I shadow my gaze in your presence
and pray you may ne'er be part,
Of the hunger that claws at my vitals
of the evil that blackens my heart.
Rayven stared after her, his hands curled into tight fists. It had been a mistake, joining her at supper.
Never before had he spent time with the women he brought here. He used them as long as it was safe, then he paid them handsomely and sent them away. Far away, with a warning never to return. He had never watched any of the others so avidly while they slept, or burned with such longing for the touch of their flesh.
But Rhianna... She drew him in ways he didn't understand. She was no different from the others. All had been young. All had been beautiful. Though none had been quite so young, or quite so beautiful, as Rhianna. All had been born in poverty and ignorance. But none had expressed such an eagerness to learn.
He should send her away now, before it was too late.
But he knew he would not.
Releasing a deep breath, he reached for the wineglass on the table. He stared at the deep red liquid for a long moment, suddenly sickened by the blood and wine concoction that had sustained him for four hundred years. With an oath, he hurled the goblet into the fireplace and stalked out of the room.
Rhianna sat back on her heels, an immense feeling of satisfaction warming her as she surveyed her handiwork. It had taken hours and hours of hard work, but the castle gardens bloomed with color.
Months ago, there had been nothing out here but barren ground and a few scraggly weeds. Now, there were flowers of all kinds and colors, lacy ferns and shrubs.
At home, she had spent long hours laboring in the vegetable patch, hoeing, weeding, nurturing the tender plants that fed the family. There had been no time or space to waste on flowers.
Rising, she pressed a hand to her back. But this... She closed her eyes, basking in the sun's warmth, in the heady fragrance that rose all around her. This had been a labor of love. She had planted vegetables, too, but only the ones she liked.
Removing the wide-brimmed hat that shaded her face, she walked along the narrow dirt path that wove in and out of the flower beds. In addition to flowers, she had planted fruit trees, thinking they would add not only beauty for the eye and shade from the sun, but a bountiful harvest.
When she reached the end of the garden, she stared at the maze that rose up near the castle's outer wall.
The hedges that formed the maze were the only thing in the garden that had not needed care. She had wandered to the edge of the maze several times, but she had never found the courage to go inside. There was something ominous about the place, though she couldn't say what. Perhaps it was her fear, however irrational, of being lost in it.
With a sigh, she sank down on one of the marble benches that were scattered through the garden. It had been three months since the night Lord Rayven had joined her in the dining room. Why had he sought her out that night? Why hadn't he sought her company again?
She had been at the castle for almost six months now. Anything she desired was hers for the asking. She had all the clothes she would ever need. She had become an avid reader and she had discovered she had a talent for playing the pianoforte, and for painting. In truth, she had everything she had ever wanted - everything except someone to share it with.
When she was bored, Bevins drove her to the marketplace in the next town for a day of shopping and then, like a silent shadow, he followed her wherever she went. It would have been fun, buying whatever caught her eye, taking lunch in one of the inns, if it hadn't been for the boldly curious stares people sent in her direction. Save for the shopkeepers, no one spoke to her, though all who saw her nodded politely. It amazed her that gossip from her small village had spread to the next town, that everyone she met seemed to know she was living in Castle Rayven. Sometimes she heard Rayven's name mentioned, always in hushed whispers, always followed by the sign to ward off evil. It gave her a sad, lonely feeling.
Once, she had asked Bevins if she might invite her mother and sisters to the castle. He had replied, "No, miss, you may not," in such a way that she had never asked again.
Occasionally, she wondered if he might permit her to go visit her family, but she never found the nerve to ask.
Sometimes, she felt like a princess in a fairy tale, imprisoned in a magic castle but cut off from the rest of the world.
And always, lurking in the back of her mind like a dark shadow, was Rayven. She never saw him, never heard his voice, save in her dreams. She wondered what he did all day, if he was even in the castle. For all she knew, he could have left months ago. Rayven. He was like a riddle with no answer, a puzzle that could not be solved. Why had he brought her here?
It was a thought that stayed foremost in her mind the rest of the day, and followed her to bed that night.
He stood in one of the rooms in the east tower, staring out the window, his gaze drawn to the yard below. Bathed in the dancing silver shadows of the moon, the white roses glowed like ethereal blooms planted in some mystical garden. He felt a sudden longing to wander through the grounds during the light of day, to see the myriad colors of the flowers that Rhianna had nurtured, to touch the petals her hands had touched. In the darkness, the bright rainbow colors looked muted, devoid of life.
Turning away from the window, he donned his cloak and drew on his gloves. Perhaps a midnight ride would soothe him; if it did not, he would go to Cotyer's and squander the remaining hours of darkness at one of the gaming tables and lose himself, for a few hours at least, in a semblance of normalcy.
Leaving the room, he locked the door behind him, then made his way swiftly along the dark hallway and down the stairs.
His steps slowed as he approached the stables. Abruptly, he turned away and made his way to the side yard. The fragrance of hundreds of flowers, of freshly turned earth, and grass and trees, rose up around him as he walked slowly down the narrow pathways, pausing now and then to caress the velvety softness of a rose. Rhianna had done this, had turned ugliness into beauty. He wondered if, offered the chance, she would be able to work the same miracle in his life.
A ripple in the air, the scent of warm skin, alerted him to her presence. He whirled around, his gaze piercing the darkness.
"Come out," he said. "I know you are there."
She stepped from behind a hedge, her cheeks flushed, her hands worrying the folds of her robe.
Moonlight washed her hair in silver, turned her skin to alabaster.
"What are you doing out here at this time of night?" he demanded.
"I..."
"Speak up, girl. You needn't be afraid."
"I saw you from my window, and I wondered what you were doing out here at this time of night."
"I was thinking of you," he admitted.
His words sent a thrill of excitement racing down her spine. "Were you, my lord?"
He nodded, his gaze sweeping over her. She wore a voluminous robe of apricot-colored velvet. A froth of white lace framed her face. Her feet were bare and oddly provocative. "Why aren't you asleep, sweet Rhianna?"
"Because, my lord," she replied candidly, "I was thinking of you."
"Indeed?" Surprised by her candor, delighted to know he had been in her thoughts, he took a step closer. "What were you thinking?"
"I was wondering what I had done to displease you."
"You please me very well, Rhianna." Far too well for my peace of mind, he mused, and shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his trousers to keep from reaching for her, from taking that for which he hungered.
"I've not seen you in months, my lord." She should have been glad of that, she thought, for he was most mysterious, and, sometimes, a little frightening. And yet the few short hours she had spent in his presence had been intoxicating.
"You should be glad you've not had cause to see me," he replied brusquely.
"Should I?"
He gazed deep into her eyes, probing her thoughts, feeling her loneliness, her confusion.
She was a young girl on the brink of womanhood, yearning for something she did not fully understand.
Like a finely crafted violin, she awaited the touch of the master's hand to bring forth the music locked within her.
Drawn into the depths of her eyes, he moved slowly toward her. Needing to touch her, steeling himself to be rejected, he pulled off his gloves and tossed them aside. A gasp - or was it a sigh? - escaped her lips as his hand stroked her cheek.
"My lord?" He heard her uncertainty in the trembling of her voice.
"I will not hurt you," Rayven said, praying he spoke the truth. "I want only to touch you. Your skin is so soft, sweet Rhianna. So soft..." Bending his head, he brushed her lips with his. "Sweet," he murmured,
"as I knew you would be."
She stared up at him, caught in the web of his gaze, in the shivers of pleasure that undulated through her.
There was fire in his touch, magic in his kiss, that it could make her feel so changed.
With a low groan, he took a step back, the twin talons of hunger and desire clawing their way to life.
Taking her hand, he started walking toward the maze.
A sense of dread filled Rhianna's heart as they reached the entrance. With a wordless cry, she tugged on his hand.
"What's wrong?" he asked.
"The maze." She shook her head. "It frightens me."
"There's nothing to fear."
She looked up at him, her eyes luminous in the moonlight. Her hand was small and warm in his.
He could see the pulse racing in her throat.
"Come, Rhianna," he whispered, his voice low and seductive. "Don't be afraid."
As though mesmerized, she fell into step beside him. Her gaze darted nervously from right to left as they went deeper into the maze. Soon, tall hedges rose on every side, cocooning her in a silent world of greenery.
She lost track of time until it seemed as though she had been walking through the maze for hours.
Rayven was a tall, dark figure beside her. The moon cast silver highlights in his hair. His black cloak floated from his shoulders like thick black fog. She had never seen a cloak like his. It seemed alive somehow, moving when he moved, surrounding him in protective folds. His profile was sharp, all hard planes and angles, yet curiously beautiful. She wondered if this was what death looked like, dark and seductive.
It took her a moment to realize he had stopped walking. Glancing around, she saw what had once been a rose garden, though all that remained now were a few dead plants. In the center of the small garden was a bronze statue of a snarling wolf, and beside it, the figure of a raven carved in black marble.
A shiver of unease tiptoed down her spine. An odd choice of ornamentation for a garden, she thought.
Conscious of Rayven's gaze, she turned to face him. "I... I'm sure it must have been very lovely, once."
He raised one dark brow, his lips curved in wry amusement. "Do you think so?"
"I don't know. But it could be."
He turned away from her and stared at the statues, felt the darkness rise up within him, heard the wildness calling to him, bidding him to shed the thin veneer of humanity and run wild and naked through the night.
"My lord?"
Her voice, the underlying fear, drew him from the edge of darkness. Feeling as though he, too, were made of cold marble, he turned to face her once again.
"Could you work a miracle here, sweet Rhianna?" he asked softly. "Could you change this ugliness into beauty?"
Rhianna looked into his eyes, wondering if he was talking about the garden, or himself.
He placed a finger beneath her chin and tilted her face up. "Could you, sweet Rhianna?"
"I'll try, my lord."
"Would you kiss me, girl?"
"If you wish."
"No, Rhianna, not as I wish. I want you to take me in your arms and kiss me of your own free will."
He was lonely, she thought, as lonely as she.
Time slowed, and she became acutely aware of her surroundings. She felt the cool dampness of the grass beneath her feet as she stepped toward him, until their bodies were almost touching. His cloak was soft beneath her fingers as she placed her hands on his shoulders. Her nostrils filled with his scent, a wild musky scent that made her think of damp grass and rain.
And then she rose on her tiptoes and kissed him. His lips were cool and firm. When she started to draw away, his arm curled around her waist, holding her close against him. She felt the tremors that shook his body, sensed that he was keeping a tight rein on his emotions, sensed the underlying strength that dwelt in him.
Her eyelids fluttered down as his tongue traced her lower lip, then plunged into her mouth. Heat and fire exploded within her, radiating outward, until she felt as though she were melting in his arms. Distorted, disjointed images flickered in her mind - a wolf crouching over its prey, an enormous black bird drinking blood from a crystal goblet, a thick gray fog moving through the darkened streets of the village.
She heard Rayven swear under his breath as he let her go.
Like a slate wiped clean, the images disappeared, and she blinked up at him, feeling dazed and suddenly bereft.
"Rhianna? Rhianna!"
"Aye, my lord?"
"Are you all right?"
"I... I don't know. I thought I saw..."
"What?"
She shook her head. "I don't remember."
Cursing softy, he pulled her into his arms, his chin resting lightly on her head. "I beg you to forgive me, sweet Rhianna," he whispered hoarsely.
"Forgive you, my lord? But why? What have you done?"
"I hope you never find out," he replied, his voice suddenly harsh.
He held her for a long while, letting his power move over her, calming her. She closed her eyes, soothed, like a child, by the steady beat of its mother's heart beneath her cheek.
He knew the moment sleep claimed her. Murmuring her name, he gathered her into his arms. With her eyes closed and the moonlight shimmering on her face, she looked like a princess in a fairy tale.
A wave of tenderness swept through him as he carried her out of the maze and into the silent darkness of the castle.
In her room, he put her to bed, still fully clothed, and drew the covers over her. She was innocence personified, he thought, and for the first time in years, he hated who he was, what he was, because it denied him all hope of a normal life, of love. He would never have a wife, never know the quiet joy of holding a child he had fathered.
Tenderness turned to regret, regret turned to anger, and anger burned into a hot fierce rage. He had resigned himself to his lonely life shortly after he'd been made. Knowing such things would be forever denied him, he had put all thought of a home and family out of his mind, his heart.
He had thought himself content, happy even, until Rhianna. Seeing her, holding her, had awakened feelings and desires that had lain dormant within him for centuries.
With a low-throated growl, he bent over her, hating her for the power she had over him, for the weakness he felt when he looked at her. His hand brushed a lock of hair from her neck.
Her scent filled his nostrils, stirring his hunger, kindling his desire. If this was all of her he could have, then so be it, he thought, and let loose the beast that dwelt within him.