Page 2 of Born in Blood

I roll my hips, sweeping the crown of my shaft over that most sensitive spot deep inside her. She mewls, clinging tighter to me. “Won’t. You?” I punctuate each word with another rock of my hips.

“Y-yes,” she cries before sinking her teeth into her luscious lower lip.

God, she feels so fucking good. I drive into her until her tight heat squeezes my length, rippling muscles milking my shaft and bringing me ever closer to the edge.

“Alastair.” Her warm breath ruffles my hair.

“Lynette!” The voice rings loud through the house and into the scullery, the location of this evening’s clandestine meeting. Her father’s voice.

Jesus fucking Christ!

Her breath stalls in her throat, and she scrabbles to get away from me, but I hold fast. “I’m so fucking close.” I grunt out the words.

Unfortunately, the sound of thundering footsteps headed our way is enough to break me from my stupor. Viscount Blanchard is not alone. And while I may enjoy taking risks with his only daughter, I am no fool.

I pull out of her, and a rush of her slick arousal drips from her channel. “You’d better hope the duke isn’t with your father wanting to inspect his virgin bride’s innocence, little Lynette, because your juicy cunt will give you away in a heartbeat.”

Her cheeks flush bright red, and she hurriedly fixes her skirts while I fasten up my breeches, glancing around for the quickest escape route. Without a word of farewell, I dart for the door andwrench it open. The cold blast of night air fills my lungs seconds before a meaty fist lands on my face, splitting my lip.

“Filthy cur,” the voice attached to the fist growls. A second punch is thrown. I’m too fast this time, and the blow glances off my jaw. Using all of my body weight, I barrel into my attacker. He loses his footing and stumbles backward, allowing me to make my escape.

I run through the dark streets, sticking to the shadows, and while I may be faster than most, I am no match for the army of men it appears Viscount Blanchard has summoned. Their loud voices, speaking of dismemberment and retribution, carry through the night air. Thundering feet and angry bellows chase me harder. So many of them that I am certain the duke has loaned some of his own men to the cause. Perhaps he has discovered what I have been doing to his dark-haired beauty.

Sweat slicks my brow. My heart booms in my ears like the erratic beating of a drum. I stumble, skidding along the mud for a few seconds before I’m able to right myself again. But the slip cost me valuable time. The men’s palpable ire grows closer. How many of them are there? A dozen? A full score?

If they catch me, I am surely done for. One look at Lynette’s face would tell her father what I was just doing to her. The viscount is no stranger to the pleasures of the flesh, for I have seen him in many a sporting house partaking in any young nymph willing to allow him to paw at her. And if, as I suspect, the duke was with him this night, a simple hand slipped beneath Lynette’s skirts would confirm her misdeeds, so soaked for me was she.

I stumble blindly around the bend into the alley in hopes of losing my pursuers, but I plow straight into a solid wall of muscle. I bounce off him like he’s made of granite and fall to the ground. Thanks to the lights installed upon the streets of London’s wealthiest, enough light is thrown into the alley forme to make out the man standing above me. And as I look up into his face, I am certain that my racing heart stops beating altogether. He is… mesmerizing.

Olive skin, dark hair. Square jaw covered by a neat swathe of beard.

Time stands still. I’m vaguely aware of the viscount’s and the duke’s men closing in on me, but I cannot bring myself to move as I stare into the face of the enigmatic stranger. Except he’s not a stranger. At least not entirely. He is the man I saw at the corner of Bond Street this last morning. The same man who watched me so intently that it sent shivers of both fear and excitement skittering up my spine. But at such close quarters, he’s even more mysterious. No, he is terrifying. His dark eyes glow like the dying embers of a fire. He cannot be much taller and is perhaps a tad broader than I, but his presence dominates the entire space around us. And yet, despite my fear, I am captivated.

The voices of the viscount’s men draw closer, and the stranger steps past me, disappearing into the shadows of the street I just ran from. The sound of screams and breaking bones and tearing flesh fills my ears, making my stomach roll. I screw my eyes closed, yet still, I do not move.

What feels like only seconds later, the shadow of the stranger falls over me once more. My eyes are drawn to his mouth where, even in the dim lamplight, the startling sight is unmistakable. Darting out his tongue, he licks the single drop of blood from the corner.

“W-what are you?” My breath is a fog in the cold night air.

He cracks his neck. “Some would say a monster. Others a god. What say you, Alastair Thorne?”

How the hell does he know my name? Fear crawls its icy fingers up my spine, but I can’t prevent my eyes from raking over his body, taking in his exquisitely tailored suit and shoes cobbled from the finest leather. I detect an accent in his speech, but Icannot decipher where it’s from. I have no idea who or what he is, but I find myself eager to know more. “What did you do to those men who were chasing me?”

“I stopped them.” His tone is clipped, giving me the impression that he believes answering such questions beneath him.

“Are you going tostopme?” My blood hums through my veins, buzzing beneath my skin.

His right eye twitches. “If I were, I would have done so by now.”

“How do you know my name? I saw you near Bond Street this morning. How long have you been watching me?”

He fiddles with the cuff of his shirt, giving off an air of disinterest.

I push myself to my feet, dust the dirt from my trousers, and try another question. “Why did you help me?”

That at least seems to spark his interest once more. His intensely dark eyes narrow. “You remind me of someone.” He glances around as though he’s heard something. “We need to leave.”

“We?”

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