Blood Rose (35 page)

Jonathon leapt down, and she saw horror in his eyes as he looked at her. “I just need to time to recover,” she vowed, wanting to believe it herself.

“Did he give you his blood?”

She heard the fear in Jonathon’s voice. “No, I didn’t let him turn me.”

Jonathon swept her into his arms and balanced her with one hand as he pulled himself into the carriage. Summoning strength, she left Jonathon to sit beside Drake. To keep wiping the sweat Blood Rose ©Sharon Page 2007 Email: [email protected] 147

from his forehead, to ensure he didn’t fall in the rocking carriage.

But Jonathon moved her to the other seat and took her place. Serena’s heart soared as she watched him tend to his partner. Was it possible they could accept sharing her?

Perhaps he and Drake did have a bond but they had tried to hide it.

The thought gave her the strength to stay awake and upright on the carriage ride. The shades were drawn, but the lamps were lit. Jonathon watched both Drake and her, and she smiled, to show she was fine. She was feeling stronger with every passing moment.

By the time they reached Sommersby House, she felt able to walk inside on her own—strong enough to creep through the dark tunnel that led from the stables to the house. She pushed open the carriage door, letting in the pungent air of the mews.

Suddenly, Jonathon leaned over and gave her a quick kiss that sizzled like an electric shock.

He lifted Drake in his arms and slowly rose to his feet. “Stay by me,” he instructed, “but run for the hackney if I’m attacked.”

“I couldn’t leave you and Drake—”

“You will have to, Serena.”

Serena fell back into the plump, velvet-covered chair in the blue bedchamber of Sommersby House. Thank heaven she hadn’t had to run for the hackney. The house was eerily deserted—

Jonathon had sent his servants to safety, and that left only the three of them—her, Drake, and Jonathon—in the enormous mansion.

Jonathon was still in his laboratory, or the library, she wasn’t sure. A clock ticked in the room; she heard the faint chime of another. Three chimes—three o’clock in the morning.

Drake had slept soundly. He hadn’t moved since they’d put him in this bed. She felt both relief and sheer terror. Was he recovering or near death?

Serena, speak to me.

She jolted awake. Sitting bolt upright on the chair, she looked to Drake. Beneath the rich, clean, silken sheets, his chest rose and fell…slowly. He looked asleep.

Serena.

She froze, now fully alert. She recognized the voice—Lukos! She tried to shutter her thoughts, the way slayers were taught, but her name filtered through.
Serena.
And then she couldn’t stop his voice; she didn’t have the power to block out Lukos.

I will give you your mother’s name, Serena. I will do that because you belong to me.

No—
She stopped before she said anything more. She would not respond to him. She would not listen. But his power…his strength…it called to her. Heat and traitorous desire sizzled through her veins. Her body responded—her breasts aching for a touch, her quim became hot and bubbling and so desperate for pleasure…

No.

Your mother. Eve. She is Eve, beauteous creation of God. Speak with me and I will lead you
to her.

Stop! Stop! I don’t want to know.

But you do. I know that you do. Listen…

Drake blinked, opening his eyes. He tasted blood in his mouth, rich, coppery, and delectable.

His head felt as though it had been sliced up for one of Sommersby’s experiments. He was looking at the room around him—firelight in a huge hearth, blue paper on the walls, blue velvet hangings around the bed, but he couldn’t understand what he was seeing.

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He wasn’t in the stews anymore.

Serena?
He tried to speak in her mind, but he couldn’t seem to connect.

Then, with a stab of dread, he remembered the white skin of her wrist, and lust and desire and sheer depravity pounding in his blood.

Had he drunk from Serena? He must have.

Hell and perdition, what had he done to her?

Drake struggled to sit up, but his body wouldn’t obey. He couldn’t hear anything but a low shushing noise. His nostrils flared—he scented her, the ripe scent of her pussy, the sweet tease of her soft skin, the flowery beauty of her hair. His throat was tight and sore, but it didn’t burn.

Finally, his mind and his body seemed to reconnect. He pushed himself up.

Serena! She was curled up on a huge blue-velvet chair. Enveloped by its massive arms, she looked so small. Had he hurt her? As though she suddenly heard him, she looked at him and her face lit up with a beautiful smile. She slipped from the chair and crossed to the bed.

His heart lurched—a sensation he’d never known with anyone but her—as she sat on the edge of the bed, by his side. She looked pale and fragile, and she wore a filmy nightdress that gave her the look of a wraith.

Groaning, he reached out to her delicate forearm. She wrapped her fingers around his hand, with the reassuring touch that made his heart pang. No one but Serena had ever touched him in this way. She let her fingertips play over his knuckles, and blood rushed to his cock. He felt the soft weight begin to stiffen, felt the demanding awareness of swelling shaft and tightening balls.

Serena lifted his fingers to her mouth and kissed his knuckles. With lashes lowered, her eyes were unreadable, but her lips were puckered in a most inviting way.

Sensual, yet loving. He’d never known a loving touch before.

How do you feel, Drake?

He thought about the stuff. About solange. The thickness of it on his tongue, the burn of it, then the relief…

A frown creased his forehead, made his temples ache.
Serena. What in blazes did you do for
me?
He should be mad with the craving, but he didn’t care anymore.
Did you let me drink from
you?

She turned her wrist over, drew her fingertips along it. The head of his cock lifted from his belly, pushing up the sheets.

Yes.

Sweetheart, you let me have your blood?
The blood coursing through him, rushing to his cock…was hers.
Did I hurt you in taking it?

Her lips lifted in a wicked smile.
You gave me an orgasm
. A pretty flush rushed over her cheeks, and she lowered her gaze.
Since I am half-vampire, solange does not seem to harm me as it
does most vampires. How do you feel?

Tired. Humbled. Saved.

She laughed, and he loved the soft, infectious sound of it. He smiled, though it hurt to do it.

We don’t know yet. The craving may just have abated…for a while. But we can break this.

And save you.

Loose, her black hair tumbled over the smooth slope of her shoulders, like a cape thrown around her slim arms. Tendrils ringed her throat like ties. Her nightgown looked like the material of fairy wings—light and airy, clinging to her breasts, then falling from their crests. She’d pulled up the hem to sit, revealing a stretch of white thigh.

Drake couldn’t resist rolling over. He caught a whiff of the delectable scent between her warm legs and laid his hand on her bared outer thigh. A jolt of pleasure shot through him at the softness of her warm skin.

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She was shielding her thoughts. He realized that now. He pushed deeply into her mind, sensing a shadow behind her gray eyes. For one instant he breached her defenses and caught the whispered name.
Lukos
.

What about Lukos, sweetheart? Did he come? Did he speak to you?

“Lukos called to me.” She spoke out loud, a sweet tremor in her low, husky voice. “He wants to lead me to my mother.”

He tried to force words out of his throat, but it was too swollen.
It’s a trap, Serena.

She nodded, her lashes lowered. “I know. But I have to face him. He is going to come for me anyway. He is going to want to turn me.”

Drake forced himself to sit up, and he swung his heavy, reluctant legs around. “Where is Sommersby?”

“The laboratory, I think.”

Jonathon threw the last book on the table. Nothing. He’d searched the entire laboratory and, once more, he’d found no trace of his father’s journals. It had been a fruitless search—he’d already torn this room apart a dozen times.

He had four books on solange stacked on the worktable, but he’d wanted one last chance to try to find his father’s work—to learn if his father had prevented a way to stop Serena’s change. Or to undo it.

His father had boasted about a great discovery—he was convinced his father had found a way to reverse the process without killing the vampire. But he had no more time. He was going to have to invite his former partner to change him into the undead.

Damnation. Where would he hide the journals if he were his father?

Jonathon slumped back on the stool and stared at the table where he had watched his father dissect fallen vampires. Candlelight flickered over the scarred surface. Strange…it looked as though his father had carved the letter “M” into the side of the table. It was rough, but no accident.

It was a distinct letter.

He’d never noticed it before.

Jonathon picked up the candle and crouched, holding the flame close to the letter. There were other gouges and scars beside it, but no more distinct letters.

An idle game of his father’s or did it signify something? He traced the M, realized that the last leg wrapped underneath the table.

Dropping low, Jonathon peered at the underside of the thick wood slab and held the candle to it. More letters—faintly carved, so they were not obvious. They spelled out “morning room.” Still crouched, Jonathon moved the length of the table, searching for more. But there was nothing.

He straightened, frowning. The morning room was his mother’s domain, where she composed letters after her breakfast. Why would his father put his journals there?

To be close to his mother’s memory? The thought rocked Jonathon back on his heels. He couldn’t credit it. In fact, he had not even bothered to go into that room to search. Had his father chosen it because it would be the last place anyone would ever look?

Drake stared at Sommersby in astonishment. “You want me to do what?”

Illuminated only by the flame of the candle stub, Sommersby gave a grim smile. “Make me into a vampire. It’s the only way we can be powerful enough to stop Lukos.”

Drake frowned down at the books sitting on the late Lady Sommersby’s escritoire. “That’s what it says in those?”

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“De Wynter told me—and from what I’ve read, I believe him.”

“Your father hid his books here?” Folding his arms across his chest, Drake looked around the morning room. He had never come in here. The late earl had never allowed Drake to go near his wife. Strangely he had almost been afraid to walk in the door—then he’d sauntered in, roguishly, and informed Sommersby that he believed Serena had cured him of his addiction.

Now, he flashed a cocky grin at his former partner. “You realize I will have to drain your blood first. Take you to the point of death.”

“Just do it, Swift.”

“Well, let us arrange you prettily for your seduction, my lord.” Drake pointed to the ivory silk chaise. “Go lie down there and look fetching.”

Sommersby shot him an angry look, but he stalked over to the day bed and awkwardly lay down on it. Treating it as a joke, Drake sauntered over. “Ooh, a muscular virgin for my delight.”

“Jesus Christ, Swift,” Sommersby snapped, but he broke off as Drake bared his fangs.

Drake bent to Sommersby’s neck and drew in his scent. Male. Sweat. Serena was sleeping innocently. How would she react once she learned that Sommersby was willing to become what he despised to save her? How could she not love Sommersby more than him?

Drake brushed his mouth over Sommersby’s neck. Damnation, his skin tasted good. The texture rough with stubble, not satiny soft like Serena’s.

Drake remembered the aching cockstand he’d got when he turned. He’d reached for his own prick, even reached for Lukos’s cock as the change took him, as maddening lust had gripped him.

His first feed had been a bit clumsy—but the pretty prostitute hadn’t complained.

But he knew what to do now. He took one last deep breath to drink in Sommersby’s erotic smell. Then he bit into that delicious neck. A quick clamp of his jaw drove his fangs through earthy, salty flesh. Springy pressure—the wall of the artery—but the snap of his jaw sent his fangs through. Blood flooded. He sucked down that first quick burst of blood, then he gulped down the thick, lush stream.

Weakly, Sommersby’s hand grasped him. Tried to pull him away. But the fingers slipped off his shoulders as he drank. He drank quickly and Sommersby weakened fast.

Even as his former partner grew close to death, his blood was hot and rich, and Drake moaned at the sheer pleasure of it. Sommersby’s large body began to relax, the boots rolling outward, the arms hanging heavily.

Drake’s cock throbbed with each swallow. He brushed his knuckles along Sommersby’s cheek, rasping along the dark whiskers. His eyes were almost closed; his lashes lay along his cheek, long and lush and curling at the end.

Beneath him, the earl struggled, though his hips began to thrust. Drake spoke through his thoughts.
Don’t fight, but be ready to drink.

Going to kill me…wanted to…

Yes, I’m going to kill you—I have to.

He heard it—the low whoosh of Sommersby’s last breath leaving him. Drake ripped his own wrist open and put it to Sommersby’s mouth. The blood poured in, giving a burst of strength to the victim. As the earl took the first drink, Drake couldn’t resist—he stroked the long length of the other man’s erection. As vampire, he had not yet fucked with another man, but suddenly he was tempted.