Highland Vampire (29 page)

"There is nothing here to harm me." She met his gaze squarely. "Or at least there was not until now."

Bane flinched at the truth in her words. Despite every part of him that rebelled in horror at ever harming this woman, there was no denying the curse that would take her sister.

There was no means to halt it.

He would hurt her, no matter how it might destroy him to do so.

Bane bit back a low curse. "What are ye doing here?"

A humorless smile twisted her lips. "I was seeking answers."

He glanced about the familiar surroundings, easily able to summon up the memory of his mother stirring a pot over the fire, and his father carving the elegant lutes that the bards came from all over the land to purchase.

"Answers to what?"

"The Beast."

"Ye think he is hidden in this cottage?"

"Nay, but this was once the home of the bard."

Bane's lips twisted at the unexpected flare of pain. "He has been dead and forgotten a long time."

Slowly rising to her feet, Isobella held out her hands to reveal the miniatures that Bane had commissioned to be painted two centuries before.

"Not so very forgotten," she rasped.

Bane stilled as he met her glittering gaze.

She knew the truth.

There was no longer any doubt that he was the Beast of MacDonnell.

Her most hated enemy.

Chapter Five

Bane barely controlled the urge to snatch the portraits from her hands and crush them beneath his heels. They were reminders of a past he now wanted only to forget.

"I thought those lost," he at last gritted.

She remained silent a long moment before she lifted her head to regard him with a somber expression.

"This was the maid ye intended to wed?"

He grimaced. "Aye."

"She looks very much like Katherine."

"As do all Foster women." Unable to halt the movement, he reached out to touch a fiery curl. "All but ye."

"She was very beautiful."

"Very beautiful," he agreed in flat tones. "And she possessed the voice of an angel when she would sing. She entranced me."

The hazel eyes narrowed. "Ye loved her."

"Nay, I loved only the woman I imagined her to be." Taking the miniatures from her hands, Bane tossed them onto the bed. The faces in the portraits were strangers to him. "She was never that woman."

Her gaze swept over his countenance, as if seeking some hidden truth.

"What did ye imagine her to be?"

Bane trailed his fingers down the firm line of her jaw.

"Bold, courageous, and above all, loyal." His nose flared with ancient fury. "Instead she was quite eager to betray me for a soft bed and glittering jewels. I was a fool nay to have sensed the truth of her."

Her eyes darkened, as if sensing his suppressed emotions. "I suppose that hurts more than her betrayal."

Bane blinked in confusion. "What?"

"Ye allowed yerself to be deceived by a pretty countenance and sweet voice. It must be difficult to forgive."

"Forgive?" he growled. "I will never forgive the wench."

"Nay," she said softly. "I meant it must be difficult to forgive yerself."

Bane snapped his brows together in disbelief. "Ye dinnae know what ye speak of."

Her gaze was far too knowing. "Ye dinnae blame yerself for having been so mistaken in yer heart?"

"I have no heart," he rasped, reaching to grasp her hand and place it against his chest, which did not move. "It died the night I was murdered by the Foster laird."

Her fingers curled into the silk of his cloak. "I dinnae believe that. Ye would not have rushed to protect me from my father if yer heart was dead. Ye feel."

Bane held himself motionless, willing himself to master the surge of emotions that battered through him. An impossible task, of course. For centuries he had lived with an aching, hollow emptiness. Now he could no more halt the tide of sensations than he could halt the moon from rising.

He shuddered at the unfamiliar force. Lust, tenderness, and above all, an overwhelming need to take this woman in his arms and hold her for all eternity.

She was what he had always desired, his heart whispered. She was the woman he had dreamed of when he had been a young, romantic bard. Her purity, her courage, and her generous heart called to him. This woman would never betray those she loved. She would walk through the fires of hell before she would trade her soul for riches.

"By the blood of the saints… aye, I feel," he rasped, cupping her face in his hands. "Ye have made me feel again."

The very air thickened with the hunger he could not hide, but she did not pull away in horror. Instead her hand slowly lifted to gently stroke his cheek.

"Just as ye have made me feel," she whispered. "I tried to convince myself that it was a spell ye had put upon me, but I ken it isnae. 'Tis ye. Just ye."

Bane's gaze warily narrowed even as her gentle touch roused the predator in him. "Ye know who I am. What I am."

"Aye."

"Then why do ye not fight me?" he demanded. "Ye wish me dead."

Her eyes darkened with sadness. "'Tis what I thought I wished, but no longer."

"Why?"

"The curse was made in betrayal and violence. How could it be broken by the same means?"

Bane flinched at her stark question. In truth, he had no answer. The curse had been created out of his vicious need for revenge. He possessed no knowledge of how to bring it to an end. He could not even be certain his death would lift the enchantment.

His muscles tightened as he realized the direction of his thoughts. Fires of hell. Did he desire to break the curse? Was his thirst for justice truly sated?

His gaze seared over Isobella's countenance. Despite the darkness, he could see every feature with heartrending clarity. The wide brow, the delicately carved features, the sensuous lips that made him shiver with longing. And above all, the hazel eyes that revealed a soul that was untarnished by greed or hatred.

Aye, for this woman he would give up all, including his very life.

Lowering his head, he pressed his lips to her temple. "Isobella, I cannae alter the past."

She leaned into him, cloaking him in the heat he craved.

"Neither can I, and in truth, at the moment it does not matter. I dinnae want to think of the past or the future."

Bane shuddered as the dark hunger flared through him. To have her so near, so intimately pressed against him, was the sweetest torture.

"What is it that ye do want, Isobella?"

Isobella wavered.

It was not that she doubted the choice she had made sitting here in the dark. The old woman had offered her a means to save Katherine and she would take it. No matter what the cost.

Nor did she regret the selfish need that had kept her at the cottage as dusk had fallen.

She had known Bane would come to her. She had known it in the very depths of her heart.

And she wanted to be here for him. Just for this night she wanted to grasp the happiness offered. Tomorrow she would do what had to be done.

Still, she could not deny a measure of uncertainty as Bane's fierce presence surrounded her. It was one thing to imagine the pleasure of offering herself to the man who had stolen her heart. It was quite another to have her body shuddering with excitement and her blood racing so swiftly it made her head dizzy.

Sucking in a deep breath, Isobella thrust aside her bout of nerves. She would never have this opportunity again. She would not allow maidenly fears to halt her.

"I want to know what it is to be held in yer arms," she at last admitted with a boldness she was far from feeling. "I want to feel ye close to me."

His gaze narrowed even as she sensed his body harden in response.

"Isobella…"

She lifted her hand to stroke his cheek. His skin was smooth and cool to the touch.

"Do ye desire me, Bane?"

His hands abruptly clutched her shoulders as his eyes flared with a stark need.

"Desire? I wish it were so simple. Then perhaps I could fight against this," he growled. "I hunger for ye, Isobella. I ache for ye until I fear I might go mad."

Isobella struggled to breathe. Hunger. Aye. She did hunger. And ache.

She twined her arms around his neck and pressed herself fiercely to his hard body.

"Then make me yers, Bane."

His arms lashed around her, but the silver gaze remained wary. As if he feared to trust in her eager response.

"Ye know that cannae be, my love," he rasped in a pained voice. "I am the monster ye have hated all yer life. I am the Beast of MacDonnell."

"Not tonight." She caught and held his smoldering gaze. "Tonight ye are a bard and I am a simple maid."

He groaned low in his throat as his eyes squeezed shut in frustration.

"A maid who is innocent. Ye must give yerself to yer husband."

"Nay, I shall never wed," she swore. "Besides which, my innocence is mine to give… and I have chosen ye. 'Tis my right."

"Isobella."

She could sense his struggle as passion warred with his deeply held honor. For a moment she feared he might thrust her away. His arms tightened about her, and his muscles hardened until he shuddered with the strain.

Then with a harsh moan, his head swooped downward and he claimed her lips with a searing possession.

"Sweeting… my love," he muttered against her swollen mouth. "For so long I have been alone. Alone and cold beyond bearing. Ye have awakened me."

Her heart squeezed at his words. Her clan had not been alone in their suffering over the years. For as long as the curse held, Bane's wounds would never heal.

Lifting herself onto her toes, Isobella gently placed a kiss upon his lips.

For a moment he held perfectly still, as if savoring her soft caress. Then with one swift motion he swept her off her feet and carried her to the narrow bed.

Isobella nestled into the softness of the feather mattress as he hovered over her, her lips curving into a smile as he reached to slowly remove the ivory combs from her hair.

With meticulous care he fanned her curls across the pillow, the heat in his gaze sending a chill of excitement through her.

Beneath that gaze she felt beautiful in a manner she had never before experienced.

Suddenly she was not the shrill-tongued daughter of the laird. She was not an object of fear or pity.

She was a desirable woman.

A woman with the power to bewitch a man.

The realization banished her lingering hesitation, and with a growing urgency, she reached up to thrust aside his cloak even as his own hands moved to tug on the ribbons of her bodice.

Their lips met and clung as Bane swept aside her clothing and then his own. Isobella raked her fingers through his long hair, sighing in sweet relief when he at last slid his naked form over her own.

Och, but he was perfect, she acknowledged.

His alabaster skin was exquisitely smooth, his body honed to lean, fluid muscle. A beautiful, deadly predator, with the gentle touch of an angel.

She eagerly ran her hands over his broad shoulders and down the length of his back as his lips nuzzled her cheek and blazed a path down the curve of her neck.

She heard him whisper soft words in an ancient language as he brushed his fingers over the tips of her breasts. Isobella gasped at the fierce pleasure that shot through her. Her nipples hardened as he teased them to tight nubs, her back arching in an instinctive plea for more.

"So beautiful," he whispered against her skin. "So warm."

"Bane… please."

She was uncertain what she was pleading for until his lips closed over her aching nipple to suckle her with a fierce tenderness.

Her eyes squeezed closed with near unbearable pleasure. His fingers were cold as they traced over her skin, but his touch made her burn with a fever she had never felt before. She ran her fingers restlessly through his hair as he turned to nuzzle her other breast, barely able to hold still beneath his relentless caresses.

There was something stirring within her. An aching pleasure that demanded more.

Raising himself onto his elbows, Bane traced her lips with a delicate touch.

"I feel ye so soft and warm beneath me, but I fear ye are a dream that will suddenly be stolen from me."

"I am no dream," Isobella husked, her hands skimming over the fluid muscles of his back.

"Ye will not fade with the sunrise?" he demanded, his lips scorching a path down her neck to her collarbone.

Isobella caught her breath. Nay. She did not wish to think about the sunrise. Or what it might bring.

There was only tonight… and this man.

"Love me, Bane," she pleaded. "Please, love me."

"More than life itself," he moaned, his kisses becoming fiercely demanding as he licked and nipped his way over her breasts and down her stomach.

Isobella caught her bottom lip between her teeth to keep from screaming as those searching lips blazed down the curve of her hip, brushing tantalizingly close to the moist heat between her legs before continuing down her thigh to the very tip of her toes.

His touch was sheer bliss, but the sensations coiled within her demanded more. She desired… och… she did not know, but it was forcing her to arch her back off the mattress and her teeth to clench in frustration.

"I cannae bear any more," she moaned.

His soft laugh whispered over her skin as he continued his torment, nibbling her toes until they curled in pleasure. Only then did he turn his attention to her neglected leg, on this occasion pausing at her thigh to nudge her legs apart.

"Open for me, Isobella."

She forgot to breathe as his mouth shifted to taste her with an intimacy she had never imagined.

Isobella gave a soft shriek as his tongue stroked through her dampness. Her fingers clutched the sheets beneath her as her muscles became rigid beneath that insistent caress.

"Bane."

"Aye," he murmured, his tongue discovering a tender nub that he teased with merciless care.

She had opened her lips to protest, but the words died in her throat. Oh my, how could anything feel so… wondrous? Her hips lifted off the mattress as he gently suckled her, her soft moans filling the cottage. His hands cupped her thighs, holding her still beneath the relentless pleasure taking her to the very edge of fulfillment over and over.