Blood Deep. Sharon PageЧитать онлайн книгу.
he would nurture for an hour. He could barely afford the money, but he would be giving her a wonderful experience—a night with him would be far better than being thrust into by a drunken earl.
He undid his cravat and tossed it aside. She was standing at the doorway, kneading her skirts in her fists. “Let’s undress you, love. That changes everything.”
She frowned at that. “I don’t want to be…undressed.”
“It seems strange to you now, but you’ll enjoy it. This is what you were meant to do—give yourself to a deserving man.”
The vicar’s daughter gave a half-laugh, half-sob at that.
She had no idea what he was saving her from.
The wench smelled of a heavily flower scented soap, the soap the whores of this place must use. On one of them it would be sickening—on her it was poignant.
He would rescue her in this small way. He had the money. Why shouldn’t vampire slayers be as inventive as Bow Street Runners? He took private commissions, and for some vampires, he took payment to leave them alive. And to protect them, up to a point. Many vampires had amassed fortunes, using their power, strength, and the advantage of time, endless time, to become wealthy men.
What else would they do with their money than use it to keep cheating death?
Ryder stripped to his shirt. She was watching him, with her plain bodice rising and falling. “Take down your hair for me.” He wanted to watch the tresses fall as he kicked off his boots and took off his trousers.
She bent her head slowly, obediently. She pulled at the pins. In a waft of sweet fragrance, her long brown hair fell down her back.
He sprawled back on the bed, but she didn’t join him. “Don’t make me impatient,” he warned. “I’ve paid good money for you. I know you won’t see it—no matter what that bitch of a madam told you. Please me well and I’ll give you something special. Something for you to keep to yourself.”
She looked horror-struck, but she began to unfasten her dress. This was how he wanted Miss Miranda Bond to be for him. Taking her clothes off with shaking fingers. If he narrowed his eyes, he could imagine this pasty-faced wench was Miss Bond.
The Royal Society would not disbar him, or destroy him, if he went about killing Miss Bond in his own way. They needed him too much, needed him to do the dirty work. To carry out the secret assassinations, like this one. They needed him to do things like hunt down the seemingly innocent sisters of gentlemen and make their deaths look like accidents.
But he had seen what Miss Bond could do.
Two weeks ago, she had laid her hand on the chest of a child who had been run down by a carriage. The body had been mangled. The thing was dead.
But beneath her touch, the body healed. The lifeless eyes took in light once more. The child had been resurrected by just the touch of Miss Bond’s hand.
He hadn’t believed it.
But the gentlemen of the Society had assured him it was true. The damned woman could raise the dead.
His mission was to kill her. Ryder understood what the old men of the Society wanted to do—destroy that which they couldn’t understand.
And in return for murdering a lovely, twenty-three-year-old woman, he would have a mansion in the country. He would live better than his father, Hiltshire, whose estates were impoverished.
Hell, he would enjoy that.
All that stood between him and everything he’d always planned for was one little gently bred lady. One simple death and he would have it all.
His cock lurched against his belly at the thought. He reached out and clasped the hand of his vicar’s daughter, who now stood trembling in her shift. “Now, love,” he leered, “I’ll teach you how to suck me.” But first he pulled her to him, stuck his hand beneath her chemise, and gently worked his index finger up her tight, hot ass.
3
Touched
Chamber of the Scholomance
875 A.D.
Lukos awoke to find that he lay on a smooth stone floor in a lake of his own blood. It was encrusted on his neck, smeared on his freshly shaved scalp. The great gaping wound in his throat had somehow knitted together. It was still spongy and painful, but as he gingerly explored with his fingers, there was no longer a wide, open, bleeding gash.
Was he dead now?
His strength almost faded again as he struggled up to his knees, and he fought the lure of unconsciousness. Darkness surrounded him. It clung to him like grasping hands. Raw and cold, panic swept over him. Ever since he’d been a child, he has always awoken in the dark like this—sweating, frightened, terrified enough to run. He had hid these fears because it was his destiny to be a great warrior, but they rose up now, and made him whimper.
He was too old to make such sounds, like a child. And in the blackness, he looked around for the demoness. Had she left him for dead?
Slowly, he grew accustomed to the dark. And he saw her, curled up on a shelf of stone, watching him. A robe of dark crimson swathed her, and she stared at him with sorrowful eyes. “I am sorry, Lukos. But your eyes are next.”
He threw up his hands, but a sharp, searing-hot point slammed into his right palm. Instinctively, he pulled his hand away. This time the red-hot poker went into his eye. As he screamed in pain, something grabbed his arms and restrained him. He howled. He tried to fight. Some monster in the shadows had hold of him. He was raging against the grip, throwing his head wildly. The pain. God above, the pain—
But despite his wild struggles, the poker drove into his left eye, completely blinding him.
This would kill him.
Unless he was already dead.
Did the dead still feel pain?
He would have cried, but the searing heat had taken away his tear ducts along with his eye.
He smelled her. Over the stench of his own flesh, over the excruciating agony, he knew she had come to his side. She knelt by him. Her hands went around his bare shoulders, and in her sultry voice, she chanted. The soft, lovely sound flowed around him like a vivid light and took away the pain.
“You cannot see him, Lukos. It is not for you to see him until you have completed your apprenticeship.”
He laughed in anger and bitterness. “I’m blinded. I’ll never see.”
“You will. Lukos, he can give you ultimate power. He can easily give you sight.”
“What do you do now? Cut off my cock so I can’t fuck?”
“No.” The demoness’s voice was soft and soothing. “You have endured all that you must for now. I will take you to the chamber, and you will rest there. Tomorrow, you will begin to learn.”
Learn. With his eyes gouged out? His throat slit? Each breath was a torture, and he was rasping and wheezing like an old man. He’d run over corpses on the battlefield less wounded than this. “Am I dead?”
“You will be reborn, Lukos.”
She had opened his robe then and had taken hold of his cock. He had lost his eyes; he’d had his throat cut, but somehow she made his organ stand up. She straddled him, took him inside, and rode him. He could feel her slick heat engulfing his cock. He could smell her, smell the ripeness of their joining. He could feel her full buttocks slamming his groin. God, yes…
“You’re having sex with me—”
“No, I’m not. You are dreaming this, Lukos.” She slapped him. The sudden jolt of pain made his fantasy disappear. Instead of her creamy juices, he smelled the dankness of wet stone. Instead of warmth and pleasure, he felt sharp rocks beneath his knees.
“Sometimes