Ensnared by the Dream Lord (Dark Lords) Page 2

  She felt the deepness of his voice reverberate in her chest. Elation surged through her body. Her prayers had been answered! But how had she arrived here, and why had he frightened her? Had she been too dim-witted to recognize him when he came? Surely that was it. “My lord, forgive me. Had I but known it was you, I would not have taken flight,” she said, breathless.

  Strangely, the weight of his body on top of hers excited her. Her belly quivered, her sex felt awakened and eager for exploration. Her fingertips tingled with the need to touch him, and she longed to discover what he looked like.

  She’d angered him, she realized suddenly. She had summoned him, and he had come at last, and then she had fled him, and fought him. “I will gladly accept whatever punishment you wish to mete out, my lord,” she whispered, anxiously touching her lips with her tongue to moisten her suddenly dry mouth.

  Her voice, husky with fright still, quaking, washed over Morpheus like a warm tide. He stared down piercingly at the girl’s face, frowning in confusion when he could not read her thoughts, struggling to ignore the unbidden surge of desire that tightened his loins at her supplication.

  Her mind was closed to him. Tightening his hold on her, he leaned forward, as if closing the distance would open her mind to him. It didn’t. He could discern nothing of her inner thoughts.

  He puzzled over it. The dream world was his domain. He should have had complete control, been able to twist her desires into nightmarish visions.

  “What trickery is this?” he asked harshly, suspicious at her lack of fear, puzzled at the slip of his control. He had no need to fear sorcery, in dream or in reality, but still, he was wary at the alteration to his plan. She was supposed to be frightened witless.

  Adriana felt her heart skip uncomfortably at the anger in his voice, not from fear of him, but from the dread that he was so angry that he would decide not to grant her heart’s desire after all. “No trickery. I swear it! I wouldn’t dare, not when I begged you to come,” she assured him earnestly, trying to summon the nerve to voice her request, trying to think of what words she would use to describe her heart’s desire. If she merely asked for a man to love and a family of her own, how would he know what man to give her? Could he see into her heart and know the perfect man for her?

  It occurred to her quiet suddenly though that, perhaps, the wish she had intended to make would not be one that he could grant. Perhaps it was not even what she really desired, for she could not begin to envision what sort of man she wanted. In truth, she could not think beyond the ache that had come upon her at his nearness, at the sound of his voice.

  It dawned on her that, in all the times she had read of him, pleaded for him to come to her, she had not once thought of the vague wish for a man to love and a family of her own. She had thought only of him.

  “I—wanted to ask…. Would you grant me a boon?” Her voice dropped to the merest whisper as doubt and fear warred in her breast, but she knew suddenly that it was exactly what she wanted. “A kiss from your immortal lips?”

  As the words left her mouth, Morpheus’ gaze seized on her full lips. The darkness was no cloak to his vision. He’d toyed with her before, building her terror to destroy her hopes of conjuring him again, but this was different. Again the desire came, wholly unnatural and unwelcome.

  That unfamiliar tightness grew in his loins. His cock surged with blood, strained at the leather breeches which held it captive. Now that the emboldened request hung in the air between them, Morpheus felt as powerless to resist her shy advance as he had been to resist her summons.

  He leaned close, listening to the quickening sounds of her breath, the rapid beat of her heart as he bore down on her. Her eyelids closed, her dark lashes hiding the excitement in her eyes, but he knew it was there. He had seen her desire as she gazed up at him. She was tense, her muscles strained. As he hovered just above her, she parted her mouth in invitation, and it was more than he could resist.

  Morpheus brushed his lips over hers. The soft skin was alien to him, but pleasing. He inhaled her sweet exhalation of breath, a gasp of surprise. It was his undoing.

  Yielding to his own burning need, his mouth locked onto hers. Without remorse, he unleashed the full brunt of his desire. Dimly, even as he did so, he was aware that her innocence would not have prepared her for such dangerous passion. He knew that it would frighten her, but he relished the thought of turning her innocent request against her.

  He ravished her mouth, plunging his tongue inside the moist, sweet crevice like a conqueror. She moaned and arched her neck to meet his harsh possession and his purpose dimmed, banished from his mind by his own need and her eager response to his touch. His grip on her arms relaxed until she was free and touching him. She grasped his arms, tugging him closer, offering her breasts to him … anything he wished to possess.

  She caught the back of his head, her rigid grip almost painfully desperate.

  The roar of blood at his temples, in his ears enthralled him, threatened to wrench his control completely from his grasp. His heart beat wildly. The need to be inside her—Now—pounded through his loins in a savage rhythm.

  Abruptly, he tore his mouth from hers, wrenching his head free of her hand.

  She cried out, reaching for him. “Take me, my lord,” she begged.

  * * * *

  Morpheus pulled himself from her dream. His harsh breath made his lungs and throat ache—forgotten sensation from his long ago mortality. How long had it been since he’d been tempted by pleasures of the flesh?

  Longer than his memory allowed.

  He dragged in a deep, sustaining breath, fighting to reassert his control.

  Adriana moaned in her sleep, drawing his gaze to her. If she was pure, he thought irritably as he watched her writhing in desire, it was in body alone. Her mind was that of a seductress.

  Things had not gone entirely as planned—in fact, not at all. It had begun well enough. He knew that she had been terrified in the beginning, but what little he’d done to frighten her was not likely to deter her from summoning him again.

  Anger surfaced.

  No trickery, she had claimed, and yet she had welcomed his fierce desire, matched it, nearly turned it against him. And yet she had to be pure of heart or she could not have summoned him at all. It was a puzzle that he found disturbing.

  He thought briefly of deflowering her while she slept, but the idea of taking her without her knowledge so repulsed him that he instantly regretted even thinking on it.

  That also puzzled and disturbed him.

  He was forbidden to cross the boundary from the sleep world into the physical world and the desire to do so had not been spawned by the intention of despoiling her purity to free himself from her demands. And even so, he should have felt no compunction about doing so, not on her account.

  While he stood pondering the curious, unnerving situation, he sensed the rising sun threatening to crest the horizon, signaling that it was time to leave.

  He would leave her to her dreams for now, he decided. If she summoned him again, he would return on the morrow to finish what he had begun. Seductress or not, she was still an innocent. Perhaps that would be enough to convince her to plague him no more. If not, he would unleash his full wrath upon her and she would come to rue the day she’d learned to summon the Lord of the Night.

  Chapter Three

  Adriana awoke exhausted. Snatches of her dreams from the night before teased her memory, yet remained intangible, just out of reach. Her stomach felt cramped, her sex achy, as if she’d been aroused and left unfulfilled.

  She knew the sensation. She’d experienced it before she’d discovered how to pleasure herself and find relief. Yet what relief she found felt miserable to her now. She longed to be filled with a man’s length, to have his weight on top of her, his hands touching and arousing her in ways she hadn’t yet imagined. She longed for love eternal.

  Adriana sat up in bed, surprised to see she hadn’t changed from her gown into a nightdress. The book
of legends lay open atop her bedside table. Outside she could hear the sounds that signaled her father’s castle coming to life with the beginning of the day’s chores: the squawking of hens, chopping wood, greetings of good morrow, and a hundred other sounds.

  Adriana missed her morning walks. She was rarely allowed outside, even under escort, for fear some lusty man—of the unnatural world—would cart her off. As if one of the dark creatures who dwelt in Hellsing wood would leave it only to whisk her away!

  She found little amusement in the thought. It was unfair and unjust that she should have to pay for her sisters’ choices in men. They had ventured into that dark place of the unnatural. She would be content enough if her father would only allow her the run of the castle and bailey.

  She wondered if perhaps today her father would regain his sanity and her imprisonment would end.

  She had wondered that for more days than she could count, though, and he had shown no signs of relenting. Yawning, she dropped her feet off the side of the bed and discovered tracks on the rug.

  Alarm assailed her. Someone had been in her room, watching her sleep. Her first thought was to alert her father, but she quashed the impulse. She was alone in the room now—there was no immediate danger.

  Kneeling on the floor, she traced the faint outline of boots with one finger. The tracks were large. The man who’d left them had to be at least a head taller than any man in the castle—nearly high enough for his head to almost brush against the top of the doorframe. She knew of no man of this height in the castle.

  Her sisters had found husbands of this ilk—tall, forbidding men of unnatural height and build. Their height had seemed to grow from their strength and will.

  The thought shot her into breathless excitement. Her door was locked and heavily barred from the inside and outside. Her father would never allow any man entry into her room, least of all while she slept. Had she managed to conjure forth the sweet demon of her fervent dreams?

  However unlikely it seemed, she couldn’t help but hope it was true.

  Why could she not remember it, though? She could remember nothing of the night before save her prayers for him to come to her.

  The only explanation was that he wished to remain unknown to her.

  Certain now that she’d not descended into madness, Adriana cleaned the tracks from the floor as best she could and then performed her morning ablutions, delighted by the possibilities inherent in such a discovery. She was more determined than ever before to summon Morpheus to her again.

  * * * *

  The day wore on, agonizingly long. Adriana felt more penned than ever before, since freedom seemed so much the closer to her now.

  Her father had come to her and kissed her goodnight. He’d brought her more books to read and apologized again for having to do this to her. He felt extremely guilty, but not enough to risk losing her. She loved him still, but she would not be denied by any means.

  She meant to regain her liberty.

  As the castle quieted with the dipping sun, Adriana began to pray for Morpheus to return to her. She watched the sky, hoping to see his arrival before darkness settled across the land.

  As with many times before, she saw nothing, but she continued her pleas until her knees ached and her back screamed in agony. She begged for him to come back to her until darkness crouched above the castle and the torches were lit.

  An hour passed as she knelt in the darkness, and then another, until time became a blur and her mind began drifting into the realm of slumber. Her eyelids flickered shut. Her head drooped, yet still, she murmured, “Return to me, my dark lord. Come back, Morpheus, Lord of the Night, guardian of dreams.”

  As sleep claimed her, in the distance rode a dark swathed man on a steed of midnight with hooves and mane of fire.

  * * * *

  Adriana stood in the empty courtyard. Her father’s castle had been abandoned of all life save her own. She was alone in facing a terror that bore down on her. Thunder clapped in the sky, shaking the ground. Her legs felt unsteady, knees weak, muscles as substantial as jelly.

  She had no time to wonder what had happened—not when the creature approached so rapidly. She couldn’t bar the keep from him, not without five men to push the door.

  Whirling, Adriana ran for the castle. She threw the door shut and struggled with the bracing until she’d managed to drop it into place, marveling at the strength fear had given her. Outside she imagined she could hear the creature gain entry into the courtyard, then climbing the stairs. She could practically feel him on the other side of the door.

  She turned then and ran for her tower, dashing up the long, winding stairs with break neck speed. Below, she heard the unmistakable sound of wood splintering from a massive blow.

  He was inside. The knowledge leant speed to her feet. She continued running, her endurance lagging, but she reached her room and darted inside, dropping another brace on this door, though it was probably useless. He so easily burst through the other, what deterrent would this flimsy door be for him? Likely none, but she had to try.

  She looked around her room for a hiding spot and then laughed a little hysterically at the absurdity of that thought. She had no obvious weapon to fend him off—nothing sharp and wicked. Cursing herself for not grabbing something before she came up, she searched the room desperately anyway. Her gaze settled on the thick book lying on her bedside table. She hefted it in her hands.

  The book of legends…. She lovingly traced the ornate tooled leather. How could she have forgotten…?

  The door rattled behind her. The bracing clattered noisily to the floor. Adriana ignored the sound of the door pushing open, the hollow steps of booted feet.

  A memory tickled the edges of her mind. She struggled to catch it, closing her eyes.

  Hands locked onto her shoulders, turning her to face the invader … him….

  She tipped up her face, instinctively knowing he was tall, the tallest man she’d ever known. Slowly, she opened her eyes.

  “Morpheus,” she said on breathy whisper. The book slid out of her arms, dropping to the floor, just missing her feet.

  Surprise widened his dark eyes, ever so slightly. His thick black brows drew together in a frown. She could see nothing of the lower half of his face. A leather guard shielded his nose and mouth from her sight.

  Without thinking, she reached up and tugged it off, revealing his masculine beauty. He didn’t try to stop her as she traced his square jaw. He swallowed, as if the tender touch pained him. She moved slowly then, her fingers the barest whisper on his skin as she smoothed across his lips. They parted beneath her touch as he drew in a ragged breath.

  She remembered terror and elation, and then a kiss, begged for and received. Was she losing her mind?

  Her hand rested at his jaw, slowly curling around his neck in possession. She met his eyes and stilled. Her heart beat rapidly, and she felt like she could no longer breathe. “Do I dream?”

  “Yes,” he said.

  The familiar baritone vibrated her chest softly. Warmth rushed her body, making her flush. “I dream, yet here you are. Are you not real?”

  “I am flesh and blood.”

  “Then I shall kiss you and dispel this dream.” She stood on the tips of her toes, pulling the back of his neck to close the distance.

  * * * *

  Morpheus wrenched himself from her dream with an effort, sliding off her bed as if putting distance between them would ease the sweet torment that infiltrated his body and mind. He angrily paced the room.

  He’d nearly lost control.

  He threw off his cloak and gloves, ran a hand through sweat dampened hair, willing his body to return to normal. Nothing could stop his gaze from crawling back to her sleeping form, however. She moved in her sleep, her gown slipping up her legs, revealing toned calves and a hint of knee. She arched her back, presenting her throat, the slender column begging for his lips to nibble across her and up to her lips.

  His loins tightened. His bel
ly clenched on a hard spasm of lust.

  There was no frightening her away from him. She was powerful—powerful enough to use his weakness, his desire, to twist her dreams into whatever she wished.

  He could not allow this woman to weaken his resolve to have done with her. He would not be enslaved by a mere mortal, a slip of a girl at that.

  He still had time this night to begin again. Allowing his body to cool long moments, he devised a new plan, one that would allow his needs to be fulfilled, and destroy her longing for him. There was no other way.

  He would not fall prey to the desires of one mortal woman.

  He strode to her bed once more, resisting the impulse to touch her as she lay vulnerable to him, conjuring instead another dream.