Nightborn

The four women surrounding Korvel seemed mesmerized by his face, as they stared only at him, their painted mouths smiling, their hands caressing his arms and shoulders. One insinuated herself under his arm, rubbing her breast into his side as she pushed her fingers into the open collar of his shirt. He turned to her, tipping her chin up before he put his mouth to the top of her breast.

Simone retreated, striding out of the club and back to the lobby. As soon as he saw her the concierge hurried over.

“Madame, if you will permit me, I will—”

“Where is the hotel boutique located?” she asked in as pleasant a voice as she could get through her teeth.

“Ah, it is on the basement level. We have a wonderful array of evening dresses, and I will be delighted to—”

Simone stalked toward the elevator, taking it down to the basement level, where she made her way past the gift and convenience shops to the glass storefront of the boutique. Two elegantly skeletal mannequins displayed evening dresses; one was a long steel blue gown with an angora wrap, the other a strapless tube of bloodred silk with a plunging neckline and side panels of scarlet lace that revealed the body from breast to thigh.

The shop attendant met her just inside, and only directed one arched brow at her clothing. “May I be of assistance, madame?”

“I need shoes, stockings, and undergarments.” Simone pointed to one of the mannequins. “And that dress.”

Chapter 10

“W

e should go to my room,” Amelia the brunette said, her breath hot against Korvel’s ear. “I have a very large bed and a bottle of champagne on ice.” “I’ll join you two,” Tina, the redheaded American, offered as she stroked his thigh. “A big guy like you needs all the girls he can get, right?”

“You can’t leave me behind,” Francesca said, shaking her short black curls as her red lips pouted.

“I want to go, too,” Keisha, the dark-skinned girl, chimed in with her sultry islander accent.

Bored, Korvel looked out at the dance floor. The small amounts of blood he had discreetly taken from each of the four women had sated his hunger; he had no interest in sampling any of their other delights. He had lingered here too long, and needed to return to the suite to check on Simone. He also wished he could do anything else but that.

By now she is awake, he thought as he absently reached down to prevent Tina from slipping her hand into his trousers. She will find the meal and the note I left for her. Once she has eaten and bathed she will probably go to the boutique. All women like pretty clothes. She will think nothing of my absence. Or she will think I am too craven to face her after using her.

Unable to bear his own thoughts, Korvel borrowed a mobile phone from one of the women and tried to call Ireland. The answering static frustrated him on a completely different level, for by now the high lord would know something was amiss.

Death had been the only thing that could break the oath Korvel had made as a human to Richard. When his still-human master had returned suffering with plague from the Holy Land, he had summoned Korvel to his chamber, and asked that only he tend to him. And so Korvel had, for a day and night, before succumbing to the same sickness.

Days passed in a feverish blur, but Korvel had clung to life, determined not to fail his master, until the hour when from his pallet he had watched the gravediggers, their noses and mouths covered with rags, carry away the limp body of his lord. Only then did he surrender to the fever scalding his body, and go gratefully into the darkness. It had been a peaceful moment, filled with one final satisfaction: He had kept his oath to the end.

Only it had not been the end. Some days later, he had clawed his way out of the dark, out of his own grave, strangely alive but not alive, to find Richard waiting for him. His master had explained to him that they had both become the dark Kyn, immortals that would live forever.

Humans had discovered them in the graveyard, and Korvel had not even hesitated to sacrifice himself so that his master might escape. He had been dragged away and taken to a crossroads, where the mob had used a copper-spiked rope to hang him from the gallows tree. There he had dangled, too weak to release himself but unable to die, for three weeks. As soon as he lost the strength to struggle, the mortals grew bored and left him to rot—which was when Richard had emerged from the shadows of midnight to cut him down and carry him over his shoulder to a nearby abandoned cottage.

You I trust as no other, Korvel, his master had said as he sliced open his own wrist to feed him the blood he desperately needed. You will be the eyes at my back, my third blade.

The terror and joy of that second reprieve had preoccupied Korvel as he learned how to survive and protect himself and his master from humans who despised and hunted their kind. It would be another century before he discovered that somehow during Richard’s last days as a mortal he had discovered he was not dying of plague, but making the change from mortal to Kyn. By commanding Korvel rather than one of the women to attend him, Richard had exposed him to the same sickness. His only reason for doing so had to be in hope that his captain would also rise to walk the night.

From that time on Korvel understood that his master had never had any true regard for him. In some ways it had acted upon him like diluted acid, slowly eating away at his heart until he had no feeling left for his master. Still he served the high lord, for even Richard’s most grievous exploitations did not violate his oath. No matter what the high lord felt for him, Korvel would not sacrifice his honor. Only death would end it.

Perhaps that will be my punishment for what I did to Alexandra. He touched the green scar on his neck. Because I would not free her from the bond between us, now I will never be free of Richard.

A flash of red caught his eye, and Korvel turned his head to see a tall, willowy female step up to the bar. Red satin ribbons snaked through the long ponytail of her shining hair, the ends of which curled against the curve of her buttocks. He could see her bare skin beneath the panel of lace that raced down her long torso; she wore no undergarments beneath the clinging silk sheath. The dark-haired Spaniard standing beside her gaped at her breasts, which were all but falling out of the provocative bodice.

Korvel had seen a thousand women so lovely it hurt the eyes to look upon them, and yet somehow this lady outshone them all.

He briefly regarded the mortal females around him. “You will leave me and return to your rooms to sleep. When you wake you will have no memory of me.”

Like sleepwalkers, the women agreed and rose to walk in single file toward the elevators. Korvel picked up his wine to finish it, but over the rim of his glass his eyes strayed back to the bar, and the elegant perfection of the blond siren’s form.

The woman in red uttered a low, husky laugh as she put her hand on the Spaniard’s shoulder. The man spoke rapidly, gulping down his drink between sentences before he anchored an arm around her waist and pecked at her cheek.

Korvel didn’t know why he wanted to rip the arm from the mortal male’s body. As lovely and tempting as the siren in scarlet was, he had no time to dally with her. Certainly not with Simone upstairs; by now she had to be fuming over his absence. Perhaps his unfulfilled desire for the nun had bloomed into an unreasonable, temper-riddled lust for any woman. But if that were the case, then why had it been so easy to send away the other four, who would have happily permitted him to do anything he wished with them? And why could he not stop looking at this vision in red?

The siren leaned close to her drunken companion, speaking to him as she gestured toward the exit. At that moment the flashing lights above passed over her face.

The woman with the Spaniard was Simone.

Disbelief held Korvel locked in stunned silence as he watched the nun behave as shamelessly as a courtesan with her lover, her lips smiling as she spoke to the mortal, her hands landing to pet and stroke and tease until he became overwhelmed and pulled her into his arms. She turned around, hugging his hands to her waist while she led him toward the exit.

Simone was leaving with him. In that dress.

Over my dead body.

Korvel rose to his feet, knocking aside the table as he went after her, growing more furious with every step as he picked up her scent mingled with that of an exotic French perfume. From behind he witnessed the artful sway of her hips and the coy manner in which she looped her arm through the Spaniard’s; she was all but throwing herself at him. And where did she think she was going? Did she mean to leave the hotel? With a drunken stranger? It seemed she did.

The concierge stepped in front of him, temporarily halting his progress. “Monsieur, I must apologize, but—”

“Not now.” Korvel brushed past him, his fists curling as he saw no sign of Simone or her easy conquest.

If she thought she could elude him, she was sadly mistaken. His Kyn senses could track her from a mile away.

Unless she gets into a taxi with that sodding buffoon.

Outside the hotel Korvel scanned the street, relaxing a little when he saw no cars passing. Simone’s scent drew him down the walk and into a side alley, where several cars had been parked.

He strode up to a sedan at which her scent flared strongest and grabbed the door handle. He jerked, metal ripped, and the sedan rocked as the entire door came off. He threw it aside and reached in to pull the Spaniard away from Simone and out of the car.

“Monsieur?” the man squeaked as Korvel lifted him off his feet and held him, legs dangling, in the air. “What are you doing?”

“Far less than I want,” he grated, forcing himself to put the mortal on the ground. “Go back to the club.”

“But…but…my door!”

Korvel bared his dents acérées. “Go back. Forget all of this. Now. Or I will tear out your throat.”

The Spaniard’s feet slipped and slid over the slush-wet stone as he ran from the alley. Only when he was gone did Korvel look back into the sedan. Simone had gotten out and stood on the other side, her hands braced against the vehicle.

“Are you going to rip out my throat now?” she asked, her tone insultingly polite.

“What were you thinking?” He flung a hand toward the clinging red silk. “And what is that?” ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">