The answer was, he wasn’t thinking. His lust and his hunger had combined to override his common sense and now all he could think about was Skylynn, sitting quietly beside him, ripe for the taking.
She jumped when the cup shattered in his hand, raining bits of crockery and spraying drops of coffee onto her lap and the floor.
“What happened?” she asked. “Are you all right?”
“Fine.”
“Your hand’s bleeding.”
“Leave it.” He clenched his fist, heedless of the shards that cut into his skin, or the blood dripping between his fingers.
Sky looked at him, her brow furrowed. “Kaiden, are you ill?” She leaned forward. “Your eyes ...”
Rising quickly to his feet, he turned his back to her and took a deep breath. “I think you’d better go.”
“Should I call someone?” she asked anxiously. “A doctor? I think you might need stitches. And your eyes ...”
“I’m fine,” he said gruffly. “Please, just go.”
She stared at his back, at his hands, tightly clenched at his sides. Blood trickled through the fingers of his right hand. She couldn’t just leave him, not when he was bleeding, not when he might be sick. She took a step toward him. “At least let me bandage that cut.”
“Dammit, Skylynn, just get out of here! Now!”
She wasn’t about to argue, not with that tone of voice. Lifting the hem of the robe, she ran out of the room and didn’t stop running until she was inside her own house, with the door closed and locked behind her.
Breathing heavily, one hand pressed to her chest, she leaned back against the door.
What had just happened?
The sound of Sky’s front door slamming shut behind her echoed in Thorne’s ears like a death knell. And indeed, that was what it was, he thought bitterly.
The death of his humanity.
He could feel his dark nature returning, the constricting of his veins as the thirst for blood surged up within him. He grimaced at the near-forgotten ache in his jaw as his fangs ran out. The potion was quickly wearing off, but why?
Blood. He could think of nothing else. It was a remarkable fluid, warm and red and smooth. It was 90 percent plasma and of that 90 percent, 55 percent was water. The other 45 percent was made up of antibodies, hormones, proteins, glucose, and amino acids. The remaining 10 percent of blood consisted of red and white blood cells. Whatever it was made of, humans couldn’t survive without it.
And now, neither could he.
Agitated, he paced the floor in front of the hearth. True, the last dose he had taken had been smaller than usual, but it should have been good for a few weeks. Had waiting so long to take the last of it weakened its effectiveness?
Dammit!
Feeling as though the walls were closing in on him, he went out into the backyard, oblivious to the thunder and the lightning, to the rain that pummeled his head and shoulders like wet, angry fists.
Standing there with his eyes closed, Thorne was aware of the dark wrapping around him, the mist caressing him like a woman’s loving arms while the night whispered in Kaiden’s ears, welcoming him home.
When her breathing returned to normal, Sky went into the kitchen. After pouring herself a glass of ice water, she stood at the sink, staring out the window at the rain.
What had just happened? One minute she had been on the sofa next to Kaiden, thinking how cozy it was, just the two of them sitting side by side, and the next the coffee cup in his hand had shattered and he had ordered her out of the house.
She frowned. Maybe he was ill and didn’t want her to know. Maybe Granda’s tonic really was keeping him alive.
After putting the glass in the dishwasher, she went into the front room and looked out the casement window. The lights were still on in his house. She clutched the collar of her robe—his robe. Should she go over and make sure he was all right? He hadn’t looked very well when she’d left. Maybe that’s why he had been so abrupt. She could get dressed and run over on the pretext of returning his robe and retrieving her clothes, she thought, and then dismissed the idea. He wasn’t likely to fall for a ruse like that. Maybe she should just wait until tomorrow.
But what if he was really sick?
What if he needed help?
Maybe she hadn’t imagined that eerie red glow in his eyes. Maybe it was a symptom of his illness.
And maybe she should just mind her own business.
She jumped as a brilliant flash of lightning lit up the sky and the lights went out.
Chapter 7
Thorne lifted his face to the heavens. The storm reminded him of the night he had been turned so many centuries ago. It had happened in the heart of London in the middle of winter. He had been a bit of a scoundrel back then, much to his mother’s shame and his father’s disgust. He had spent most of his time in the pubs, drinking, gambling, and wenching, and had gone through his grandfather’s inheritance in less than a year.
Not surprisingly, his father had disowned him, declaring he was a wastrel and a disgrace to the family name. His mother had taken to her bed whenever her youngest son’s name was mentioned.
Being young and full of the juices of life, Thorne had turned his back on his family and taken to being a highwayman, a role that he had embraced with a great deal of enthusiasm. He had slept by day, ridden the highways and the byways by night, and generally had a rip-roaring good time stealing from the rich to line his own pockets. His companions had been no better than they ought to have been, all young and carefree, eager to wench and wine until the wee small hours of the morning.
Thorne had been in the middle of a rousing game of euchre when a woman sidled up to him. He had never seen her before, but one look, and he knew he would never forget her. Waist-length brown hair tumbled in riotous waves around her bare shoulders. Her skin was like fine alabaster, her eyes as green as the meadows of Scotland. One look into those eyes and he had followed her out of the pub and into the teeth of the storm.
She paused under an overhanging balcony. “What a handsome fellow you are. Have you a name?” She spoke softly, yet he heard her clearly.
“Thorne.” He couldn’t stop staring at her—the red of her lips, the swell of her breasts.
She had run one delicate finger down his cheek. “Are you happy, Sir Thorne?”
“My thanks for the title,” he replied, grinning foolishly, “but it’s just Thorne.” His gaze moved over her from head to heel. The rain had plastered her gown to her form, revealing a slender but voluptuous figure. “As for being happy,” he said, lifting his gaze to hers. “I didn’t know what happiness was until you walked into the pub.”
She laughed softly. “Sweet words,” she murmured, her voice laced with amusement. “I wonder, do you taste as sweet?”
“Taste me and see,” he invited her.
“Indeed, I shall. But not out here.”
“You must be cold.” He started to remove his coat, but she waved it away, then linked her arm with his.
Like a lamb to the slaughter, he followed her down a muddy street, into a respectable inn, and up the stairs. He was staggering a little now, the night’s drinking finally catching up with him.
She laughed as she steadied him. “Careful, now. No need to rush. We have all night.”
It was dark inside the room. “Shouldn’t we have a light?” he asked.
“No need.”
The moon broke through the clouds, shining across the open window along with a few raindrops. Had he been sober, he might have realized he was in danger, but he was well in his cups and she was exquisitely beautiful.
“No light?” He rocked back on his heels. “Don’t tell me you’re shy.”
“Hardly that.” Taking him by the hand, she led him to her bed and pushed him down on the mattress.
He fell back, surprised and a little unsettled by her strength.
In an instant, she was sitting astride his hips, a dark shape barely discernable in the dusky room.
He grinned up at her. “Like to be on top, do you?”
“Always.”
“Not this time.” He took hold of her waist with both hands, intending to roll over and tuck her beneath him, only to find that, without seeming to move, she now had him pinned to the bed, both of his large hands caught in one of her much smaller ones.
The first thread of fear skittered down Thorne’s spine when he tried to break her grip. And failed.
The second came when she leaned down toward him. Moonlight shone on her face now, and in that pale light he saw that her eyes were no longer green, but red. And glowing.
“Who are you?” he asked. “What are you?”
“I am the daughter of Nyx.” She lifted one brow. “Have you never heard of me?”
He shook his head, suddenly incapable of speech.
“My name is Death. My sisters are Sleep, Strife, and Pain.”
Of course, he thought, his mind racing to make sense of her words. According to Greek mythology, Nyx was a goddess, daughter of Chaos, who had, without benefit of a husband, given birth to Death, Strife, Sleep, and Pain.
Thorne stared into her eyes. She was mad, he thought, quite mad.
And then her lips peeled back in an evil grin, revealing a pair of very white, very sharply pointed teeth.
“I am Death,” she whispered, and buried her fangs in the side of his neck.
His first reaction was horror. He struggled against her hold on him, but to no avail. And then a strange thing happened. When he stopped struggling, his fear melted away and he was awash in sensual pleasure, more intense than anything he had ever known. He grew weak, light-headed, knew he was dying, and he didn’t care.
When he awoke the following night, he was a vampire, with a new vampire’s raging thirst and no compunction about how he quenched it.
For all that he hated the beautiful vampire who had turned him, he was grateful that she had stayed with him long enough to teach him how to hunt, how to handle the sensory overload that pummeled him, to tune out the barrage of sights, sounds, and smells that poured in from every side, how to cloak himself in the deep shadows of the night, and later, how to dissolve into mist or assume another shape.
She had warned him that the sun would destroy him and silver would burn him. She admonished him to be wary of strangers with wooden stakes, and to maintain a secure lair. As an afterthought, she told him that most animals would recognize him as a predator and avoid his presence.
She had explained that he didn’t have to kill his prey to survive, but he had been young and angry then, and killing came naturally to his kind.
Lady Death, Thorne mused, staring at the fast-moving clouds, where are you now?
He was heading back to the house when he heard a knock at the front door. A single indrawn breath told him who it was.
Driven by an overwhelming need to make sure Kaiden was all right, Sky had changed into a pair of jeans and a bulky sweater, slipped on her raincoat and boots, and run across the street, Kaiden’s robe folded over her arm.
She had no sooner knocked on his door when she was overcome by doubts and second thoughts. What was she doing here? He obviously didn’t want her around, and if he was sick, he could call a doctor.
Muttering, “This was a bad idea,” she turned away from the door. She was halfway down the porch steps when the front door swung open.
“Sky, is something wrong?”
“The lights are out,” she said, pausing to look over her shoulder.
He stepped out onto the porch and glanced up and down the street. “So they are. Are you afraid of the dark?”
Sky shook her head. She hadn’t come here to tell him the lights were out. “No, I just ... I mean, you seemed so upset earlier ... I just wanted to make sure you were all right. And return your robe.”
He laughed softly. No one had worried about him or his health since he’d left home so many years ago. “I’m fine. Would you like to come in?”
His invitation confused her almost as much as his abrupt change of mood. He had practically thrown her out less than thirty minutes ago.
“I promise not to bite.”
“Oh, well, in that case.” Grinning faintly, she ascended the steps and followed him into the living room, stood there fidgeting with the collar of her jacket while he threw another log on the fire in the hearth. “You’re all wet,” she murmured, frowning.
“I was outside.”
“You do know it’s still raining, don’t you?”
He glanced at her over his shoulder. “A little water never hurt anyone.”
“Tell that to Noah.”
“You’re a little damp yourself,” he remarked, grinning. “Come, sit by the fire.”
Feeling suddenly nervous, Sky dropped his robe over the back of the sofa, then took a seat in the overstuffed chair near the hearth. So, what now? She had accomplished her mission. She had returned his robe and ascertained that he was all right.
“I’m sorry for the way I behaved earlier,” he said quietly.
She shrugged. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”
“Would you care for something to drink? I’ve a good bottle of wine just waiting to be sampled.”
“Sounds lovely.”
A carved wooden tray holding a bottle of Madeira and several crystal wineglasses sat on an ancient sideboard. After pouring two glasses, he handed her one, then sat on the edge of the sofa.
“What shall we drink to?” Sky asked.
“How about sunny skies and smiling blue eyes?”
She laughed, remembering the first time he had said that. It had been New Year’s Eve. Granda had invited Kaiden over to toast in the New Year. Granda had poured wine for himself and Kaiden, and a glass of sparkling apple cider for Sky. Sam hadn’t been home that night, having gone to a party at a friend’s house.
Granda had lifted his glass. “Will you give us a toast, Mr. Thorne?”
“I’d be honored,” he had replied. “May you have a prosperous New Year, Paddy, and may your fair granddaughter be blessed with sunny skies and smiling blue eyes.”
Thorne touched his glass to hers. “You’re thinking of Paddy, aren’t you?”
Blinking rapidly to keep from crying, Sky nodded.
“He was a good man, gone too soon.”
“Yes.” Sipping her drink, she gazed at the dancing flames, wondering if Kaiden was still going after the man who had broken into Granda’s lab, but reluctant to bring the subject up because it might mean leaving Vista Verde, and she didn’t want him to go.
Thorne drained his glass and put it aside. The wine warmed him, but it was as nothing compared to the heat Sky’s nearness aroused in him. How exquisite she looked, with the fire’s glow pinking her cheeks and gilding her hair. The steady beat of her heart was like music to his ears, the flowery scent of her perfume, the scent of the woman herself, sweetly alluring.
She was beautiful.
She was desirable.
She was here.
Alone.
In his house.
And she had what he so desperately craved.
Sky’s hand tightened around her glass as the atmosphere in the room, which had been cozy and relaxed, suddenly hummed with tension. The hair on her arms stood at attention when she met Kaiden’s gaze. Men had looked at her before, some with interest, some with lust, some with admiration, but never had a man looked at her like this, as if he were on the verge of certain destruction and only she could save him. With a hand that shook, she lifted her glass and took a long swallow.
“Skylynn ...”
There was no mistaking the undercurrent of need in his voice, or the blatant hunger in his eyes that sent a warning shiver down her spine. That was odd, she thought, because she wasn’t really afraid of him.
Was she?
She watched, suddenly wary, as he leaned toward her.
A low rumble of thunder made her jump. Wine sloshed out of her glass onto her jeans. The perfect excuse to make a hasty exit, she thought, a
nd putting the goblet down, she quickly gained her feet.
“I should go wash this out right away,” she said, and without waiting for a reply, she hurried out of the room toward the front door.
A squeak, like that of a mouse caught by a cat, erupted from her throat when she felt his hand on her arm.
“Sky, don’t go.”
His voice trapped her as surely as a net.
He turned her around to face him, his dark eyes gazing deep into her own. “Relax, Skylynn, I’m not going to hurt you.”
She stared up at him, her insides churning with terror. “What are you going to do?”
“Nothing for you to worry about.” He stroked her cheek; then, pushing her hair behind her ear, he caressed her neck with his fingertips. He swallowed hard as he heard the whisper of her blood flowing through her veins. “You have something I need.”
She shook her head. “I don’t have the formula. You know that.”
“I know.” His voice was low, his gaze hypnotic. “There’s something else.”
“Just tell me what it is, and I’ll find it. I give you my word.”
“Close your eyes, Sky Blue. That’s right.” He slipped his arms around her and drew her close. “This won’t hurt, I promise.” And so saying, he bent her back over his arm and took what he needed.
And even as he lost himself in the pleasure of it, he hated himself for what he was doing, for lacking the will, the strength, to resist.
He only hoped she would forgive him for breaking his promise.
Sky felt herself falling, falling, into nothingness. This was death, she thought, and wondered why she wasn’t more afraid, and why the world seemed to be clothed in ribbons of shimmering red. She had never thought that dying would feel so wonderfully soft and sensuous.
Awareness returned gradually. She tried to cling to the hazy, sensual scarlet world, but it slipped away and she was thrust into a realm of darkness, a thick blackness that was more than just the absence of light. Lost and alone, she wandered through an alien landscape, blindly searching for something that was familiar.