A Darker Dream

Chapter Seven

Sunk in the depths of a black and bitter despair, Rayven stood before the hearth, staring into the flames.
He could not keep her here any longer, could not put her life at risk. It was enough that he stole the very essence of her life. He would not take her heart and soul, as well.
And yet, how could he let her go? He had walked often in her dreams, losing himself in her sweetness, her purity. In the power of her dreams, he could walk in the sun again, feel its warmth on his face. He could see the world bathed in light instead of darkness. Walking beside her, he could pretend he was human again, a man again.
She was dreaming now, and in her dreams she walked along the banks of a sparkling blue river, pausing to pick a bouquet of bright yellow daisies, to wade in the sun-dappled water, and he walked beside her, feeling the sunlight like a benediction on his face.
He drew his mind from hers. It was dangerous, letting his thoughts meld with hers. It was getting harder and harder to restrain himself, to keep his hunger under control, to keep his diabolical thirst separate from his desire. He could not, would not, defile her.
With a sigh, he turned away from the fire.
Tonight would be the last time.
He was there, beside her bed, the same dark shape that had come to her so often in the past. A black velvet cloak lined with midnight-blue silk billowed around him, like the wings of a raven. She could not see his face, yet she recognized his touch.
She felt his lips move over her brow, her cheeks, her temple, felt the heat of his tongue, trailing fire, as it slid down her neck. She turned her head to the side, her hands grasping his arms, her eyelids closing in ecstasy as his teeth grazed her tender flesh.
She heard his low growl, like that of a wolf, felt the painful, pleasurable bite of his teeth, followed by the touch of his tongue stroking her neck. And then came the words, oddly familiar, soft-spoken hypnotic words that carried her down, down, into the darkness of a dreamless sleep...
Rhianna woke with a cry, bolting upright in bed. Her gaze darted around the room.
It was dawn, and she was alone.
And yet, the dream had seemed so real. She lifted a trembling hand to her neck, terrified of what she would find. Her breath rushed from her lungs in a sigh of relief when her fingers encountered nothing but smooth skin.
Weak with relief, she fell back on the pillow. There were no teeth marks on her neck.
It had only been a dream, after all.
She woke to the sound of a knock on her door. Her first thought was that it was Rayven, and then she heard Bevins's voice requesting entrance.
"Yes," she called, "come in."
"Good morning, miss," Bevins said in his carefully modulated voice.
"Good morning. Is something wrong?"
"Wrong? No, miss. I've come to inform you that Lord Rayven has made arrangements for you to go to Paris."
"Paris? But why?"
"You are to be tutored there. It seems Lord Rayven feels I have taught you all I can. He wishes for you to be instructed in more than merely reading and writing. He wishes for you to be taught etiquette and acquire other feminine arts."
Rhianna could only stare at him. To her knowledge, no woman in their town had even received a formal education, though a few fortunate ones could read and write their names.
For a moment, she let herself be caught up in the possibilities, and then she shook her head. "I don't want to leave here."
"I'm sorry, miss. The arrangements have been made."
"How soon?"
"Sunday a week, miss. Lord Rayven has instructed me to take you to town to purchase whatever you think you might need. An account has been opened in your name in the bank near the school."
"He is most generous," she said, blinking back her tears.
"I have always found him so."
"Thank you, Bevins."
"Breakfast will be ready when you are."
Rhianna shook her head. "I find I have no appetite this morning."
"I understand, miss."
She was going away to school. It was something she had never even dared dream of. Yet the thought of leaving this place, of leaving Rayven, filled her with inexplicable sadness.
The days passed all too quickly, and soon it was her last night at the castle. After the evening they had spent at the opera, she had expected Rayven to seek her out, but he never did.
That night, at supper, she asked Bevins if Rayven was at home.
"I believe so, miss."
"Would you take me to him?"
"I'm afraid that's impossible."
"Why?"
"Because it is."
"But I'm leaving in the morning. I just want to tell him good-bye and... and thank him for his kindness."
"I know, miss. I am sorry."
He meant it. She could see it in his eyes, hear it in his voice.
Leaving the table, she went outside. She would miss this place, she thought as she wandered through the gardens. She had been happy here. Far happier than she had ever expected. She wondered how her mother was, if her sisters ever thought of her. No doubt they missed her help in the house and fields, but did they ever miss her? She had not missed them as much as she'd thought she would. In truth, she had hardly thought of her family at all these past months. To think of them living in poverty while she dwelt in luxury was far too painful. The few times she had let herself think of home, she had been filled with an overpowering sense of guilt, though why that should be so, she didn't know. She had not left her family by choice. And yet, being sold to Rayven had turned out far better than she had ever hoped. She had long ago forgiven her father for selling her. Rayven had been kind to her, generous, undemanding.
Hardly aware of what she was doing, she followed the path that led to the labyrinth. It didn't frighten her anymore. Drawing her shawl around her shoulders, she walked on until she reached the heart of the labyrinth.
Rayven looked up, startled to find Rhianna gazing down at him.
He slanted her a wry grin. "No mortal has ever crept up on me like that before," he remarked.
"No mortal?" she asked, confused by his odd choice of words.
"Thank you for this," he said, ignoring her question. He gestured at the roses and shrubs that grew in artless profusion around the statues so that the wolf and the raven seemed to rise up out of a crimson sea.
"It's beautiful."
Rhianna nodded. She had spent the past week here, wanting to leave something of herself behind, something for him to remember. She had planted dozens of bloodred rosebushes interspersed with delicate lacy ferns. The result was striking and somehow masculine. She thought it suited Rayven perfectly.
"I'm leaving tomorrow," she said quietly.
"I know." Oh, yes, he thought, he knew. Even now the thought of her going was tearing him apart inside.
"Why are you sending me away?"
"It's for the best."
"Best for who?"
"For you. For me."
"I don't want to go."
He stood up, towering over her, his dark eyes glowing. He was tall and lean, his shoulders broad, his arms well-muscled. She noticed that the scar on his cheek was shaped like a V. Funny, she had never noticed that before.
Following an inexplicable urge, she traced the fine white line with her fingertip, felt a catch in her heart as his hand covered hers.
"Rhianna."
"Please, Rayven, please don't send me away."
"Ah, Rhianna, I would keep you with me forever if I could."
"And I would stay. Only ask me to stay, and I will."
He shook his head. "No."
His hand tightened on hers as tears welled in her eyes and trickled down her cheeks. In the moonlight, her tears sparkled like flawless diamonds, but they were far more precious to him than jewels. They denoted caring and affection, willingly given, and for that he would always love her. And because he loved her, he would let her go.
"Someday you will thank me for this, sweet Rhianna."
"No," she said, sobbing.
She twisted away from him, her blue eyes awash with tears. "I'll never forgive you. Never!" she cried, and then she was running away from him, taking the sunlight from his life, leaving him in the vast empty darkness of the night, alone, as he had always been alone.
He contemplated leaving the castle, certain he could not stay there now, could not walk the rooms she had walked, breathe the air she had breathed, and know he would never see her again.
He would have to leave soon at any rate. He had overheard the men in Cotyer's talking about him, wondering why they never saw him during the day, why he never joined them for dinner, why his appearance never changed, why he didn't seem to age.
And yet, even knowing he should go, he knew he would not. The castle was filled with her essence, and as painful as it would be to be reminded of her, it was better than forgetting.
He laughed softly, bitterly. As if he could ever forget.
Part Two
Four Years
Later