On the second day of Christmas, my true love gave to me . . . Two turtledove feathers to tickle every inch of my naked skin.
Amelia reread the note left on the pillow beside her while she’d slept. Two long white feathers had lain beside it. She quivered as though Dante were already tickling her. Of course he had not answered her question last night. How will I bear it when you’ve gone?
It had been an idiotic thing to ask. She knew exactly what she would feel when he left her, this time for good. She would hurt. She would yearn. She would cry and mourn all over again. Last night, she’d learned nothing would change his resolve. Not anger. Not hurt. Not pretending they could somehow make a marriage work. He had told her he would marry her, but he would not stay. It was as simple as that.
Amelia picked up one feather and drew it across her cheek. She shut her eyes, imagining running the firm tip along Dante’s naked back, tracing the remarkable planes of his muscles, then swooping down his spine and stroking the firm curves of his naked arse. She could caress his erect cock. She would like to tease every inch of him, too.
It was daylight—far later in the morning than she had been allowed to awaken when she was a downstairs maid. Dante would be sleeping now. He had told her he would leave the house for the day and return at dusk, since he slept during the day and could not be exposed to daylight.
Amelia got out of bed and dressed. She didn’t relish facing the earl and countess again today. Thank heaven for Christmas guests. Lady Matlock was too refined to make scenes in front of friends and relatives. Since nighttime seemed an eternity away, Amelia donned a cloak and went to the kitchen. She took a piece of cheese and a hunk of fresh bread for her breakfast and ate it as she went outside and walked away from the house.
She was in the woods, dusting the crumbs from her gloves, when she heard a strange sound. A pained grunting. Her heart was a roar in her ears as she crept forward. It could be a trapped animal, and it would be foolhardy to approach. But if it was a creature in pain, she could alert the steward. What terrified her more was the fear it was Dante.
It was a gray-haired man, on his hands and knees in the snow. The trail behind him revealed he had crawled this way for yards, and the smooth white drifts were speckled with blood drops. She gasped as he weakly looked up at her, pale as a ghost, his body shaking. It was the head groom, Thompson. A strapping man of fifty who was normally as strong as an ox.
She hurried to the poor man and crouched by him. “What happened? Were you attacked by an animal? Where are you hurt?”
“Miss Watson . . . help me,” he croaked. His lips were purplish blue, his skin as pale as parchment.
She offered her arm to help him stand. He leaned heavily on her and quivered like a leaf in a storm. “Thank ye . . . I were attacked . . . but it were . . . no animal.”
“A person did this to you?” she asked, horrified. “Was it someone known to you?”
“Stranger . . . miss . . . not human . . .”
Amelia stopped, aware of the creaking of ice-coated tree branches in the stillness, the loud drum of her heart. “What do you mean ‘not human’? What happened, Thompson? You must tell me everything.” His shaky hand went to his neck. There were two small bruises on his throat. No, the tiny dark marks were . . . punctures. Dear God.
She helped Thompson limp toward the house, but she had a horrible thought. Should she take him back? Would he reveal the truth about Dante? In that instant, she made a choice. She had to help this man, even if it meant the household discovered Dante was a vampire. She could not turn her back on someone who needed her help.
As they got closer to the house, Thompson gained more strength. “I were up before light, miss . . . grooming the horses. Heard a sound . . . in the woods. Had . . . to go . . . couldn’t stop. A man grabbed me. He . . . had a black cloak . . . hood pulled low. He was so strong . . . dragged me to the snow and sank his teeth into my neck . . . fangs like a wolf. He drank . . . my blood.”
“And you . . . you . . .” She stumbled over the question. Surely he would have said if he knew it was Dante. “Did you recognize him? Did you know him?”
“No . . . heard tales . . . from the village. There are demons . . . soulless monsters . . . in the woods. The undead. Vampires.”
“Thompson, that can’t be possible!” she said firmly, praying she sounded believable. But she felt sick with horror. Was it Dante? Had he attacked the groom?
“It wasn’t me, love. I promise you it wasn’t. But you were correct—it was a vampire.”
Dante was sprawled naked on the bed at the house known as the House of Pleasure. He held the feathers, waiting for her to join him. But Amelia couldn’t. She was too afraid. Afraid she would have to face the truth of what he was. Thompson had recovered, but she was frightened.
She crossed her arms over her naked bosom, pacing by the foot of the bed. “It was a vampire, but not you. Who, then? There are more vampires here? I—” I cannot believe it. I think you are lying. She couldn’t say the words, but they stabbed at her heart.
“I believe it was the vampire who made me five years ago. My sire. He buried me here a year ago. He fashioned a grave for me underground, using earth and the magic he possessed. He imprisoned me.” Dante held out his hand. Relief made her knees as wobbly as jelly. She went to him, kneeling on the soft mattress at his side.
“Lie down, Mia,” he murmured.
She did, but whispered, “Why did he come back?”
“I don’t know.” He got up on his knees, his face serious. Worried. He managed to smile, yet she could see he was still troubled. “It’s the truth, Mia. I didn’t hurt Thompson. Nor did I attack any of the young women in the village who have been reputedly fed upon by a vampire.”
The feather skimmed over her breasts, making her tremble. She had to close her eyes as he traced her breasts. She gasped as he used both feathers and flicked them back and forth over her nipples. While he did that, he lowered to his knees and mercilessly licked her clit. Her exploding climax made her scream. He lifted her, laughing, tossed the feathers aside, and carried her off the bed. He lowered them both to the Aubusson carpet. Weakly, she wrapped her arms and legs around him and came again and again as he thrust his cock inside her.
Finally, spent, exhausted, delirious with pleasure, she fell back on the rug. “But . . . but why did he put you in a prison? If he made you, why would he do such a thing to you?”
Dante’s eyes reflected the firelight at her, glowing like gold sovereigns. “Can’t you guess, love? He wanted a companion. A man to join him in his pursuit of erotic pleasure. Not only did he want us to share women together and go to orgies, he wanted us to be lovers.”
Her mouth dropped open in shock.
“Vampires, I discovered, make love freely with both genders. It doesn’t matter to them. They enjoy sex for its own sake.”
“Did you . . . have sex with him? With other men?”
He ducked his head, looking so vulnerable and wounded her heart lurched in sympathy.
“But I loved you, Mia. I craved you. That was what made my sire angry enough to lock me in a frozen, underground tomb. He hungered for me, but I wanted only you.”
He gazed at her beneath lowered lashes, with a shyness that filled her with love. How could she ever part from this man? Yet there was no point in speaking of that. “What was it like?” she whispered, so quietly she doubted he could hear. But he lifted his head, brows arched in surprise.
“What was what like, love?”
A blush flamed over Amelia’s skin. “Making love with other men.”
The blunt question stunned Dante. He’d thought she would be shocked, appalled, disgusted. Instead, she was scarlet, but obviously waiting, eyes wide, for his answer. Apparently the thought intrigued her—her nipples were two prominent points beneath the silk of her nightdress.
He rolled onto his side and propped his hand against head. He held the feathers, but she plucked one from his grasp. Shyly, she stroked it across his bare chest, drawing swirls around his erect nipples, just as he’d done to her. “Would you tell me?”
“It excites you. I can tell.” It was not just the sight of straining nipples or the sultry but uncertain gaze of her heavy-lidded eyes. He could smell the lush wetness of her quim. “Can you guess how men make love?”
Amelia shook her head.
“Men use their hands—jerking each other’s cocks vigorously. When men are lovers, they enjoy sucking and licking each other’s pricks. A man likes to suck hard on the taut head, drawing the shaft deeply down his throat. Men are competitive by nature. Two men having sex will turn it into a carnal battle, a challenge to see which will make the other come first.”
Her blush washed over her body. Her hand strayed down, stroking her clit between soft nether curls. His breath caught as he watched her instinctively arousing herself.
“Of course, the ultimate pleasure for male lovers is sodomy. To bury a cock in a man’s tight, hot arse. The grip is remarkably snug, since the muscles of a man’s buttocks are so strong.”
“And you . . . you did that?”
“When I first became a vampire, I was remarkably randy. I craved sex every moment while I was awake. And I thought you were lost to me forever.”
He told her everything, revealing all the things he thought he would never say, not to the woman he loved. “I don’t remember very much about the night I was transformed. I remember sweeping you into my arms and carrying you through the snow to the cottage. I will never forget making love to you beneath the fur throws. The sound of your soft breathing as you slept in my arms . . . that I could never forget. For the year I was imprisoned in the ground, I would dream I was back in the cottage with you, and you were sleeping beside me.”
He didn’t remember the moment of being bitten, and afterward he had lost consciousness. Sometime later, he’d awoken, to find he was lying on a sumptuous bed, shackled hand and foot. He had been dressed, but he’d seen a difference in his skin—it was paler. His muscles had felt strange. He’d sensed a new strength to them, even though he could not use them and could not break free of his chains. Hunger had rushed through him. But it wasn’t the growling, gut-gnawing hunger for food. It was a craving that seemed to flow through his very arteries and veins. Suddenly he became aware of so much more beyond the bed and imprisonment. The room in which he was a captive was magnificent—silk hangings on the walls, along with enormous oil paintings done by Italian masters. Gilt and gold gleamed all around him. He could hear the creak of terrace doors, the lap of water against rock, the shouts of sailors in the distance, the cry of seabirds. The air smelled of salt water and greenery. He could smell exotic spices on the breeze and the tang of sex coming from somewhere else in the house. Everything was so intense.
He had shouted in fury, fighting his chains, and within moments a man with long black hair and the face of a fallen angel had entered, literally floating on air. At first, Dante had thought the man was telling him a pack of lies. How could he have been brought to an island in the Mediterranean without remembering a ship? Then his maker had cut his own wrist with his fangs, and at the scent of blood, Dante had almost gone mad with hunger and lust. Within two days, he had finally understood what he had become. It took months before Dante was willing to let go of grief and rage. Before he accepted he could never go home. After that, he had joined his sire in his eternal quest for carnal novelty. They had toured Europe together, and he had racked up hundreds of sexual conquests and experiences. During it all, his heart had remained broken, had ached for Amelia, had ached for love. Finally, he had understood that eternity was not worth living without true love. So he’d come home. “I expected to die,” he said softly. “I thought I would be caught and destroyed by villagers or by my sire. Or I would make the choice to destroy myself—”
“What do you mean, destroy yourself?” Mia whispered. She had sat up, facing him.
“I fully intended to see you one last time, then stand outside in daylight. Sunlight would burn me to ash, love.”
“Goodness,” she gasped. “That is what you would have done if you had been imprisoned? Perhaps . . . perhaps if your sire desired you so much, perhaps in truth he had fallen in love with you. Maybe he imprisoned you so you couldn’t destroy yourself.”
He stared at her. How had she seen something he had never dreamed of? “He imprisoned me to save me?”
“Do you think he has come back for you? That he wants you back?” She faced him bravely. “When you leave me, will you go with him?”
“No. When I leave you, I’ll be alone for the rest of eternity. But what I will have to do is stop my sire. He hasn’t killed yet, but he will.”
“How can you stop him?”
“Vampires can be destroyed. Ask Mr. Jones about that. There are various ways. However, sometimes a vampire can’t destroy his own sire.” He’d spoken thoughtlessly there, and she jumped upon his careless words at once.
“Why not?”
He could invent a lie, but he’d already told her so many truths, he found another coming off his lips. “Not without causing his own destruction.”
Fear flashed in her eyes. “And you would be willing to do that, wouldn’t you? I can see it in your face. You are willing to die to prevent your sire from killing.”
“Of course.” He managed a rueful grin. “But only after we are married.”
The next night, Dante gave her three French kisses. That was what he called the passionate kisses where his tongue thrust sensually into her mouth. On the fourth day of Christmas, he admitted he’d been at a loss at first, then drew four beautiful necklaces from his coat pocket. Before he gave them to her, they made love—once with him on top, once with her astride him, once against the wall, and once on top of the vanity. After each breathless climax they shared, he gave her first a ruby necklace, then one of sapphires, then emeralds, and finally a beautiful, stunning circlet of diamonds. Each one held an enormous center stone shaped like a bird.
On the fifth night, he secured five gold rings to the headboard and bedposts of their private bed at the House of Pleasure, and they indulged in exotic games of bondage all night. By dawn, Amelia decided it was very pleasurable to be tied up while making love.
She was apprehensive about the sixth day. What could he possibly think of that involved geese? Goose-down pillows? Or feathers again? When she opened a small gold box, she was startled to find six small ivory eggs nestled inside, with gold chains attached.
She knew Dante was trying to make her forget the future. Forget that after he married her in two more days—on the eighth day of Christmas—he would leave. She feared he would not stay for a few months—he wanted to stop the vampire who had made him. Perhaps as soon as they said their vows, he would desert her to hunt down his vampire sire.
She gazed up at him quizzically. “What are these for?”
He winked. “Lift your skirts, love. I’ll show you.”
He licked the first egg and stroked it against her clit until her legs quivered and she was sopping wet with need. Then—pop—he slid the little ivory piece inside her cunny, with the chain dangling out. He did it with another. Then he had her turn around, and he shockingly popped one inside her bottom.
The sensation was stunning. Her legs were as shaky as parchment pages. She couldn’t stand, so he carried her to the bed. Then, as she watched, he rubbed warm oil over the remaining eggs and slipped them inside his bottom. Goodness! His face contorted with pleasure, and he moved over her, so his face was above her quim, his wobbling erection over her face. His bollocks, dusted with soft golden hairs, hung above her. Each movement sent jolts of pleasure from her quim and bottom. She wrapped her hands around his taut thighs and lifted. Opening her mouth, she took his cock deep within.
He bent and nuzzled her quim.
Goodness, again! She could hardly focus on sucking on him when he licked her. But she tried. Tried not to forget to please him as she shook and shivered with pleasure, tried to ensure she didn’t scrape with her teeth. He suckled, teased, licked, until she came, moaning and gasping around his thick, rigid cock. He brought her to orgasm three times before he finally surrendered himself.
Laughing, he took out the precious eggs, then put them in a basin of water. He brought another basin to clean her, his hands stroking lovingly with a wet cloth. Then he lay beside her, pulling the covers over them. “Let me stay with you tonight while you sleep.”
Oh, this man knew how to break her heart. She rested her head against his chest. His heart beat slowly, but so strong. “I wish you would stay with me every night. Forever.”
“There’s tomorrow night first, love. One night at a time . . .”
“Swans,” Amelia whispered. “What are you planning to do in bed that involves swans? Is it going to be feathers? There couldn’t be anything done with the birds—”
“Perhaps I trained them to tease you with the beat of their wings.”
“What?”
Dante almost laughed at the panicked, stunned look in her eyes. “No, angel. I planned to make love to you in a heated bath, one decorated with swans, and give you seven special surprises.”
“What kind of surprises?”
“If I tell, it won’t be a surprise. But I will give you a teasing glimpse at my plan. I’m thinking of tasting you, pleasuring you with my mouth in seven places.”
“Seven places,” she echoed. “Where?”
“Your lovely mouth. Your nipples—that makes three. Your sweet quim. Your delectable bottom.”
“Five,” she said breathlessly. “That is five.”
“Perhaps the back of one knee. Or your sensitive toes. Or your throat.”
“Oh, no,” she said swiftly. “Not my throat.” Then she flushed with embarrassment and Dante’s heart cracked.
The Seventh Day of Christmas
A soft sound woke her.
Amelia sat up, blinking, and the covers fell from her. She was certain she had heard someone whisper her name. But the fire’s glow in the hearth lit her room softly, and she could see she was alone.
Had it been Dante?
She slipped out of bed. Something inside her yearned to go outside. It was like an itch that would not be ignored. She had to go.
She drew on a woolen dress and wool stockings, then crept downstairs. The house was quiet. The merrymaking of New Year’s Eve was over now that it was almost dawn. Amelia slipped out through the kitchen door, into the rear gardens. Her breath puffed; the cold went right through her. There was no sign of Dante.
But as much as she wanted to turn and go back inside, her feet would not obey.
A brilliant white light glowed in front of her, like an enormous diamond, low in the sky. The Christmas star? No, that couldn’t be possible. The light expanded and turned to a rainbow of colors. It burst, so blinding, she had to shut her eyes. Warmth radiated and embraced her.
Amelia . . .
Her name, spoken softly, forced her to lift her head and open her lids. Three women stood before her. They had appeared out of nowhere! White robes swirled around them. Angels?
“Oh, no, my dear.” The tallest, who had dark hair curling down her back, laughed. The sound echoed lushly in the crisp air. “We are most certainly not angels.”
“We are vampire queens,” the redheaded one said. She crooked her finger, and Amelia’s feet took her closer, against her will.
“Do not fear us,” said the blonde. “I am Ophelia.” She pointed to the dark-haired woman. “That is Cardiamillion. The third of our trio is Lausanne.”
“Vampire queens. I did not know there was royalty among vampires. Dante did not tell me—” Amelia stopped. Did they know of Dante? They must. But why were they here?
“Yes, we know of Dante.” The blonde rose into the air and floated. The train of her robe rippled behind her. “That is why we are here. To help you plot a way to keep him. You see, it is important that you do not let him leave you.”
Amelia blinked. “Why does it matter to you?”
Cardiamillion smiled gently. “It matters to us because the vampire who sired Dante is very dangerous. And we all adore Dante—”
“You do?” she asked sharply. Jealousy, sharp and painful, spiked through her heart. “Were any of you his lover? Were all of you?”
Ophelia shook her head. “No, but we are fond of him. He is so beautiful, and his sire wishes to claim him back. We cannot let that happen. His sire needs Dante’s submission to give him power. The power to survive. But you have seen what he does—he brutalizes mortals. He feeds from young women and men and kills them. Dante has learned the skill of taking blood without hurting his prey.”
Prey. What a horrible way to think of people.
“If you keep Dante,” Cardiamillion said, “if you lure him to stay with you, his sire will wither and die. What Dante must do is openly declare his intention to stay at your side. His sire carries an ancient curse, one bestowed by his very ancient maker. The curse means that once Dante’s sire gives his heart to another vampire, he must claim that vampire as his eternal mate. Otherwise, he dies.”
Amelia’s wits whirled. Eternal mate? Dante’s sire had given his heart to Dante? “But Dante is determined to leave me. For my own protection, he says.”
“No!” Ophelia cried. “We cannot let that happen. His sire is a rogue vampire. He refuses to obey the rules for existence in the modern, mortal world. He must be stopped.”
“You”—Lausanne pointed her long finger at Amelia’s heart—“you must make Dante fall so deeply in love, he cannot leave.”
Amelia shook her head. She wanted to stamp her feet in the snow. They spoke as if she had a choice. “I wish I could. But Dante is stubborn. I don’t believe I can convince him to do it. He’s resisted so far.”
“We are four women,” Cardiamillion declared. “Surely we can find a way.”
“Miss Amelia Ann Watson, whilst thou have this man to be your wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish ’til death do you part, according to God’s holy ordinance? And thereto to him you give your troth?”
This was the most unnerving moment Dante had ever known. Waiting for Amelia. For her to look to him, to glow like the moon above them, and say, “I do.”
And as she smiled at him and those two precious words hung in the cool night air, Dante lifted her into the air and kissed her. Reverend Rutherford cleared his throat and looked away as Dante tipped Amelia back and gave her the hottest kiss he could manage. Soft furs framed her face and tickled his skin. She gave the hungriest, loudest moan as she fiercely kissed him back.
He had given a generous donation to the local church to convince the reverend to marry him and Mia at midnight. He did not dare wed her in the church. For all he knew, he might explode into flame. And given the amount of money he’d donated, he knew the clergyman would overlook the eccentricity of marrying outdoors in the middle of the night.
Finally, he knew it was time to draw back. She looked dazed, and he must look every bit as drugged with desire and delight. He loved this woman, and she was now his wife. But there was business to attend to first. He drew out a bag of coins, an additional gift for the clergyman. “Thank you, Reverend.” He deposited the weighty sack into the man’s hand. “I’m sorry to have brought you out into the cold. It was a whim on my part—to make a memorable wedding for my bride. I hope I’ve recompensed the church well for my eccentricity.”
“Indeed you have, my lord.” Reverend Rutherford bowed to both him and Amelia. “Best wishes for happiness for you both, my lord. My lady.” The man stomped his feet to warm them, then hastened back to the manse and no doubt to his warm study.
They were alone in the churchyard. Dante turned to Mia, who blew out a frosty breath. He hoped she wasn’t frozen stiff. He wanted to get her to bed at once and begin warming her. “It’s our wedding night, Mia. But also the eighth day of Christmas. I was thinking of giving you the gift of eight buxom dairy maids.”
“For me?” She eyed him with suspicion. After all, he had told her about the orgies he’d attended with his sire. “Are you certain that gift was not one you wanted?”
“No, my love. I have made my vows to you, and I intend to keep them.”
He was now a married man. Each smile he shared broke his heart. He didn’t want to leave her. He never wanted to leave her. But he had no choice.
He lifted Amelia into his arms, drawing her tight against his chest. The fur surrounding her hood brushed his cheek, and a bittersweet smile curved her lips.
“I was just thinking . . . this is how we began, five years ago,” she whispered. “You swept me into your arms and carried me into the cottage so we could have our wedding night.”
“We’ll have another wedding night now. Mia . . .” There was no way to say it to make her understand how deeply he felt it. So he simply said, “Mia, I love you—”
“Damnation, I’m too late.”
The furious shout from the edge of the church grounds made Dante jerk around. He had been so focused on Amelia he hadn’t heard the sound of footsteps.
Now the damned slayer Jones stood there, holding a crossbow, wild hatred flashing in his eyes.