RemissionChapter Ten
Angelus left the kitchen staff oohing and ahhing over the dead stag, immaculately cleaned and drained of virtually all its fluids, to be cured and cooked. The housekeeper laughingly scolded him that he ought to have saved some blood to make sausages with and that the stag was too big to be eaten all at once. Angelus told her drily that he was certain Ligeia had enough charity cases in Beauchamps village to provide for that the extra food would hardly go to waste. The housekeeper pursed her lips disapprovingly at his casual mention of Ligeia by her Christian name and frostily advised him that a warm bath waited in his room.
Angelus jogged up the stairs, eager to be away from the human interaction of Ligeia’s servants. It disquieted him, their casual acceptance of him when they almost certainly knew he was a vampire, but felt secure enough in their lord’s protection not to fear him. Angelus himself would not have killed them–it would be a breach of protocol when Charles had forbidden it–but it was still odd to be treated without the trace of awe and fear he was accustomed to if people knew what he was. The situation confused him more than offended him, being treated like he was still human, still only a man.
Beauchamps was like a separate world to Angelus. A world where he could be an ordinary person. It was almost worth it not to hunt. Almost.
He tramped through the eastern wing of the house, passed three doors on the left and opened the door to the pleasant suite of rooms he shared with Ramadevi. He’d already begun unbuttoning his frock coat and unfastening the loosely tied cravat at his throat when he stopped short at the pretty tableau that met his gaze. The high-backed copper tub lined with a fresh muslin sheet beckoned invitingly alongside a cheerily crackling fire in the fireplace. A soothing hint of his favorite sandalwood oil clung to the steamy mist permeating the room with its dreamy sedative qualities.
Ramadevi turned away from the washstand beyond the tub and gave him a tentative smiled.
“Angelus.” She was dressed in a very plain gown, light rose in colour with short puffed sleeves and she wore a pale green cambric pinafore trimmed in green ribbons over it. She rounded the tub on quick little feet and rose up on tiptoe to brush her mouth on his. “Welcome home. Did you–enjoy yourself–while you were out?”
The vampire’s hard lips quirked as he mused over Ramadevi’s guileless expression. She’d worn her hair down as he liked it, just the front pulled back from her face and fastened with a green ribbon. Thick shiny ringlets cascaded down her back to her waist and silky little tendrils played about her sweet heart-shaped face. Angelus allowed himself the luxury of gliding his open hand down the length of her hair and she blinked slowly, like a petted kitten.
“I did.” He surprised himself by answering truthfully. He had enjoyed the exhilarating chase and the battle for dominance and survival with the stag he’d brought down. “Don’t.” He stepped back from her abruptly as her hands reached out to him. “I’m filthy.”
The girl froze in place, hands only partially lifted out to him, and her luminous dark eyes clouded a little bit. “I thought–you might want help,” she explained softly. Her pulse sped up and roses bloomed in her sensitive face.
Angelus found himself grinning evilly. “By all means, Egypt–help me.”
Her pretty throat worked, swallowing nervously, and she lowered her eyes at the derision in his tone. A beginning was so fragile, and their long history of cat-and-mouse baiting only made it more so. But she had to be the one to try and end the games, Angelus would be glad to sit back and play forever.
He smirked as she helped him out of his clothes. His cock was rigid in his trousers. Damn it, how did she do this to him? Soft eyes, long soft hair, a few sweet words and he ached to service her! Her own scent–longingly feminine– answered his and blended into the mist from the waiting bath. Her body was so ready, they were so close...
A true predator, Angelus knew how to bide his time. This kill would be sweetest if the meat was not tainted with fear. But, damn it, self-restraint was not his best tested quality!
Naked, he made to step into the tub when Rama gasped, “Stop!” He flashed her an annoyed look of inquiry. “You’ll dirty the water!” she explained.
“Rama, my dear, that’s the whole point.” He felt himself frowning and smiling at the same time. “The dirt is washed off of me into the water.”
To his surprise, the girl shook her head insistently. Taking his hand, she led him past the tub to a waiting chair covered in a flannel sheet and draped with several towels. Angelus’s eyebrows arched curiously but he sat down on the towels as she urged him and watched her dump hot water from the washstand pitcher into its matching porcelain bowl. She soaked a washcloth in the water until it was saturated, then lathered it with soap.
“I’ll wash most of the grime away, and then you can relax in clean water while I wash your hair,” she told him. Bending over, she gently kissed his eyebrow before she began dabbing his face with the warm damp washcloth.
Angelus felt a fine quivering throughout his body and his hand snapped up involuntarily, seizing her delicate wrist.
“What game are you playing, Egypt?” The words pushed forward from his thoughts, harder than he intended and rife with suspicion. Her pretty full mouth drooped disappointedly and his chest began to throb. *No, precious, curl those sweet lips back upwards again, I want to see you smile when you touch me...* “What do you want?” There, his voice was more gentle now.
“I want–” Ramadevi’s voice cracked and she tried again. “I don’t want to be apart from you,” she said softly. “I want you to be pleased with me–I want to do right for both of us.” She paused, looking down and admitted, “I want to make you happy. But I don’t want you to hurt me.” Her last sentence sounded pleading, weaker than she wished.
Angelus drew her hand downward, straightening her arms, and kissed the inside of her elbow, opening his lips to trace the pulse in her tender flesh. She shuddered softly and moaned. He lifted his head and looked back up at her. His dark eyes were blazing in eagerness.
“You’ll be mine,” he stated plainly. “All mine. You give all of yourself to me.” His gaze was blatantly erotic, stripping her naked with only a look and coveting her.
“Yes,” Ramadevi whispered. The vampire smiled, smug grim pleasure, and slowly released her wrist. He was frighteningly handsome, even with dirt smudges and amber sap clinging to his pale torso, and the occasional splotch of deer’s blood. He seemed raw, earthly, and extremely powerful now that she’d essentially handed herself over to him.
*Remis. Remission. Surrender.*
“Help me to wash, Rama.” he said softly.
Angelus closed his eyes and gave himself up to her tender care. He could not recall being treated this way since his mortal boyhood when he’d been ill with fever and his mother had washed his fetid body clean of sweat and the stench of illness. Ramadevi was gentle but thorough, stopping to soak the washcloth in the hot water so that he stayed pleasantly warm as she cleaned his face and neck, his shoulders, his broad chest and firm abdomen, gently dabbing at the faint scratches where he’d been occasionally scraped by twigs or branches in the forest.
He nearly gasped when she gently handled his partially erect cock, gently drawing his foreskin back to carefully clean him, then his full shaft, his pubis, and finally the delicate sac of his scrotum, her fingers combing the thickly curled hair on him before she released him.
Angelus frowned suspiciously. “Have you done this before, Rama?” he asked her.
“Of course I have.” She sounded almost indignant. Clouds of rage darkened within Angelus’s breast. She touched other men, bathed their bodies. “My younger brothers, when they were ill, and my personal eunuch when he died.” *But they don’t compare to you, Angelus. Little boys and a crippled castrated old man. I’ve never seen manhood like yours! I’m not big enough for you! Desire is so perverse, I’m afraid to take you and I can hardly think of it without weeping between my legs, I want you so much.*
The clouds dissipated and Angelus’s tension ebbed as she continued washing his iron-hard muscular thighs and legs, and finally washing the dust and sweat from his feet. He rose without argument when she had finished and climbed into the tub. The water was still wonderfully hot, almost scalding, and Angelus closed his eyes to savour the rare and wonderful experience of being cared for. Ramadevi swept his hair away from his face with one hand as she scooped water in a bowl from the tub to thoroughly saturate him. The hot water fell in sheets over his back and the vampire growled his pleasure.
“Mmmm...Rama,” he declared. “Your people turned a simple bath into luxury.”
Rama felt herself smiling. “It’s an old custom, Angelus, I think Europe lost touch with it after the Byzantine Empire fell.” She soaped his hair and firmly massaged his scalp with her fingertips. Her smile broke into a grin as Angelus groaned deeply, a husky sound of male pleasure. “Is it pleasant?”
“Very. Take off your clothes and come into the tub with me,” he commanded.
She hesitated, then whispered shyly, “All right.”
She stepped away from the tub to disrobe and for a moment Angelus thought to rebuke her. But the moment passed quickly. Let her have her little attacks of modesty, it was sweet in a way and she would outgrow it. He closed his eyes and lay back until he was completely immersed in the water, swirling his head and running his fingers through his hair to work all the soap away. When he rose back up, sputtering out of habit, Ramadevi stood beside the tub, all her hair pinned up on top of her head, beautifully naked
“How did you keep the water so hot?” he asked abruptly, lifting a hand out to help her in as she climbed over the high edge of the tub. He guided her down and she knelt astride his lap. She combed his hair with her fingers, gently working away snarls and sweeping his hair to the sides of his face. It would dry in pretty waves that he would straighten out with pomade later on. “Is it because you’re the *Deva?*” he persisted.
Her eyes flicked to his in surprise.
“Yes,” she answered truthfully. Angelus nodded thoughtfully.
“And there was no other reason?”
“No–only–only that I wanted you to be–comfortable.”
His wet arms curled over her body and drew her down against his torso, shifting and adjusting until he cuddled her against him and she sighed her contentment. They lay together, limbs entwined in the warm slightly soapy sweet-smelling water. Ramadevi closed her eyes and smiled, wishing with all her heart that this one warm peaceful moment would last for ever. Angelus pressed his lips to her temple and sighed his delight in her fragrance, the flow of her pulse under his mouth. In turn she nuzzled his chest and softly circled his nipple with her fingertips until it stiffened and rose to her touch. Angelus clasped her hand in his to stop her and smiled into her startled face.
“Who was your father, Egypt?”
Her surprise magnified. Angelus had never asked her anything about her family before. Even when she was a beginning dancer in his nightclub, before he’d ever began to pursue, he’d never shown a hint of curiosity. She had already admitted to him that Sati, her servant who had traveled with her and pretended to be her mother, had been her servant and not a blood relative. And he had never asked her to elaborate.
But the years she’d spent with her lover–yes, she had to accept that now, he was her lover and she had promised she was all his–had given Ramadevi an insight into the demon’s heart. Just because he hadn’t asked didn’t necessarily mean he did not want to know.
He arched an inpatient brow and she drew in a deep breath.
*”You’ll be mine. All mine. You give all of yourself to me.”*
“My father is dead. His name was Singh and he was a Rajah of the Kashimir region.”
Angelus nodded thoughtfully. He didn’t look awfully surprised. “Who rules his province now?”
“He was murdered and the provinces are now under British *protection.*” Angelus smiled at the venom in his woman’s voice. It wasn’t hard to guess who her suspect was on the list of her father’s assassins. “My half-brother, Vickram, is their puppet ruler and hostage.” She sighed.
“And why hasn’t your brother sought you out?” *Who would let you run free and never come back to get you?*
She chuckled bitterly. “Most likely he hopes the attempts on my life were successful.”
*Vickram...The half-brother...Threw a tiger cub on her when they were children...* Angelus ran a soothing hand over the lower curve of her lush bottom to the smooth skin on the back of her thigh.
He recalled the bizarre dream they had enjoyed together, erotic and strange. He had discovered he had the power to heal her at that time and had bitten the web of clawed scarring on her hip and the back of her thigh, then bitten his lips until he broke the skin and softly kissed and nurtured her flesh until it was smooth and unmarked. She had sighed and cried out as he pinned her down, one hand on her lower back, then had stared silently when he had showed her the results in the mirror. She had clung to him then, a frightened child only half-understanding what they were meant to be to each other.
Angelus hadn’t understood much more than she had. He’d only known she was his and he would not give her up. An animal’s instinct beyond any specific reason or idea. *This is mine. This woman is all mine. For no one else. Ever.*
The woman he claimed as his looked lost and uncertain, though she clung tightly to the comfort Angelus’s arms offered. He lifted her pointed chin with a finger.
“Tell me all of it,” he ordered kindly. “Your mother’s people. The other brother–the one who loved you–” He kissed her when her eyes gleamed with unshed tears. “Tell me who you really are.”
*Remis. Remission. Surrender...*
Angelus wanted to know her. Angelus wanted to know who she was before she was his.
She took a trembling breath and he gently touched a teardrop spilling from her eye, and tasted it.
“My mother was Laisa-Devi,” she began softly. “The Lion Deva. She reigned at Maat-Kheiphiros for less than a decade before my father met her. She was widowed, and had only one son, my brother, Ammon...”
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Hours later, Angelus reclined beside his drowsing ward in the delicious four-poster heaped with featherbeds and eiderdown quilts.
He had never been a thoughtful man, more prone to act with cunning instinct than careful planning. He’d been impulsive even when he was human. But Angelus was near a century old, now, and time had taught prudence to even its most wayward pupil.
He knew he could have had Ramadevi tonight and it had surprised even him that he’d chosen to demur. The desire in his body to be inside her and truly possess her was rampant, a howling, starved animal gnawing at his vitals. But now, thinking in hindsight, he was glad he’d followed his instinct. He wanted her to join with him for passion and pleasure, not this sad child offering herself for comforting arms while he took his pleasure.
*”After my father’s death, Vickram was declared the new Raj, under the protection of an appointed English governor. This governor sent word to Maat-Kheiphiros ordering me to return home immediately, without my personal guards. Naturally, I refused...”*
Angelus wondered at her courage, returning to India with her older brother, Ammon and her Egyptian bodyguards, protectors of the Devi since the days before Egypt existed.
Ramadevi stirred the slightest bit, her head lolling closer to him on the downy pillow. She had fallen asleep holding his hand and her grip had slackened to a loose grasp on Angelus’s middle finger and forefinger. No one had ever clung to the vampire for comfort, to feel safe in sleep.
After she had told him her whole story she’d wept in his arms and he’d bathed her slowly, using his hands comfortingly on her splendid body to help calm her. She hadn’t protested even when he’d washed her most secret places. Angelus had drawn the soapy washcloth in repeated circles over her back and bottom, then poured water over her until she was clean.
It was obvious enough to Angelus that the British governor interpreted a favoured older sister, daughter of the former Raj’s favourite wife and worshiped as a goddess by a small tribe village in Egypt, as a threat to Vickram’s political stability. But a second murder, after the Raj Singh’s assassination, would have been too risky and suspicious. More likely, Angelus thought, the governor planned a political marriage for Ramadevi–the new Raj’s esteemed and respected elder sister wed to an extremely esteemed and respected English diplomat–would have been a sensible solution, particularly if the esteemed diplomat was reassigned away from India and left, very properly taking his wife with him. England did not make war on women.
Angelus sneered at Ramadevi’s innocence. The party of raiders sent to attack her on the Egyptian coast were more than likely the jealous Raj’s attempt to rid himself of a hated rival than a corrupt English government seeking to stamp out a potential usurper when they knew perfectly well a female couldn’t rule. How his woman could believe Vickram guiltless, the puppet of a deceitful regent or viceroy, when he’d throw a wild animal on her as a child...Angelus did not try to reason with her or change her opinion. Some things were too terrible to be believed and it made little difference now who had ordered the attack anyway.
*”My guards fended them away. They fought fiercely, but my men were loyal and brave, dedicated to my family for generations, many of them distant or not too distant kinsman. Ammon was a superior fighter. He was not gifted with his rank because he was my brother, he had had to train and fight to win the right to lead my guards as if he were any common man. He’d earned his place. I watched him wrest a saber from one of the brigands and he sliced his body in half diagonally with it. The blade went into his shoulder and exited at the opposite hip.” Ramadevi shuddered as she recalled it. “The carnage stank like a butcher’s shop, and the body fell apart in two pieces on the ground. Then another man stepped right in front of Ammon and I saw him point a pistol under Ammon’s chin...”*
Her sobs were painful to watch, her body wracked and shook as she recalled how Ammon died in an instant and there was no life left in him for her to try and save. Clumps of his brain matter flew through his shattered skull onto the sand. She would never understand it, the ungodly English trying to kill her when she could never be a political rival to Vickram, she was a female and not permitted to rule.
*”I could not return home again. If I returned to Maat-Kheiphiros, more attacks would surely have followed and I would have placed my capitol in danger. The answer was to flee–go somewhere I would never be expected to go. I had to disappear to survive...”*
Angelus had squeezed her close against his hard-muscled body and rocked her for a long time. “‘Aroon, aroon,” he whispered softly in Gaelic. *Darling, darling.*
Unreasonable rage burned inside him for the thugs who had caused her such terrible pain. He thought perversely he should be grateful to them, for were their actions not what ultimately led Ramadevi into his care? Still, they’d frightened her and hurt her abominably, and for that he wanted to break their limbs, crumble their bones to powder, gut them and leave them for dead in some wilderness where scavengers could find them and peck at them before they finally died.
Angelus had held her until her sobs quieted and her hot tears grew less frequent, gently cleaning her reddened puffy face, kissing her softly and whispering until she gave a tired little sigh and was quiet for a long time.
*”Little Goddess, Beautiful One, My Mother Who Gives...”*
The last part of the mystery was explained and Angelus was satisfied. There would be no rescue party seeking her out one day, giving him grief and forcing him to flee with her. He gazed down upon her lovely nudity and noticed her hardened nipples and gooseflesh on her smooth skin. Reluctantly he drew the warm comforter over her and covered her beauty. Her dark eyes, fluttering open for a moment, met his and she moved faintly, thigh muscles rippling and relaxing to offer him access to her soft core. She was finished, purged of her past, ready to belong to him.
Angelus claimed her with soft kisses, soothing hands on her face as he loosened the hairfork binding her hair and let the lush curls fall free, raven-black on the immaculate white linens. He held her and watched her body turn towards him, curling trustfully before she drifted back to sleep.Goddess. Princess. A King’s favourite child. A common actress, an entertainer in a nightclub. Angelus could only marvel at the tricks of fate.
And the Red Gold...Angelus’s mouth watered as he thought about her taste, her sweetness and strength. He need not have any guilt in claiming her. She was truly free to belong to him. More important and by far more precious to her vampire Lord, *she wanted to belong to him.*
Angelus lay near his woman, quietly patient and watchful for any tremor in her face, the slightest hint of a whimper. He would not allow her to suffer, not even in her dreams. Tomorrow he would tell Charles and Ligeia he wanted to continued homeward.
He would worship his little goddess in their own bed.
To Be Continued....