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 turned abruptly to Crenshaw. “I have changed my mind about a room.”
Althea’s legs shook as she reached the top of the stairs. She did not dare turn and look back. But in the gloom of the hallway, she sank back against the rough plaster wall. She covered her mouth with her hands, smothering a sudden sob.
What did the dreams mean?
She’d been intimate with that…that beautiful blond man in those dreams. With a vampire. A vampire with the perfect features of an angel! From her dreams, she could remember the salty, rich taste of his bare skin against her tongue. Her fingertips knew his textures. She had played in the coarse silkiness of the golden curls on his chest. She had stroked his erect nipples. Even cupped his bottom as he drove…goodness, in her dreams he had been inside her. Deep, deep within her.
And he knew—he knew—what she dreamed, what they had done!
How could she bring her father downstairs? Althea did not believe for one minute the vampire Earl of Brookshire would not torment Father and would keep her secret.
But if he truly was the brother of the vampire in the crypt, Father must speak with him. Whether it meant her exposure or not.
Her wrap and the skirts of her nightrail swished about her legs as she hurried to her father’s room, but she stopped in her tracks before reaching the door. The earl had come to her in her dreams. He had deliberately seduced her. Until the last dream, she hadn’t even suspected he was a vampire.
Of course he must have known who she was. His denial was a complete lie. How could he expect she would believe he did not? The dreams were a trick—to capture her mind and soul, to use her in some way to release his brother—
“By all that is holy—” Her father’s panicked cry froze her blood.
A crash echoed from his room. A heavy thud. Furniture overturned? Her father falling? For several thundering heartbeats, Althea couldn’t move—then she wrenched forward and raced up the hallway.
“Father?” She reached his door. Thank heavens, the knob turned under her shaky hand. She pushed the door, but before it opened more than a few inches, it slammed back in her face.
“Father!”
Another crash. Althea shoved the door again, but this time it refused to give at all. She kicked it, twisting the knob so hard she thought it might break off in her hand.
Beyond
