The Black Lily (Tales of the Black Lily) Page 19

  “A bath? No need. I take one every month in the creek.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Be off, you scamp.” She grabbed his arm and brushed his dirty bangs from his face in a tender gesture. “And be careful.”

  With a grin, he loped off into the night. Arabelle closed the door and bolted it, a sense of dread pouring over her, thick and heavy. The Barrow brothers were set to watch over the princess and her lady-in-waiting at Sienna’s cottage. Deek had taken more gold from their hidden cache deep in the forest and was working in Barkley’s barn, where a makeshift forge allowed him to restock their weapons. There was no way he could chance going back to his home and his shop while there were Legionnaires out looking for him. For all of them. And Nate would bring her news from the palace in the morning. All was going as planned.

  Then why did she feel so horrid?

  She sighed and retired to the bedroom, hoping to get some sleep before dawn. After undressing, she slipped on her chemise, the only bit of clothing she had from her peasant life. Sheer and pitiful in its construction, it had been her nightgown for so many years, and she needed it to ground her in her cause. Oddly enough, it reminded her of her poverty, of why she was doing what she was doing and leading this great fight.

  Arabelle’s heart stuttered at the sound of the front door hitting the back wall and slamming closed. She snatched her dagger from its belt hanging on the bedpost and crept into the living area. There, just inside the entrance was Marius—tall, dark, and eyes blazing. His gaze roved her body from top to toe then back up, his breathing labored.

  “What—what are you doing here?” she managed to ask, breathless at the sight of him.

  “I came to warn you.”

  “Warn me?”

  “You don’t know what you’ve done.”

  “Yes, I do. I’ve managed to kidnap a vampire princess who means a great deal to the monarchy. I have leverage now.”

  He moved away from the door. Arabelle put the kitchen table between them, still holding the dagger aloft. Marius circled with her.

  “Another dagger, Arabelle? Must we continue this same charade every time?”

  “What charade is that?”

  “That you intend to kill me. When we know quite well that is impossible now.”

  She laughed, but it choked in her throat. “Why is it impossible?”

  They both shifted in a slow circle around the table.

  “I think you know,” he said, voice gravelly and hoarse.

  “Why don’t you explain it to me?”

  He stopped, planted his palms on the table and leaned across, well within reach if she wanted to strike out with her dagger, as if he were daring her to.

  “Certainly,” he said, his expression tight and grave. “You and I were meant for each other. You can continue to point that damned thing at me if it makes you feel better, but you won’t use it, and you’re wasting time.” He leaned even farther over, ignoring the proximity of the blade to his cheek, desperation in his gaze, “You’re in danger, Arabelle.”

  Pulse pounding, she managed to steady her voice. “How so?”

  “My parents, they have arrested all of the peasants in Sylus.”

  “What?” She finally lowered the dagger to her side. “They’ve all been arrested? What have they done?”

  “You don’t understand. First, you attempt to assassinate me, the prince. And now you’ve kidnapped the Princess of Arkadia. My father put me in charge of bringing you to justice. And when I failed at that, you decided to go and commit another crime.”

  “We haven’t hurt her, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  “I bloody hell hope not, or my mother will want your head.”

  Arabelle scoffed, acid churning in her stomach at the thought of how important the princess was to him. Fresh anger pumped her heart faster. “So typical. The Varis family would imprison an entire village to trade for their precious princess.”

  “You don’t understand,” he continued, shoving the table with more force than intended, knocking it to the wall, a chair clattering to the floor.

  He grabbed her by the upper arms to keep her still, but she was in no hurry to get away, jutting her chin higher.

  “Oh, I understand. I understand implicitly,” she spat, fury lacing every syllable. “You want your damned bride back so you can make perfect Varis babies with her.” She heard the jealousy in her own voice, but she couldn’t help it.

  “You’re such a fool, woman.” He crushed his body against hers, blue eyes smoldering in the dark. “You are the only one I want. I’ll never marry the princess. I’ll never need a woman the way I need you.” His words ground out in a low growl, a frightening sign of how close his beast was to the surface. “It’s not her I’m worried about.” He trailed his fingers up her throat, sliding them around her nape to the back of her head in a possessive grip. “It’s you. You willful, stubborn, brilliant, beautiful woman. You stir thoughts and feelings I have never felt in all my life.” His voice shook with the force of his words. “And desires. Heaven save me. The things I want to do to you, Arabelle.” He ghosted his lips across hers, never landing.

  The dagger fell from her grasp and clattered to the floor. Paralyzed by the electricity in the room, by the blaze in his eyes, by the passion with which he bore down on her as if she were the only person in all the world that mattered, she finally managed to speak, knowing full well what would happen.

  “Show me.”

  One second she stood within the closure of his embrace by the hearth, the next she was on the bed beneath him in the next room, dizzy from the speed with which he had carried her. Vampire speed.

  He could’ve caught her sooner that day at Chance Crossing, but he’d held back. Why, she wondered for a split second before he pressed his mouth over hers, erasing any other thought but the way his lips grazed her own.

  “I don’t want any other woman. Only you. More than blood, more than breath, more than life itself.”

  He angled his mouth over hers and stroked his tongue inside, evoking a moan from her. With a sudden motion, he was on his knees above her, straddling her thighs. He pulled his loose-fitting shirt over his head and tossed it aside. Pale and perfectly sculpted, his muscles tightened with each heaving breath, as he seemed to be struggling to breathe. Just as she was. He loosened his trousers, drawing her gaze to the sparse patch of dark hair disappearing beneath the waist.

  “Now I’m going to do the first thing I’ve wanted to do since I saw you tonight.”

  His pants slipped, hanging loosely on his hips, drawing her gaze to the perfect V pointing to what she wanted to see most.

  “Arabelle?”

  She lifted her gaze.

  “Are you with me?”

  “Yes.”

  He gripped the hem of the gown and slipped it free over her head in a blink then tossed it to the floor. She hitched in a breath, utterly unprepared for the sensation of being naked beneath him while he had that look in his eyes.

  “I love that gown.”

  “It’s thin and frail and unworthy of you. And it’s barring me from your skin.”

  Stretching out over her again, he nuzzled her neck and nipped with his lips, letting his teeth scrape but not cut, before descending lower. She arched her back, pressing her chest against him, needing the delicious friction he offered. He grazed his lips downward to the hollow of her throat, over her collarbone and the mound of her breast, taking one nipple in his mouth and circling with his tongue.

  She squirmed beneath him, but he kept her pinned with his weight. Sliding one hand down over her hip and behind her knee, he opened her thighs wider then trailed his long fingers up to her sex, where he found her more than ready for him.

  “So wet.” He groaned as he stroked with slow precision. “I love how wet you get for me.” Kissing his way to her other breast, he scraped his canines against her skin with slight pressure. Arabelle would’ve expected to be repulsed, but it had the opposite effect. She arched farther, pre
ssing herself closer. He lifted his head till she stared down and caught his fire-bright gaze glowing in the dark, then he opened his mouth on her other breast and slid two fingers inside her as she watched him.

  Arabelle had only ever had one lover. Henry had been sweet and gentle. Neither of those words fit in this room. While Marius made every move with slow, meticulous care, there was nothing gentle or sweet about what he was doing to her. She dug her fingers into his shoulders and pulled, wanting him inside her. Now.

  He sensed her urgency and lifted back up. She shoved his pants past his hips, sliding her hands over his muscular bottom, greedily wanting to caress every beautiful inch of his body.

  “Vampires have many talents, I see,” she whispered against his lips, for he wouldn’t kiss her but merely hovered tantalizingly close, watching.

  “Many.” He lowered his pelvis to hers, nudged her sex with the head of his cock then pushed inside of her with a hard thrust. She gasped. “And I intend to acquaint you with them all.”

  She moaned and rocked her hips, but he wrapped a hand high on one thigh, pinning her, and commanded, “Don’t move. I want to feel you.”

  “I need to move.”

  He pinned her harder, torso to torso, his shaft buried deep, stretching her with intense pleasure and aching agony. The powerful need to move urged her to try once more to move her hips.

  “Don’t,” he growled.

  “Marius—” she protested, but he stopped her with his mouth, tongue stroking slow and deep.

  His kiss was fierce, a sensual promise of what was to come. She accepted all of him, opening for him in every way, allowing him to take what he wanted.

  “Please, Marius.”

  Finally, he began to move, and Arabelle lost her breath, sure she would climax too soon. Raking her nails down his back, she begged again.

  “Yes. Faster.” She pulled up and sucked on the straining cord of muscle in his neck. “Harder,” she begged.

  Yes, she was begging him. He’d been right. She tossed aside any pride she had left, needing the erotic bliss of his body pumping inside her more than anything. In that moment, he owned her. And she knew it.

  He clenched his jaw then obliged, increasing his tempo until he pounded with desperation, their bodies sliding over and into each other in a harmony that made her wonder if perhaps Marius was right when he said they were meant to be lovers.

  He moved inside her with ruthless intent, as if he couldn’t get deep enough. Arabelle felt herself coming apart—her mind, body, spirit, all that she’d kept so well composed and in control was being undone with every thrust of Marius, his powerful strokes hammering home with purpose.

  She should’ve been terrified to be at the mercy of a powerful vampire. Instead, she was more aroused and more alive than she’d ever been. This undeniable fact hazed her brain with a myriad of emotions—anger, elation, frustration, and deep, dark desire. She no longer had control over her will or her body. All fell into the hands of this vampire prince pushing her to the brink of ecstasy.

  Despite her past and her mother’s death, despite her people’s cause and the Black Lily, despite her vow to despise and destroy every vampire living, she unwound more and more with Marius moving inside her. All was wiped away until there was nothing left but—

  “Marius,” she whispered, clutching her hand into his hair and pulling him down.

  The second his lips angled over hers, she climaxed with blinding speed on a long, quivering moan. He stilled as vibrations rocked her to the core, swallowing the sweet sounds coming from her throat. Finally, she dropped her head back to the pillow, panting and limp beneath him.

  He pulled out and flipped her onto her stomach. Sweeping her hair aside, he pressed his body down again, mouth close to her ear as he spread her thighs with his own. He pushed back inside her and traced the shell of her ear with his tongue.

  “I want to stay inside you for eternity,” he whispered as he rocked slow and steady, once more moving with divine, meticulous care.

  Languorous from her intense orgasm, she said nothing, only smiled as he nipped down her shoulder, grazing with sharp canines but never breaking the skin.

  He still respected her wishes—all of them. As if he knew her body and what she needed, what she would allow.

  As if he knew her.

  She curved her bottom up to deepen his thrusts and lifted her head to where his hand held her shoulder. Taking his thumb between her teeth, she sucked hard.

  “Arabelle,” he groaned, then stiffened, releasing with one last, deep pump.

  Even after he finished, he continued trailing open-mouth kisses, tasting her across her shoulder blades to the other side.

  He propped himself up on his elbows above her shoulders, still caging her within his erotic embrace, and lavished kisses along her cheek, ear, jaw.

  She finally managed to ask, “Are you going to let me up?”

  “No,” he replied, paying particular attention to the sensitive spot between her neck and shoulder. “Not yet.”

  She shivered. The intensity of his touch, his voice, and his overly attentive mouth had molded her into a quiet, compliant creature she didn’t recognize. There were more important matters to discuss and yet, there didn’t seem to be anything more crucial than this moment between them.

  “I want to kiss you, Marius.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  This moment would be seared into his memory forever—the breathy sound of her voice, the sincerity in her tone, and her words expressing desire for him.

  She hadn’t realized it, but this was the first time she’d verbally offered herself. Yes, she’d shown her desire for him with her body. But she’d never admitted her longing for him aloud. Until now. Her surrender had been sweeter than anything he could’ve imagined.

  Hope burst in his chest. Reluctantly, he removed himself and lay beside her.

  She gripped his shoulder and pulled herself up to him, pressing the sweetest, softest kiss to his lips and darting her tongue inside tentatively. His cock hardened again, and he wondered at that. How a gesture so soft could have such a profound effect on him.

  Usually, he only had sex after a good feeding. Yet it had been over a week since the night of the ball and he didn’t want anything more than Arabelle.

  Of course he wanted to taste her blood, the scent and pulse of her veins calling to him like the tide to the moon. But he would never violate her in such a way, knowing what she thought of the vampire.

  With her eyes glazed and her senses blurred, he wanted to languish in her bed with her warm body pressed against him as it was now, ignoring the reality that awaited him outside.

  “Why so serious?” she asked.

  She lifted up on one elbow, her slender arm resting on his chest as she trailed a finger leisurely up and down his sternum.

  He could hardly believe her casual touch, as if they’d been lovers for ages, rather than an hour.

  Propping a hand behind his head, he reached out and touched the tattoo over her left breast.

  “Why a black lily?”

  Her gaze dropped. She shrugged.

  “Tell me,” he urged. “Please,” he added gently.

  She watched her finger as she made a steady trail down his abdomen then back up to his chest.

  “My mother used to love white lilies.”

  Marius knew this was more than a childhood story, so he kept silent and waited as she lifted up onto the pillow beside him and turned in his direction before continuing.

  “I remember every spring, when they bloomed along the riverbank, she would pluck a few after the day’s washing and set them on our table at home.” She smiled and Marius’s heart clenched, for he knew this tale would not end well. “She died in the spring. And I put a bouquet of white lilies on her grave. I didn’t visit her grave for two weeks, still hoping it had all been a terrible nightmare and that she was alive and would come home any day.” She tucked both hands under her cheek as she gazed up at him. “But sh
e didn’t. So I finally forced myself to visit her grave and face my new reality without her. When I got there, the lilies had all withered, fading to a purplish black. The image etched itself into my memory, forever representing what had become of my beautiful mother. The Black Lily is my mother.”

  He turned on his side, elbow crooked, head in his hand.

  “How did your mother die, Arabelle?”

  He knew the answer before she said it, for it all made sense now.

  “Vampire.”

  His heart tripped with sickening foreboding. No wonder she hated his kind. He brushed a loose lock of yellow hair behind her ear and cupped her face.

  “I am sorry for it.”

  “You didn’t kill her.”

  “But you have believed your entire life that all vampires are the same. That we are all…monsters.”

  She placed her hand over his, still resting on her cheek.

  “I know better now.” A frown pinched between her brow as she pulled her hand free and sat up.

  “What is it?”

  “I need to get dressed and find Deek. Tell him about the peasants of Sylus. You should go.”

  There was a sudden and sharp distance in her voice. He turned her face toward him. “What’s wrong?”

  A scowl deepened her brow as she hopped off the bed, fumbling in the corner for her clothes. He rose with her, unabashedly naked as she rummaged around the room. “Arabelle?”

  “Nothing,” she snapped, slipping into a chemise.

  But his senses smelled the sudden rise of her anxiety.

  “Put your clothes back on,” she urged.

  “Not until you tell me what’s wrong.”

  “This was a mistake.” She avoided his gaze, finding her dress and pulling it on.

  Fury lanced him, tinged with pain. “This was not a mistake.”

  “Well, it can’t happen again.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because, Marius.” She finally locked onto his gaze, tears brimming. “We can never be together.”

  “Why the bloody hell not?”

  She heaved a sigh, almost a sob as she picked up a boot. “Don’t you understand? There is no place for us together. Do you think I could go and live in the Glass Tower and be your concubine?” A tear slipped. “Or even better, do you think you’d join the Black Lily, a cause against your own kind?” Her shoulders slackened and she dropped the boot as she repeated in despair. “Don’t you see?”