Dark Desire – Vampire Romance Series 01 Page 1 of 31
Dark Desire
A Vampire Romance Series – Book 1
By Stephanie Bedwell-Grime
Empty champagne glasses were all that remained of the wedding celebration. The guests had long ago faded into the mist that rose up around the castle walls. Ghosts of drunken best wishes echoed through the great hall, blending with the thunder that rumbled through the mountains outside. A gust of wind spiraled down the chimney, causing even the roaring fire in the mammoth hearth to pause and take heed. Wind and rain battered the tiny bedroom upstairs, howling between the turrets, and hammering at the stone exterior. Lightning sizzled the skies, far overpowering the solitary candle.
"Of all the nights to have a storm," Kirsten muttered grimly, setting aside the beaded gown of ivory silk, and searching for her cloak, "why did it have to be my wedding night?"
Inga, her governess, told her wedding rain promised good luck. But it seemed instead that the skies cried with her, as she made preparations to leave her father's home forever.
"Kirsten!" Her father's fist shook the door. "Valdemar is waiting."
"I'm coming," she shouted over the storm. She'd dawdled as long as possible. Checking her reflection in the mirror, she saw only pale hair and gray haunted eyes. She didn't look like a woman, more like a frightened child.
Her father hustled her down the sweeping staircase. And, with a perfunctory kiss, she was bundled into the waiting carriage.
Traded like a horse, from one man to another.
The carriage leapt into motion, throwing her against the dark figure beside her. With strong arms, he caught her and settled her back against the velvet cushions. A bolt of lightning cast him in silhouette against the brilliant sky.
Swallowing nervously, she studied the stranger beside her. They'd met only once before the wedding. With her father standing guard, he'd presented her with an intricately carved gold cross with a flaming ruby at its center to mark their betrothal. Eyes black as onyx had lingered on her every move, making her feel both desirable and vulnerable. At twenty nine, he seemed terribly serious, and impossibly ancient.
Rumors clung to the young aristocrat. Servants whispered he was cursed. Local folklore spoke of a string of fiancées who perished under mysterious circumstances. The kitchen staff lay wagers she'd be dead within a week like his last wife.
Her father dismissed her fears as superstitious nonsense. He was anxious to marry off the last of his seven daughters. With her mother long dead, Kirsten had no choice but to obey his wishes.
Through the carriage's black curtains she could see only drifting columns of mist. The teaming rain absorbed all sound except for the rattle of the carriage's wheels. Now and then, shrubby trees thrust their glistening, leafless branches through the fog like questing hands.
A meager few feet beyond the narrow wheels of the carriage, the ground fell sharply away. Mercifully, the view was obscured by mist and rain. Kirsten crossed herself, praying the driver was sure of his grip on the reins.
After what seemed an eternity of bouncing and jostling, they rounded a corner and she gazed at last upon the crumbling battlements of Castle Berthold. Fog clung to the upper storeys like ghosts of past occupants. The stone was gray, rough from the wear of countless years. Yet, the stately oak door was richly lacquered and its brass hinges polished to a dull gleam.
The carriage clattered to a halt before the stone steps. Kirsten swallowed hard and uttered another prayer as Valdemar stepped down and offered her his hand. She was now mistress of that crumbling castle.
It was only six days since her seventeenth birthday.
Valdemar slipped a proprietary arm about her waist to guide her up the slick, stone stairs, past gargoyles whose vacant eyes seemed to follow her every move.
The pressure of Valdemar's palm against her back urged her forward. As they approached, the door swung open, dwarfing the thin figure whose lantern cast swaying shadows out over the steps. The gaunt, gray haired man bowed deeply as she passed, then hurried off to oversee the unloading of her luggage.
Above the grand entranceway an iron chandelier blazed with a multitude of candles. The sheer size of the hall made her feel insignificant. Yet, Valdemar strode across the cavernous room with the confidence of a man well accustomed to wealth and vast rooms. He was at home, she realized of a sudden.
And so, God help me, am I.
"Let me show to your rooms," Valdemar said, ushering her forward. "I trust everything will be to your satisfaction."
"I'm certain it will be, My Lord," she whispered, with another glance at the high, vaulted ceiling that disappeared into shadow above the chandelier. His hand touched her shoulder, turning her back to him.
"Now that we are wed, Kirsten, you must call me by my given name."
"As you wish, Valdemar," she said, trying it out. It felt odd to address a virtual stranger with familiarity.
Valdemar smiled, and she caught a glimpse of the handsomeness which attracted so many women. He stroked her cheek lightly. "My name has never sounded so sweet as it does upon your lips."
His compliment embarrassed her,and she looked away. This was the first of many rites of courtship to come.
Merciful God, guide me through this night.
Seeming to sense her discomfort, Valdemar motioned to the sweeping, stone staircase leading to the balconies of the upper floors. "You will no doubt want a few moments to settle in and refresh yourself after your journey."
* * *
Kirsten twisted the gold band on her finger and stared out the narrow window at the teeming rain. Wrenched away from those who cared for her, the tall towers of Castle Berthold seemed like the walls of a prison. She had nowhere to run to, no way to escape down the craggy mountain path. Inga's account of the ways of men and women had been confusing and frightening, most of it having to do with pain and blood.
She was Valdemar's possession, and he could do with her as he pleased.
There was a quiet tread on the stone floor behind her. Kirsten whirled and looked up into eyes dark as night and even blacker curls that framed his forehead. His unruly, long hair was still tied back with a crimson ribbon. But he'd discarded the rest of his wedding finery, except for the wool pants and the white, silk shirt. The shirt, she noted with a sinking heart was open to the waist. Beneath the fragile fabric, muscle rippled like those on a lion at rest.
"I'm sorry if I frightened you," he said, and smiled. When he smiled, he was very handsome. His dark frown, however, was another matter.
"I didn't hear you come in," Kirsten said, trying to imagine those strong hands upon her. Up close he seethed with restrained strength. In spite of his approachable smile, she was terrified.
"I'm not surprised. It's thundering loud enough to wake the devil." Valdemar looked past her at the storm that raged beyond the narrow window. "Come away from the window, Kirsten, before you catch your death."
He was leading her toward the bed, she realized with a thundering heart. She thrust her heels firmly into the thick carpet that covered the cold, stone floor, but he pulled her along easily. The gold embroidered coverlet yielded under her, as they fell together into its softness.
Valdemar ran a hand over the golden fountain of her hair. His touch was feather soft and it brought every nerve in her body to life. His chest felt hard against the softness of her breasts, and the arms that gripped her might just as well have been made from iron.
Warm lips coaxed hers apart, and she shuddered in passion and fear.
"You're trembling," he said suddenly, looking intently into her gray eyes that swam with repressed tears. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing...sir." Dismayed, she felt the wetness of tears on her cheeks.
"Valdemar," he reminded her gently. "What are you afraid of Kirsten?" he asked, realizing suddenly. "Me?"
"I've heard..." she stopped abruptly.
Valdemar sucked in a long breath. "Oh, I know what is said behind my back." He regarded her shrewdly. "Do you believe what they say?"
"I hope," she said carefully, "that I shall not be dead within a week like your last wife."
She expected him to be angry, but instead he smiled. "Contrary to rumor," he said gently. "Greta died in a terrible accident. It was heart breaking. We had only begun our life together."
"I'm sorry," she whispered, staring at him wide eyed. "No need to be. It has nothing to do with you."
"Doesn't it bother you to know such awful things are said about you?"
"I pay no attention to the babble of fools." His hand traced the gentle swell of her breast. "I won't hurt you, Kirsten. I promise."
She watched his shirt fall into a heap of silk on the floor, followed by his pants. Then his dark eyes commanded her gaze once again.
"It's all right," Valdemar whispered. "Don't be afraid. This is a wonderful experience."
"It is?"
"Of course," he said, laughing. "If it wasn't, human beings would become extinct."
Horrified, she felt the warmth of his hand on her thigh beneath her nightgown. Caresses continued upward in spirals of delightful sensation. Dimly, she felt his warm fingers at the laces of her nightgown, the sheer fabric being pulled away from her. His hands mapped the contours of her body. She gasped as his fingers located the secret place between her thighs. His touch sent tinges of purest pleasure shooting up her spine. She moaned and writhed softly against him, wanting him to touch her there again and again.
All at once he entered her. The sudden invasion made her cry out in pain. But then his feather soft lips covered hers and he began to move gently against her.
Within her a storm was brewing, buffeting her about on winds of unfamiliar sensation. It grew in intensity until it thundered within her, culminating in wave after wave of supreme pleasure.
Her eyes flew open, and she found herself staring into the black depths of eyes that seethed with desire. His jaw was clamped rigidly shut, his breathing harsh and erratic. Frightened, she shied away from him, but arms like steel held her in place. Finally he strained against her. His head fell to her shoulder and he lay there panting.
For several moments, he seemed to struggle with himself. Then he sighed heavily and kissed her on the forehead.
"Get some sleep," he said softly. "It's been a long day."
Bewildered, she watched as he collected his clothes, blew out the candle and disappeared into the dark hallway. Still aching for more, she snuggled into the warm spot he'd left beside her, and slept.
"So?" asked the well dressed young man whose feet rested nonchalantly against Valdemar's writing table.
"Lord Cornelius, don't you have a home to go to?"
"You were up there a long time." Cornelius said, examining the lace on his cuffs. He plucked a peach from a bowl on the sideboard and bit deeply into it, grinning at Valdemar. The imprint of his teeth left two long ridges in the fruit. "I take it the lovely Frau Berthold is now with her Maker."
"She is...sleeping," Valdemar corrected.
Cornelius let out a great guffaw and slapped his knee. "I knew it! I saw the way you were eyeing her. You were in love before you even said your I do's. I wagered Adrian a pound of gold you wouldn't go through with it." He stopped suddenly. "What are you going to do? Have it annulled?" He grinned with delightful suspicion. "Or have you consummated it already?"
Valdemar's face gave him the answer.
"Ah," Cornelius said, "The proverbial starving man cast away from the banquet table. It must have been a delightful experience claiming her maidenhead without a drop of her blood to drink."
"Cornelius please," Valdemar said crossly. "This is my wife you're talking about."
"So you're going to keep her then?”
“Don't tell me you wagered on that as well." Cornelius sighed wistfully. "I wish I had."
"I want to keep her," Valdemar admitted reluctantly. "She is sweet and lovely."
"And human. As much as I enjoy a good scandal, Valdemar, this is not wise."
“I have been lonely since Rowena left."
"For God's sake, that was more than two hundred years ago. Surely you've recovered."
"I'm trying to."
"Well this isn't the way. Once you had that gold band on her finger and her dowry in your keeping, you were supposed to slice open her jugular vein and have her for dessert."
"Do you mind, Cornelius. I am hungry. And if it makes you happy to hear it, I nearly did. I just couldn't."
Cornelius dropped his feet from the table and stood to leave. "Well, I have a pound of gold to collect." He helped himself to another peach and waved cheerfully from the doorway. "G'night Val."
The most notable feature of Adrian's rambling estate were the rows of mullioned windows gaping open against the night. Long past the hour when most shuttered themselves in the seclusion of their homes, the windows stood dark and vacant. Now and then a candle flickered, as servants scurried about on their errands.
Darkness, it seemed, suited Adrian just fine.
Cornelius entered without knocking. Adrian was in his customary corner of the empty grand hall, a single, yet huge, chair pulled up before the roaring fire.
"Is that the jingle of gold coins I hear?" Adrian said as his guest leaned casually against the mantle piece.
"Alas not."
Adrian shook his head, hair bright as flame falling across his face. "I do hate it when you're right, Cornelius."
"Don't pout, Adrian. I was a most gracious loser to our last wager."
Adrian studied the fire through golden lashes. "Val has the strangest ways of entertaining himself."
Cornelius shrugged. "Valdemar's problem, not ours.”
“Valdemar has a way of making his problems ours.”
“Not this one," Cornelius said. "I for one, intend to stay far away."
Adrian laughed. "You'll be back there tomorrow night. I'd wager on it."
"Thanks, but I'm quitting while I'm ahead." Cornelius looked around the cavernous room. "Where's Moira?"
"Sulking, as usual. Perhaps I'll wait until tomorrow to break the news to her."
"Break what news to me?" purred a sultry voice from the shadows behind Adrian.
Cornelius bowed. "My Lady, Moira."
The voluptuous redhead gave him only the smallest nod of acknowledgement. "Good evening, Neil."
"Evening," Adrian remarked. "It's nearly dawn."
"Did you enjoy yourself at the wedding?" Cornelius asked with an evil wink at Adrian.
Moira yawned. "I presume Valdemar is well on his way to becoming a widower, yet again?"
"Not exactly," Cornelius said. He glanced at the lightening sky. "Goodness, it's late. I really must be going."
He marched past them, leaving Adrian to deal with Moira's questions. "What did he mean, 'not exactly'?"
Adrian scowled as Cornelius disappeared through the arched doorway of the hall. "It would seemed Valdemar's decided to keep her."
Moira's scream of rage echoed through the estate and most of the surrounding countryside. Cornelius chuckled to himself. Adrian wouldn't be getting much sleep that day.
Kirsten awoke groggy and disoriented. The bed's gold stitched canopy and curtains were closed against the chill air. The darkness within made it hard to tell if it was night or day. Slowly, she became aware of the soft curls that brushed her face and the heavy weight of an arm about her waist.
Valdemar.
She stepped from the bed, embarrassed to find herself completely naked. The windows were covered in tapestries as thick as the curtains on the bed. Grasping a corner of the drapery, she peered outside. Sunlight clove the room, casting a blade of light into the shadows. The events of the previous night crashed back into memory.
Behind her, the huge four poster bed with its golden curtains beckoned. She hesitated, wondering if she pulled back the drapery, would he disappear the way he had last night after they'd made love?
Frowning, she opened the drapes. A sliver of light splashed across his face.
He came awake with a hiss and curse, shielding his eyes from the sunlight that blazed through the open window.
Kirsten jumped backward, upending a chair and falling over it.
Swearing, Valdemar leapt from the bed and yanked the drapery back into place, plunging the room back into darkness. He turned toward her, eyes black as the shadows.
She edged away from him along the side of the bed. He caught her easily. His grip was impossible to break. She realized suddenly that his nails were very long and sharp, something she hadn't noticed last night.
"I'm sorry," she said, trembling. "I didn't mean to wake you."
Valdemar jolted to his senses and loosened his grip. "You startled me," he said, pulling her against him.
"But it's afternoon," she said, confused.
Valdemar glanced fearfully at the shrouded windows. "We were up very late last night." He smiled down into her face and stroked her hair. "After you fell asleep, I worked until early in the morning."
"On the night of our wedding?"
"The world doesn't stop because of my affairs."
"Are you getting up?" she asked hopefully, both afraid to be alone and afraid to be alone with him.
"No, I think I'll sleep a bit longer. I have much business to attend to this evening."
Eyes downcast, she examined the carpet. "Don't you like me?"
He held her tenderly by the shoulders, forcing her to look up at him. "I like you very much, Kirsten. I just need some sleep right now."
"What should I do?"
"Get dressed," he said with a kiss and a gentle push in the direction of the dressing room. "Hilliard, my steward, will see that you get something to eat. Then you can explore your new home. And I will see you later."
Kirsten spent the fading afternoon wandering the deserted hallways. Berthold Castle had an otherworldly silence that kept her looking over her shoulder. Chambermaids glided noiselessly along the uniformly gray, stone corridors. Threadbare tapestries and peeling portraits decorated the grand halls in memory of past splendor. Everything within the castle walls bore the look of decade upon decade of constant use.
Hilliard Greif, Valdemar's steward, proved to be as featureless as the dull masonry. From his graying hair to his impeccably pressed charcoal suit, breeches and boots, Kirsten was certain that, if she squinted, he might fade right into the stonework.
He had acknowledged her presence with a stiff nod, making it clear he was as uncomfortable in her presence as she was in his.
After becoming lost in the labyrinthine hallways several times, she returned to the relative familiarity of her dressing room and began to unpack her trousseau.
"Let me introduce you to my friend, Cornelius," Valdemar said gesturing to the smartly dressed young man who stood before the fireplace in Valdemar's first floor study. He didn't have Valdemar's brooding sensuality, nor was he handsome, but he had a kind and friendly face.
Cornelius smiled warmly. "Madam Kirsten." He bent to kiss her hand. The touch of his fingers sent little tingles up her arm.
"We met at the wedding?" she stammered. "Didn't we?"
It was taxing to keep Valdemar's many callers straight. His evenings were filled with visits by friends and business acquaintances, his days empty and silent. Things seemed to happen at random in Valdemar's household, and mostly after dark.
"We did," Cornelius agreed, still holding on to her hand. The warmth of his fingers sent little tingles up her arm. "I'm flattered you remember."
Where Valdemar was overwhelmingly sensuous, Cornelius was gently encouraging. His engaging smile set her immediately at ease. Kirsten found she couldn't look away from his hazel eyes that seemed to change color with every flicker of the candle.
"Would you ask Hilliard to fetch us some wine?" Valdemar said, stepping between them and forcing Cornelius to drop her hand.
She rushed off to obey him, then turned back and peered into the study. Cornelius was taking a flask from a velvet bag. The crystal vessel was full of a thick, ruby colored liquid.
"I wouldn't do this for anyone but you."
"I do appreciate your kindness, Cornelius," Valdemar said. He poured himself a generous glass and raised it in a toast. "Cheers."
He downed the contents in one gulp and set the glass back on the sideboard. Thick, reddish brown liquid clung to the sides of the goblet.
"Better?" Cornelius asked, raising an eyebrow.
Valdemar sighed deeply and nodded. "I just can't leave her right now. She's terrified," he waved his arm in a sweeping gesture, "of this place, of Hilliard, of me."
"Really, Valdemar..." Cornelius began. He let the sentence trail off, then shrugged. "Who knows? I probably wouldn't have been able to do it either. She is lovely."
Afraid to linger, Kirsten hurried off to find Hilliard. By the time she returned Valdemar was on his second glass of the mysterious liquid. She sipped the wine Hilliard poured, noting that Valdemar continued to drink from the bottle Cornelius had brought. She maneuvered herself closer to the sideboard, making small talk with Cornelius. But Valdemar held his glass as if the contents were gold.
Finally, engaged in an animated conversation, he set the glass down. Kirsten set hers beside it. She waited until their backs were turned, then raised his glass to her lips.
Thick, lukewarm liquid seeped down her throat. Its coppery taste reminded her vaguely of something she'd once tasted...
When she'd cut her finger.
The glass fell from her hands, shattering in a spray of ruby and crystal shards. Crimson spattered her ivory gown. She shrieked and backed up, colliding with Cornelius.
Valdemar whirled, snatching her from Cornelius' grasp. His face was dark as the night sky. For a moment they were frozen, staring at the shattered goblet in disbelief.
"Blood!" she whispered in horror. "You were drinking blood!"
Valdemar's eyes were as hard as onyx. He looked down at the stained, white dress. "Kirsten," he said quietly. "Go upstairs and get changed."
Entirely terrified, she obeyed him.
Cornelius watched her disappear up the sweeping staircase. "So," he said, turning back to his friend. "What now?"
Dismally, Valdemar regarded Hilliard's attempts to sweep up the shattered glass and sponge the blood from the carpet, and sighed. "I really don't know."
"It would have been much kinder to…"
"Don't lecture, Neil," he snapped. "It is much too late to talk about what I ought to have done."
"This leaves you only two options," Cornelius continued, undaunted.
"Oh, enlighten me, Cornelius," Valdemar growled, "since you think I'm so dense."
"Kill her," Neil said, levelly. "Or make her one of us.”
“I care for neither of those options. I rather like her the way she is."
"That's the problem with falling in love with a mortal, isn't it. It always results in a certain loss of innocence."
Valdemar eyed the staircase up which Kirsten had fled. "I'd better see how she fares."
"And I have other business to attend to," Cornelius said. He stopped on his way out of the parlor. "Did you know that Moira flew into a fit of rage upon hearing the news of your continuing matrimony? Adrian is meeting with the carpenter this evening."
"Just like Moira to stage a fit in his house.”
“You shouldn't have encouraged her."
"Moira never needed any encouragement," Valdemar said, disdainfully. "Besides, she has Adrian now."
"This interest in Adrian is an attempt to make you jealous," Cornelius pointed out. Then, when he realized the sentiment was lost on Valdemar, he shook his head. "I don't know why he puts up with her."
"He's in love with her," Valdemar said. "Isn't that what drives us all to foolish acts?"
"Speak for yourself. I, for one, am committed to a policy of bachelorhood."
The bloodstained white gown lay in a discarded heap on the floor, and its former occupant lay in a quivering heap on the bed.
Valdemar looked from one to the other and sighed. He sat on the bed beside her, intending to take her in his arms and whisper reassuring words. But the moment he touched her, she shrieked and bolted for the door.
In an instant, he crossed the room and stood before the door, blocking her exit. So sudden was his movement, she couldn't stop in time and crashed into him. Realizing his swiftness was well beyond human capability, she screamed again. A vice like hand covered her mouth.
"Let's not share our personal troubles with the entire province," Valdemar said, leading her firmly back to the bed.
"Monster!" she hissed when he tentatively removed his hand.
He flinched, his eyes hardened, but he said calmly, "I am not a monster, Kirsten."
She looked at him, gray eyes heavy with tears. "I want to go home.”
“You are home, my love."
"Send me back to my father," she begged. "I promise I'll tell him nothing."
...
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