He pressed against her chest, against her heart. Once, twice. He willed her heart to move. To beat. Just once more. Just long enough for her to drink. To transform.
He poured all of his power into her, pushing his psychic gifts to the limit. And her heart began to beat.
Her eyes shot open, blank and frightened. He lifted his hand, forcing her to drink his blood.
Her lips moved, as light as a butterfly, against his skin. Just a little bit more . . .
She collapsed, her body sinking into his arms.
He stared down at her, fear consuming him. Had it been enough? Had she gotten enough for the ritual?
He couldn’t feel her heartbeat. She wasn’t breathing.
He spoke quickly, reciting the words he hadn’t spoken for over nine hundred years. “I give to you my blood, my life. Take it, become one. One of the chosen. Be of the night. Be of me.” He leaned forward, whispering against her still lips. “Be with me, forever, as I give you the kiss.” He pressed his lips against hers, tasting blood, tasting fear.
He heard thunder echo in the distance, and the wind howled. He could smell the storm, feel its approach as it whipped around them.
He didn’t move. He just sat there, cradling her cold, still body against his.
Had he waited too long? Had her spirit already left? As Henry’s had left? Was he too late, again?
The minutes ticked by in silence. Savannah continued to lay ominously still in his arms.
His hands clenched around her. Too late. He’d been too late, again.
Rain exploded from the sky. Torrents fell, drenching him, washing the blood from her body, from his.
Forgive me. The words screamed inside his mind. He’d failed her. As he’d failed Henry.
He kissed her again. Kissed her wet, still lips.
His chest burned. “Damn you,” he whispered, staring down into her pale face. “You promised that you’d stay with me.” His hand stroked her cheek.
He couldn’t believe that she was gone. Not Savannah. She was too strong. Too good.
He would kill Geoffrey. He would see his brother dead before the next sunset. He would—
Her lashes fluttered. Her lips parted, and a soft gasp emerged from her mouth.
“Savannah!” He cradled her against him, using his body to shield her from the pouring rain.
Her lashes lifted. Her eyes, so pure, so green, met his. She smiled tiredly. “Hello, William.”
Chapter Twelve
Life does not stop with death.
—Entry from the diary of Henry de Montfort,
December 16, 1068.
SHE COULD HEAR the sound of wind chimes, light, soothing music that floated toward her.
She lay unmoving, just listening to the soft sound. The chimes reminded her of home, of her apartment. She had wind chimes on her balcony, and she awoke every day to their soothing greeting.
But she wasn’t at home now. She couldn’t be. And she was afraid.
Afraid to open her eyes. Afraid of what she would see. Her last memory had been of William. Rain had pounded down on him, and he’d been soaked to the bone. Blood had mingled with the water and ran down his face in rivulets. His eyes had been red, redder than the fires of hell. He’d looked both furious and frightened. She’d known that he was enraged at his brother. But why had he been frightened?
She’d glimpsed him for only a moment, and then she had fallen back into the dark world that waited for her. What world would she see today?
She took a deep breath and her eyes opened.
She saw her bedroom wall. She saw the mural that she’d painted, the swirling waves of the ocean and the distant lighthouse.
She saw her bookshelves, her computer. Her wicker furniture and her small dressing table.
She sat up quickly, staring at the room in wonder. How had she gotten back—
Her bedroom door opened and William walked inside. He froze when he realized that she was awake.
Suddenly nervous, Savannah quickly ran her hand through her hair.
Her hand. She froze and stared at her wrist in wonder. Geoffrey had broken it. She’d heard the bone snap. She twisted her wrist, waiting for the pain. None came.
“The bone has healed,” William said, coming to sit on the edge of the bed.
“How can that be?” She touched her throat, expecting to feel tender skin. She felt only smooth, unmarred flesh.
William just watched her, his gaze steady.
She heard the voices then. The couple below her was arguing. The wife was angry because her husband had forgotten to pick up milk at the grocery store. She could hear a child crying, somewhere on the ground floor. She could hear television sets. Hear phones. Footsteps. Heartbeats.
Her eyes widened as understanding dawned.
Don’t worry. William’s voice floated through her mind. His lips didn’t move. I’ll teach you to block out much of the noise. It’s all a matter of focusing. Focus your energy, focus on me.
She flinched at the mental touch. She took a deep breath and focused her attention, centering on him. The myriad of noises quieted almost at once. “Y-you gave me the kiss, didn’t you?” She had to hear him say it.
“Yes, Savannah, I did.”
And then she realized that her head didn’t hurt. For the first time in over six years, she hadn’t awoken with pounding temples. “My tumor?”
He smiled. “You don’t have to worry about that anymore.”
Not worry about it? What would it be like to live each day without the threat of death hanging over her head?
She rose slowly from the bed and was vaguely surprised to note that she was wearing a pale blue nightgown. She recognized it as a gift she’d gotten last Christmas from Sharon. William must have dressed her. He must have brought her home and dressed her for bed.
She walked slowly toward the closed balcony doors. With one hand, she touched the heavy blinds. “Has night fallen?”
He watched her closely. “Yes.”
She lifted the blinds, peering out into the darkness. “He’s out there, isn’t he?”
He didn’t answer.
She opened the door and stepped outside. The night air brushed against her skin, soothing her. She gazed down below. She could see cars driving past, see people walking on the street. She could see a young couple holding hands and kissing gently under the glow of a streetlight. She could see every detail of their faces. And they were two blocks away.
“Is he hunting?” She asked, her gaze locked on the couple.
“No.”
She turned to him in surprise.
“He would have gone to ground. His injuries were severe. He would have needed time to recover.”
Gone to ground. A shiver slid down her spine. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know what William meant by that phrase. “I was injured . . . very badly,” she said, remembering the fiery pain that had shot through her brain. “Why didn’t I need more time to . . . to heal?”
He rose and walked toward her. His stride was slow, purposeful like that of a hunter who has already captured his prey. She stepped back, her legs hitting the wooden frame of the balcony.
His body stopped inches away from hers. “I gave you my blood. Ancient blood. And then you went through the change.”
She frowned. “And that healed me?”
“All vampires heal quickly,” he said. “It’s one of our gifts. In your case, though, it was the transformation itself that repaired your body. In a sense, you can say that you were recreated. Reborn.”
She swallowed. “And . . . how long will it take Geoffrey to heal?”
His gaze was direct. “I don’t know. Two days. A week.” He shrugged. “He will have to sleep for at least forty-eight hours. After that—”
>
“He’ll start hunting again.” Her heart pounded. “He could go after Mary!”
He touched her lightly, stroking her cheek. “Your friend is safe. I’ve arranged for her to be well guarded until this is over.”
Relief swept through her. She’d been so afraid for Mary. If anything had happened to her dear friend, it would have been all her fault.
William’s gaze swept slowly over her upturned face. His mouth tightened into a thin line.
“What’s wrong?” Savannah asked, instantly sensing the turmoil running through him.
He stepped back, sliding into the shadows. “I almost lost you,” he said, his voice quiet and deep.
She remembered the numbing coldness that had swept through her body. She remembered the consuming darkness, the brilliant flashes of light. And remembered her brother’s voice.
“I think you did,” she murmured. “For a moment.” She walked toward him, into the shadows. “But then you brought me back.”
His arms wrapped around her. “I couldn’t let you leave me.”
He felt so good against her. So strong. So solid. Her arms slid around his waist. “I didn’t want to leave you.”
His head lowered and he kissed her. His lips were gentle, featherlight against hers as if he feared hurting her.
He drew back, staring down at her. “I can’t risk losing you.” She could hear pain, anguish, in his voice.
She frowned. “You’re not going to lose me. We made a deal, remember? Forever.”
His arms tightened around her. “Yes, forever.”
She stood on tiptoe and pressed her lips against his. Her tongue slid over his full lower lip, teasing him. She wanted to drive him over the edge, to force him to lose his control. She wanted to wipe the lingering fear from his mind and prove to him that she wouldn’t break. That she was strong. A perfect match for him.
They were on her balcony. Anyone could see them. She didn’t care.
She could feel his body hardening against her.
“Do you know what you’re doing?” he gritted, his eyes flashing.
She smiled. “Yes.” She rubbed her breasts against him, letting the delicate silk of her nightgown slide over his chest. Her fingers moved lightly, nimbly, and began to unbutton his shirt. She wanted to feel his skin against her.
Desire pounded through her. Her body felt alive. She could feel the blood flowing through her veins. The strength. The power. The passion.
She pushed his shirt down his arms and tossed it carelessly aside. Her nails ran down his chest, scoring his skin lightly. She heard him suck in a sharp breath. She bent down, lowering her head. While swirling her tongue around his nipple, she slid her hand down to the front of his pants.
She wanted him. Here. Now. With the night surrounding them and the stars shining upon them. She wanted to feel William’s heat, his passion. She wanted to feel. To know that she was alive. To know that death hadn’t won.
She lowered his zipper. His hand flashed out, locking around her wrist. She looked up and saw a muscle flex along the hard line of his jaw.
“I don’t have much control,” he said, his voice guttural. His eyes were flaming red.
She smiled. “Good.” She was heady with power. She could do this to him. She could push him to the edge . . . and beyond.
She lowered the zipper, easing her hand inside to touch his heat. Her hand gripped him, stroking softly.
He groaned.
As her hand continued to caress his rigid length, she kissed him, letting her tongue glide over his lips and into the warmth of his mouth. She loved to taste him. She moaned, the sound low, throaty.
His hands clenched around her shoulders, his fingers digging into her skin. His tongue thrust against hers. Hot. Wet.
She tore her mouth from his and began to lick his neck. She could feel his pulse pounding, throbbing against her lips. She suckled his skin, pulling it lightly into her mouth and biting gently.
William’s body shook. “We have to go inside,” he muttered. “Now.”
Her teeth pressed against him, harder. His pulse pounded.
He swore and lifted her into his arms, shouldering open the door and stepping into her bedroom. He took two long strides and lowered her onto the bed.
He stared down at her, his face granite hard. She lifted her arms, a silent invitation.
His control snapped. He fell upon her, ripping her nightgown away and leaving her in scraps of silk. His hot mouth captured her breast, licking, sucking.
She fisted her hands in his hair, and she lifted her hips, rubbing against him. She could feel him pressing against her, sliding against the fragile barrier of her panties.
His mouth continued to suckle her while his fingers teased her other breast, plucking lightly at her nipple. Pleasure lashed her. It was too much. It wasn’t nearly enough.
She pushed against his shoulders, forcing him onto his back. She moved so that she sat astride him and stared down at him, her chest rising and falling rapidly.
Her panties were still in the way. Frustration boiled through her.
Then she once again heard the sound of silk tearing.
William smiled up at her.
She could feel him, feel the tip of his shaft pressing against her, teasing her tender opening.
It still wasn’t enough.
She pressed down on him, forcing his rigid length inside of her hungry body. He stretched her, pushing his way deep inside.
They both moaned. And then they began to move. Faster. Harder. Her hips lifted, fell, lifted. The rhythm was wild, frantic. She hit her first climax and felt pleasure rock through her.
William’s fingers bit into her hips, forcing her body to continue its pace. The second climax began to build. Faster, harder than the first.
She lowered her head, licking his throat. Her teeth began to burn. Her hips moved frantically against his. Her mouth opened against him, and her teeth scraped against his neck. He thrust deeper into her warmth.
“Do it,” he growled. “Do it, Savannah!” There was a dark need in his voice that she didn’t fully understand.
He slammed into her body one more time. Her release rolled through her, sending her spiraling.
Her teeth sank into his throat.
His shout of release filled the room and drifted out into the waiting night.
HE KNEW THE woman had survived. He knew that William had transformed her. He could feel it.
But it didn’t matter. He would still kill her. He would drain all of the blood from her body and leave her dead corpse for his brother to find.
Geoffrey’s body lay perfectly still, buried deep within the earth. He could feel his strength beginning to return. Soon, he would be able to rise. And destroy.
He would kill the woman first. He’d always enjoying killing women. Their fear was so wonderfully delicious. Maybe he would make dear William watch as he took the life from his lover. Yes, he’d make him watch.
And then he’d kill William. As he should have done so long ago.
He’d tried to kill his brother before. When they were just lads, he’d pushed William into the dark river near their father’s hold. He’d watched from the shore as William had struggled to survive, struggled to stay afloat. And when William had screamed for help, Geoffrey had just smiled.
Unfortunately, William’s scream had drawn the attention of a nearby knight. And his brother had been dragged from the water, unconscious, but alive.
Later, when they’d trained with weapons, learning to fight with Guy’s men, he’d attacked his brother a second time. William, caught off guard, had no time to avoid the deadly blade that swung toward his face. He’d been scarred ever since that blessed day. When confronted by the knights, Geoffrey had claimed the blade slipped.
&n
bsp; He’d been able to tell that William hadn’t believed the pitiful lie. The knights had, so they let him continue training. But William had started watching him more carefully after that day. He’d been on guard.
Geoffrey was almost glad he hadn’t managed to kill him before. He wanted William to know that death was coming for him. Of the three brothers, William had been the only one who truly belonged. Guy had always told Geoffrey that William was his real son, the only “true de Montfort.”
Geoffrey hated William. He didn’t deserve the title. He didn’t have Guy’s lust for power. He didn’t have the de Montfort taste for killing.
But Geoffrey did.
Guy had never appreciated him, and, in the end, he’d had to die. Geoffrey proved to the bastard that he was a true de Montfort. He’d killed Guy, and he’d enjoyed every moment of it.
Covered in Guy’s blood, he’d gone to the seer who had sent William on his quest, and he’d forced the man to tell him the location of the vampire. He’d cut him at least a dozen times before the old fool finally gave him the directions he needed.
He’d sought out the vampire, and he’d been transformed by him. Of course, after the transformation, Geoffrey had killed the vampire. He could still remember the rush of power, of strength that moment had given him.
He’d killed hundreds in his lifetime. Hundreds. But he’d never been able to kill William.
The woman was the key. Once he had her, his brother would do whatever he wanted. William’s weakness for the woman would be his downfall.
And in the end, Geoffrey would kill them both.
He could hardly wait. He would make certain that his brother suffered, that he begged for death.
SAVANNAH JERKED back, staring down at William in horror.
She touched her lips, feeling the wet drops of blood, tasting a coppery sweetness. There were two small puncture wounds on his throat.
She pushed away from him, stumbling from the bed. What had she done? What had she done?
“Savannah—”