Bound by Night, Page 2

  With one hand outstretched, she moved across the floor, a soft cry of pain rising in her throat when she bumped into something. Exploring with her free hand, she discovered it was a high-backed sofa.

  It was late and she was tired. She dropped her food sack on the floor, then stretched out on the sofa, her coat spread over her. No matter what tomorrow held, she was safe from her uncle’s repulsive advances tonight.

  Drake paused when he reached the castle door, his preternatural senses alerting him to the fact that there was a human female inside. A human who was either very brave, he thought with a wry grin, or very foolish. The castle possessed a dark aura that kept most people at bay. Few dared to come here in the light of day; no one came here after sunset. There was little need to lock the door; those who ventured inside never stayed long. And yet, the fact remained, there was a woman in the castle.

  Materializing inside the great hall, Drake moved unerringly toward the high-backed damask sofa in front of the hearth, his nostrils filling with the combined scents of lavender soap, peppermint toothpaste, and salty perspiration tinged with fear.

  And over all, the intoxicating scent of woman.

  He stared down at the sleeping female. She was a comely lass, with suntanned skin, delicately arched black brows, and a mass of long ebony hair that fell in soft waves over the arm of the sofa and down her slight shoulders.

  Pretty, yes, he mused with a frown. But who the devil was she and what the bloody hell was she doing here?

  He considered tossing her out on her lovely arse.

  He considered leaving her on the sofa.

  In the end, he tossed her plain brown coat aside, then scooped her into his arms.

  She stirred as he started up the winding stone staircase. Her eyelids fluttered open, revealing a pair of velvet brown eyes. Before she could scream, he trapped her gaze with his. Summoning his preternatural power, he lulled her back to sleep.

  With a shake of his head, Drake continued up the stairs and into the lord’s chamber. After removing her T-shirt, khaki shorts, and shoes, he tucked her under the thick blankets in the big four-poster bed. He glanced at the hearth and a fire sprang to life. He needed neither the light nor the warmth; he could see perfectly fine in the dark, was impervious to the cold. But there was a chance the woman would awaken during the night.

  He gazed down at her for several long moments, admiring the unblemished smoothness of her skin, the sweep of long sooty lashes against her cheeks, the pale pink of her lips. Unable to resist, he lifted a lock of her hair. Thick and silky soft, it curled around his fingers as though each strand had a life of its own.

  He felt the first stirrings of desire as he inhaled the fragrance of warm fresh blood flowing sweetly through her veins.

  Sitting on the edge of the mattress, he gathered her into his arms, then lowered his head to the curve of her throat. He tasted her with his tongue and then with his teeth.

  She was incredibly sweet.

  Having satisfied his curiosity and his thirst, he returned to the main hall. After pouring himself a glass of wine, he stretched out on the sofa and gazed onto the hearth. In spite of the distance between himself and the girl, he could hear the steady beat of her heart. What had brought her here? And what was he going to do with her?

  He considered the possibilities until dawn, then headed for the lair hidden behind one of the tapestries in the great hall.

  He smiled as he drifted into oblivion. For the first time in centuries, he had something to look forward to when darkness again covered the land.

  Chapter 2

  Tavian Dinescu frowned when he entered the dining room. The table had not been laid. His breakfast tea was not at his place, nor was his newspaper. There was no fire in the hearth, no noise or scent of food coming from the kitchen.

  And no Elena standing at the stove.

  Where was that girl?

  Thinking perhaps she had overslept, he went down the hall to her room and knocked lightly on the door. “Elena?”

  When there was no answer, he rapped again, harder this time. And when there was still no reply, he opened the door and stepped into the room. The bed, neatly made, was empty.

  Moving into the room, he went through the dresser drawers, peered into the closet. As far as he could tell, all of her clothes were there, so she couldn’t have gone far, but the question remained: Where was she?

  He checked the other rooms, then went outside, but she was nowhere to be found.

  Rubbing a thoughtful hand over his jaw, he returned to the house. Had she run off with one of the local boys? That seemed unlikely. Just last night, he had asked if she had taken a liking to any of the young studs and her reply had been a resounding “no.”

  Hunger rumbled in his stomach. Not one to prepare his own meals, Tavian put on his coat and left the house. He would breakfast in town and then he would ask if anyone had seen Elena. Though he was affluent, she was not. She had nothing to call her own, only what he had given her.

  Tavian was a man who knew what he wanted, and he wanted Elena for his bride. And so it would be. She was but a woman and his ward. Like it or not, she would do as he commanded or suffer the consequences.

  Chapter 3

  Cocooned in blankets, Elena woke slowly. She experienced a moment of panic when she rolled over and realized she was no longer lying on the sofa where she had fallen asleep.

  Bolting upright, she rubbed the sleep from her eyes. Where was she? Had her uncle found her and carried her back home? But no. She had never been in a room like this before. Unlike her bedroom at home, this one was large and rectangular, the whitewashed stone walls bare save for one large painting of a black knight astride a prancing white horse. Heavy burgundy velvet draperies that matched the bedspread hung at the windows. Thick rugs covered the floor. A cheerful fire blazed in the hearth across from the bed.

  Frowning, she brushed a lock of hair from her forehead. Was she still in the castle? And if so, who had put her to bed?

  She blinked as a hazy memory surfaced. Or had she only imagined being carried up a winding staircase by a man with long, dark hair and mesmerizing blue eyes?

  When her stomach growled, she slid her legs over the edge of the mattress and stood, only then realizing that whoever had carried her up the stairs had undressed her down to her underwear. She found her khaki shorts and T-shirt at the foot of the bed. Dressing quickly, she tugged a blanket around her shoulders to turn away the chill.

  Barefooted, she tiptoed quietly across the floor, opened the heavy wooden door, then glanced left and right before stepping into the corridor. She paused a moment, listening, before she made her way cautiously down the stairs and stepped into a large, high-ceilinged room. The same one where she had fallen asleep?

  She thought it must be the castle’s main hall. Weak sunlight filtered down from the high, narrow, slitted windows. A cheery fire snapped and crackled in the huge stone hearth. A gray cat, quite the largest one she had ever seen, lay stretched out on the furry rug in front of the fireplace. It stared up at her through curious, bright yellow eyes, its long tail slowly swishing back and forth.

  Elena regarded the animal apprehensively for several moments. She had been leery of the creatures ever since she was a little girl and her grandmother’s tom had scratched her cheeks.

  When she was certain the beast wasn’t going to attack her, she walked toward the sofa, intent on rooting around in her sack for one of the apples and the doughnut she had brought with her, only to be sidetracked when she noticed a covered tray, a carafe of some kind—was it actually a medieval flagon?—and a goblet, all of which looked like they were made of gold, sitting on a large, rough-hewn trestle table against the far wall. There was a single plate, which also appeared to be made of gold.

  Hurrying across the floor, she lifted the cover of the tray to find a loaf of freshly baked bread, several thick slices of roast beef and cheese, a bowl of strawberries, and two blueberry muffins, as well as packets of honey, sugar, and cr
eam.

  Elena worried her lower lip between her teeth. Was this repast meant for her? Who could have brought it? No one knew she was here, and there didn’t seem to be anyone else in the castle. But surely the cat belonged to someone.

  When her stomach growled again, she put her doubts away, dropped the blanket on the floor, and sat at the table. A rolled linen napkin held a gold-plated knife and fork. The flagon contained wine, stronger and sweeter than anything she had ever tasted.

  Nibbling on one of the muffins, she wondered again who had provided the meal, and where that person was now. Maybe the castle really was haunted, she thought with a grin. Maybe a friendly ghost had generously provided the meal.

  Or had it been the mysterious man who had carried her up the stairs? She wondered again if he had been real, or merely a figment of her imagination. Probably the latter, she thought, since she had never seen a man as tall and devastatingly handsome as that except in her dreams.

  Her gaze darted around the room as she ate. Large tapestries hung on the walls. Most of them depicted hunting scenes—a wolf chasing a deer, a trio of men bringing down a wild boar, a pack of wild dogs running after a silver fox. The head of a large stag was mounted over an enormous stone fireplace. Wrought-iron wall sconces held fat candles covered with a fine layer of dust. Besides the high-backed sofa where she had fallen asleep, there were several other couches, chairs, tables, and benches randomly situated around the room.

  She washed down the last of the meat and cheese with a second glass of wine and licked her lips. Sated, and warm inside and out, she propped her elbows on the table, cupped her chin in her hands, and closed her eyes. She wasn’t used to drinking strong wine. It left her feeling relaxed and drowsy. She needed to think of what to do next. She had planned to stay here for a few days but that no longer seemed wise, not if the mysterious man was real rather than a figment of one of her daydreams. Did she dare linger until after dark? But if she left here, where would she go?

  Growing sleepier by the minute, she stood up, then grabbed the back of the chair to keep her balance. Good grief, was she drunk? Carefully placing one foot in front of the other, she made her way back up to the bedroom and crawled under the covers.

  She was asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow.

  Elena woke with a start to find a man standing beside the bed. One look at his face and she knew he was the man who had carried her up the stairs—she would never forget those eyes. Just as she knew that taking refuge here had been a terrible, perhaps fatal, mistake. She had no doubt whatsoever that he was the owner of Wolfram Castle.

  Tall and broad-shouldered, he wore a loose-fitting white shirt that was open at the throat, revealing a long, crooked scar that ran down the right side of his neck. Black jeans and well-polished boots completed his attire. His hair was thick and black, his brows straight above eyes as dark blue and restless as a stormy sky. His lips were finely shaped, with a hint of cruelty; his jaw firm and square and stubborn. But it was the almost tangible aura of danger emanating from him that made her mouth go dry. This was a man to be reckoned with. She could easily imagine him at the helm of a pirate ship, or leading a medieval army into battle.

  She stared at him, too frightened to speak, but even had she found her voice, what could she say? She had entered his home uninvited, eaten food no doubt meant for him, slept in his bed. A rush of heat enflamed her cheeks. She was still in his bed.

  “Who are you?” His voice was as deep and mesmerizing as his eyes.

  Feeling as though he was looking right through her, she pulled the blanket closer, swallowed once, twice, as she tried to find her voice, then stammered, “E-Elena.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I . . . I ran away.” She clutched the covers tighter, intimidated by his unblinking gaze. “From my uncle.”

  “Who is your uncle?”

  Elena hesitated, wondering if she should tell him the truth. But even as she considered lying, she felt the words being drawn out of her. “Tavian Dinescu.”

  “The chief of police?”

  “Yes.”

  He crossed his arms over his chest, his eyes narrowing. “Why did you run away?”

  “My uncle . . . he wants me to . . . to marry him.” She blinked up at him in confusion. Why was she telling him these things? “And give him an heir.”

  Drake grunted softly. He had seen Dinescu—a big bull of a man if ever there was one, and old enough to be the girl’s father. Little wonder she had run away. “Why did you come here?”

  “I had nowhere else to go, and I . . . I thought the castle was empty. I didn’t mean to eat your dinner, but I was so hungry, and it looked so much better than what I brought . . . and . . .” She realized she was babbling and closed her mouth.

  Drake shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “The food and wine were for you.”

  “But . . . I . . . Thank you, Mr. . . . ?”

  “Just Drake.” He grinned faintly. She had fed him. It had only been right that he offer her nourishment in return.

  She sat up, clutching the blankets to her chest. “I’ll be going now.”

  “No need.”

  She scrambled off the bed, panic engulfing her. Did he mean to keep her here against her will? Had she jumped out of the frying pan and into the fire? For all she knew, he could be a rapist or a mass murderer.

  “I’ve been trouble enough,” she said quickly, and started for the door, only to get her feet tangled in the blankets.

  He caught her as she stumbled forward, one long arm curling around her waist, drawing her body against his.

  Elena stared up at him, her heartbeat thundering in her ears. She had never been held so tightly before, never been in a man’s arms like this. She was instantly aware of the hard length of his body pressed intimately against hers, of his big hand splayed over the small of her back, of just how tall and broad he was. She had no doubt he could break her in two with no trouble at all.

  She gazed up into his eyes—eyes so dark a blue they were very nearly black. Fear mingled with uncertainty as he continued to hold her close, his hand sliding lazily up and down her spine. And then he lowered his head and covered her mouth with his.

  This man’s kiss was nothing like her uncle’s. A delicious warmth spread through every inch of her, draining the strength from her legs, filling her with a sweet lethargy, and an unexpected yearning to sink into his embrace and never leave. She inhaled and his scent filled her nostrils. For a moment, she tried to place it, but it was an earthy, musky scent like nothing she had experienced before. Like everything else about him, it was compelling.

  His lips moved over hers, slowly exploring their taste and texture, nibbling at the corners.

  Feeling suddenly light-headed, Elena grasped his shoulders. A soft moan rose in her throat as she swayed against him. And then his tongue was sliding over her lips, probing gently. It sent a shaft of heat straight to the core of her being and she moaned again. She had intended it to be a cry of protest so he would release her. Instead, he drew her closer, his hand delving into her hair to cup the back of her head as he kissed her again, harder, deeper, until she wasn’t aware of anything but his mouth on hers, the rapid beating of her heart, the heat spreading through her, pooling low in the depths of her being.

  What was he doing to her? She had never felt like this before, never dreamed a man’s kisses could be so intoxicating.

  If he hadn’t been holding her so tightly, she was certain she would have collapsed at his feet when he took his mouth from hers. Breathless, she could only stare up at him.

  “Like I said, there is no need for you to go.”

  She blinked at him.

  “You will be safe here.”

  Elena nodded. “Safe.” She lifted her fingers to her lips as she watched him stride out the door, and wondered if she would ever feel safe again.

  The next day, Elena awoke fully intending to leave the castle, but somehow she couldn’t summon the will to do s
o. Sitting up, she noticed three dresses spread across the foot of the bed, along with four pairs of jeans, several T-shirts and sweaters in a rainbow of colors, a small pile of modest underwear, and six pairs of socks.

  Leaning forward, she ran her hands over the dresses. She rarely wore anything but jeans, shorts, and T-shirts. She certainly didn’t wear dresses made of silk, fancy or plain.

  Rising, she picked one up and held it in front of her. It was sky blue and as soft as . . . silk. It could only have come from Drake, but why would he buy her clothes? And shoes, she thought, noting a pair of sandals and a pair of running shoes on the floor beside her sneakers.

  Suddenly curious to try on the blue silk, she took off the clothes she had slept in, pulled the dress over her head, and smoothed it over her hips. It fit as though it had been made for her, which begged the question, how had he known her size?

  She pondered that for several minutes; then, eager to see how she looked in the blue silk, she glanced around the room, only then noticing there wasn’t a mirror in sight.

  She was wondering if she might find one elsewhere in the castle when the big gray cat padded into the room. It leaped effortlessly onto the bed, then sat there, head cocked to one side, watching her.

  She had the oddest feeling that it was admiring her.

  With a shake of her head, Elena changed into a pair of jeans and a purple T-shirt and went downstairs in search of something to eat. Another feast awaited her in the main hall—fresh fruit and a square of cheese, a loaf of bread still warm from the oven, a pot of honey butter and another of jelly, a flagon of wine. She poured herself a glass, wishing for coffee instead.

  It had been in Elena’s mind to leave the castle before nightfall, but it occurred to her that leaving would be foolish. In spite of his fearsome appearance, Drake didn’t seem to mean her any harm. He had provided her with food, gifted her with a wardrobe . . . She frowned. Was she being naïve, thinking he didn’t expect anything in return for his generosity? Would it be rude to ask what his motives were? Better rude than foolish, she decided. She could only think of one thing he would want from her, and she wasn’t about to part with that, not for all the silk dresses in the county.