Bound by Night

Page 2

  Eyes wide with revulsion, she fought down the urge to vomit as his tongue plunged deep into her mouth.

  “Perhaps tonight,” he said, “I will take you down to the cellar. ”

  The cellar. Sheer terror engulfed her. Jenica had told her about the cellar.

  Tonight, she thought when he released her. Tonight she would make her escape. The castle on the hill was a good distance away. Old and run-down, with no electricity or modern conveniences, it would be the last place anyone would think to look for her—if she could just find the courage needed to go inside.

  Better to face the ancient ghosts in Wolfram Castle, Elena thought as she got ready for bed that night, than to endure another moment in her uncle’s presence.

  It was well after midnight when she tiptoed into the kitchen, carefully avoiding the squeaky board in the floor. Since she hadn’t been shopping in almost a week, there was little in the refrigerator, but waiting another day was out of the question. She dropped a few apples and a doughnut into a sack; then, holding her breath, she opened the back door as quietly as possible and slipped outside.

  She paused a moment, suddenly unsure. Was she doing the right thing? How would she survive on her own? Maybe she should wait. If she was lucky, she might find someone to take her to Brasov. But she didn’t have the luxury of waiting, not with Uncle Tavian talking about marriage. The idea of sharing his bed, of having his hands pawing her, his mouth on hers, lent wings to her feet and she ran away from the house and into the darkness.

  It seemed as if the night closed in around her as she hurried up the hill toward Wolfram Castle. She was halfway there before it occurred to her to wonder if she would even be able to get inside. For all she knew, the place was locked up tighter than the bank in town.

  A sudden, wayward wind lifted the hair from her shoulders and sent a flurry of dry leaves skittering across her path.

  Dark clouds gathered overhead, shutting out both moon and stars.

  The wind grew colder, stronger, causing the trees to moan as they swayed back and forth. The tall grass bent as if in supplication to the force of the wind as it howled across the land.

  An omen? Elena wondered, shivering. She lowered her head and drew her coat closer around her shoulders as thunder rumbled overhead.

  Continuing on, she realized the castle was a lot farther away than it looked. She paused several times to catch her breath, wondering if she would ever make it to the top of the hill.

  The clouds released their burden just as she reached the castle door.

  Taking a deep breath, she reached for the latch, blew out a sigh of relief when, with a creak loud enough to wake the dead, the heavy wooden door swung open.

  Hurrying inside, she quickly closed the door, shutting out the wind and the rain, and then stood there, her heart pounding with the realization that it was pitch black inside and that she had forgotten to bring a flashlight. But at least she was away from her uncle.

  With one hand outstretched, she moved across the floor, a soft cry of pain rising in her throat when she bumped into something. Exploring with her free hand, she discovered it was a high-backed sofa.

  It was late and she was tired. She dropped her food sack on the floor, then stretched out on the sofa, her coat spread over her. No matter what tomorrow held, she was safe from her uncle’s repulsive advances tonight.

  Drake paused when he reached the castle door, his preternatural senses alerting him to the fact that there was a human female inside. A human who was either very brave, he thought with a wry grin, or very foolish. The castle possessed a dark aura that kept most people at bay. Few dared to come here in the light of day; no one came here after sunset. There was little need to lock the door; those who ventured inside never stayed long. And yet, the fact remained, there was a woman in the castle.

  Materializing inside the great hall, Drake moved unerringly toward the high-backed damask sofa in front of the hearth, his nostrils filling with the combined scents of lavender soap, peppermint toothpaste, and salty perspiration tinged with fear.

  And over all, the intoxicating scent of woman.

  He stared down at the sleeping female. She was a comely lass, with suntanned skin, delicately arched black brows, and a mass of long ebony hair that fell in soft waves over the arm of the sofa and down her slight shoulders.

  Pretty, yes, he mused with a frown. But who the devil was she and what the bloody hell was she doing here?

  He considered tossing her out on her lovely arse.

  He considered leaving her on the sofa.

  In the end, he tossed her plain brown coat aside, then scooped her into his arms.

  She stirred as he started up the winding stone staircase. Her eyelids fluttered open, revealing a pair of velvet brown eyes. Before she could scream, he trapped her gaze with his. Summoning his preternatural power, he lulled her back to sleep.

  With a shake of his head, Drake continued up the stairs and into the lord’s chamber. After removing her T-shirt, khaki shorts, and shoes, he tucked her under the thick blankets in the big four-poster bed. He glanced at the hearth and a fire sprang to life. He needed neither the light nor the warmth; he could see perfectly fine in the dark, was impervious to the cold. But there was a chance the woman would awaken during the night.

  He gazed down at her for several long moments, admiring the unblemished smoothness of her skin, the sweep of long sooty lashes against her cheeks, the pale pink of her lips. Unable to resist, he lifted a lock of her hair. Thick and silky soft, it curled around his fingers as though each strand had a life of its own.

  He felt the first stirrings of desire as he inhaled the fragrance of warm fresh blood flowing sweetly through her veins.

  Sitting on the edge of the mattress, he gathered her into his arms, then lowered his head to the curve of her throat. He tasted her with his tongue and then with his teeth.

  She was incredibly sweet.

  Having satisfied his curiosity and his thirst, he returned to the main hall. After pouring himself a glass of wine, he stretched out on the sofa and gazed onto the hearth. In spite of the distance between himself and the girl, he could hear the steady beat of her heart. What had brought her here? And what was he going to do with her?

  He considered the possibilities until dawn, then headed for the lair hidden behind one of the tapestries in the great hall.

  He smiled as he drifted into oblivion. For the first time in centuries, he had something to look forward to when darkness again covered the land.

  Chapter 2

  Tavian Dinescu frowned when he entered the dining room. The table had not been laid. His breakfast tea was not at his place, nor was his newspaper. There was no fire in the hearth, no noise or scent of food coming from the kitchen.

  And no Elena standing at the stove.

  Where was that girl?

  Thinking perhaps she had overslept, he went down the hall to her room and knocked lightly on the door. “Elena?”

  When there was no answer, he rapped again, harder this time. And when there was still no reply, he opened the door and stepped into the room. The bed, neatly made, was empty.

  Moving into the room, he went through the dresser drawers, peered into the closet. As far as he could tell, all of her clothes were there, so she couldn’t have gone far, but the question remained: Where was she?

  He checked the other rooms, then went outside, but she was nowhere to be found.

  Rubbing a thoughtful hand over his jaw, he returned to the house. Had she run off with one of the local boys? That seemed unlikely. Just last night, he had asked if she had taken a liking to any of the young studs and her reply had been a resounding “no. ”

  Hunger rumbled in his stomach. Not one to prepare his own meals, Tavian put on his coat and left the house. He would breakfast in town and then he would ask if anyone had seen Elena. Though he was affluent, she was not. She had nothing to call her own, only what
he had given her.

  Tavian was a man who knew what he wanted, and he wanted Elena for his bride. And so it would be. She was but a woman and his ward. Like it or not, she would do as he commanded or suffer the consequences.

  Chapter 3

  Cocooned in blankets, Elena woke slowly. She experienced a moment of panic when she rolled over and realized she was no longer lying on the sofa where she had fallen asleep.

  Bolting upright, she rubbed the sleep from her eyes. Where was she? Had her uncle found her and carried her back home? But no. She had never been in a room like this before. Unlike her bedroom at home, this one was large and rectangular, the whitewashed stone walls bare save for one large painting of a black knight astride a prancing white horse. Heavy burgundy velvet draperies that matched the bedspread hung at the windows. Thick rugs covered the floor. A cheerful fire blazed in the hearth across from the bed.

  Frowning, she brushed a lock of hair from her forehead. Was she still in the castle? And if so, who had put her to bed?

  She blinked as a hazy memory surfaced. Or had she only imagined being carried up a winding staircase by a man with long, dark hair and mesmerizing blue eyes?

  When her stomach growled, she slid her legs over the edge of the mattress and stood, only then realizing that whoever had carried her up the stairs had undressed her down to her underwear. She found her khaki shorts and T-shirt at the foot of the bed. Dressing quickly, she tugged a blanket around her shoulders to turn away the chill.

  Barefooted, she tiptoed quietly across the floor, opened the heavy wooden door, then glanced left and right before stepping into the corridor. She paused a moment, listening, before she made her way cautiously down the stairs and stepped into a large, high-ceilinged room. The same one where she had fallen asleep?

  She thought it must be the castle’s main hall. Weak sunlight filtered down from the high, narrow, slitted windows. A cheery fire snapped and crackled in the huge stone hearth. A gray cat, quite the largest one she had ever seen, lay stretched out on the furry rug in front of the fireplace. It stared up at her through curious, bright yellow eyes, its long tail slowly swishing back and forth.

  Elena regarded the animal apprehensively for several moments. She had been leery of the creatures ever since she was a little girl and her grandmother’s tom had scratched her cheeks.

  When she was certain the beast wasn’t going to attack her, she walked toward the sofa, intent on rooting around in her sack for one of the apples and the doughnut she had brought with her, only to be sidetracked when she noticed a covered tray, a carafe of some kind—was it actually a medieval flagon?—and a goblet, all of which looked like they were made of gold, sitting on a large, rough-hewn trestle table against the far wall. There was a single plate, which also appeared to be made of gold.