sympathy for his more bestial kinsmen. No one deserved to suffer such torture, not even a half-human savage.
In the Elders’ name, no more!
Just when he thought he could not stand the pain any longer, Sonja’s fingers retreated from the wound, holding a sharpened piece of blood-soaked silver. As she was a vampire and not a lycan, the hated metal had no effect on her delicate skin. She hurled it away into the darkness before wiping her gore-stained fingers on the hem of her cloak.
Lucian was impressed and surprised by her lack of squeamishness. Sonja was a lady of culture and learning, not a veteran Death Dealer like her mother. Then again, he recalled, her father, Viktor, was a warrior of great renown; it could well be that battle wounds were nothing new to her.
He moved to sit up, but Sonja pressed him back down onto his side. “Be still awhile longer,” she entreated. “The worst is over, I assure you, but my work is not complete. The wound is badly infected, and the silver taint must be extracted before it can spread further.” Unfastening the clasp beneath her chin, she shrugged off the fur-trimmed riding cloak. Her royal pendant rested on the bodice of a saffron-colored overtunic, beneath which lay a green damask gown. “Were I back at the castle, I would apply leeches to the site, but here we must resort to a more direct technique.”
A pair of cool lips descended upon his exposed side and began sucking at the open wound. A jolt of surprise rocked Lucian from head to foot, dispelling all thought of danger and distress. The tips of her fangs indented his encrimsoned flesh, and he marveled at what was transpiring between them. Never in-a thousand immortal lifetimes could he have imagined that such a moment could come to pass.
Sonja lifted her head to spit out a mouthful of contaminated blood, which she dared not swallow, then went back to sucking on the crimson gash. Lucian gasped at the touch of Sonja’s mouth upon his naked skin; the mixture of pain and pleasure was intensely stimulating, and he struggled to conceal his growing arousal. It was just as well that Sonja’s tender ministrations had rendered him speechless, for he knew not what to say to her.
Did the beautiful vampiress notice the effect she was having on him? If so, she betrayed no indication. Spitting out a second mouthful of lycan blood, she rolled Lucian face-forward onto the tapestry and moved on to the gash in his back. There, too, her supple lips drew the last traces of silver from the wound before spewing the tainted blood onto the dusty floor of the catacomb.
“’Tis done,” she announced, wiping her lips with the flowing sleeve of her yellow overtunic. “I believe the wound will heal now, but we must have your injuries attended to by an experienced physician at the first opportunity.”
Lucian sat up beside her. Was it just his imagination, or was the princess’s pale face slightly flushed? “Many thanks, milady… Sonja,” he murmured hoarsely, unable at first to meet her eyes. “I am in your debt.”
“No more than I to you,” she insisted. Taking up the dagger, she cut strips of cloth from the hem of her gown, which she used to bandage the newly cleansed wounds. “We could very well spend the rest of eternity thanking each other, and not without reason.”
Her eyes met his, and for one delirious moment, Lucian was tempted to confess his love, to reveal all that he had been feeling these many long months and years. Saner counsels prevailed, however, and he held his tongue. By the Elders, he reminded himself sternly, this delicate maiden has just lost her mother. Now is no time to subject her to the unwanted advances of an overreaching servant.
“I have been remiss,” he said, assuming a more formal demeanor, “in offering my sympathies and condolences regarding the Lady Ilona.”
A stricken look came over Sonja’s face, and she threw her arm over her eyes, as though to blot out the memory of her mothers
In the Elders’ name, no more!
Just when he thought he could not stand the pain any longer, Sonja’s fingers retreated from the wound, holding a sharpened piece of blood-soaked silver. As she was a vampire and not a lycan, the hated metal had no effect on her delicate skin. She hurled it away into the darkness before wiping her gore-stained fingers on the hem of her cloak.
Lucian was impressed and surprised by her lack of squeamishness. Sonja was a lady of culture and learning, not a veteran Death Dealer like her mother. Then again, he recalled, her father, Viktor, was a warrior of great renown; it could well be that battle wounds were nothing new to her.
He moved to sit up, but Sonja pressed him back down onto his side. “Be still awhile longer,” she entreated. “The worst is over, I assure you, but my work is not complete. The wound is badly infected, and the silver taint must be extracted before it can spread further.” Unfastening the clasp beneath her chin, she shrugged off the fur-trimmed riding cloak. Her royal pendant rested on the bodice of a saffron-colored overtunic, beneath which lay a green damask gown. “Were I back at the castle, I would apply leeches to the site, but here we must resort to a more direct technique.”
A pair of cool lips descended upon his exposed side and began sucking at the open wound. A jolt of surprise rocked Lucian from head to foot, dispelling all thought of danger and distress. The tips of her fangs indented his encrimsoned flesh, and he marveled at what was transpiring between them. Never in-a thousand immortal lifetimes could he have imagined that such a moment could come to pass.
Sonja lifted her head to spit out a mouthful of contaminated blood, which she dared not swallow, then went back to sucking on the crimson gash. Lucian gasped at the touch of Sonja’s mouth upon his naked skin; the mixture of pain and pleasure was intensely stimulating, and he struggled to conceal his growing arousal. It was just as well that Sonja’s tender ministrations had rendered him speechless, for he knew not what to say to her.
Did the beautiful vampiress notice the effect she was having on him? If so, she betrayed no indication. Spitting out a second mouthful of lycan blood, she rolled Lucian face-forward onto the tapestry and moved on to the gash in his back. There, too, her supple lips drew the last traces of silver from the wound before spewing the tainted blood onto the dusty floor of the catacomb.
“’Tis done,” she announced, wiping her lips with the flowing sleeve of her yellow overtunic. “I believe the wound will heal now, but we must have your injuries attended to by an experienced physician at the first opportunity.”
Lucian sat up beside her. Was it just his imagination, or was the princess’s pale face slightly flushed? “Many thanks, milady… Sonja,” he murmured hoarsely, unable at first to meet her eyes. “I am in your debt.”
“No more than I to you,” she insisted. Taking up the dagger, she cut strips of cloth from the hem of her gown, which she used to bandage the newly cleansed wounds. “We could very well spend the rest of eternity thanking each other, and not without reason.”
Her eyes met his, and for one delirious moment, Lucian was tempted to confess his love, to reveal all that he had been feeling these many long months and years. Saner counsels prevailed, however, and he held his tongue. By the Elders, he reminded himself sternly, this delicate maiden has just lost her mother. Now is no time to subject her to the unwanted advances of an overreaching servant.
“I have been remiss,” he said, assuming a more formal demeanor, “in offering my sympathies and condolences regarding the Lady Ilona.”
A stricken look came over Sonja’s face, and she threw her arm over her eyes, as though to blot out the memory of her mothers
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