"No." His voice was choked, hoarse, as though it were an effort to speak. "One year. I will give you one year."
Her smile was radiant. Triumphant. "Thank you. Would you ask Bevins to pick up my things in the morning? Oh! I must write a note to my mother and let her know I shall be staying here. Would you ask him to come for it before he goes?" Rayven nodded curtly. Then, feeling like a spider caught in its own web, he stood up, his expression bleak, his eyes as cold as the rain pummeling the windowpanes.
"I pray you do not regret your choice," he said, and swept out of the room, his cloak swirling around his ankles as though blown by an angry wind.
Chapter Eleven
Bevins climbed the stairs to the east tower, aware of the unrest that troubled his master. He had been in Rayven's employ for over fifty years. He had been but a youth of fourteen when the vampyre saved his life. In exchange, Bevins had sworn to dedicate the rest of his life to serving Rayven.
Crossing the floor, he stood in the doorway of the inner chamber in the east tower, his expression carefully neutral as he watched Rayven remove his cloak and toss it over the back of a chair.
Bevins eyed the cloak warily. It was a most unusual garment, often seeming as though it possessed a life of its own.
"What am I to do?" Rayven asked, his voice rising with anger. "She cannot stay here! I cannot bear it."
Bevins remained silent, knowing no answer was expected. Never had he seen his master in such an agitated state.
Rayven raked his hands through his hair, a string of vicious oaths escaping his lips as he paced the floor, his long legs carrying him from one end of the room to the other in less than a half-dozen strides.
He paused abruptly, turned, and went to the window of the outer room. He could feel the tension building within him as he stared into the garden below. How many nights had he stood here, gazing out over the castle walls, wishing she was here, wishing for one more night, one more hour in her presence?
But a year?
He groaned softly. He had sent her away because he was losing control of his desire, of the fierce hunger that drove him relentlessly, urging him to take what he needed, to bring her across the vast gulf that separated them so that she might ease the loneliness of his endless existence. He had always been arrogant and selfish, but he had never been cruel, and so he had sent her away to protect her from his own desire.
And now she was here again, in the castle again, in his life again, and it was as if she had never gone away. Her scent was everywhere - on his skin, his clothes, in the very air he breathed.
"Is there anything else you wish this evening?" Bevins asked.
"What?" Rayven whirled around. He had all but forgotten the other man was in the room. "No. Go to bed. Wait. Tomorrow morning you will go to Rhianna's and collect her belongings. She also wishes you to deliver a note to her mother."
Bevins nodded. "I shall see to it." He took a deep breath. "Will you be coming down tomorrow night?"
"I promised her, didn't I?" Rayven snapped, his voice like death.
"Yes, my lord. And will you also be joining her at supper?"
"Yes." Rayven clenched his hands into tight fists, his expression bleak. "Don't forget the wine."
Bevins nodded curtly, then left the stark tower room, closing the door behind him. He heard the sound of the bolt being shot home.
It was going to be a long year, he thought. For all of them.
She was waiting for him at the supper table the following night. Dressed in a rich plum-colored gown, with a matching ribbon in her hair, she fair took his breath away.
"Good evening, my lord," Rhianna said, smiling up at him. He was clad in black from head to heel. He looked dark and dangerous, a midnight rogue who made her heartbeat quicken and her insides quiver with desire. "I'm so glad you decided to join me."
He took the seat across from her. "I said I would, did I not?"
"Yes, but I thought you might have changed your mind."
His eyes narrowed. "My word, when given, is as good as that of any other man."