Drake paused when he reached the castle door, his preternatural senses alerting him to the fact that there was a human female inside. A human who was either very brave, he thought with a wry grin, or very foolish. The castle possessed a dark aura that kept most people at bay. Few dared to come here in the light of day; no one came here after sunset. There was little need to lock the door; those who ventured inside never stayed long. And yet, the fact remained, there was a woman in the castle.
Materializing inside the great hall, Drake moved unerringly toward the high-backed damask sofa in front of the hearth, his nostrils filling with the combined scents of lavender soap, peppermint toothpaste, and salty perspiration tinged with fear.
And over all, the intoxicating scent of woman.
He stared down at the sleeping female. She was a comely lass, with suntanned skin, delicately arched black brows, and a mass of long ebony hair that fell in soft waves over the arm of the sofa and down her slight shoulders.
Pretty, yes, he mused with a frown. But who the devil was she and what the bloody hell was she doing here?
He considered tossing her out on her lovely arse.
He considered leaving her on the sofa.
In the end, he tossed her plain brown coat aside, then scooped her into his arms.
She stirred as he started up the winding stone staircase. Her eyelids fluttered open, revealing a pair of velvet brown eyes. Before she could scream, he trapped her gaze with his. Summoning his preternatural power, he lulled her back to sleep.
With a shake of his head, Drake continued up the stairs and into the lord’s chamber. After removing her T-shirt, khaki shorts, and shoes, he tucked her under the thick blankets in the big four-poster bed. He glanced at the hearth and a fire sprang to life. He needed neither the light nor the warmth; he could see perfectly fine in the dark, was impervious to the cold. But there was a chance the woman would awaken during the night.
He gazed down at her for several long moments, admiring the unblemished smoothness of her skin, the sweep of long sooty lashes against her cheeks, the pale pink of her lips. Unable to resist, he lifted a lock of her hair. Thick and silky soft, it curled around his fingers as though each strand had a life of its own.
He felt the first stirrings of desire as he inhaled the fragrance of warm fresh blood flowing sweetly through her veins.
Sitting on the edge of the mattress, he gathered her into his arms, then lowered his head to the curve of her throat. He tasted her with his tongue and then with his teeth.
She was incredibly sweet.
Having satisfied his curiosity and his thirst, he returned to the main hall. After pouring himself a glass of wine, he stretched out on the sofa and gazed onto the hearth. In spite of the distance between himself and the girl, he could hear the steady beat of her heart. What had brought her here? And what was he going to do with her?
He considered the possibilities until dawn, then headed for the lair hidden behind one of the tapestries in the great hall.
He smiled as he drifted into oblivion. For the first time in centuries, he had something to look forward to when darkness again covered the land.
Chapter 2
Tavian Dinescu frowned when he entered the dining room. The table had not been laid. His breakfast tea was not at his place, nor was his newspaper. There was no fire in the hearth, no noise or scent of food coming from the kitchen.
And no Elena standing at the stove.
Where was that girl?
Thinking perhaps she had overslept, he went down the hall to her room and knocked lightly on the door. “Elena?”
When there was no answer, he rapped again, harder this time. And when there was still no reply, he opened the door and stepped into the room. The bed, neatly made, was empty.
Moving into the room, he went through the dresser drawers, peered into the closet. As far as he could tell, all of her clothes were there, so she couldn’t have gone far, but the question remained: Where was she?
He checked the other rooms, then went outside, but she was nowhere to be found.
Rubbing a thoughtful hand over his jaw, he returned to the house. Had she run off with one of the local boys? That seemed unlikely. Just last night, he had asked if she had taken a liking to any of the young studs and her reply had been a resounding “no.”
Hunger rumbled in his stomach. Not one to prepare his own meals, Tavian put on his coat and left the house. He would breakfast in town and then he would ask if anyone had seen Elena. Though he was affluent, she was not. She had nothing to call her own, only what he had given her.
Tavian was a man who knew what he wanted, and he wanted Elena for his bride. And so it would be. She was but a woman and his ward. Like it or not, she would do as he commanded or suffer the consequences.
Chapter 3
Cocooned in blankets, Elena woke slowly. She experienced a moment of panic when she rolled over and realized she was no longer lying on the sofa where she had fallen asleep.