her mind
.
She should try to block out his voice in her head—but she had to listen, had to know what he planned to do. So she could outthink him.
She saw the swift movement of Roman’s hand, the blur of it in the corner of her eye. He cupped her right ankle just above the cuff. His caress was gentle against the frail silk of her stocking. Serena swallowed a cry of surprise so abruptly she almost choked.
Wrenching her leg, she tried to pull away from his hand, but the chains restrained her. Her skin tingled beneath the web of silk as he traced his finger over her ankle and up along her calf.
“Roman, release her.”
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The command came from the second vampire—the one named Leonardo. He prowled toward her. She stared helplessly at his tousled dark curls, almond shaped eyes of deep black, and cupid’s bow lips. He possessed the beautiful, symmetrical features of an Old Master’s portrait, but she knew he was a ruthless predator. A cape shrouded him; the black collar points grazed the deep hollows beneath high cheekbones.
A hazy memory returned. She remembered looking into that face in the brothel—he had stepped out of a doorway and grabbed her as she’d reached the hallway that took her to the basement staircase. His triumphant laugh echoed in her memories. There’d been a sharp pain in her neck, then blackness—had one of them bitten her to make her faint?
Such beautiful legs,
Roman murmured.
I would love to have your ankles wrapped around my
neck.
“Don’t touch me!”
But Roman ignored both her and Leonardo with a mocking laugh. Her heart pounded so loud it was like a drumbeat by her ear, but at the sound of his enthralling voice, her quim throbbed like a pulse.
I know what you are, Serena Lark,
Roman said in her thoughts.
How could he know her name?
Because we have watched you for a long time now, Serena. Waited for you to be alone, away
from the slayers.
Somehow she had pushed her thoughts into his mind. It froze her as much as his words in response. But she must continue to speak with him this way, despite the danger—if she allowed him into her thoughts, he could gain control of her mind.
W—why? What do you want?
“Come on, gentlemen,” Roman urged aloud, and he squeezed her calf possessively before moving his hand away. “Introduce yourselves.”
Leonardo flashed a glare at Roman, his narrow eyes glittering in the candlelight. But he sketched a bow over her shackled hand and murmured his name.
The other men stood and took bows in turn.
“Liam,” announced the lilting Irish voice.
“Brittan.”
“Aristide.”
“Guillaime.” The French voice she had heard before.
Roman flashed a cocky grin at Leonardo, even as he spoke in her head.
They are dutiful
servants, here to fetch you for Lukos. They are slaves—slaves when they were mortal, slaves now.
Disdain dripped from Roman’s voice in her thoughts. His eyes grew brighter, as though a flame burned behind them.
They have no idea what you are. How valuable you are.
Roman intended to betray his master. She could not believe it—a disciple always obeyed his master. Could she use this to escape?
Roman flicked out his tongue, his long, pointy tongue. Bending, he licked the inside of her leg.
She pulled away hard. The chains rattled, but she could only move an inch. And with a low chuckle, he followed and licked again. Slowly, sensuously, he laved his way up to her garter.
I
know how very special you are, Miss Lark
.
The child of a vampire. And if you wish to survive, you
will do as I say.
Can you still smell the solange, Serena? Obey me or I will drain your sweet blood
and rip out your throat.
Her head roared as Roman’s lips neared her bare skin—
He was jerked away, and he sailed backward. He slammed into the wall, cracking the plaster.
Serena held her breath as he lurched forward. Snarling, he flashed his fangs at Leonardo, who shrugged and adjusted his cuffs with the grace of a London dandy. “If you disobey Lukos, you will be destroyed.”
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With infinite grace, Leonardo paced to her side. His look of reverent obedience turned her stomach. “You will delight in your submission to the master, Miss Lark. He only wishes you to know pleasure, to know the joy of serving at his side.”
“Unlock me,” she cried. “I cannot know pleasure like this. How could you fear me? All of you against a m—mortal woman?”
“It is the master’s command that you be bound,” the French vampire, Guilliame, called from his chair.
“You have no minds of your own?” she goaded.
Roman swaggered back to the end of the table. “My dear, I could make you beg me to do anything I wish to you. And I will prove it.” His gaze swept over her—it felt as though ants crawled over her.
“Do not touch her,” Leonardo warned.
It was working. She had managed to pit them against each other. Vampires were…beasts. All she had to do was prod them enough to make them fight. Serena took a deep breath and called out,
“Are you too cowardly to take risk?”
Roman shoved Leonardo back. He reached to the cuff at her wrist. Victory! It was not locked, only had a closed hasp, and this he flicked open with his thumb. He freed both hands, then her feet.
Desperately she rubbed her wrists and squeezed her hands tight to bring feeling back. She rotated her feet but had no idea if they moved. She was free but still trapped, still shockingly nude.
It was a struggle but she managed to sit up, and she covered her naked breasts with her tingling hands.
Roman reached for her leg—she lashed out with her foot and he caught it and kissed the lacy trim on the top of her stocking. She clawed at his back as his tongue slid from silk stocking to bare flesh. That touch—that warm, wet tongue against her skin—
Sensation screamed through her.
Her anguished cry electrified the room. The heightened sexual arousal of the vampires hit her like a wave of water.
You have incited them too much, my dear,
Roman warned.
Her fingernails gouged into his shoulders, but she couldn’t push him away. The four vampires stood from the sofa and advanced. Serena saw their chests rise and fall with their deep, heavy breaths. A generous splash of holy water might drive them back, but her vial was gone.
They surrounded her—Roman and Leonardo at each side, two at the top of the billiard table, and two stopped at her feet.
Roman lifted his head from her thigh. “Go to the brothel!” he shouted. “Amuse yourselves there. I will attend to Miss Lark.”
But the two vampires at her feet stripped off coats, waistcoats. Both were blond—one had dirty wheat-blond hair captured in many long braids; the other’s mane of gold was waist length and loose. The golden blond opened his shirt, threw it aside. The sudden violence of the motion stopped Serena’s heart for dizzying moments.
She had to think—think of a way out! Knowledge was her only hope. “W—when is your master to come for me?” she stuttered. “Tonight?”
“He sails.” The curt words had come from Roman.
From the continent. On a ship of innocents. No doubt they would all arrive dead, the poor helpless souls.
Roman crossed his arms over his chest. Of all of them, he had the most powerful chest, the broadest shoulders, the biggest biceps. Power and menace. Veins snaked up his huge forearms. Had he been a soldier, turned in battle? The most brutal warriors of the past made the wildest, most uncivilized vampires. “You are aroused and you need to feed,” he shouted at the others. “Go to the Blood Rose ©Sharon Page 2007 Email: [email protected] 12
whorehouse and find your pleasures there. No one is allowed to touch her.”
Cursing, the other vampires nodded in obedience, and Serena felt a surge of relief. Left alone with Roman, surely she could escape—
But he turned to her and leered.
You have never been bitten, have you?
He opened his trousers.
Held in thrall by his gleaming eyes, she crawled back along the table—
The door exploded into the room. The thick slab of wood hit the wall with the crack of a gunshot. Deafening. Paralyzing. Light flooded in, silhouetting two men in the doorway.
The sharp crisp twang of crossbow fire sliced the sudden silence. Horrified shrieks rang in her head as Brittan and Aristide fell. Roman spun toward the door, his mouth open in fury, his jaw wrenched wide. His fangs flashed. Before her eyes, he arched back, his head snapping with a crack. Blood launched from his chest. A silver arrow, tipped in blood and gore, tore out of his chest.
Below
his heart.
Roman screamed in rage and she flinched as he jumped up on the table. His powerful legs straddled her. Tangled and wild, his hair hung around him. Blood poured down his bare chest, dripped onto his hard, clublike cock which swayed above her. A demonic red fire burned in his eyes.
Come with me, Serena. Come to me.
He reached down.
Like hell. Serena kicked upward, aiming for his ballocks. She missed. Her heel harmlessly smacked against his thigh and skidded away. Roman launched forward, in a kind of sailing flip, and he hit the wall feet first. Impossibly, the wall gave way, a panel opening for him like a door, and, in midair, Roman vanished. His trousers and boots dropped empty to the floor. A huge black bat soared into the black opening and disappeared. Roman had shifted shape.
The Irish vampire, Liam, leapt on the table, his auburn hair flapping.
She kicked at him, but Liam lashed out at her with his foot. His boot struck her hand, enough to jar her shoulder and send agony screaming through her arm. Damn him. Instinct made her grab.
Her damp, aching fingers held fast to smooth leather as she clung to his boot. He could shift shape and fly away, but she held on.
Another man jumped up on the table—he grabbed Liam by the hair and hauled him back. One hard thrust of the slayer’s arm and he drove a stake through the vampire’s heart from the back. A toss and Liam tumbled to the ground. Slain.
Her savior caught her gaze and grinned. His blond hair—startling white-blond hair—swung free and wild around his face. His green eyes flashed with excitement. And then he glanced lower and winked.
Drake Swift. Drake Swift and Lord Sommersby had come to her rescue.
A silk robe flew at her.
Swift caught it.
“Cover her!” The command could only have come from his lordship. Humiliation, frustration, and fear burned through her. Mr. Swift and Lord Sommersby had laughed at her determination to become a vampire hunter. She’d planned so carefully, yet she’d made a mistake and proved them right.
And if they knew that she was a vampire, they would stake her. Kill her.
It was too late to even pretend she was in control. She was shaking. Mr. Swift was sweating from the fight, his platinum hair damp with it, his handsome features gleaming. Towering above her, he looked like an avenging angel. He dropped the robe over her. But he was distracted for the moment, and out of the shadows, Guillaime lunged, fangs bared.
The scream died in Serena’s throat as Guillaime plunged his teeth into Drake Swift’s neck.
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Serena rolled down the billiard table, toward Guillaime’s outstretched legs. Toward his dangling ballocks. This time she wouldn’t miss. She slammed her foot up and connected, driving her heel hard into his most sensitive place.
The vampire jerked, flinched, but his hands clamped tightly on Mr. Swift’s broad shoulders.
Mr. Swift snapped his head to the side. “Christ Jesus! Thank you, sweetheart, but he’s plunged deeper!”
Blood rolled down Mr. Swift’s neck. Rivulets of it, racing over his tanned-bronze skin, soaking into his pristine white collar, into his cravat and coat. He flicked his arm and a sharpened stake slid into his hand.