nipples. Aubrey knew Blaise’s tastes and he’d chosen well for him tonight. Aubrey often joked over the fact that playing pimp for Blaise was not the least favorite, even if it was the least respected, of his many professions. His friend had taken on the role centuries ago when he realized that Blaise occasionally fell into a malaise because he resisted the urge to feed.
Anger began to trickle into his awareness at the temptation Aubrey had offered him.
“Margarite,” he muttered as he watched her finesse her nipples. He doubted the name was real, although the breasts definitely were. The women Aubrey brought him might be nothing more than very expensive whores, but they were typically of the highest quality flesh. Aubrey saw to that.
“Yes, Lord Delraven?” she whispered, a hint of a smile on her pouting lips.
“Get out.”
Circling fingertips paused. “What?”
He lifted his head off the pillow. “Leave.”
The single word had barely come out as a hoarse whisper, but she must have seen something in his expression, because she started back in alarm. Her gaze flickered down over his cock.
“But—?”
“You heard me. Find Aubrey. He will pay you.”
She hesitated. Her gaze remained on his cock. “I do not need pay,” she whispered. She glanced up at him, beseeching.
He bared his fangs.
She reached for her robe, keeping her wary gaze on him as she bent. When he heard the door click shut behind her, he lay back in mixed regret and relief.
When he closed his eyes, Isabel was back to haunt him. The throb in his cock escalated to a sharp ache. He winced and wrapped his hand around the warm, tumescent member.
He had never hated anyone or anything before. Passions did not typically rule Blaise Sevliss. Duty did; that and the daily dread of his fate.
His hand moved on his cock as he envisioned her exquisite face. He damned Isabel Lanscourt for doing the impossible, and making him feel again.
Chapter Four
She had witnessed wonders beyond belief in her tour of Sanctuary—an arboretum so vast and so lush that Isabel mentally mocked Margaret Turrow’s ridiculous claim that they were far below the surface of the earth. She’d seen what appeared to be an entire field of the white mulberry. (No, no…they simply could not be underground.) Jessie told her the white mulberry was cultivated in Sanctuary to provide silk for Lord Delraven’s factory.
She had stared in wonder at a gravity-defying fountain featuring water that flowed up instead of down. She’d seen a vast aquarium that was the size of a large room and contained colorful fish and creatures she’d never seen or imagined. Jessie had shown her a swimming pool surrounded by lush tropical wildlife and an expensively equipped exercise facility, which was apparently chiefly used to practice combat. There had been men there. Her cheeks had warmed when two sets of males fighting, along with one trio in a third ring, all paused in the midst of stunning displays of athleticism and violence in order to stare at Jessie and her as they passed.
Well, not at Jessie, precisely. Just her. She’d felt their gazes on her like burning lasers.
They had seen no one else in the large, luxurious rooms, each one more amazing than the last, every one filled with priceless frescoes, tapestries and sculptures. As they had passed a hallway, Isabel had paused and commented on the brightly painted crest at the center of the entrance.
“It’s Lord Delraven’s coat of arms,” Jessie said.
Isabel studied her companion covertly through lowered lashes. She had found him to be a pleasant escort and liked him. There could be little doubt that he was not mortal, given his aura.
“How old are you, Jessie?” she asked pleasantly.
His cheeks reddened. “I-I am older than you think, Miss.”
He glanced at her in surprise when she laughed. “Believe it or not, I know it.” He went rigid when she stepped toward him. “I can see your unusual life force,” she said
Anger began to trickle into his awareness at the temptation Aubrey had offered him.
“Margarite,” he muttered as he watched her finesse her nipples. He doubted the name was real, although the breasts definitely were. The women Aubrey brought him might be nothing more than very expensive whores, but they were typically of the highest quality flesh. Aubrey saw to that.
“Yes, Lord Delraven?” she whispered, a hint of a smile on her pouting lips.
“Get out.”
Circling fingertips paused. “What?”
He lifted his head off the pillow. “Leave.”
The single word had barely come out as a hoarse whisper, but she must have seen something in his expression, because she started back in alarm. Her gaze flickered down over his cock.
“But—?”
“You heard me. Find Aubrey. He will pay you.”
She hesitated. Her gaze remained on his cock. “I do not need pay,” she whispered. She glanced up at him, beseeching.
He bared his fangs.
She reached for her robe, keeping her wary gaze on him as she bent. When he heard the door click shut behind her, he lay back in mixed regret and relief.
When he closed his eyes, Isabel was back to haunt him. The throb in his cock escalated to a sharp ache. He winced and wrapped his hand around the warm, tumescent member.
He had never hated anyone or anything before. Passions did not typically rule Blaise Sevliss. Duty did; that and the daily dread of his fate.
His hand moved on his cock as he envisioned her exquisite face. He damned Isabel Lanscourt for doing the impossible, and making him feel again.
Chapter Four
She had witnessed wonders beyond belief in her tour of Sanctuary—an arboretum so vast and so lush that Isabel mentally mocked Margaret Turrow’s ridiculous claim that they were far below the surface of the earth. She’d seen what appeared to be an entire field of the white mulberry. (No, no…they simply could not be underground.) Jessie told her the white mulberry was cultivated in Sanctuary to provide silk for Lord Delraven’s factory.
She had stared in wonder at a gravity-defying fountain featuring water that flowed up instead of down. She’d seen a vast aquarium that was the size of a large room and contained colorful fish and creatures she’d never seen or imagined. Jessie had shown her a swimming pool surrounded by lush tropical wildlife and an expensively equipped exercise facility, which was apparently chiefly used to practice combat. There had been men there. Her cheeks had warmed when two sets of males fighting, along with one trio in a third ring, all paused in the midst of stunning displays of athleticism and violence in order to stare at Jessie and her as they passed.
Well, not at Jessie, precisely. Just her. She’d felt their gazes on her like burning lasers.
They had seen no one else in the large, luxurious rooms, each one more amazing than the last, every one filled with priceless frescoes, tapestries and sculptures. As they had passed a hallway, Isabel had paused and commented on the brightly painted crest at the center of the entrance.
“It’s Lord Delraven’s coat of arms,” Jessie said.
Isabel studied her companion covertly through lowered lashes. She had found him to be a pleasant escort and liked him. There could be little doubt that he was not mortal, given his aura.
“How old are you, Jessie?” she asked pleasantly.
His cheeks reddened. “I-I am older than you think, Miss.”
He glanced at her in surprise when she laughed. “Believe it or not, I know it.” He went rigid when she stepped toward him. “I can see your unusual life force,” she said
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