Velvet Shadows (The Crimson Court #2)

Chapter 8

SERA

The innkeeper is not amused at being awoken at such an hour. Vampire inns are used to it, Nate tells me as he helps me from the carriage. They expect arrivals late at night and departures in the early evening once the sun has set. But this is a human inn, and no self-respecting lord is showing up at sunrise, covered in blood and seeking a bed for him and a young lady.

“You can deal with them.” I hear the innkeeper grumble as his wife appears down the narrow stairs, barely dressed, her hair piled on top of her head.

Nate approaches the bar and as soon as he is in front of the innkeeper’s wife, I see a chilling smile reflected in her widening eyes. I have never seen him smile like that, not even in Mayfair.

“You are in need of lodgings, sir?”

“Yes. Lord Nathaniel Blackwood,” he says, his voice smooth as silk. “We require two rooms — one each for the lady and I.”

I am not sure that in our entire time together I have heard Nate address a human. I cannot recall a single moment where he conversed directly with Lizzie, Charles, or Agnes — or Camilla or Edward when they were alive. For what need did he have to do so? He had my blood on tap. The others were inconsequential.

But Nate needs something from this woman. He leans across the bar and I see his face change, his eyes flare. He is trying to manipulate, to charm, and to get what he wants. It is easy to picture Rafe doing such a thing — it is a fundamental staple of his personality. But Nate?

I expect to snigger at him; to laugh and guffaw and bite my tongue when he spins around to silence me with a look. But there is nothing amusing about his performance — he is every inch the handsome lord. And the innkeeper’s wife does not suspect a thing.

Her eyes flick to me, then back to Nate. Her face blushes pleasantly from Nate’s attention, but there’s a knowing glint in the depths of her eyes — a hint of speculation about our relationship that makes my cheeks burn.

“Of course, my lord,” she says, dipping into a small curtesy and reaching for the single key hanging behind her head. “But I am afraid we have been quite busy these past nights. And being a small establishment, there is but one room left.” She leans across the bar a little, propping her generous bosom onto it to give Nate the full-view of her cleavage, then lowers her voice. “But you need not be concerned, my lord. We are nothing if not discreet.”

My heart stutters in my chest. The implications of Nate and I sharing a room are not lost on me, nor, I suspect, on Nate. In ordinary human society, such a thing would be a scandal. It would ruin any young lady to be found alone with a gentleman in a garden, let alone a bedchamber. And just a few short weeks ago, I would have baulked at the mere suggestion of it. But now, what is there to fear? I have no reputation left to ruin. Even without my brother dragging the Sterling name through the mud, there is no life in London for me to go back to. I no longer have to worry about good matches and transforming my dire prospects because there are none to be salvaged.

My fate is tied to Nate’s and unless there is a miracle awaiting us in Bath, there is no escape from it.

I try to shut him out once more, to not feel the way his body has tensed and heated at the suggestion of us sharing a chamber. Part of me expects him to be chivalrous; to say he will bunk down in the carriage or in the stables with the horses. It would be unusual for a lord, but I suspect in another life it is where he would have chosen to spend his time. He may well be more comfortable there than caged in small quarters with me.

No such offer comes. Instead, Nate turns his face towards me and although the sly grin he flashed at the innkeeper’s wife is gone, he offers me a small smile of my own — one that pulls at the corner of his mouth in a slow, wicked tug that is enough to make my pulse jump.

“If there is only one room, then so be it.”

“Very good, my lord.” The innkeeper’s wife appears from behind the bar, and once Nate has retrieved my trunk from the carriage, we follow her upstairs.

I barely hear what she is saying as we walk. My attention is fixed on the broad expanse of Nate’s shoulders, the way his coat stretches over the muscles that form tight knots and ridges across his back. He is ever the coiled spring, ready to attack, even when hauling luggage.

Suddenly, the feelings rushing through him are difficult to block out. There is something about the woman that appeals to him — whether it is her generous curves, her pink cheeks, or the smell of her blood, I cannot say. But it is stoking the fire that is already simmering in Nate’s veins, making it harder to fight, winding the spring ever tighter and tighter.

Once the door to our chamber is unlocked and Nate is in possession of the key, he relaxes a little.

My body does the opposite. Every muscle tenses with the click of the door and the realisation that I am alone with Nate Blackwood in a chamber with only one bed.

It should not be so startling. We have been alone before. But there was always distance that could be found when the flames that burn between us grew too wild. Nate could retreat to his own chambers, or send me back to mine. We could lose ourselves in the grounds if necessary.

Here, there is nowhere else. Nate cannot afford to do anything that risks his family learning that he is no longer confined to the night. He has no choice but to settle here until the sun has set once more.

For a moment, neither of us speaks. Nate prowls around the room, his gaze taking in the simple furnishings, the threadbare rug covering the floorboards, the empty grate. I stand frozen, my heart pounding so loudly I’m sure he would be able to hear it even if we weren’t so connected.

“The way to tell a vampire inn,” Nate says finally, “is by the windows.” He gestures to the gnarled frames and heavy curtains. “In such an establishment, the windows are shuttered and bolted. There is no glimmer of daylight seeping in at the edges. It is utterly dark.”

“That is what you look for on your travels?”

“It is not so often we need them: it is rare we take carriages unless humans or witches are travelling with us. But there are vampires located all over the country who could not reach either Bath or London in the few short hours of a summer’s night.”

“There are so many of your kind that there are entire inns dedicated to serving you?” I shake my head. “It is easy to forget that I have seen but a mere fraction of your world.”

Nate strides back to the door and locks it, then pushes my trunk in front of it so it jams under the handle.

“You think we have been followed?”

“Merely a precaution.”

“I am not sure my trunk will provide much resistance if more hunters wish to get in.”

“No, but it will bide us time.”

I eye the trunk. It is one that Mrs Hawley filled with all number of gowns for the duration of our stay in Bath. Nate did not bring his own inside, only mine. Yet he is the one covered in blood.

I stare at it, knowing that I should find some nightclothes and try to rest, but the thought of doing so leaves me hovering by the foot of the bed.

Nate has seen me in my bedclothes several times. He has touched my naked, broken body and scrubbed his cousin’s blood from my skin. Yet the thought of undressing in front of him, of unlacing my boots and letting my bare feet touch the floor, feels more intimate than any of the moments we have shared before.

I glance up and Nate’s eyes catch mine. “I would like to undress,” I say quietly, gesturing to the mud soaked hem of my skirts before going to the trunk and letting the lid slam against the door. “I will sleep on the chaise. Or the floor, if necessary.”

Nate says nothing and when I look back at him, his eyebrows have lifted into two perfect arches. “The floor? What kind of gentleman would I be if I allowed that?”

“What kind of lady would I be to let someone as ancient as you sleep anywhere but a bed?” I pull my nightgown out, holding it in front of me like a shield as I turn to face him.

Nate’s brow softens as he steps towards me. “You have no idea how old I am, witchling.”

“No, I don’t. I know next to nothing about you.”

He moves closer, so close that I can feel the heat of him. “It is better that way. There should be some distance between us, or…” He trails off and my skin prickles with goosebumps.

“If we are to be together for eternity, I am not sure distance is possible. The bond seems to ensure that we want to be close at all times.” I brush past him and lay the nightgown out on the bed. “It may put us at a disadvantage if we do not know each other better.”

Nate regards me for a long moment before he nods slightly. “What would you like to know?”

I shuffle out of my coat and take a deep breath, trying to organise my tangled thoughts. “Let us start with your age. How long have you been a vampire?”

A muscle tics in Nate’s jaw. “Over two centuries now.”

My eyes widen. I know he is old, but hearing the number spoken aloud is still a shock. “And your mothers were the ones to turn you?” I think of the names I saw on the tombs in the crypt at Nighthaven. “Lucienne and Harriet.”

“Yes. Noble vampires are jointly sired.” His tone is clipped, guarded.

There is pain behind those simple words. It lands in my chest, as if it were my own.

“What was your human life like before? You once mentioned marriage…” I know it is a risk to say this much after Rafe’s reaction when I pressed him on his human life, but I can feel Nate’s emotions. He is not angry.

“I was a farmer’s son. The life was hard, but honest.” A pause. “I had a wife. Children.”

My heart clenches. There is no possibility they can be living now if he is centuries old, but his grief feels raw, exposed.

“What happened to them?”

“They died.” His voice is utterly flat, devoid of emotion, but I can feel the shudder of grief that lingers in his bones. “They were killed shortly after I became… this.” He gestures down his body.

I hold the silence as Nate paces around the room, waiting for him to say more or close up completely. I can feel the emotions warring in his chest — the need to speak, but the pain of reopening a long-closed wound holding him back.

“Can I ask how?”

Nate does not stop pacing, does not look at me as he says, “I did it.”

A sharp inhale whistles in my chest. I regret even that small reaction when I feel a fresh burn of shame rage through Nate.

His face is filled with loathing, but it is not aimed at me. The hatred he can barely contain is for himself alone.

“I couldn’t live without them. The thought of living a long, immortal life — watching them grow old and die — I couldn’t face it.” He swallows hard. “I tried to turn the children, but I was a young vampire. No one had told me…” he fades off and the pain that fills him is enough to overwhelm me. I feel every inch of his guilt, his despair, his loathing.

I walk over to him and place my hand tentatively on his arm.

He turns to face me. “You have always known you are bonded to a monster, but this…” He looks down at me, his expression unguarded for once, then shakes his head. “It was a long time ago.”

“But you carry it still.”

Nate’s gaze drops to my mouth, then back up. “Yes.”

Slowly, giving him time to move away, I step closer until we are almost chest to chest. I have to tilt my head back to maintain eye contact. “How did it happen?”

“Children cannot be turned, but I did not know. I held my son and daughter in my arms and poured my blood down their throats and it did nothing. I had drained them and they were gone.”

I feel Nate’s anguish wash over me like a tidal wave, so raw and intense it steals my breath. Tears sting my eyes as I absorb the depth of his loss, the unimaginable burden of guilt he’s carried for centuries. And the horror of it, too. The thought of his children seeing what he had become and suffering. Their last moments filled with terror and pain in the arms of someone they loved and trusted.

Instinctively, I reach for him, my hand finding his. His fingers are uncharacteristically cool, trembling slightly as they entwine with mine.

“Nate…”

He shakes his head, jaw clenched tight. “I don’t deserve your compassion, Sera. What I did is unforgivable.”

“You didn't know,” I whisper, my heart breaking for him. “You wanted to be with them. And you were trying to save them, in the only way you knew how.”

“I acted out of selfishness. I should have let them live their lives, protected them from afar, not…” His voice breaks, and I squeeze his hand.

“What became of your wife?”

“I turned her before the children. She became a vampire, but after the children I couldn’t bear to be near her. Once the Court learned I had single-sired her…”

“She became a gutterfang?”

“Yes. A disgrace to the Blackwood name.” He swallows hard. “The Court had her killed.”

“You didn’t know it was against their laws?”

“No. No one told me the consequences. No one told me a damned thing.” His hand flexes, his fingertips trailing mine before he turns away and stands next to the fireplace.

“This is why you hate them — Valeria and the rest of the Court?”

He nods. “They took me away from my family and then watched as I drained my own children.” He breaks off and a fresh wave of emotion bubbles in his chest. He barely swallows it down. “I am living in an eternal hell for what I did to them. But none of it would have happened if it wasn’t for the Court’s entire damned existence.”

He should be more monstrous to me than ever, but all I can feel is his sadness and pain. He did not ask for any of this.

“Your aims in Bath…” I gulp. “You seek vengeance?”

“The Tournament is the only time the entire nobility is gathered in one place. It happens once every few centuries when a new generation of siring comes around and the Court is challenged for their positions.” His eyes drag up to mine. “I have bided my time. When the Tournament is over, they will pay for what they did. All of them.”

I step closer, needing to offer comfort despite the aura of fury that now hangs in the air alongside his grief. “I did not know my mother,” I say softly, my gaze fixed on the space between our bodies that grows smaller and smaller. “And my father was distant, broken by grief. It pained him to look at me. My brother hated me — he blamed me for taking her away from him, even if that wasn’t true.” I shrug, blinking back the sting of tears. “It is not comparable to what you have endured. But I grew up feeling like I didn’t quite belong anywhere, like there was something wrong with me. I have been shackled by guilt. And then, when my powers started to manifest…” I trail off, shaking my head. “I’ve always been alone, in one way or another.”

“Not anymore,” Nate murmurs. He does not touch me, does not draw me closer, but there is a tenderness in his gaze I have not seen before. I long to lean into him, to rest my forehead against his chest.

I force myself to pull back. “We should try to get some rest.”

Nate nods, and I walk towards the bed.

I lift my nightgown, holding it to my chest. “I would ask you to look away so I might undress, but without Mrs Hawley, I’m afraid I will need a little help.” I turn, showing Nate the long line of buttons that fall down the back of my dress.

Nate says nothing, but steps behind me — so close that I can feel his breath against the nape of my neck. He works his hands down slowly, lingering with each touch, until every button is unfastened. Then he shrugs out of his coat and tosses it aside whilst I stand with my heart pounding in my chest.

I watch the play of muscles beneath his shirt, the way the fabric strains against his shoulders. Heat pools in my belly, a sweet, aching throb that makes me clench my thighs together as I take in the huge, dark beauty of him.

“I will give you your privacy,” he says, rolling his shirt sleeves to the elbow as he turns away.

I reach out for him, catching his biceps. “No.”

Nate stops, his gaze falling where my fingers now press into his forearm. I move them slowly, tracing down over the chords of muscles. There is not an inch of flesh spare.

“I did not know arms could be so appealing,” I say quietly.

“If only I had thought to show you them instead of relying on the merits of my face, perhaps things would be more amiable between us.”

You have a perfect face. I think it, then my entire body flushes, knowing that Nate will have heard me.

As do you, Seraphina. Quite perfect.

I clear my throat.

“If you wish me to leave…” Nate murmurs, studying my face.

“I do not.”

I want him. I want his hands on me, his mouth on my skin. I want him to push me back onto the bed just as he did in the carriage, but this time rip my gown away, tear at the laces of my corset and feed from the vein in my thigh that pulses so heavily with the desperation to be pierced and drunk from.

Nate is holding his own dark imaginings back better than I am able to. I can feel it — the way he is barely keeping a grip of the sensations that battle to break free and flood my brain and my blood.

He is at war with himself, just as I am — desperate for me to know what he is thinking, but knowing that if I do, there will be no stopping what we are setting in motion.

Without taking my eyes from his, I step aside and pull the dress over my shoulders. I let it drop to my feet, then step out of it and untie my petticoat. It too falls to the ground as I work on loosening the laces that are tied to the front of my corset, my fingers working to unfasten them one by one.

I can see the battle raging within Nate’s eyes, the struggle between restraint and surrender clear in the clench of his jaw and the flex of his muscles beneath his shirt.

As the last lace comes undone, my corset falls away, so I am left in nothing but my chemise. I reach for Nate, my hand trembling as I touch the fabric of his shirt. His chest rises and falls with shallow breaths. The air between us crackles with tension as thick and heavy as a storm cloud ready to unleash its fury. Nate’s gaze is intense, unwavering, as if he’s trying to read every thought that crosses my mind.

My fingers trace the buttons of his shirt, a silent request for permission. His eyes darken. Without a word, he nods, granting me access to unravel the layers between us. I undo each button slowly, revealing the expanse of his chest beneath. His olive skin is thick with dark hair and I let my hands explore, mapping every plane while a desperate hunger pulses in my core.

Nate’s hand comes up to cup my cheek, his thumb tracing the line of my jaw, then tugging at my bottom lip. I lean into his touch, my eyes fluttering closed, then gasp as his lips crash into mine.

His mouth is firm, insistent, moving over my own with a skill and passion that leaves me breathless. His arms wrap around me, pulling me flush against him, and I melt into his embrace, into the solid strength of his body.

The kiss deepens, intensifies, Nate’s tongue sweeping into my mouth to tangle with mine. I’ve never been kissed like this before, with such hunger, such all-consuming need. Before the carriage, the only kisses I had ever experienced were chaste pecks with Charles when we were teenagers. It was nothing like this — like a flame has been ignited in my veins that threatens to burn me alive if it is not fed and fed.

I cling to Nate, my fingers clutching at his shoulders, his hair, anchoring myself to him as the world falls away. Nothing else exists but the scorching heat of his mouth on mine.

When we finally break apart, both panting for air, Nate rests his forehead against mine. His eyes are blown wide with desire.

His tongue traces over his teeth, his fangs itching to lengthen. He is fighting his instincts to rip at my veins. I can feel the hunger for my blood growing in time with his desperation for my flesh. And being so wanted makes me ache to surrender to him. To open my veins and my legs and let him take whatever he chooses.

“If you do not want this Sera, you must tell me now.” Nate’s voice is a low rumble that reverberates in my bones. “If what happened in the carriage was a mistake?—”

“I want this.” I kiss him deeply and move my hands to his shoulders to encourage him out of his shirt.

With that, Nate is no longer gentle. He pulls his shirt free, tossing it to the floor, then rips my chemise in two.

I gasp, feeling the fabric fall helplessly away.

I have been naked in front of him before, but when I was surrounded by water, I did not feel so exposed. Now, there is nowhere to hide.

Nate steps back, admiring me. His eyes rake over my collarbone, my nipples, my belly. I am staring at him too, the immense bulk of his now bare shoulders and the mass of muscles his shirt struggled to contain.

“Lie on the bed.” It is a command, not a question. And although I have never been glamoured by him, I am desperate to obey. He watches me lie down, his fangs flaring. “Spread your legs.”

Then, in a blur, he is on top of me. He trails his fingers down my body, circling my nipples, tracing my curves. I arch against him, wordlessly urging him on as he leans over me, his breath hot against my skin. He lowers his head to my thigh, looking up at me as he plants a searing kiss that sends shockwaves of heat between my legs.

You want me to feed from this sweet vein? He asks in my mind, still kissing and sucking the delicate flesh of my inner thigh.

Yes. Please.

His lips part against my skin and a soft gasp escapes me as I feel the first brush of his teeth scraping over my flesh. His mouth is hot, teasing, and I squirm beneath him — desperate to surrender to the sweet agony of his jaws.

Nate’s hands hold me in place, pinning me down. Then, he strikes, sinking his fangs into the meat of my thigh. As with every feeding, there is a sharp stab of pain that makes me near cry out, but it is short-lived. Pleasure takes over with every pull of blood that pours into Nate’s waiting mouth.

My body arches and shudders, my back bowing off the mattress as Nate feeds from me. The sensation of his teeth piercing my skin, the furious rush of blood, and the mounting pleasure are overwhelming. My muscles quiver, the tension building higher and higher.

His hands grip my hips firmly, anchoring me to the bed as his mouth devours me. I can feel the muscles in his arms flexing with the effort, the veins standing out as they pump blood through his body. His eyes remain locked on mine. It is as if he is devouring more than just my blood, consuming every inch of me, every thought, every sensation. A part of me is desperate to reject the violence, but Nate’s dominance sends me spiralling into submission, mewling as my walls tighten around the phantom thrusts of arousal I so desperately crave.

Nate knows how much I want him. I cannot say the words aloud, but he can sense it — in every buck of my hips and groan that escapes my lips.

You want this, Sera? You want me to fuck you? He does not break my gaze, still devouring my thigh hungrily.

Yes.

Then say it. Ask me to fuck you.

I shudder with shame and anticipation; desperate for him, but hardly dare speak the word into his mind that is usually reserved for taverns and gambling dens and brothels.

Will you fuck me, Nate?

He pulls away, his fangs recoiling from my thigh. “Now beg me. Not in my mind. Out loud.”

I am dizzy from the blood he has taken, my head spinning and my body aching for him. But him taking me, being inside me, fucking me, is all I can think about. “Please Nate. Please. I need you.”

I feel the weight of him shift as he rises; the bed creaking underneath us. My heart is pounding, my breath coming in shallow, desperate gasps.

I stare at the line of muscles that disappear beneath his breeches, watching as he undoes the buttons, then pushes them down and steps out of them.

Heat rushes to my cheeks, and I almost look away. I was once na?ve enough to think I wouldn’t see a gentleman undressed until my wedding night. And even though we have done this already, in the darkness of the carriage, I couldn’t see what moved inside me. Now there is no avoiding the thick, throbbing organ that stands between us.

I lick my lips.

Nate steps back towards the bed, towering above me. “Roll over.”

I hesitate for a heartbeat, staring up into his fathomless eyes, then obey. Turning onto my hands and knees, I present myself to him. I can feel his eyes on me, burning into my skin, and I shudder slightly at the thought of what he must be seeing.

His hands touch my back first, strong and now impossibly warm. They glide down my spine, sending shockwaves through each bone. Then he pulls me back against him, his hardness pressing into my backside. I moan softly, the sound mingling with his growl.

“Now, Sera,” he whispers. “Now beg for me to take you.”

The words catch in my throat, but I force them out, my voice barely audible. “Nate, please. I am begging you. Please take me.”

A low, guttural sound escapes him, and then he slams into me, filling me completely. I cry out, the sensation so intense it takes my breath away.

The moment between us in the carriage feels like it was a lifetime ago, but my body remembers. I am desperate for him, but there is a lingering tenderness that makes me shudder.

Nate senses my tension and pulls back, but I groan in protest. I want him — for everything in this damned world is more painful without him.

He eases into me again, slowly, until he feels me relax beneath him and the rhythm between our bodies builds, our skin glistening with sweat. I grab the sheets beneath me; gripping tight as he drives into me harder and faster. I arch back into him, my hips eagerly matching his rhythm, meeting him thrust for thrust.

Every time Nate pushes into me, I bite down harder on my lower lip until the pain from it matches the distant throb at my thigh. It magnifies my arousal until it’s nearly unbearable. But I want it, need it.

As his pace becomes more frantic, my mind is filled with a single, all-consuming thought. I want him to bite me again. It soon consumes Nate, too.

He pulls me off my hands so I am sitting back in his lap. His cock stays buried inside me as he grips my hips with one hand, and brushes my hair away from my neck with the other.

“I can’t drink much more from you,” he mumbles into my shoulder. “But if it’s what you want, I will. I will be careful.”

“Yes,” I whisper. “It is what I want.”

When his teeth rip into my throat once more, I scream his name in my head.

At this angle, Nate cannot thrust as hard or as deep as before — the pace is up to me. I lean my hands behind us, pressing them into the mattress whilst Nate’s hands settle under my hips, lifting and slamming me back down as he sucks at my neck.

Feeling him inside me as the blood pours from my veins makes me dizzy. Spots dance behind my eyelids when I squeeze them shut. It takes only a few thrusts, a few pulls of blood before Nate jerks into me, holding me in place with his hand flat on my belly as he takes a final greedy swallow and the hot rush of his release shoots inside me.

My own crashes over me like a tidal wave, leaving me trembling and shaking, my arms wrapping around Nate’s neck as we collapse onto the bed.

For a moment, we lie there, panting, wrapped together with the smell of blood hanging between us. My body quivers, my vision still blurred and hazy, when I feel Nate’s wrist at my mouth.

I drink and Nate cradles my head, rocking me in his arms.

When I pull away, satiated, my body tingling, he presses his lips against my forehead. “You can sleep now, Sera. I will be here to guard your dreams.”

And for the first time in longer than I can remember, I do.