Blood Secret (11 page)
“And breathe fire.”
She tipped up her muzzle and let out one small lick of flame. Breathing fire was dangerous, and it drained her of energy quickly. If a dragon breathed too much fire, the dragon could die—a dragon could deplete its life force without even realizing it was doing it.
Lucy gave her wings a flap. Never had she had so much open space in which to do it. She lifted them high, feeling the strain of new, different muscles. Then she pushed the wings down, so she rose gracefully from the ground. With beat after beat, she soared up into the cool, clear night sky. She cut cleanly through the velvety dark. Flying felt different. Flying over the moors felt utterly new.
She didn’t feel guilty for letting herself become a dragon. Instead, her heart pattered in excitement. This was ...
“It is fun,” she cried out, though her sounds were soft growls, not words. Lucy twirled in the air, then swooped down and lifted to the sky. She flapped hard, pretended she was reaching for the stars, then she dove down, spinning like a barrel.
A new sound rumbled up. One she had never made as a dragon, and she had no idea what it would sound like.
It was laughter, and it tinkled like the light tap of a fork against glass.
Sinjin had never seen any creature look so happy and act so playfully. It was true that vampires were rarely playful in any place but bed. And he had never seen werewolves or shape-shifting dragons except in the midst of a fight, where they were struggling to survive, not having fun. In fact, he had never seen any shape-shifting creature when it wasn’t trying to kill him.
He had never seen one while it was playing with its power like a happy child.
Lady Lucy as a dragon was very much like Lucy as a woman: strikingly beautiful. Her scales were dark green and they shimmered. When the moonlight played on them, the light rippled like silver waves on a dark blue-green sea.
He had always hated the sight of a dragon’s muzzle and teeth. Anytime he saw a dragon’s mouth, it was snapping at him, trying to rip him apart. But Lady Lucy’s teeth were not large, and her mouth had a gentle curve that made it look as though she was smiling. Her tongue, which snaked out swiftly, was soft and pink. Her little line of flame had been a brilliant gold color.
And she had beautiful eyes. They were the same fascinating indigo as her human eyes.
She was whirling and twirling in the air, and making a soft, musical sound.
Her happiness made him smile. Yet he was supposed to look at her like this and hate her.
He had to.
For James’s sake.
But she was playfully dancing in the air, obviously filled with delight. She would race up toward the twinkling stars, her tail streaming straight behind her, her wings sparkling with silver moonlight as they flapped. Then she plummeted toward the ground, so fast Sinjin didn’t think she would be able to stop. His heart plunged into his gut with the fear she would hurt herself.
Instinctively, he ran forward to catch her, but she made a graceful arc with one beat of her wings. He laughed along with her tinkling sounds when she swooped up to the sky again. He watched in amazement as she played in the air the way he used to play in water when he’d been a boy. When he had been young and innocent, long before he’d learned about his duty as a dragon slayer. Before he’d lost his family and before he’d lost his heart.
How could he kill her? How?
How could he hurt a woman who amazed him at every turn? Who he was beginning to realize was the most remarkable woman he’d ever had in his bed.
He wished he could rescue James, then haul Lucy back to his bed and keep her there, and never let her go.
But he couldn’t. His damned prince had made that perfectly clear.
She felt glorious, happy, powerful, alive.
Lucy landed on the soft grass of the hill, and she shifted back. She trembled and wriggled as her body shrank in size and her bones and muscles reshaped. In a heartbeat, she was in human shape again. She stood in the middle of the vast empty field, naked.
It was exhilarating. She had flown. Lucy felt as though she could have soared high enough to touch stars. Wildness—it was like it had taken root in her soul and was growing like a weed. She wanted to tend to this wildness, she wanted it to blossom.
She wanted to be wilder.
“You said you needed me to keep making love to you or you would lose control of your urge to feed.”
The duke’s gaze traveled over to her in a slow sweep from her head to her bare toes. He licked his lips. “Yes, I did.”
She eyed her pile of clothing. The Lucy of a few days ago would have run to them to put them on. Instead, she twirled, enjoying the feel of bracing air on every inch of her skin.
“Then we should make love again. Now. Out here.”
11
Thank You
T
he duke dropped to his knees on the trampled, damp grass, and he placed his hand on her hips, drawing her cunny to his mouth. He blew a soft breath over her curls, making Lucy quiver, then murmured, “Come here, love. I want to taste your sweet pussy.”
he duke dropped to his knees on the trampled, damp grass, and he placed his hand on her hips, drawing her cunny to his mouth. He blew a soft breath over her curls, making Lucy quiver, then murmured, “Come here, love. I want to taste your sweet pussy.”
Lucy blushed. Cupping her bottom, Greystone lifted her, and moved her so she straddled his face. He pulled her down so she was sitting on his mouth.
Then he did the most wicked, exciting things to her with his lips and his tongue, while his hands tugged her bottom’s cheeks lightly apart. The sensation of having her anus gently pulled was arousing. The hot thrusts of his tongue into her, the intense, hungry way he devoured her made Lucy sway on her feet.
She clutched his head to stay steady. Her feet had sunk into the soft mud beneath the grass. He licked her clit with fast strokes. She’d intended to stay quiet—the moors might be almost empty of inhabitants here, but they were still
outside.
But when he did
that
to her—when his tongue flicked faster than a bow over a fiddle’s string—she had to scream.
outside.
But when he did
that
to her—when his tongue flicked faster than a bow over a fiddle’s string—she had to scream.
Above her, the heavens were vast and dark and dotted with jewel-like stars. Her cries of pleasure seemed to slice through the air, rising as high as she had done when she flew.
Her hands gripped his hair desperately. Having shifted shape seemed to leave her skin terribly sensitive. It wasn’t just the brush of his breath, the wild flicking of his tongue that overwhelmed her. She felt
everything
so intensely. The whisper of cold air. The swirls of breezes. The clutch of his fingers in the cheeks of her bum. The tug at her puckered anus—
everything
so intensely. The whisper of cold air. The swirls of breezes. The clutch of his fingers in the cheeks of her bum. The tug at her puckered anus—
Oh.
Oooh
. “Your Grace! Your Grace! Oh, Your Grace!” Incoherent, mad screams tumbled from the lips. The orgasm streaked through her like a shooting star. She fell forward, he lifted, grabbed her, and fell to the damp earth, planting her on top of him. His thick, erect cock slid up inside her clutching, pulsing quim—her pussy, he’d called it. It ignited another, even stronger climax. She pressed her fists to his chest to brace herself.
Oooh
. “Your Grace! Your Grace! Oh, Your Grace!” Incoherent, mad screams tumbled from the lips. The orgasm streaked through her like a shooting star. She fell forward, he lifted, grabbed her, and fell to the damp earth, planting her on top of him. His thick, erect cock slid up inside her clutching, pulsing quim—her pussy, he’d called it. It ignited another, even stronger climax. She pressed her fists to his chest to brace herself.
Then he began driving up into her. While she was still coming. One climax flooded into the next and Lucy had orgasm after orgasm on top of him, while he thrust into her. Her fists flailed on him as her muscles went tight. Her head thrashed to and fro. Her screams could probably be heard all the way at Plymouth.
Laughing harshly, he surged up, his hips hard and insistent against hers. While she writhed on him, he bucked underneath her. Then he fell back, gasping down ragged breaths.
His arms settled around her and she collapsed on his chest.
Together they took in heaving breaths.
Then he laughed again. “While you were coming, you kept calling me ‘Your Grace.’ ”
Dazedly, she lifted, propped her chin on his broad chest muscles. “You are a duke.”
“Call me Sinjin, love. After this, nothing else will do.” He gave her one last, long stroke down her back with his hands, then he lifted her. His cock flopped against his belly. He sat up, deposited her on his lap. “We should keep traveling, Lady Lucy.”
“Just—just Lucy.”
“Ah, there is nothing ‘just Lucy’ about you.” He scooped her up by her bottom, then got to his feet and set her gently on hers. Amazing her, as he always did, with his strength.
Lucy suddenly felt the cold of the night air. She shivered.
Sinjin left her and went to the jumble of her clothes that lay on the grass, flattening it. He brought her shift, ghostly white in the moonlight and twirling like a phantom in the breeze. From behind her, he drew it over her head. She let the hem fall over her hips as he fetched her stays. She was pulling them on when he said, in his voice gruff and deep, “Lucy, love, we cannot drive up to the house and demand my nephew. Whoever is looking after him won’t turn him over to me. I don’t want to put you into trouble with your family, or your family’s servants.”
She frowned as he helped her put on her dress. Then he put her cloak on her shoulders. It was cold, from having been in the night air, but that wasn’t what caused the chill around her heart. It was anger over what her family had done. And the realization that she was—for the first time—acting in complete defiance of her family.
“That’s true,” she said. “It would be best if I go to the house first. I can find James, and I can get him out of the house, without anyone knowing... .”
It meant betraying her family, her clan. But she heard Sinjin’s harsh breaths behind her. When he spoke of his nephew, he breathed that way—as though he was trying to tamp down fear and panic.
She turned and laid her hand on his forearm. It was rock-hard with tension. “Don’t worry, I will bring him home to you.” Then softly, she asked, “What happened to your nephew’s mother and father?”
He jerked his head up. She saw he had retrieved his hat, which had fallen when he’d dropped to his knees to lick her pussy. He jammed his hat upon his head. “Why do you ask? Why should anything have happened to them?” His voice was a raw rasp.
It was true. She didn’t know anything had. She just sensed so much grief in Sinjin. “I assumed you are hunting for him because he is in your care.”
“He is. You are correct about that. My sister died two years ago, when the boy was three.”
“I am so sorry.” She felt guilty—it was obviously hurting him to talk about it, but she could not stop her curiosity. “And the boy’s father?”
“That was why my sister died. He went first. She didn’t want to survive without him. And that’s enough, Lucy. I have no intention of telling you more. I am the only family James has. That’s all that matters.”
She knew she deserved to be chastised, because it was not her business. But they had been intimate and she was going to take a huge risk for him. It hurt that he did not want to talk to her. That he wouldn’t tell her more.
“All right.” Then another thought struck her. “I am certain I can smuggle your nephew out of the house. Are you willing to trust me—to wait and be patient?”
He nodded. “Of course I trust you. I will do exactly as you ask.”
But she wondered—would he do as she asked? Sinjin had never once been docile. She might trust him now and know he wouldn’t hurt her, but she wasn’t sure she could trust this particular promise. It would be easiest if he let her try to bring James out. She prayed he would understand that.
He clasped her hand, threading his fingers through hers. It was a gesture of joining, of partnership, that took her breath away. Then they ran back to the carriage.
This was her home—she was the mistress of her house, and had been since her mother’s death. Why on earth did she feel so nervous?
Lucy felt her shoulders give an involuntary tremble as their carriage neared her house—or at least, she believed her family’s Dartmoor estate was growing closer. In the dark, she could not recognize a thing. They had passed the village of Princeton, where the prison stood that had housed prisoners of war. The carriage had taken the road to the south.
She was nervous over so many things: defying her family and a possible confrontation with the servants of the house. But also, Lucy was quivering with anticipation. She wanted to have the boy safe—she was determined to rescue Sinjin’s nephew. But it was going to take considerable wit to fool the members of her clan who must be watching over him.
And her brother might be at this house. Very soon, she might be facing Jack again. And she knew she had to confront him over his irresponsible behavior, and the horrible kidnapping her father had carried out.
From the road, the driver took a lane to the right. It consisted of two slightly worn tracks over grass and lumps of rock. The carriage wheels rattled along, slamming into outcroppings of granite. Sinjin sat at her side, her hand still clasped in his. Just having her fingers twined with his left her breathless.
They dipped down a hill. In the valley, long grass waved, and she knew the track meandered for only one reason—to follow the solid ground. The lane was a line of safety through the bog that stretched on either side. Originally, she had wanted to come here before the sun went down altogether. The lane would be almost impossible to see in the dark, the odds high they would wander off it and sink in the bog. Entire ponies could vanish in the bog. And there was a legend that someone plucked a hat off the soft ground, only to jump in surprise when he found a head beneath. The sinking man cheerfully asked to be helped out of the bog, and asked his rescuer to retrieve his horse, too, as he was seated on the animal.
But arriving before the sunset had been impossible. It was too dangerous for Sinjin.
Lucy gazed out the window at inky darkness. How the coachman stayed on the track, she didn’t know.
She had only been to this house four times in her life—the last time had been five years ago. She had never come to one of her family’s own houses feeling like an outsider. That’s what she felt like now. She was coming as an
enemy
to the people in the house. Lucy did not know if the people who would be staying there, who would be watching over James, would be friends of her father and members of the Drago clan, or if they were servants of their family.
enemy
to the people in the house. Lucy did not know if the people who would be staying there, who would be watching over James, would be friends of her father and members of the Drago clan, or if they were servants of their family.
If they found out what she planned to do—give James back to Sinjin—they might fight her.
It was an unsettling thought. They would be far stronger than she was.
Sinjin’s grip tightened, he squeezed her hand gently and reassuringly. The carriage stopped and he stood, still holding her head. “I asked the coachman to stop before turning into the drive of the house. Bring James out here in the carriage, and I will join you. I will keep watch over you—but you will not see me. I want to make certain you are safe.”
Lucy nodded. “I
will
be safe.” But she knew that wasn’t true. Still she managed a small smile, and he finally unclasped her hand. He opened the door only enough to allow him to slip out, then he closed the door behind him.
will
be safe.” But she knew that wasn’t true. Still she managed a small smile, and he finally unclasped her hand. He opened the door only enough to allow him to slip out, then he closed the door behind him.
Lucy surveyed the imposing house standing before her. The moors had always made her fancy it looked like a haunted castle. It was built of granite blocks, with two towers that stretched to the dark sky. High stone walls surrounded it. With nothing around it but hills, it looked imposing, dark, dangerous.
It was dangerous for her now.
She debated trying to slip in unnoticed. Lucy thought about windows and rear doors, and the secret way she knew to get in and out through a cellar window, because her brother, Jack, had told her about it.
In the end, she did the simplest thing. She sent a footman to the front door to announce her, and as she stepped down from the carriage, the large wooden front door was swinging open for her. A thin, tall, gray-haired woman stood on the threshold, flanked by two young footmen in her family’s wine-red livery.
It was the housekeeper. Lucy remembered the woman’s name—since Jack ignored all his responsibilities, she was the one who worked with their family secretary on matters pertaining to all the family’s estates. The housekeeper here was Mrs. Billings, and she was much thinner, much more gaunt, than Lucy remembered.
Mrs. Billings stared in openmouthed shock for several moments as Lucy neared the door, then she seemed to gather her wits. She dropped into a curtsy. “My lady, I did not know you were to arrive. I apologize—I will have a suite of rooms prepared for you at once. I will rouse Cook to prepare a supper. For now, if you would go to the westerly drawing room?” Billings gazed at her anxiously, then looked back to the carriage behind her. The woman was nervous.
Apparently, the housekeeper believed there was something to hide. Which meant her father had intended for her to never know about this. Obviously, the words he had spoken on his deathbed had been brought out by the pain or confusion he must have been suffering as he died. Why—if Father had been doing this for James’s good, had he wanted to keep it from her?
“Thank you.” Lucy knew her clothes were crumpled, and saw the housekeeper’s gaze begin to assess her with confusion. She had to act in charge here; she had to take command. “First,” she said with autocratic firmness, “I wish at first to see a child who is staying here. A young boy, brought by my father a year ago.” She said it without question, as though it was definite fact.
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