Blood Sworn 1: Salva Me Page 15

  MORGAN COULD TASTE Jeremy’s hunger and feel the limits of the constraint holding back the savage nature of the true nosfera that civilization kept at bay. Pure, unadulterated animal instinct, craving blood and sex and the blazing fever of joined bodies, and of merged identities.

  He didn’t think any of the oh-so-wise nosferii doctors had ever understood, but when Morgan had allowed Jeremy into his mind in the bath, the realization had come to him. This mind link was more than just a means to control prey. It bound heart and mind of both hunter and hunted, so both shared the pleasurable pain of the feeding. So both repaid the gift of life with the gift of love, returning each in an eternal circle.

  The delirious sensation of Jeremy’s fingers thrusting into him almost brought Morgan to his peak too early. But he wanted to spend himself as Jeremy’s fangs penetrated him, and not a moment sooner. He wanted to feel the ecstasy of renewed arousal as he delivered his blood for their mutual satiation.

  Morgan raised his hips, slipping away from those tantalizing fingers. He took Jeremy’s hot length in his hand, lowering himself onto that velvet shaft with deliberation.

  Jeremy’s gasp of pleasure shimmered through him, and the amazing dual sensation engulfed his aching cock. Morgan began to move, wanting more, wanting the fierce possession from the turning.

  With a snarl, Jeremy rolled him over, eyes blazing with the red of his hunger. Morgan reached up to pull him closer. He yearned for those sharp fangs and the ungodly sensation of Jeremy feeding on his blood.

  “Not yet, Morgan,” Jeremy said, though his smile bared the very thing Morgan desired most. “Not yet. I want to bury myself deep inside you, until you can’t tell up from down.”

  Jeremy gripped Morgan’s erection in his fist and began stroking him in time with fierce, hungry thrusts of his hips. Each time he withdrew and drove back in, Morgan’s ecstasy climbed higher, until the rough pleasure became an exquisite torture.

  “Now! Please, I beg you, bite me!” Morgan accompanied the thought with the desire that shamed him most to voice—the desire for the burning pain of an unprepared bite. The desire to feel the piercing sting of those needle-sharp teeth as they sank into his bare flesh.

  Jeremy obliged him, and Morgan could not suppress a cry of ecstasy as Jeremy’s fangs knifed through the flesh of his throat. His orgasm exploded as the fangs retracted, leaving the skin of his neck sensitized to every pulse of Jeremy’s feeding.

  Morgan hardened again within moments, cock throbbing as Jeremy pounded savagely into him. The mental link between them had become like glass, and he could taste his own terribly sweet blood, feel the hot, clenching warmth of his ass about Jeremy’s cock.

  And he could feel the indescribable love of his master. It wrapped about him, enveloping him in heightened sensation. The sense of Jeremy, of Takeshi, flowed through him, filling the center of his being.

  “Harder. Harder, Takeshi, until I can’t think of anyone but you.”

  “Damn, Morgan!” Jeremy’s groan echoed inside him. Jeremy obliged, driving into Morgan with the same power that had overtaken him at the turning. The beast was free but chained by love, and Morgan gladly yielded to its power.

  “More!”

  Morgan couldn’t tell whose voice cried out, but a surge of blinding passion brought him once more to a peak as he felt Jeremy’s climax flood him. His own followed seconds after, though Jeremy continued feeding until Morgan’s vision began to haze. He trembled under the power of that draw, not wanting it to end but knowing it must.

  Finally, the sting of the clotting bite came, and Morgan shuddered as Jeremy’s fangs withdrew.

  JEREMY CAME BACK to himself slowly, untwining his thoughts from Morgan’s with an effort. The beast in him slept at last, both lusts fully sated. Beneath him, his beloved Host lay exhausted, sweat coating Morgan’s body and a slick of blood coating his neck and shoulder.

  Wasteful. Normally, Jeremy took care not to spill blood like some clumsy youth, but Morgan had somehow triggered every animal instinct in him, and he had succumbed to the blind pursuit of merging with the man he loved.

  Unless he was deceived, the rapport of their minds could only have stemmed from love.

  Jeremy let his waning erection slip from the warmth of his Host’s body so he could lie down beside Morgan. The dark edges of oblivion hovered as sleep crept up to claim Jeremy. Perhaps he would finally manage the restorative slumber he needed so his body and mind could be sharp for the hunt. Smiling, he drifted off, happy hope finding a home in his heart at last.

  MORGAN FOUGHT THE urge to drift off to sleep with Jeremy, though it proved a far harder struggle than he’d anticipated. Remnants of their passionate sex still tingled within him, and he wanted nothing more than to wake Jeremy and plunge deep into him, returning the favors from earlier.

  But Morgan couldn’t risk rousing his master. Every second he hesitated, the danger to Jeremy and Laura grew. Thorven had descended into a deeper madness than they had first thought, even when they’d found those gnawed corpses.

  Morgan refused to allow such depravity to touch Jeremy. The only way to prevent it was to give Thorven what he wanted. From the note, Morgan gathered his grandfather had once been Host to the Master of Raavenshal. Why Argyle Holland had fled, Morgan could not guess.

  As Jeremy’s breathing steadied into a deeper slumber, Morgan slid from the warm comfort of their shared bed, dressing swiftly. When he finished, he moved quietly around the bed, watching his master closely. Seeing no indication Jeremy would rouse, he unfastened the catch to the chain holding the key for the Skin-Bound Book. He had one more task before him, and then he would be on his way to Thorven.

  He closed the door behind him with care, then made his way down the stairs and to the study. The book sat on Jeremy’s desk, its ominous covering seeming to glow with unnatural light. He stood it on end, and it seemed to weigh nearly fifty stone, though he knew it to be impossible.

  Morgan shook away the fanciful thoughts and separated the amulet into its three unique parts with care. He fixed each key to its proper place and watched with dreadful fascination as the book opened to the most recent notations.

  Unknown girl—February 11, 1816

  Laura Holland—February 28, 1816

  Unknown man—March 4, 1816

  There followed a listing of four more entries identical to the last. Unknown man in repetition, with Laura’s name buried within the words.

  Morgan took the pen from the inkstand and dipped it into the well, where a small bit of ink still remained. After a moment’s thought, he set pen to the parchment in the book and wrote six more names:

  James ??—March 7, 1816

  Julie Holland—unknown

  Stephen Holland—unknown

  Laura Holland—February 28, 1816

  Argyle Holland—September 3, 1783

  Morgan Holland—March, 1816

  When he finished, Morgan sorted through the center drawer, looking for a blank sheet of foolscap. Once he had found what he sought, he penned a brief statement.

  It pained him to write the words, piercing his heart in a manner he would never have conceived twelve years ago. And if the words hurt him, he feared to know how painful Jeremy would find them. Yet they must be written. He had to ensure his master would stay away long enough for Morgan to do what was necessary to ensure Jeremy’s safety.

  After all, Thorven wanted him, Argyle Holland, the man who had betrayed him. Morgan meant to give the monster exactly what he wanted. At least until he found a way to destroy the madman. Even if it cost Morgan his life. Which it likely would.

  “I wish I had told him I love him,” he muttered to himself. The words drove home how much he forsook with his choice. He shook away the despair, an emotion he could not afford. “Now to business.”

  The quiet walk to the stables was the hardest one in his life. He felt like a thief in the night. Indeed, it could be said he was a thief in truth, for he would be taking Gypsy, the sturdy mare who had become a good r
iding companion for the past three years. He would turn her loose once he reached Raavenshal, since he would not be returning.

  He hoped Laura would forgive him. As for Jeremy, Morgan prayed his plans would come to fruition swiftly so as to spare Jeremy any descent into the madness Thorven had experienced. The breaking of the Contract without formal agreement must have been the tipping point for the arrogant Master of Raavenshal. Morgan’s death should provide a reprieve for Jeremy before the madness truly began.

  Though he had been a young boy at the time, Morgan could clearly recall his grandfather’s crazed eyes staring out from a gaunt face, and the wasted frame of a man who had once seemed an invincible giant. Argyle Holland had been at the main hall barely five years before he had returned home, a shell of the man he once had been.

  Yet the rumors of the nosferatu had only begun recently, unless there had been more than one hunting twelve years before, when Morgan had found the dying Baron of Colbourne. So Thorven must have held the madness at bay for many years.

  As Morgan rode into the night, he considered how to proceed. Clearly the Master of Raavenshal expected Argyle Holland, not his grandson. Would Thorven’s madness prevent him from knowing the difference? His demented mind had already led him to believe Argyle had Contracted with Jeremy. Would time and an unstable mind cover the truth long enough?

  Morgan had been among the nosferii long enough to know everyone’s blood carried a unique taste and scent. After all, hadn’t Jeremy said often enough that Morgan’s blood was the sweetest he’d ever known? Perhaps family members were similar in that regard as well.

  Morgan realized he would have to submit to Thorven’s feeding—and what came after. He could not suppress an involuntary shudder. Though the idea itself was no longer anathema to him, the thought of someone other than Jeremy touching him in such a manner disgusted him.

  It would have to be borne. By any logical reasoning, Argyle Holland would have surrendered to such, willingly or not. If nothing else, the arrogant tone of the letter Morgan received suggested the Master of Raavenshal would not take no for an answer. If it took sharing a bed with Thorven to allow Morgan close enough to kill the madman, then he would do so.

  It took a little less than two hours for Morgan to reach the gates of Raavenshal, which hung askew on their hinges. Another fifteen or twenty minutes at a gallop brought him to the front steps. All the while, his thoughts continued to circle back to Colbourne Manor and those left behind.

  After he dismounted, he turned the mare around and stroked her nose. “Go home, Gypsy,” he whispered. He led her down the drive a short way, pointing her nose toward the road. With a soft apology, he gave her a hearty slap on the hindquarters to send her scrambling away at a gallop.

  Morgan watched her go for a moment, then turned back and headed up the steps. He lifted his hand to knock, but the door opened before his fingers touched the brass raven’s-head knocker.

  The man who stood there could be no one but Archibald Thorven, the Master of Raavenshal and the nosferatu they had hunted. His eyes were rimmed in blood, blazing red with signs of dire hunger. A smile touched the man’s thin lips, baring reddened fangs.

  “Welcome home, Argyle,” the specter said, as the ghastly grin widened. “It’s about bloody time you returned.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Jeremy woke to a fierce pounding on the door. Everything about him glowed with the usual sharp clarity. It seemed his dulled senses had finally returned to life after last night. He smiled at the memory and turned to wake Morgan, but no one else occupied the bed. The sheets where Morgan had lain were cool; Jeremy’s heat was the only warmth they held.

  He frowned, wondering if Morgan had risen earlier, perhaps to find food. Even as the thought crossed Jeremy’s mind, a man barged into his bedchamber without waiting for permission to enter. A reprimand died on his lips as he realized who disturbed him.

  “Forgive my intrusion, danshaku. I have unhappy news.”

  Whatever news Makoto carried, it must be terrible indeed for him to have abandoned his post in London, not to mention entering his master’s bedchamber in such a fashion. Jeremy feared he brought news of Laura Holland. Had something gone amiss? The thought of delivering such word to Morgan sent a shaft of pain through him. He gathered his wits.

  “Why are you here, Makoto? Has something gone wrong with the turning?” At least his voice did not reflect his fear.

  “No, Laura-san recovers well. However, she has given me the name of the chi no akuma, danshaku.”

  Something about Makoto’s voice sent a thrill of horrified awareness through Jeremy. “Who?” he asked, shoving the trepidation back where it belonged. If it was so, it was so.

  “The Master of Raavenshal, danshaku.”

  So Morgan had been right. Jeremy could hear Makoto’s anger and marveled at it. The man never showed such emotion—it violated his honor as a samurai.

  “Has Holland been told of this yet?” A useless hope, for Makoto adhered to hierarchy. He would have sought out Morgan first. Perhaps that was the reason for Jeremy’s cold bed.

  Yet if that were so, then it would have been Morgan, not Makoto, who awakened him. Dread began to gnaw at Jeremy, starting with his gut, in much the same way the damned nosferatu had eaten his victims.

  “Plague of the Ages!” he spat as nausea overwhelmed him for a moment. Makoto’s words had finally penetrated.

  Thorven was the animal they hunted. Thorven had been the one chewing on the latest corpses. Thorven, his old friend, his long-time companion. His once-lover.

  And it had been Morgan who had first suggested Thorven was the one they sought.

  “I could not find Holland-san, danshaku,” Makoto said, ignoring Jeremy’s outburst as a proper retainer would. “The mare Gypsy is missing from the stable.”

  At those words, Jeremy flung off the flimsy covering, dressing in haste as Makoto ignored his bare state just as he’d ignored the curse.

  As Jeremy buttoned his shirt, he realized the key was gone, and he knew where he must go first. “Makoto, speak with the night footman and find out if anything unusual occurred during the night. Come to my study when you’ve finished.”

  “Hai, danshaku,” Makoto answered. He left as Jeremy pulled on his boots.

  “Damn that idiot Host,” Jeremy muttered.

  The empty room gave him no answer but the faint echo of his useless words. And they were just that, useless. After last night, he knew Morgan loved him. Despite the roughness of their joining, tenderness had underscored everything. Furthermore, they’d been connected in mind as well as body. The intimacy of their exchanged thoughts permitted no falsehood.

  Still, there’d been no hint of this, nothing to indicate Morgan would run off. Jeremy headed for his study, agitation marking each step. Something else was at play here. Something he missed, lacking the necessary clue.

  He reached the doorway to his study and paused on the threshold. The Skin-Bound Book lay open on his desk. Worry crawled up his spine as he entered, afraid of what he might find.

  The book’s leaves were parted at the last entries, which Jeremy had done so Morgan would be spared the penning of his daughter’s name. New names had been written in Morgan’s bold hand. Six—no five new victims added to the ancient lists. The original entry of Laura’s name had been lined through and reentered beneath her brother’s. The last name on the list was Morgan Holland.

  Jeremy stared at the words in shocked disbelief, his earlier nausea returning tenfold. Impossible. Patently impossible, what Morgan must be contemplating. No one could handle a nosferatu except a full nosfera noble. Of those, only the Colbourne and Yamakawa families had the skills, the training, and the proper venom to fight those furthest gone in their madness.

  No normal human, no matter how extraordinary, could face the monster and live. It was a death sentence. As the import of the last entry settled on his heart like a stone, a small sheet of paper on the desk caught his eye. It too carried Morgan’s strong w
riting, and Jeremy picked it up with trepidation.

  My Lord Colbourne,

  It is with the deepest of apologies that I write this. For twelve years, I have been honored to be the Host of the Baron of Colbourne, but I realize I can no longer perform the duties required of me by our Contract.

  Forgive me for making use of you to save my daughter. My gratitude for it is beyond measure, and I humbly beg you to lay no blame for my present actions at her door. Your gift to us both in that regard will be beyond price.

  Be that as it may, I find our present relationship unbearable. I said I would do anything, and those words were sincerely meant. However, circumstances exceeding my control prevent me from honoring my words.

  I must return to Raavenshal, to the lands my family farmed until I abandoned my responsibilities to follow you to Sussex. Laura’s return has reminded me of duties I must once again take up, in honor of my father and my grandfather.

  Archibald Thorven is my true master, and so it is with a heavy heart that I break my Contract with you to return to my rightful place.

  Forgive my cowardice for leaving you in such a manner.

  Morgan Holland

  The scrap of paper fell from Jeremy’s nerveless hand, and the room went gray for an eternal moment.

  He knew that Morgan loved him. The deep emotions shared between them last night were proof of Morgan’s acceptance. Yet despite this love, Morgan had left him. Left to become the Host of another and turned his back on the truth of what it meant to be tamashī no hanryo. Had chosen to deny that bond, to deny that he was blood sworn to be Jeremy’s Host. The proof lay there, on the floor, penned in words too plain to misinterpret.

  Morgan had named Thorven his true master. Even if he had left to put an end to the nosferatu’s depredations, the shock of such words flayed Jeremy to the core. Worse still, Morgan’s breaking Contract in such a manner stunned Jeremy. It was as if Morgan had no care for the consequences or for the toll it would take on Jeremy.