“And am I to be the fortunate one to wash you?” she purred.
Steam swirled around her, veiling pale breasts and erect nipples, golden ringlets and her pretty face. The illusion of comely sweetness was marred only by fangs and glowing red eyes.
Bastien lifted his leg and propped his foot on the wet rim. “
You
may start.”
Disappointed female sighs echoed in the room but he couldn’t flatter himself. Each alluring demoness was a succubus. Each craved his semen and his blood with equal enthusiasm.
Esmee began to move down to the end of the tub.
“No. Don’t move beyond the reach of my hand and face your bottom toward me.”
She did so, wriggling her voluptuous arse all the while. Her soapy fingers slithered over the sole of his foot, her touch skilled and loving. No mortal man could resist her.
Female moans rose in the air as he gave Esmee a slap upon all that plump flesh. She shoved her bottom back toward him, so he could cup and caress.
The moment he lifted his other foot, a dark-haired, dark-eyed beauty took her place on that side. Lithe and slender, she possessed taut, small buttocks, temptingly pert. A joy to spank, he decided, as his palm smacked with a satisfying clap.
He lightly spanked their bottoms with the flat of his hand until their pale cheeks flushed pink. It took a fair bit of coordination but he slipped both his hands down at the same instant and parted heated, sticky lips. Plunging two fingers in their wet quims, he stroked their anuses as best as he could with his thumbs.
They sighed and moaned and rocked on his hands.
But he watched with dispassion. With a sense of distance he could not seem to overcome.
His cock should be so erect it stood up from the water like the fin of a shark. Instead it had swollen somewhat but it was still floppy and stirred with the moving water.
The scent of female excitement filled the room and Bastien couldn’t draw breath without flooding his lungs with it. Soft sighs and whimpers came from every direction and he detected the distinct sucking sound of fingers ardently playing with soaked pussies.
For ten years, he’d lain in that coffin, unable to move. But his cock had not been dormant.
Each night it had stood up to attention. And he hadn’t even been able to move his hands to attend to it. Given an abundance of willing female flesh on his first night of freedom, his cock should be making a better showing.
Never in his life had he experienced a recalcitrant member.
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And he didn’t just risk disappointing the excited demonesses. If he were unable to satisfy them, they’d tear at him with their fangs. Still weak from Zayan’s blasts, he wouldn’t be able to fight them off.
Was this his maker’s plan? Destroy him through an orgy? He laughed at that. A fitting way to kill him.
Facing only a few more minutes of existence, he needed a plan. Instead, he thought of Althea. In Yannick’s arms. Crying out in pleasure at his brother’s thrusts.
His semi-erect cock wilted to a sorry state.
Blast.
He remembered Althea in his arms, her plump bottom squashing his cock—which then had been impressively rigid. Memories flooded. Lavender on her soft skin. The smooth, pale beauty of her throat. Pretty breasts straining at her maidenly bodice. The silky texture of her nether lips. The rich, unique color of her pubic curls.
His cock returned to half-mast.
Althea.
He called her name in his mind, but was given no answer, of course.
Little dove
.
Althea was lovely, but her true allure was within. The breathy way she responded to his sensual scenarios. How desperately she tried to be shy and maidenly, even when he could smell her desire and hear the frantic rush of her blood.
His blood shot down to his cock with the speed of horses leaving the starting line at Newmarket.
Finally, he sported a satisfactory erection, and before it could betray him by slipping away, Bastien rose, water sluicing off him. Esmee clasped his hand and the dark-haired demoness took tight hold of his forearm and they almost dragged him from the bath. Propelled forward, he swung his leg fast over the side and staggered out. “Patience, ladies.”
The others ran to him, three carrying thick towels. He’d not been rubbed down so vigorously since he was a boy in the nursery. One dried his hair with diligence until the long strands were in a tangle around his head. And those without towels explored his clean, slightly damp skin with eager hands.
A demoness took his now hard cock in between two palms. Another clasped his balls. And one dropped to her knees behind him and flicked her tongue around the rim of his clean anus.
He should be mindless with the need to fuck but he wasn’t. Damn. Abruptly, he grabbed the one who held his cock—a vixen with wide eyes that glowed red and a shroud of straight brown hair. Without words, he splayed his hand over her bare, smooth back and pulled her to him. His cock had softened every so slightly, so he was forced to take hold of it to guide it to her.
Her arms shot around his neck. Other hands tweaked his nipples, toyed with his ballocks, teased his arse.
Bastien closed his eyes to block out fangs and hellishly bright eyes and imagined Althea in his arms.
A loud clap broke into his fantasy, just as he touched the tip of his prick to her wet pussy lips.
“Enough, my beauties. Leave him for me.”
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Althea struggled into her gown. “Oh no, Yannick. I am going with you.”
“Bothersome thing!” she snapped at her dress. She was standing on the hem, which made it nigh on impossible to tug the thing up high enough to slide her arms in the sleeves. She shoved her spectacles back up her nose.
“No, you are most certainly not. I can find him much more quickly if I shift shape.”
Althea saw how fortunate it had been that she’d closed and locked the window. Yannick wasn’t able to shift shape and fly directly out into the night. He had to wait at least long enough to stalk to the window and struggle with the lock.
Of course, he was much stronger than she was and he forced the lock open with a loud scrape. He reached for the sash, then turned back. “You will only be an encumbrance. Only slow me down.”
“Well, by all means, you should hurry to your destruction! How do you plan to fight Zayan if you are alone, my lord?”
Her angry demand served its purpose. Instead of changing shape, Yannick paused. His dark brow rose over suddenly piercing silver eyes. “My lord?” he repeated.
“Well, you are a lord, aren’t you? Decreeing to me, chock full of noble arrogance! I shan’t stand by and let you face that monster unarmed.” Her fingers fumbled with the buttons, and she left a few at her stomach and a few at her neck unfastened. Since she was nude underneath, she displayed quite a bit of bare skin but the pertinent ones were done, at least.
“And what do
you
plan to throw at Zayan?” he asked.
The condescending tone of his regal voice set her teeth on edge. “You threw your power at him, but it didn’t stop him. My stake drove him back.”
In blind haste, she stuck her feet into her half boots—the wrong ones, of course. Not bothering to kick them off, she ducked beneath the bed and pulled out her valise.
“You are the bravest woman I have ever met, Althea, but your stake did naught, love. Zayan retreated for reasons of his own.”
“The scream he let out when I plunged it in still rings in my ears.”
Yannick stared at her case as she tossed it onto the bed. “He can’t be destroyed like other vampires.” He spoke slowly, as though considering. Then he looked up and she flinched at the fury in his fierce silver eyes. “Was your father going to have you help him go after Zayan? Did he intend to put you in that much danger?”
“I hunt vampires. I am not afraid to face Zayan.”
“You bloody little fool.” He crossed to her in an instant and caught hold of her wrist. Tight enough to hurt. She refused to wince but she tried to wrest free.
“Do you want the truth?
I
fear Zayan. How could your father put you in such jeopardy?
And how could you go throwing yourself into danger that you don’t even understand? You’ve not got the sense you were born with.”
The insult stung. So this is what he thought of her? She stopped struggling and gaped at the unyielding planes of his face. He had no respect for her as a hunter at all. He thought her nothing more than a foolish woman. Adequate to lie on her back and please him.
“Father planned to send me to London.”
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“London would be an excellent place for you.”
She chose to ignore that. “To find a husband. Which, even if I had the desire to do it, I certainly could not now, could I? Not after what I’ve done with you.”
He ran his hand—the one not gripping her wrist like a vice—over his strong jaw. “You
are
still a virgin.”
She had a free hand too and she put it to good use. Her slap to his cheek rang out in her room. Her hand stung from the blow but she forced herself not to wince. And the moment her hand had bounced back, she’d regretted what she’d done.
He hadn’t even flinched, of course. Not that she’d expected him to. Her goal had not been to hurt him. It had been to communicate what she couldn’t think of words to express.
The pain at his casual dismissal of what she’d begun to feel for him.
At least he let her wrist go. Even by candlelight Althea could see her palm was pink—a match to his cheek. But she ignored both and pointed at the case. “Open that and choose your weapons.”
“This is mad,” he snapped, but he let go of her wrist. He crossed to her bed as she exchanged boots and hooked the laces around the eyes as fast as she could.
“Locked.” He cursed and she left her bow to attend to that, but the arrogant wretch broke her locks before she could produce the key.
“If I chase around the countryside with you, I’d have to dress,” he pointed out, rifling through her stakes and her folding cross bow. “More wasted time.”
“Arguing is significant wasted time.” She tied hurried bows in her laces.
“I doubt any of these will stop Zayan.”
Althea plucked the controlling collar from the floor. It hadn’t stopped Bastien. She doubted it would be effective against a vampire infinitely more powerful. And she was likely not pure enough to use it. But it might slow Zayan down once he was wounded, and she couldn’t discount any weapon out of hand.
Ingenuity and quick thinking played a most important part in vampire hunting. “And why do you need to dress?” she snapped as she gathered her hair into a messy bun at the base of her neck.
“We’ll take all of your bloody weapons. Wait here, you exasperating wench.” And with that, Yannick stalked out the door.
Naked.
Into a public hallway.
Well, she had in essence dared him, hadn’t she?
There were no horrified shrieks from women or startled shouts from men. As she closed her case—leaving the now useless locks open—she heard a door slam.
Would they find Bastien still alive? Were they too late? Was she utterly mad to race headlong into danger?
Father would kill her once he knew. Fortunately for her, she thought wryly, she would very likely be dead already.
Her door burst open and he stood there. Blond hair disheveled, face set in barely restrained fury. Clothed, though he’d done it as sparsely as she had. Wrinkled trousers were stuffed into Blood Red by Sharon Page ©2006 Advance Reader Copy www.SharonPage.com 91
boots. His shirt flowed loose beneath his cloak.
“Are you ready?” he barked.
Althea lifted her valise and stormed toward him. “Of course, my lord. Lead the way.”
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“I can feel a pulse, but it is terribly weak. Can you help her?”
Despite their argument, Althea felt deep relief as Yannick squatted down at her side, large and dominant and strong. He laid his fingers against the girl’s throat and Althea moved hers to allow him access to the pulse.
She couldn’t help but shudder. Dried blood coated the girl’s throat and chest. A dark rusty stain covered most of her bodice.
“Is it too late for her?”
Yannick dropped one knee into the wet earth and bent close to the exposed bone-white neck.
“Her wound was closed—the lick of a vampire’s tongue will seal a wound.”
“Was—was it Bastien, do you think?”
Yannick sat back and raised his wrist to his mouth.
“You will feed her your blood?”
“A little. It will give her more strength to mend. Lying in this wet field has done nothing to help her, but my blood should protect her from fever.”
Sheeting rain pummeled through Althea’s pelisse and soaked into her bonnet. Her skirts sunk a little lower into the mud, but she didn’t care. The poor girl. She couldn’t be much more than sixteen. Her breasts, accentuated by the clinging bodice, were lush and mature, but her face appeared so young. Bow-shaped lips and a tiny upturned nose. Baby-fat cheeks. She wore the soft, trusting expression of sleep.
Why hadn’t Yannick answered her question? “Was it Bastien?”
Yannick opened the girl’s mouth and smeared his blood over her tongue. “He wouldn’t waste her blood like this.”
What a gruesome thought. “She can’t drink, can she?”
“Once she’s had a taste, I will let it run into her mouth. I have to be careful—don’t want her choking on it.” He glanced up. “Don’t worry, angel. She won’t die. She’ll be courting danger again in no time at all.”
When their eyes had met, all her remaining irritation had melted and her heart had skipped several necessary beats. But at his words, her anger rose all over again. “It is hardly her fault that a
vampire
attacked her.”