A Darker Dream

Chapter Twelve

He didn't join her at supper the following night. Rhianna picked at her food, hardly tasting the succulent roast beef Bevins had prepared.
She glanced up at the sound of footsteps, felt the hope in her heart grow cold when Bevins entered the room.
"Is the meal not to your liking, Miss Rhianna?" Bevins asked solicitously. "I can prepare something else, if you wish."
"No, thank you." She pushed her plate away. "I find I have little appetite this evening."
Bevins nodded, a wealth of understanding in his eyes.
"Would you bring me a glass of wine?" she asked. "Perhaps the vintage Lord Rayven prefers?"
A look of horror crossed Bevins's face, and then he shook his head. "It's a very strong vintage, miss," he said. "Might I recommend something more... subtle?"
"Never mind." Rising, she dropped her napkin on the table. "I don't suppose you know where he is?"
"In the gardens, I believe."
"Thank you, Bevins." She smiled at him. "If he asks, I won't tell him that you told me."
"He'll know," Bevins said, a note of resignation in his tone. "Best take a wrap. The night is cool."
Her feet felt suddenly light as she grabbed her shawl and left the house.
The maze, she thought. He would be in the maze.
Her footsteps slowed as she neared the entrance to the labyrinth.
Did she dare? Why not? Everything else had failed.
Feeling somewhat reassured by the darkness, she began to undress and then, wrapped only in her shawl, she ran toward the heart of the maze.
Rayven drew in a deep breath. He had known she would seek him out, had sensed her presence long before she stepped into view.
But he had not been prepared for the sight that greeted his eyes. Silver moonlight danced in her hair like fairy dust, caressed her face, her long slender legs. A lacy white shawl that revealed far more than it hid, covered her from her shoulders to her knees.
He stood up, his breath trapped in his throat.
She took a step toward him, then stopped, all bravado gone now that she was in the lion's den.
Hunger and desire rose up within him, hotter than the flames of an endless, fiery hell.
She was Venus rising from the sea, Eve before she tasted the apple.
"Rhianna." Her name whispered past his lips, soft as a sigh. The last desperate prayer of a dying man.
His cloak wrapped more tightly around him.
"Good evening, my lord," she said, and let go of the shawl.
It slid to the ground, pooling around her feet like star dust, and he was tempted to do the same, to drop to his knees and worship her beauty, to beg her forgiveness. Surely such a goddess could absolve him of his sins.
"Leave me, Rhianna." It was not a demand, but an urgent plea for salvation.
Slowly, she walked toward him, and it seemed as if the moonlight followed her.
"Rhianna..."
"I love you," she said softly.
"Don't." He tried to draw his gaze from her face, from the sheer beauty and perfection of her slender figure. Her breasts were high and firm, her belly flat, her waist so narrow he was sure he could span it with his hands.
She was the first completely naked woman he had seen in over four hundred years, the first woman who had professed to love him since he became Vampyre. The first who had begged for his touch.
He waged a silent inner battle, the last vestiges of honor and humanity at war with the monster he had become.
"My lord?" Her voice was soft and sweetly entreating as she reached a tentative hand toward him.
"Rayven?"
The sound of his name on her lips was like music to his ears.
"Rhianna, please." He forced the words past a throat gone dry. "Please don't do this to me. I'm afraid..."
Slowly, she lowered her arm. "You? Afraid?" Disbelief flickered in her eyes.
Rayven closed his eyes, an image of the first and only woman he had ever taken to his bed since he'd been made Vampyre rising in his mind. She had been nothing more than a harlot, a woman whose favors he had purchased to ease the hunger of the flesh. She had been young, but wise beyond her years. He had felt nothing for her, had thought he could satisfy his lust without arousing his hunger.
He had been wrong, and his error in judgment, in control, had cost the woman her life. That had been almost four hundred years ago, he mused. Fearful of the consequences, he had not sought a woman's affection since.
He had learned to control the desires of the flesh, to keep his lust under tight rein, until Rhianna.
Knowing he dared not possess her had made it easier to hold his passion in check. He had never, in his wildest dreams, expected her to want him.
Certainly he had never expected to find her standing naked before him on a moonlit night, silently begging for his touch.
"I can't." He took a step backward, and his cloak wrapped itself more tightly around him, as if to shield him from harm. "I can't."
He wanted to turn away, to leave her before it was too late, but the yearning in her eyes held him spellbound. No woman had ever looked at him with such longing, such tender regard.
Rhianna stared at him, her longing turning to confusion. "Is there... ?" She felt a rush of embarrassment flood her cheeks. "Are you... ?" The fire in her cheeks burned hotter. "I mean..." She took a deep breath and said it all in a rush. "Are you unable to perform, my lord?"
The thought amused him even as it pricked his vanity. Was that what she thought, that he was some impotent fop? If only he were, he thought wryly. How much easier it would be for them both.
A breeze stirred the land, ruffling the leaves on the rosebushes. Rhianna shivered, not from the cold, but from the knowledge that she had offered herself to him, heart and soul, and he didn't want her.
She felt suddenly cold inside and out, naked to the very depths of her soul. She had not felt this vulnerable, this exposed, since that awful night in Cotyer's Tavern when she stood next to her father in front of a crowd of leering men.
Certain she would never be able to face Rayven again, she bent down to retrieve her shawl.
And felt his hands on her shoulders; strong, capable hands drawing her up, pulling her close.
"Rhianna, if I could have one wish, it would be to make love to you here and now. But I dare not." He saw the question in her eyes, the doubts. "It has nothing to do with you. Believe me when I say I want you as I've wanted no other woman."
Tears glistened in her eyes, clinging to her lashes like morning dew. Tears of shame and humiliation. "I don't believe you."
"Rhianna, please..."
She shook her head. "I was wrong to come here, wrong to think I could make you care." She stepped away from him, feeling suddenly bereft as his fingers slid from her shoulders. "I'll leave here tomorrow, and you need never see me again."
It was what he wanted, what he knew was best for her, yet her words pierced the deepest regions of his worthless soul. And in that instant, he knew that he could not face a future without her. Four hundred years of solitude were enough.
"Rhianna! Don't go." The words were dragged from the depths of his heart.
"My lord?" A tiny flame of hope ignited in Rhianna's breast, warming her inside and out.
"Stay with me, Rhianna. Give me the year I promised you."
"It will be my pleasure, my lord." In a single fluid movement, he bent over, picked up her shawl, and draped it around her shoulders. "You are the most beautiful, desirable woman I have ever known." His hands tightened on her shoulders. "We will have our year, sweet Rhianna. A year to get acquainted."
He was standing behind her. Slowly, he lowered his head, his lips grazing the side of her neck. "Go back to the house," he said, his breath fanning the hair at her nape. "I'll see you at dinner tomorrow night." After I've fed the beast within.
"As you wish, my lord."
He watched her walk away and feared, in that instant, that he would never be able to let her go.
She had been afraid she wouldn't be able to face him again, but she felt surprisingly calm when he joined her at the dinner table the following evening.
She had dressed with care in a dress of soft blue wool. The color matched her eyes. The dress, while modest in cut and design, still managed to outline her every curve. She wore her hair in loose waves down her back because he liked it that way.
"Good evening, sweet Rhianna."
"Good evening, my lord."
He sat down across from her and picked up the glass of wine that Bevins had poured for him as soon as he entered the room.
Rayven took a sip, nodded his approval to Bevins, then sat back in his chair.
"So," he said, regarding her over the rim of his goblet, "what did you do today?"
Rhianna met his gaze, unable to shake off the feeling that he knew exactly how she had spent the day.
"I learned a new piece of music this morning," she said, "and this afternoon, I began to prepare the soil for the new rosebushes."
He nodded, one brow arching upward as he waited for her to continue.
"I took a nap this afternoon, and then I read for a while." She met his gaze squarely. "What did you do today, my lord?"
"How I spend my days is none of your business, my sweet."
"Forgive me, my lord," she said, her voice icy. "I did not mean to pry."
"Didn't you?"
"I've never seen you during the day. I simply wondered what it was that kept you away from the castle from dawn till dark."
"I hope you never find out."
His reply should have made her angry, but it was spoken so softly, and with such bitterness, that she found herself feeling sorry for him, wishing she could do something to erase the sudden sadness in his eyes.
"Tell me about Montroy," Rayven said.
"There's nothing to tell. He came by this afternoon, and Bevins sent him away."
"No doubt I shall hear all about it next time I visit Cotyer's," Rayven muttered.
"I'm sure Lord Montroy thought it quite rude, being sent away as if he were a stranger."
"To be sure," Rayven agreed.
"But you don't care."
"Not a whit."
"I don't understand you."
Setting his glass aside, he leaned across the table to brush his knuckles gently over her cheek.
"You never will, Rhianna," he said quietly. "There are things I cannot tell you, things you must never know." He smiled, but it was a sad smile. "Things you would not want to know even if I could tell you."
But she wanted to know. She wanted desperately to know where he went during the day, what secrets lay behind the sadness that shadowed his eyes, why he lived in self-imposed isolation in a huge drafty castle on top of a fog-shrouded mountain.
"Can you tell me why you never dine with me?"
Slowly, he shook his head.
"Are you ill? Is that why you live here alone, why I never see you during the day?"
"Ill?" He smiled that melancholy smile again. "I suppose you could call it that." He picked up his wineglass and took a drink. "Finish your supper, my sweet, and then I should like you to read to me.
Something sad and tragically romantic, I think."
A short time later, they retired to his study. Rhianna sat on the floor, her skirts spread around her, her back to the hearth. They came here rarely. The room was paneled in dark wood and held little furniture save for a large desk and a few chairs. She wondered why he had chosen to come here tonight.
Rayven sat in the chair beside the hearth, his cloak loosely wrapped around him. Bevins had refilled his wineglass, and he stared into the ruby-red depths while she read. He knew Rhianna didn't care for this room, but tonight its very darkness appealed to him.
Occasionally, Rhianna slid a glance in his direction, wondering at his somber mood. He seemed more withdrawn than usual tonight, his thoughts turned inward, wandering paths he would not share. She wondered if he had been wounded by some great tragedy in his life. Had he been the victim of some terrible malady, or had some woman hurt him so badly that he had turned his back on life and vowed never to love again?
After an hour, she closed the book and stood up. "I'm going to ask Bevins to make me a cup of hot chocolate," she said. "Would you like some?"
Rayven looked up at her, a corner of his mouth turned down in wry amusement. "What do you think?"
"I just thought I'd ask." She put the book aside and gestured at his empty glass. "Would you like more wine?"
With a nod, he handed her the crystal goblet.
Bevins was sitting in the kitchen, polishing a silver tea pot. He stood up as she entered the room.
"Something I can do for you, miss?"
"Yes. I'd like some hot cocoa, please." She handed him the empty glass. "And Lord Rayven would like some more wine."
A hint of something - disapproval, perhaps -  flickered in the depths of Bevins's eyes as he took the goblet from her hand. "I'll see to it immediately."
"I'll wait," Rhianna said. Sitting down in the chair Bevins had vacated, she picked up the cloth he'd been using and began to polish the teapot.
"Miss Rhianna..."
"What?"
"I don't think... that is, you shouldn't..."
Rhianna frowned. "Shouldn't what?"
He jerked his chin toward the silver. "You needn't do that."
"I want to. How long have you worked for Lord Rayven?"
"More years than I care to remember."
"Do you know why he's so sad?"
"Sad, miss?"
Rhianna nodded. "I've never seen such sadness in a man's eyes before. Sometimes it makes me want to cry."
Bevins blinked at her, his expression at first surprised and then disbelieving, as if she'd just expressed sympathy for a wild animal. And then he turned away to fill a pan with milk. "You're very perceptive for one so young," he remarked as he lit the fire and placed the pan over it.
"You know why he's so sad, don't you?"
Bevins shook his head. "I'm afraid I couldn't say."
"Couldn't, or wouldn't?"
"I don't know, miss, truly I don't."
"Has he ever been in love? Been married?"
"Not to my knowledge."
Rhianna set the teapot aside. Propping her elbows on the table, she rested her chin on her folded hands.
"I wish I could make him happy."
"You do, miss. I'm sure of it."
"Do you really think so?" He had begged her to stay, but he hadn't seemed happy about it.
Bevins glanced at the kitchen door, his expression wary, as if he feared being overheard. "He needs you, miss. He needs you, and he doesn't like it."
"Did he tell you that?"
Bevins shook his head and then, to discourage any further conversation, he turned away and busied himself at the stove.
Rhianna watched in amazement as he removed the pan of milk from the stove and set it aside, then took another pan from the cupboard, poured some wine into it, and placed it over the fire.
"What are you doing?" she asked.
"Lord Rayven likes his wine to be quite warm."
Bevins prepared her cocoa, then poured the wine into the crystal goblet and set both containers on a tray. "Anything else, miss? A biscuit, perhaps?"
"No, this is fine." She reached for the tray.
"I'll bring them to you, miss."
"That won't be necessary," Rhianna said, smiling, and lifted the cup and the goblet from the tray. "Thank you, Bevins. Good night."
"But, Miss Rhianna..."
"What is it?"
"Nothing." He glanced quickly at the goblet in her hand, then looked away. "Good night, miss."
Rhianna left the kitchen, her steps slow as she returned to the study. Warm wine? She stopped in the hallway, glanced around to make sure she was alone, and took a sip from Rayven's goblet. Warm or cold, she knew she had never tasted anything like it. It was thicker than any wine she knew of and had a strange flavor that made her stomach churn.
She licked her lips clean so Rayven wouldn't know she had tasted his drink. A special vintage, indeed, she thought, grimacing. Well, he could have it.
He was standing in front of the hearth, gazing into the flames, when she returned to the study. He stood with his back to her, one arm braced against the mantle. His cloak fell in soft folds down his back, and she noticed again how the thick black velvet seemed to cling to him.
He didn't turn around as she stepped into the room. He seemed to be deep in thought, and she wondered if he even knew she was there.
But of course he did. He was attuned to her every breath, her every movement. Without looking, he knew exactly where she was in the room. He could feel her gaze on his back, knew when she placed his wineglass on the table beside his chair, knew she was exactly five steps behind him, slightly to his left.
Knew she had been talking about him to Bevins.
"Did you learn anything?" he asked, his voice deceptively mild.
"My lord?"
"From Bevins. Did he tell you anything you didn't know?"
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Don't you?" He turned to face her, his cloak swirling around his ankles.
"I... I just asked him if he knew why you're so sad," Rhianna replied, and then she frowned at him.
"How do you know I asked about you? Were you spying on me? Eavesdropping?"
He shook his head. He had no need to spy on her. His preternatural hearing had allowed him to hear every word that had passed between her and his servant.
"Why are you so sad?" Rhianna asked.
His eyes narrowed to ominous slits as he met her gaze.
"Bevins said you needed me," she went on, determined not to let him frighten her into silence. "Do you?"
I need you,he thought. Need you in ways you cannot imagine. Ways that would sicken you if you knew.
He watched her eyes widen with alarm as he closed the distance between them. Taking the cup from her hand, he placed it on the table, then took her in his arms.
"This is what I need," he said, and crushing her body to his, he kissed her, his tongue boldly plundering her mouth.
Almost immediately, he drew back. Staring down at her, he took a deep breath. No, he hadn't been mistaken. She tasted of wine. And blood.
"What have you done?" he demanded, his voice no less intimidating for its softness.
"Done?" She stared up at him, her heart pounding.
Rayven took a deep breath and then bent his head to hers again, savoring the taste of his wine on her tongue. He closed his eyes as he deepened the kiss. She felt sorry for him, did she, thought he'd experienced some horrible tragedy in his life.
His arms imprisoned her as he kissed her again, and yet again. He'd teach her to feel sorry for him.
Rhianna moaned softly as his mouth punished hers. She tried to turn her head, but his hands came up to imprison her face. A red haze swam before her eyes and then, within the crimson mist, she saw a man running from a dark shadow. She heard his cry of terror as the darkness engulfed him, saw a pair of eyes that burned with hell's own fury...
The man's fear took hold of her. She felt death hovering over her, stealing her breath, her life, and she began to struggle wildly in Rayven's embrace. She had to get away, away from those hideous red eyes.
"My lord! Rayven! You're hurting me!"
Slowly, her words penetrated the thick red haze that had settled over him. Muttering an oath, he released her.
Rhianna stumbled back, her heart pounding frantically as she stared up at him. His cloak rippled, as though it had a life of its own, and she knew, knew, that Rayven's cloak had been the dark shadow she had seen in her mind.
"What happened?" she gasped. "Who was that man? What have you done?"
He looked down at her, his dark eyes glittering like shards of black glass. "Now you know what I need,"
he said.
She stared at him, her thoughts churning as she sought to decipher his meaning. She tried to draw her gaze from his, but could only stand there, weak and helpless as a mouse in the jaws of a lion.
Caught in the web of his hypnotic eyes, unable to think or speak, she could only stare up at him, silent, vulnerable.
Abruptly, he pivoted on his heel, his cloak swirling like black smoke around his ankles, and then he was gone.
Rhianna sank to her knees, her arms wrapped around her body to still its trembling.
She didn't understand what had just happened, but she knew, for the first time, what it was to be truly afraid.