Blood Red. Sharon Page

what she wanted. “I am Yannick de Wynter, Earl of Brookshire.” His voice dropped to a low, thrumming whisper. “The man you plan to resurrect tomorrow is my brother.”

      2

      Captivated

      So this was the siren who had entranced him in his dreams? Intrigued, Yannick drank in Miss Yates’ green eyes, hidden behind utilitarian spectacles, as they widened in charming astonishment. Thankfully she’d never worn those in his dreams. Her dreary flannel wrapper hinted at the curvaceous body which, in his sleep, responded so eagerly. Her skin’s perfume—lavender and dewy feminine perspiration—mingled with the alluring aroma of her rich blood. His nose detected a trace of something pungent. Rather like garlic. Garlic?

      Yannick choked back a laugh. A vampire slayer’s trick. But garlic or garlic flowers had no effect on him.

      “You are the Earl of Brookshire?” Miss Yates whispered as her fingers stroked the silver chain around her neck.

      The soft, throaty timbre of her voice played its magic. Arousal shot through him and his cock stood up. A flare of heat rushed through his jaw, threatening the explosion of his fangs. Struggling, he controlled it, but they lengthened a little and jabbed his tongue.

      “So you have heard of the Demon Twins.” He gave her a teasing smile.

      He saw her cast a quick, sidelong glance toward Crenshaw. The man had retreated, but Yannick sensed the innkeeper kept an ear cocked to their conversation.

      Originally bestowed upon us when we were mortal. All the more accurate now.

      He wasn’t quite ready to brazenly admit to being a vampire in front of the curious innkeeper, so he chose a more intimate form of communication. He spoke in her mind.

      Unfortunately, as a result, Miss Yates’ eyes were circles of horror and her pretty mouth dropped open in shock. She yanked the cross out from beneath her clothes and let it dangle before his eyes.

      Yannick tormented himself with the irreverent image of her cross nestled in the lush valley between her full breasts, warmed by her pale, satin-smooth skin.

      Miss Yates’ hair was as lovely as in his dreams. A magnificent color. A deep, dark red. Not auburn. Not quite burgundy, but darker than flame. Though the length of it was tamed in a thick braid, tendrils dangled over her forehead and danced around her cheeks. Nor was she as calm as she appeared—she had tucked her curls behind her right ear more than a dozen times.

      So now you understand why I must speak to your father, Miss Yates.

      She shook her head and whispered, “How do you do this? Speak in my head.”

      We have a connection, Miss Yates. A connection through our dreams.

      A bright pink flush washed over her lightly freckled cheeks. “Is that why you wish to talk to my father?” Sheer, raw panic flashed in her emerald eyes.

      No, sweet. I’m not mad enough to admit to a man who could destroy me that I’ve made love to his daughter. Even if only in dreams.

      Her response was entirely practical. “Promise?” she hissed.

      I am a gentleman. My word can be trusted.

      “But you are also a vampire,” she accused sotto voce.

      Miss Yates was proving to be as stubborn as she could be in his dreams. Fetch your father, love.

      Her amber brows drew together, implying she had no intention of complying. “Are you here to free your brother?”

      “I have not yet decided,” he admitted.

      “If we have a connection, can I speak in your thoughts?”

      I believe it to be possible. With practice. Yannick lifted his brow and winked. What would you wish to tell me that you want no one else to hear?

      She didn’t rise to his bait. “Can you read my thoughts?”

      Not yet.

      She dipped her shoulders slightly in relief. Once again, her fingers stole to the errant curl by her ear and she brushed it back.

      Yannick wanted to see her hair loose. Not tamed and bound in that prim, tight plait.

      Yes, that was so much more intriguing—the thought of her hair free, and that ribbon put to more playful use. Wrapped around her wrists, securing her arms to his bed while he explored every inch of her with his tongue.

      “You mean,” she murmured, “eventually I could read yours?”

      Hell and the devil, he hoped not.

      “The dreams—”

      Not a word about the dreams. You have my solemn vow. But your father is seeking to destroy a vampire with as much power as God, and, for his sake, he must talk with me.

      “But are they just dreams?” she persisted softly. “When a vampire visits a victim, sometimes it is remembered as a dream.”

      Before tonight, I did not know who you were or where you could be found. Our dreams have only been that, love. Just dreams. Now, go fetch your father.

      “Oh. Then what do you want to do with my father, my lord?” She spoke in a normal tone suddenly, one as brittle as ice. Her large emerald eyes narrowed, shooting sparks. Warily, he knew he’d offended. Because he’d issued a command? Or because he’d implied she meant nothing more to him than a delightful partner in his dreams?

      If only she knew.

      If he had a soul, she would have captured it.

      “How did you escape?” she whispered. “We know you were imprisoned too.”

      Behind her spectacles, her eyes glinted with intelligent curiosity, and Yannick couldn’t help but smile. Faced with a dangerous vampire, she showed nothing but courage. “I’m not about to divulge all my secrets, love. And there are some things it is better that you do not know.”

      She fumed in the most adorable way. “I will fetch my father, then, my lord, as you requested.

      Miss Yates.

      She paused on the steps and turned back. Damnation, he’d forgotten about Crenshaw, who must be wondering why they appeared to be having such an intimate conversation, why she would come back without a word spoken. He was never impulsive. Still, he couldn’t let her go without asking.

      Yannick had never asked with any other woman. He claimed. Took. Possessed. Made love to them and drank from them and left them. For the poor women, the jades, he left a few coins. For the ladies, he left only the afterglow of intense pleasure.

      For himself, he took enough blood to quench his needs. Nothing more.

      Let me come to you tonight, Althea.

      Do you mean in a dream? She tried to push her thoughts at him. Her forehead wrinkled with the effort, her eyes shut, her amber lashes feathered on her cheeks. And yes, faintly, he heard her.

      She was adorable and he found, to his surprise, another warm, genuine smile on his lips.

      I want to pleasure you for real, love.

      No. But she faltered. Her plump pink lips parted. He waited, waited for her invitation.

      No. Please…no. Don’t. I won’t…I can’t…can’t do the scandalous things you want of me, my lord.

      He flashed her a lusty grin. Yes, you can, sweet. You are a sensual delight in my dreams. Trust me, Althea.

      I am not that foolish, sir. I have no intention of being seduced, trapped, tricked, or forced into being a vampire.

      She turned on her heel, her spine straight, her head high, and she stalked up the stairs. With a flick of her slender wrist, she tossed her braid over her shoulder and it swished over the small of her back, just above the generous curve of her voluptuous derrière.

      Yannick