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  Artemis interrupted his thoughts by raising his glass.

  “A toast to our patriarch. A toast to Lazarus.”

  The Tribe raised their crude glasses and cheered. They drank the berry wine of Paradise in their cups in quick gulps and returned for seconds.

  In no time, the Tribe seemed to be back to their old selves, laughing, gossiping and enjoying their unity. This was the Tribe Lazarus loved. Since the first time they had been stalked by the evil entity that had threatened them in Rome, the Tribe had changed. Turmoil, anger and fear had settled among his kin and forced him to distance himself from them. Only on the rare occasions such as tonight did his Tribe return to their true selves free of fear and free for the moment.

  But, as he scanned the room, he couldn't help wonder what had possessed the Dark Breeder to let him live. True, the soul had left him to bleed, but Sanctum Hall was not far from Tracker territory and his assailant had to know that. His nemesis had to have known his kin would come looking for him. Lazarus suddenly felt ill at ease. The Dark Breeder had allowed him to live.

  And he couldn't help but think somehow that reason was connected to the Tribe.

  CHAPTER 11

  At dawn, the Tribe still lingered, but Lazarus took his leave of them.

  He had thought of Neomina all night and wanted desperately to go to her now. He left the great hall, made his way upstairs to the private chambers and, in silence, entered the bedroom.

  Sitting in a chair to the side of the four poster bed, Montgomery waited for him but rose at his return.

  “She slept without so much as a single sigh,” Monty said. “I would say Neomina is comfortable within your lair, Lazarus.”

  He wished that were true, but in his heart, Lazarus knew she feared Sanctum Hall.

  “Thank you for staying with her.”

  “I did the same for you on many occasions and I would do it again.” Monty moved toward the door. “I think I'll see to the Tribe this morning. They must be reminded not to overtax their restored strength. The evil presence that has stalked Sanctum Hall rests but does not die. We all have to be cautious until this enemy is no longer a threat.”

  Montgomery's words reminded Lazarus of the note. He reached for the folded paper and faced his uncle.

  “By the way, what do you know of a Percival—?” Monty must not have heard him. The angel vanished before Lazarus could finish his sentence. He left the note on the table.

  A soft voice called to him from beneath the silken veils hanging about his bed. Neomina was awake.

  “Lazarus.”

  “Hush, my sweet. I'll be right there.”

  He secured the heavy velvet drapes that covered the windows and sealed out every ray of light. He wanted nothing to disturb him this morning, not even the glorious sun. No, the Vampyre in him stirred his soul like never before. Yet he was ravaged by a hunger greater than that of the craving for blood. He hungered for sexual satisfaction with Neomina.

  Lazarus removed his clothes and slid into bed. Being so near Neomina caused him to tense. The warmth from her body radiated toward him erasing the cold aura of his Vampyric essence. His flesh hadn't burned so heatedly in centuries.

  He wrapped his arms around Neomina and pulled her to him. The scent of fruit and roses stirred his senses. With strong, firm hands, Lazarus undid the ties of his wife's gown and removed all obstacles between them. He tossed the sheer fabric onto the floor.

  Touched by the cold morning air, Neomina crossed her arms over her bare breasts, hiding the swollen peaks.

  “A bit chilly?”

  She nodded, agreeing.

  With a thought, Lazarus commanded the fireplace to light. Soon it cast a warm glow about the chamber.

  “I believe, dear wife, I can easily remedy your torment.”

  How? By replacing it with another?

  The frankness of her thoughts excited him. He pulled her on top of him with one swift move, gently pushed her arms away from her breasts and cupped the perfect globes with his hands.

  Neomina had never felt a touch as raw yet as gentle as Lazarus'. The cold of his flesh sent her senses spinning as a heated pulse emitted from the palm of his hands. The dual sensation spiraled her to pleasure. She sighed.

  “I'm not all Vampyre, Neomina. My soul is half-Grigori and that can never change. Do you know the meaning of being one of them?”

  She shook her head.

  “Are you familiar with their great sin?”

  Again she indicated no.

  “The Grigori were of the tenth choir of angels, an elite group of watchers who were sent to study and teach man. They fell from grace by coupling with the children of Adam and Eve and by succumbing to the pleasures of the flesh. Pleasures that have never been equaled by any other souls ever to inhabit the earth.”

  He watched her closely. A sense of mischief filled with a raw yearning glistened in her violet eyes. She wanted him.

  “Would you care for me to show you the secrets my ancestors passed down through the generations? The secrets to unbridled pleasures?”

  She stared at him with longing eyes as if not sure exactly how to answer.

  In an instant, he had her beneath him.

  Lazarus pulled down a thin veil of silk draped over the headboard in front of him and folded the fabric. He gently wrapped the silk around Neomina's eyes and tied it behind her head.

  “Let me stir your senses like they have never been stirred before, Neomina,” he whispered, his voice raw with emotion. “Let me be one with you.”

  He let his voice linger in her ears. Lazarus spoke to her in Gaelic, Latin and French. She would understand every word. He described his actions in slow, deliberate sentences that would drive her wild. He watched with pleasurable satisfaction as the touch of his hand sent Neomina spiraling to heights she hadn't known existed. He explored her body caressing every inch of flesh to leave an everlasting imprint upon her soul and brand her as his.

  The room filled with his scent—the fragrant aroma of sandalwood and spices mixed with musk—only to tantalize Neomina in yet another way. The Grigori in his soul knew the importance of tempting the senses, every one of them. Lazarus set his mind to making sure that soon Neomina would desire nothing but to be one with him, one with his entire being, including the Vampyre.

  He leaned forward, pressing his lips to hers. The sweet taste of honey filled his mouth and sent him over the edge. He worked his hands in an eager manner and untied the veil covering Neomina's eyes.

  “Look at me.”

  She could do nothing but abide by his command as she was lost to his tempting ways. His gaze locked with hers and captured the very essence of her soul. Lazarus delved deep into her mind and searched for the true feelings she had for him. He wanted desperately to know Neomina loved him for himself and not for the fact he was merely the husband her father had chosen for her.

  He soon found the emotion he sought.

  He took her in his arms and decided then and there to brand her, to sear her soul with the mark of the Vampyre. He would drink from her and then give her back his own blood. He should have done it months ago, but hadn't. Delacroix would never have allowed him to brand Neomina. But now the act would seal their marriage and make her his in the eyes of the Trackers.

  Neomina gave in to him completely, arching her heated body close to him. She cried out as if waves of pleasure rippled through her.

  “Be one with me, Neomina. Be one with me.”

  Then she saw it. Lazarus knew on the instant that his wife was well aware of the Vampyre now emerging from within him. He caressed her with his hands and his mind. He read her thoughts. Neomina was lost to his passion in such a way she felt as if wrapped in the finest silks and softest velvets. The touch of the beast within him was more sensual than she'd ever imagined it could be, proving the coupling of his various natures to be amazing. He prided himself that Neomina had fallen lost to his exquisite technique. In Paradise, the angels referred to the sensation as a rapture of true passio
n and he couldn't agree with them more. The Grigori nature he had inherited from his father had the ability to merge with another being in a sexual union unimaginable to most. Using the most raw, purest form of passion experienced only by angels and saints, Lazarus melded his soul with Neomina's and sent her body into a heated frenzy.

  He trailed the tip of his tongue over the soft flesh of her neck. The taste and scent of warm, blood-filled flesh sent him over the edge. Lazarus sank his teeth deep into Neomina's skin.

  She moaned.

  He pulled back, fearing he had harmed her, but Neomina refused to let him go. He returned his mouth to her neck and drank until his pleasures were sated. Lazarus had never known such wholeness, such satisfaction.

  He brushed his lips against the puncture wounds in Neomina's flesh. Droplets of dark blood trickled slowly from the opened skin as he caressed her with his tongue, sealing his mark so it would heal.

  Neomina fell fast asleep in Lazarus’ arms.

  He didn't know what he would say when she woke. This was only the beginning of her initiation into the Tribe. Lazarus didn't know whether to hate himself or to pride himself on such a conquest. He also now realized that in his lust he had never completed the branding by giving back to Neomina the blood he had taken from her. He wondered if the small trace of the mortal he once was would ever allow him to. He was meant to care for his kin, to bring them over so they might carry out their destiny of conquering the Dark Breed. But the thought of bringing Neomina across caused his soul to twist with a dull ache. He decided to keep his distance from her until the inevitable could no longer be avoided.

  Lazarus rose from the bed to sleep in his chair across the room.

  CHAPTER 12

  The day passed without incident, and for that Lazarus was thankful, because he hadn't remembered a day so peaceful in months.

  He woke around noon and set out to complete the task of seeing his wife settled at Sanctum Hall. Neomina was now mistress of his keep and, as such, Lazarus saw to her every comfort by moving furniture, hanging bed drapes and bringing over her personal possessions from the cottage. He prepared the rooms adjoining his own chambers for her because he had decided that a bit of physical space between them would be best for both. Neomina hadn't questioned him on the matter, instead accepting the situation as if it were only natural she have her own space as lady of Sanctum Hall. But he wondered what she would say had he told her the truth. The thought of bringing Neomina across continued to haunt him. He kept busy until sundown and hoped to take his mind off her.

  He prepared for the Tribe's gathering by donning a black tunic over a white shirt laced tight about his forearms. On his wrist, he wore a gold bracelet adorned with the Conlon wolf. On his right hand, he wore his grandfather's seal ring. Lazarus couldn't remember the last time he had dressed with such care or had concern about his appearance among the Tribe. He laughed to himself. The Tribe would never be impressed by his sense of fashion.

  No, it was Neomina he wanted to win over.

  He pulled on a pair of black leather breeches that hugged his legs like a second skin and a pair of soft black boots that laced up the calf.

  Dressed for the Tribe's nightly gathering, Lazarus entered Neomina's bedchamber through a connecting door to his own room. He knocked lightly, but didn't wait for an invitation to enter.

  The sight of his wife wearing a dark purple velvet gown caused him to catch his breath. In the candlelight, Neomina looked every bit the Vampyre he feared she would one day become. He approached her with caution.

  “What do you think, Lazarus?” She spoke to him with an innocent longing to please him. “Will they welcome your wife as one of them or will they cast me aside as an outsider?”

  His mind still frozen in shock by Neomina's ghostly appearance, he didn't know how to answer her.

  “What have you done to yourself?” Lazarus reached out a hand and lifted the thick gold necklace that covered his wife's neck and checked for wounds that might have been made by another soul. But to his satisfaction, none were found.

  “I have powdered my face and painted my lips. That is all. What did you think?” she asked. A look of confused innocence masked her face.

  Lazarus backed away and leaned against the archway separating Neomina's dressing room from the sleeping chamber. He crossed his arms over his chest and one leg over the other and stood most content to watch his wife's every move. A sense of amusement teased at his smile as he considered Neomina's actions. Her desire to appease the Tribe meant she also wished to appease him. Satisfaction filled his soul.

  She was good at disguises, that Lazarus would give her, but the vision of Neomina with pale skin and dressed in dark velvet disturbed him. He studied her as she continued to prepare for the gathering.

  With delicate hands, Neomina twisted her long golden hair into narrow braids and then wrapped them into two larger ones that sat on either side of her head. She fastened a thin cloth of violet silk to her hair for added adornment.

  Lazarus eyed her every move.

  A piece of jewelry fell to the floor from the dressing table. She bent down to retrieve it and allowed Lazarus a full view of her exposed womanly assets.

  His body tensed in an instant at the sight of Neomina's full breasts, the low cut of her dress fueling his desire. In sheer madness Lazarus reached his arm out and pulled her close and ignored Neomina's pleas to let her finish dressing.

  “Perhaps we should pass on the Tribe's gathering tonight and return to bed, my sweet. Grigoris have an insatiable lust and are never short on ways to please their partners.” A raw seductive tone filled his voice and sent heated tingles through Neomina's body.

  Lazarus tugged at the square neckline of Neomina's gown and then untied its gold braided ribbon. Slipping a strong hand inside the loosened bodice, he cupped her right breast and brought a pink rosy nipple to his lips. He teased her with his teeth and wallowed in Neomina's pleasure-filled sighs.

  Neomina wanted him as much as he wanted her, but something deep in her soul made her pull back. The call of the Vampyre lingered in her mind and she recalled the odd feeling she had felt in the abbey the night before. The sensation was nothing like being with Lazarus in bed. Neomina tensed and took a step back.

  A twinge of disappointment masked Lazarus’ face. Retying the ribbon, Neomina fixed her gown.

  “Perhaps it is wrong for me to keep you here,” said Lazarus, his voice cool and exact. “I can send Montgomery to the cottage and have him remain there for your protection if you so desire. The last thing I want is to have you here against your will, Neomina.” He turned away from her.

  She didn't answer him. The feelings inside her were new to her and she couldn't understand them let alone explain such things to someone like Lazarus. He would never understand her concern over trifling anxieties. Lazarus was never one to fear anything or at least she so thought. To tell him of the unsettling feelings of an evil entity that seemed to be stalking her would be absurd. He was a Vampyre, and as such, Neomina felt he would not understand the fears of man.

  Neomina picked up the brooch that had fallen to the floor minutes before and toyed with the ornate pin. Her hand trembled nervously as she secured it to her bodice. The brooch showed the face of a howling wolf set amid gold knot work and jeweled accents. Thinking of Lazarus and the beast that dwelt within him, she ran a cold hand over the pin. Her heart went cold.

  “Is that what you think me to be, Neomina? A soul no better than that of a wild animal preying on mortals for mere survival?”

  She swallowed hard, amazed at his exact perception of her feelings. She had forgotten the Vampyre could read man's mind.

  “I said no such thing.”

  “You didn't have to.”

  The realization of Lazarus’ reading her private thoughts unsettled Neomina. She wished she could keep from thinking such things about him and keep from questioning the Vampyre that ruled his soul.

  He stared at her with cold, emotionless eyes that spoke a t
housand words. Neomina saw the pain she caused him by fearing him. She felt as if she had taken a stake and stabbed his heart. By his expression, the pain was more than his soul could bear.

  “You are right, dear wife. At times, I am no more than the beast you believe me to be.”

  She saw anger in his eyes and knew he didn't like her fearing him.

  Lazarus bit down on his bottom lip.

  Neomina watched in horror. It was evident to her by the twisted look on his face that her husband endured great torture. His pointed fangs sank deep into his flesh and drew forth a slight trail of ruby-red liquid. She wondered what hungering for blood would be like.

  “The taste of your own sordid essence lingers in your mouth and never really goes away. That is what it is like, dear wife. That is what being Vampyre is like.”

  In an instant Lazarus took flight and vanished from the room.

  * * * *

  The sweet smell of peaches, plums and apples wafted through the great hall and stirred Neomina's appetite. In the course of the day she had forgotten to eat so absorbed was she in settling herself at Sanctum Hall. The thought of dining pleased her, but she wondered if the anxious feeling in the pit of her stomach would allow her to keep anything down. She dismissed the notion with a shrug of her shoulders and settled for whatever would be. Life had changed drastically for her recently and it would be better to simply accept whatever fate awaited her than to disrupt the natural course of things.

  With soft, slow steps Neomina entered the outer corridor leading to the great hall and waited for Montgomery. The angel had promised her earlier in the day that he would accompany her to the gathering. She was thankful for that now since Lazarus was nowhere to be found. A twinge of disappointment filled her soul.

  She didn't like feeling unsettled in her own home and she knew it showed. Standing in the hall, Neomina twisted the gold braided chain that hung at her waist into a tiny knot and worked her hands furiously in a nervous manner. She felt the odd sensation of the Vampyre's unnatural love of the night and for all things associated with it envelope her soul as visions of the abbey came flooding back. Her father's face flashed before her and his words echoed through her mind.