Darkness In The Flames (58 page)

“Yes.” The word was abrupt, bitten off as soon as it was spoken. “Sorry. Please go on.”

There was a momentary glimpse of some inner agony on Rowan’s face, but since he was determined to learn the facts, Marcus would give them to him. Some measure of the man would be revealed by his reactions to the sordid tale.

“Then I probably need not mention I was at an estate, Rogaška. Deep in the hills of Yugoslavia.”

Rowan merely nodded.

“I met her at the hot springs there. We fucked, rather enthusiastically. Then…” His hand drifted to the scars. “She savaged me with teeth that were not—natural.”

Rowan’s throat moved as he swallowed. “Yes.”

“Apparently…” Marcus paused. “Apparently I was not to her taste. She withdrew from me in what I can best describe as confusion, leaving me bleeding profusely into the water.” He sipped his brandy once more, hands steady, voice calm. “I can only hope that nature cleaned it all up. There was rather a mess.”

“And yet you were unharmed? Unchanged?”

“I healed. I spun a tale of some animal catching me unawares. Not uncommon in that area. My wounds were doctored with much sympathy and an underlying urgency to keep me quiet. Tales of fierce beasts preying on visitors would do little for the Rogaškan economy.” Marcus chuckled. “Few would have believed the truth anyway.”

“’Tis…incredible.” Rowan blinked.

“Yes. I rather agree with that assessment.” Marcus stared into the fire. “I did some research when I got home. Discovered tales of such creatures. And I never forgot her eyes. Black. Black and fiery in her passion.” He glanced up. “Like
yours
.”

Those black eyes he referred to remained on his face, an expression of puzzlement within those depths. “I have to say I’m confused.” Rowan spoke quietly. “I do not understand how you survived Thérèse’s bite. You must know that she will either kill or…”

“Or convert me into one like herself?” Marcus nodded. “I know that now. How it happens? Well, I shall rely on you to tell me that in your turn.”

“And I will. But first—finish your tale?”

“There’s little more to relate. I healed, returned to England bearing the scars of my encounter as you see. I began to delve into old manuscripts, to read and research anything I could lay my hands on—for the sake of my own curiosity—in order to find out what had happened to me. I even overcame my firm dislike of Byron and read
The Giaour
in an attempt to find out what kind of creature this flame-haired demon might be.”

“She’s no demon.” The words leaped from Rowan’s mouth defensively.

“No?” Marcus watched his companion. Agony once again flashed across the younger man’s face. “Perhaps. Perhaps not. Depends on your perspective, I suppose.” He sighed. “Anyway, I learned of the myths and legends that surround such—beings. The roots go deep, back in time to before they could be written, just passed by word of mouth under cover of locked doors and shuttered windows. I dismissed most of them as absurd, including Byron’s assertion that vampire corpses are
rent from their graves
, or however he put it. Rather overblown hyperbole, if you ask me. But beneath the dramatics…” He paused, seeking the right words. “Beneath the tall tales and frightening nonsense, a thread emerged. A fundamental set of circumstances that remained common to several of these legends.”

“And that was…” Rowan eagerly encouraged Marcus to continue.

“A red-haired woman.” He sighed. “Twould seem that it all begins and ends with
her
.”

There was silence for a few moments as Marcus waited for Rowan to digest his words, body taut with some kind of emotion, some energy that almost shone from him. Had Marcus tapped into a strange and isolated place within this man? He considered it possible.

Rowan’s reactions had been predictable to a point, but Marcus could sense more beneath them, a turbulence of thought and passion that surpassed any he himself had expected. He waited patiently.

Finally Rowan spoke. “It might well begin for
us
with Thérèse. But for her—I believe there was a beginning for her too.” He lifted his chin. “I must know, however, why you are apparently immune to her bite. Why she did not—for the only time I am aware of—take her prey to one of the only two options she seems to consider. Death or eternal damnation.”

“Hell of a price to pay for a good fuck, isn’t it?” Marcus grinned.

Rowan’s laugh erupted, breaking the tension within the room. Then he looked surprised at himself. “Yes. Yes I suppose it is. Never really considered it that way before.”

“I can believe that.”

“Marcus—” Rowan leaned from his chair, extending his hand. “I seem to be finding new experiences here tonight. New possibilities, new ideas… I’m sharing a part of my existence in a way I’d never dreamed possible. For that, I thank you. And I have a request.”

Marcus watched the beautiful face across from him. “Name it.”

“Always stay my friend?”

It was a simple plea but one that Marcus knew Rowan would not make easily. And his answer was equally difficult. But it was one he knew he could now make.

“Yes.”

Two hands linked across the hearth in a pledge that encompassed so much more than a simple grasp of palm to palm. Two men were promising something to each other, something that went beyond the sexual heat flickering between them. They each offered what neither had expected to find.

Marcus sighed, a quiet sound that carried his emotions with it. “For whatever brief time I have left, I shall always be your friend.”

Rowan stilled, his hand still held fast by Marcus’ strong grip as the import of the words made itself clear within his mind. “I think you’d better explain that.”

Marcus released his hold and leaned back once more. “In the interests of sharing our secrets, I suppose I should.”

Rowan waited, knowing from the words and the tone that there was something dark and troubling to come.

“I am…ill. I have a
sickness
, Rowan.” He looked up quickly. “Nothing I can share with you, fortunately. This is not a disease that is carried from person to person, no matter how—intimate they may be.” A brief smile followed his words.

“A disease?” Rowan thought for a moment, rapidly adding up the parts to a whole. “A disease of the blood?”

“Yes. My physicians—and there have been many—are unanimous that I cannot be cured. They are not sure, even after all the cupping, the bloodletting, the leeches…good God, I could’ve fed an army of vampires on what’s been taken by doctors alone.” He chuckled, yet there was little humor in the sound. “They do not know what it is. Only that it slowly but surely killing me. How long have I left?” He spread his hands. “That’s for the Almighty to know, not me. Or them.”

Rowan swallowed. Words choked in his throat, an inexpressible sadness overwhelming him. “Marcus, I-I—” He stuttered, at a loss.

“It’s all right. I understand, believe me. Few know the truth and there are even fewer I would share the facts with. I have come to terms with my mortality just as you have come to terms with your immortality. Perhaps that’s where our initial attraction lay—a recognition of another with burdens almost too great to bear alone.”

Rowan nodded. “That may be.” He risked a quick smile. “Of course, you’re also damned attractive, whatever the state of your health.”

Marcus grinned back. “Thank you for that. I won’t tell you of
your
beauty. I’m sure you’ve been made aware of it often enough.”

They shared a laugh, a companionable moment that did much to cement the odd relationship between them. Rowan felt as if a weight was gone from his shoulders, one he’d not realized he carried or that bore down on him so heavily.

The simple fact of sitting with a mortal and talking of things he’d kept unsaid for so long—it was as intoxicating as a large glass of that fine cognac would have been a few years before.

“So, Rowan. I have given you my sordid tale. ‘Tis time for you to share yours.” Marcus finished off his drink and set the glass down beside his chair. “
Now
you know you can tell me all. Hold nothing back, my friend.”

Rowan rolled his eyes. Such a thing was easier said than done. Where to start?

As if reading his thoughts, Marcus gently encouraged him. “Start in Rogaška. With
Thérèse
. Our stories both seem to have a beginning there, don’t they?”

“Yes, they do.” Rowan steeled himself. “Very well. I met her much as you tell me you did—in that place where steam swirls into the dark night and tired guests occasionally seek to refresh themselves under the stars…”

*~*~*~*

It was warm
,
warm and welcoming as a mother
’
s embrace
.

The water lapped around Rowan’s thighs, kissed his cock with wet ripples and finally cradled his body as he slid wearily into the small steaming pool. It had been a long day, riding hard through the rough terrain surrounding Rogaška, hunting the wild boar they knew lurked in the deep woods not far from the estate.

His companions were drinking, there was music and dancing in one of the several ballrooms, but for Rowan—there was only a need for quiet. For a time to let his muscles ache comfortably as they unwound.

This journey had been an excellent idea—a last-minute notion inspired by his family’s nagging at him.
Get married
,
Rowan
.
Find a wife
,
Rowan
.
It
’
s time for you to wed
,
Rowan
. His mother’s words rang in his ears until he was ready to scream from the constant clamor.

The casual invitation to join a party heading to Europe seemed like a lifeline thrown to him at his time of utmost need. He didn’t know his fellow travelers that well, but didn’t care. He just wanted
out
.

Rowan closed his eyes and let his tensions seep away into the warm water. He didn’t want to wed. Not yet. He hadn’t met the right woman and didn’t think he would find her amidst the simpering muddle of flounces and silks paraded before his eyes on a nightly basis in London’s salons.

It was not his responsibility to produce an heir—his older brother had taken care of that. Several times over. Rowan was the second son, free of the title and its associated duties. His sister was engaged to an Earl.

He considered himself at liberty to choose his own bride and couldn’t figure out why the rest of the family didn’t see matters the same way. So he’d begun the process of separating himself from them, little by little, first setting up a small house just outside London—a bachelor establishment where he could live as it suited him.

Still he could not escape, however. Thoughts of marriage plagued him and Rowan took the quiet relaxing moments away from it all to ask himself what he wanted in a woman. Whether he would
know
when he found the one with whom he could spend the rest of his life.

She would be beautiful, of course. That was a foregone conclusion. He had no illusions about his own appearance—he’d heard it whispered about often enough. Blessed with striking good looks, he’d found himself the target of more languishing glances than he cared to confess, in spite of his unruly light-colored hair and gray-green eyes. Decidedly non-Byronic, not dark in the current fashion, yet apparently appealing to an awful lot of silly misses.

No, he definitely wanted more than a sizeable estate, a virgin and a giggle or two.

He wanted—what?

“Good evening.”

The voice startled him and he opened his eyes to see a woman standing on the other side of the pool.

God
. He wanted
her
.

Clad in a simple gown of white, her fiery red hair tumbled in loose shining waves down past her shoulders almost to her waist. Full breasts pressed against the silky fabric, nipples poking tight beads through her bodice. They lifted and fell with her breath as she spoke.

“May I take the liberty of joining you?”

There was a slight accent to her words, an entrancing lilt that tugged at his cock every bit as much as did the sensuality radiating from her body.

He gathered his thoughts and cleared his throat. “It would be my pleasure.”

“I do hope so.” She reached behind her and loosened her gown, smiling as she let it fall into a silken pool at her feet.

She was naked beneath, a sight that branded itself into Rowan’s brain. Legs that were long, firm and shapely led upward to a body that made his mouth water. Curly red shadows dappled her mound beneath a softly curved belly and the luscious breasts were tipped with dusky rose peaks, distended a little over her chest as if pulled down by their own weight.

Her smile grew as she casually walked into the pool, stepping easily into the water and stopping for a moment as it caressed her thighs and her pussy. “The water feels good, doesn’t it?”

Dragging his gaze from her mound to her face, Rowan blinked. She was lovely—
incredibly
lovely. The full awareness of her womanhood radiated from her like an aura, sexual, sensual and ripe with promise. This was a woman at the confident peak of her appeal, desire shining from her lips—her eyes—

Rowan blinked. With hair that color, he’d expected a green glitter to flash from beneath her dark red brows. But no, her eyes were dark, very dark. So dark he could not make out a pupil. They were strange eyes, but in keeping with the stunningly unusual beauty of the rest of her.

“What is your name?” She lowered herself beneath the ripples, still clearly visible and quite unconcerned by her nudity.

“Er…” Rowan struggled to find his tongue. His mouth had turned dry, his cock was suddenly harder than it had ever been and words were temporarily beyond him.

Her light laugh recalled him from his stupor. “Surely you know your
name
?”

He recalled himself. “Of course. Rowan Selkirk at your service.” He smiled at her, testing her. “I hope.”

She smiled back. “So do I, Rowan Selkirk.” The black eyes glanced down into the water, deliberately focusing between his thighs where his cock shifted with the light current. “You are—handsome, Rowan. Handsome and well-named.”