Hercrypt? I’m expecting some sort of mausoleum, filled with tombs, skeletons, and spiderwebs. But then she opens a mahogany door, and my fears are put to rest.
I need a moment to take it all in. I thoughtmybedroom was nice, but it’s nothing compared to Crimson’s crypt. If my room is fit for a lady, her’s is built for a king.
The ceilings are high, tapestried with images of angels, demons, stars and a bright, shining moon. The walls are paneled with ebony wood, tastefully finished and polished. Brass wall sconces cast flickering candlelight across the expansive room.
The bed is sunk down a level, similar to the dance floor in the lounge upstairs. It’s the largest, most impressive bed I’ve ever seen. Its four posters are more like wooden columns, with etched roses carved into them. The bedspread is blood-red, and thick, iron chains are bolted into the headboard.
With a horrible start, I realize those aren’t the only chains in this room. There are more, bolted into the walls and hanging from the ceiling. Not only that, but I spot a tall, dark cabinet opened just a crack to reveal a line of slim, leather whips. I quickly move my gaze away,afraid she’ll catch me looking.
Is she going to chain me up, before she drinks from me? I’m shocked to find that the thought both fills me with dread and also ignites a burning, painful heat deep in my stomach…
What is goingonwith me lately?
“Would you like a drink?” she asks, gesturing toward a generous bar at the side of the room.
I’m a little tongue-tied, so I just shake my head. She crosses to a dressing-table, and removes something from her side. It’s a holster, which holds a sharp, gleaming dagger, and an ebony stake. The stake has an “X” on its hilt.
I frown. “Isn’t your stake…supposed to be red?”
She places the holster carefully on the table, then turns back to me. “Why would it be red?”
“I just thought…all the other vampires call you the Crimson Stake. I assumed it was because your stake was red. Mahogany, or something.”
A slow, malicious grin crosses her face as she regards me. Then she shakes her head, a few strands of dark hair falling into her eyes. “No, that’s not why they call me the Crimson Stake.”
I don’t know what I said to amuse her, but it’s nice to release a little of the tension between us.
“Then whydothey call you the Crimson Stake?” I ask, genuinely curious. “Shouldn’t they call you Roslyn?”
“Nobody calls me Roslyn,” she replies, her tone not angry, but definitely indicating that I shouldn’t press the matter.
“Well, should I call you Crimson, then?”
She gives me an assertive look, her gaze hardening. “You can call mesir, or ‘my king.’”
There’s a powerful twist in my stomach. My knees weaken, and I’m glad I didn’t ask for a glass of wine. I’m sure I would have dropped it.
I’m clearly not hiding anything, because she looms down over me provocatively. “Do you enjoy it?” she asks, holding nothing back. “Submitting to me?”
I open my mouth to respond, but I find that my throat has gone completely dry, and I can’t form any words. There’s no denying the way I feel, the electricity that courses through my body in herdominant presence.
All I can manage is a small, shy nod.
“Well,” she responds, her eyebrow flicking upward. “Why don’t we start slowly, then. Get on the bed.”
Nervously, I scurry over to the bed. At least tonight it’s just the two of us, far away from the lounge full of watchful eyes.
But I fear what she could do to me, down here where nobody can hear me scream. A chill goes through me as I hop onto the bed, trying not to look at the thick chains bolted to the headboard, wondering what sort of activities have happened here.
I arrange myself against the pillows, lying down on my back. Then, in the blink of an eye, she’s on top of me, crouched down, her eyes gleaming red. In the dim light, she looks just like a demon.
Her eyes travel over my aching body, her gaze as powerful as her touch.
“I do love it when you tremble like that,” she whispers villainously, the tips of her fangs peeking out over her lips.
My heart pounds in my chest, overwhelmed by her presence. Down in her crypt, I feel like I’m in a dream, far removed from all sanity and reason. I know I shouldn’t want her, I know I shouldn’t enjoy this, but every atom in my body is screaming otherwise.
“This dress,” she says, fingering the smooth fabric at my thigh. “Did you wear it for me, sweet one?”
