Page 26 of Reflections of Silence

I winced at the thought—mine, not his—and prayed I hadn't gotten it wrong. It didn't matter much if I had; there was nowhere to flee to, nowhere to run.

I doubted I could outrun the beast of the man who hid behind the arrogant, crafted exterior of a much older lord, and shivered. The frisson of fear followed a hot dose of arousal that painted my thighs with slick need. I stared at his mouth, wondering if he would kiss me again, my lips still swollen and tender from our lovemaking.

My brain drew itself away from tracing his amazing physique with my eyes to ask a question—one of far too many cluttered in there. I started with the hardest one I brought up before, but he hadn’t answered me, not really. Sebastian was a master of evasion.

“The maid—I thought she’d harmed herself. But she hadn’t, had she? Charleton covered for you.”

His mouth set in a hard line. For a moment, I thought he wouldn't answer me again, then he let out a soft sigh.

“Yes.” His gaze held mine, steady. “I’m the monster you need worry about here.”

“I’m grateful it was her neck, not her breast, married man,” I murmured. “Or you’d be in trouble.”

He spluttered laughter, sitting up while he choked. I thumped his back unhelpfully.

“Oh, Gella,” He wiped tears from his eyes, and gathered me in his arms. I slipped my legs around his waist, pressing close. “You are certainly unique.”

You can call me crazy. There’s nowhere for me to hide, anyway.

I let the thought linger between us, then revolved back to my line of questions. “Do you force them to be here? The servants,” I clarified.

“Things are not done here as they are in France.” He stroked my hair, pulling the covers around me, though it wasn’t a cold morning. Nothing here was cold, it seemed, except for him. “Here, the local population is a little more…primitive. But for some reason, they seem rather grateful for the employment.”

I looked up at his tone. His lips twisted in that crooked smile again, self-loathing evident in the lines of his face. Not aged, exactly, but…fragile, somehow, beneath that marble facade.

“I know what you mean,” I said, thinking back to my arrival in New Orleans, adding to my list of things to ask Minette. “Do you age?” I blurted.

He laughed again. “Yes, I age. You won’t see it on the outside, but inside I am…rather broken, I’m afraid. Centuries of living death does that to a— well, I’m not a man any longer, am I?” His mouth twisted again, all his self-deprecating humor slipping from his face.

“You’re centuries old?” I whispered, my mind whirling.

His fingers twined in my hair, pulling my head back so my throat lay exposed to him.

“Tell me you’re not afraid, Gella.”

I swallowed, curling my hands around his arms. “No.” My breath hitched, though his increased, puffs hit my skin. “I’m not afraid.”

His lips touched my throat, dragging downwards to where my pulse hammered beneath the surface and lingered there. “And now?”

Heat rushed through me at the demanding contact until I slumped in his arms, panting. I remembered the way his hand closed around my throat before, squeezing enough to restrict my breath. Between my legs, swollen flesh throbbed.

“No,” I moaned, my voice was ragged. Something far darker than fear rose inside me. I arched against his touch, biting back a whimper.

A light pressure hit the sensitive curve of my neck, and I stifled a whimper. My flesh broke out in a shiver as his teeth pressed harder, the tips breaking the skin.

And now?

“I’m not afraid of you, Sebastian.” I curled my hands in his hair, pulling his head down, pressing his teeth deeper against my skin, encouraging him. Pain bloomed around where his lips touched me then numbed, soothing. His tongue dragged across the surface of my throat.

I tipped my head back further, letting my hands drop to his shoulders. My eyes closed, every sense heightening as he supported me, though I could barely feel his lips on my skin. A feral, angry sound ripped from his chest, and his hands were gone.

I fell back onto the bed, dizzy, the room spinning around me. I tried to sit, pushing my elbows back, but his weight bore down on me. I stared up at him, my breaths shallow, desperate for more contact. My entire body craved his touch, as though I were drunk on him.

You see the monster I am, Gella?

The velvet voice in my head dropped away, his tones harsh, abrasive in my mind, but it didn’t change my reaction to him. Stubborn, I managed to raise my hands, closing them around his arms. My grip was weak, and when he came to me, it was by his choice, not mine.

“Spread your legs, Gella,” he commanded. His voice was laced with authority, and something cold that made me hot all over.

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