Page 18 of The Guardian's Curse

“One more, you say?” He spared a smile, thankful that her dull stone eyes did not reflect the monstrous twist of his mouth. “Number eight, then. Music to hear, why hear’st thou music so sadly?” When he completed the sonnet, he closed the book quietly. “It’s too bad you don’t speak German. You would enjoy Rilke, but the translations are simply not the same. Maybe I can read you both and explain.”

Her silence was an admonishment. The witch’s malice was not just skin deep, though in Alistair’s curse, it certainly lay upon the surface like filth encrusting a stagnant swamp. Eternally mournful Lucia reminded him of the dangers of falling in love. It was not enough that she punished Alistair and his brothers. Anyone close to them was subject to her wrath. Lucia was a reminder that they could still lose so much more.

He sat in the quiet to read the Chekhov play. Despite his attempts to focus on the Cyrillic letters, he was distracted by Shoshanna’s breathing. Her scent still lingered in the air, though he wasn’t sure if it was reality or his own fixation on the strangeness of having someone here. A maid visited once a week, but she was gone long before he woke, leaving only the fading scent of cleaning products.

Now there was a heartbeat here. Movement in the air as another soul existed dangerously close. It was fresh and constant, not a fading memory that he could ignore.

With a sigh, he rose to bid Lucia farewell. Closing the curtains, he gently touched her cheek. “Good night, Lucia. May your dreams be as lovely as you are.”

He retreated to his bedroom to read. The richly appointed room was cast in low light by a single lamp on the nightstand. Though she was out of sight, even his bedroom felt different with Shoshanna here. He closed the door, effectively blocking out the sound of her presence, and settled in to read.

Like many vampires of the Auberon Court, he was fluent in multiple languages. His Russian was rusty from lack of use, so he spent the next few hours reading Chekhov aloud, twisting his tongue around the unfamiliar consonants.

His phone chirped an alarm to remind him that sunrise was rapidly approaching. He preferred the old ways in many things, but he could not deny the utility of the smart phone. An enterprising younger vampire had developed several apps for the modern vampire, including one that tracked local sunrise and sunset times and issued alerts.

Books and movies about his kind were steeped in superstitions and folklore, though they occasionally stumbled upon a nugget of truth. Exposure to sunlight was not instantly lethal, but it would weaken him and cause horrific burns within minutes. Even when not exposed to the scorching rays, vampires were far weaker during the day.

He peeled off layers of dark clothing, leaving just loose pants. There were no mirrors in his bedroom, but he couldn’t avoid glimpses of his wrecked body; the dark, mottled gray skin on his hands turned his stomach. After brushing his teeth in the dark, he slid into his bed and pulled the heavy curtains tight around him. Pure pitch darkness engulfed him in its pleasant embrace.

The twisted bone protrusions on his brow made it difficult to lie down comfortably, but he’d learned to deal with it. The heavy, deep sleep of day would come soon enough, and he could forget the cold loneliness of this life for a while longer.

As he lay down, an odd, unfamiliar thought danced through his mind. This was not just another night in this large, echoing house. Though she was as far from him as she could be without sleeping outside, he somehow felt Shoshanna’s energy nearby. It was a faint vibration just at the edge of his hearing.

What would it be like to touch her soft skin? A human witch would be warm, practically vibrating with energy. And there was her hair, in those dark, round curls. He could just imagine twining one perfect spiral around his finger as her perfume engulfed him.

And if he dared, to brush his lips across hers. The thought of her breath on him, that little hint of life...

He shook his head, squeezing his eyes to push the image away. The thought of these hands on that beautiful face was an atrocity. She deserved more.

And yet, hope lingered. He hoped it would leave before it became a flame he could not extinguish.

6

An undeniable magnetism drew her down the long, dark hallway. Flickering candles in sconces cast dancing shadows that beckoned her to the stairs at the end of the hall. The pull grew stronger as she descended into hazy darkness.

Something awaited her. Something wanted her.

A filmy nightgown billowed behind her as she crept through the open doorway to the vampire’s chambers. Dark oil paintings overlooked the massive canopy bed wreathed in heavy black curtains. Silver moonlight poured in through an open window, casting the strange man in silvery light.

Her breath caught in her throat at the sight of him. Dark, slightly curly hair framed a strong-featured face with a broad jaw and high cheekbones. Blue-green eyes gleamed from the shadows of the canopy. With the moonlight playing off his bare chest, she could imagine him posing for a sculptor, preserving his perfection in pale white stone.

“M...Mister Thorne?” she asked hesitantly.

In a blur, he was on his feet, staring down at her. She was a quivering mouse in front of the hungry lion. “Miss York,” he said. His voice was the rumble of distant thunder in a summer storm, the smell of wood smoke in the fall. “Have you brought my dinner as I requested?”

She stared down at her empty hands. Her skin was lined with silvery tendrils, as if a spider’s web enveloped her. With sinking reluctance, she murmured, “I forgot it. I’ll get it.” She didn’t want to leave, but wasn’t that the expectation?

When she stepped back, he grabbed her wrist and pulled her closer. “My hunger will not wait,” he said. Her heart thrilled with anticipation as he grasped her waist and lifted her onto his bed. Graceful fingers untied the nightgown and revealed her body to the moonlight. His icy gaze raked over her. “What a delight,” he said with a toothy smile. “Where shall I begin?”

Anywhere you like, she thought. A dim thought whispered somewhere. She shouldn’t allow this. She should say no. But she couldn’t. Didn’t want to.

Cool hands encircled her wrists, pinning her hands to the soft bed. “Exquisite,” he murmured as he loomed over her. His lips were shockingly warm as he marked her skin with his kiss, making his way from her lips to the hollow of her throat.

Sharp teeth grazed her tender skin, but he didn’t bite. His gentle kisses followed the curving path of her collarbone down to her breast. She gasped as his tongue flicked at her, teasing her nipple into a hard bud.

“You taste delightful,” he murmured. His teeth scraped slightly over the sensitive flesh and sent a shiver down her spine. When he raised his head, she saw that his eyes had gone deep red. “I hunger, Miss York.”

In that hungry gaze, she was helpless prey, something to be conquered and consumed. She didn’t care, so long as he kept touching her. “Then drink your fill, Mister Thorne.”

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