Silken Rapture (Princes of the Underground 2)

Circling fingertips paused. “What?”

He lifted his head off the pillow. “Leave.”

The single word had barely come out as a hoarse whisper, but she must have seen something in his expression, because she started back in alarm. Her gaze flickered down over his cock.

“But—?”

“You heard me. Find Aubrey. He will pay you.”

She hesitated. Her gaze remained on his cock. “I do not need pay,” she whispered. She glanced up at him, beseeching.

He bared his fangs.

She reached for her robe, keeping her wary gaze on him as she bent. When he heard the door click shut behind her, he lay back in mixed regret and relief.

When he closed his eyes, Isabel was back to haunt him. The throb in his cock escalated to a sharp ache. He winced and wrapped his hand around the warm, tumescent member.

He had never hated anyone or anything before. Passions did not typically rule Blaise Sevliss. Duty did; that and the daily dread of his fate.

His hand moved on his cock as he envisioned her exquisite face. He damned Isabel Lanscourt for doing the impossible, and making him feel again.

Chapter Four

She had witnessed wonders beyond belief in her tour of Sanctuary—an arboretum so vast and so lush that Isabel mentally mocked Margaret Turrow’s ridiculous claim that they were far below the surface of the earth. She’d seen what appeared to be an entire field of the white mulberry. (No, no…they simply could not be underground.) Jessie told her the white mulberry was cultivated in Sanctuary to provide silk for Lord Delraven’s factory.

She had stared in wonder at a gravity-defying fountain featuring water that flowed up instead of down. She’d seen a vast aquarium that was the size of a large room and contained colorful fish and creatures she’d never seen or imagined. Jessie had shown her a swimming pool surrounded by lush tropical wildlife and an expensively equipped exercise facility, which was apparently chiefly used to practice combat. There had been men there. Her cheeks had warmed when two sets of males fighting, along with one trio in a third ring, all paused in the midst of stunning displays of athleticism and violence in order to stare at Jessie and her as they passed.

Well, not at Jessie, precisely. Just her. She’d felt their gazes on her like burning lasers.

They had seen no one else in the large, luxurious rooms, each one more amazing than the last, every one filled with priceless frescoes, tapestries and sculptures. As they had passed a hallway, Isabel had paused and commented on the brightly painted crest at the center of the entrance.

“It’s Lord Delraven’s coat of arms,” Jessie said.

Isabel studied her companion covertly through lowered lashes. She had found him to be a pleasant escort and liked him. There could be little doubt that he was not mortal, given his aura.

“How old are you, Jessie?” she asked pleasantly.

His cheeks reddened. “I-I am older than you think, Miss.”

He glanced at her in surprise when she laughed. “Believe it or not, I know it.” He went rigid when she stepped toward him. “I can see your unusual life force,” she said delicately, not sure what else to call the energy field that surrounded him. “I can see that you aren’t mortal. How old were you when you became so?”

“Nineteen, Miss. I was turned at the same time most of the Literati were. I’m not one of the Literati—not really—but I served Aubrey Cane, and he valued me. After my master was turned, he embraced me so that I could continue to serve him.” His Adam’s apple b

obbed when he swallowed. Isabel realized too late she was disturbing him by her nearness and she took a step back.

“Embraced you?”

“He took my blood, Miss.”

“Were you made this way against your will?” Isabel whispered.

Jessie blinked. “Against my will? No. It was my greatest wish to continue to serve my master. He was—and is—the greatest genius of the age. Besides, I did not want to submit to the plague.”

“The plague?”

Jessie nodded earnestly. “The Great Plague of 1665. We had avoided it by evacuating London. Many of the brightest scholars of the age who either lived in London or were visiting there from various countries fled first to Oxford. We feared the plague would follow us there, and it did. My master—Aubrey Cane—became the leader of a select group of men, all of them made outcasts by the plague, all of them brilliant in their own right. The group became known as the Literati. We traveled from Oxford to the north, and eventually to Scotland. By a series of circumstances, Delraven befriended Cane and some of the others. We took refuge at Delraven’s estate. The plague was present in the country as well, though, and my master began to show signs of having contracted the illness. So did several other members of the Literati. By that time, Cane understood what Delraven was, and he begged him to make him immortal—to save him from death and a life wasted. Eventually, Delraven agreed, and it is that core group that survives today, each loyal to Lord Delraven and his fight against Morshiel and his band of Scourge revenants—the walking dead. We have had new members join us over the years—brilliant scholars who have been diagnosed with mortal illness. Aubrey occasionally approaches them, and gives them the choice of joining our small army, if they choose it. The Literati have lost many of their number to Morshiel and the Scourge over the years. We shrink in number, while their population grows, so we must fight harder and smarter than ever.”

“Are you saying that Lord Delraven was the one to make all the Literati into…vampires?”