Blood Sworn 1: Salva Me Read online

  When Colbourne had asked him if he truly understood, Morgan’s thoughts had flown to the passages he’d just read. The question was pointless. He would do anything to save the daughter he’d left behind so many years before.

  Laura’s injuries were horrific enough. Beyond that, her wasted frame, her sunken eyes—those were the marks of England’s forgotten souls. The children who lived on the streets, the women who grew old before God intended. Morgan had done this to her. He had abandoned his family. If she died, he could not continue living, for on his head would be her death.

  A footstep scraped the floor behind him, and he turned to see Colbourne enter. Morgan watched in dazed fascination as his master reached to untie the plain knot of his cravat, shivering a little as those long fingers moved to undo the gilt buttons of Morgan’s embroidered vest.

  In spite of all his misgivings and all his concerns, Morgan’s nerves tingled in anticipation of what was to follow. He’d spent so many years fighting against the very thing he had just agreed to. The thought stirred him oddly, his emotions at war with his repressed desires.

  “I’ll need to turn her as soon as possible. We cannot delay the three-day incubation period.” Colbourne’s voice was uncompromising. “Are you certain you want to do this, Holland? The chances of her survival—”

  “Are barely fifty percent. I am aware.” Morgan steadied his nerves, trying desperately for the stalwart calmness that had become like a coat of armor.

  His employer, his master, approached him, standing only inches higher than Morgan. This close, he could see Colbourne’s worry.

  “Then do you understand that no matter the outcome, the consequences for you will still be the same?” The words almost seemed to beg Morgan to change his mind.

  This again. He hardened his heart against the warm concern. Despite the friendship built from their Contract, his daughter’s life was paramount. “We made Contract, Lord Colbourne. We agreed just hours ago, with formal words. It cannot be rescinded.”

  “So be it.” With these words, Colbourne’s eyes blazed red with sudden hunger.

  Morgan stood still as the small gap between them closed, though his body twitched in anticipation. He’d felt the pull when they first met, but he’d been intent on saving Colbourne’s life. Since then, his longing had only grown, in spite of his efforts to suppress it.

  Colbourne’s hands reached for Morgan, caressing his neck and tracing the line of his throat. The touch sent a shudder of unexpected lust surging through his body. Just as the baron had said, this close to the prior feeding Morgan could not fight the attraction. Nor could he stave off the surge of seduction the nosferii used to control their prey.

  He had always fought this need, always, unwilling to give up his masculine pride. His single surrender had come the first time he’d felt the nosferii bite.

  It truly frightened Morgan that he wanted to yield, wanted to surrender. He craved his master’s touch, even without the feeding draw. A shiver seared through him as Colbourne’s tongue slid along his neck, just below the jawline.

  “Morgan.” The husky voice rumbled against his throat. “Morgan.”

  The intimacy of that call shamed Morgan, for his distance all this time had certainly hurt Colbourne. All nosferii were subject to the intimate attachment that was an inborn emotional defense. To yield meant acknowledging a hunger Morgan had been reared to believe an offense against God. His head might know the difference, might understand that for nosferii, this was a natural thing, but his heart clung to the shreds of the life he’d known before he’d met the Baron of Colbourne.

  He shuddered again at the scorching heat of Colbourne’s tongue. The familiar warm numbness crept over Morgan, that sensation that somehow turned the piercing pain of the bite into a hazy pleasure. Even the most erotic memories of lying with his wife paled to insignificance beside the sharpness of the fanged kiss awaiting him. His groin tightened in keen anticipation—not a shred of rational thought remained. He fought the temptation to press forward against his master’s body, with bare success. He failed to fight off the longing moan.

  The moment that soft exhalation left him, the sharp tips of Colbourne’s fangs drove into his neck. Blissful ecstasy followed, as the sting of the pain/pleasure ran through his body like fire. Where the vampire had hold of his flesh, Morgan could feel the hot slick of his blood as it flowed from the wounds left by the retracted fangs. Colbourne’s lips and tongue sucked at the living fountain, every swallow heightening the molten heat wreathing Morgan from head to toe.

  A hand reached to caress him where his erection strained against his breeches. This time, he could not prevent the instinct to thrust himself against the warm palm that stroked his aching length. Another lap against his neck, then that piercing pain/pleasure again as his master stopped the blood flow from his neck.

  “No…not yet,” he gasped, unable to think beyond the denial of completion.

  “Hush, Morgan,” Colbourne’s voice thrummed against his neck again. “We have only begun. Your body heat will need to be much higher. I am not done feeding.”

  Morgan understood only part of what he heard. His master still needed to feed. This overpowering want would be sated. A near-incoherent moan escaped him again. “Please,” he begged.

  In answer, fingers raked down his front, drawing his heightened senses along with them. He closed his eyes when Colbourne unfastened the front of Morgan’s confining breeches, easing the ache of painful entrapment. The same warm fingers grasped him, stroking gently, while he shivered in the leftover sensations of the feed. A kiss met his hardness, causing his knees to weaken. Warm, moist heat followed, and Morgan could not suppress a hoarse cry any more than he could stop his hips from thrusting forward against his master’s hot tongue. Of their own accord, his fists tangled in Colbourne’s dark hair, as though to ensure this pleasure would not be withdrawn.

  His desire quickly peaked, exploding into that accommodating mouth, uncontrolled. It was not enough. The bite had triggered something, just as Lord Colbourne had warned. Morgan’s control was shattered. It could not be reassembled. The yearning for more boiled through his blood, his hands clutching convulsively at the silken strands caught in his fingers.

  The moist warmth drew back, his master’s catlike tongue dragging with agonizing slowness over Morgan’s still-hard length. Despite the heat of the room, he shivered at the lingering chill when Colbourne’s mouth moved on to his thigh, licking at the juncture between leg and groin. That hot numbness began to spread, and Morgan could not suppress a shudder of anticipation. At the last feeding, he’d nearly lost control when those fangs pierced him there. His tremble increased as he felt the familiar rasp over his skin.

  “Don’t…don’t tease me,” he whimpered, shuddering with uncontrollable desires. He grasped at a last bit of sanity. “Don’t delay it. I yield willingly.”

  His master’s breath sent a shock through him. “Your heat is not high enough, Morgan.” Another caress from that cat tongue. “Bear with me for a bit longer, and then I will finish the feed.”

  Morgan leaned against the wall behind him, the strength in his legs rapidly giving way. The numbing caresses moved to the sensitive area behind his balls, causing them to tighten in dizzying pleasure at the hot pressure. He wanted to lift his leg and rest it on Colbourne’s shoulder to allow greater access, but the tangle of breeches at his knees prevented him. A small part of his mind protested the urge, but the fierce desires drowned that voice. Instinct now surpassed reason.

  A slick finger touched his back entrance, and a violent shudder racked him. Yes. He wanted this invasion, this intrusion into his body. He’d fought the desire for a dozen years, denying it, refusing it. Now, with his master’s toxins surging through him, he wanted the promised bite and the penetration he’d fought against for so long. As Colbourne’s finger pressed upward, the heated numbness followed. A few strokes brought on small spasms of pleasure, making him want still more.

  As if in answer to his un
spoken yearning, a second finger joined the first, stretching him. Still that tongue lapped at his nether area, roving between the juncture of his groin and his perineum. He began to anticipate the thrusting of those fingers, unable to avoid moving his hips with his need. A third finger was poised at his entrance, and he began to long for its forceful penetration.

  “Now, Morgan,” his master’s voice whispered against his flesh. Then the piercing ecstasy of fangs breaking his skin accompanied the thrust of the third finger, stretching him to fullness. The blood-pulse of Colbourne’s feeding mirrored each stroke of the fingers penetrating him. Morgan’s mind went near blank with the pleasure. He moaned aloud, unable to stop the movement of his hips as they rocked against Colbourne's hand. The feel of his master’s tongue, the sucking that drew his blood to feed, left him dizzy.

  Morgan’s fist enmeshed itself again in the silken hair brushing his balls with tantalizing caresses. He wrapped the other about his aching cock, stroking, stroking, trying to match the amazing sensations swirling through from those driving fingers. Colbourne’s draw grew stronger, more forceful, and Morgan realized the vampire was nearing the end of his feed. The fangs pierced Morgan again as the fingers withdrew. He wept in frustration when his master's hand covered his, stopping him short of his completion.

  “Face the wall, Morgan.”

  No Compulsion rang in that commanding voice, but he could no more deny the order than if it had. He turned as directed and nearly came when Colbourne’s tongue caressed the aching emptiness left by the withdrawn fingers. A few such strokes of that hot roughness had Morgan panting in need when his master shifted to stand.

  “Prepare yourself,” came the hot whisper against his neck.

  He felt the hardness of his master’s desire as it pressed forward to meet him, and he was nearly overcome by the desire to thrust back onto Colbourne’s length. Then those razor-sharp fangs sank into the flesh of his neck, and Morgan did exactly that, crying out in ecstatic release.

  The piercing bite did not retract as usual, but sank deep into him, just as that throbbing cock impaled him below. A pulsing sensation flooded his neck, accompanied by a faint burn.

  Pain and pleasure mingled again, the combination so powerful he came to instant hardness a third time, collapsing to hands and knees, unable to stand. Colbourne followed him to the floor, still buried deep inside him, one arm wrapped around his waist, fangs gripping him in an unyielding bite.

  The pleasure of his master’s thrusting accompanied each pulse of the stinging poison. The blending of pleasure with pain soon became a singular ecstasy indistinguishable as either. A black haze began to hover at the edges of Morgan’s vision as his ragged breathing became unable to fill his lungs.

  A final pulse of the poison, and Colbourne’s seed boiled hot inside Morgan. His own orgasm crested, spilling into his master’s hand. He gave himself up to the blinding pleasure and the blackness that followed.

  * * * *

  When Morgan regained consciousness, he lay in Colbourne’s bed, every muscle knotted in agony. He attempted to sit up, only to groan through his clenched jaw. Poison? He knew how nosferii venom worked, but he’d never imagined such a small amount could cripple someone. Nevertheless, Laura’s life was at stake. He’d be damned if he would lie here while she suffered, waiting for the turning.

  The stories he’d read had been little better than nightmares, yielding no more than a fifty-fifty chance. He might have just surrendered his body and his pride for naught. Nonetheless, it was a chance he would take every day for her, if necessary. He forced himself upright, shamed by the involuntary tears that ran from his eyes. He’d never known pain like this.

  Morgan struggled to his feet, staggering over to the chair where his clothes lay folded. Dressing proved to be a test of will—would he faint or wouldn’t he? His pride won, barely. He couldn’t manage more than his breeches, enough for barest decency. He fought another battle just reaching the door, each stride coming a bit easier, though a growing nausea accompanied every successful step.

  When he reached the room that housed Laura, he hesitated, afraid to go in. She couldn’t have died already, could she? Morgan didn’t think he’d been unconscious all that long, but he hadn’t bothered to check the small mantel clock in Colbourne’s room. Nonetheless, standing outside like a coward would debase the Contract he had just made. He steadied his hand and opened the door.

  Nothing had started, as expected, yet something was clearly wrong. Colbourne had a look of frustration that Morgan had never seen him wear. As he entered, relief crinkled the corners of Colbourne’s eyes, emphasizing the exotic slant inherited from his mother.

  “Morgan.” Only his name, but the warmth could not be mistaken. “I did not wish to wake you. You must be in pain.”

  An understatement at best. Pain? Unadulterated misery better described it. Morgan refused to admit to it. He chose to address the clear undertones of tension instead.

  “Can I assist in any way?”

  A wary smile accompanied Colbourne’s answer. “It seems your daughter does not trust me. Not an unanticipated reaction after her recent experience, but nothing can be accomplished without her cooperation.”

  “Papa?” The word was barely audible. “Why—” Laura gagged on the last word, choking on her own breath, her own blood.

  Morgan forced his unsteady feet to move, to run, staggering to her bedside. “Hush, Laura,” he crooned, taking her in arms trembling as much from fear as from pain. “Let Lord Colbourne help you. It’s the only way.”

  “No…” The word came out as a moan. “Not again.”

  “He wasn’t the one to hurt you, child. I promise.” Morgan rocked her as best he could in his debilitated state. “I swear to you, he did not hurt you.”

  Laura’s shaking hands clenched against his bare chest. He lifted his hand to stroke her hair, fighting the lead that had sunk deep into his bones. “Please, Laura. Let him help you. I will teach you everything you will need to know, after. I cannot bear to see you die.”

  A sudden flood of hot tears cascaded onto his shoulder as her hands clenched tighter, balling into fists. Silence filled the room, every corner echoing the lack of sound. When at last she spoke again, he had to strain his ears to hear her words, though her head lay buried at his neck.

  “Don’t forget your promise, Papa,” she whispered, her voice little more than a harsh croak. “Don’t forget me again.”

  His heart twisted at the pain in her voice. Twelve years ago, he had failed to return from a trip to London, leaving his wife and children to wonder where he had gone. Once he’d agreed to the Contract, there had been no turning back. He had bound himself in a way that couldn’t be undone, without a thought for the family he’d left behind.

  The novelty of learning and understanding the nosferii world, the darkly seductive nature of the Baron of Colbourne, even the battle to keep Colbourne at arms’ length: these had all blurred Morgan’s senses, fixing his eyes on nothing but the being who was now his master. By the time he had regained his senses and recalled his obligations, so much time had passed that his family had surely believed him dead. He’d considered it kinder to let them think that way, as he had no intention of returning. Still, he’d fought the turmoil of his physical attractions to Colbourne, at the same time equally unwilling to end the Contract. He’d been unable to turn his back on the amazing sensations of his master feeding.

  Now his duplicity had unraveled. Laura must join the nosferii minorii, bound to Colbourne by Contract just as Morgan was. She would have a freer life, yet one constrained by the all-consuming need for blood sustenance. Worse, she would live a half-life for many years until her body changed, relying on other nosferii to help her feed.

  “I will not forget you again; I vow it on my Contract,” he answered, knowing she would not understand. That didn’t matter—Colbourne would. Still, the words did nothing to lessen Morgan’s shame.

  The sharp click of boot heels across the floor heralded C
olbourne’s departure from the room. Whether the baron approved or not, the vow had been made, and in the presence of a nosfera noble. Morgan would be foresworn were he to break it.

  Not that he intended to. He had no idea why Laura was in London rather than in the Sussex countryside, but he was determined to find out. She should have been a married woman with children by now, wed to some stout tenant farmer or innkeeper of means. Those questions must come later, when the turning had restored her strength.

  The hitching of Laura’s thin shoulders slowed, her body slackening in his grasp. At first alarmed, he regained some measure of solace as he understood she slept from exhaustion. Not the healthy slumber of a robust young woman, but the sleep of the desperately ill, like that of someone old and dying.

  Morgan laid her gently back against the cushioning pillows, averting his eyes from the bandages swathed about her throat. Her face, gray from blood loss, showed gaunt in the flickering light from the fireplace. He had thought her thin, but her frail form looked nearly skeletal where the blankets did not reach. Tucking the covers beneath her chin with the barest of touches, he left the room, drawing an arm across his eyes to wipe away the unwanted moisture of his tears.

  “She sleeps, then? Good.”

  Morgan jumped at the sound of Colbourne’s voice coming from the shadowed stair. “She agrees to the turning.” He couldn’t bring himself to say more.

  “Then go back to bed. You really shouldn’t be moving about at this time.”

  “Yes, Master.”

  A frown followed his words. “There is no need to use that term. It never appealed to me, and you never sound sincere when you use it.”

  Though Morgan had meant the words to lighten the tension, the sour tone warned him to tread carefully. The warmth that greeted him when he entered Laura’s room had vanished. He chose his next words with caution, trying to drive the creeping haze from his brain. “Forgive me.” He paused for a breath. “I do not take our Contract lightly. My words were meant for myself as much as for my daughter.”