Black Heart (3 page)

“
The older a
V
ampire is,
the more powerful he becomes, powerful enough to ignore the Mate
Bond. On the other end of the scale, the Ancient Vampire is
powerful enough to fall in love without it.”

Raylene was stunned. Her brain raced.
Could this explain how Deegan could ignore what was between them?
If there was anything between them at all.

“
Is the Mate Bond
one-sided?”

Her father stopped stroking her hair.
“Forget Deegan.”

“
But, Daddy...”

“
I have sensed your emotions, my
daughter. I know what you feel for Deegan Black. And no, the Mate
Bond is not one-sided. If you feel it, then so does Deegan. But he
has chosen to ignore it for whatever reason, so you must as well.
Let him go.”

She couldn’t. She
didn’
t want
to. Somehow, that hurt worse knowing he felt the Mate Bond and
disregarded it. His action was a thorough and patent rejection.
Should she approach Deegan about it? Only if she wanted to be hurt
even more deeply than she already was. Her father stood and gently
lifted her to her feet and enclosed her in his arms.

“
I do not want you to be hurt,
mein herz, forget him. Look elsewhere. You are not bound to him.
Because he rejects the Mate Bond you are not beholden to him. Find
love somewhere else, Ray.”

She hugged her father
tighter.
He
kissed her affectionately on the head.

“
Go to bed, Ray, and get
some rest.”

She nodded and left the
room.

****

Raynor exhaled as
he picked up what
was left of the Grey Goose Vodka and downed it. He threw the
crystal glass against the wall where it shattered into fine powder.
Snapping off the tableside lamp, he wearily climbed the stairs to a
room he often went to think and reflect. He thought he had tamed
the beast. Close to two hundred years had passed since his last
Concealment incident. But a few weeks ago, it happened again.
What
had
happened? He tried to remember, but could not. The last
thing he did recall was having wild, rough sex with some nameless
woman, a prostitute in a whorehouse in Bridgewater.

When did it take a
turn—
how? He
had torn the woman’s throat open and washed himself in her blood,
gorged and drank until he could not have taken in any more. The
owner called Tristan to take care of the mess. Raynor pinched the
bridge of his nose to stem the throbbing in his head. Because
Tristan did as he asked, he involved him and his lady in a decisive
drama with a Thrope. Tristan had called someone skilled at cleaning
up blood and DNA and took a Blood Oath to see it done. The wolf
shape-shifter bastard, Devlin Steele, came to collect on that oath.
When Tristan refused, the Thrope kidnapped Katrina Hammond, the
woman Tristan cared for. He had caused so much pain and involved
his Clan in these horrid doings, and he could not live with the
guilt any longer.

As much as he wished otherwise,
it seemed his beast was only well-
hidden and asleep, waiting for an instance
to rear its ugly head and strike. Until it slept permanently, he
would be haunted and tortured—and he would kill again.

Raynor looked heavenward and roared his
frustration. He dropped to his knees. Was he being punished? He
abandoned God long ago, so he would not pray or ask for guidance.
What would be the point? He murmured a name under his breath. The
name sounded like a prayer.

“
Laura—my love. My sweet.
Laura.” His voice was ragged and laced with despair.

Raynor rammed his fists into his eyes to
block the pain and the wretched agony flooding his heart and
soul.

“
Ever since you left me, I have
been as a sailor lost at sea. You were my beacon. How can I find
peace when your light has been extinguished?” his deep voice
whispered, the hushed tones intertwined with regret. “And I—I alone
extinguished that glorious light. The guilt eats at me, the hate I
hold in a special place. Any scrap of humanity I gained being with
you and loving you is slowing being eroded away. I am the monster,
the beast. The living horror you always were afraid of, the one you
helped me fight—has returned.”

Raynor stood. The nearby lamp
softly reflected and flickered ghostly
illumination
s in the room. Raynor wiped away a few wayward tears. His
gaze focused toward the bed.

Laura—
his wife.

The only sound was the occasional
gurgle of the IV bottle that hung on a pole next to her
bed.

“
I love you still. I need you
now more than ever I did, my sweet. I am wretched. Come back to
me.”

Laura Nightwood lay
in a deep coma. She
was lost in Twilight, in that place between two life-states and two
mortalities. She was neither human nor Vampire. All these years—all
these decades—and she had not aged or changed physically in any
way. She was not dead, but neither was she alive.

The memories flooded back to the year
1889. Laura had turned forty years of age. They had discussed
turning her for a few years. During one particularly passionate
encounter, Laura begged him to turn her right then and there. His
joy knew no bounds. Now they would be together for
eternity.

Somehow, some
way—
he
botched it. Took too much blood, he surmised. His desire burned
like a flame in his soul and to be honest, he really had no
experience turning anyone before. He should have waited and
consulted Deegan. He became lost in the moment and destroyed his
only love. He wondered in all the decades to follow, did The
Concealment have anything to do with it?

Laura was placed in this attic room, a
sleeping beauty of horror. Frozen in time. A living
death.

Edward McFarland was a medical doctor and
the Vampire in the Blackthorne Clan with the most scientific
knowledge. He tried for decades to come up with a serum or pill
that would bring Laura out of this state, but to no avail. Raynor
had given up hope ages ago. He and Laura were not bound mates, but
he loved her deeply, he still did. It tore his heart into shreds
every time he had sex with other women. They all meant nothing. The
mindless fucking merely a physical release that fed his Blood Lust
and his carnal desires. His love, his heart, and his wretched soul
belonged only to one woman, and it always would.

He reached down and touched her
cheek, the skin felt cool.
Laura—my love
.

****

Deegan
rose from his undead slumber at
four-thirty in the afternoon. His faithful retainer, Brennan, had
laid out his clothes. In the kitchen there would be a plasma bag of
blood for his sustenance. Vampires only needed a couple of meals of
actual food per week. Blood, however, was a daily
necessity.

Brennan had been with him
since
1740.
He served on his privateer frigate. The man could handle a cutlass
and just about any other weapon from the eighteenth century to the
twenty-first. Brennan also saw to Tristan’s needs, and the
efficient running of his household and the Clan itself. He lived in
a small cottage between the two properties. Deegan and Tristan had
a patch of woods as a border between their large waterfront homes.
As close as Deegan was to his half-Vampire son, he kept a lot of
his life and deepest thoughts to himself. He was not a
demonstrative man in a lot of ways. Perhaps commanding close to one
hundred men, human and Vampire alike, on his ship
The Celtic
Gale
had
hardened him. Some days he missed the life. These half-hearted
smuggling runs he took with his schooner were more of a hobby to
keep that spark of adventure alive, a chance to feel the sea spray
on his face. Also to keep himself well stocked with Black
Bush.

He stripped off his sleep pants and
stepped into the shower. He dreamed of Raylene all through his
slumber. Seeing her fucking that idiot in the alley tore the scab
off his self-inflicted wound. The thought of another man’s cock
nestled in the very core of her ripped him in shreds.

There was no one to blame but himself. He
wondered now if he had been wrong to push the Mate Bond away. He
thought watching her succumb to The Concealment madness would be
heart crushing, but seeing her with another man was infinitely
worse. Not that there was much left of his black heart. One hand
lay flat on the tiled wall while the pulsating jets of hot water
pounded his body. His cock hardened into sword steel. Heated,
erotic dreams of everything he wanted to do to Raylene still swam
in his head. He wanted her underneath him, above him, and in front
of him. If there were any way to do all three at once he would
crawl inside her body and have total possession.

The truth was the more time elapsed, the
harder it was to fight this Mate Bond any longer. The reason of her
being his friend’s daughter and still a child in his eyes had long
passed decades ago. Perhaps he was weary of seeing his mates die
for whatever reason. Until Raylene, they were all human females.
Disease, old age, accidents, or a combination of all three were the
reasons. He never offered to turn any of them. They never asked. He
winced as he thought of Hannah, his son’s long dead mother. He told
Tristan she died of consumption. Tristan was barely in his teens
and away at school. The haunted, wretched truth was Hannah died of
a miscarriage, her fourth in as many years. She bled out in his
arms. That night became one of the most appalling and horrifying
experiences of his life. He was not an emotional man, centuries of
existence had hardened him, but he cried that day. He had not shed
a tear since. He did not want any more mates after that.

T
o feel the Mate Bond only four years after
Hannah’s death and to have it be Raylene—he slammed his fist into
the wall. Three tiles cracked and fell into the tub. He lifted his
hand and gazed at the blood. The skin split on his knuckles. He
held his injury under the spray until the blood washed away, and
then licked the cuts. They healed immediately. Raylene possessed
the ancient bloodline, so chances are they could have children.
Again, The Concealment reared its bestial head. And why did Hannah
have four miscarriages? Her cousin Laura, Raylene’s mother and
Raynor’s wife, also had a couple of miscarriages. Procreation with
Vampires obviously had its risks.

Deegan reached for the handle and turned
off the water. After drying off and dressing in the black
lightweight sweater and khakis left out for him, he headed
downstairs to the large gourmet kitchen. Brennan was hard at work
mixing some concoction. Deegan opened the fridge and removed a
plasma bag.

“
I do not need a
meal or food of any
kind for a couple of days, Brennan.”

The huskily built man turned and smiled.
“I am aware of that, Blackthorne. This is for Tristan, his favorite
dessert, cherry cobbler. He called while you were in the shower. He
and Katrina will be home the day after tomorrow.”

“
Bake it in his bloody kitchen
then,” he snapped, sinking his fangs into the plasma
bag.

Brennan chuckled.
“
You know I
prefer your kitchen, much larger and better equipped.”

“
Large enough for you to fit,
you mean,” Deegan replied. He tossed the empty bag into the
trash.

Brennan stood no taller than
five feet-nine,
a good height considering the era he came from. The man was
as solid and wide as a brick. He looked like everyone’s favorite
uncle with those apple cheeks, receding hairline, and soft, brown
eyes. Looks could be deceiving, as Deegan knew the danger that
lurked beneath. Brennan was about to retort, but the door buzzer
interrupted him. Cursing colorfully, he wiped his hands on a
dishtowel and walked to the door. He returned a few minutes
later.

“
Marcus Steele to see
you.”

Deegan closed his eyes. Damn and bloody
hell. Marcus was the younger brother of Devlin Steele, Alpha Leader
and head Thrope of a pack of wolf shape-shifters. Part of the Blood
Oath to clean up Raynor’s Concealment incident was collected by
Devlin Steele. Deegan was away on a smuggling run, so Tristan, the
second-in-command, had to deal with the event. Devlin demanded
Tristan convince Deegan to turn his brother into a Vampire and
introduce Vampire blood into the Thrope line, and he eventually
agreed to do so. How could he not? The Thrope’s existence remained
focused and concentrated on breeding the perfect wolf-shifter. When
Tristan at first refused, Devlin kidnapped Katrina to use her as
barter, an unforgivable breech of civility as far as Deegan was
concerned. When Tristan came and told him of Raynor and the
aftermath and the payment, Deegan agreed.

So he turned the young man.
Sensing Marcus’s passion for male flesh, Deegan played on that and
let the young man drink his blood to make a connection between
them. Deegan figured having a spy inside the Thrope compound would
be prudent. Over three weeks had passed since he turned the
beautiful young man, and Marcus would not stay away.
Shite!
He opened his eyes
and glared at Brennan.

“
Leave us, no interruptions.
Understand?”