From Afar Page 6

  Chapter Six

  The sounds of the horses’ hooves and the creak of the carriage were all that broke the silence. A small brass lantern hung on a hook just inside the door, but neither Aleric nor Raphael had bothered to light it. The moonlight shining in through the carriage windows provided more than enough light for Aleric to see by.

  Aleric tugged on the edge of his shirtsleeve, adjusting it so just enough showed beyond the cuff of his black evening coat. Patience had never been one of his strengths, but he seemed to have less of it now than ever before.

  Mouth twisted in annoyance, Aleric shifted on the bench, stretching out his legs the best he could in the cramped confines of the carriage. His knee brushed Raphael’s and sensation shot up his leg, settling in his groin. His cock twitched against the placket of his trousers. Not an hour ago, he and Raphael had been locked intimately together, and already he was impatient for more.

  His gaze swept over Raphael, who was seated across from him. Yes, the man was handsome, beautiful even, but he’d laid eyes on many a handsome face before and not had this reaction. What was it about him that sparked this constant need? Even newly sated, that craving remained; a continual hum for more.

  Being this close to Raphael didn’t help matters, either.

  And surely the view of the flash house they passed couldn’t be all that interesting. Raphael’s attention had not strayed from the window since the carriage had departed from his townhouse. And he had stayed frustratingly silent.

  Enough. He’d waited far beyond the limit of polite manners for Raphael to bring up the subject of his own accord. “Do you intend to explain before or after we arrive?”

  Raphael stiffened then briefly closed his eyes. His sigh filled the carriage. “I have made arrangements to introduce you to the clan.”

  Obviously. Aleric hadn’t entered the carriage completely ignorant of the plan for the evening. He arched a brow, but the prompting stare was lost on Raphael as he didn’t bother to pause in his study of the passing buildings. “Care to elaborate?”

  “One clan resides in London,” he said in dull monotone, as if reciting from a book he had long ago memorized. “It is headed by a female. Her name is Katerina. You will meet her tonight and perhaps some of her vampires.”

  “How many are there, and why do you refer to them as hers?”

  “Approximately thirty-five. They are hers because she turned them. Most of them, anyway. She acquired at least one of her men.” Raphael pulled one leg up to rest his heel against the edge of the bench and looped an arm about his calf. “They are all men, except for her.” Resignation seeped into his voice. “Females are…different. You will find you have far more strength than you ever possessed, but she has more than just physical power. Her vampires carry her blood and do as she bids.” Raphael rapped sharply on the ceiling, and the carriage slowed to a stop. “We shall take the rest of the distance on foot. It’s not far.” He dropped his foot to the floorboards and finally turned to Aleric. His mouth was set in a grim line. The absolute lack of the usual thoughtful patience in Raphael’s silver eyes stopped the flurry of questions before Aleric could even begin to voice one. “From here on forward, hold your tongue and don’t leave my side.”

  Aleric opened his mouth to protest, but Raphael was already out of the carriage. Was the man trying to irritate him tonight? Aleric stooped to fit through the narrow door and, with a flick of his fingers, shut it behind him.

  “Wait here,” Raphael instructed the driver. “We will return within the hour.”

  The driver glanced around warily, his grip tightening on the leather lines, his shoulders seeming to hunch even further within his tattered greatcoat.

  Aleric could well understand the driver’s reluctance. He certainly did not consider himself a coward, but anyone with a modicum of good sense avoided this end of Town. The desolation of the rundown buildings, the dark, narrow streets with nary a streetlamp to light the way, the wretched misery of the poor soul huddled on the stone steps by the door of what perhaps could pass for a boarding house…

  Decidedly not a pleasant place to find oneself. And damn cold, too. He could see his breath in the frigid air. At least he had remembered to grab his gloves before he left Raphael’s townhouse. Though the greatcoat would have been the more useful garment to grab.

  Not bothering to receive confirmation from the driver, Raphael set off down the street. A few long strides had Aleric at his side.

  “Will the driver wait?” He pitched his voice low. Every sound seemed amplified, bouncing off the buildings and smacking his ears.

  “He’ll be there. When I gave him our direction back at the townhouse, I compensated him for any worries, with the promise of more upon our return to Mayfair.”

  Raphael turned left at the crossroads, his gaze straight ahead, his strides as unconcerned as if he were merely taking a stroll along Bond Street. The damp, thick scent of the Thames hung in the night air, making it feel somehow even colder. They must be near the docks.

  The hairs on his nape prickled. A quick glance around revealed they were alone, yet he couldn’t throw off the sensation of a pair of eyes tracking his every move. Likely a footpad lurking somewhere deep in the shadows. Raphael’s elaborate attire practically screamed he carried a fat purse, and his slighter frame promised little deterrent. A thief would accost them for his shoes alone.

  Squaring his shoulders and lifting his chin, he moved a step closer to Raphael. He flexed his fists at his sides, a silent warning to anyone with thoughts that the two gentlemen clearly out of their element might make easy marks. He might not have put up a fight the last time he himself had been accosted by thieves, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t able. It was simply a matter of having something worth fighting for, and God help any footpad who intended to harm Raphael.

  Then he rolled his eyes at his own foolishness. As if Raphael needed his protection. He had witnessed firsthand how the man dealt with thieves.

  Every bit of apprehension drained from his gut as the realization hit him. Nor did he need Raphael’s protection. He could feel the strength in his own limbs, the power in his clenched fists, just waiting to be put into service. And those weren’t the only weapons in his arsenal. The knowledge brought a strong rush of confidence. London was open to him in ways it had never been before. He could now go where he pleased, with nary a worry.

  His strides loosened, matching Raphael’s. Yet as they approached a massive, old warehouse at the end of the street, the ease slipped out of Raphael, replaced with an alert edge. A faint creak from above drew Aleric’s attention. Silhouetted against the night sky, two men were crouched near the edge of the warehouse’s roof. One stood and turned, traversing the roof’s peak and disappearing over the other side.

  His senses sharpened to a razor pitch. There were more of them. Though a quick sweep of the surrounding buildings and alleys revealed nothing, he could feel them watching him and Raphael.

  Tonight would not be on par with a pleasant afternoon call.

  …hold your tongue and don’t leave my side. The memory of Raphael’s stern warning rang in his ears. As they stopped before a tall door, he looked askance at Raphael. There was far more to this introduction than he had been told. Some nuance that Aleric could not quite grasp, but that Raphael was well aware of. And he had stayed deliberately silent on the subject.

  But why?

  The door swung open. An expression of polite disinterest fell over Raphael’s face. A dark-haired man of about Aleric’s own height flicked his fingers, motioning for them to enter. Without a word, the man led them down a short, barren corridor that matched the austere clapboard exterior of the warehouse. Then he stopped before a door and opened it.

  The moment Aleric stepped over the threshold, he blinked in shock. Good Lord, the space defined grandeur. A spotless white marble floor. A high ceiling edged with intricate moldings. Large paintings, many taller than himself, in gilded frames lined the walls covered in light blue silk paper. Several sea
ting arrangements comprised of settees and elegant chairs were scattered about. Three heavy gold and crystal chandeliers provided enough light to rival a summer’s afternoon.

  It put the formal drawing room at his father’s ducal estate to shame.

  A woman stood from an ivory settee at the far end of the room. Tall and willowy, and exquisitely beautiful, she clearly belonged in such surroundings. Her vibrant auburn hair was pulled back in an expert knot, revealing the long, graceful line of her neck. The lush swells of her breasts spilled from the bodice of her rich, amber silk gown. Regal as a queen, with her hands clasped before her lightly holding a closed fan, she waited for them to come to her.

  But for all her seductive beauty, something about her put Aleric on his guard.

  Raphael sketched a bow, one worthy of an appearance at court. “Good evening, Katerina. My thanks for your gracious acceptance of my request for an audience.”

  “Ah, Mr. Laurent.” Her voice was light, distinctly feminine, and backed with a heavy Russian accent. “The reason for your visit is now clear.”

  “Allow me to introduce Lord Aleric Vane.”

  Aleric tipped his head. Raphael had told him to remain silent, but twenty-seven years of polite manners were impossible to ignore. “It is always a pleasure to make the acquaintance of such a lovely woman.” The words flowed smoothly off his tongue, the same ones he had spoken at countless soirées and ton balls.

  A pleased smile played on her lips. Aleric fought to stay still, to not shift his weight, against the force of her regard. He damn well felt like a stallion on the blocks at Tattersalls.

  “A very handsome man, and a gentleman at that. However, I was unaware we were hosting a guest in our fine city.”

  “He carries my blood, Katerina,” Raphael informed her, as casual as could be.

  Aleric’s head snapped to Raphael. Where the hell had that comment come from?

  She arched one fine, russet eyebrow. “A shame, but nothing that cannot be remedied.” Her attention shifted to Aleric. “Tell me, Lord Aleric, have you been acquainted with Mr. Laurent long?”

  Somehow he did not think it fitting to inform her that he first laid eyes on Raphael not twenty-four hours ago. “Long enough to know his fondness for velvet is not limited to this evening.”

  Her tinkling laugh was all delicate femininity, yet it only served to put him further on his guard. “Mr. Laurent has a certain flair when it comes to fashion, does he not? He also has a certain flair for independence, which I do not find quite as amusing.”

  Tension shimmered in the air. A low vibration that strengthened with each passing second. He glanced to Raphael. Features schooled in polite attention, every line in his body spoke of complete ease, yet…

  He shifted a half-step closer, brushed his gloved fingertips over Raphael’s. The hum died down to a faint buzz.

  Her silver-violet eyes sharpened just the tiniest bit.

  Raphael lifted his chin. “You have my word it will not happen again, Katerina.”

  “Let us hope not.” She tapped the closed ivory slats of her fan lightly against her palm. “Come. Roman and Grant are most eager to make Lord Aleric’s acquaintance.”

  In a soft rustle of amber silk, she swept from the room. They followed her down a broad corridor lined with mirrors and up a grand staircase to another corridor, passing closed door after closed door. He looked around and over his shoulder. No windows, not even covered by heavy draperies to block out the sun. There hadn’t been any windows in the drawing room either.

  A light touch on his wrist recalled him to the task at hand. He lengthened his stride that had turned ambling, causing him to begin to fall behind Raphael. Shoulder to shoulder once more, they continued down to a set of double doors.

  One of the oak double doors opened as they approached. The large billiard room was occupied by about two dozen men, all of them…vampires. And all in various states of undress, from evening attire like himself, to shirtsleeves and breeches, to nothing at all.

  Some lazed about in conversation with one another on the leather couches along the mahogany paneled walls. Cue sticks in hand, a few milled about the billiard tables. While others used the couches and billiard tables for a different purpose.

  By God, were all male vampires sodomites? If he didn’t know any better, he would think himself in a decadent molly house.

  Hell. He didn’t know where to look first. Couldn’t take it in fast enough. One pair locked together on a couch jerking each other’s pricks. While not ten paces away, another pair were fucking—the man crouched on top practically bending the other in half, pressing on the backs of his muscular thighs, pushing his legs to his chest as he drove into him. A vampire kneeled astride another on a billiard table, riding the man hard. Sweat trickled along his bare back, down the spread crease of his arse, to where a thick cock was buried deep. A third leapt onto the table, undid the placket of his breeches, pulled out his erection, grabbed the man’s hips to still his movements, and—

  Good Lord, that was possible?

  Raphael didn’t bat an eye at the shocking behavior as they followed Katerina, winding their way along the perimeter of the room. His arse clenched in sympathy for the vampire, even as desire wound through him, hot and thick. The harsh wince of pleasure pulling the man’s lips, the sharp grunts for more, indicated he more than welcomed the rough play.

  A smack rent the air and Aleric whipped his head around to the pair fucking on the couch that Katerina had just passed. Hissing sharply, the vampire looked over his shoulder, lips pulled back and fangs bared. The instant his eyes landed on her, he bowed his head in submission.

  Katerina spoke, but Aleric barely heard her voice, much less her words. He was transfixed by the red line, the exact shape of a slat on Katerina’s fan, blossoming on the vampire’s pale arse cheek. And…was that a tattoo? An ornate script letter K on the smooth expanse of skin between the vampire’s arse hole and his ballocks.

  Now that had to have hurt.

  A nudge against his biceps jolted him from the view. Raphael. The man’s arse was far more beautiful than that vampire’s. Smooth, warm skin. Perfectly rounded cheeks. Aleric’s strides faltered as his prick went from erect to painfully hard. He clenched his fists, fighting back the almost unstoppable urge to throw Raphael onto the empty couch they passed. To have the man beneath him.

  It was all he could do to keep his impulses in check as Katerina led them to the billiard table on the far end of the room where two men were engaged in a game. One was bent over the table, lining up a shot, the other a pace behind and slightly off to the side, a cue stick in hand. Both had abandoned their coats and had their shirtsleeves casually rolled up, exposing their muscled forearms. They turned to Katerina as the trio approached. Maybe an inch taller than himself and powerfully built, the pair had the distinct air of military men. The white breeches and black boots on the one in front who had just pocketed his shot were hard to miss. But more than that, it was their bearing. The straight, hard spines, the squared shoulders, the commanding tilt of their chins.

  “Good evening, Katerina,” they said, almost in unison, the deep, low rumble of their voices blending together so Aleric could not distinguish which one had started to speak first.

  “All is well?” she asked.

  “As always,” the one in front replied with a bow of his dark head.

  “I have someone who wishes to make your acquaintance.” With a tiny motion, she flicked her closed fan in Aleric’s direction. “This is Lord Aleric Vane. Lord Aleric, Grant and Roman.” She indicated the one in front clad in the white breeches, and then the one a half-step back.

  Aleric tipped his head in silent acknowledgement. He heard a sharp growl from somewhere behind him and then an answering hiss, but he was too preoccupied trying not to reach out and touch Raphael. He stood so close to him he could feel the heat from his body, hear each slightly quickened breath.

  As Katerina spoke to Grant, Roman watched the room, his astute gaze seemin
g not to miss a nuance of the action surrounding him. Then his attention settled back to Aleric and Raphael.

  Aleric couldn’t help but shift his weight, not because of the man’s stare—it didn't hold a trace of a threat, only consideration—but because of the impatience and need stringing his nerves taut. He wanted to drag his hand over his straining erection, do something to appease the need.

  Damnation. He wasn’t fifteen years of age anymore. But his self-control seemed to have practically vanished since he had first laid eyes on Raphael.

  Who was he fooling? It had vanished.

  Clenching his fists, he looked to the billiard table, trying to focus his thoughts on something benign. Something bland and boring. But the two remaining ivory balls, nestled close together, only brought to mind the image of Raphael’s ballocks drawn up tight, kissing the base of his hard cock resting on his abdomen, as Aleric shoved his prick inside of him.

  “He is Mr. Laurent’s.”

  A low male voice penetrated the thick haze of lust.

  He who?

  Aleric snapped his head back around. Roman had moved closer to Grant, now standing almost directly behind him, his mouth inches from Grant’s ear, his hand resting casually on the other man’s hip. The vampire’s steady gaze bored into Aleric’s, leaving no doubt to whom he had referred.

  He was Raphael’s? Aleric wasn’t some dog to belong to someone. Bristling with affront, he opened his mouth, the protest on his tongue, when Raphael responded.

  “Yes.”

  Chapter Seven

  A sharp crack of a whip and the carriage lurched forward. Raphael checked the rooflines of the buildings he could see outside the window and heaved a sigh of relief at finding them empty. In any case, if she had been intent on keeping Aleric tonight she would not have allowed him to leave her home.

  To think he had worried about her objecting to Aleric. He should have known that would have been the least of his worries.