EMBRACE THE DARK (The Blood Rose Novella Series) (2 page)

By all the elf-lords, the damned woman laughed too much.

More than anything, he wished he had never heard of Abigail of Flagstaff, a mere human, a bakery owner, the latter being the why of her presence in his realm.

He had opposed the Merhaine Council approving her partnership with a elf to open a bakery in the nearby county of Hollow, one of Merhaine’s seven counties. He had believed from the first it was a mistake. However, and this for reasons he could not explain, Abigail was a favorite among realm-folk. She had been providing the sweet-loving trolls, faeries, and elves of his realm with cupcakes—
for all the Nine Realms, cupcakes!—
for well over a year. His castle even had a standing weekly order with her Flagstaff enterprise, a place called
Just Too Sweet!
Yes, with an exclamation point.

And now
he
felt like spitting.

Some of the council were looking to expand into the human world as well, which he believed to be a mistake of enormous proportions. Some of the drugs of the human world had already infected the less prosperous portions of his realm. Didn’t his realm have enough trouble managing the constant threat of the Invictus?

And yet, as he sniffed the breeze that flowed over the woman’s long red tresses, he could scent rosemary again, and he knew exactly what her skin would taste like beneath his tongue. His body reacted, sharpening, hardening, shuddering, until he was once more grateful for the long leather coat of his Guardsman uniform, and the snug buckled leather pants that held all his absurd firmness well in place.

The woman be damned.

His gaze shifted back to the drunken troll, who now listed sideways and fell into the three-tiered sage-and-honey wedding cake. The fae bride cried out and the groom’s cheeks showed an angry wash of red.

The guests, however, began to laugh and Abigail joined them.

He was angry all over again. How dare she laugh?

It was time he took her down a slat or two.

*** *** ***

“You find our customs amusing?”

Abigail turned slightly at the almost growling sound. The words were spoken in a deep low voice, emanating from the vampire Guardsman next to Abigail, the leader of the Merhaine Realm, Mastyr Vampire Gerrod. Of course, he didn’t exactly stand next to her. He would never deign to do that. God, forbid, or ‘Goddess’, as he would say. Instead, he stood slightly behind her, a position of power and control no doubt. She could feel him fuming behind her. Some burr had gotten stuck inside those boots of his.

Abigail turned a little more and glanced up at him. As always, she felt an almost overwhelming attraction to Mastyr Gerrod. He was six-five and though she considered herself tall for a human at five-eleven, still she had to look up, though perhaps not as far this evening since she wore four-inch heels. A very slight advantage against his formidable scowl and heavily muscled body.

The vampire was stunning and ferocious. Because of the books she’d read, she had thought his kind would be pale-skinned from lack of blood, an un-beating heart, and the inability to get a decent tan because of an intolerance for sunlight. But the world of the Realm produced vampires of every possible hue, from the deepest browns and blacks to almost pure white. The solar disability and the persistent blood-needs had nothing to do with skin-tone.

His Guard uniform did not help
at all
. The man looked like a fierce pirate with a soft maroon woven shirt, topped by a thick black calf-length leather coat. The coat wasn’t exactly a coat because it didn’t have sleeves, just a thick pad of very soft leather at the shoulders that descended in two panels that hung open in the front.

A black leather shoulder strap crossed over his chest, and angled to his waist, undoubtedly a throw-back to times when swords were used. No swords now, just the power that a Guardsman could gather through his battling frequency and send outward through his arms, hands, and chest, tight beams of killing energy. Black leather pants and silver-buckled top boots finished off the uniform that had most women doing double and triple takes.

Gerrod was magnificent, well-built with broad shoulders, as all the fighting Guardsmen were, his skin an exquisite golden color. He held himself in a proud manner, as befitted his leadership status. Even now his arms were crossed over his chest as he glowered at her.

He had long black hair that flowed away from strong features. His cheeks were pronounced and sharp, his jaw-line angled, his lips full and sensual. But it was his eyes that tore at her, that made his presence almost unbearable. They were the clear blue of a summer mountain sky, so clear that often when she looked at him, she felt as though she was looking back in time and forward all at once.

Of course that he affected her in such a way that she often wanted to simply shed her clothes and fall down on her back, ticked her off. Thank God she was made of sterner stuff, because all these unhelpful reactions strengthened her intention to keep the vampire at bay.

Besides, he was such a pain in the ass, like now. So typical. He’d been standing behind her,
forever
. And when he finally did speak to her, he used that wretched, oh-so-familiar hostile tone of his, this time to challenge her because she’d been laughing.

“You think I’m laughing at your customs?” she returned.

“And what else would you be laughing at, Mistress Abigail?” His words were hard, as they usually were when he spoke to her. She’d at least grown accustomed to that. But because she sensed that he either disliked her or disapproved of her, or both, she simply didn’t know why he stayed anywhere near her, like now.

She lifted her chin. “I would never laugh at Merhaine customs. I might disagree with them because I find some to be abhorrent to the status of women in your culture, but I would never laugh.”

“I heard you laughing.”

She chuckled again but shook her head. She moved back to stand beside him. She wasn’t going to continue this conversation staggered as they were, like stair-steps.

“Mastyr Gerrod,” she said, lowering her voice. “I found the wedding ceremony, including the way their arms were bound with a vine, charming, poignant, even moving. I laughed just now because a troll fell into a wedding cake. Come on. That was funny.”

He grunted his disapproval.

At that, she turned to face him fully. She was exasperated to say the least. “You know, you really need to lighten up.”

He glanced down at her. “I have no idea what that means. I have heard the expression time and again, but it makes no sense to me.”

“It just means not to take everything so seriously.” She waved a hand in the direction of the now smashed wedding cake. “The troll is drunk, that alone is funny. Wouldn’t you agree? He’s still wobbling around and he has a streak of frosting now between the second and third ridges of his forehead.” She glanced over her shoulder then back. “And now his wife is beating him over the head with their son’s teddy-shifter-bear. Come on. Even the bride is smiling now and it’s her cake that the troll ruined.”

Gerrod’s lips twitched, and the right side of his lips almost curved creating a faint, lop-sided smile. But that was when she made her mistake. “Yeah, like that. Smile.
Lighten up
.” She poked his arm with two fingers, intent on teasing him a little more.

But the moment she made physical contact with him, the very first ever in her year-long acquaintance with him, something very strange happened. She felt odd waves rolling toward her, waves that felt like fingers gliding over her skin, exploring her,
savoring her
.

She looked up meeting his gaze. Now he turned fully toward her so that they were face to face. Her lips were parted because she was having trouble dragging in air. Why his were, only he could speak to that.

Touching a mastyr vampire wasn’t precisely forbidden, but Gerrod had always kept his distance. This was something she’d noticed from the first day she’d met him, that as soon as she was within two feet of him, he stepped away another foot. She had thought it an annoying habit, a sure sign of his continued disapproval. But right now, because she’d touched him, she wasn’t so sure.

Abigail’s heart began to race. She’d had many concerns about entering into business with a elf partner and opening a bakery deep into Merhaine territory. But right now she realized this was the real danger she faced, that the vampire Mastyr Gerrod, ruler of Merhaine, affected her as though she was always within a hair’s breadth of tumbling into bed with him.

She knew the danger the terrible Invictus presented, she even understood that there were factions among the realm-folk who didn’t want humans in Merhaine and would do whatever they could to get rid of her
and her kind
. Yes, these things worried her very much. But as she looked into Gerrod’s intense blue eyes, she finally understood the true source of every reticence she’d experienced since she’d come to this realm: Dammit, she had the hots for a friggin vampire.

She desired him with a need that seemed to burn through her and touching him just now, brought all that need rushing to the surface yet again.

His gaze shifted from her eyes to her lips and even to her breasts. She could feel the sudden hardening of her nipples as the need spread. How many times had she wondered if he was doing this to her, using vampire powers. But the realm-folk she knew had assured her that vampires, however much the Earth-based myths said otherwise, didn’t have the power to enthrall.

The fae population could, but not vampires.

Very strange, this realm world.

So what was this she felt, this deep desire for Gerrod and why, when he looked at her with his eyelids heavy, his lips parted, his nostrils flaring, did she want to take his hand, lead him deep into the forest, and beg him to have his way with her. What was this need?

He stepped closer and though he was frowning heavily like his temper was ready to take off the top of his head, he actually touched her, sliding his hand over her arm. Once again, she felt those strange waves emanating from him and her desire increased almost to a painful stage.

What is that?
Her mind cried.

But he leaned close now and stared harder, peering into her eyes.
What did you say?

She glanced at his lips. They hadn’t moved. Telepathy? No, oh, God no. This couldn’t be happening, wasn’t happening. She knew many in Merhaine could communicate through telepathic frequencies, pathing was what they called it.

Could she?

This couldn’t be happening, couldn’t be true. She stared into his eyes, horrified, yet she had to know the truth. So, once more she aimed her thoughts carefully,
I wanted to know what I was feeling from your hand. It felt like waves flowing out of you and into me.

The thought of it, the presence of it, the feel of it beating into her body, brought desire hurtling through her. She planted her hand on his chest. The waves pounded through her now, engulfing her.

He looked so angry and his grip on her arm became painful.
This can’t be happening. You can’t feel these waves and you can’t be reaching me telepathically. It’s. Not. Possible.

Gerrod, what are you doing to me
?
And please, you are hurting my arm.
Vampires were strong.

The pressure diminished but his expression hardened.
You are speaking to me telepathically and you are experiencing my personal frequency, my realm vibration. No one can do that except when I allow it, but you accessed it freely. And you are…human. This cannot not be happening.

She was struggling to breathe. But his touch, and the flowing waves, had her trapped. She strained toward him, but he kept a grip on her arm, holding her away from him. He squeezed his eyes shut.
This is impossible. You can’t be what you seem to be. You can’t be. You’re human. This is unacceptable.

Abigail slid her hand up his chest and reached his mouth. She ran her thumb over his lips.

How inappropriate and thank goodness they were standing at the back of the crowd. In the distance, she could hear another groomsman making a toast. Though it was nighttime, the floodlights lit mostly the band, the bridal table, and the dance floor. This far back, she stood in the shadows.

Time came to a swift stumbling halt.

Abigail looked at Gerrod as if for the first time. She felt a call so deep in her soul, driving her toward him, that to not respond, not to say ‘yes’, felt like a crime for which she would be punished if she didn’t obey. She needed this vampire, craved him. For the first time, her vein began to rise in her throat, because that’s the only way she could describe what she experienced. She needed him to take her blood because that would complete something essential between them, as essential as the nature of a kiss, as critical as the fulfillment of lovemaking.

Yet, she was human and didn’t truly belong in the realm world. She belonged in Flagstaff, the nearest access point to the Merhaine Realm.

The tip of his tongue teased her thumb.
You taste of the sweetest herbs. Dear Goddess, please forgive me.

Before she knew what he meant by sending that particular message, he took hold of her arm, swung her in the direction of the forest, and led her twenty yards into the dark, a good distance from the crowd that now applauded. Music began at the same time, a lively folk song made for dancing.

He dragged her behind a tree and hauled her into his arms.

She fell against him, limp, her body in full surrender and not caring that this was so inappropriate and doomed to cause all kinds of problems.

For some strange reason as she stared up at him, though the forest was dark, his face was lit in a glow. Vampire magic? He was incredibly beautiful, his black brows thick and arched, his clear blue eyes thickly fringed, his nose straight, his lips full, his cheeks pronounced.

He leaned close, his lips trembling over hers.

“Do I have permission to kiss you?”

God, yes.

“Yes,” she whispered, panting against him, her fingers grasping the soft cloth of his loose Guard’s shirt. She dug deeper until her fingers found purchase in the hard muscles of his arms. His lips touched hers and the previous waves began to flow, heavier now.