Chapter Three
Lying in Stefan’s bed later that night, Bryony relived every moment of being in his arms. Strong arms that felt like iron bands around her, yet held her ever so gently.
His dark eyes had burned with the heat of his desire, his voice had been thick with yearning.
A yearning for her. His kisses had been magical, warm yet demanding.
They had awakened sensations within her that she had never known before.
Feelings for which she had no name. How had he evoked such strong emotions with just his kisses?
But it had been more than that. She felt as though he had branded her his in such a way that she would never want another man, and no other man would ever want her.
The thought made her laugh out loud. That was impossible. Yet the memory of his kisses kept her awake far into the night. And followed her into her dreams…
She walked through a meadow. The sun had set long since and she had only the pale silver light of the full moon to guide her, though she had no idea where she was going.
And still she kept walking until she came upon a crypt located between two stone mountains.
The name Renaldo was carved above the door of the crypt.
His family resting place perhaps? She had just turned around to go back when there was a grating sound behind her, like stone sliding over stone.
Filled with a sudden, nameless terror, she risked a glance over her shoulder, and let out a terrified scream when Stefan emerged from the dark depths of the crypt…
The sound of her own cries woke her. Sitting up, she lit the lamp beside the bed, her gaze darting around the room. Only a dream, she thought, one hand pressed to her rapidly beating heart. Only a dream.
But it was a long time before she closed her eyes again.
Bryony woke to a morning that was bright and clear. Leanora arrived right on time. After breakfast, she helped Bryony dress for the day, brushed out her hair, and coiled it into a neat bun at her nape.
“I’ll be going into the village today,” Leanora remarked as she made up the bed. “Is there anything special you would like for supper?”
Bryony shrugged. “Surprise me. Oh! I would like some blueberry scones for breakfast tomorrow morning.”
“Yes, miss.” The girl bobbed a curtsey and then left the room.
Bryony sighed, wishing she could go shopping with Leonora.
She hadn’t been outside in days. It would be hours until dark.
Hours until she saw Stefan again. Where did he spend the daylight hours?
Did he have employment in the village? Did he spend his days working the land?
He was a mystery, there was no doubt of that.
And no doubt that his kisses were more potent than her father’s favorite brandy.
She ran her tongue over her lips, certain she could still feel the touch of his mouth on hers, the crush of his arms around her, the rich, masculine scent that clung to him.
What was she thinking? She knew nothing about the man except that he was keeping her imprisoned in his house against her will.
He could be a murderer for all she knew.
A molester of children, a defiler of women.
A highwayman. Decent men didn’t imprison women.
Just because he was incredibly handsome didn’t mean he was a saint.
He certainly didn’t kiss like one, she mused with a faint smile.
She glanced at the bedchamber window and frowned.
Would it open if she lifted the latch? Why hadn’t she thought of it before?
Filled with excitement, she drew back the curtains and reached for the latch.
And sighed her disappointment when it refused to budge.
Not that it mattered. It was a long way to the ground below.
She noticed a barn off to the right, a copse of trees, a mountain range in the distance.
She was about to turn away from the window when she spied movement out of the corner of her eye.
Turning her head to the left, she saw a three-rail corral and let out a happy cry when she saw Daisy inside, standing next to a pair of dun-colored horses.
If she ever found a way out of this house, at least she would have a way to get back home.
Leanora took her leave when the supper dishes had been washed and put away. Bryony watched enviously as the girl left the house with a cheery farewell.
As the minutes ticked by, Bryony grew more and more nervous, afraid Stefan would appear and kiss her again. Afraid that he wouldn’t.
And then, in the blink of an eye, he was there. He wore black again. She found it hard to imagine him in anything else.
“Bryony,” he murmured. “How lovely you look.” Her gown, made of midnight-blue velvet edged with white lace at the neck and cuffs, outlined every luscious curve.
His compliment pleased her more than it should have.
“I feel you are bored in this house,” he said. “Would you like to go for a walk?”
“Very much, but it’s dark outside.”
“Are you afraid of the dark?”
“A little.”
“Nothing can hurt you while I am with you.”
What an odd thing to say, Bryony thought, as she retrieved r cloak and followed him out the door. And yet she believed him.
The evening was damp and cool, the sky studded with lowering grey clouds that hid the moon and the stars.
“It is going to rain,” Stefan remarked, linking his arm with hers.
Her instinct was to pull away, but she could hardly see the path beneath her feet.
He seemed to have no trouble. She could feel him watching her, his gaze so intense it was almost physical.
What was he thinking? Had coming out here with him been a mistake?
Still, it was nice to be outside and if he meant her any harm, he could attack her in the house as easily as out here.
“Tell me of your life,” he said. “Why did you run away from home?”
“My father has chosen a husband for me, a man I do not wish to marry.”
“You wish to marry someone else?”
She shook her head. “No. But I will not marry a man twice my age. A man I do not love.”
He grunted softly. Once, long ago, he had been forced into a marriage he did not want. It had not ended well.
They walked in silence for several minutes.
Bryony glanced at the man beside her. What an enigma he was.
She knew nothing about him, could not fathom why he wouldn’t let her go.
He said he meant her no harm but how was she supposed to believe that?
Even now she could feel the latent power that clung to him.
It was unlike anything she had ever experienced—foreign, frightening.
She flinched as lightning crackled across the sky, followed by a prolonged rumble of thunder that was so close, so loud, it shook the ground beneath her feet.
A moment later, the clouds unleashed their burden.
Sheets of rain pummeled the earth, flattening the grass around them.
It took her a moment to realize that no rain fell where they were walking.
How was that possible? She looked up at Stefan, who didn’t seem the least bit surprised.
Meeting her gaze, he asked, “Are you also afraid of storms?”
“No, but don’t you think it’s strange that we aren’t getting wet?”
He shrugged. “There are a lot of strange things in the world.”
And he was the strangest of them all, she mused. And then frowned. Was he controlling the weather around them? The idea sent a shiver down her spine even as she told herself such a thing wasn’t humanly possible.
“You are cold,” he said. “Let us return to the house.”
The rain continued to fall yet they remained untouched.
Stefan opened the front door for her. The house had been dark when they left. Now, the candles were lit. A fire crackled merrily in the hearth.
Bryony shivered again, unnerved by the strange events of the night. Who was this man who refused to let her go? The word warlock flitted through the back of her mind. She tried to dismiss it, but it explained so much. Could it be true?
Feeling his gaze on her, she glanced over her shoulder, her whole body trembling as he walked slowly toward her.
Caught in the web of his gaze, she could only stand there, her heart beating a wild tattoo as his hands folded over her shoulders.
And then he was lowering his head, his lips brushing hers lightly.
She felt herself yearning toward him, her eyelids fluttering down as he covered her mouth with his, his tongue demanding entrance.
Heat spiraled through her as he deepened the kiss until there was nothing in all the world but Stefan, his mouth possessing hers.
She leaned into him, wanting to feel the hard length of his body against hers.
She moaned, a soft, needy sound when he lifted his head.
Stefan swore under his breath. His body was on fire for her.
His gaze lingered on the sweet curve of her neck, the pulse beating wildly in the hollow of her throat, the musky scent of desire on her skin.
The voice in his head urged him to take her, to ravish her body, to taste the sweet elixir of her life’s blood, to drink until all his hungers had been satisfied.
Hands knotted into fists, he backed away from her and bolted from the house. She was supposed to be his prisoner, he thought ruefully. But he feared their roles were now reversed, for Bryony had captured him, heart and soul.
He prowled the dark streets of the city for hours, but he couldn’t escape her.
Her scent clung to his clothing, his hands.
The taste of her lingered in his memory, her lips warm and soft, and after a moment, sweetly yielding.
She didn’t trust him. She was afraid of him.
But she relished his kisses, the touch of his hand in her hair.
She was young, so young. Innocent. Untouched.
All the reasons why he should send her away. All the reasons why he would not.
He had been alone for so long, denying himself the companionship of others, especially women.
He was unworthy of love, of trust. He despised what he was and yet he fought to survive.
He fed on the blood of others. He killed to preserve his own existence, even though he was an aberration and not fit to live among decent people.
As a young fledgling, he had gloried in his new preternatural powers.
He was a vampire. A law unto himself. Invincible.
Indestructible. He had loved the thrill of the hunt, the terror in his prey’s eyes, the knowledge that he held the power of life and death in his hands.
And the blood—there was nothing else like it.
Warm and sweet, how he had craved it. He had taken it with no regard for his prey, no guilt for the bodies he left in his wake.
Monster!
He had changed since those days so many centuries ago.
It had happened overnight. He would never forget the woman who had made him see himself for what he had become.
He had held her in his arms, her life’s blood hot on his tongue, as she grew weak, weaker.
Suddenly curious to know her thoughts, he had let his mind brush hers.
He felt her terror, her fear of death and the unknown, her sorrow at leaving three young children motherless and alone because a red-eyed demon was slowly stealing her life. Guilt had exploded within him.
Monster!
He had lifted his head, but it was too late. She had breathed her last in his arms, proving yet again that he was, indeed, a monster.