Blood Sworn 1: Salva Me Read online

  This time, the words struck an odd chord inside Jeremy. “Yes, Master.” They ran through his body like a shock wave, settling in his chest with a rightness that could not be disputed. No previous post-turning Host had ever affected him this way, even those to whom he’d formed deep attachments.

  But the feeling the words evoked reached into the very core of him, of what it meant to be Jeremy, Baron of Colbourne, pureblood nosfera noble. It awoke a desire to take the control offered by the word master and make Morgan his for all eternity.

  He watched as Morgan sank into the soft bedding, feeling the surge of his hunger more violently than he could ever recall. Though his heart had been captured long before this, something had changed within him. The taste of Morgan’s altered blood had been sweeter than before, almost driving him to forget the ultimate goal of the turning.

  Reaching out, he touched the nape of Morgan’s neck, drawn to the power of the rippling muscles caused by Morgan glancing over his shoulder. A shiver met Jeremy’s exploring fingers, a reaction that spurred his hunger to an insatiable lust.

  He pulled Morgan against him, inhaling the tantalizing copper scent pulsing just out of reach. Sliding his tongue once more over the sensitive skin, he tasted the exquisite flavor of lust seeping out of every pore.

  What was happening to him? He’d never experienced such a primitive, carnal urge before. It was as if all rationality had slipped his control, leaving only the ravening hunger that once drove his ancestors.

  Jeremy allowed his fangs to come forward just enough to graze the delicate flesh beneath Morgan’s jaw, growling at the gasp of pleasure it elicited. Lucid thought drained away the moment he felt Morgan’s hands stroke him, an unprecedented thing for his Host. The smell of raw desire in the man’s blood inflamed Jeremy further, and he forgot everything but the need to take Morgan, to sink his fangs deep and free that sweet source of life.

  Unable to endure any longer, he buried his face in Morgan’s neck and bit hard.

  At the first drop of blood, orgasmic release claimed him, and he spent himself against the hot palm cradling him. Despite the sticky warmth to his breeches, he was still achingly hard as he sucked with desperate strength at the hot sweetness flowing from Morgan.

  He pushed Morgan flat against the futon, relinquishing his hold long enough to strip, watching in fascination as the red blood soaked into the white cotton sheets while it ran in rivulets from the freshly made bite marks.

  Mine. This is mine.

  He attacked again with ruthless ferocity, claiming that red flow, ripping away Morgan’s trousers and pressing his aching cock against the straining hardness of the shaft trapped beneath him.

  “Master!” The word resonated with pain—and desire.

  Jeremy almost spilled himself a second time as Morgan’s tortured cry sank into him, triggering an instinct to be cruel. Setting off an insatiable desire he’d never known existed inside him. He bit again, closing the wounds, and reached for the salve he always kept ready for his “guests.”

  Morgan’s amber eyes watched in avid fascination as Jeremy dragged his hand over his rock-hard length, coating it liberally with the salve. Though he wanted nothing more than to plunge into the waiting heat, he forced himself to slide his slick fingers over Morgan’s perineum and anus, which spasmed at the second pass.

  He is mine. I want him now.

  Jeremy could feel the incoherency behind his jumbled thoughts and strove to maintain control. Nothing had ever been written about something like this, this irrational hunger/lust consuming him. It seemed to consume Morgan as well, for his Host’s eyes were glazed in pleasure despite the rough treatment. A furious need flooded Jeremy’s senses, sending him over the edge of reason. Now!

  He buried himself to the hilt in Morgan’s twitching ass, reveling in his power as the pain and pleasure caused Morgan’s sudden orgasm to soil his shirt. Hands reached for Jeremy’s face, wiping the blood from around his lips and then retreating to bring the wet redness to Morgan’s own mouth.

  The sight of his Host licking blood from his fingers shattered the last of Jeremy’s restraint. He pounded into the man, drawing groans of mingled pleasure and pain with each thrust. As his need built again, he pulled Morgan up to straddle his thighs as he knelt, shuddering with barely contained ecstasy when his Host, his Hostia Aeternus, wrapped his arms around his shoulders for support and offered his neck once more.

  “Bite me,” Morgan begged, voice hoarse with longing. “Bite me!”

  Jeremy could not refuse the invitation. He buried his cock and his fangs into the man simultaneously, retracting his fangs and sucking furiously at the spilling blood. With each mouthful, his orgasm swelled until it surged inside Morgan’s ass, and he felt the blazing heat of Morgan’s release crest over his bare stomach.

  Sated at last, satiated to the very core of his being, Jeremy bit Morgan once more to stop the bleeding, feeling a twitch of renewed desire from them both, but no more. His heartbeat refused to slow, and he cradled Morgan tightly to him until he felt the laxness of unconsciousness overtake his Host.

  Jeremy withdrew himself from the heat of Morgan’s body, and laid the man back on the futon with all the gentleness his shaking limbs could muster. Collapsing beside Morgan, he closed his eyes in mingled wonder and horror.

  He’d never lost control to this degree, never so much as dreamed such a raging ferocity and primitive lust could consume him. And Morgan had welcomed it, with a passion that had matched the beast newly arisen in Jeremy.

  This shouldn’t have happened. It shouldn’t be possible, not now, not after so many generations.

  He would have to research it. Later. When he had energy. Jeremy surrendered to sleep, the temptation of unconsciousness almost overpowering his senses.

  The soft rustle of blankets roused him for a moment, and he blinked at the sight of Makoto, who was covering the two of them with gentle care.

  “Makoto?”

  “Bellforth-san has successfully fed Miss Holland, danshaku.” Makoto paused, then gave a rather wistful smile. “I congratulate you, Takeshi-bocchan, on finding your tamashī no hanryo.”

  Soul mate?

  Jeremy fought against the exhaustion. “Explain.”

  “Later, danshaku. You must sleep now. I will see no one disturbs your rest.” Makoto moved away with a swift grace accumulated from years of training.

  The soft click of the closing door disposed of any remaining determination to stay awake. Jeremy surrendered to the waiting oblivion, taking Morgan in his arms before relinquishing his awareness.

  Chapter Nine

  Jeremy slouched back in his chair, closing his eyes and inhaling the musky fragrance of the old leather for a precious moment. Then he focused one more time on the terse note from Lord Liverpool, which contained the expected demand to find and eliminate the beast. Unfortunately, it also demanded the Baron of Colbourne depart forthwith and without delay to perform his ancestral duties. That meant moving Laura Holland before she was truly ready to be up and about. Unless he left her here, in the care of Lawrence Bellforth.

  The idea did not sit well. She had been close to death at the turning. While Makoto had delivered a positive message, in truth it had needed all four of the attendant Hosts to supply her with sufficient blood. He was loath to leave her here, yet any travel to Sussex would require at least a week if she accompanied them. Considering Lord Liverpool’s request, such a pace would not suit.

  Plus there was Morgan to consider. He would likely raise bloody hell knowing his daughter would be left behind, but it would be impossible for him to stay. He had barely recovered from the toll Jeremy’s venom had taken on him.

  The pair of them had slept for nearly a day, at which point Jeremy finally had his wits fully about him and had awoken at least partially refreshed. Morgan, though, had remained asleep for almost a full eight hours beyond. Neither of them had yet spoken of what had passed between them, but Jeremy knew one thing for certain—the terms of their Contract had
become moot.

  The fierce disturbance of his senses where Morgan was concerned had not dimmed. His gut clenched in agony at the mere thought of going more than a day or two without the sweet red flood of Morgan’s lifeblood. Even now, he wanted nothing more than to taste the exquisite nectar of his Host. No, Morgan could not stay behind, though the speed of travel might take a second toll on his strength.

  Jeremy considered the situation for a moment. The nosferatu had attacked Laura twice. It stood to reason there would be a third attempt. Could he chance leaving her here, without a pureblood nosfera noble to protect her? To his knowledge, few of the others ever ventured into London, and half of them were well past their prime.

  Thorven? The Masters of Raavenshal had always been among the most powerful of the purebloods, long before they traversed the Norwegian fjords to settle in England. Thorven had the strength to ward off an attacking nosferatu.

  Jeremy discarded the notion almost as quickly as it had come. As intimate as they had once been, it did not sit well to ask the man to take up residence in the house of his former lover, particularly since Jeremy had been the one to call things off. No, the idea itself was crass. Moreover, Thorven had been hounded into exhaustion protecting the Raavenshal people. Tasking him with guarding a new-turned minore would only make matters worse. Not to mention he’d never quite overcome his arrogant attitude toward the Hosts and lesser bloods.

  No, Thorven was out of the question. Perhaps Bellforth could be persuaded to stay on, though the young man would not be capable of holding off an enraged nosferatu. On the other hand…

  Makoto Morinaga would be capable of it. In spite of his changeling status, the samurai had once been a powerful warrior in his own right, incredibly strong even as an ordinary man. He had successfully avenged his daimyō within a few years of his turning, though the full strength of the nosfera had not come to him until half a century later. Determined, reliable, and above all else, unshakably loyal.

  Relentless and unyielding on the hunt, he also knew when to stay back, when to avoid confrontation. Minorii tended to be hotheaded as a rule; Makoto’s extraordinary patience had become one of the keys to Jeremy’s success in the hunt. It had saved both their lives on more than one occasion.

  Makoto was the perfect solution. Nonetheless, leaving him behind would put constraints on Jeremy’s hunt until Laura Holland could travel. Beyond that, it would make Makoto’s feedings awkward, unless Bellforth and his Host were amenable in that regard. If not, well, there was always Will Carter, provided Bellforth would act as third.

  Nonetheless, no alternative presented itself. Jeremy cast a glance upward, in the general direction of his rooms. Convincing Morgan would not be easy. Makoto, on the other hand, would obey, regardless of his personal thoughts. Though not necessarily without question.

  Thoughts of Makoto led inevitably to the man’s comment about Jeremy finding his tamashī no hanryo. Among the nosferii of Japan, the words meant more than the mere sum of their translation. To have a soul mate meant more than finding a lasting partner. Tamashī no hanryo referred to finding one’s other half, spiritually and bodily. If this powerful drive he now had to keep Morgan at his side was such a bond, it could prove to be a dubious blessing.

  Just the thought of Morgan’s reaction to the idea made Jeremy’s head ache, and the strength of what had passed between them still worried him. Such a bestial drive to possess Morgan had to come from the deepest and oldest instincts of his race. Instincts he’d thought long dead, both in him and in others. Traits all nosferii had striven to eliminate from the race, for the ungodly similarity to the uncontrolled depravity of the nosferatu.

  To own the truth, it frightened him more than a little. Even now, he could feel that possessive drive drawing him to Morgan, goading him to take the man’s body along with his blood, with or without his consent. The urge was so strong, it took every ounce of his self-control to stay put and not seek out his Host.

  The sweet song of Morgan’s blood had consumed him, slaking his thirst and whetting his appetite simultaneously. Never before had a feeding tasted so impossibly right, so perfect a fit to his desires. Never before had it seemed as though he could feed forever, without worry his Host would die. Hostia Aeternus. The eternal fountain, the perfect Host. It was impossible Morgan could do such a thing, let alone allow it. Yet the need to try still ate at Jeremy’s control.

  And he still had to tell the man they would be leaving his daughter behind.

  * * * *

  “That’s absurd! I promised Laura I would not leave her again!” Morgan tried to check his seething fury, though the effort proved a bit beyond his current abilities. “I refuse to leave her alone in an unknown house, with a veritable stranger. Surely you’ve no need of me in your hunt, Lord Colbourne.”

  “Peace, Morgan, I beg of you.” Colbourne’s usual even tone resounded with weary frustration. “As I have repeatedly stated, the prime minister demands I attend to my ancestral duties. That means I must leave for Sussex as soon as we can manage. Your daughter cannot travel yet. She was near death before the turning. She needs time to recover properly.”

  “Why must I accompany you?” The words came out in a snarl, and Morgan cringed inwardly at the implicit accusation. Even with the turning accomplished, his nerves still felt on fire, continually frayed and overly sensitive. He wanted to lash out at someone, anyone, but most particularly at Lord Colbourne for some irrational reason.

  The continual pulse of the man’s damned pheromones had Morgan always randy. And that…that thing that had happened at the end… He didn’t want to think about it. Yet he couldn’t drive the memory from his mind—or his groin. What was he, some idiotic schoolboy drunk on the feeling of sublime pleasure?

  Even now, in the middle of an argument, his cock wanted to stand at attention, craving the touch he had fought for so long. Quivering at the mere remembrance of Jeremy’s rough, almost brutal lovemaking. At the bestial lust that had consumed them both. Morgan couldn’t bear to admit to such a longing, and knowing the recollection alone could arouse him was too much.

  A thought occurred to him. “Does this have anything to do with what happened before?” He couldn’t bring himself to speak with more directness.

  “Yes.” Despite the affirmative, something odd underscored the single word.

  His master’s face revealed turmoil, a thing Morgan would have sworn impossible. Clearly, what had passed between them had touched them both too deeply to dismiss. Morgan wasn’t ready to discuss it—not yet, not in any strong measure—until he’d managed to regain some modicum of dignity.

  Colbourne gave him a troubled glance. “I know you would rather not pursue the question of our powerful encounter yesterday, but we must address it, at least to an extent.” His raised hand stalled Morgan’s incipient refusal. “Whatever you may think of our situation, the fact remains you are highly sensitized by my venom, and I am in need of more frequent feedings for the moment. You too will need to be close by my side, until your condition has stabilized.”

  Something lurked beneath the calmly stated words, a suggestion of more than was uttered. Morgan wanted to dig further, but it would mean touching on the other issue too closely for his current comfort. He let the words pass without comment, to avoid further discussion.

  It might have been his imagination, but Colbourne appeared relieved Morgan made no comment. At the least, the lines of tension around his eyes vanished, though the tightness of his broad shoulders seemed undiminished.

  “So who remains other than Bellforth? If Laura is too weak to travel, she would be incapable of flight if that damn nosferatu comes after her.”

  “I have asked Makoto to guard her.”

  Makoto would stay. That, at least, provided a modicum of comfort. If nothing else, the man was stalwart and reliable. He had never failed in his duties, unyielding in his loyalty to the lords of Colbourne Manor. Loath though he was to leave his daughter, leaving her in the care of the samurai eased Morgan�
��s mind to a degree.

  “What about his feeding?”

  Morgan’s irritated inner self savored Jeremy’s start of surprise with some satisfaction.

  “I wasn’t aware you knew his feeding pattern.” The subdued comment didn’t quite cover the apprehension. “Appropriate arrangements have been made for him.”

  “Good.” Morgan looked at his toes, the corner, anywhere but at Jeremy. “I always wondered why he accompanied you to your rooms after we finished. So I asked him once.” Despite his self-satisfaction, Morgan tried to keep his voice from being smug. He prowled the room, unable to settle.

  Morgan could feel Jeremy’s gaze on him, so he looked up, though he knew his face must be crimson. “So when do we depart?”

  Jeremy looked at him for a long moment before answering. “Tonight. Nosferatu prefer to hunt in darkness, so I would follow suit.”

  “We’re not hunting yet,” Morgan reminded him, shivering a bit at the grimness of his master’s voice.

  “No, but there is a greater chance of encountering him if we travel during his chosen feeding times. Since he’s been circling between Sussex and London, there’s a good possibility we may meet him on the road.” Exhaustion still underlay every word.

  Morgan felt worry take root as he recalled the energy his master had expended for the turning. Hunting nosferatu would require every ounce of strength Colbourne could muster. Morgan thought back to their first encounter. Had he not chanced along that country road, his master would have died. What if the turning had weakened Colbourne too much? Would the same thing happen? Would Jeremy succumb to his injuries and die? The thought sent an unpleasant shudder racing along Morgan’s sensitized nerves.

  The worry prompted him to speak before he had time to consider. “Did you feed enough?”

  The question earned him a sharp look.

  “Enough.”

  Perhaps his imagination had gotten the better of him, but he would swear by all that was holy another fraction of the tension left Jeremy’s voice. Encouraged, he made an offer he would likely regret before dawn. “You should feed again before we leave, then.”