Books by Maggie Shayne (95 page)

"What I need is warm, and drawn straight from some innocent throat, Roland."

"Rhiannon, that is murder."

"Still perfectly willing to believe the worst of me, I see."
 
She strode toward him, the shirt gaping in a way he could not fail to notice.
 
"I never murder them.
 
I only taste.
 
A sip here, a sip there.
 
It isn't missed." She was teasing him, and delighting in it as she always did.

His gaze seemed drawn to the swell of her breasts the shirt revealed, so she stepped closer, and bent low to reach for the decanter.

"But if they remember--"

"I take from men as they sleep, Roland.
 
Most of them recall it as an erotic dream."
 
She filled the glass, straightened again, and brought it to her lips.

"And the marks you leave on their throats?"

"It isn't necessary to mark the throats.
 
Blood can be taken from any number of places, some that are difficult to examine too closely."
 
She drained the glass and set it down, licking her lips.
 
"Would you like me to show you?"

He averted his gaze, she hoped, to hide a sudden surge of passion.
 
"No, Rhiannon, I wouldn't.
 
And I would strongly suggest that you feed as we do, from our own supply here.
 
It will not do to rouse undue suspicion with so many DPI operatives in L'Ombre."

She stepped closer, and ran her fingernails up the column of his throat.
 
"Or is it that you dislike the thought of my lips touching another man's flesh?"

He met her gaze and held it for a moment.

She licked her lips.
 
"I had the most interesting dream as I rested."

He quickly looked away.
 
"Did you?"

"Mmm.
 
It isn't often I dream, you know.
 
The sleep is too deep.
 
But this time... I felt things."

"What sort of things?"

She shrugged.
 
"It was very brief.
 
A touch, an incredibly intimate touch.
 
And later, a delicious kiss."

He turned from her, and she knew he was guarding his thoughts.
 
"Very strange, indeed."

"Perhaps it is only that I so long for such things."
 
She walked up behind him, so when she spoke, her breath would fan the back of his neck.
 
"If only you would oblige me, I might sleep more soundly, Roland."

His back went rigid.
 
"I'm sorry, Rhiannon.
 
I don't think it would be wise."

She sniffed.
 
He still wasn't impressed enough with her.
 
He still thought her unworthy of his attention.
 
She stepped around in front of him.
 
"My wound needs attending.
 
Will you at least assist me with that?"

His brows bunched with immediate worry, and when she strode away, toward the bed, he followed on her heels.
 
"What is it, Rhiannon?
 
Hasn't it healed yet?"

She sat on the bed's edge, then leaned back, flipping the shirt open to reveal her waist, her hip, and the lower edge of one breast.
 
"It's healed, but I wish you would snip away the threads.
 
They itch."

Roland closed his eyes briefly.
 
When he opened them again, he seemed to have become a mannequin.
 
No emotion showed in his eyes.
 
"Of course."
 
He located the scissors on the nightstand, and pulled up a stool, sitting so his head was more or less level with the mattress.
 
His hand touched the spot on her waist, and stilled.
 
Slowly, he stroked his fingers over the area.

She closed her eyes.
 
"It feels so good when you touch me."

He drew his hand away, and brought the tiny scissors to her flesh.
 
Carefully, he snipped the threads.

"Even when I was asleep, it felt good.
 
You did touch me, Roland, didn't you?
 
It wasn't a dream."

He finished the job, set the scissors aside, and got to his feet.
 
"I'm going out to check the grounds."
 
She felt waves of frustration emanating from him.
 
Why was he so determined to resist her?

"I'll come with you."

"I'll go alone.
 
Jamison is with Eric and Tamara in the great hall.
 
You might ask him for something to wear.
 
Eric and I will fetch some of your own things for you, later on."

She was immediately angry.
 
"I am capable of fetching my own things, Roland.
 
Furthermore, I'm not about to stay where I am so obviously not wanted.
 
Perhaps I'll rest in my own bed tomorrow."

He said nothing, only walked out of the room.
 
Rhiannon picked up the glass from the stand and hurled it against the wall, where it smashed to bits.

She heard a small laugh and then Tamara appeared in the doorway Roland had just exited.
 
"You find my anger amusing, fledgling?
 
You wouldn't, were it directed at you."

Tamara shook her head and stepped inside.
 
"I'm not laughing at you, Rhiannon.
 
Don't be so defensive.
 
It's just that Eric has made me feel like throwing things a time or two."

Rhiannon tossed her head.
 
"He could never have been as purely maddening as Roland is."
 
She strode to the hearth and bent to toss a log onto the barely glowing sparks.

"He wouldn't make love to me when we both wanted it so badly we were going slowly insane," Tamara confided.

Rhiannon straightened, but didn't turn.
 
"What was
his
reason?"

"He thought I would be repulsed when I learned what he was."

"And were you?"

"I loved him.
 
It took a while, but I finally convinced him of it.
 
Be patient with Roland.
 
Don't give up."

Rhiannon whirled to face the little thing.
 
"You don't think I'm in love with him, do you?
 
My God, Tamara, I am not nearly so foolish as to allow that to happen."

Tamara smiled.
 
"Of course not.
 
Then, you're only interested in a fling?"

Rhiannon's gaze fell.
 
"I want him.
 
There is nothing wrong in that."
 
She frowned.
 
"Except for his exceeding stubbornness."

"Does he give you some well thought-out reason for abstaining?"

Rhiannon shook her head.
 
"Only some nonsense about what one wants not always being what is good for one.
 
I know the true reason.
 
He thinks I'm not good enough.
 
He'll soon learn better."
 
Rhiannon searched the room for her skirt, and shed Roland's shirt, only to reach for a fresh one.

"Why on earth do you say that?"

"Because it is true."
 
She found the skirt and stepped into it, fastening a few of the buttons, and then tucking the shirt tails into it.
 

"That's crazy.
 
You're the most attractive woman I've ever seen."

Rhiannon turned to face her.
 
Perhaps the little fledgling wasn't as bad as she had first thought.
 
"And you are indomitably cheerful."

She smiled.
 
"Why shouldn't I be?
 
I get to spend eternity with the man I love."

Rhiannon rolled her eyes.
 
"Must you be so human?"
 
She hunted for her shoes, found them and slipped them on.
 
"Tell Roland I'll return before dawn."

She felt Tamara's rush of alarm at her announcement.
 
"Rhiannon, where are you going?"

"To my house, to fetch some clothing."

"You shouldn't.
 
It isn't safe, there are DPI--"

"Too bad for them if they get in my way.
 
I'm in no mood for it tonight."

She moved toward the door, but the bold little thing grabbed her arm.
 
"Rhiannon, please wait.
 
There's something I need to say to you."

Rhiannon tilted her head to one side.
 
"Say it, then.
 
I'm in a hurry."

"It's about... the man who held you prisoner, in his lab in Connecticut."

"Daniel St. Claire?"

Tamara nodded.
 
"Yes.
 
He... he was my guardian.
 
He adopted me after my parents were killed."
 
Tamara swallowed hard as Rhiannon frowned.
 
"I learned later that their deaths were planned.
 
He only wanted custody of me to try to lure Eric in for live research.
 
I know what happened to you--I read about it in his files, after he died.
 
And, those other two he held, as well.
 
I'm... I'm sorry.
 
"

Compelled by Tamara's honesty, Rhiannon reached out one hand to ruffle the young one's curls.
 
"You have nothing to be sorry for, Tamara.
 
These things happened before you were born.
 
You're lucky you survived."

"I don't know if I would've, if it hadn't been for Eric."
 
She licked her lips.
 
"I loved Daniel like a parent for a long time, even after Eric tried to tell me the truth about him.
 
I hope--"

"That I do not hate you for it," Rhiannon finished, reading the young one's thoughts.
 
"Rest assured, I do not."

Tamara smiled, her eyes slightly damp.
 
"I'd like to be your friend."

Rhiannon blinked fast, angry at the ridiculous lump that came into her throat.
 
"I don't believe I've ever had one of those."

"Not even Roland?"

Rhiannon laughed.
 
"No, most especially not him.
 
He doesn't even like me."

"I think you're wrong about that.
 
When we came in last night, it looked as if his seeing you in pain was killing him."

"Really?"
 
Rhiannon's brows lifted and she felt something silly warm her insides.
 
She caught herself.
 
"Listen to us, gibbering about males like a pair of giggling teenage mortals.
 
We are above it, Tamara.
 
Goddesses among women."

"But women, all the same," Tamara replied.
 
Rhiannon frowned, considering that.
 
Then she shook her head.
 
"I must go.
 
I have much to do tonight.
 
Some shopping, even."

"Shopping?
 
But, Rhiannon, the DPI--"

"Posh, let them chase me through the stores if they think they can keep up.
 
I extracted permission from Roland to clean these chambers up a bit, and hang new drapes.
 
I further intend to purchase enough candles to keep that chandelier glowing nightly for a year.
 
It's like resting in a graveyard this way."

Tamara chewed her lower lip.
 
"I don't blame you for wanting to spruce things up.
 
This is like something out of an old horror movie."

"Precisely.
 
Besides that, my efforts will drive Roland to the point of murdering me.
 
And I do love to torment him.
 
Unless I hurry, the stores will close.
 
So, farewell."

Rhiannon hurried out a rear door, leapt the wall without an effort and raced to her rental house outside L'Ombre.
 
She wasn't a complete fool.
 
Though she saw no sign of anyone watching the house, she took the precaution of slipping around the back.
 
She scaled a wall, and entered through a second-story window.

She turned on no lights at all, only lit a few candles.
 
Her night vision was excellent.
 
She picked through her clothing until she found a short little skirt that flared when she moved, and a blouse to go with it.
 
She packed other items into a suitcase, to take back to the castle when her errands were finished.
 
Then she ran a hot bath until the tub was brimming, and spent a heavenly, albeit all too brief time soaking.
 
She would have loved to linger, to burn some incense and relax, but with Roland's warnings still echoing in her mind, she didn't dare.

She'd return later for her suitcase.
 
For now, she went over to the hidden safe and took out some of the credit cards she kept on hand.
 
She had one more errand, an important one.
 
She would show Roland how worthy she was before this night ended.
 
She lifted the receiver and dialed a number she knew well.

Her agent in France, Jacques Renot, was highly paid, and utterly trustworthy.
 
He also was an ex-DPI operative who knew how to break into their computers.

He recognized her voice at once, and she could almost hear him smiling through the phone lines.
 
Whenever she woke him at night, it always meant a large bonus in his next check.
 
He was worth every penny she paid him.
 
How many others could keep track of her many aliases, her countless bank accounts?
 
Her need for anonymity was making Jacques a very rich man.