Page 17 of The Assassin and the Libertine
Instinctively, I stepped back. “What happened to your eyes, Étienne? Are you ill?”
He laughed acidly. “I am dead, Duchesse! But do you mean, ill besides being a vampire?”
He stood suddenly, his movements erratic and supernaturally quick. He stalked toward me and backed me up against the wall. Caged between his hard, muscular arms, I took in the rest of his appearance—the stubble on his sallow-skinned jaw, the tendrils of dark hair escaping his queue, the shadows in the hollows of his cheeks and beneath his eyes. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days.
He closed his eyes and buried his face in the crook of my neck. I froze like a rabbit before a fox. He wouldn’t bite me, would he? What was wrong with him? I reached for the wooden stake in my pocket.
He inhaled deeply and growled. Panic started to build inside me. My heart thundered in my chest.No, no, no. Please, no.
Come back to your senses, Étienne.
“Shh,” he whispered against my skin. “Calm your racing heart, little nymph.”
I felt a hot, wet caress and realized he’d licked my neck. Unbidden desire ignited in my blood, warring with fear and shame.
“Étienne,” I breathed.I should stop him.
Soft kisses danced up the column of my neck and a firm hand stroked my back.When had it ever felt this good to be touched?I wondered.
Never.
Something isn’t right. He isn’t well. You must stop this, Daphne.
“Étienne,” I stammered, tears pricking at my eyes. “You are not yourself. Allow me to call a doctor for you.”
“But I am myself, Duchesse,” he drawled, dragging his lips up to my ear. “I don’t need a doctor. You have everything I need.”
He pressed his hips into me, and I felt the hard length of his arousal against my stomach. My knees nearly buckled and I grew wet with reflexive desire.No! We mustn’t!
“Yes,” he moaned, sucking on my earlobe and raining kisses across my jaw. “I can smell your passion, little nymph. I want you. Feel how desperately I want you. How I need?—”
He stopped abruptly, pulling back. His eyes paled to hazel again and he stared at me in bewilderment.
“Daphne?” he questioned. His feeble voice sounded miles away. “What are you doing here?”
His unfocused gaze shifted to his surroundings and he blinked in confusion. As quickly as he’d returned to me, he vanished again—the blood-colored irises were back. He took a step in my direction, then stumbled and fell to his knees.
“Help me,” he wheezed. “I need…” he trailed off, falling to the ground. Curling his knees to his chest, he gagged, vomiting black blood and bile across the carpet.
Angrily, I dashed the tears from my face. Warily, as if I was approaching a wounded animal, I leaned forward and pulled him up, gently shaking him.
“What do you need? What happened? What, Étienne?”
One of the footmen heard the commotion and came running into the parlor. He helped me attempt to rouse him, but it was no use.
Étienne slipped into unconsciousness.
CHAPTER SIX
ÉTIENNE
October 15, 1765
Château de Champs-sur-Marne
It was betterthan the dreams I was used to. Soft pink lips parted in ecstasy—heavy-lidded violet eyes glazed with desire—my throbbing cock sliding into warm, wet silk. Attempting to hold onto the blissful vision, I kept my eyes closed and snaked a hand beneath the sheets, intent on alleviating my growing need. A rough moan escaped my lips when I grasped my erection.
“I see you’re awake.”
