RED AS BLOOD.

by Morgana de Winter.

Chapter One.

"Trespa.s.sers, especially beautiful ones, are violated. Survivors are lunch."

Cerise Bordeaux stared at the man who had abruptly appeared before her on the forest path. There was humor in his voice, but his eyes gleamed with intent. She felt her heart flutter with a combination of fright and, G.o.d help her, excitement. He was as beautiful as the devil himself, and just as clearly a minion. There was no doubt in her mind that he was the vampire lord of legend, Daegon Erlansson.

Cerise had antic.i.p.ated encountering problems when she made the decision to go in search of her sister, who had been taken by some demon and held captive. It wasn't as if she actually knew where to look for her sister. Then too, she had the worst sense of direction.

She hadn't expected to encounter this sort of problem, however. She'd been lost for hours. It seemed to her that fate had laden her with enough problems without adding the accursed vampire lord to her troubles. Misfortune piled upon misfortune. First a wolf had startled her mare, whom she'd depended upon to show her the way. The frightened mare had swept her from the saddle with the aid of a low-hanging limb, and she had been trying ever since to catch up to the horse. Now this.

"I saw no signs," Cerise said carefully, casting about for a weapon.. There was nothing within reach but dirt and dried brush, and thinking realistically, she didn't have much hope of fending off a vampire should he choose to attack.

"Perhaps because there are none?"

Cerise gave him an indignant look and crossed her arms over her chest. "Well, if that is the case, I fail to see how you can accuse me of trespa.s.sing."

Daegon gave her an odd sort of look. "My dear child, have you no notion of who these wood belong to?"

Cerise considered lying, but it was likely, being a son of the devil, that he could read minds. With alarm, she wondered if he could manipulate them too. *Twas best not to think on that route. "Obviously you," she retorted, opting somewhat for the truth, "But how was I to know that?"

Daegon tilted his head to one side, studying her as if he had just discovered a rare find. Something lit in his eyes, and she was certain it boded ill. "And now that you do know?" he asked curiously.

"I shall leave, of course. Only point the way to me, for I am lost in these accursed woods and have been half the day."

A thin smile curled the vampire lord's lips. He was really quite handsome, Cerise thought vaguely. Not so handsome that she was willing to allow him to violate her, but far more handsome than any living man she knew. Or dead either, for that matter.

A thin beard cut across the line of his jaw, and along with the mustache, lent him a dastardly look, more akin to a wicked rogue than some demon sp.a.w.n. Hair like the night parted on his high forehead, curling over his shoulders in wanton disarray. His face was haunted angles; a distinctly squared jaw line; blade of a nose; thick brows that arched high and pulled deep when he frowned; hollow cheeks and sharply high cheekbones. But it was his eyes that were so arresting. They seemed to stare straight through her, into the chaos of her mind. Color indistinguishable with the night, she could only guess what hue they were, but she rather imagined a soulless black, or perhaps red as the blood of his victims.

She shuddered at the thought, unable to consider the mental image of feeding, but the vision of him suckling a woman's neck toyed with her imagination. Would it be painful, or the ecstasy others believed? She liked that line of thought even less, and half wondered if he'd planted the image in her mind merely to toy with her.

"I do believe I am going to enjoy this," he murmured, taking a step toward her.

Her eyes widened. She took a step back. "There's no need to be nasty about this. I am perfectly willing to leave."

He moved a step closer. "Ah, but you're a.s.suming that I would allow it."

Deciding discretion was the better part of valor, Cerise whirled and fled back down the path, in the direction from which she had come. She was certain if she just followed the path, she could at least find her way back to where her horse had thrown her. A wicked laugh echoed through the forest around her, raising the hair on the back of her neck like a shock. It sounded unnervingly close. She didn't dare risk a look behind her. Instead, throwing caution to the wind, she leapt from the path and tore off through the woods.

Her breath was coming so hard and fast, she felt dizzy from it, but she didn't dare slow her steps. She plowed through the frost-killed brush, still thick enough to hamper her speed, but she hoped it would disguise her path through the wood. Leaping a low tangle of vines, she jumped behind the broad trunk of a tree and paused, trying to steady her breath, trying to listen for sounds of pursuit.

"You are flushed, my dear," murmured a voice directly in her ear.

Cerise spun around with a startled gasp and gaped at the man who had appeared seemingly from out of nowhere.

"The color becomes you."

Cerise screamed and stomped his foot, shoving his chest at the same moment. She wasn't certain whether she'd actually managed to knock him from his feet, or if he'd merely vanished again, but she didn't wait around to find out. She turned toward the path once more, or at least the direction she thought which the path lay. The trees seemed to reach out to grab her, tearing at her clothing as she fled as fast as her feet could carry her. A briar caught her bodice, ripping it from neckline almost to her waist. Gasping, she grasped the edges of her torn bodice and ran faster.

Before she quite knew what had happened, she stumbled into a tiny brook. She gaped at the water swirling around her feet. Her legs immediately began going numb with the cold. She didn't think she could feel much more miserable, unless someone tipped a bucket of the water over her head.

Cerise searched her mind, grasping for bearings. She didn't remember crossing a brook before. Where was that twice d.a.m.ned path she'd followed?

As she turned, wondering how she'd gotten her sense of direction so twisted around, she saw the vampire lounging on a flat rock that bordered the bank, a half smile curling his lips. Her heart flip-flopped in her chest and she froze.

He trailed a hand in the water, his smile inviting, as if they were on a picnic together. "You seem a little breathless, sweeting. Shall I remove that tiresome corset as well?"

Cerise stared at him, trying to cover herself with little success. She tucked the edges of her bodice into her corset as she gave him an evil eye. "You villain! It was you who ripped my bodice!"

He looked pleased with himself. Cerise wanted to slap him. "A paltry trick."

"A low trick," she retorted, putting every ounce of disgust she held into her voice. Her reaction served only to amuse him more. Seeing he was no imminent threat at that moment, Cerise looked around a little desperately as she tried to get her bearings.

He pointed over his shoulder. "The path is that way, my love."

Cerise glared at him indignantly. As if she would believe him. She wasn't about to fall for that one.

Hiking her wet skirts to her knees, she slogged through the creek and up the other side. She developed a st.i.tch in her ribs as she ran, and she clutched the pain, forcing herself onward. Her heart leapt with relief when she stumbled from the woods and onto a brightly lit meadow. She knew she could put more distance between her and that wicked man if she left the woods and crossed the clearing.

She had almost made it halfway across when she stumbled over something and felt herself rushing toward the ground. She shrieked and threw up her hands to catch herself. Two arms encircled her before she could strike the ground, a firm body surprisingly muscled cushioning her fall. Half stunned, Cerise looked up at the man who held her.

Him. As if it could be anyone else.

He lifted his brows. "And I had thought you were playing hard to get. You are a wanton, my love, to throw yourself in my arms this way." His arms tightened around her, plumping her b.r.e.a.s.t.s to the top of her corset until she thought they would burst from the encas.e.m.e.nt. He smiled as he looked from her b.r.e.a.s.t.s and into her eyes. There was something decidedly the lady killer in gaze.

"You tripped me," she accused. "Unhand me. Now, my lord."

"Daegon," he corrected, confirming her worst suspicions, "And cease this fun? My love, you know not what you ask."

Something had crept down to one b.u.t.tock cheek. It felt like a hand. When she squirmed to look back, it squeezed. Cerise jumped in surprise, shocked to her toes. She pushed at his chest, glaring at him, wishing he'd remove that offensive palm from her backside. "I am no wanton, my lord. It is you and your vile games that put me in this position."

His smile turned devilish, making her heart flutter. "You prefer another?" He rolled suddenly, landing atop her as he bore her against the soft earth of the meadow. His hands slipped from her back and came down on either side of her head, holding her hands trapped between their melded bodies.

Cerise began to lose feeling in her fingertips. He felt as heavy as solid muscle. She couldn't locate an ounce of fat to pinch, no soft spot upon his body she could strike from her position. Her heart pounded from her exertion. Her lungs fought to drag in air. She felt a little faint.

"You know a that a is not a what a I meant," she gritted out, struggling beneath him.

His mouth quirked with amus.e.m.e.nt. He lifted slightly, decreasing his weight enough she could breathe without heaving and crushing her b.r.e.a.s.t.s against his chest with every breath. "Think you I read minds?"

"I would not be surprised. I've heard stories of your ilk. What is your intent now?" she asked, not particularly wanting to know the answer, but she rather thought it would behoove her to be prepared. He might actually tell her the truth and give her fair warning.

He arched a brow. "What manner of stories? Perhaps the vampire's kiss?" His voice dropped an octave, slipping to a sensual purr that rubbed along her nerves like a cat. "Have you an interest to know the touch of a vampire?"

Alarm flared through her combining with an odd sort of thrill that she didn't want to examine at the moment. Of course, it could be only fright, for she was not in the best position to fight him off.

He didn't await her answer, but leaned close as though to kiss her. Cerise snapped her teeth at him, missing him by inches. He pulled back in surprise, and she shoved at his chest, wedging her knee between him, pushing with all her might. His impetus rolled him off of her. He grabbed at her feet as she rolled to her knees. She kicked backwards like a horse, striking soft flesh.

Cerise scrambled away, getting to her feet. Heedless of all else, she picked up her skirts and ran through the meadow toward the dark shadow of trees. She dashed past the trunks, heading into blackness absolute, ignoring the tear of limbs and brambles. Her thighs burned as if afire, taxed to the limit of endurance. Her sides felt ready to split, and her feet felt heavy, as though she traveled a bog rather than dry, wintry woods. She felt at any moment, her beleaguered heart would give out.

Her pace unconsciously slowed as she melted deeper into the woods. She would never find the path now. Even the moonlight deserted her in her need. That devil had pursued her until she scarce had a notion of what was up or down.

Ahead, a light shone suddenly, pouring from the sky like silver. Cerise chased it with a last burst of energy, pushing through the trees into a meadow. She stopped at the edge, looking around in confusion. She dropped her skirts, clutching her chest as she caught her breath. This couldn't be the same clearing. She couldn't have traveled in a circle. It just wasn't possible.

"Confused?" an annoyingly familiar voice said behind her.

Cerise whirled around, found him studying her with amus.e.m.e.nt. Rage overtook her. She wanted to see blood a and not her own. "You b.a.s.t.a.r.d! You, you a you just let me think I could escape!"

"I cannot help that you cannot accept the consequences of your actions, my dear. I gave you warning you couldn't leave unless I allow it."

With a growl that came from some forgotten place deep inside her, she curled her hands into talons and lunged for his throat.

He stepped aside, catching her arms as she sailed past him, twirling her around until she was ensnared in his arms and helpless to escape or shred the hide from his bones. Cerise gave him a murderous look as he regarded her like a child throwing a tantrum. If she thought her head could withstand it, she would have b.u.t.ted the smug smile from his face.

"Such violence," he murmured, tsking with disapproval. He sighed, rolling one shoulder in a stretch. "I believe we've played enough now," he said, lazily regarding her.

The heat of anger was too much combined with the exhaustion of her flight. She was so tired--tired and ready to admit she'd been defeated. Had he played fair as any decent man would, she was certain he would not be the victor. If she lived past this day, he would regret it, though she rather doubted she would. Didn't all hunters toy with their prey before killing?

"Just be done with it," she said with a breathless voice, full of exhaustion. She tilted her head to the side and squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for the pain.

He chuckled, mild laughter rumbling in his chest. She felt it seep through her own. He seemed to take great delight in her misery.

She startled as one arm moved from her back and his fingers cupped her jaw. He tipped her back, arching her neck, brushing his fingers across her lips and down her throat. Tingles spread from his fingertips like a spiraling web, warm, soothing. She thought he would be cold, not vibrantly heated like a living man. Languor twined through her limbs.

"I'm honored you give yourself to me, fair Cerise," he whispered, spreading warmth across her collarbone.

His heat seeped into her skin, into her muscles, paralyzing her to his touch. She should have been alarmed, frightened, but she couldn't conjure such rabid emotions, only a vague curiosity. "How did you know a mya," she murmured as a haze enveloped her in its embrace.

Chapter Two.

Cerise rolled onto her back and arched as the fangs sank deep in her throat. Her lungs stilled as the rapture flooded her and pooled between her thighs with biting intensity. Blood throbbed in her c.l.i.t, a pounding that begged the soothing rough touch of his fingers. Wet arousal dampened her thighs, making her feel slippery with want. She squeezed her thighs together, enjoying the pleasurable cramp the movement created in her womb.

His hands slipped along her skin like roughened silk, moving across her shoulders to her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. He squeezed her gently then flicked his fingertips over her nipples, his short nails slightly abrasive, making them harden in response. Tingles spread from her nipples through her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, winding down to the secret place of her.

His mouth broke from her neck with a slight sucking sound, and then his lips followed the trail of his hands, nibbling, fangs sc.r.a.ping. He nipped her nipple with his teeth, stroking a hand down her belly, smoothing through the short hair that covered her s.e.x. Cerise trembled at the touch, so close to what she needed. She arched as he suckled her breast to the point of pain, rubbing his tongue against her distended nipple. He freed her suddenly. She wanted to moan at the loss of heat but couldn't find her voice.

Her belly jerked as his teeth scored her ribcage. Her breath grew harsh as he moved lower, down past her navel. The heat of his breath stirred the fine hair at her apex, almost tickling but far, far worse. He wedged his hands between her thighs, parting them, sc.r.a.ping her flesh in maddening circles as he breathed hotly against her cleft.

A sharpness dragged against the inside of one thigh, up to the crease of her leg. Slowly it moved, pressure increasing until pain and pleasure exploded as he sank his fangs into her thigh.

She gasped at the ecstasy, to have him inside her, sucking her life's essence for his own. She wanted more of him, to feel him deeper. She wanted to feel him inside the tight core of her femininity. He sensed her weakness, exploited it, moving his tongue against her to increase the languorous flow. It was wrong to want this so much, to crave his feeding. Her c.l.i.t begged attention, aching at his neglect. She wanted to resist him, but she couldn't move her body. Only over her eyes had she any power. She wanted to see him nestled between her thighsa"needed to with a sudden desperation. She opened her lids to look upon her lover, her murderer.

There was no one above her. She was alone.

A sense of ease drenched her. It had only been a nightmare. Cerise mentally collapsed in relief, sighing as she closed her eyes against the proof that she was half insane. Never had a dream been so vivid. She could almost feel the heat of his touch on her skin, smell the scent of blood. Her nipples ached as though bitten, and her womb cramped with unfulfilled longing. Moreover, her entire body ached. It hurt even to think too hard.

Cerise's eyes popped open as that realization and another dawned in the sluggish workings of her exhausted brain.

She had no canopy above her bed.

Cerise swallowed past a sudden lump in her throat, easing the covers up to her nose as if they'd protected her from devils unseen. Eyes slanted, almost closed, she peered around from her supine position, hoping the slight movements wouldn't betray her.

Gauzy drapery surrounded her like a tent, barely checking the wash of candle light in the room.

This wasn't her bed.

The simple, juvenile thought echoed in haunting resonance through her soul. She'd been captured by a by that a beast.

Was he in here? Had he just left her, or did he watch her even now, gauging her reactions and enjoying her terror. Strangely, she didn't feel nearly as frightened as she should have been, which only lent credence to the fact that he possessed some power over the mind. She should've been frightened silly, but the fact that she still lived meant he had some use for her, though what, she couldn't imagine. Nefarious, most likely. As long as she was valuable in some way, she had hope of hanging to life. Of course, that might also mean he had no intention of allowing her to leave. The thought made her shudder.

Her peripheral vision was cut off by layers of pillows closed in on her flanks. Toward her feet through the mist of drapes, she could make out a dark, arched window beside which sat an upholstered chair, turned to face the bed rather than the window. She wondered if he'd sat there and watched her sleep, gloating over her vulnerability. She could think of no other motive for a centuries old being to possess other than wanting morbid amus.e.m.e.nts. She refused to think of the way he had looked at her in the wood, that glint in his eyes, the way he'd caused her bodice to be torn.

She frowned, giving the chair a thunderous look.

To see anything else, she'd have to sit up a and possibly alert anyonea"him--that she was awake. She decided it was worth the risk and struggled up onto her elbows.

The room was empty. Candles glowed from ornate sconces resembling climbing rose vines clinging to the wood paneled walls. A candelabra sat on the bedside table, as if it had just been set down. On the far wall near the window, a tall mirror embraced the corner, reflecting the glowing light with mellow softness. To it's right was a wash stand with a basin set in the rich wood and a pitcher beside it.

There was no doubt in her mind where she was and who had taken her. She startled mentally as a thought strucka"had the dream merely been that, a nightmare and not real? Or had he actually done those a things to her. More disturbing than that, had she responded to him as she had in the dream?

Cerise gasped in horror even thinking about it. Her father would tan her hide if he knew. Moreover, how could she face a a man a who had such intimate knowledge of her? Cerise felt a blush creep up to her hairline. She wasn't entirely certain, even if he had not touched her, that she could look him in the eye and not remember the dream. Why would she even dream such a thing if not inspired by actual events?

She was sore all over, from her hairline to her toes. There was no way of knowing if something had happened unless she examined herself for bite marks.

Cerise caught the curtains and flung them aside, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed. A pained groan escaped her as her poor, abused muscles were put into action once more. She felt like hunting him down and hammering a stake through his heart just for chasing her into exhaustion, never mind him feeding off her.

Cerise dropped down to the floor and swayed on weak knees. Exertion never affected her thus before. The weakness worried her. How much blood had he taken to leave her this way? It couldn't all be resultant from the running. She hated to think she was so out of sorts that she lacked any stamina.

A door stood a short distance from her bed, directly to its right. She straightened and staggered toward it, leaning heavily against the wood as she tried the k.n.o.b. It was locked, of course. A pity he wasn't more trusting of her incapacitation.

Grunting with frustration and giving the k.n.o.b a final try, she turned and stumbled to the wash stand. She poured out some water and splashed her face, feeling a little more alert. It was still hot, a rare luxury indeed. He couldn't have left her long ago, which likely meant he wouldn't be returning for a while. That would leave her enough time to prepare some sort of ambush. But first she had to make sure she wasn't compromised.

Cerise faced the full length mirror and gaped at herself. That blackguard had removed her clothing! Of all the-- No doubt it had been drenched by her own blood. Then again, her gown was irreparably torn from briars. Her hair was a mess too, though not as bad as she'd supposed. He'd taken a comb to it, for there were no leaves or sticks in her hair, and she distinctly remembered picking some up along the way.

The thought of a vampire lord doing something so mundane as brushing her hair while she slept did odd little things to her belly, invoking unpleasant memories of his hands touching her neck, her jaw, her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. Cerise pushed the annoyance to the back of her mind. He'd probably been stuck by a bramble and removed them only for his own comfort. She was certain he'd enjoyed seeing her displayed naked and vulnerable before him.