The connection was too deep. The bond too strong. He needed to force his mind to step back. To see his surroundings.
He must break the link to have a chance of saving Bastien.
But against his fingertips, Yannick felt the resistance of fabric. Sharing Bastien’s thoughts, he ripped the placket wide and dug in his hand. His fingers scraped along the long, erect shaft as he shoved in. Until he was buried in Zayan’s linens past his wrist and his fingers were wrapped Blood Red by Sharon Page ©2006 Advance Reader Copy www.SharonPage.com 82
around Zayan’s balls. Hairless and smooth. Freshly shaved and done with lather and a goddamned straight razor.
Bastien’s voice, awed, heavy with lust, rippled through Yannick. He followed Bastien’s stroke, the hot weight of Zayan’s rigid pole lying across his palm. He couldn’t break the link.
Not with his emotions—fear, fierce arousal and hunger—so deeply entwined with Bastien’s.
He was wanking a demon’s cock. And enjoying it. An answering stroke slid along his own prick, as real as though a hand played with him and his head swam.
The tips of Zayan’s fangs teased along the length of his windpipe. Teased him with death.
“I’ll make you come first,”
Bastien’s voice rose in challenge.
Even facing destruction, his twin had to jeer. Dread gripped Yannick’s pumping heart. In their mortal lives, he’d seen Bastien insult his opponent on a dueling field until the man was in uncontrollable rage. More than once. Bad aim, shaking arms, and sheer luck had kept Bastien alive past his twenty-fifth birthday.
Yannick tensed. The fangs would plunge. Linked mentally with Bastien, would he feel the pain? Would he experience destruction?
“Yannick! Yannick! What’s happening to you?”
A hot mouth surged against his, a wet tongue delved in. Silky curls danced against his chest. Lavender and roses flooded his senses.
Althea.
Relief swept through him as he tasted her sweet mouth on his. He had to break free—
Bastien’s voice pleaded in his mind.
Yannick. Don’t leave me.
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Althea wrapped her arms tight around his strong neck and kissed him as hard as she could.
Yannick! Please, please, please talk to me! Respond to me!
If this didn’t break the spell, then what? Her arms ached from shaking him. He was so large, so muscular and heavy, she could barely budge him. Even while she’d rained stinging blows on his chest, he’d stayed lost to her.
His large, black-lashed, silver eyes stared directly at her. But didn’t see her.
Yannick, come back to me. Hold me. Kiss me back.
She pushed hard against his chest. Her breast pressed flat against hard planes wet with sweat. She ran her hands all over him. Slippery moisture coated him. Goosebumps also.
Her body wouldn’t warm him. Not enough.
He stood at the window, facing the night sky beyond. She’d raced around to plant herself between him and the window. Afraid he’d fly away.
“Zayan.”
The name tumbled from his lips in a raw whisper.
Zayan had possessed his mind?
How could she break him free?
First, she wanted to drag him from the window and back to bed. Though she hated to let him go, she had no choice. Praying he wouldn’t shift shape, she untwined her arms from his neck and dropped down from her tiptoes. Cold, wet air poured in through her open window.
Turning on her heel, she leapt to it and shoved down the open sash. Across the common—an endless sea of formless black—she saw small dots of light.
Father and his hunters.
The window crashed into place and she turned the lock.
Even if Yannick became a bat, he couldn’t fly through glass.
But would he destroy himself trying? Would he beat against the pane, unable to stop?
No, she’d prevent that somehow. The vow gave her a burst of courage as she swung back to Yannick.
What was he doing? Startled, Althea watched as his hand slid over the sculpted muscles of his stomach. She stared, strangely hypnotized, as he took hold of his erect member and roughly massaged the head. In a heartbeat, desire rushed back through her. Her legs shook with it, ached with it. He touched himself more harshly than she’d ever dare. Her breath caught.
Until she saw his eyes. Wide, unmoving, unblinking.
She grabbed his free hand and tried to move the unmovable. She’d have better luck trying Blood Red by Sharon Page ©2006 Advance Reader Copy www.SharonPage.com 84
to pull a reluctant horse.
She tugged hard.
He lurched forward, took a step, and she sobbed at her success.
Another step and another.
“Althea.”
Her name again. He was whispering her name again.
Yannick, yes, it’s Althea. I’m here for you.
She pulled hard. Her calves hit her bed at the same instant Yannick’s weight moved once more and she toppled. Her free arm flailed and she caught a glimpse of his expression before she plunged backward onto her mattress.
Surprise, concern, and a sudden relief flashed across his gorgeous features. Then his shin collided with the bed frame with a loud crunch and he fell too. One arm swung wide. Even his cock seemed to lurch to and fro.
His weight hit her and all the breath left her chest.
“Urgh!” she gasped.
He shifted immediately, lifting his massive chest. She sucked in air.
Thank God. Thank God. Thank God he was back.
Or was it God she should thank? Yes, it must be. For Yannick was not a vampire as she knew the creatures—
“Althea, angel, are you all right?”
He was worried about her? That was his first thought? With her throat so tight, she couldn’t answer. She clasped her hands to his cheeks.
She wanted to hold him tight as though that would protect him.
“Zayan was inside your mind, wasn’t he?”
He caught her hands and lifted them. He had her arms stretched up above her head and she was completely imprisoned by him. Her heart beat in a frantic rhythm and she squirmed beneath him. Being a captive was indisputably exciting.
“No, angel,” he said, his voice heavy. “My mind was linked with Bastien. And Zayan caught him.”
She was instantly sobered and ashamed. “Did he…” She couldn’t bear to ask the question, to find out. This was entirely her fault. If she’d let Bastien stay…by defying the dreams, had she sent Bastien to his death?
And because it was her fault, she must face the truth with courage. “Did Zayan destroy him?”
Yannick released her hands and moved off her. “I don’t know, sweet. You broke into the connection.”
She covered her mouth in horror. “Oh! I’m sorry, I—”
He gave her a tender smile as he sat up, nude and glorious in the sputtering candlelight.
“I’m relieved you did. I don’t know what would happen to me—to my mind—if Bastien were blasted while we were connected by the link.”
“He could be dead.”
Yannick stood still for several moments and her heart sank to her toes.
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He shook his head. “No, he’s not dead. We’re twins and even if we aren’t linked, we can sense each other. It’s like a second heartbeat inside my chest. I know he’s still alive, but his mind is closed off to me.”
“Why? What does that mean?”
He raked his hand through his white-blond hair. “It might mean that he’s deliberately not opening his mind to me. Or that he is too weak to. Or that he’s shifted shape.”
“But you can sense him?”
“His life force, yes. Which means I can sense where he—”
Yannick had to break off. The connection flooded back to him with such force he had to put his hand against the wall to stay standing.
Once again he could see through Bastien’s eyes.
A manor house, completely dark. Weathered stone and grimy windows and a sagging portico, all buried within a riot of trees and shrubs. The door, a massive slab of oak, hung open and the inside was as dark and quiet as the outside, but he sensed life within. Mortal heartbeats, slow, steady breathing, and pumping blood.
The vision faded and the connection broke. He searched again, reaching out through the dark, but nothing came back to him.
“Is he telling you something? Can you hear him again?”
He looked back at Althea, sitting up now, nude and delectable on her meager, tousled bed.
Her eyes were wide with concern and fear—for both him and Bastien. She reached out and touched his naked back.
Sourly, he wondered if Bastien had decided to joust with Zayan just to disrupt his night of pleasure. In their mortal lives, Bastien would have been willing to take a ball in the heart if it would have hurt, irritated, or goaded him in some way. Bastien used to joke that his lordly brother would be the one to shoot him—over a woman. And when they were both dead drunk, there were a few times when his twin had come bloody close to goading him that far.
He’d always stopped before he pulled a blade or a pistol, even if Bastien hadn’t.
Tonight was no different.
Shyly, Althea covered her breasts and the sight of her hands on them was pure temptation.
“Yannick?”
Her legs parted slightly to display her thick, burgundy curls, topped by glistening droplets of her honey and his saliva.
Yannick took a ragged breath, which only filled his lungs with her scent.
Control. He needed control. But lust raged through him with a force he’d never known.
“I saw—” Damnation, his voice was shaking. Even when he’d been whipped, he’d never let his voice shake. “I saw through his eyes, pet, which means he still lives.”
She brushed some of that tumbled hair back from her face. “Thank heaven.”
“Indeed.”
Leave her? Was he mad?
Crawl back into that bed, spread her legs, and bury your poor,
aching prick in her to the hilt.
The urge rose against his will. His cock and balls hurt like the devil. As for his lengthened, throbbing fangs—shots of fire rang through his jaw and reverberated through his brain. His body Blood Red by Sharon Page ©2006 Advance Reader Copy www.SharonPage.com 86
screamed for satisfaction.
Frustrated sexual excitement did not sit well with a vampire.
One last little taste. Just one. Of her lips, her nipples, her wet quim. He didn’t care which.
Or a sampling of all three.
One taste or three wouldn’t satisfy him and well he knew it. Give in and he’d find himself in her bed at sunrise, with his brother lost to him.
Would Bastien save you if you were in his place?
Likely not, but Yannick sighed from deep in his chest as he got up from the bed.
He’d saved his twin’s arse more than a dozen times, yet he’d never gotten more than anger for his trouble. Not even grudging gratitude. Each time he hauled Bastien from disaster, his brother only found worse trouble.
Smugglers. Duels. Opium dens. And finally vampires.
Stay with her.
He couldn’t. And Althea was swinging her bare legs over the side of the bed. “I am going to come with you.”
“No, you bloody well are not.”
With a groan of heartfelt pleasure, Bastien sank back into the tub. Steaming water lapped at his naked chest and the curls plastered against his body. The trailing ends of his hair lay slick against his back.
The claw-footed porcelain tub was so enormous he could submerge himself completely if he wished. He tipped his head back, resting his neck on the smooth rim. Shut his eyes.
Where in Hades was Yannick? Ignoring him and fucking the lovely Althea, he’d wager.
He groped for the soap on the small table by the bath.
Behind him the door creaked open. Bastien cracked open an eyelid. Sparkling blue stars spun into the room. The glittering lights pirouetted and dipped and darted in an ecstatic dance.
The bedchambers of Zayan’s manor held lamps and candles, but none were lit. No light came in through the windows, although the drapes were wide. Rain drummed against the glass and the thick cloud blocked out all moonlight.
The blue stars circled his tub.
“Come to give me a last night of carnal delights before my execution?”
Melodic voices danced through the quiet dark. “We wish to help you bathe, master.”
The stars exploded in a shimmer and the force set his water sloshing over the edges.
Six nude demonesses appeared, standing in a ring around the tub. Head tipped back, Bastien took in the delightful view. A dozen pert breasts surrounded him. A dozen long, lovely legs led up to generous bushes of blond and dark curls. Six pairs of reflective eyes flashed at him and six lush mouths pouted, wet, moist and inviting.
But his cock, immersed in the hot water, stayed limp and uninterested. All the women were beautiful, three blond and three dark-haired, but not one could compare with Althea’s sparkling innocence.
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Still, he gave each a welcoming grin and stretched his arms out along the edges of the tub, cake of soap in hand.
“Esmee.” He crooked his finger. Esmee possessed the most voluptuous figure of them all, with enormous breasts, a nipped-in waist that he could span with one stretched hand, and generous hips.
She dropped an obedient curtsy that set her breasts jiggling. “My lord de Wynter—”
“Not
lord
, sweet demon. That’s my brother.”
“You are
my
lord,” Esmee cooed as she lowered to her knees at his side. Her blond curling hair dipped into the water. Her large breasts dangled over the tub’s rim. As she leaned forward, the mounds plumped against the porcelain, then spilled over, plopping into the water. She gave a little squeal that he answered with a rough laugh.