Satin Chamber Read online

  SATIN CHAMBER

  By

  Alyna Lachlan

  The scanning, uploading and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal, and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, places, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  SATIN CHAMBER

  Copyright (c) 2005 by ALYNA LACHLAN

  ISBN: 1-59836-048-5

  Cover art and design (c) 2005 by Marianne LaCroix

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any form without permission, except as provided by the U.S. Copyright Law. Printed and bound in the United States of America.

  For information, you can find us on the web at

  www.VenusPress.com

  Chapter One

  Victorian England

  McLain opened his eyes and drew in his first breath of the evening. The stench of the long dead and the dank smell of mildew filled his lungs as he lay on the cold, slab floor of an ancient crypt.

  He glanced around cautiously; letting his gaze roam about the four, gray, rock walls, encasing him in a tomb. No windows were cut into the rock to let light in. Only one unlit torch sat in an iron sconce near the door.

  With a whispered word, the torch flamed to life, casting flickering golden shadows around the small room. For the moment, the light would chase away the dark abyss from his soul.

  An old skeleton sat with its head bowed against its sunken chest, its arms stretched above in irons, chained to a carved stone table that held the body of the crypts unknown owner. The walls were darkened in spots where moisture seeped through the cracked stone and green moss grew thick.

  Ancient script covered the ceiling as well as three walls. He didn’t take the time to read it as yet. Escape loomed as the first objective. The unmarked wall held a sealed iron door that teased of freedom. The hinges looked rusted as well as some of the design around the curved handle, but it was the way out.

  Staying where he lay, he searched inward, taking inventory of himself. His jaw hurt like hell where it had connected with the bastard’s fist the night before. McLain raised his hand to his face and groaned as pain revealed itself along his arm. His left shoulder and both fists were scraped and sore, and a sharp pain in his side made him wonder if he had a broken rib. All in all things were not too bad, because he still drew breath. But, he knew his hours were numbered. His crime in taking the life of a True Blood would be his death.

  He had been such a fool to step between an ancient and what the vampire wanted, but he would do it again if the choice fell to him. He was bred to be a killer and all vampires knew it and feared him.

  So, this was to be his prison for the crime committed. The place was definitely not a suite at the palace, but he’d been in worse places, and for less. How long would he be here before death claimed him? And who would be the axe man?

  Gnawing hunger gripped his belly, causing his fangs to lengthen. He had no way of knowing how long he’d gone without sustenance, or how many hours he’d lain on this cold floor. McLain guessed no more than twenty-four hours or his strength would have shriveled and faded away with each hour that past. He tried to ignore his discomfort and read the words on the ceiling. They ran in the ever-crossing loops of a Celtic knot. What he read didn’t bring comfort but finality.

  “Be damn.”

  He had been sealed in Menippus’s crypt, a powerful ancient, prophesied to awaken with the next full moon. He sighed. He now knew his executioner and the hour of his death. Finally, there would come an end.

  McLain slowly pushed himself to a sitting position. Holding a hand to his side, he swallowed a groan and pushed his hair back from his eyes.

  So, be it.

  Thinking back on what he had found the True Blood doing, anger poured like molten steel into his gut. He would have killed the bastard again even knowing it meant his death.

  The smallest scrap of leather against the sandy stone floor caught McLain’s attention. He was not alone.

  Jerking his head around to peer deeper into a darkened corner, he saw the outline of a huddled form crouched between the stone table and wall.

  He reached out with his senses, hearing the rapid heartbeat, the rush of blood, the sweet scent, causing his innards to twist in hunger. Human, not vampire. What was a human doing in this crypt?

  “Who are you? Come out. I would speak with you.”

  “Do you always speak to your meal before you consume it?” a soft female voice answered.

  That lifted his brow before laughter rumbled in his chest. This person knew what he was and didn’t scream with hysterics. His curiosity pricked. Others of this kind loved terrorizing victims, but that had never set well with him. Blood could be taken without the donor’s knowledge. Fear of his race was already prevalent. Besides, in taking blood when the heart is pumping fast, there was a danger of taking too much and killing the human.

  “In this case, I do, unless you wish for me to skip conversation and go right for the main course.” Silence greeted his off handed remark. “Sorry, the joke was not well done of me.”

  A soft laugh from beneath the tattered cloak caught him by surprise, and a smile curled one corner of his mouth. Even with his night vision, he could make out nothing of the woman’s features or form. Yet, her strength of character and sense of humor pulled at something buried deep within his black heart, an old memory of a lost life best forgotten, rained like golden coins through his thoughts.

  “I know why I’m here.” Her voice came soft, gentle. “Why are you locked in this place?”

  “A difference of opinion. I killed him for it.” McLain stood up slowly, holding his side and moved over to examine the iron door, running fingers along the seam and hinges. After checking to make sure the door was locked, he reached down, raising his pant leg and pulled a blade from his black boot. He shoved the side of his knife between the pin and hinge, trying to work them loose.

  “What difference of opinion?”

  He turned to glance into the corner where she sat, concealed. “You ask a lot of questions. Take care...people kill to keep their secrets buried.”

  “If I am meant to die in a matter of moments, there is no harm in telling me. I’m curious to know why a man would kill another over an opinion. There must be more to this.”

  The woman was perceptive and quick. Her voice rang clear and soft, bringing a calm to his turmoil.

  “How old are you?” He turned back to the door. “You sound young. Why do you think you will die?”

  “I’m in a crypt with a hungry vampire. I am to be the blood sacrifice to see you restored to full strength.”

  “Did you volunteer?” A sneer supplanted his smile. The thought disgusted him, but surprising enough, many wished for immortality and power, giving up their lives in hope of getting the everlasting curse. Very few vampires granted that gift and gladly took the lives of their victims.

  “No, I was given little choice in the matter.”

  He turned back toward her, catching a whiff of lavender, a soft fragrance with a high price. The expense of the perfume didn’t match the tattered cloak she wore.

  “What is your story? How did you get here?”

  “Wrong place at the wrong time.”

  “A mystery. Somehow, I knew you wouldn’t share. You conceal your secrets as well as yourself. Don’t you trust me?” A mischievous smile li
fted one corner of his lips.

  “I trust no one, even one as charming but deadly as you.”

  “Young and cynical. You intrigue me. How do you know of my race?”

  “I healed one of your kind a few years ago. I came upon him in the forest late one night, bleeding and in pain. I thought he would die, because he had serious wounds. In his fever, he spoke many truths. I have kept my silence, and will continue to hold it. So do not ask me his name.”

  McLain raised his knife to the torch light, running a thumb over the blade, searching for nicks.

  “You are prickly and defensive. I would say you have been harmed a time or two in the past.” He wiped the flat of his knife on his pants then slid it back in his boot.

  “Only cautious. All I have is my life and word, and I’m not going to lose both. Even if my life is taken, I gave my word no one would know his name. I will keep it until he wants it known. Do you have a loved one waiting for your return? A companion?”

  “No. My soul is too black, my crimes well known. No one would have me. I’m meant to walk alone.” He lifted a brow and shrugged his wide shoulders. “What about you? Do you have a husband, family?”

  Carmen thought over the last few weeks. The murder of her mother by her half brother started it all. The attempts on her life soon followed. It had been a trusted maid that helped her escape before his evil plans came to pass. He would never give up searching for her. His lust for power would see to that. She had loved her brother and had looked up to him and his strong will, but the murder changed all that.

  However, more pressing issues proved uppermost in her mind at the moment, like being locked in this crypt with the rare masculine beauty of the man standing before her. It was perfectly safe to find him attractive, she decided, because nothing could ever come of it. They were too different. He was a creature of the moon. She was of the sun. When one rose, the other set, never to occupy the same time.

  “No. No one I can count as family.” Carmen had tried not to panic when he awoke, but now she tried not to wish for things a maiden had no right to wish for.

  He had aristocratic features, high cheekbones, strong jaw, and straight nose. His only flaw was a purplish bruise along his right jaw line. His tousled long, ebony hair lay soft over his shoulders, but that was the only thing soft about him.

  From beneath her tattered hood, she glanced over his lean, muscular body as he examined the doorframe, having discovered the hinges wouldn’t budge. His dark clothing moved with each tightening of a muscle. When her gaze slid up to his face, she caught his intense stare, examining, searching, for something in her. His eyes were so dark they appeared black in the low torchlight.

  His smile was seductive and somehow knowing, as if reading her thoughts. He leaned back against the door, folding his arms across his chest. The white shirt he wore pulled open, showing his darkly bronzed flesh, hard and smooth. She wanted to touch him, feel the heat of another person, the comfort of a gentle caress, but she could never get that close to him. If he knew what she was capable of, he would turn on her as well. It was safer to hide, even though she was a woman with needs and wants like any other.

  Carmen’s gaze met his. It was a mistake, because his penetrating eyes robbed her of her concentration. She couldn’t breathe. Her body grew heated. Why was he here if not to take her blood or her life? What game did he play? Was he telling the truth about being here as punishment?

  The man exuded danger. She sensed the predator in every smooth move he made, every sharp glance. Nothing escaped his notice, that certainty was more terrifying than the idea that he would kill her. Her secrets must never be revealed.

  In the relaxed stance he presented, he never betrayed the coiled predator ready to strike. But with every breath, she feared he would.

  She kept still, afraid to move. There hung an energy about him that called to her. The last thing she wanted was to draw attention to herself. Her face and form were a curse, and what lay beneath her skin even more so. She must stay concealed or cause herself even more trouble.

  “What is your name?” His deep voice compelled her, pulling answers out when she had no wish to give them.

  “Carmen.”

  Names were personal, a way to grow close to someone. She couldn’t afford closeness. Things happened to everyone she knew. Bad things.

  “Carmen? No surname?”

  “And what is your name, my lord?” She knew it was wrong to ask, but deep down she needed to know. A small connection, if only briefly, grew like a hunger in her heart.

  “McLain Dubrinski.”

  “A good strong name.”

  He gave her an elegant bow. “You are most kind, my lady.”

  A devilish twinkle passed over his dark gaze. “You have examined me from head to toe, might I not see your face so I have an image to go with so lovely a name?”

  Carmen felt heat crawl up her neck to spread across her cheeks. He had felt her appraisal of him. The rogue was used to having his way. No doubt with that charm and handsome face, women lined up to give him everything he desired.

  “‘Tis best I stay where I am. Please be content. I’m not much to look at.”

  “Again you intrigue me. Were you burned, have large scars, or disfigured at birth? From where do you hale?”

  “Please, my lord. I’m not worthy of your notice. My scars must stay hidden, buried beneath this tattered cloak.”

  McLain pushed away from the door, his long strides moving toward her. When he stood close enough to touch her, he stooped down, his forearms resting across his knees, his large hands dangling between his muscled legs. His head tilted slightly as if to see past her hood.

  Carmen pressed back against the wall, able to go no farther. Her breathing quickened and her hold tightened on her cloak, clutching it closed at her throat.

  McLain closed his eyes, leaning toward her and inhaling, pulling her scent deep within his being before his intense gaze burned through the material again. An inner fire brightened the dark orbs of his eyes.

  Her body stirred with its first taste of passion, dark, and hungry, causing her hips to rock slightly, needing comfort.

  “You are a maid, no male scent touches you. You are young, in your early twenties. Though you have not shown me your fear, it is there in the rapid beat of your heart, and the breath that is drawn quickly across your parted lips. Is this fear of me or something else—a budding desire to taste a man’s first kiss, perhaps?”

  Blooming heat filled her cheeks and a shiver of awareness caused her nipples to harden. His words alone could bring a response to her body. What powers did he hold that she moved to his words?

  “Stop. Please look no farther. I would hold my secrets just as you would hold yours. I too could know you if I looked into your thoughts, but I will not pry.”

  “You have the gift, then?” His brow lifted. “I don’t sense the hunger of our people in you, so it must come from another source.”

  Panic slithered along her spine. He was coming to close too the truth. She must escape before it was too late.

  A loud thunk against the door, from the outside, caused both of them to start and glance toward the entrance. McLain instantly grabbed for the knife in his boot, placing himself in front of her.

  Carmen unconsciously reached out, grabbing McLain’s arm. She cried aloud, releasing him instantly as painful dark images crowded her thoughts.

  McLain sucked in a deep breath, his gaze swinging back to hers in surprise. His gaze narrowed, a frown pinched between his brows. His jaw clenched in anger.

  “What the hell?”

  He stumbled back from her just as the door opened and fresh night air spilled into the dank cavity of the tomb. A tall dark form stood in the archway, silhouetted by the moon. A wraith on a devil’s purpose.

  Chapter Two

  The wraith-like form waved them toward freedom. “Carmen, I come to repay my debt. Go quickly while the night is young. The guard has been dealt with.”

  Carmen s
tood, keeping herself concealed. “‘Tis good to hear your voice once again and see that your health is restored.”

  The man stepped into the light and bowed, standing to one side so she might exit. His blonde hair was held back by a queue. Sharp blue eyes sparkled with fire and sat under arched brown brows in a strong square face. “And it is good to see that you are unharmed.”

  When Carmen made to walk out with the stranger, McLain stepped in her way. “Carmen, don’t move.” His command came hard and deadly. His gaze centered menacingly on the man in the opened door. This was too easy and Slain, the vampire hell lord, would never come to a maid’s rescue unless there was something in it for him. McLain wasn’t going to take that chance.

  “She goes with me, Slain. I have given her my protection.”

  The offer of protection slipped from his lips without thought. Why he should care about this unknown, unseen woman confused him. It was unlike him to care about anyone, let alone a human. But the offer was given, and he would stand by his word.

  “My lord...?” she started.

  “No, Carmen. This man is vampire and I feel his hunger. He has not fed this night and you are a sweet treat. That makes him dangerous and I will not leave you unprotected while in this place when he is near.” His voice was harsh because he wanted her to understand the danger she stood in. Vampires attacked quickly and without remorse. She was too trusting with Slain. He also wanted Slain to know he would have to go through him if he wanted Carmen. McLain was almost overwhelmed by his need to protect her.

  “You have not feed either, my lord, yet you have done me no harm.”

  His eyes narrowed, but he never took his gaze from the man in front of him. “We also need to discuss what just happened between us.”

  “McLain.” The visitor interrupted. “I have no quarrel with you. You have three days before the ancient awakens. I leave you to do, as you will. But if you intend harm to this woman, you will find my blade through your black heart.” His gaze fell to Carmen again. “My debt is paid in full, Carmen.”