Page 12 of Too Brazen to Bite (Gothic Love Stories #5)

C ain wandered restlessly amongst the dense greenery in the darkest nook of the conservatory, hoping to avoid both servants and revelers whilst his puppy cavorted out-of-doors.

His fractured shoulder was healing, although not as quickly as he would have liked.

If he had been thinking about his injury, he would’ve spirited away one of the party’s insipid coquettes for a drop or two during the card-playing yestere’en.

Instead, he had been thinking about bonny Miss Ramsay.

That was, when he was capable of rational thought.

After centuries of fruitless searching and prolonged homesickness, he had crossed paths with renegade vampire Aggie Munro.

At long last, he could see an end to decade upon decade of solitary hunting, peppered by the occasional wild pup that invariably grew old and died, leaving Cain to walk his path alone.

No more. If he could not talk the Deserter into accompanying him peaceably, he would return her forcibly. He had not come this close to his quarry to fail now.

Then there was the question of returning Miss Ramsay—Ellie—to her real family.

Whomever they might be. Depending on how much detail Aggie had Compelled her human companion to forget, Ellie might never recall her true life.

.. or her true name. “Elspeth Ramsay” was much too Scottish for a modern English rose.

Aggie might have stolen her as a child. Might have used enough Compulsion on the parents so that they forgot they were parents, violating virtually every sacred tenet of the clan’s rigid Code at once.

Unforgivable, as far as Cain was concerned, but the clan Elders valued his brawn, not his opinions. He was simply required to deliver Aggie to their mercy.

Victory was finally at hand... if unexpectedly bittersweet. Cain had no desire to turn Ellie’s world upside down and then abandon her in the wilds of England to fend for herself, but what choice did he have? He couldn’t drag a human girl into the heart of a vampire clan.

He would never forgive himself if Ellie were Compelled to spend the rest of her life serving the Elders.

So why did he feel like he was losing something important?

Cain leaned his good shoulder against the conservatory wall. He bloody well knew why he regretted leaving Ellie. Because he liked her, dammit.

She was bonny, clever, delightfully skeptical... He’d actually had to work to charm her and was not at all confident as to the extent of his success. She, for her part, had managed to charm him quite effortlessly, with her arch wit and unpredictability.

Yet her very mortality ensured he could never have her. His clan only accepted fellow vampires as mates, and he would not turn her.

Conversion had been banned for centuries, for good reason: Only one in a hundred survived the process. Even were it legal, it would still not be worth the risk.

Besides, what he liked best about Ellie was her humanness. He’d damn near sprained his cheek muscles keeping his smiles at bay so as not to flash his fangs by accident. Being in her company was simply good fun.

Were she to accept him for who and what he was, he still could not have her.

Regardless of his clan’s laws against mating with a human, Cain wouldn’t be able to bear falling in love with someone who would grow old when he would not, who would die when he would not, who would leave this world—and him—forever.

The slight squeak of a hinge set his muscles on edge.

If the sound heralded the arrival of servants or a groundskeeper, his gift of thought Compulsion would keep unwanted questions at bay.

But if the entire party had decided to take a turn amongst the exotic flowers, his blood-weakened state might not afford him the energy needed to Compel a multitude of people at once. He would be forced to... mingle.

With a sigh, he straightened to his full height and prepared for the worst. The thick rows of tangled flora offered plenty of shadowy nooks, but if Cain had never sought to hide from immortal warriors, he certainly would not cower from a gaggle of ladies and lordlings. Let them do their worst.

“Cain?” called a warm, familiar voice. “Are you here?”

From the first sultry syllable, Cain’s entire body stood at attention.

Ellie. Bloody hell. He might have faced less danger with the picnic-goers after all.

“Here,” he managed, inanely pleased his voice hadn’t cracked like that of some green youth.

“Where?” she called, her footsteps falling faster.

Cain didn’t answer, couldn’t answer, because even as his addled brain sought to form a reply, she stepped into view. If he’d still had breath, she would have stolen it away. He swallowed hard.

Although she stood at the opposite end of a long row of hothouse flowers, just enough dappled sunlight filtered through the tropical blooms to give her silhouette an angelic glow.

Not that he needed the reminder. Stray curls danced alongside elegant cheekbones.

A simple gown highlighted a perfectly curved figure that required no ruffles or flounces to distract the eye.

The faint, but irresistibly sweet scent of her blood blended with the perfume of the flowers, pricking both his nostrils and his nethers.

“You look... dashing.” Blood infused her cheeks at the apparently unintentional compliment, but she boldly took another step in his direction.

Dashing? Cain glanced down at himself abstractedly.

His costume was Corinthian out of necessity rather than personal style.

He donned the sheep’s clothing du jour to better stalk his prey.

After so many decades of ever-changing styles, the vagaries of vogue blended into incomprehensibility.

Cain followed men’s fashion in order to avoid looking like a centuries-old relic.

Except for those ridiculous cravats. He’d never worn one as a warrior or as a Scotsman, so he’d be damned before he noosed himself every morning for the English.

For reasons of her own, Ellie had likewise not chosen to emulate French fashion to the letter. She didn’t need to. She would be magnificent in any clothing... or in none at all.

Rather than approach her, he kept to the shadows. “Where’s your chaperone?”

She idly caressed the petal of a bright orange flower. “With a dozen picnickers, there’s no need for individual chaperones.”

If only she knew. Cain shoved his hands behind his back to prevent himself from reaching for her. “Then where are the other eleven? Will the tour wend in here at any moment?”

“No, I’m... alone.” White teeth worried at her lower lip. Just when Cain thought she would choose to flee to the flock of humans, the corner of her mouth lifted in a hesitant smile, and she took an inexorable step forward.

She’d be the death of them both.

In warning, he summoned a rakish leer. “If you come much closer, I’m afraid you’ll find yourself thoroughly kissed.”

“I’m not afraid ,” she answered shyly. “I confess I’m looking forward to the experience.”

Cain closed his eyes to block the temptation of her blushing cheeks and only succeeded in heightening his awareness of her scent. Her soap, her perfume, her blood... If his body had still been human enough to sweat, by now he’d appear the victim of a sudden downpour. He forced his eyes back open.

She was even closer. She had taken another step while he hadn’t been watching and was now a mere arm’s length away.

The only thing keeping her innocence intact was his determination not to move a single muscle.

If he allowed himself to touch her, if so much as a red-gold ringlet brushed against his skin, he would not be able to keep his desire leashed.

An entire battalion of chaperones wouldn’t be able to stop him from kissing her, tasting her, having her.

“Are you all right?” Ellie took another step closer, her eyes filled with concern. “You seem... out of kilter.”

Out of kilter? Cain was breathing heavily, and he didn’t need to breathe.

She lifted a hand, bringing the curve of her fingers near his face as if to check his cheek for fever. At the last second, she dropped her hand back to her side without making contact.

Thank God. His equilibrium had vanished with her arrival. His strength of will was preparing for flight as well. If she had touched him, he would have turned his face into her hand, pressed a kiss to her palm, to the pulse point at her wrist, to her?—

Compulsion! He was a vampire; she was human. Compulsion would save him. Would save them both. This time, it would work.

Run away, he commanded, letting the ferocity of his desire fill his gaze. Run now, and run far, or your innocence will be lost here amongst the flowers. Flee whilst you can!

A slight frown briefly creased Ellie’s brow, but her gaze did not waver. If anything, her expression softened. Rather than run away, she suddenly seemed even closer, as if the hand’s width of air between them had been sucked from the conservatory, pulling them together.

She tucked a stray tendril behind her ear, but this time her hand did not return to her side. Her fingertips slid from the curl and pushed through the thickened air to graze the side of his face, the rough edge of his jaw.

Cain’s entire body trembled from the effort to stay still, to not repay the joy of her touch with caresses of his own.

Except he could not help but respond. He meant to hold himself still as marble, but against his will, his hands freed themselves from behind his back, his entire body inexorably drawn to Ellie’s. He jerked away.

“When we were in the kitchens,” she said softly, her face tilting up to his, “I thought you were going to kiss me senseless.”

“I was,” he said, his voice as ragged as his self-control. “I still am.”

“Good.” She smiled up at him, but her voice was more passionate than playful. “Don’t keep me waiting.”