Black Desire (4 page)

****

Tristan stepped out
of the shower. Dammit, he was late. He had not returned to his place until an
hour ago. He’d been gone all night and most of the morning seeing to the “clean
up” after Raynor's “incident.” Calling in a few favors to clean up the scene of
horror took up most of the night. He also had to make a promise, a “Blood Oath”
as it were.

Dealings legitimate
and otherwise with a certain criminal underworld figure in Halifax were not
something Tristan wished to be reminded of. Thanks to Raynor, he would now be
beholden to the man. Growling with frustration, he reached for the towel.

   
Christ only knew what he would want him to
do and when, but Tristan had agreed. What choice did he have? He had to protect
Raynor and the Blackthorne Clan. Their very survival depended upon it.

The room at the
whorehouse was cleaned and the body removed, but with today's forensics there
were no doubt clues left behind, blood residue and what—DNA? From a man that
does not exist? However, his connections were thorough if nothing else. They’d
cleaned the room well so perhaps they would get away with it. A wave of deep
weariness rolled though him. Though he needed very little sleep, four hours at
most during the night, he certainly felt as if he could slumber right now. He longed
to see Katrina more than he needed a nap. He glanced at the clock. It was past one
in the afternoon. He had better call Greg's house.

He wrapped the towel
around his hips as he headed for the phone. Tristan's hand stroked his closely
cropped goatee. He needed a shave as well. Katrina answered and he explained he
was unavoidably detained. She suggested maybe going to the beach this
afternoon. He smiled slyly. She wanted to see him as much as he wanted to see
her, maybe more if his ego allowed.
 
The
beach was out as the sun was too high in the sky. He could not abide direct
sunlight; his Vampire blood abhorred it. It weakened him and made him nauseous,
and he hated feeling that way. Besides, he did need a few hours sleep after all.

"Why don't I
pick you up around six-thirty? We can go to the beach, sit, walk, talk and watch
the sun go down. Would that be satisfactory?"

She responded
immediately. She was looking forward to it.

 
Tristan hung up, grabbed another towel and ran
it through his long, wet hair. He would sleep, and maybe he would dream of
everything he wanted to do to Katrina's luscious body and delectable breasts.
He moaned aloud. The towel tented. Never had he had such a swift and painful
reaction as this toward a woman. God's mercy, he dropped the towel and fisted
his cock. He began the familiar rhythm. He knew he would get no rest in this
condition. It didn't take any time at all. With his head thrown back, he pumped
away into his hand while the cords in his neck strained from his long, deep
groans of satisfaction.

****

It was close to seven
in the evening before Tristan and Katrina arrived at his family's piece of private
beach. The stretch of sand was part of his family's extensive land holdings.
The beach was only accessible from the road by an eight foot high wrought iron
fence and gate complete with electronic lock and CCTV cameras. It was in a
protective cove and had been used by his father Deegan—short for his given
name, Draighean—in his smuggling adventures for two hundred years. Rumors
stated Captain William Kidd buried his treasure further down shore at Oak
Island.
 
The tattle also claimed the
Captain used this cove a time or two for his own nefarious means. When Tristan
once asked his father if he had any dealings with the Captain, Deegan sneered,
“That Scottish fop was no true pirate. How he came to have that reputation
astounds me!” But as usual his father would not elaborate further.

Tristan reached in
the backseat and brought a large wool blanket with him as they headed toward
the beach. It was a truly beautiful place. He glanced at Katrina to see her
reaction. It pleased him to see her face light up at the magnificence of the
cliffs and rocks and trees that surrounded the beach protectively.

"It's lovely,
Tristan. You said this is your family's property—oh look! Is that a cottage in
the trees?"

"Long abandoned and
quite run down. It is rumored it was merely a front, a tidy Victorian cottage
completely gutted with a store room and hidden cache for numerous smuggling
runs of bygone pirates."
 

Katrina slipped her
arm through his as they walked. He gritted his teeth in pleasurable agony from
her touch.

"Are you telling
me there were pirates in your family? How wonderful. I sense there could be
fodder for a historical romance hidden here."

Tristan laughed,
something he had not done for quite a while. "You could be right. Nova
Scotia has a colorful piratical history. Have you heard of 'Blackthorne the
Pirate'? Perhaps not, a lesser known pirate and privateer. He was an
ancestor."

Katrina pulled
herself closer and squeezed his arm. Her breast brushed the crook of his elbow.
That was all it took to make him harden into steel. His cock was full and
eager.

"Oh! Your name
Black, is that from Blackthorne then? Well, obviously."

 
"Yes, back around 1770 the family decided
to distance themselves from such a spotty reputation and shortened the name to
Black."

He stopped and
reluctantly stepped away, snapped the folded blanket then laid it flat on the
sand for them to sit on. The tide was out and a collection of gulls cawed
overhead. The breeze was very slight. It had been a long time since he had come
here to watch the sun set. Tristan kicked himself mentally for not thinking of
bringing some cold wine and glasses to make this more romantic, but the episode
with Raynor still played on his mind. He was not a man easily rattled. He had
had decades to perfect his icy, outward demeanor for most situations but
thinking of Raynor and being here alone with Katrina threatened his cool
resolve to remain detached. He gazed at her as she sat crossed legged with her
head back and eyes closed. Katrina listened to the waves and enjoyed the
setting sun on her lovely face. He took a moment to assess her. He had
certainly been with more cultured, classically striking women than Katrina. Her
beauty shone from within and glowed with an inner illumination that expanded
her fresh-faced prettiness to an overpowering splendor. This effect was
amplified by the golden sunlight to overwhelming feminine perfection. Fine, he
was overstating it perhaps, but whatever she had either inside or out appealed
to him.

 
Her voice was a sultry mixture of Barbara
Stanwyck and Kathleen Turner, two of his favorite actresses. The cadence sent
chills through his body while fanning the flames even more.

"Greg tells me
you are quite the ladies man."

 
That
he did not expect her to say. She was certainly forward. The side of his mouth
twitched. "Did he, indeed? Why? To warn you off me?"

She opened her eyes
and turned to look at him, her gaze frank and inquisitive. "No, not at
all. Besides I sensed there was more he wasn't telling me. How long have you
been a ladies man? And sorry to be blunt, but am I just another notch? Just
want to know where I stand."

God's mercy, this
woman
. "I admit I have been with a
lot of different women for a while now." Yes, since his aged wife
Georgiana died in his arms in 1939 after sixty-two years of marriage. The pain
roared afresh through his little used heart. Katrina's probing dagger made its
mark. Before he could stop himself the words tumbled out of him, words he had
never spoken to another woman before.

"My wife died
after a long, debilitating illness. After a bout of grieving involving an
overabundance of spirits, I turned to fucking as a way to elevate the pain. It
works for a time." He turned his searing gaze to her. "A notch? On my
bedpost? There would be no wood left on the frame of my bed were that the case.
I invited you here because I enjoyed our conversation last night at the pub,
more than I have enjoyed a conversation with a woman for quite some time. If
you would rather I ravish you here on the blanket, I can oblige."

He could. His cock
was hard and throbbing as it had been often ever since he first detected her
presence in the pub two nights ago. He watched a myriad of emotions play on her
face: sorrow, confusion, embarrassment and bloody hell, pity. That he didn't
need or want.

"God, I have a
big mouth. I'm sorry to bring up such pain. Did you have any children?"

He looked off toward
the horizon. The sun slowly sank behind a kaleidoscope of pink and red sky
dotted with streaks of whitish gray clouds. He did have a son. Lucius was away
at the moment visiting in London, a visit that had stretched into three years.
They had grown apart the last few decades, though he did receive a surprising
phone call from Lucius two weeks ago. Lucius would be coming home in two months
and he would be joined by Trevina Patterson, his mate.
 
Tristan found solace in his son's long
awaited happiness.

The fact he and
Georgiana were able to produce a child was a miracle. His father surmised his
human half managed the deed, his strong seed in play with his Vampire biology.
The Blackthorne Clan had to open a new classification for Lucius. He was known
as a “Quarter,” as he possessed one-quarter Vampire blood. As hard as they
tried they did not manage to produce another. Yes, a miracle.

"No—no
children," he lied smoothly.

Katrina took his
hand. "I am sorry I was so—I don't know, flippant when I asked about the
women. I guess I secretly hoped I was not just a name to be added to a
list."

 
He lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed it,
eliciting a small moan from her luscious lips.

"Not at all. You
are a list all on your own."

He winced inwardly.
He was smoother than this. Truth be told, he did not engage in conversation
with any woman. He usually had his cock and his fangs plunged into the woman's
body simultaneously and there was no need for talk at all.

Pulling her in front
of him, he wrapped his arms around her. Having her nestled between his spread
legs and against the part of him that ached caused a yearning shudder to ripple
down his spine. A low husky groan escaped her lips. She leaned her head back
against his chest and fit perfectly under his chin. She felt magnificent, as if
she belonged here in his embrace.

Tristan couldn't stop
himself. He brushed his lips on her neck. His fangs lengthened slightly. The
reaction felt strange for he did not want or need blood. This only happened
once before with Georgiana. To have the fangs lengthen for no reason gave away
more than any words of love or act of sex. Any Vampire or anyone with Vampire
blood could experience this. His head snapped back in shock. His tongue moved
over the canines. They were long, sharp and fully extended.
 
Another indication of finding one's mate was
by scent. Damn, at the pub her enticing, unique scent filled his senses.
 
The alluring aroma never left him.

"Do that again,
Tristan," she murmured.

 
He didn't dare but after a few moments
hesitation he did, careful to keep his lips closed about his teeth. Good Christ,
she tasted as effervescent and sweet as chilled champagne. His lips pulled back
and his fangs lightly grazed her skin. She moaned louder. He turned her
slightly, laid her back across his lap and balanced her on his arm. His other
hand stroked her cheek and touched her lips. He did this until the fangs
retracted. It was then he captured her mouth in his, not giving her a moment to
react.
 
With total domination he ravished
her mouth in a way he wanted to ravish the very feminine part of her. Her
arousal was potent and filled his senses. She wanted him and that just urged
him on in his plunder. Piratical past, indeed.

Katrina groaned and
ground her luscious, shapely ass into his hardened cock. Tristan's mind was
swimming and lost in lust, rational thought all but erased. He wanted to free
his shaft and thrust it into her, pound and drill her into the sand until she
came apart. His breathing became ragged and he began to move his hips. He was
losing control. He never lost control and he wouldn't lose it here on this
piece of beach. He pulled his head back and broke the connection. He could
barely catch his breath. Katrina lay across his hips, limp. Jesus, was she
unconscious? Did he kiss her into stupefaction?

Tristan exhaled and
tried to get control as he observed her eyelids flutter open. Her blue-gray
eyes looked up in wonder at him. The reaction was understandable for he had it
as well. The kiss was a shock. Earth-shattering and a real eye-opener. Tristan
did not desire this kind of connection at all and he should toss her aside and
leave. He was almost tempted to do so but she reached up with her small,
delicate hand and stroked his cheek tenderly. It was his undoing. He grabbed
the hand and kissed her palm with all the passion that roared through his soul.
Those long buried emotions crawled out from behind his protective fence, need
and want for more than sex. For companionship and love.
His mate. His.