His gaze held hers. "You are happy then? This is what you want - not what he wants?"
"Believe me, Dallon, it's what I want. I've never been happier."
"Then I'm glad, for your sake." Bending, he kissed her cheek, then whispered, "If you ever need anything, you have only to send word, and I'll be here."
"Thank you, Dallon."
With a nod, he turned away and left the chapel.
Bevins had prepared a late supper for the guests. If anyone thought it odd that the groom didn't eat, no one said anything.
When the meal was over, Aileen insisted on giving Creighton a tour of the castle and urged Rhianna and her mother and sisters to go along, even though they'd already seen it.
With a helpless shrug, Rhianna went with the others.
Alone in the dining room, Rayven sat back in his chair, one hand curled around a crystal goblet. He drained the glass in a single long swallow, refilled it, and drank again.
She was his bride. Soon, he would make her his wife in the most intimate sense of the word. The mere idea frightened him as nothing else had.
He filled the glass a third time, determined to drown the hunger in a river of blood in hopes that his bride would be safe in his arms. "Have I done the right thing, Tom?"
Bevins paused in the doorway. Even after fifty years, it sometimes surprised him that his master could read his thoughts, could sense his presence even before he entered the room.
"My lord?"
"I'm..." he took a deep breath as he contemplated the crimson droplets that shimmered in the bottom of the goblet, "... afraid."
"She loves you, my lord. She trusts you."
Rayven nodded. "But can I trust myself?"
Bevins crossed the floor. Kneeling before his master, he rolled up his shirtsleeve and extended his arm.
"Take what you need, my lord."
Rayven lifted the empty goblet. "This should be sufficient."
"On this night, the blood of sheep may not be strong enough to keep the hunger at bay."
Rayven nodded, silently admitting the truth in his servant's words. And then, humbled by the understanding in Bevins's eyes, ashamed of the need that controlled him, his fingers closed around the other man's wrist.
"Have they gone?" Rayven stood up as Rhianna entered the study.
"Yes. Why did you not come out and say goodbye?"
He snorted softly, remembering the way Rhianna's mother had looked at him, as if he were a bug that needed squashing. "I doubt I was missed."
"Rayven, what a thing to say!"
"Your mother bears me no love, my sweet, and your sisters look upon me as though I were a cross between an ogre and a warlock. I thought to spare them all my odious presence."
She wanted to argue, but knew it was useless. Her mother had spent the last ten days trying to talk her out of marrying the Lord of Castle Rayven; her sisters had admitted he was quite handsome, but they, too, feared she was making a grave mistake.
"You look wondrous fair, my sweet Rhianna. White suits you, but then, what else would an angel wear?"
"And black suits you," she replied.
She smiled as her gaze moved over him. His black broadcloth coat emphasized the spread of his shoulders; the velvet lapels added a touch of elegance. He wore a black cravat, black trousers, and black boots. The white of his fine linen shirt provided a stark contrast.
"Truly, I have never known so handsome a man in all my life."
He chuckled softly as he swung her into his arms and carried her up the winding staircase to the east tower. "And have you known many men in your short life?"
"No, nor do I desire to do so. You are man enough for me, my lord."
"I am not a man at all," he said quietly, and emphasized that fact by opening the tower door with the power of his mind.
Rhianna placed her hand over his mouth as he carried her into his bedroom, then set her on her feet.
"We will not dwell upon that tonight, my lord husband."
She removed her hand from his mouth and replaced it with her lips, kissing him deeply, passionately. She had no need to be cautious now. He was her husband, and she could touch him to her heart's content. To prove it, she pressed herself against him, the silk of her gown whispering against his clothing.
Rayven groaned low in his throat as her tongue skimmed his lower lip, gasped with surprise when she bit him.
"Careful, love," he warned. "You will not like what