Valmont's Trinity.

by Sedonia Guillone.

Prologue.

From the daily journal of Darelle Mimieux, Priestess of the Coeurs eternels Headquarters in the old underground Roman catacombs, Paris

I have just returned this early morning with Gareth and Kane from the chateau of Valmont Lascaux, my sire, who suffered imprisonment at the hands of the Soldiers for nearly seven centuries. He endured this imprisonment for my sake, bravely accepting every sort of pain and humiliation to keep me safe from the torturous death the Soldiers had planned for both of us.

Lascaux's prolonged suffering for love's sake rendered him mortal, and ironically, I, the object of his love, am the one who brought him back across to immortality.

I refuse, however, to consider the possibility that I am now his sire. I feel completely unworthy of such an honor. I can only hope that my love for Gareth and Kane, my lovers and guardians since Lascaux brought me across during the Black Death, will be as strong as my sire's love for me.

Since the Soldiers-those rabid vampire slayers-left Lascaux's magnificent estate in a shambles, much help is required to bring it back to its former glory. I have already dispatched thirty of us from headquarters, waiting as they were down in Colette's club for their next a.s.signment. I know that this a.s.signment is a radical departure from the usual mercy feeding routes we make of hospitals, war zones and disaster areas. However, Lascaux needs people to help rebuild, to cultivate his grape arbors, to clean and provide moral support until his proteges-those whom the Soldiers did not manage to slay-may be found and come to his aid.

Although Serge Aranov, Valmont's most devoted protege and lover, is there at his side, the two have been estranged. I feel guilty knowing that much of their estrangement is a result of my sire's fervent pursuit of me. However, before I left this morning, I saw the looks of tenderness pa.s.s between them and wanted only to help them become lovers again, if such help should be needed.

In that vein, I've made certain to include Philippe Mareau in the group of "missionaries". His physical beauty, those tumbling golden curls, mischievous blue-green eyes, lithe muscles and easy manner will, I believe, serve to help "reunite" Serge, who remained faithful to Lascaux during his entire imprisonment-the way Lascaux remained to me-and Lascaux. Although I can make no claim to being an expert at love, when I explained to Colette the situation I observed between the former lovers, she winked at me and told me that our golden dancer would be the "perfect" matchmaker. "Philippe has a hands-on approach among his other 'unique' talents" were her exact words.

I believe she's referring to the fact that Philippe is the world's only immortal-vampire mix. How this came to be no one has been able to discover, least of all Philippe. But the fact that he can feed and also be fed upon without any harm to his being will, I pray, serve as an a.s.set in his matchmaking quest. Having known Philippe for several centuries, since he was sired and discovered his heart still beating in his chest, I can vouch for his beauty and grace. Once that beautiful vampire-immortal dances for them in the after-supper entertainment, and whatever other strategies he employs, Lascaux and Serge will not be able to stay out of each other's arms and beds.

Believe me, it is a pittance of grat.i.tude, sending some help for Lascaux in this time of need. After what he's done for me, even though I have eternity to show my thanks, it will never be enough time.

Chapter One.

Valmont stared at the wreckage of his chateau. "f.u.c.king b.a.s.t.a.r.ds," he muttered. He glanced at Serge who stood, pen poised over his book, ready to mark down further instructions for renovation. "I suppose I should get more original with my curses."

Serge's large almond-shaped blue eyes stared back at him, radiating sympathy. He shrugged. "f.u.c.king b.a.s.t.a.r.ds is quite appropriate in this instance. I was thinking more along the line of motherless c.u.n.ts."

Valmont leaned heavily against the banister. His survey of the downstairs ruins had taken the last hour. Not one room-be it the great hall, kitchens, bailey, study-had escaped the Soldiers' destruction. If one imagined a pen full of hogs let loose in his magnificent chateau that was the appearance of his once-stately abode after the Soldiers' residency. He hated to think of the state of his once-splendid grounds and vineyards. Shaking his head again, he took the stairs slowly, Serge at his side.

Through most of the castle's rooms, he'd managed to keep his reaction to a bit of cursing, followed by a mere shake of the head, and tick off a list of the needed materials and repairs. After more than six hundred years of captivity and Darelle's return to Paris this morning-when he'd wished her desperately to stay-even the loss of many of his antiques, some hundreds of years old and absolutely irreplaceable, failed to shake him too much.

However, in the doorway of his bedchamber, his beloved nest of solitude, he froze. Anger rippled through his renewed immortal veins, heated to searing hatred. "f.u.c.king motherless c.u.n.ts." He gritted his teeth and clenched his fists.

A comforting hand landed on his shoulder.

He turned his head, soothed by Serge's touch and gaze. The affection in his eyes was unmistakable. Unbidden, Valmont had an image of Serge, camped outside the walls of the chateau, waiting endlessly for an opportunity to rescue his lover from rabid vampire slayers.

Valmont heaved a deep, collecting breath. He shook his head and his friend's hand slipped away. Another deep breath prepared him to step deeper into the destroyed bedchamber.

Oddly enough, this room was the only one in which every item remained intact. The velvet drapes on the bedposts, though faded and worn, still hung in place. The same coverlets, under which he and Serge had once slept and made endless love, were still spread over the feather beds. The Oriental rugs and tapestries, though threadbare, their once-vivid patterns now nearly indiscernible, covered the walls and floors.

It was the scent that angered him. The putrid scent of a conscienceless human-one who dared tout himself as a defender of his race by murdering and torturing vampires-permeated this once-sacred s.p.a.ce.

Brendan, the most recent of the Soldiers' leaders who'd upheld Valmont's imprisonment, had obviously taken the most sumptuous and sinfully gorgeous room of his captive's chateau as his own. The bedclothes were still ruffled from when the piece of s.h.i.t p.r.i.c.k had arisen a mere few hours earlier. Valmont gritted his teeth against the excruciating evidence of his tormentor's occupancy. If Brendan were here right now, he would have drained the little f.u.c.ker's lifeblood from him.

Oh wait, he already had.

The moment Darelle had brought her sire back across, he'd lunged for the little b.a.s.t.a.r.d and- "Valmont."

Serge's soft voice drew Valmont from his thoughts. He turned, again struck by Serge's blue eyes and the affection in his gaze. This time, he also noticed the arch of his companion's dark brows, the sleekness of his short black hair, his deliciously high cheekbones and soft full lips. A wave of guilt swept through him. Serge must have been as tormented in some ways as he, knowing his lover had gotten himself captured in pursuit of a woman he'd desired. What jealousy and fear Serge had no doubt suffered. And yet, though scorned as a lover, he'd stayed nearby, his loyalty to his sire and lover never wavering.

"You may stay in my room, if you wish." Serge glanced into the bedchamber and sniffed the air. Undoubtedly, he, too, detected the Soldier's scent lingering, and understood the defilement of the chamber in which they'd made love countless times. "I'll find another room for the time being."

Valmont studied his friend's earnest gaze. He refused to displace him, as he would easily and selfishly have done before his imprisonment. Wincing inwardly, Valmont acknowledged the fact that if he'd succeeded in making Darelle his mate all those centuries ago, he would have put Serge out of their bed without as much as a wink. Now the prospect of sharing a bed with his former lover once again filled him with unmitigated guilt. Serge deserved to be worshiped by someone of equal virtue and loyalty. Not by the likes of him. Non. He would remain in this bedchamber and be reminded of his sins. "Sergei Aranov," he said softly.

Serge's eyes softened further at the mention of his original name. In Valmont's mind, Serge was still that beautiful man who'd pursued him on horseback across the Russian steppes, begging for his affections. The young n.o.bleman had wanted nothing more than his lover's fangs in his neck, rendering him immortal so that he could remain at Valmont's side for eternity...

A few quiet moments pa.s.sed with the exchange of their gazes.

Valmont managed a smile. "Your offer is kind, as always. But I will not let that p.r.i.c.k run me out of my bedroom."

The other vampire visibly repressed a sigh. He'd always been terrible at hiding his emotions and couldn't tell a lie to save his eternal soul. Good thing he didn't really have one. "Very well, Valmont. Even so, leave this room's restoration to me. The next time you cross the threshold, it will be yours all over again."

Although Serge's offer certainly wasn't meant to renew his guilt, Valmont felt the emotion of regret all the way to his toes. If his friend redid this room for him, of course, Valmont could never-would never-bring another to share it.

He looked directly into Serge's eyes. "There's no way in this world or the next I will ever be able to make everything up to you." He heard the mournful sound in his own voice.

Serge gazed at him for several long moments without speaking.

But the silence was crashingly loud. After six-hundred-plus years of suffering on both their parts, his for Darelle's sake and Serge's for his, more than just the chateau and grounds would need rebuilding.

He cleared his throat. The aftertaste of Brendan's blood still rolled on his tongue, making him wish he could revive the piece of s.h.i.t and drain him all over again. "I've seen enough of the house. I'm sure all the other bedchambers will look just like the downstairs. Let's go outside. I can't wait to see what the f.u.c.king devils did to my vineyard."

His companion looked down. "You go ahead, Valmont. I'll remain here and begin making my contacts with the decorators." He gave Valmont a shy smile, the look that always sent a frisson of desire through his entire body. No one had the rugged-yet-boyish expression down better than Serge. A devastating combination.

Then Valmont understood his faux pas. Darelle's bringing him back across had changed his properties. He could withstand sunlight now while the other vampire still could not. d.a.m.n. He'd have to be more f.u.c.king careful. He bowed his head. "Of course, my friend. Thank you."

Serge smiled again at him. His gorgeous eyes conveyed and tried to hide his longing all at once. The expression made Valmont ache, but it was too late. He'd already said the wrong thing.

Of course, his dear friend, thoughtful as always, knew better than to tell him that.

Serge followed Valmont down the front staircase and through the great hall to the back kitchens where the quickest exit to the vineyards was. At the doorway, Valmont turned and gave him a wan smile, his emotions, as always, readable.

Guilt weighed in his former lover's velvety dark eyes, their onyx beauty unchanged even after so long and harrowing a captivity. Well, not completely unchanged. Their look had softened, showed tenderness that Valmont had lacked before.

Serge shrank back from the sunlight that filtered through the doorway. Not all vampires had this difficulty with light. But he did, being from his sire's direct lineage. Even after his sire had brought Tenzin Gayatsu across, the Buddhist monk whose essence had mixed in with Valmont's, enabling him to sire Coeurs eternels, Valmont still sired sunlight-vulnerable beings like himself.

The heavy kitchen door closed behind Valmont, bringing the necessary darkness. Serge heaved a deep sigh and moved back through the wreckage again. The rooms did, indeed, have the appearance of having been ravaged by a slew of drunken barnyard creatures. And there were still the bodies of the fallen Soldiers in the main hall.

He rubbed at one temple with the index and middle fingers of one hand. He and Valmont were all alone with this horrible mess. It would take time to track down all Valmont's proteges and ask for their help, and then, there were no guarantees Valmont would get much help. He hadn't exactly made many friends over the centuries.

Serge entered the great hall, heading once again for the staircase back to his bedroom, where he set up his laptop and a makeshift office complete with satellite Internet connection. This room, too, reeked of Soldiers who'd used it, but Serge had no other choice. It was there he'd be able to begin the redecorating process.

He'd been working for around a half-hour when the sound of a motor, actually more than one, in the driveway out front caused his ears to p.r.i.c.k up. He froze. Who would be here now? p.r.i.c.kly fear cascaded up his arms and over his back. f.u.c.king Soldiers. Who else could it be?

Throwing down his pen and notebook, he strode to the front door, stepping over the bodies in the hall. Already the telltale itch stirred in his fangs. He wasn't going to wait or ask questions, just go for the first jugular that caught his eye.

He dragged open one side of the front doors and hissed, stepping back from the burning sting of daylight. Merde. He'd have to wait for the f.u.c.kers to invade Valmont's home once again.

Safely ensconced in the shadow of the huge door, he watched. Moments pa.s.sed and his furious caution gave way to curiosity. What the h.e.l.l was going on?

The scene in the driveway was not that of an invasion of slayers. Unless the Soldiers had gotten really clever with their disguises and had abandoned their telltale black vehicles and uniforms, the white vans, doors emblazoned with the joined heart symbol logo, were not invading enemies.

Coeurs eternels.

He couldn't suppress the sigh of relief that shivered through every cell of his body. CEs spilled from both vans, chattering and laughing as they descended. Their work clothes gave them the appearance of a motley crew of home repair people.

The sudden ring of Serge's cell phone in his pocket made him jump. He fished it out, his gaze still trapped by the scene in the driveway. A larger truck had just ground to a halt behind the vans. Some of the CEs opened up the back and pulled out an a.s.sortment of tools and what looked to be bedrolls. Slowly he put the phone to his ear. "Allo?"

"Serge?"

He immediately recognized the female voice on the other end and fought down a potent wave of jealousy. "Oui, Darelle."

"Have my people arrived yet? I've sent two vansful to a.s.sist you and Valmont with the repairs to his estate. They are all highly skilled and will, I hope, be of great help to you."

The hopeful kindness in her voice soothed the green-eyed monster raking his insides. Apparently, she felt horribly guilty and wanted to make amends. As much as he wanted to reject her offering, he knew that for Valmont's sake, he needed to accept. "Oui. They're here. I cannot go out and greet them, of course, but once they come to the door I will gratefully accept their a.s.sistance."

Darelle's breath on the other end conveyed relief. "I will call Philippe and have him come to the door to speak with you."

"That is best, Darelle, thank you. Valmont is out in the fields at the moment."

"Very good. Thank you, Serge."

Serge didn't miss the catch in her voice and did his best to feel sympathy for her. After all, she hadn't known of her sire's imprisonment until the Soldiers had sent Serge to Paris with the videotape of Valmont in chains, his mortal body close to death. She and her guardians had come immediately to his aid once they did know. "Thank you, Darelle. Au revoir." He clicked off, dropped the phone into the pocket of his trousers and continued to watch the CEs organize their materials.

One of them was coming up the walkway, a blond, holding a cell phone to his ear. As the vampire drew closer to the front door, Serge caught a glimpse of sunlight glinting off his golden hair. He also couldn't help but notice the way that hair tumbled in s.h.a.ggy curls. A few more steps and his gaze moved over the CE's lithely muscular body. The vampire clicked off the phone and continued to stride toward the large front doors with the grace of a panther. His tight sleeveless shirt only showcased the way the muscles of his torso rippled as he moved.

Gripped by the sudden hunger to feed on and to plunge his c.o.c.k into that gorgeous creature, Serge backed away, used his last remaining moments to collect himself and to douse the glow of bloodl.u.s.t he knew was in his eyes.

Bloodl.u.s.t? What the h.e.l.l was going on? A vampire did not touch off the urge to feed in a fellow vampire, CE or not. This blond was obviously not one of the CEs with whom he'd arrived.

"h.e.l.lo? Bonjour?"

Serge hung back, hidden behind the door. His body raged with hunger. Even in the mere glimpse he'd gotten of the blond man, he'd not missed that clear, evenly tanned skin or the golden chest hairs that glinted on his forearms and peeked up from the neckline of that skimpy shirt.

"Is someone there?"

Serge gritted his teeth. "Oui, one moment." Exhaling sharply against the light male musk that now pervaded the air from the man's incredible body, he stepped out from behind the door. And bit back a gasp. Up close, the blond, presumably the one Darelle called Philippe, was nothing short of magnificent.

Large blue-green eyes, out of which shone an enticing mixture of innocence and worldliness, returned his gaze. His arched golden brows rose and he smiled, showing strong white teeth, among them, the telltale slightly elongated canines of a vampire.

Canines? It didn't make sense.

"Serge Aranov?" He sounded tentative.

Those cherubic dusky lips, with a hint of gold mustache above his upper lip, appeared to move in slow motion. An image a.s.saulted Serge of those same lips around his c.o.c.k.

Serge fought to keep his gaze off the tiny pulse in the man's smooth neck, where the tanned flesh beckoned to his deepest hunger. Ach. An erection already threatened in his trousers. Thank G.o.d the pants were baggy enough to hide a full hard-on. "No," he murmured. "Yes. And you are?"

"Ah, sorry. Philippe." He held out a hand, the fingers at once rugged and graceful-looking.

Immediately, Serge desired the hand on his c.o.c.k, stroking him to release.

f.u.c.k. He reached out, allowed himself to touch the blond...vampire...or whatever he was...briefly before pulling back his hand. "Valmont is in the vineyard," he muttered. "Examining the damages there."

"I see. No problem. I'll send some workers out there." Philippe's blue-green eyes widened. He leaned forward slightly and peeked into the room. "May I come in?"

Serge stepped back, grateful to put some s.p.a.ce between them. "Yes. I believe the situation will prove self-explanatory."

The CE took several paces into the room. His lithe body moved with obviously skilled grace as he surveyed the large hall. "Oui, I see what you mean." He shook his head and his luxurious golden mane swayed with the movement. "Horrible. Just horrible. Pigs." His sculpted shoulders sagged.

The vampire's apparent grief had a scent all its own that mingled with the potent aroma of his musk and the blood coursing through his veins. Serge's vision blurred slightly and his head swam. He cleared his throat. "If you need further a.s.sistance or have any questions, I'll be upstairs, working."

Philippe smiled. His large aqua eyes appeared to twinkle in the shadowy light of the great hall. "Bien. I'll bring my crew in here and hopefully, by nightfall, this room and the kitchens will be functional again." He waved one hand, indicating the large airy hall, but Serge saw only the tanned, gracefully muscular hand cut through the air.

Turning slightly to hide his growing erection, Serge nodded. "Very well." His mouth watered madly with the need to sink his fangs into that sweet-looking neck. The wild urge was strangely...humiliating. It made him feel so vulnerable he moved swiftly up the stairs without another word.

Philippe watched Serge take the stairs, grateful for his years of acting skills to hide the absolutely erotic effect the other vampire was having on him.

Putting a hand to the side of his neck, he forced his attention to the work at hand. The skin on the side of his throat itched madly with the desire to be fed on. That d.a.m.ned immortal half of him caused blood to pound through every inch of his body, especially his c.o.c.k. When Darelle had explained to him the situation between the vampires Valmont Lascaux and Serge Aranov, her physical description of the latter had failed to convey how absolutely stunning he really was.

Yes, she'd said his eyes were blue, but she hadn't mentioned their smoky hue and almond shape. Nor had she said how high his cheekbones were or how full his lips. Never before had Philippe seen a man with such an enticing combination of rugged masculinity and boyish innocence.

He went back through the large carved front door and crossed the bridge to the graveled drive. The others were a.s.sembled and ready, awaiting his orders. He stood in front of them, realizing at the last moment his hand still rested on his neck. In his mind, a soulful pair of almond-shaped blue eyes haunted him...

"Philippe, ca va?" a vampire named Cherry asked him.

Her voice shocked him out of his haze and his gaze snapped to hers. He blinked, pushed away his mind of the vision of those eyes and nodded. "Oui." He cleared his throat, and began to pace, using the motion to calm his surging blood. No doubt within moments, this crew would know immediately what was bothering him. You didn't spend centuries at a time with the same people and not get to know them intimately.