Chapter 13

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

éTIENNE

October 20, 1765

Rue des Oubliés

The terror in Daphne's eyes was unlike anything I'd ever seen. The blood drained from her face and she froze, too stunned to move. That cold, evil voice laughed again, and I didn't fancy waiting around to see what else it had in store for us. I tugged hard at Daphne's arm, yanking her forward up the stairs. I smashed the door at the top of the stairs with my foot, showering us in tiny wooden splinters. As I hauled Daphne through the streets toward my waiting carriage, I could still hear the dark laughter taunting us from a distance.

The sky was paling to a fair lavender by the time I reached the carriage and threw Daphne inside. Dawn was upon me and if I didn't get underground soon, things would become dire indeed.

"Daphne." I knelt before her in the carriage. Her face was still pale—her gaze unfocused and her teeth chattering. She is in shock .

"Daphne, we need shelter. You're going into shock and I need to get underground. My home is nearer to us than yours, so I'm having my driver take us there. When you're recovered, I'll send someone to escort you home. Do you understand?"

She didn't respond, merely stared ahead at a fixed point behind me. I stripped off my coat and wrapped her in it, laying her back against the carriage seats. The ride seemed to take ages, but we finally arrived at my chateau. I scooped her up and carried her inside.

My father's chateau was one of the few things left of my family's once grand legacy. When I returned to France after my travels abroad, much of the grandeur of my family home had fallen into disrepair—the result of my father's decimated fortune and his broken spirit. After his passing and my royal appointment, I labored tirelessly to restore the upper floors to their former magnificence and took the opportunity to renovate the cellars into a comfortable suite of apartments for my vampire needs. For my own safety and for my self-indulgent sense of privacy, few outside of my architect and household staff knew of my secret chambers. I usually entertained others—notably women—in the upper part of the house. Not today .

I carried Daphne to the door hidden behind a floor-length tapestry and opened it. Another set of stairs descended below ground, though this one was not so dark. Candlelight flooded the corridor from dozens of glass fixtures that I insisted remain lit while I was at home. Sometimes, if I closed my eyes, it almost felt like my memories of sunlight.

I brought Daphne into my bedchamber and set her on the bed. Her eyes had closed at some point, hopefully in a dreamless sleep. I tucked her in beneath the thick silk coverlet and went to my wardrobe to change. I washed quickly in the basin—tomorrow I would indulge in a long, hot bath. For now, I needed the healing power of sleep to mend my wounds and refresh my mind. I'd pulled off the borrowed jacket and waistcoat, as well as the shoes, when I heard Daphne stir. She sat bolt upright and let out a ragged, shattering scream.

She babbled incoherently, unable to form intelligible words in her panic. Tears streamed down her cheeks when she at last mouthed the name like an oath.

"Henri!"

I rushed over to her and seized her shoulders.

"Daphne, he's gone! You're safe now, understand? It's just us. We are here in my home, far away from le Quartier Sanglant . Be easy, Duchesse. You are safe."

Wild-eyed, she continued to sob.

"He isn't gone, étienne. He isn't gone ."

Her body shook and she fisted her hands in her hair, then brought them down to hold herself. She rocked back and forth, whispering prayers I'd long since forgotten.

Cautiously, I put my hands on her tear-streaked cheeks.

"Daphne, look at me," I soothed.

With effort, her wide violet eyes met mine.

"You are safe," I repeated. "It's just us here. Safe."

"Safe," she whispered. The word slowly took root and she ceased rocking. I climbed into the bed next to her and put my arms around her, holding her as tightly as I dared. She drew a shaky breath and nuzzled against me, her eyes drifting closed again.

"Safe," I repeated. "I'm not going to let anything happen to you. You are safe here with me. With étienne."

I rested my cheek atop her silky blonde curls and stroked her arms and her back. Eventually, her taut muscles loosened, and her breathing slowed to a deep, steady rhythm. I blew out all but one candle on my bedside table and leaned back against the downy pillows. Sleep claimed me almost immediately.

When I awoke some hours later, Daphne was curled against me. The candle had burned out at some point, but I could see well enough in the dark. Her eyelids fluttered in sleep and she murmured something unintelligible. I pushed her hair from her face and kissed her forehead. Startled, she opened her eyes and tensed, but relaxed when recognition dawned.

"étienne."

She didn't pull away, but continued to stare at me.

"So, it was not a nightmare," she said.

"No."

She rolled away from me, wincing at her bruises, and stretched her arms above her head. Her panic appeared to have diminished slightly, and she blew out a breath.

"You know, I never really believed he was dead. I just hoped he was. After he fled to Italy, I hoped he'd debauch himself into oblivion. Yet, it seems the rotten bastard was too ill-tempered to simply lay down and die, and now his ghost will haunt me…just like his memory."

"Why did he leave?" How could he leave you?

"I'm surprised you don't know. The king offered him the emissary position—your position. This was a couple years ago, before the court was fully aware of your turning. No one wanted the emissary post, least of all my wastrel husband. Henri left the country before the king could order him to take the post. I haven't heard from him since. Well, until tonight."

I turned onto my side to face her. She continued to stare at the ceiling. Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes and I wiped them away with my thumb.

"What is he, étienne? A ghost? A vampire? A demon?" she wondered, her voice barely a whisper.

"I do not know," I admitted.

"Whatever he is, I'm still married to him. He was a monster before, and now…"

The realization gutted me. She is taken. She is not mine. She cannot be mine.

She turned to look at me, the despair on her face devastating.

"You weren't injured in the cellar, were you?"

I pursed my lips to avoid lashing out. I was angry at her foolishness—she could have been killed and here she was worrying about me—but now was not the time to chastise her. I swallowed my ire and brushed a lock of hair from her face.

"No. Nothing lasting, at least."

"What is it like? Being able to heal so quickly. Is it painful?"

"No. It is…well, it's hard to describe. Would you like me to show you?" I'd never spoken of my abilities with anyone, but a thread of mutual vulnerability now stretched between us in the dark.

"I don't know; I do not want to be a vampire," she said.

"That is not what I'm offering, Duchesse."

"What do you offer, étienne?"

"A taste." My fangs lengthened. "I cannot heal all wounds, but bruises are an easy feat. Show me your side where you were kicked."

I expected protests, denials, disdainful refusals—everything but compliance. Perhaps it was the blackness of the room that made her feel comfortable; perhaps it was the traumatic experience we'd just shared, or—as my anxious mind suggested—the eagerness for physical strength and power over her husband, our new enemy. Whatever it was, she nodded to me and sat up on her knees to begin disrobing. The slow, sure movements of her fingers on her buttons were a sweet torment that I found unbearably arousing. I would watch them play out over and over in my head when I thought of her, marveling at the sainted restraint I exercised in keeping myself from ripping her clothes off. She untied her skirts and petticoats, letting them fall to the floor beside the bed. At last, she knelt before me in her stays and chemise, and paused.

"Do you need help with your stays, my lady?" My voice sounded husky and strangled.

In response, she turned her back to me to allow me access to her laces, which I undid with trembling fingers. When the last lace had been loosened, she let out a small breath of relief as the garment fell away. I swallowed, my mouth suddenly dry.

I'd seen her nude form in her chambers, but here, now, in her sheer chemise, she was baring herself to me of her own free will. It was the single most erotic moment of my wretched life. I wanted to make her crest with pleasure—to bury myself in her in a thousand different ways. I bit the inside of my lip hard enough to draw blood, forcing myself to focus.

"Lie back down, Duchesse," I instructed. "Relax."

She did as I asked, but she was far from relaxed. She was on edge, ready to jump out of her skin at the first touch. To comfort her, I clasped her hand.

"This is something not many vampires learn until they've had the time and inclination to practice. It may feel a bit… strange , but I promise it will not hurt you. I would never hurt you, Daphne."

She took a deep breath and smiled tightly. I pulled her chemise up over her hips, fighting every instinct to dive between her legs and wring climax after climax from her. Focus, étienne. The bruise was the size of a melon, covering much of her side down to the curve of her hip. It was already darkening to an angry purple. The bastard. I should have ripped his head from his body for daring to lay a hand on her.

I delicately ran my fingertips across the discolored skin, and she shivered.

"Relax," I murmured again. I leaned forward and licked the bruise. Her sharp inhale hinted at her pleasure and I smiled against her skin. I dropped wet kisses over her side and slid one hand up her thigh, then bent and lightly scored the tender area with my fangs. Daphne elicited a soft whimper, stoking my desire. I sucked at the small scrapes, tasting her blood. Orange blossoms, vanilla, and—God help me—desire. And something familiar…

"It was you," I said against her skin. "It was your blood in the porcelain bowl. You fed me from your own veins."

Her eyes searched for mine in the dark.

"Yes," she whispered.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, it seemed fitting that this woman—this vampire-hating, strong, beautiful, untouchable woman—would be the best I'd ever have. The thought drove me nearly mad with desire and terror. She'd sustained me in my weakness, tried to protect me from the evil we'd encountered, was the most delicious, and yet, she was not mine. Could not be mine. I'd be damned if I let her go back to that bastard husband of hers, but I'd at least have to let her go back to The Order and the life she wanted—while I wandered throughout eternity, hunting for some other woman just as good. Not just to feed from, but… but what? I didn't know. All I knew was that as delicious as she was, my need for her felt different . She was not food to me. She was the angel sent to drive me to utter madness with wanting.

When I'd finished sucking the damaged blood from her injury, I licked the top of the scrapes again and they healed over immediately. The bruise was gone completely, and her porcelain skin was once more unmarred. Daphne was panting when I lifted my head.

"Well, Duchesse? What does it feel like to heal in such a way?"

She stretched out on the bed and moaned her reply. "It feels warm, hot. I feel…peculiar."

I chuckled. "Yes, peculiar is one way to describe supernatural abilities." She twisted on top of the sheets, testing my strength and sanity.

"I feel rather good, actually," she said, trailing a hand up her torso. "Powerful. Exhilarated." Her hands moved across her body, lifting to her breasts. Her eyes met mine, hazy with desire.

Every frayed thread of my restraint snapped, and I could not bear it any longer.

"Allow me," I begged in a gruff whisper. When she moaned her assent, I ripped the chemise down the middle and stroked her body from thigh to neck. She slid her fingers into my hair and pulled my face down to hers for a desperate, searing kiss. She sucked at my tongue and tugged at my shirt, frantically trying to pull it over my head. I eased myself away from her to remove my shirt and breeches, then crawled back across the bed to her. I kissed my way up her legs, pausing just below the blonde curls covering her sex.

"Daphne," I said, my voice raw with need. "Are you sure you want this?"

Please say yes. Say you'll be mine—if only for tonight.

"You tried to save me," she murmured. "Back in the cellar."

"You tried to save me first ," I argued, slowly caressing the inside of her thigh. Her breath hitched. "And you didn't need me to save you, anyway."

"No," she agreed. "But it was…nice. The thought, I mean."

I ran two fingers along her sex, dipping one into her slick folds. She whimpered.

"Will you allow me to demonstrate some more nice thoughts I have?" I begged.

In answer, she pulled my face to hers again and caught my lip in her teeth, then hooked one of her legs behind mine and arched her hips up, seeking friction from my hardness. At the feel of her wetness sliding across my cock, I abandoned my attempt at chivalry and uttered a string of oaths. Dieu, I would give this woman anything . Everything she asked for. But she is not yours. I shoved the thought away and turned my gaze back to her.

She is tonight.

Setting my lips to her breasts, I reached one hand down, trailing along her abdomen, back to the slick seam between her legs. She cried out when I circled one fingertip against the bud of her pleasure and dipped another finger inside her, stroking as she bucked against my hand.

"More," she moaned. "étienne, give me all of you."

My self-control already past its breaking point, I positioned my cock at her entrance and stopped again, my thumb working her core with firmer and firmer caresses.

"Tell me you're certain. Tell me you want this."

Her eyes snapped open and a sultry smile crossed her lips.

"Yes," she cried. "I need you, étienne." She wrapped her legs around my waist and arched her back again.

Thanking God, Lucifer, and the universe itself, I sank into her ready heat on a moan from us both. She felt tight and hot and wet around me, and I ached with the pleasure of it. I moved inside her slowly at first, trying to regain control of my sanity, all the while stroking that tight bud where her climax would peak. Her hands slid down my back, grasping my bottom and pulling me into her deeper, harder. Soon, her cries reached fever-pitch and I felt her orgasm crescendo and break, and she came apart around me. Unable to hold back, I followed her over the edge, letting wave after wave of bliss roll through me.

I collapsed on top of her, our bodies a tangle of sweat-slicked limbs. My fangs were slow to retract—I couldn't remember the last time I'd made love without feeding. Daphne tilted her head to me and smiled shyly.

"I can see why the ladies in court gossip so much about you," she said. "That was—well, I've never had—you know, with a man—and—" She covered her furious blush with her hands.

Daphne, I would pleasure you for every day of my eternity. The thought turned me cold with panic. She is not yours, that dark voice of reason echoed.

I gathered her up and pulled her in to my embrace, kissing her temple.

"I'd prefer they didn't, you know," I murmured. "Gossip, I mean."

She chuckled, and the vibrations from her mirth reverberated through me like a plucked harp string. A phantom ache started to build in my chest.

"It's scandalous, to be sure, but mostly good. You're forbidden fruit to them, even once they've had a taste," she said with a yawn.

"Forbidden fruit?" I laughed. "More like a shiny apple that's rotten at its core."

Daphne's eyes drifted closed. She snuggled closer into the crook of my arm and drowsily grunted at me.

"That's just what you want everyone to think," she mumbled. "I'm beginning to know better."

With that, her breathing slowed in the satisfied sleep that always followed intimacies and her muscles relaxed against me. As she slept in my arms, my thoughts took off like a bolting horse. Instinctive protectiveness pulsed through me—something I'd not experienced with a woman in a long time. A sense of sick dread began to take root and I cursed my carelessness. How had I allowed myself to become so attached to this woman? She'd said it herself—ours was a temporary truce. I remembered the loathing on her face the night she'd tried to kill me. Would that hatred return when our investigation concluded and she returned to the arms of The Order? Would she regret this intimate act later on and feel as though I'd pressed my advantage during a moment of weakness?

On top of all that, she was a pillar of the tonne and a married duchesse. Even with my position at court and the changing populace of Paris, I was still leagues beneath her. She'd be risking everything to be seen with me outside the bedroom. Sadness and doubt bloomed in my chest and refused to be uprooted.

You cannot have her. You don't deserve her. She is not for you.

I knew the truth of those thoughts. It did me no good to chase after one woman—a man in my position needed more. I needed to feed. I needed more aristocratic allies for my cause. Those were hard to get without the freedoms of bachelorhood.

Obviously, it had just been too long since I'd been with another woman. I needed distance from Daphne. What I feel is not real. At worst, it was some kind of temporary infatuation.

Even as we lay there together, naked and entwined, I felt the thread of vulnerability between us break. I eyed her sleeping form, so beautiful and still, and felt my resentment and frustration reach a crisis point. Things needed to go back to the way they were, but I couldn't move forward while I felt so bound to her. I needed her out of my arms and out of my bed. I needed her away from me.

I shifted myself from beneath her, gently but firmly, and she stirred from her sleep. She yawned and stretched, blinking up at me with wide, expectant eyes.

"It is getting late in the day, Duchesse. I need my rest," I said.

A flash of some imperceptible emotion crossed her face, but she nodded. "Of course. There is much I need to do today, as well." She paused, perhaps covering the sting of my dismissal.

Guilt surfaced, but I swallowed it. "I believe you'll be safe for the day, at least. I can't imagine Henri would endanger you so quickly after the events of last night. If he hasn't come for you before now, it seems there is some other endgame that he plots."

"I will be fine, étienne. I can take care of myself," she returned stiffly, but I could tell from her manner that she was covering her fear.

"Still, you should not be alone. Perhaps you can call upon a friend, or family member. Maybe stay with the Comte and Comtesse de Brionne for a few days," I suggested.

"I said I'd be fine," she bit out, then sighed and rubbed at her temples. "Do you think The Order will believe me when I tell them about him? About Henri, I mean. I don't know what exactly to tell them, whether he's some monster or otherworldly spirit, but that he's back in some form and seems to be connected to all of this," she said, her brows knitting together.

I scoffed, irritated that she'd seemed to pluck one of my worries from my head. Already she is thinking about The Order again.

"Hardly. They'll probably accuse you of being hysterical. In fact, I don't think I'd tell them at all."

She sat up and the sheet fell away from her breasts. My body responded immediately, but I turned away and rose from the bed.

She stiffened. "I must, étienne. Do you not wish to have someone attest to your innocence? To try and convince them there is something darker afoot than a rogue vampire?"

"I don't need your protection," I snapped. My temper had crept up on me, goaded on by the fear and mistrust of my own feelings. "I'm not a fool. The Order has wanted me out of the way since I took the emissary appointment—perhaps even since I first returned to Paris. We were enemies long before you showed up with your stake in hand."

She watched me guardedly. Her breath hitched slightly when she whispered, "Enemies?"

"Apologies, Duchesse. I don't know if there's a better word for people who want you dead."

Her eyes narrowed. "I am not your enemy, étienne."

"Don't you understand? If you're with them, you will be."

"No. I'll tell them the truth. We'll figure things out and you will be exonerated. I swear it."

"And risk your life's purpose? Please ," I sneered. "What happened to revenge against all vampire-kind? You say I'm not your enemy, Daphne, but I represent them—all of them. I'm fighting for their rights, not the least of which is the right to exist. Your work with The Order sets you against me. Besides, it won't be long before they manage to convince you that we're to blame for every evil in Paris."

"You believe my mind can be changed so easily?"

I laughed cruelly and gestured at the rumpled sheets. "I believe you told me you'd rather fuck Lucifer himself than me."

Anger flashed in her eyes, chased by regret. Whether it was for her earlier words or our intimacies, I didn't know. Minutes of tense silence passed between us, until she finally stood and retrieved her clothes. The disappointment in her eyes made me feel a thousand kinds of wretched, but it was better this way. I half-hoped she would argue—hurl some acerbic insult that I rightly deserved, but she didn't. I watched mutely as she dressed, pinned her hair up, and left the room without a word.