Red As Blood Part 4

She knew he was pleased by her appearance, and a blind thrill of excitement surged in her.

As she reached the bottom step, he took her hand from the banister and brought it to his lips. A shiver arced up her spine at the soft brush of breath and skin.

He released her, lingering a moment too long. His mouth quirked and a brow arched with interest. "The emerald suits you a very well, my love."

Something in the velvet murmur of his voice resonated with suggestion. It was a simple compliment, yet she felt the same as if he'd told her he'd like nothing more than to strip it from her body. Where she stood, on the step, put her eyes level with his own. She was incapable of not recognizing how much he wanted her.

"Thank you, my lord. Alas, I could not lace the gown as tightly as it was meant to be." Indeed, her b.r.e.a.s.t.s felt dangerously close to exposure.

"Allow me," he said softly, bidding her step off and turn around. He tightened the lacing in back, his hands lingering at her waist as he finished. She couldn't help but remember what he'd done with those hands, how he'd touched her, brought her agony and ecstasy.

He grasped her nape before she could turn and thank him. Her heart beat an erratic tune in her chest as he slid his fingers up into the hair at the base of her skull. Shivers of awareness snaked over her.

Her lips parted on a breath as she arched her neck, enjoying the possessive grip of his fingers. Of a sudden, he pulled the pins from her hair with his right hand and set it free. Her hair spilled down her back. He slipped a hand down to her ribcage, pulling her back against him. He curved his fingers up her neck, cupping her jaw to tilt her face back. She turned slightly, into him, her hand near his groin, her hip nestled to his. He was powerfully hard, in control of her, the pressure of his fingers light but commanding.

Her lids grew heavy. Her breath stilled. A hush settled over her, expectant, breathless. A long moment pa.s.sed as he watched her and, finally, he covered her lips with his own.

She felt shocked by the contact, her breath stolen from her lungs. She had to pull away, had to drag air inside her. His hand tightened at her ribs as if sensing her inner struggle. His thumb grazed the under curve of one breast as he nibbled her lips with coaxing debilitation.

Her womb clenched on a harsh contraction. She parted her lips, shuddering with pleasure as his tongue edged the seam of her mouth. He didn't plunge inside, and she was suddenly desperate to feel him inside her, to taste the spiciness of his mouth and the heat of his breath.

He pulled back, caressing her jaw and looking long in her eyes. His pupils overwhelmed his irises, making them hypnotically dark. "I've prepared dinner. I know you must be weak from hunger."

Cerise blinked at him. Eating was the furthest thing from her mind at the moment. She felt hazy, as though an enchantment had been laid upon her.

"I do feel weak," she admitted.

One corner of his mouth twitched with amus.e.m.e.nt. He released her and took her arm in his, leading her through the marble archway that resembled an arbor. They walked through a parlor with a roaring fire dominating one wall, through another doorway into the dining room.

Arched windows lined one wall, and through them, she could see the rising moon tinting the plum sky with silver. In the center of the room stood a long table with legs carved to resemble those of a lion. Ten chairs surrounded it, the seats covered with embroidery, and the arms and legs similar to that of the table.

On the table at one end, silver flatware was set, its shine so perfect, it sparkled as brilliantly as diamonds under the chandelier's glow. Covered dishes were placed in intricate order, and he guided her to the chair of honor, seating her.

Cerise placed her napkin across her lap as he uncovered the dishes, revealing a tempting variety of food, from soup br.i.m.m.i.n.g with vegetables, to roasted venison served with a creamy sauce that smelled of fine cheese.

Everything looked delicious and smelled better. He poured her a gla.s.s of burgundy wine and settled himself in a chair to her right.

Cerise stared at the food and looked at him. "Am I dining alone?" she asked, feeling extremely uncomfortable at the reminder of his vampirism. Surely he could not subsist on blood alone?

"You are. I have not the ability for consumption of food or drink a of any type."

Confronting his inhumanity disturbed her far more than she was willing to admit. Still uncomfortable, she ate some of the soup, but soon pushed it aside to begin her main course.

"How came you by these foods, then, if you cannot eat?"

"I've stocked the kitchen for you."

"Hmmmm." She nodded.

His eyes glittered, almost hungry as she slipped a forkful of meat between her lips. He seemed on the edge of his seat, though his position hadn't changed.

She couldn't help but notice his interest had increased since she'd begun to dine. She began to realize, belatedly, that watching her eat was a torment and pleasure to him. She smiled internally, becoming much more absorbed in eating than she had been a moment ago.

She slid her fork out of her mouth, slowly, closing her eyes as if delighting in the texture and taste. She heard his breath catch and knew her observation had been correct.

She tore off a chunk of bread, easing it into her mouth, pretending she didn't notice his rapt attention. *Neath her lashes, she watched his eyes darken with longing.

Punishment for punishment. It was sweet, lent a spice lacking before in any meal she'd ever partaken of.

"How came you the ability to walk in daylight?" she asked, sipping her wine as she watched him.

He swallowed hard, frowning. "I am not as you imagine, my dear."

"What are you then?"

His jaw hardened as sauce dripped from her fork on the corner of her lip. She licked it off, reveling in his subtle shudder and smoky eyes.

"I am eternal. Empty. Unchanging. I am as I have always been and always will be," he said, his voice a hoa.r.s.e, tortured whisper.

Chapter Seven.

Daegon stood up abruptly and left the table, leaving her alone among the plates he'd so carefully prepared.

Cerise stared at the plates, feeling terrible. She shuddered, remembering the journals in his study. Shelves and shelves filled with journalsa"a year for each one. How long had it been since he was human? How long had it been since he'd enjoyed the simple pleasures of life? She felt suddenly sick for eating and promoting torment in him. She pushed her plate aside, choking down a swallow of wine.

The food, so delicious before, lay heavy in her belly. She wanted it out of her. The full sensation made her ill, to know that he was emptya"eternally so. How could he go on as he did, how could he not go mad?

A swell of empathy shuddered inside her. She wanted to atone for throwing what he couldn't have in his face, but she didn't know where he'd gone, and didn't know how to begin making amends.

He hadn't seemed angry. She realized now what made his eyes so arresting to her a it was sorrow.

It explained his intrigue with her, his amus.e.m.e.nt. But he'd stopped being amused when she'd lied to him, and she feared that would never change. She'd lost something she hadn't realized she wanteda"his trust.

Trust broken could not be regained. Cerise stood up from the table, intent on going to bed. She would have to find some way to leave, and soon.

She'd lost the fear for her life, but now she feared something far worse, and she dared not even think it's name.

Tomorrow, she would go to the kitchens and get the supplies she needed. At last, she had a plan with a chance of succeeding.

It was now or never.

Cerise hefted the bag on her shoulder, gathering her courage to face the trial before her. It could be that she would die this day, but she rather hoped not.

She slowly turned the k.n.o.b, cracked the door open, and peered outside. Three, huge h.e.l.l hounds were gathered in a circle, their heads to the ground, devouring the pile of meat she'd thrown out to them.

She stepped outside, holding her breath, praying. One of the hounds lifted its head, sniffed in her direction, and went back to eating.

Cerise wanted to jump for joy. It worked! They were just hungry!

She moved beyond the safety of the door, tiptoeing cautiously around them. At the rate they were going, they'd have the pile devoured within a few minutes. She backed away, turning slowly toward the courtyard gate. It looked miles away from her perspective, but she knew she could make it.

She walked a little away from the dogs, reached into her bag, and dropped more packages of meat on the ground. She didn't think they minded the paper wrapping.

Hoping that would hold them, she continued on slowly, glancing back every few minutes to make certain they were still occupied. They'd already started on the second pile and, from the way they were snapping at each other, it was almost gone.

Cerise dumped more meat on the ground and walked a little faster. She could make out a few details of the gate now, namely that it was imposing, probably locked, and would take a considerable amount of effort to climb.

The snarls behind her grew louder, sending chills up her spine. She glanced over her shoulder and saw that they'd begun on the meat and were close to gobbling it up. She reached into her bag and felt the bottom of it. Alarm rose quickly to panic.

She dumped it out, seeing only a few bites of meat for those great, greedy maws. Her heart jumped to her throat and stuck, choking her. She was only halfway across the courtyarda"too far from the gate to run, too far from the house to make it to safety.

Cerise backed away from the meat. She didn't want to pa.s.s the hounds again. Her legs froze, refusing to move. She had to get back inside, without running and drawing their attention.

Feeling lightheaded from her rapid breathing, she'd only made it a few steps back toward the castle when one of the dogs howled. The hair rose on the back of her neck. She stopped mid-step, wondering if now would be a good time to run.

"What are you doing out here?" a familiar voice spoke behind her.

Cerise whirled around, relief flooding her as Daegon strode toward her, the tails of his coat billowing out in a sudden wind. His look was thunderous, his brow furrowed in anger. He snapped his fingers, almost as an after thought, and the dogs trotted away.

Cerise was too giddy with relief to care that he was angry. When he stopped a few feet from her, she closed the distance, collapsing in his arms. "Daegon," she said breathlessly, feeling reason and calm return as he stroked her back in soothing circles.

"You didn't answer my question, my dear," he said, his voice deceptively cold.

She pulled back and stepped away, looking at him, realizing he was furious. "If you must know, I was feeding your dogs."

"I see."

"They were hungry."

"I feed them. Every day," he bit out, narrowing his eyes.

Cerise had the uncomfortable suspicion that he knew exactly what was going on. As long as he was willing to pretend ignorance, however, she was more than willing to go along with the fantasy.

"Really?" she said cleverly. "Actually, I was certain you must, but they seemed like such sweet little doggies a and they were behaving as if they were starving. I thought I would offer them a special treat." To keep them from gnawing my leg off.

Daegon studied the *sweet little doggies' loping away, skeptically a few moments. "They are poor guards, indeed," he said dryly.

"Oh," she said, "You have them here to guard against intruders?"

"And escapees."

She smiled at him a little uncertainly. "Well, I did enjoy my walk. I believe I'll go back to my room now."

Turning, she headed for the door, hoping against hope that he would leave it at that. He caught her before she quite reached the door, forcing her to face him.

"While I must say I find your attempts at subterfuge highly amusing, I don't find your determination to ignore my warnings particularly amusing. I think I made it quite clear that you would not be allowed to leave and that you would be punished if you violated my trust."

Cerise was almost as outraged at his threat as she was at that final thrust. "Trust? You have not trusted me one iota since I arrived here. Why does it make any difference whether I tell you the truth or I lie? You still don't trust me."

"It matters," he said tightly, sweeping her into his arms and carrying her back into the house before she could protest.

Cerise looked at him in dismay. She couldn't face his punishment again. She'd been sore for hours afterward before. "I only meant to go for a walk! Truly!"

"All the way home, I'm sure."

"I think I'd rather you beat me than do what you did to me before!"

He glanced down at her. "As you wish, my love," he said through gritted teeth, turning abruptly away from the stairs toward the dining room, to her horror.

Setting her on her feet, he ordered her to bend over the table. Cerise glanced at him, sorry now that she'd chosen this particular form of punishment. Somehow, however, she didn't think that he would be agreeable to her changing her mind now. She was tempted to make a run for it, to see if she could lock herself in her room before he could catch her, but past experience convinced her that she would only succeed in angering him even more. Besides that, he'd managed to come in even when she had the door barricaded.

Dragging in a deep, shuddering breath, she turned away from him and leaned over the table.

He placed a hand in the middle of her back, pushing until her cheek rested against the surface of the table. She closed her eyes and held her breath, waiting. Abruptly, she felt coolness rush across her b.u.t.tocks as he tossed her skirts over her head. She made an abortive attempt to jerk upright, and encountered his hand. She'd expected she'd at least have the protection of her skirts and shift to shield her.

Before she could think of a protest, he moved closely behind her, running his hand over her a.s.s and down between her thighs. She swallowed convulsively.

Chapter Eight.

Cerise trembled with the desire unfurling in her. She should hate what he was doing, hate the position she was in. Instead, having him stand over and dominate her elicited more excitement than anger.

Daegon's fingers skimmed her slit leisurely, as if he had all the time in the world to do what he willed.

"You are wet for me, my dear," he whispered, his voice rough with angry pa.s.sion. "Can it be you crave the sting of my palm?"

Before she could tell him no, he popped her backside with the flat of his hand. The slap sounded loud and angry in the quiet of the room.

Cerise gasped, jerking against the table. He grunted with pure, male satisfaction.

"Do not do this," she began, gasping as he slapped the other side. Wetness pooled in her exposed lips. She bit her lip to keep from crying out with burgeoning pleasure.

"No, my sweet? Do not your lips weep with want of my touch, however rough it may be?" he ground out, popping her cheek again. Her b.u.t.tocks tingled with the strike of his hand.

"In fear," she said, breathless.