grounds, illuminated by moonlight and torch fire.
A vast collection of religious statuary graced the gardens. Demons and imps cavorted together like children around the virgin mother. Her beloved son draped across her lap; her face masked in sorrow.
“The leader of men.” He derided. “An icon for all mind-numbing, irreverent bigots. His story has been revised throughout history by the corrupt and inept, until it no longer resembles the truth.”
“Do you know the truth?”
“I am the truth,” he whispered. His smile hidden behind long coal black hair.
The path ended in a circular alcove where an ancient rowan tree sunk roots deep into the earth. Another stone angel knelt at her base. She was chained to the earth, naked, fallen. Her wings had been severed; her body scourged and a crown of thorns circled her brow. Blood spilled from her eyes, crimson tears that fell across a face, despoiled by pain and horror.
She turned away, turning her back on the monstrosity.
“You don’t like it?” he asked. His smile crooked.
She faltered; his question taking her by surprise.
“Its…” she felt bile rushing up to her throat.
“I’m sorry…” she broke away, quickening her steps before another wave had her rushing for the closest bush.
He laughed, catching up with slow unhurried steps.
“I’m sorry,” she repeated, feeling a profound embarrassment.
“Don’t be,” he said, seizing her arm, his luminous eyes, brilliantly intense.
“Art is meant to take one by surprise, to create a stirring even if it’s in the stomach.” He looked amused.
“I find myself pleased by your response.”
“You do?”
“Yes.” His eyes were black, intense, clinging to every curve and hollow of her familiar face. He sighed, taking her hand in his. He brought it to his mouth, pressing his lips to the erratic pulse.
“Hmmm…this could be harder than I’d imagined.”
“Did you sculpt that?”
“Guilty.” He smiled, looking altogether blameworthy.
“She looks like me,” she said tightly.
“Your painting, the one hanging above the bed. His face was once similar to my own,” he said, as if it were an afterthought.
“I guess we both connected on some artistic level.” Maggie laughed, a nervous little sound, her eyes darting toward his. His words made no sense to her, although she would never say so.
He grinned; his eyes, a deep aquatic green now. She looked away, bewildered.
His sexuality was palpable, making her feel a terrible yearning. She wanted to be touched by him. She couldn’t control it, this need.
“Do I make you uncomfortable?” he asked, a slow and steady softening changing his eyes yet again.
“God, yes.” She breathed, a slight smile curving her lips.
She was holding her breath; her arms crossed in front of her.
“I can help with that.” He promised.
“The first kiss is always the most anticipated.” He took a step closer.
“I’m not going to downplay the second or the third, but this one in particular can be worrisome.”
He reached up, threading his fingers into her hair. She began to tremble as he pulled her closer.
“Close your eyes,” he whispered, feeling her stiffen.
He kissed the hollow beneath her ear; his lips gentle as a sigh against her skin. Her jaw line followed and finally her lips. His tongue invaded her mouth, mating with hers in an age-old battle. She felt an overwhelming need spiraling toward obsession as she clung to him, kissing him back.
He pulled away first; his mouth set in a tender grimace, as though he was in pain. He retrieved her arms from around his neck.
“I’m sorry,” he said gently. “I shouldn’t have done that.”
She didn’t know what to say. Her eyes fell, heat infusing her cheeks.
“I’m…” she began. “I’m no good at this,” she whispered softly.
“You’re wrong…”
She glanced up at him. Heavy lids covered eyes that were strangely radiant in the darkness around them. She tried to pull away, but his grasp became visceral, unbreakable. He pulled her wrist up to his mouth.
“From the moment I first saw you, I’ve thought of nothing but this.” His tongue brushed against the steadily beating conduit beneath her delicate skin.
“Your scent is so…”
His bite, when it came was intense. She groaned, her eyes closing tightly. He tore his mouth away, readjusting his hold. His mouth covered the vulnerable flesh at the crook of her neck. Blood shot into his mouth, flooding him with an alarming rush of heat.
He moaned, pulling her closer. He picked her up, molding her to him.
“Isn’t this an inviting sight.”
Caine pulled away from her violently, turning with a vicious growl, seeing his brother standing there as still as one of his stone effigies.
“Do, save some for me,” he asked in a fashionable manner although his eyes shone bright with the scent of her blood.
Caine looked down at her. “Shit.” He growled, lifting his wrist to his mouth.
Lucien inhaled deeply.
“Innocence? Not your usual poison.” A vague smile crossed his stunning face.
“She tastes as good as she looks?” Lucien’s voice was a monumental distraction.
Her blood weighed heavily in his stomach, finding its way into his head. Taking over there like a drug, awakening something ancient in him, something familiar.
“Don’t let her die,” he said tightly, falling to his knees.
“She’ll be dead by morning,” Lucien said, strangely intent. He took a step closer, his mouth open, tasting the air around them.
“But then again…perhaps not,” he said, mystified, as he approached his fallen brother and his remarkably innocent meal.
“I’m not certain this is going to work, but let’s give it a go, anyhow.”
He straddled her hips, bringing his forearm to his sharp,
