between bars, sought out Gabriel and greedily witnessed his pain.
“This is horrible,” he said. Pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes, he plugged his ears with his fingers in an attempt to alleviate the noise.
“We will leave.”
“No.” He pulled from Roxane’s grasp. “I have come this far. I just need to wait until it subsides.”
The pounding pace thickened, drumming in his ears. Was this the blood hunger? Here he stood surrounded by so many, enclosed in cages, cells and filthy little rooms.
A veritable feast! Take the blood. It will be good then. No worry of madness.
No! He did not want to feed upon these people. He was a human being, not a monster.
“Just concentrate.” He felt Roxane move close to him and press her palms to his cheeks. Bless the coolness of her flesh. Her body limned his. The soft plush of her gown married to his stiff damask frock coat.
In her arms, he could be any man he wished to become. Confident. Not badgered by a ridiculous costume. The pulse beats softened. A new surge of sensation coursed through his body as her hip pressed against his, and he felt the womanly curves beneath her skirts. His body reacted.
He clutched her wrists. “I want you.”
“Good,” she whispered. “Look into my eyes, Gabriel. Redirect your focus from the pain. What do you see?”
“Ce-celadon.” Indeed, the pain had lessened, but only because he’d grown randy.
“What do you feel? Tell me.”
He chuckled. Some of the anxiety loosed and flowed away. “You don’t feel it?” He tilted his hips, pressing his erection against her skirts. “You make me want you, Roxane.”
“Is the pounding in your head gone?”
“Redirected. It has moved to my breeches.”
“Even better. A diversion.” She leaned in and kissed his forehead. A faery morsel, so fleeting, yet powerful. It chased away the fear, the angry hunger. “You feel able to move on?”
He nodded. “Tricky wench.”
With a clever smile, she moved ahead and gained a long hall walled on one side with soot-blackened bars. She had explained her brother shared a cell with three other men.
Somewhere along their trek to Hell the silent guard had abandoned them. Gabriel scanned whence he had come and down another dim hallway. Abandoned with a silence that hurt.
“Damian?”
Compelled by a beckon of Roxane’s fingers, he moved to her side and she clutched his hand. Indeed, the drum of hunger had subsided. But in its wake he had gotten an erection. What strange thing had he become that to stand in the bowels of hell and caress a beautiful woman appealed to him? Made him randy?
As he joined her in searching the darkness all lustful thoughts melted. A jitter of anticipation returned.
Gabriel spied three figures moving about in the shadows of the large cell. Overhead, a line of narrow windows—no wider than a man’s arm—cast white morning light over their shoulders and sliced through the bars before him.
“I can’t see him,” she whispered. “I wonder if he has been moved.”
“My liege!”
From around the corner a figure leapt to the bars. Wide green eyes glittered. The miasma of rot, of indifference, doubled in an awful assault. The man tilted his head, an insect scenting out Gabriel. “What have you brought with you today, sister?”
“A friend.” She stepped forward. “This is the vicomte Gabriel Renan, Damian, he wanted to meet—”
“What is it?” The man behind the bars stretched his arms wide, displaying a shoddy blanket across his thin limbs as if a grand cape.
“Not an it; he is a man, Damian. Just like you. He is a vicomte,” she repeated with a glance to Gabriel. She had accepted his truth easily. Even more reason to adore her.
The man tilted his head, studying Gabriel. Thin and looking more the rag and bone man than the real ones, his eyes were sunk inside two dark shadows. Dirty breeches hung at his hips, exposing the sharp slash of bones. Gabriel could not find the words to speak. He should
“This is horrible,” he said. Pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes, he plugged his ears with his fingers in an attempt to alleviate the noise.
“We will leave.”
“No.” He pulled from Roxane’s grasp. “I have come this far. I just need to wait until it subsides.”
The pounding pace thickened, drumming in his ears. Was this the blood hunger? Here he stood surrounded by so many, enclosed in cages, cells and filthy little rooms.
A veritable feast! Take the blood. It will be good then. No worry of madness.
No! He did not want to feed upon these people. He was a human being, not a monster.
“Just concentrate.” He felt Roxane move close to him and press her palms to his cheeks. Bless the coolness of her flesh. Her body limned his. The soft plush of her gown married to his stiff damask frock coat.
In her arms, he could be any man he wished to become. Confident. Not badgered by a ridiculous costume. The pulse beats softened. A new surge of sensation coursed through his body as her hip pressed against his, and he felt the womanly curves beneath her skirts. His body reacted.
He clutched her wrists. “I want you.”
“Good,” she whispered. “Look into my eyes, Gabriel. Redirect your focus from the pain. What do you see?”
“Ce-celadon.” Indeed, the pain had lessened, but only because he’d grown randy.
“What do you feel? Tell me.”
He chuckled. Some of the anxiety loosed and flowed away. “You don’t feel it?” He tilted his hips, pressing his erection against her skirts. “You make me want you, Roxane.”
“Is the pounding in your head gone?”
“Redirected. It has moved to my breeches.”
“Even better. A diversion.” She leaned in and kissed his forehead. A faery morsel, so fleeting, yet powerful. It chased away the fear, the angry hunger. “You feel able to move on?”
He nodded. “Tricky wench.”
With a clever smile, she moved ahead and gained a long hall walled on one side with soot-blackened bars. She had explained her brother shared a cell with three other men.
Somewhere along their trek to Hell the silent guard had abandoned them. Gabriel scanned whence he had come and down another dim hallway. Abandoned with a silence that hurt.
“Damian?”
Compelled by a beckon of Roxane’s fingers, he moved to her side and she clutched his hand. Indeed, the drum of hunger had subsided. But in its wake he had gotten an erection. What strange thing had he become that to stand in the bowels of hell and caress a beautiful woman appealed to him? Made him randy?
As he joined her in searching the darkness all lustful thoughts melted. A jitter of anticipation returned.
Gabriel spied three figures moving about in the shadows of the large cell. Overhead, a line of narrow windows—no wider than a man’s arm—cast white morning light over their shoulders and sliced through the bars before him.
“I can’t see him,” she whispered. “I wonder if he has been moved.”
“My liege!”
From around the corner a figure leapt to the bars. Wide green eyes glittered. The miasma of rot, of indifference, doubled in an awful assault. The man tilted his head, an insect scenting out Gabriel. “What have you brought with you today, sister?”
“A friend.” She stepped forward. “This is the vicomte Gabriel Renan, Damian, he wanted to meet—”
“What is it?” The man behind the bars stretched his arms wide, displaying a shoddy blanket across his thin limbs as if a grand cape.
“Not an it; he is a man, Damian. Just like you. He is a vicomte,” she repeated with a glance to Gabriel. She had accepted his truth easily. Even more reason to adore her.
The man tilted his head, studying Gabriel. Thin and looking more the rag and bone man than the real ones, his eyes were sunk inside two dark shadows. Dirty breeches hung at his hips, exposing the sharp slash of bones. Gabriel could not find the words to speak. He should
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