Dark Need (Darkyn #3)

He went up to the floor below his suites, where the offices had been renovated to serve various functions. Rafael had placed Alexandra Keller in the safe room, a suite that had been reinforced to contain the most unwilling of guests.

Lucan checked the room's security monitor and saw Cyprien's sygkenis on the wide, comfortable bed before he released Kyn-proof bolts on the outer door. Inside, her lavender scent perfumed the cool air, drawing him into the master bedroom to look down at her unconscious form. She wore a short negligee and a diaphanous robe in a shade of peach that complemented the sun-kissed golden bloom of her flawless skin. Rafael had taken the additional precaution of chaining her to the bed with copper, he noted, but had protected her wrists and ankles by lining the manacles with flannel padding.

"Sleeping Beauty, indeed," he murmured, using his finger to dislodge a curl of hair that had tangled with her long dark eye-lashes. Fangs flashed, and Lucan barely had time to pull his hand away before Alexandra sank her sharp teeth into them. "Good morning, Doctor. I trust you slept well?"

"Bite my ass."

"I should be happy to." Ah, she was beautiful when she snarled. "Roll over."

Chains rattled as she strained against her bonds. "Let me out of these fucking things."

"I would like nothing better," he assured her, "but I must insist you stay as you are for the time being."

She stopped jerking on the chains and glared up at him. "This has got to be the stupidest thing you've ever done."

He thought of Samantha, naked and willing under his bare hands, and his smile faded. "Not quite."

"Cyprien will be back by now. Your walking lightbulb didn't kill everyone. Phillipe saw him, and will tell Michael what happened, and he'll come for me. He'll bring the whole freaking vampire army with him, too. But that's what you want." She peered at him. "Can't you guys just kiss and make up?"

"Your master has taken everything from me that I ever wanted." He sat down on the side of the bed, keeping just out of her reach. "Now he will experience firsthand what that feels like."

"Another vampire pissing contest. Marvelous." She looked at the copper bars on the window. "So he comes here and you two battle it out until someone dies. Is that the plan?"

He ran his glove along her bare leg. She had very shapely legs, and arched, dainty feet. "You could choose to stay with me of your own volition."

"Oh, yeah, I'm going to do that." She laughed.

"Sacrificing yourself for the one you love is such a noble thing." He traced the spaces between her toes, admiring her pink-polished toenails. "I wouldn't kill him if you became my woman."

She jerked her leg away as far as the chains would allow. "Now? You're dreaming."

"I'm not the monster you think I am, Alexandra." Here was a solution to both of his problems. He could rid himself of his inconvenient longing for Samantha and strike a crippling blow to Cyprien at the same time. "Think of all the lives you would save."

"I'd rather screw a snake, thanks." She bit her lip as he climbed over her and settled himself on top of her. "Lucan, wait. Wait."

"I have, my dear. Two hundred years and better."

Alexandra was smaller than Samantha, more delicately made. Her scent was softer, rather sweeter than he had expected, but it suited her. He could see why Cyprien had taken so many risks to take and keep her. She was the kind of woman a man would gladly gamble his life to have and to hold. In fact, he was counting on it.

"Don't do this," she said, turning her face away from his when he came closer. "You can't ever take it back."

"I should hope not." He pinned her manacled wrists on either side of her head, and bent to put his mouth to her throat.

Chapter 20

Richard Tremayne, high lord of the Darkyn, walked through the empty private airport terminal and out to the waiting car. He was well aware that this was likely to be his last journey away from Ireland, so he took his time, enjoying the warmth of the tropical night air, and the sight of palm trees silhouetted against the moonlight sky.

Paradise.

This trip had cost him dearly—buying out every chartered flight scheduled to land at the small commercial airport within two hours of the arrival of his private jet had been only one of many expenditures involved—but he allowed himself so few amusements that he did not count the expense. He had been working diligently to orchestrate certain matters so that his two prodigal sons would be properly positioned and motivated to engage in their final battle. That they had anticipated him was simply the universe agreeing with his logic. Whoever prevailed would be worthy to lead the Kyn, and Richard would at long last be shed of the last of his responsibilities.

Only the strong survive.

The driver took him to the private oceanfront estate owned by an international rock star presently on tour in Europe. To Richard's eyes, which had admired centuries of some of the world's greatest architecture, the sprawling contemporary villa had as much aesthetic appeal as a refugee camp. His choice of lodgings was unhappily limited to that which provided adequate security, and the only other privately owned domicile that met those standards and was available for short-term lease was located one hundred miles to the north.

His tresora, Éliane Selvais, waited patiently at the top of the winding drive. She dismissed the driver and escorted Richard into the house. "Your trip was uneventful, my lord?"

"As ever." He viewed with distaste the cacophony of modern furnishings that crowded each room. "Is there somewhere we can sit that does not celebrate the triumph of idiots over art?"

Éliane opened the doors to a small library. Although most of the books were devoted to modern music, something Richard often compared to recorded bouts of public flatulence, the furnishings were more traditional leather and wood, and did not attempt to illustrate the entire spectrum of the rainbow.

His tresora first brought him a glass of bloodwine, then sat with her legs crossed at the ankle with a notepad waiting in hand. Éliane's cold, pale blond beauty infuriated Richard's wife, Elizabeth, whose carefully cultivated façade of gold seemed brassy in comparison. It had nothing to do with Richard's relationship with his tresora, naturally. Elizabeth's real hatred came from being made to remain in Ireland while Éliane was permitted to travel with Richard all over the world. Still, aside from a few petty indignities she occasionally inflicted on his patient tresora, Elizabeth did not protest her usurper. She had not tolerated Richard all these years only to relinquish her portion of his kingdom to avenge herself on a pretty human servant.

Richard did not remove his mask. To drink the wine and look upon Éliane without impediment was tempting, but his beast had been caged inside an airplane for twelve hours. "Tell me what has happened since I left Dundellan Castle."

His tresora consulted her notes. "Faryl Paviere attacked Lucan last night near his nightclub. Both were wounded slightly, and two Kyn guards were killed, but Faryl managed to escape by water. The seigneur is searching the swamps with Gard Paviere and has yet to return. He does not yet know that Lucan's seneschal abducted Dr. Keller."

Richard nodded. "Where is Dr. Keller?"

"She is being held captive inside Lucan's household. The last report indicates she is still alive." Éliane looked up at his empty glass. "Do you wish to feed, my lord?"

"Not now." He would have to temper his hunger before he indulged it; feeding had become, like almost everything else, a dangerous business for him of late. "Lucan will not kill the doctor unless it serves his purpose. Michael presents the immediate problem."

His tresora's nose wrinkled. "She is his sygkenis. He will never forgive the suzerain for taking her."

"Which is precisely why Lucan took her." Richard felt the itch of desire, always stirred by bloodwine, and beckoned to Éliane. She set aside her notepad and came to stand before him. "We must prevent my children from slaughtering everyone around them as they settle this thing." He watched her strip down to her skin, appreciating the perfection of her body and her self-discipline. "On your back, if you please."

Éliane stretched out on the settee opposite Richard, making herself comfortable. "You would risk making another public appearance?"

"At the very least I will be present to monitor the engagement. I will see that the battle is fought fairly." He rose and walked over to her, opening the front of his trousers before he knelt between her legs. The changes his condition had wrought had left nothing untouched, not even the cock in his fist. His tresora kept her eyes averted as he pressed it into her. Only when he had worked himself deeply inside her did he say, "Now, Éliane."

His words broke her composure as swiftly and completely as one of Lucan's rages shattered crystal. Éliane kept her eyes closed as she moaned and shuddered, twisting under him as he held her slender body in place and took her with slow, deliberate strokes.

He allowed himself to swell inside her, but kept his other hungers locked inside the iron cage of his will. To do otherwise would deprive him of a very valuable servant and personal outlet, and Éliane of her life.

His tresora knew exactly how much she was permitted to respond to his fucking. She did not climax until after he had jetted inside her and withdrew, and even then she did so in silence. Later, he knew, she would retire and manipulate herself to another, more satisfactory orgasm. He sometimes watched her through the cameras he had installed in her rooms at Dundellan.

He never begrudged her those solitary pleasures, for when she reached her peak, it was still his name that she cried out.

"Thank you, my lord." She went to retrieve her clothing, and hesitated. "What should I do about replacing the servants at the castle?"

"The servants?"

She did not look at him. "The ones you dispatched before we left Ireland."

Such domestic matters bored him. "Hire replacements, of course."