23 comments/ 77688 views/ 121 favorites Divination of My Heart By: LoveBird1929 Okay, this is a seriously late submission for the Halloween contest, but I hope you enjoy regardless. Regency era story, gay male, vampires, divination. * October 31, 1815 London, England It was old and, worse yet, dirty. Truly, at first glance, except for the excessive amount of filth which filled each and every one of its cracks and crevices, it appeared to be completely unremarkable. In spite of his disdain, Thomas couldn't force his eyes away from the object his twin sister had just moments before flung onto his bed after rushing into his bedchambers unannounced. It was a hand mirror. At least he thought it might have been, once upon a long time ago, but he hadn't quite made up his mind yet that a person was truly supposed to gaze into the ghastly object's reflective depths with hopes to catch an accurate likeness of their visage. Intrigued, Thomas hunkered down next to the foot of his bed to get a better look. The first thing he noticed was that some of the dirt had broken free of a home it had probably known for years. Absently, he flicked the dried specks of mud to the floor as he continued his perusal. The second thing to attract his attention was the fact that the round mirrored portion appeared to be made of a thin layer of dull gold rather than glass. And that it was currently reflecting a wavy, distorted image of his ceiling, solidifying his opinion as to the value of actually using the mirror as a mirror. The next thing he observed was the ornately carved handle. Though he had no doubt the ivory had once gleamed creamy and bright, it was now a former glory of itself with its sickly shade of dirt encrusted yellow. The last thing to impress itself upon Thomas's cognizance was the nature of the carvings. Shocked, he studied them for several long seconds, absolutely sure he had taken leave of his senses. There was no way he could actually be seeing what he thought he was seeing. The images were disturbing. And, yet, oddly fascinating. Men. Naked. Involved in various levels of debauchery. With one another. The most magnetic scene depicted the naked form of the largest man pressed intimately close to the back of his unclothed lover. And were his—by God, the man's teeth were buried firmly in the neck of the smaller man! "Thomas Clancy de Aubonville!" Thomas's attention jerked to his sister. For the millionth time he marveled that to be so dainty she possessed a set of lungs to make the town crier weep with envy. From the put upon expression gracing her angelic face he knew she must have called out to him several times already but all to no avail. "I do apologize, Tammy, but your...gift has left me rather speechless." As an automatic afterthought, he added, "And don't call me Clancy." "It's not a gift for you, you idiotic lummox." The relief which coursed through Thomas was immense. If it had been a gift he hadn't the faintest idea how he was supposed to have expressed his gratitude. With a mud pie, perhaps? Somehow he didn't think a simple thank you would have sufficed. "Thank god for small favors. I was sure I was going to have to wait until you'd retired for the evening before burying that thing out in the garden. And if you insist on calling me a name that's not my own, I prefer handsome lummox." Somewhere beneath the voluminous folds of her powder blue gown, one slipper covered foot tapped impatiently. "And if it had been a gift, what exactly would you have told me, Tommy, when I'd asked you to borrow it? Because you do realize I surely would have asked you to borrow it one day? Just to spite you because your distaste is so clear." Standing, Thomas flashed his most disarming smile. "Why, I would have told you a fib, of course. That it was lost. Or maybe even stolen." "Pfft, you know you can't lie to me. I know you better than you know yourself." Tammy tossed a flaxen curl the same shade as his own unruly curls over her slim shoulder and blue eyes the color of the purest sapphire just like his own sparked angrily at him. "I've been pouring out my heart to you for the past five minutes, yet you haven't heard one word, have you? You idiotic oaf." He hadn't. But contrary to the charming endearments his sister so lovingly bestowed on him, Thomas Clancy de Aubonville was no fool. So he knew better than to admit his faux paus. Thomas loved and adored his twin and was leagues closer to her than to their only other living relative. But since Tammy's transformation at the onset of the season, their relationship, out of necessity, had changed drastically. Just twelve short months ago she'd been the sister who could ferret out the most sordid of gossip, who could handle a temperamental horse more adeptly than the head groomsman, who could swim like a fish with and, in general, who could search out all manners of mischief with an astounding precision. In short, she'd been a hoyden. Now she was, on the surface, an exquisitely coifed, always polished, gently bred young lady of the ton. Who Thomas encouraged to dutifully dedicate all of her time and attention to finding a respectable husband before she was deemed the dreaded spinster in another three years time at the age of twenty-one. The irony wasn't lost on Thomas that it was an age several years younger than the age he himself would be expected to wed—a thought which held very little appeal to him since having had his heart dallied with, then cruelly broken, by a well-to-do widow during the season. Lady Miranda's shrill shrieks of laughter to his foolish public proclamation of everlasting love and her cruel statements that he should aim a bit lower still haunted him on the occasion. "Loud as you are, God almighty up above in heaven can probably hear you right now so of course I can hear your bellowing as you stand not even two feet from me." "Idiotic liar." Thomas didn't take exception to the latter part of the insult as it was the truth. As accused, he'd missed every word of Tammy's tirade and had no clue as to why she was so worked up. Regardless of what actually had her concerned, Thomas thought it prudent to steer the conversation towards a subject his sister should be worried about, although he was fully aware she probably wasn't. "The little season's almost finished, Tammy. And we have to take advantage of every opportunity now. You should be getting ready for tonight's ball. And I guess I can settle for lummox, oaf, or even liar, if you promise to drop the idiotic part." "Why should I bother, Tommy?" "Because I find that I take grave exception to the verbal abusing of my ability to undertake reasoning of a higher sort." With a roll of her eyes, she said, "Not that. I want to know why I should bother going to the ball at all. It's hopeless. Every last one of my friends received an offer earlier in the year. But not me. At this point, I think it's clear marriage is not to be part of my destiny." The biggest reason for Tammy's failure to land a husband thus far was because she, like Thomas, was very nearly a penniless pauper, thanks to their elder brother's squandering of a meager wealth left after their parents' death in a horrific carriage accident. Added to that fact was the reality that Tammy, like Thomas, was nothing more than the title less, land less, youngest offspring of a lowly baron the ton had never quite forgiven for his scandalous marriage to his favorite servant. The only reason Tammy had had her season at all was a result of what must've been Edward's last strain of restraint. He hadn't whored, drunk or gambled her trousseau away, instead pressing Thomas into using the funds to hire a companion to teach their sister everything she needed to know about being a proper lady. The remainder had been used to rent Thomas and Tammy a horribly expensive townhouse in the fashionable part of the city, to hire only the necessary staff to man the townhouse and to outfit Tammy with all the gowns, gloves, slippers and jewels needed to complete the misleading appearance of affluence. In Thomas's opinion, which was admittedly biased, his sister had been among the most beautiful, if not the most beautiful, presented during the season. But she was still poor, of mixed blood, and now not even coming to her marriage with a dowry. And the snobbish members of the ton knew it and held it against her. And there was nothing Tammy, nor Thomas, could do about it. There was also a lesser known reason Thomas held responsible for Tammy's lack of success to draw a marital offer to date...a reason which had less to do with their dire finances and unsavory pedigree, and more to do with her herself. Specifically, her personality. Her cantankerous, oftentimes very unladylike, personality that no amount of training could rid her of. Thomas approached his sister, wishing he possessed the ability to instantly solve all of their problems. And to save them from the very real possibility of debtor's gaol. Because he would. In a heartbeat. Even at his sacrifice rather than that of his twin. But life just didn't work that way, as demonstrated by Lady Miranda. Tammy's chances of making the much needed match outpaced those of Thomas's by a long shot. Placing an arm around her shoulders, Thomas drew her near and consoled, "Your turn is coming. Soon. You just have to be patient. Just for a little while longer." She laid her head trustingly against his shoulder. "Do you really think that's what I'm upset about, Tommy?" He gently stroked the silken threads flowing down her back and asked, "About what do you speak, love?" "Do you really think I'm upset over the prospect of not having yet found some buffoon of a man to tie myself to for the rest of what will surely be my miserable life?" "No, my dear, I don't think the finding is what is bothering you. I think it's the thought of being a biddable wife to the buffoon that troubles you." Thomas gave his sister a playful shove. "Now do tell what that piece of dirt is you've deposited on my bed, dear sister. I'm not overly fond of the thought of sleeping with all the worms and maggots crawling off of it." She whirled to face him, irritation flashing bright in her eyes. "Biddable? Biddable!" "Obedient. Compliant. Submissive," Thomas elaborated glibly, quick to step out of her range when she tried to punch him with her tiny balled up fist. "Now tell me what that thing is? From whence did it come? And why in God's name, and let me make absolutely clear that this is the question I'm most interested in having answered, is it on my bed?" "Biddable," she repeated once more in outrage, shaking her head disgustedly. With a flounce of silken skirts, she sat on the edge of his bed next to the hand mirror. "It's used for scrying." "One question down, two to—it's used for what?" "Do stop yelling, Tommy. There is absolutely nothing wrong with my hearing. And I said it's used for scrying." Imitating his earlier glib tone, she said, "Divination, seeing the future, fortune telling." "I am perfectly aware of what scrying is. But what I'm not aware of is what my sister is doing with a mirror allegedly used for that purpose. And please don't tell me you've taken up divination as some sort of pastime." Cocking her head prettily to one side, she said thoughtfully, "We could use the money." "Tammy," Thomas warned. He could just imagine the scandal which would follow if the ton thought his sister had taken up a devil's hobby. That it was all a bit of foolish nonsense wouldn't matter in the least. What would matter is that her chances of marriage would instantly decrease from slim to nil. "What?" she asked. "Respectable ladies do not work. But if it came to that end, and you had to, then you should seek employment as a lady's companion or as a nanny. But working as a teller of the future is absolutely out of the question." "Guess I have to admit, then, the true purpose of the mirror." "Which is?" "I've found when the sun is at its zenith and if the mirror is held just so, I can start a fire...or, at the very least, cause a person a bit of warming discomfort." "And who would you be wanting to discomfort?" A too innocent expression blanketed her face. "No one." Thomas wasn't fooled for one second. "You are to stay away from Lady Annabelle, Tammy, do you understand me?" "If it wasn't for Lady Annabelle, Tommy, I'd be wed to Baron Rembrandt instead of her, and all of our problems already solved. Truthfully, I still don't know what the big deal was. Horses are meant to be rode, after all." "Yes, little sister, they are," he agreed, feeling just a touch of amusement. He couldn't help himself...on first meeting Lady Annabelle he'd also immediately noticed her long face bore an uncanny resemblance to that of a mare. "But some horses have a higher value than others. Especially those horses who are the human, virginal daughter of a matchmaking mama. If he hadn't married her, her reputation would have been in tatters after their...gallop." "Supposed virginal daughter," Tammy corrected meaningfully. "If you'd heard what I'd heard, you'd be doubtful of her purity also." She turned her gaze to the mirror, reverently stroking the handle with the tip of a finger. "This mirror is very old." Thomas intoned dryly, "You don't say." "Scoff if you want. But this is a priceless artifact. I have it on good authority it's been around since ancient Egypt actually. A gift to Cleopatra when she was two years younger than we are now. From one of her besotted lovers. He ordered it made special for her." Thomas stared pointedly at the handle his sister adoringly caressed. "I honestly don't think the man who ordered the commissioning of that thing was smitten with any part of Cleopatra, except for, maybe, the power she wielded. Now, Mark Antony was probably a totally different story." Tammy's attention snapped to him. She regarded him with a fair amount of disbelief. "I don't believe it." "You don't believe what?" Thomas asked, unsettled by her close scrutiny. "That you do have a sense of humor. I'd heard the rumors, but immediately dismissed them all as being frivolous, of course." "Of course." Thomas shook his head in exasperation. "Proceed with your tale, Tammy." "Very well," she conceded, a small smile curving her lips. "It's said Cleopatra saw her whole life in this mirror. She foresaw her marriage to Ptolemy and the fierce struggle for power which resulted afterwards. She foresaw her relationship with Julius Caesar and later Mark Antony." She paused briefly and in that short time it was all too clear to Thomas that some part of his sister actually believed the ridiculous prattle she was rattling off. "It's even said it was in this very mirror that she saw the idea to smuggle herself in a carpet to Julius Caesar." "She saw all that in that very mirror, hmm?" "It boggles the mind, does it not, Thomas? If the story is true, it means I am in possession of the object that the most powerful woman to ever rule Egypt drew all her knowledge from." Tammy's sigh was dreamy. Thomas's snort was incredulous. "Yes, I do suppose that is one way to look at it." "What other way is there to look at it?" "That it is a worthless piece of clod ignorant young girls make up fanciful stories about. And it's also in dire need of resodding. Some insect is without its home right now." "I am not ignorant!" In a rage, Tammy shot off of the bed. "You—you—" "Idiotic oafish lummox of a liar," Thomas supplied helpfully. "I couldn't have said it better myself." She stomped to the door and yanked it open. Before she disappeared through the archway, Thomas reminded, "You didn't tell me what it is you hoped to see in it, Tammy." "It is of no consequence now," she answered, back to him. "But if you must know, Lady Matilda gave it to me at the Asherton's soiree. Said she'd heard rumors of its existence for years and when she finally determined the rumors to be true, she set out on a mission to discover its location. She eventually found it several All Hallows Eves past, buried deep in the woods. She dug it up from its resting place and, following tradition, looked into it that very day...and saw Viscount Pembroke's face in it next to hers. The next day he offered for her. I took the mirror with broad hopes that if it didn't show me my future husband it would at least show me a prosperous venture in which to invest. Or how to overthrow the monarchy." At Thomas's gasp, she added, "Oh, come off it, Thomas. You know as well as I our current monarch leaves a lot to be desired." "Tammy, you better not ever let anyone hear you speak—" "Never fear, brother, the chance of me repeating my unladylike opinions in the presence of others is equal to the chances of you becoming our next king. Our reputations as dutiful subjects are safe. For the damn thing showed me nothing at all." Thomas stared at the door his sister had quietly clicked shut after her departing form, thinking of the implication of her words. Lady Matilda, the Viscountess of Pembroke, had claimed to see the face of Alec Dumont, Viscount of Pembroke, when she'd gazed into its depths a number of years ago on this very day. It was obvious to Thomas what Tamsyn de Aubonville, penniless sister of Edward de Aubonville, Baron of Rothers, had seen when she'd looked into it. A beautiful face with wide blue eyes filled with a rapidly departing hopefulness. Seemed to him that Viscountess Pembroke had cruelly played on his sister's desperateness. Which didn't fit with the sweet, caring temperament the lady was normally very careful to maintain while in his presence. But that just went to show the extreme lengths the members of the ton were willing to undertake to fit in by causing the humiliation of another by any means necessary, didn't it. Plus, Viscountess Pembroke was a close friend of Lady Miranda so Thomas knew not to expect better of her. Anger surged as he thought of Lady Matilda and Lady Miranda having a good laugh at Tammy's expense. They were probably even now spreading malicious rumors of Tammy's midnight assignations with the Prince of Darkness and his evil minions. Although Tammy always made a point to act like the grim reality of their dire situation didn't affect her, Thomas knew it did. And she'd just had it all but slapped in her face like a gauntlet. There was nothing Thomas could do about that now...but he could make sure the ladies didn't get the chance to play their little prank on another unsuspecting innocent. He would forbid Tammy to speak of the mirror to another soul. And he would destroy it. Yes, that's exactly what he would do. And then he would burn the remains. Thomas strode to his bed and grabbed the ivory handle. He swung the hand mirror upwards, ready to bring it to its harrowing end by smashing it against the oak post of his bed. But before he could carry out the destructive downswing the weak light of early evening streamed through the open damask draperies covering his windows and reflected against the golden surface right into his eyes. Automatically, his gaze turned to the mirror. A startled shout erupted from his throat as he caught sight of himself. With a vicious curse, he hurled the malignant object across the room where it landed face down, unharmed and in one piece, on the soft Aubusson rug. Aghast, he stared at it, his mind unwilling to process the image his eyes had just seen. * "Is that you, Julien?" a female voice questioned. "But of course." Julien Montford, third Duke of Williamton, turned to face the masked hostess of the masquerade ball. Bending over the proffered hand, he pressed a lingering kiss to its back, then straightened, taking in the Duchess's massive form, made even larger by the layers and layers of white and gold fabric which currently cloaked it. He studied her for several seconds before giving up on trying to determine what her costume was supposed to be, other than ridiculous. "You look absolutely exquisite." Divination of My Heart "Flattery will get you everywhere," the Duchess of Dunbar returned once her hand had been relinquished back to her person. She fluttered her eyelashes. "Don't I make the most fetching Cleopatra?" It took almost everything in Julien to choke back the bark of laughter which threatened to burst free. "The most." "Thank you, dear. And I'm really glad you could make it tonight." "You know I wouldn't have missed your ball for the world, Eleanor." "In that case, you should have confirmed your attendance." Despite her chastisement, her brown eyes sparkled with warmth. "Have I ever?" "Never," she admitted ruefully. "You, just like your rake of a father before you, have always eschewed society's conventions, so there's no good reason for me to hold out hope you'll be changing anytime soon, is there?" "And you've always been a stickler for the rules. You won't give up on your pestering of me because you like the challenge too much." "What an odd match we two make, Jules," the Duchess remarked, her expression authentically fond. "Wouldn't change it for the world, Nora," Julien said, his expression reflecting an affection for the lady he didn't truly feel. She turned her attention to the male standing next to Julien, who wore a half mask as a concession to the ball's costumed theme much like the one Julien himself wore. "I don't recall receiving your reply to my invitation either, Evans. But then that might have less to do with your blatant disregard of etiquette and more to do with me not issuing the invite in the first place." "A minor oversight, I'm sure," Gabriel Evans, third Duke of Lexington, graciously replied. "I'm quite sure it wasn't." Undaunted by the set down, Gabriel favored the Duchess with his most charming smile and a gallant bow. "Nevertheless, it is a pleasure to see you again, Nora." "You may rest assured the pleasure is definitely all yours. And that's Duchess Dunbar to you. Or madam if you so please, but never the familiarity of Nora." With a disdainful sniff, the formidable Duchess spun stiffly on her heel and walked over to greet her costumed guests, leaving the air surrounding Julien and Gabriel on the edge of the ballroom a marked thirty degrees cooler. "The only resemblance that shrew shares with Cleopatra is her exceedingly proud carriage," Gabriel remarked, watching her make her rounds. "She's thrice Cleo's size." Amused, Julien considered his friend's detached expression. "I daresay old Nora still hasn't forgiven you for breaking her heart, Evans." "I'd daresay so, too, Montford. Only, she's not supposed to know I'm the responsible party. She's supposed to think it was my deceased grandfather." Gabriel pinned Julien under an inquiring stare. "It's always been my plan to put her out of her misery myself, but am I in need of doing it sooner rather than later, Jules?" Julien didn't take exception to the ridiculous, thinly veiled accusation. His friend was simply on the receiving end of a sense of foreboding Julien himself had been feeling in spades lately. "I didn't tell her, if that's what you want to know. Despite my uncommon partiality for the shrewd biddy, keeping your nature hidden is as important to my survival as it is to yours, my friend. Once they discover one of us, that opens the gates to the discovery of all of us. If you feel the need to take care of her, it would be prudent to do so." "Maybe I will." Gabriel's attention returned to the Duchess. "Strange thing is, I've always felt like she's known. Even when I disappeared, returning many years later as my father." "Who, mind you, in her eyes was the spitting image of your grandfather. And you, in turn, are the spitting image of them both." "You, too, are the spitting image of both your father and grandfather." "Ahh, and that, I believe, brings us to the crux of the problem," Julien said, letting his attention drift to the pairing off of couples on the ballroom floor. The first strings of a waltz drifted to his ears. "Which is?" "Women are crafty creatures, Nora is the craftiest...and I never broke her heart." The two males shared a good laugh and when their mirth subsided, Julien figured it was a good a time as any to broach the subject which had been plaguing him for some while. Though they'd just returned from a two year trip to the West Indies, for the sake of keeping what they were a secret, he strongly felt it was time to leave England. He was fairly certain their amazing resemblance to their deceased predecessors would soon be noted by more than just the eyes of the scorned Duchess of Dunbar. "Our run here has been lucrative, Gabriel, but I think it may be time for us to move on." Before his friend could respond, a tiny masked piece of rose covered fluff pushed past the two of them with a faint whispered, "Excuse me, my lordships," offered as an apology. In unison, they turned to watch the girl, who had skirts hiked well above slim ankles to allow for speed, hurry into the garden. Even with the mask covering his features, the narrowing of Gabriel's gray eyes and the flaring of his nostrils was plain. Added to those telling reactions was the swift compression of his lips into a thin, hard line. "Want her?" Julien questioned. "With a passion," Gabriel answered, not removing his eyes from the garden doors. "A pint or two of blood? Or her life?" "Her life." "How very unfortunate for her. Come along, I'll act as lookout." Julien had already reached the doors when Gabriel's next words made him pause. "I'm almost as old as you, Julien. You know I would never come to an event such as this without taking the proper precautions first." "You mean to say, then, you've already fed?" "That's exactly what I'm saying." "Then why the reaction?" "I don't know," Gabriel admitted. He raked a hand distractedly through his short brown locks. "But I'm damned sure about to go find out." It didn't take them long to find the girl. Masked removed, she sat on a bench in the middle of the garden maze, still and pretty as the Capitoline Venus. Moonlight streamed down to highlight her delicate profile and to caress blonde curls artfully arranged to spill over one shoulder. From her hasty exit, Julien had assumed she would be in tears over what was, no doubt, this trivial matter or that. But to his surprise, she wasn't. She just appeared...destitute. And well she should considering her end was so near at hand. With a single glance, Julien determined Gabriel to be utterly incapable of speech at the moment, much less dazing the girl into being amenable to his feasting on her neck. In truth, the male seemed to be grappling with some deep inner issue...and it was clear he was losing the battle. Stepping from his side, Julien approached in his stead. He placed a hand on her shoulder and the prettiest, bluest eyes jerked to his. A shock of momentary recognition stunned Julien before it dissipated with the realization the girl was a complete stranger. "Are you unwell, my dear?" "Your grace." Her words were respectful, her eyes wary. "I probably shouldn't have come out here by myself." And it was on hearing her voice that Gabriel finally located his. "Julien," the male growled, "I love you like a brother, but if you value your life you're going to want to take your hand off of her. And then back away. Slowly." The words had been spoken low, meant for Julien's ears alone. "What?" Julien didn't move, shooting Gabriel an inquisitive glance instead. "Now!" Dawning came to Julien then, expeditiously and with a fair amount of hilarity attached to it. Hands in the air, he backed away one step at a time until he stood several paces away. Chuckling, he questioned, "Satisfactory?" "No. But it'll have to do." Gabriel's gaze fastened hungrily to the girl like a starved street urchin to a sweet tart. "Are you injured, sweet?" "N-n-no," she stuttered, rising to her feet, obviously unnerved. She skirted to the far side of the bench, placing it in front of her as if to use it as an obstacle. "I mean, yes. Well, 'tis only my silly pride that's been bruised, in truth." "All you have to do is tell me who bruised your pride and I will avenge you," he swore somberly. "In that case you'll have to call out every man who's expressed interest in me then asked for the hand of another." Her statement was given in a voice just as somber as Gabe's, but the bloodthirsty effect was negated moments later by her nervous giggle. "And I will. But not for asking for the hand of another, but for—well, never mind my reasons. Just give me the names. I can't make dawn appointments with the culprits, but I shall see you avenged nonetheless." "I...I thank you, your grace. But I only jest." "I don't," Gabe muttered under his breath, the words carrying easily to Julien. To the girl he said," Then I guess I have no choice but to honor your wish." "I..." Still unsure about the two men she unexpectedly found herself in the company of, her words faded into nothingness as she divided her wide eyed attention equally between Julien and Gabe. "Sweet, although Montford is deserving of harsh punishment for his many past transgressions, right now he's innocent of any wrongdoing. So unless you want me to back out on my word, starting with him, I suggest you don't look at him anymore," Gabe ordered softly. Her compliance was swift and immediate. She didn't even bother to steal one last glance, which suited Julien's purposes just fine. He had no desire to fight his oldest friend for rights to what was obviously his lifemate. A lifemate who was undeniably lovely and uncomfortably familiar, but held absolutely no interest or desire to Julien. "That's right, sweeting," Gabriel continued to cajole. "Look at me. Only me. I'm the only person that matters to you. And you're the only person that matters to me." "That's the way of it," Julien commented, watching the "wooing" with amused indifference. "You'll win her in no time." "Julien, kindly keep your opinions to yourself." With extreme caution Gabe neared the girl, as if scared of what he'd do if he closed off the distance separating them too quickly. A clever course of action, because if he did close off the distance separating them too quickly there was no telling what he'd do. "Now and forever, sweet. Me and you." In his long illustrious life Julien had already had the thrill of meeting that one person he couldn't daze, and couldn't resist, because her blood forbade it even as it sang to him in a tempting voice as sweet and pure as that of his former lover Francesca Caccini. Knowing it would be useless, Julien hadn't even tried to daze the peasant, but rather drew the twit into a deserted alley instead by means of a suggestive wink and a sensuous smile. There he'd unashamedly drained her dry, her life sustaining elixir piquant, but surprisingly nowhere near as irresistible as he'd been led to believe it would be by others who'd met their lifemates. And it was his own long dead lifemate that this slip of girl put him in the mind of, Julien realized suddenly. With keen interest, he wondered how Gabriel would react. He was almost as jaded as Julien so there existed a certain possibility he might very well drain his lifemate dry right here in this garden and be done with her. Or would he turn her, making her his for life? In truth, Julien knew it would more than likely be the latter as Julien was the only vampire he'd ever known who had chosen the gratification of a moment versus the enjoyment of a lifetime. But even as the myriad of thoughts ran through his mind, Julien recognized there was something troubling him. Each step Gabe took forward reverberated through him with an overpowering wrongness. His gaze flicked from Gabe's large form to that of the petite blonde. But, still, he felt nothing for her, felt no undeniable urge to issue a challenge. And he wouldn't as the husk of his own lifemate was buried deep in the ground two centuries past, the only surviving memento of her a silver necklace he'd torn from her neck as she took her last breath. So why, then, did he want to rip his friend's head off? "Tammy?" a male voice called lowly from a considerable distance away. In an effort to prevent an attack on Gabriel, Julien focused on the disembodied tenor as it called out the name Tammy several times more, each increasingly more desperate, and closer, than the last. He could hear the man's steps as they drew nearer. And with each one of those steps, it became harder and harder for Julien to control himself. Gabe was too close to...her? No, it wasn't the girl. Gabe was too close to— "Tammy? Where the devil have you gotten off to?" The owner of the voice rounded the hedgerow, stumbling onto the threesome. "Tammy? Tam—" Julien was immediately upon the man, forcing them both to the ground with his greater size and strength. His hands ripped off the masks they both wore as well as the man's cravat and his elongated canines found purchase in the man's throat. "Mine," he lifted his head long enough to snarl in Gabe's general direction. "Yours," Gabe agreed, before he pounced on his lifemate, slapping his hand across the girl's mouth before she could vocalize the horror on her face. The furious sounds of feeding were the only sounds to disturb the otherwise quiet night. Mine, Julien thought to himself. This man belonged to him. And his taste was truly bel canto. * Consciousness returned to Thomas all at once. His head pounded unmercifully, making him yearn to return to sleep. Maybe he would lay abed for a little while longer... Tammy! Thomas struggled into a sitting position, a pained groan issuing from a source deep within him. He rubbed his head, hoping to rub the ache there into a distant memory. After several minutes of his futile ministrations he gave up, his concern returning once more to his sister. Removing the coverlets from atop him, he swung his legs over the side of the bed, noting with disgusted chagrin he'd apparently drunk himself into such an oblivious state he hadn't undressed. Though his coat, cravat and footwear, and even his mask, were all missing, he still wore his wrinkled shirtsleeves and trousers. Such a sorry state he was in, yet hard as Thomas tried he couldn't recall taking one sip of the spirits which had landed him there. He could only hope he hadn't made too much of an ass of himself while in mixed company before returning home and retiring for the evening. He lurched to his stockinged feet and headed to the door, planning to seek out his sister. The last thing he remembered was searching the throng of costumed guests for her after hearing whispers of two well known rakes slipping out the doors leading to the garden trailing an unidentified, unescorted female. All of his nightmares of Tammy's downfall came to life when Lady Miranda and Lady Matilda had sought him out to confirm with merriment that the unknown girl was indeed his sister gone to get a breath of fresh air after learning of yet another previous suitor's recent engagement and that the two dukes following her were libertines of the worst sort. If Tammy was discovered with them, they'd advised, Thomas and Tammy may as well make arrangements to return post haste to their rundown home in the country. Because Tammy would be ruined. Enjoying their game, they'd even gone so far as to promise to keep the busybodies out of the garden for five minutes...at which point they would then lead the crowd there themselves to discover whatever mischief there was to be found. Flummoxed, Thomas stared at the door in front of him. It was on the long wall of the room. It was on the wrong wall of the room. Headache gone, he whirled in a circle to take in the richly appointed candlelit bedchamber he stood in, only to find it to be unfamiliar. The bed was twice the size of his in the rented townhouse. And it had a canopy—a canopy! His bed didn't have a canopy, just four posts. Why wasn't the presence of the blasted canopy the first thing he noticed, he wondered irritably. Even the walls were vastly different. They contained no windows and were papered in an expensive raised fabric containing an intricate design which looked soft to the touch. Almost as soft as the flooring beneath his feet which wasn't rug covered hardwood, but carpet. The whole room was done in varying shades of crimson and obsidian. It stimulated the senses and left little to the imagination as to what purpose the room was designed to be used for. And that purpose had little to do with sleeping. Where in Hades was he? And where in Hades was his sister? Without another thought, Thomas burst through the door into the corridor beyond. He rushed down the hall, opening door after door looking for Tammy. When he finally came to the end of the hall he was forced to acknowledge that wherever his sister was, it wasn't here, in this overly huge townhouse with its subterranean chambers devoid of natural light. Thomas hurried to the grand staircase located right across from the entrance to the last bedchamber he'd searched. Halfway up, he came to an abrupt halt. A man had appeared at the top. A man huge in height as well as breadth, with a wide brow, pitch black eyes and auburn hair tied back off a pale face possessing aristocratic features containing more than just a touch of cruelty and hardness. A man who's face Thomas had seen before. But not in person. But seen it he had, he admitted to himself. Next to his own, just hours earlier, in the hand mirror which still lay on the floor of his room. As he'd never before made the man's acquaintance, he'd assumed the man was a figment of his imagination even going so far as to jokingly tell Tammy on the way to the ball that her magic hand mirror had shown her husband to him rather than her because it knew a male relative's approval was required first. What he hadn't mentioned to Tammy was that "her husband's" lips had been pressed tight to Thomas's throat. The man didn't speak, just stared down at Thomas. Unable to hold the piercing, cold gaze, Thomas's eyes dropped to the man's hands. One rested lightly on the railing while the other held a glass containing a sanguine fluid. Thomas had the most irrational desire to taste the liquid. Just to see if it tasted like it looked...to see if it tasted like...blood. Disturbed at the train of his thoughts, Thomas drug his eyes back upwards. And was immediately hit with the impression that the man wasn't just seeing him, but that he peering into Thomas's very soul, seeing, understanding, dismantling all of him. Even parts of him that Thomas himself didn't understand. Thomas took a step down and backwards, back the way he'd just come. "Wh-where am I? And where is my sister?" "Safe," the man answered in a rumbling bass which was pleasing to the ear. A vague smile twisted his lips up slightly at the corners. "But you're asking the wrong questions, dear Thomas." Thomas started, surprised the man knew his name. "I apologize, but you seem to have me at a disadvantage. You are...?" "Julien Montford." The Duke of Williamton. Thomas may not have known the man by sight, but he certainly knew him by name. The man was legendary for his genius with financial undertakings. "Y-y-your grace," he stammered, dismayed not by title, but by the duke's menacing stance. Just standing there as he was, he was an exceedingly intimidating figure. "I'm sure you'll understand that I'd like to verify with my own eyes as to the safety of my sibling. If you will kindly tell me where she is." Montford lifted his glass to his lips and took a long draw of the contents. "Safe." Thomas's mouth watered. He'd never cared much for wine, preferring instead warmed brandy, but right now he was eager to taste the blood red liquid for himself. It looked delicious. And warm. And thick. And he fancied that he could almost smell its strong coppery aroma. Divination of My Heart So involved in lusting after the wine, Thomas almost missed the duke's next statement, "She's with my friend Gabriel Evans. They're at his townhouse. Not too far from here." Thomas's mouth dried swiftly. His sister was in a man's house without an escort? He mounted two steps, but halted when it became clear the Duke wasn't going to move out of his way. "Remove yourself." "I will not." "But I must go to her at once, sir." "You won't disturb them." "And you presume a lot to tell me what I can't do," Thomas replied. "I'm not telling you, lad...I'm forbidding you. As is my right." His right? Thomas thought indignantly. And it was, he realized the next moment with a jolt. Deep inside, Thomas felt the man's control over him assert itself. If he thought of returning meekly to the chamber he'd just left, he could go. If he thought of fleeing in terror to the rented townhouse he shared with Tammy, he could go. But if he thought of seeking out his sister...he knew he couldn't follow through on the action. It was as if literal shackles stopped him from doing so. "What have you done to me?" Thomas gasped. "Now we're on the right course. But that's still the wrong question, Thomas." Cool amusement lit the inky black depths of the duke's eyes. "What question would you have me ask?" "How long you have to live." "Are you threatening to kill me?" The silence which preceded the answer stretched on for what seemed like an eternity. "I already have." Thomas glanced down the front of himself, taking in his body—his fully functioning, walking, talking, very much still alive, thank you very much, body. "The hell, you say." * Thomas Clancy de Aubonville was lively. And Julien liked that about him. Liked him. Way more than he ought considering the male represented two impossibilities: First, Thomas was his lifemate, a fact so shocking in its own right it almost overshadowed the second issue which was more of an improbability than an impossibility, Thomas's gender. Julien had found out all about Thomas from his twin sister. Following an age old instinct, Gabriel had depleted her blood supply down to the bare minimum needed for the transition much quicker than Julien had with Thomas in his reserved caution not to repeat history, meaning he was also able to replenish her lost blood with his own quicker and that she came to quicker...hours before Thomas. Julien had just returned home not too long ago from delivering a marital gift of sorts to the couple. He'd found it highly amusing, and symbolic, to present them with a dazed Duchess of Dunbar. At Gabriel's insistence, given only because prior to Julien's arrival he and his lifemate had marked each other with their scents through the transfer of blood and the emission of bodily liquids secreted during the consummation of their union, Julien had shared in their snack which was followed immediately by an informative tête-à-tête with Tammy. To Gabriel's delight, Tammy had promptly accepted her future as a creature of the dark who would live by his side for eternity as his lifemate. Though Julien didn't mention it, he thought she was more excited than anything else about the fact that it was finally, as she put it, "My turn to wed." To say she relished the thought of shocking the ton by making a quick trip to Gretna Green only to return a wedded, pre-bedded wife was an understatement. Though their relationship, unlike his with Thomas, would be recognized afterwards in the eyes of the church and the ton, Julien didn't envy his friend his new bride. From their quick meeting he had determined the girl was stubborn, willful and was going to be a handful. Not a good combination to work against while trying to teach your newling the discipline required to curb a raging bloodlust. Before Tammy was completely in control of herself, there was going to be an unforeseen death or two. But Thomas...Thomas represented a completely different story. From Tammy's description of her beloved brother, the male was, for lack of a better word, a prude. He spent the majority of his time concerned with the ton's opinion, an opinion Julien himself flouted regularly in his present life as well as had flouted regularly in his past two incarnations as his father and grandfather. He made it a point to always live his life without the hindrance of regrets or morals to hamper him and to live it while never giving two damns about what the ton, or anyone else for that matter, thought of him. Which presently put him at a distinct disadvantage . He could only speculate how the fair-haired male would react to the fact that he belonged to him, another male, now and forever. Revulsion, shock and disgust topped the list of possible responses. Left with no other choice, Julien knew Thomas would eventually grow to accept the two of them together, but Julien wanted to have it happen sooner rather than later. And there was only one way he could see that happening...by corrupting the pious male. Starting with an introduction to the delights to be found carnally. Though Julien had always preferred the company of a female, he'd been around entirely too long to have escaped personal knowledge of the bliss that could be found with a man. As lifemates, he and Thomas would be participating often in those pleasurable activities. Activities which, if they were discovered, carried a sentence of death by hanging, a sentence which would harm a vampire about as much as dousing him with holy water, that is to say, not at all. "You're a lunatic. A raving lunatic," Thomas spat. Inclining his head, Julien replied, "That description has been applied to me a time or two. But lunatic or not, Thomas, you know I speak the truth. You are now as dead as I am." "Lunatic," he repeated, pivoting on his heel. Draining the contents of his cup, Julien watched his reluctant lifemate flee. He wondered if Thomas even noticed his increased speed before deciding he hadn't, or, if he had, he'd probably erroneously attributed it to the distress of his situation. Several seconds passed before Julien finally set his empty glass on the top step and gave chase. He caught up to Thomas rapidly, overtaking him just as he reached the door to the bedchamber he'd awoken in. Julien's bedchamber. Thomas hurtled into the interior and slammed the door shut, locking it. He stared at it, backed away, moved towards it again, his hand rising hesitatingly, only to back away once more. Entertained, Julien watched for awhile as Thomas struggled internally against the pull of their union, watched him unsuccessfully fight something that was bigger than either of them. "Your fight is in vain." "Jesus," Thomas shouted. He whirled towards the rumpled bed on which Julien lazily reclined. "What the hell are you?" "Your sire. Your master." Holding Thomas's wary gaze, Julien rose and approached slowly. "Your maker. Your creator. Your God." The smaller male backed away with equally measured steps, but Julien didn't let up on his advance until only a few mere feet separated them and Thomas's back was flush with the door, leaving him with no way to escape. "But above all, I will be your lover." "You're the devil, aren't you?" Thomas whispered with more awe than fear. "No, but I do so love how you compliment me." Julien cut off the remaining distance, splaying his hands flat on the door above Thomas's head and leaned in to catch his lips in a quick, brutal kiss of possession. He pulled back to mutter, "You belong to me, Thomas Clancy de Aubonville." In a stupor, Thomas regarded him. Then bellowed, "Yours? Are you mad? You're a man!" And, almost as an afterthought given automatically, added, "And don't call me Clancy." "I thought we already settled that I am quite mad. For you, Thomas. And I'd much rather call you by another name—mine." Julien invaded his soon-to-be lover's space again and wrapped one hand in his silky blond locks, pulling his head back with a jerk and claiming a second kiss of the captivating upturned lips that was deeper than, more all consuming than, more possessive than the first. Thomas immediately stiffened as Julien thrust his tongue over and over into his mouth seeking, tasting, ravishing, marking. He raised his hands to Julien's chest and futilely tried to push him away. But eventually the resistance faded as Thomas submitted to Julien's invincible will. And those hands that had tried to win a bid for freedom eventually clutched at Julien's shirt, pulling him ever closer. With an extraordinary amount of effort, Julien drew back, taking in the beguilingly bruised and swollen lips. His gaze drifted higher and he saw the beginning of understanding, if not quite acceptance, spark in Thomas's bright blue eyes. "That's right, Thomas. All you have to do is look within yourself to know I speak true." "But it is unnatural for one man to be with another. It's not—oh," Thomas's protestation broke off as Julien's free hand found the crotch of his trousers. "The hell with what polite society and the whole goddamned ton think," Julien snarled. "I'm not a man, Thomas. I don't live by the world's rules. I make my own." With each statement, Julien gave Thomas's growing length a firm stroke. "And there is nothing—nothing—that will keep me from you. And God forbid should anybody, or anything, be stupid enough to try." "If you're not a man," Thomas panted, twisting in an effort to free himself, "what are you?" "We, dear Thomas, we are vampires," Julien answered, easily overcoming all of Thomas's efforts to evade his relentless touch. "There's no...there's no such thing...as vampires." "I assure you, there is such a thing." Julien tightened his grasp in the golden tresses and curled the fingers of his other hand around the staff outlined by the snug breeches. He brought his face to Thomas's, smothering Thomas's huff of pain with his mouth. "I am one. You are one. And you belong to me." Adeptly, Julien sprung Thomas's phallus free of its constriction, then dropped to his knees in front of him. He was pleased to see the alluring prize he'd uncovered. Thomas wasn't too long nor too thick, but of the perfect size and with a slight curve. Julien played with the silken flesh, stroking it up and down and occasionally dropping his grip to gently massage the sack beneath. When he felt sufficiently confident Thomas was ready for the next level, Julien brought his mouth to the head of Thomas's staff. Then engulfed it, inch by slow, delicious inch. He licked and nipped until he reached the root, then pulled back and repeated his routine. Each time Thomas released a little of that sweet liquid which was the precursor to the higher pleasure he was hurtling headlong towards, Julien growled low in his throat and his fangs grew a little longer. In the most basic of manners, Julien worshiped his lifemate. He savored Thomas's clean taste, swiping his tongue in broad strokes along the bottom of the shaft as he alternated between gentle and hard sucks. He cupped Thomas's sparsely haired balls and from their tightness, and from Thomas's guttural, fevered moans, knew his lover was close. Releasing him from his mouth, Julien sat back on his haunches and stared up into his newling's half closed eyes. "How many others have you known, Thomas? How many do I have to wipe clean from your memory?" "N-none," he stuttered, vainly attempting to recover his stolen breath. The answer shocked Julien. In his own human life he'd been inducted into manhood at the age of thirteen and had enjoyed being a man for the next seventeen years until he'd been turned on the whim of a female vampire who'd wanted to forever preserve Julien's potent vitality. Not taking too kindly to the absolute control of another over him, Julien had fucked the bitch then immediately decapitated her when she'd fallen asleep. Ever since he'd been enjoying the varying joys of being vampire...which included a dangerous combination of sex mingled with killing. As Julien's experiences ranged from the loving of men, women, men who wanted to be women, women who wanted to be men and one lonely, confused soul who had been equipped with a dual set of sexual organs, Thomas's unspoiled innocence pleased him to no end. "None? You've never been with another before? I know not a man, but not even a woman?" "Never." "And we're going to keep it that way," Julien demanded, triumph soaring through his veins that none had ever known what was his. "You will never be with another, Thomas. You belong to me. Mind, body and soul. You hear me, Thomas? Even your soul belongs to me. Forever." Julien sucked the staff clear into the back of his throat with one gulp, then just as quickly released it again. "Say it, Thomas. I want to hear you say it!" "Yours," Thomas agreed in a tortured moan. "What's mine?" Julien swirled his tongue around the swollen tip, tasting another sweet dollop of liquid innocence which welled there. "My soul," Thomas groaned. "My soul is yours, your grace." "For how long?" "Forever." "That's right, Thomas. Forever." With that, Julien resumed his ministrations on the stiff rod. Very soon Thomas bucked wildly, his head thrown back in abandon against the door and the cords in his neck standing out starkly. His entire body stretched taut, reaching, stretching towards that final end. Julien continued to suck, relishing the ever so slight swelling of Thomas's member and the ecstasy visible on Thomas's face. When Thomas's legs began to quiver uncontrollably, Julien shifted so that he supported most of Thomas's weight as he continued to goad Thomas to the imminently impending powerful orgasm. When Thomas's fingers clutched the side of Julien's head, Julien sucked harder still. Then bit Thomas at the base of his staff. And was rewarded with the first pulse of Thomas's seed mingled with the tangy taste of his blood. For each of Julien's greedy swallows, Thomas graced him with another mouthful. One, two, three, four more volleys erupted before Thomas had delivered the whole of his load. Afterwards he sagged, boneless, against the door, in danger of collapsing. "The most intoxicating of sweetness," Julien said, licking his lips. In a blur of movement, he removed both of their clothes. Sweeping Thomas off his feet, he carried him to the bed where he laid his sated lover flat on his stomach. He stretched himself alongside Thomas asking, "Are you ready for more, dear Thomas?" The response was muffled by the pillows Thomas's face was buried in, but considering he wasn't making a fruitless dash for the door, Julien took it as consent. He buried his nose in Thomas's neck and inhaled deeply. He smelled earthy and male, like sandalwood...and purity. "So innocent...so untried...so pure. I confess I don't know whether it is God's hand that has brought us together or the Devil's." Thomas turned his head to one side, flaxen curls shielding his profile. "Why do you make such a statement, your grace?" "My name is Julien, Thomas." He caressed the wayward lock of hair back off of Thomas's brow, tucking it behind his ear. Beautiful, he thought as the handsome face was revealed to his hungry eyes again, absolutely beautiful. "Use it, because I refuse to spend an eternity listening to you call me your grace." "Why do you make such a statement...Julien?" "Because God," Julien answered, pressing a kiss to Thomas's neck, "washed his hands of me a long time ago. And I have no doubt you are a precious creation he personally had a hand in molding and thus would never willingly give to me. So that leads me to think..." "The devil is responsible?" "It would be just like old Beelzebub to give you to me. But only as a cruel trick. Only if he meant to take you from me. But I won't let him. I meant it when I said there is not one person or thing on earth that can keep me from you. And even when we experience the true death I'll find you." Julien licked a line across Thomas's broad shoulders and down the slim curve of his back, then effortlessly flipped him over. "This next part I thought to do from behind, but now I find that I want to watch your expressive eyes as we embark on the experience together." Thomas's swallow was audible. "Ex-ex-experience?" "You've given me your blood and seed. You've marked me as yours." Julien gave a closed mouth smile. "Now it's time for me to make you mine." "Don't I get a choice?" "No." * Julien alighted from the bed, his staff jutting out proudly from its nest of auburn. Thomas rolled onto his side, his eyes following Julien's powerful form as he strode to a chest in the corner, lifted the lid and bent to rumble through the contents before finally locating the object of his desire—a tiny red vial. He returned to stand just to the side of the bed, just mere feet from Thomas, where he uncorked the vial and poured a sweet smelling oil into the palm of his hand. Completely absorbed, Thomas drank in Julien's magnificence. The sturdy shoulders. The brawny chest. The muscular legs. He recognized the power Julien held over him was of a carnal nature, rather than the unnatural control he'd first thought it was. He also acknowledged to himself it was his curiosity to know Julien in this way which had prevented him from leaving to go in search of Tammy earlier. He was enthralled by this man who claimed to be a vampire. And he knew what he felt to be wrong. Knew it made them both little more than abominations in the eyes of the Lord, pariahs to be scorned by society. But how could something so wrong be so pleasurable? Thomas shuddered, thinking of the intense satisfaction Julien's hot mouth had given him. Julien may not have been sure of who, or what, had brought them together but Thomas sure the hell was. And it wasn't God or Satan. It was that damn hand mirror. With trepidation, Thomas steeled himself. The hand mirror had ordained he was to be here with Julien, so he would make the best of a pleasurable, if morally wrong, situation. And once Julien fell asleep he would escape, never to think of this night or the things he'd done with this man ever again. "Watch, Thomas." It wasn't until Julien spoke that Thomas realized he'd squeezed his eyes tightly shut. Julien waited until Thomas did as bid to give his next order. "Taste." Fighting feelings of equal parts disgust and fascination, Thomas leaned forward, bringing his lips to the tip of Julien's phallus. Imperiously, Julien stared down at him through hooded lids, silently waiting for him to complete the task he'd been given. Taste. The order in the sparkling diamond black eyes was clear as if the order had been spoken aloud a second time. Needing no further encouragement, Thomas tasted. Uncertainly, he swirled his tongue around the head, getting a feel for the ridges, the silky texture and the smooth flavor. It felt strange having any part of the huge rod in his mouth, but it also felt...right. The rumbling moan Julien emitted emboldened Thomas like no words of praise ever could. Mimicking the actions that had recently given him so much satisfaction, Thomas inched his way down towards the root. Halfway to his goal, he stopped or else he risked the very real disagreeable possibility of choking himself on the immense girth. With a look of apology, he retreated. "Enough," Julien groaned. "Your inexperience is going to unman. On your back now." Thomas lay flat on his back, his eyes fastened to Julien's hand as it grasped his massive erection. With a few swipes Julien coated his every inch with the oil, until his staff shone impossibly bright in the candle light. "My apologies beforehand," he said, rejoining Thomas on the bed. He hovered over him, dipping his head to catch Thomas's bottom lip between his teeth, sucking it into his mouth. "But I fear there's a bit of pain to be involved in our joining. It's unavoidable." Divination of My Heart "The joining or the pain?" Thomas asked sarcastically. "The pain on joining is unavoidable, though your body will quickly repair itself leading to our mutual enjoyment." Julien smiled devastatingly. "But the joining itself is inevitable." That was when Thomas knew there would be no running and no escaping Julien. They were both as Julien said they were. Vampires. The walking undead. And it wasn't Julien's outrageous statement that his body would instantly regenerate itself which led Thomas to his conclusion. He believed now because of what he saw. Earlier he'd felt Julien's bite which had triggered his dizzying spiral into pleasure, but he hadn't seen his fangs. Now he did see them. And they caused his limp staff to instantly re-harden and his own fangs to lengthen in response. Free of all inhibitions, Thomas raised a hand to Julien's face. He stroked a finger down first one, then the other, long, dangerously sharp canine. Julien's sharp inhalation is what finally broke his attention. On noticing Julien's eyes screwed tightly shut, faced contorted in abject discomfort, Thomas jerked his hand away. "My apologies, Julien. I didn't mean to hurt you." "You didn't hurt me, little one," Julien murmured, opening his eyes. The desire burning in the coal black depths branded Thomas with its intensity. "On the contrary, you bring me great joy." Julien settled himself between Thomas's thighs. The oil slicked hand moved to Thomas's rear entrance, but went no further. Julien rested the tip of one finger there, silently asking permission with his eyes. Ironic that the man who'd remarked on his expressive eyes did so much talking with his own set. "Thomas?" Julien questioned. Thomas took a deep breath. It was on the tip of his tongue to say no, to shield some part of himself from this vampire who he knew without a shadow of any doubt wanted to claim and own all of him, right down to his very soul as he'd previously said. He opened his mouth, ran his tongue over his lips, stopped when he reached the tip of one of his own long, dangerously sharp canines. If he said no, there was still a possibility for self-preservation. "Thomas...?" There was still a possibility for...nothing. Just as Julien had claimed Thomas for himself, Thomas knew Julien belonged to him. And there was no existence without Julien. "Do it." The finger eased into his passage. It was quickly joined by a second and third and the fullness and pressure Thomas experienced as the fingers twisted and turned was a discomfort quickly replaced by a wave of forceful pleasure when a certain spot was skimmed. Julien pulled his fingers almost all the way out and the wave had just begun to recede into a poignant memory when he eased them back in again. He quickly found the same spot, this time massaging it. "Julien," Thomas gasped, back arching off the bed, bottom bearing down on the hand home to the invading fingers. "Feels good, no?" Julien responded with a wicked grin. He gathered some of the liquid leaking from Thomas's rod onto his fingers, quickly bringing them to his lips. He plunged his fingers into his mouth, sucking them clean, then repeated the routine a second time. "You're ready." This time the fingers were removed all the way. Thomas didn't have a chance to think about the resulting emptiness as the very tip of Julien's staff now rested at his entrance. Slowly, Julien pressed forward, pushing past the resistant rings to fill Thomas completely. Thomas briefly experienced the pain Julien had spoken off, but he didn't dwell on it as there was a staggering reality of great importance that he now found himself faced with. Julien wasn't just filling the void left by his fingers, Thomas realized, he was filling a void, a deep chasm, inside of Thomas's soul that he hadn't even realized existed. The knowledge that he was whole for the first time in his life astounded him and he valiantly tried to figure out how he'd gone eighteen years without ever knowing such a big part of him was missing. "We're lifemates," Julien said gently, an odd expression on his intent face as he stared down at Thomas. He was buried to the hilt, but held himself absolutely still except for the occasional twitch of his shaft which couldn't be helped. "Listen closely, Thomas, I have to tell you this. This is completely out of character for me, but I feel compelled to give you the chance to make this your choice, something I wasn't going to do." "I—" "Listen," Julien admonished, placing a silencing finger to Thomas's lips. "I need to explain this to you, but my willpower is only so strong and we're running out of time before the choice is made for you. You'll always be a vampire as I stole your life from you. I would apologize for my thievery, but I'd be lying if I said I was sorry. I'm not. At all." "I—" "You should know the bond which actually ties us together as lifemates has only been initiated, not completed. If you don't want this, I can withdraw now without giving you my seed and blood and the bond will be severed. If you don't want this, if you don't want me, I'll make a gallant effort to let you live your life as you see fit with no interference, but I make no promises." "Julien—" "Listen, you little idiot," Julien hissed angrily. "If you don't want this, you have to tell me now. Right this very instant. Because once I start, I'm not going to be able to stop until the bond is completed. And once it's completed, it's irreversible. You will truly be mine—" "Forever," Thomas finished with a heated buck of his hips which caused Julien's phallus to withdraw and rebury itself. "Now you listen to me, Duke of Williamton, finish what you started or I'm going to make it a personal quest of mine to destroy each and every thing you hold in any kind of regard. So, Julien, I think the choice is actually yours. And I suggest you choose wisely. And I also suggest you never, ever, call me an idiot again." "Never," Julien agreed with a pained groan. "I'll never call you an idiot again...and I'll never let you go." Julien pulled his hips back. "I'm sorry," he said, regret glimmering briefly in his eyes. "I can't go slow. The need to complete the bond is too great." He slammed his hips forward. Again and again, Julien pulled out of Thomas only to hammer forward once more. Their coupling was rough, violent. And each thrust sent bolts of ecstasy racing through all parts of Thomas. He could feel the bond as it irrevocably knitted them together, could feel the passion as it united them as one. For an eternity, Thomas teetered there on the brink of a great precipice, riding the waves of their ardor ever higher until he finally fell victim to the friction created between their two bodies and the rightness of them. His shaft exploded strings of liquid desire across both of their stomachs, a few drops even reaching as high as their chest and necks. "Mine," Julien grunted, plunging deep. He collapsed on top of Thomas then, his hips grinding furiously in close quarters, his neck near Thomas's mouth. Reacting on instinct alone, Thomas struck, teeth sinking deep into the soft flesh. As his mouth filled with mouthful after mouthful of Julien's blood, Julien pushed as deep as he could go with an agonized moan and filled Thomas with pulse after pulse of his seed. The bond was complete. Strong. Unbreakable. * Julien watched the peaceful face of his lifemate. His lifemate. He still couldn't believe it. He'd honestly thought he'd remorselessly killed his lifemate all those long years ago. And in all the years he'd been walking the earth, he'd only known vampires to each have one lifemate only...that not all were even fortunate enough to find. Humans were frail creatures. And sometimes the life of a lifemate was stolen before the bond was created. Craving an attachment of some sort, he knew of those who chose to settle with another who wasn't their lifemate for any variety of reasons, but they lived together without the true bond ever linking them. Meaning they could walk away from each other at any time, for any reason, with no reservations to hold them back. And then there were others who chose to live their life in solitary. Having now known the true bond himself, Julien knew he could never accept either paltry fate. If Thomas was destroyed before him, Julien would destroy himself...but only after first disposing of those responsible for Thomas's death. Truth be told, he'd thought of destroying himself that very night. For a few brief horrible moments while in the garden with Gabriel and Tammy, when he'd realized Gabriel would turn her, he'd thought it was his absolute corruption, his abject degradation that was demanding he issue a challenge. He'd thought that he'd sunk to such a new low that he could only be happy by seeing his closest friend miserable and that's when he'd thought it might be better to end it all right then and there. Now he didn't have to. He had Thomas to sustain him. Julien stroked a finger down Thomas's cheek. The blue eyes opened and the sheer magnitude of the adoration and love which shone from them staggered Julien. "I have something for you," Julien said quietly, ready to face the consequences of his past actions. He got out of the bed and retrieved the necklace from the chest. He returned to stand by the side of the bed and laid the piece of jewelry across Thomas's torso. At Thomas's lifted eyebrow, he explained, "It belonged to your ancestor. A great grandmother many times removed." "What was her name?" Thomas asked, lifting the piece of jewelry to study it closely in the light cast by the candles. "I don't know." The necklace slipped through Thomas's fingers to the bed. "If you didn't know her, how did you end up with something that belonged to her?" For the first time ever, Julien regretted something. He regretted killing the peasant girl. Before he could think of an answer that would pass as a remotely suitable expression of repentance, a knock came at the door, saving him. Latching onto the reprieve, Julien called, "Enter." The door swung wide and his trusted butler entered, pulling an elegantly dressed woman behind him who was clearly dazed. Thomas scrambled to cover himself with a sheet, but for his part, Edwards didn't bat an eyelash over Julien's state of undress...or the fact there was an equally naked young man he'd never seen before laying on Julien's bed. Or the fact he was more than likely delivering a woman to her death. "Lady Miranda," Edwards announced stonily. "A gift from the Duke and soon-to-be Duchess of Lexington for you and the young master." "Soon-to-be Duchess of Lexington?" Thomas questioned. "Your sister," Julien replied. "The Duke?" "Gabriel Evans." "Are they...?" "Like us." "Huh. Good for her." Edwards retreated to the door where he stopped to add, "And Lady Cleo sends her many thanks for the return of her property and for the presentation of the party responsible for its disappearance. She said it's been gone for many years and she cherishes it now just as much as the first time you gifted it to her. She also said she thanks you for the advice and will certainly lock it up someplace safe rather than rebury it so its power doesn't fall into the hands of another silly chit." After the door closed behind Edwards, Julien glanced at Thomas. Who was staring not at him, but at the woman speculatively. Although he'd begun their night with every intention of corrupting Thomas's innocence and had succeeded vastly in one area, there were certain other innocences Thomas would have to soon shed. There were inescapable aspects of this new life over which he suspected Thomas would voice fierce objections. Like how they fed. The more he thought about it, the more bothered he became. He didn't really want Thomas to lose all of his purity. To become hard and without compunction...to become like him. "Lady Cleo?" Thomas asked. "As in Cleopatra? You mean she didn't die from the bite of an—" "Only bite she felt that day was mine, Thomas," Julien interrupted darkly. "Only death she experienced that day was that of her mortality." He heard Thomas slip from the bed. Was aware of his every movement as his young lover returned the necklace to the chest then moved to stand in front of him. A long silence stretched before he finally astutely stated, "You killed her." They were no longer speaking of Cleopatra. "Yes." "You regret what you did." "I do now," Julien answered truthfully, staring at a spot on the wall high above Thomas's head. "But not for what I did to her." "Look at me." Julien refused, keeping his eyes fastened on that same spot. He couldn't bear to look in Thomas's eyes and to possibly risk seeing the vacancy of the adoration and love replaced by the regret he so strongly felt mirrored in the form of Thomas's own regret over the bond they'd so recently forged. "Until tonight I never had cause to regret anything I've ever done. Until tonight I never had cause to regret what I am. To regret what I so unapologetically made you. But I told you, Thomas, you are mine and I'm not letting you go, regrets or no regrets." "You knew she was special, else you wouldn't have taken something of hers." The words sounded like an accusation. "Yes, Thomas, I knew she was special. There was something about her which beckoned to me. I didn't like her having that power so I stole her life, then her property." "Look at me," Thomas demanded. "Please." Julien's will crumbled in the face of that single word. His gaze lowered to Thomas's. Where the same adoration and love still shone bright. "Thomas..." "I'm not going anywhere, Julien. I didn't know my ancestor, but I know you. And the love I feel for you far outweighs any indignation I could possibly muster over the death of a woman I've never met. And right now I'm more interested in discovering why Lady Miranda is here with us than in speaking of the past." One difficulty down, with another to immediately take its place. "She's here to feed us." "Feed us?" "The only food you will now require is blood. I know this will be hard for you, Thomas," Julien said. He placed his hand on the nape of his lifemates neck, where he stroked the skin gently. "It's always hard at first, but after the first few times it becomes natural. Eventually it'll become easier. And I'll always be here to guide and help you through any difficulties." "Julien," exasperation was evident in the cadence of the tenor, "the thought of taking blood doesn't dismay me. I've already done it once tonight when I took yours. And it felt like the most natural of things for me to do." "You've taken my blood twice tonight," Julien reminded, wanting Thomas to how much they were truly a part of one another. "Twice...?" "The first time you wouldn't remember. It was after I attacked you in the Dunbar's garden." "Thank you," Thomas said. The gratitude reflected on his face was genuine. "Thank you for being so unapologetic. And thank you for making me yours. Now please tell me, when I feed do I have to take undue care not to kill her?" "The urge to kill will also eventually become easier to control." "What if I don't want to control the urge?" "Thomas," Julien sighed, thinking of the innocences already lost. He pressed a kiss to his lifemate's forehead. "I only mean to not control it with her," Thomas clarified, leaning into Julien and laying his mused blond curls on his chest. "We have a rather unpleasant history together. At one point, I even mistakenly thought I loved her." Jealousy raging, Julien said, "In that case, feel free to take her life." Delight transformed Thomas's face like he was a child with a new toy. And Julien realized even with the permanent destruction of several innocences, Thomas had, and always would, retain several others. Thomas would never be like him. Thomas would always be innocent, pure, untried Thomas. "I love you," Julien stated after undazing their guest at Thomas's request. He then reclined unclothed on the bed, watching in lazy amusement as his nude lifemate stalked a terrified, screaming Lady Miranda.