Books by Maggie Shayne (107 page)

Roland's hands rested at her waist and he kissed her deeply, hungrily.
 
As one, they sunk to the floor.
 
Rhiannon pushed gently until Roland lay back.
 
She stretched out atop him and lavished his neck and shoulders with kisses.
 
She moved her lips over his chest, and ruthlessly caught one small nipple between her teeth.
 
He gasped in pleasure or surprise.
 
She wasn't certain which, until his hands closed on her head to hold her closer.
 
She sucked at the hard little nub, then licked a path down his sternum, across his belly, around his navel.

His body shuddered its response to her ministrations.
 
His breaths came faster as she continued tormenting him.
 
When she touched the tip of his arousal with her tongue, he groaned like distant thunder.
 
When she closed her lips around him, his hips arched upward.
 
His fingers twined in her hair.
 
In moments, he was panting, and his hands sought to move her away.
 
But she persisted in worshipping the core of him with her mouth until his panting became a helpless plea, and the hands fighting her, gripped her, instead.

He cried her name in a strangled voice, and his entire body went rigid as his essence spilled into her.

Slowly, he relaxed, still shuddering with her touch.
 
She lifted her head and slithered up over his body.
 
She held his gaze, and licked her lips.
 
Instantly, his hardness pressed to her thigh and she shifted, settling herself over him, poising herself to receive him.

His hands shot down to her hips and he drew her down hard, sheathing himself inside her.
 
Her head fell backward and her eyes closed.
 
He filled her, more than filled her, and not just physically.
 
Being with him this way filled some barren cavern in her soul.
 
An unexplored place no one had ever entered.

She felt his hands glide over her back, and press to her shoulders.
 
He drew her downward, lifting his upper body, and capturing one of her breasts in his mouth.
 
Gently, he suckled her, then harder, the pressure of his mouth increasing with the pace of his upward thrusts.

Rhiannon felt him pushing her quickly toward that place she'd just taken him.
 
She lifted and lowered her hips, urgently racing to that place.
 
She cradled his head to her breast as she approached it, feeling the skim of his teeth just as the world exploded around her.
 
She shook with the force of her release, even as he continued moving inside her.
 
He held her hips in place, and kept the pace frantic.
 
He nipped and tugged at her nipple until she cried out, and pulled away.

Then he lay still, staring upward into her eyes, and she knew he hadn't completed the journey with her.
 
He pulled her down to his chest, holding her there.
 
Her face was buried in the kinky curls, and her body still trembled with the aftermath.

Clutching her tight to him, he rolled them both over until she was beneath and he was above.
 
He tipped her head upward and kissed her long and hard.
 
She was breathless, and somehow, still hungry for more of him.
 
He seemed to know for he began again, in a slow, tormenting rhythm she thought would surely drive her out of her mind.
 
Her nerve endings seemed to have been rubbed raw, for she felt every sensation as if it were magnified a thousand times.
 
The size of him, and her own flesh stretched around him, the whisper of his crisp triangle of hair meshing with her own, softer one, the lash of his tongue inside her mouth, the friction of his chest against hers.

As the fires inside her blazed anew, she lifted her legs to encircle him, hooking her ankles behind his back.
 
His reply was to slide his arms beneath her, cup her buttocks, lift her hips more tightly to him and spear her more deeply than before.
 
His pace increased as her body grew taut.
 
His tongue lapped a path from her mouth to her ear, and then his teeth closed on its lobe.

It was she, this time, who was made to pant helplessly as his body drove hers higher and higher.
 
But it was both of them who cried out in sweet, anguished joy as their juices met and mingled.
 
She felt the slow throb of his body and her own convulsing around him.

Gradually, the room came back into focus.
 
Rhiannon looked around her, then into Roland's jet eyes.
 
"We are fortunate Eric and Tamara have not walked in before now."

His smile was slow and enticing.
 
"They won't.
 
I have it on good authority that they are hidden away somewhere, doing the same thing we are."

She nodded with understanding, her envy of their happiness striking her anew.
 
For her, this would be the last time.
 
Already the pain of that knowledge began to engulf her in misery.
 
"Perhaps we ought to find a place to rest before dawn."

"We have an hour until dawn, Rhiannon."
 
He lifted a hand to stroke her hair.
 
"An hour I intend to fill in some most interesting ways."

The pain faded.
 
"What ways?"

"Let me show you."

*
   
*
   
*
   
*
 
  
*

As dawn approached, they took refuge in a darkened closet on the second floor.
 
They lay down in the narrow space, still naked, bodies twined together.

Already, Rhiannon slept.
 
Her head rested on Roland's shoulder, her silken hair covering his chest like a blanket.
 
He held her close and listened to her breathing.

He hadn't lost control.
 
He hadn't become a raging beast, not even for a moment.
 
Instead, he'd become one with her, and found a joy beyond anything he'd ever known in the joining.

Perhaps there was hope for him yet, he thought, finally facing the idea which had nagged him from their first kiss.
 
He was no longer sure he had the strength to let her go.

Let her go?
 
He shook his head slightly.
 
There was no certainty in his mind that he could convince her not to go.
 
Always before, she'd flitted in and out of his life with all the predictability of a cyclone.

But that was before, he thought in troubled silence.

Befo
re what?
 
What have we share
d, beyond the consummation of a long-lived mutual lust?
 
The fevered coupling of two willing bodies?

No.
 
There was more to it, surely.
 
Not love, for he knew himself incapable of such a tender emotion.
 
He'd believed himself in love once before.

Like a blade, the memory of that other time sliced through his mind.
 
Rebecca, so young and innocent.
 
He'd fancied himself in love with her for a time.
 
But his actions, his need to control and command her, had resulted in her suicide.
 
His love, or, what he'd thought of as love, had been poison to her.

Would it be the same to Rhiannon?
 
Was he not, already, searching his brain for ways to change her, to transform her into some meek-willed creature who'd be content to live the solemn life he preferred?
 
Would he, in time, kill her spirit the way he'd killed Rebecca's?

He looked down at her, sleeping so peacefully in his arms.
 
No, he couldn't do that to her.
 
It would be a crime beyond murder to try to stifle Rhiannon.
 
Perhaps he could convince himself to let her go, after all.
 
Perhaps he could keep his thoughts to himself until she was free of him.

He owed her her freedom, if nothing else.
 
It was, after all, the only gift he had to give.

*
   
*
   
*
   
*
   
*

Just after dusk, the two of them made the trek up the side of Mont Noir, to the quaint-looking cabin that held within its cozy walls an unmeasured evil.
 
Lucien.
 
Who was he?
 
Rhiannon wondered.
 
Why had he singled her out, of all the undead who walked the night in this twentieth-century world?
 
There were many.
 
Few older than she, but some.
 
The infamous Damien, for one.
 
Why had Lucien not sought him out to demand the dark blessing?

Rhiannon nearly laughed aloud at that notion.
 
Even among vampires, the name of Damien was whispered with wariness.
 
Lucien would not dare to try his games with such a creature.

She stumbled on a protruding rock, and Roland's arms came around her.
 
She leaned gratefully into his embrace.
 
Too soon, she would leave him.
 
Too soon.
 
She shook her head at the thought.
 
Never would be too soon.

"Something troubles you."

She faced him, sighing.
 
She was rapidly growing weary of guarding her thoughts from Roland.
 
The venture was an exhausting one, for he seemed constantly to be probing her mind with his questioning one.
 
He'd always been the one being with whom she'd felt most able to relax.
 
She'd always allowed him to roam her mind at will.

Sad, how things had to change.

"I was only thinking of Tamara," she lied with unease.
 
"She is so new to these games of the mind.
 
I hope she is able to locate the boy."

Roland nodded, still holding her close to his side as he maneuvered around a bed of loose stone.
 
"It would be helpful if Jamison were trying to reach out to her."

 
"Do you think he will?"

Roland's lips thinned as he shook his head.
 
"Not if he thinks doing so would lead her into danger.
 
I suspect he's learned the trick of guarding his thoughts from us.
 
Otherwise, we'd have tracked him by now.
 
He's a stubborn one, that boy."

Rhiannon nodded, thinking again of Tamara and Eric.
 
She'd left them sitting upon the moss-covered ground in a small clearing of a nearby wood.
 
Candles and incense burned between them, and Tamara's eyes were closed as she sent the fingers of her mind out into the night, in search of her beloved Jamey.
 
If anything happened to the boy, Lucien would die, there was no question of that.
 
For if Rhiannon and Roland didn't finish him themselves, Tamara would do so.

A small smile tugged at Rhiannon's lips.
 
"Eric's fledgling has a dark side to her."

Roland glanced sideways at her.
 
"Don't we all?"

"I suppose we do.
 
But with her, it's well concealed.
 
Like the leaves of the nightshade vine, and its wine-colored berries.
 
Beautiful, harmless-looking, but containing a deadly nectar."

"I'd hardly classify Tamara as deadly."

"We all have the capacity, Roland, given the right motivations.
 
I believe most humans do, as well."
 
She licked her lips and watched his face as she spoke to him.
 
"This notion you have that you are somehow more monstrous than the rest of us is born either of ignorance or conceit.
 
I've not yet decided which."

He halted, turning to face her, a frown digging a ditch between his brows.
 
"Are you angry with me, Rhiannon?"

She blinked.
 
He'd hit on it, precisely.
 
She was angry with him.
 
Furious, in fact.
 
Because of his foolish notions, she would be miserable for longer than she cared to think about.
 
But rather than voice this newfound knowledge, she only shrugged, and pointed.
 
"The cabin is just around those rocks, as I recall.
 
I ought to go on alone from here."

Roland set his jaw.
 
I'll come a bit farther."

"He'll be able to see you.
 
Just wait here, in the shadow of these boulders.
 
As soon as he is assured I've come alone, you can come nearer.
 
But do take care, Roland."

His eyes seemed to scan her face for a moment.
 
"I can barely believe what I'm seeing.
 
You're excited about this encounter!
 
You're looking forward to it!"

She lifted her eyebrows, and shrugged.
 
"I've always enjoyed facing a challenge."
 
She knew the remark would infuriate him.
 
She also enjoyed doing that, though she'd never quite understood why.

She glanced down at her attire, gleaned from some of the tourist shops in the village below.
 
Close to her skin, she wore tight black leggings, and a form-fitting body suit of that wonderful fabric called Spandex.
 
This would enable her to move as freely as possible, should the need arise.
 
Her shoes were flat, and shiny black, but the soles had good treads for climbing the sheer rocks.