Handsome Bastard (10 page)

The sound of a bolt sliding on her door caught her attention and she turned toward the glow of a lantern. She squinted at the light after so many days in darkness.

“Leotine?”

That hushed voice sent her heart beating out of control.

“Cyprian?” She stepped toward him. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, her beloved came into view. He wore a dark tunic and cloak, a bloodied sword at his hip. Sweat misted his rather pale face and she noted lines of tension around his mouth.

“Come quickly,” he said, extending his hand.

Without hesitation she slipped hers into it, scarcely believing he was here.

He guided her through the atrium toward the garden. Several of Julius’ guards sprawled on the floor. Three lay in pools of blood. The rest had broken necks.

In the garden, Julius, his dead face twisted in horror, floated in the fishpond.

A coach driven by one of Cyprian’s servants waited outside the house. Sextus leaned out the back, sword in hand, his glowing eyes sweeping the area.

“Get in,” Cyprian ordered, pushing her into the coach and climbing in behind her.

The coach rolled forward.

Turning to Cyprian, Leotine asked, “Why did you come for me?”

In reply, he pulled her into his arms. She tightened her embrace and he grunted in pain. Wincing, he pressed a hand to his chest.

Instantly she pulled back and was horrified to see that his dark tunic was damp with blood.

“Gods, you’re hurt!”

“It’s nothing. One of Julius Titus’ slaves got lucky flinging a dagger while I was distracted by the guards.”

With Julius’ home so heavily protected by hunters, it surprised Leotine that Cyprian had succeeded in freeing her. It seemed he lived up to his reputation as one of the most dangerous blood-drinkers ever known.

Sextus cut away Cyprian’s bloody tunic and inspected the wound located frighteningly close to his heart.

“Lie down,” Leotine ordered.

He collapsed backward, his breathing shallow. “I’ve had worse.”

“And every time I’m the one stuck putting you back together,” Sextus snapped, quickly mixing herbs and water in a mug. “I told you not to flirt with danger.”

Cyprian cast Leotine a sidelong glance and said, “I can think of nothing better to flirt with. Danger is irresistible, you see.”

“Just be quiet until we tend that wound,” Leotine ordered, smoothing hair from his damp forehead.

“Make him drink this.” Sextus handed Leotine the mug which she held to Cyprian’s lips. He drank deeply then leaned back while Sextus began cleaning the wound.

“You could have been killed,” Leotine said.

“So could you.” He grunted. “Sextus, you’re causing more harm than good. That’s flesh and blood, you heavy-handed oaf.”

“Silence,” the servant snapped. “If this injury was the slightest bit over to the side you’d be dead.”

“What did you come here for?” Leotine repeated her earlier question, relieved to see that his bleeding had already stopped, thanks to his blood-drinker physique.

“We’re on our way to the Far East and I thought you might like to come.”

Leotine’s heart fluttered with joy.

“Well?” he asked.

“I will come.”

“There is a condition.”

“Yes?” She guessed, even hoped, what it might be.

“I want you to marry me.”

“You think this is the place to propose such a thing?” Sextus demanded.

“Silence, Sextus,” Cyprian and Leotine said in unison.

“Yes,” she said. “I’ll marry you. Are there any more conditions?”

“No. Only a question. Will you consider becoming like me, a blood-drinker? I know you might need time to think about it. I dislike being patient, yet I can be. And if you choose not to, I will cherish you for the length of your mortal life, Leotine.”

Excitement, tremendous affection and a hint of fear filled her, making her tingle from head to toe. Not fear of Cyprian but of taking the final step toward severing all ties with We Who Serve Humanity.

“Yes,” she said. “I will become like you.”

In spite of the pain from his wound, he smiled and lifted his hand to her face.

“That’s the best I can do,” Sextus said, wiping his bloody hands on a scrap of cloth. “Rest until tomorrow and you should recover completely. I’ll see to the rest of our escape plans.” The servant glanced at Leotine. “Give him some of your blood and he’ll heal faster.”

Cyprian motioned for Leotine to come closer. He blinked slowly, his expression sleepy from herbs and blood loss.

She lay alongside him, overcome with tenderness for his uncharacteristically vulnerable state. No words could express her gratitude for him freeing her in more ways than simply releasing her from Julius’ clutches.

As if sensing their need for privacy, Sextus called for the driver to stop and joined him in the front of the coach.

Once they began moving again, Leotine covered Cyprian’s face with kisses.

“I’ve answered all your questions, Cyprian Augustus, but I once asked one of you and you refused to answer. I would like a reply now.”

“I remember the question,” he said, his voice just above a whisper. “The answer is yes, Leotine. I care for you. In fact, I love you. It was only after you left that I realized how much and that I needed to try once more to convince you that we belong together.”

She smiled and brushed his mouth with a kiss. “Good thing you did.”

“You please me, Leotine. You please me greatly.”

“And you please me.”

“I fully intend to as soon as I’m recovered.”

“I’ll hold you to that.” She placed her neck over his lips. His fangs pierced her flesh but there was no pain. While he drank, she closed her eyes and caressed his hair, truly happy for the first time in her life.

Epilogue

It had been almost a century since Cyprian and Leotine had visited Rome. Fifty years after they’d initially fled to the Far East, they returned because both wished for their first child, Cypria, to be born on Roman soil. Children created by traditional means were rare among blood-drinkers, so the couple considered themselves blessed when just twenty years after, they had a son, Marcus.

Now, a hundred years later, they were thrilled to know they would soon be grandparents. Cypria and her senator husband were about to welcome the next generation into their line.

Cypria and her husband Antony had taken up residence in Cyprian’s old villa. For decades there had been no sign of We Who Serve Humanity in Rome, but it wasn’t unusual for them to appear and fade as mysteriously as the blood-drinkers they hunted.

“It will be so nice to spend time in the place where we first fell in love.” Leotine smiled and tightened her arms around Cyprian from where she sat in back of him on his horse.

“Yes, and I look forward to meeting our grandson.”

“It might be a granddaughter.”

He grunted and she playfully slapped him on the shoulder.

Upon approaching the well-kept white and red buildings, Leotine felt a wave of old memories, some bad but most good. She never would have thought on that night so long ago when Julius Titus had left her beaten, her heart filled with hatred for all blood-drinkers, that she would fall in love with one.

No sooner had they dismounted than Antony hurried to greet them.

“Perfect timing,” Antony said. “The child was born last night. Come meet him.”

“Him.” Cyprian smirked, glancing at Leotine. “I told you.”

Cypria met them in the atrium, a squirming bundle in her arms. She smiled. “Mother. Father. I’m so glad you’re finally here.”

She accepted kisses from both parents, then placed the bundle in Leotine’s arms and said, “Meet Vincentius.”

“Cyprian, look. He has your nose.”

“Lucky boy.” Cyprian winked.

“Let us hope he doesn’t inherit your overdeveloped sense of self-importance,” Leotine teased, running a fingertip down the infant’s plump cheek. She passed the child to Cyprian.

Gazing into his grandson’s face, Cyprian’s smile momentarily faded. An icy sensation he hadn’t felt in years crept down his spine. He ignored it, certain it was only a result of normal concerns every blood-drinker experienced when faced with such a vulnerable new member of his line. Then he realized what bothered him. This child’s thoughts were open to his. The mind powers possessed by most blood-drinkers were already present. That was rare in one so young.

“Are you all right?” Leotine asked, placing a hand on Cyprian’s arm.

Vincentius uttered a soft sound and Cyprian smiled, the icy sensation fading as if it had never been.

“Yes. Everything is well.”

Once the baby was returned to his mother, Cyprian and Leotine followed a slave to their cubiculum.

“Rather like old times?” Leotine grinned, slipping her arms around Cyprian’s neck.

“Rather.” He opened the traveling pouch on his waist and removed manacles. “It has been a long journey and I need some exercise to unwind.”

“Umm,” she purred, cupping the bulge in the front of his tunic, “I’m sure we can find something vigorous enough to satisfy you.”

“You know with our kind vigor increases with age.”

“So I’ve heard but yet to see,” she teased.

“Then let me show you.” He swept her into his arms and tossed her onto the bed. Without preamble he raised her tunic, lifted her legs over his head and began licking her in a manner that never failed to drive her into a frenzy.

“Cyprian, oh gods!” She panted, entwining her fingers in his hair.

Tell me you love me
, his spirit voice spoke in her head, a method of communication used often by blood-drinkers and also by some gifted mortals. Cyprian and Leotine had avoided that particular intimacy during their first deceitful days together. Now they indulged in it freely.

I love you, Cyprian Augustus. I love you with all my heart.
Leotine gasped when his tongue found the spot where she most loved to be touched.

My heart is yours, Leotine.

That was the only possession she would ever want or need.

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