With a promise to himself to check on Valmont in a little while, Serge closed the door gently behind him and went down the hallway to his own room. He braced himself before entering, knowing the room would reek of vampire hunter, as had Valmont’s. But there had been no time to do his own room today. Tomorrow.

He stepped through the doorway and froze.

Gone was the odor of the Soldiers, replaced with the spicy smoke of some exotic incense. The old bed linens, too, had been stripped and the giant four-poster bed covered with an array of pillows and covers in brilliant shades of reds, purples and golds in shiny satins and brocades. Not quite what he would have chosen for himself, but definitely flamboyant and sinfully luxurious. The mere thought brought an image of him and Valmont, their naked bodies entwined amidst all that bedding, the silk cooling and sliding against their writhing…

Serge pushed that thought away with the question of who could have done this for him, especially in such short a time.

The sound of running water drifted to his ears. He jerked his gaze toward the back of the bedroom where the doorway to the bath chamber was. The water tumbled and roared, the way it did when one was filling a bathtub.

Hmm, it seemed that someone was waiting on him…as if he were…special.

His curiosity won out, as did the invitation of a hot bath, something he’d always loved, and he made his way to the bath chamber.

Pushing open the door, billows of steam filled the marbled room. Disgusting that the Soldiers had been so free with Valmont’s money – well, the money they could find. Serge stopped and stared.

Philippe turned, his blue-green eyes went wide and he stood up, seeming to forget that he was completely naked.

Serge stared at Philippe. He couldn’t help it. Philippe wasn’t wearing a stitch of clothing and the steam from the hot water had made a delicate sheen of moisture on his sloping tanned muscles. Not to mention on his hard cock also.

Once again, the wild urge to sink his incisors into Philippe’s smooth neck assaulted Serge, followed by the desire to run his tongue over those muscles, gathering the salty moisture that beaded on them. To feel the plump head of Philippe’s cock — full and hard at attention, jutting from a thatch of dark blond springy hair – touch the back of his throat, the smooth shaft sliding against the flat of his tongue…

He scowled at the beautiful young man. “What the hell are you doing?” Immediately he hated himself for sounding so hard, but if he didn’t steel himself, he’d attack Philippe in a passion of hunger. Unless Philippe said the words that invited him, he wouldn’t go. One thing he’d always refused to do was to force himself on anyone.

Philippe’s large blue-green eyes looked pained, yet he did nothing to cover his nakedness. The candlelight in the bath chamber glowed on the marbled walls and off Philippe’s golden skin. Serge’s gaze trailed down Philippe’s rounded hard chest, over each perfectly shaped, tawny-colored nipple, down the center furrow of Philippe’s abdominal muscles, back to that inviting thatch of dark gold hair and the hard cock springing from it.

“I…I’m sorry. I thought you’d want a bath.” Philippe indicated the huge Roman tub full of steamy water. Something spicy and exotic in the way of scent tinged the water, diffused into the room by the steam.

Serge stared at him, a sudden suspicion tamping down his physical hunger for this beautiful man. Well, mostly tamping it down. He narrowed his eyes even as his fangs itched and burned to sink into the soft flesh of Philippe’s neck. Serge hung back in the doorway, the muscles of his own body tensing, ready to kill at the slightest hint of a threat to Valmont. “Who are you? You’re not a C-E. What do you want with me and Valmont?”

Philippe sighed. He turned and closed off the faucets, filling the room with sudden silence, except for the dripping water. He grabbed a towel from a nearby towel bar and wrapped it around his hips. His slim, tapered, lickable hips. He lifted his gaze to Serge’s. “Darelle sent me to help you and Valmont with the repairs.”

Serge leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms. “I understand that much. And your people have been most helpful with the chateau.”

“Not just the repairs to the chateau,” Philippe said softly.

A strange shiver passed down Serge’s arms. “What do you mean?”

Philippe cleared his throat, bringing Serge’s attention to Philippe’s Adam’s apple as it slid up and down. “The repairs to your relationship.” He bowed his head, causing the candlelight to glint off the gold threads of his tumbling hair. When he looked up again, his eyes shone with a strange blend of sympathy and hunger. “She told me about what happened between you and Valmont. She…knows how much you love each other and thought that I could…bring you back together.”

Serge lifted away from the doorframe, the tension increasing in his limbs. His initial response was humiliation. What business of it was Darelle’s? He bit back the question, not wanting to show Philippe his mortification. “And how could you possibly do that?” He felt the wave of resentment boiling in him for over six hundred years, ready to give way. The roiling emotions lit the blood lust in his eyes. He felt the burning heat in his pupils.

Philippe stood fast. “I’m not certain, but I’m here for you both.”

Something in Philippe’s tone stemmed Serge’s tide of anger. Now, Serge only felt weary. Sad. He loved Valmont and would continue to love him even if his passion was unrequited. How he was able to withstand such heartache, he didn’t begin to know. He just did.

Heaving a deep sigh, he continued to look at Philippe, registering the emotions flitting through those aqua eyes. Philippe obviously believed that Darelle’s stupid notion was possible, yet to Serge, the proposal seemed ludicrous. Valmont was in love with Darelle. He was obviously grieving her and Serge wasn’t about to insult his former lover by asking Valmont for his heart back. “You still haven’t told me what you are,” Serge muttered.

Philippe cleared his throat. “I’m a C-E.” A twinkle came suddenly into Philippe’s eyes. “Well, half C-E. Half immortal. As I told Valmont earlier, that is a delicious advantage to all involved.”

Serge stared at Philippe his suspicion returning. “How can you be half-vampire, half immortal?”

Philippe shrugged, his sensuous lips curved in a sideways grin. “There are more things on heaven and earth than are dreamed of in your philosophy, Horatio.”

Serge recognized the quote. Shakespeare’s Hamlet. He’d seen the play centuries ago, as his necessary treks away from the chateau walls to feed took him to all sorts of places, theaters included. He nodded.

Philippe took a step toward him, bringing with him his distinct, luscious scent, a blend of honey, male musk and the scented oils wafting through the air. “You and Valmont both need to feed on someone and I need to be fed upon. We at least know that much. I will stay here with you and provide that for you.”

Philippe stepped even closer, setting off Serge’s wild hunger again.

Serge’s need burned. He felt as if he’d slip beyond control any second, especially as Philippe drew closer, his blue-green eyes simmering with promise, pleading.

Philippe came to a stand still a mere few inches away, so close that Serge could see the tawny hue of Philippe’s nipples topping his gleaming, now panting chest. “Serge, please, take from me what you need.”

Serge sucked in a breath, every nerve ending in his entire body simmering. His gaze transfixed itself on Philippe’s throat, on the tiny pulse beating under the golden, dewy skin. So smooth, so perfect.

Philippe’s eyelids fluttered closed. His voluptuous lips remained parted. Mist gleamed on his sculpted cheeks, clean shaven and smooth, whiskers just darkening his skin the tiniest bit…

Serge broke. He reached for Philippe, hands closing on the sleekly rounded muscles of Philippe’s arms. Firmly but gently he drew Philippe closer, noticing that the towel around the vampire’s slim hips came loose and fell to the marble floor, revealing his jutting erection.

One hand went from Philippe’s shoulder, up the back of his neck, his fingers entwining in those silky golden curls.

A murmured sigh escaped Philippe. His long golden eyelashes shuttered and he tilted his head back, giving Serge complete access to his smooth tanned throat. His towel now gone, Philippe pressed the front of his body to Serge’s, his erection pushing against Serge’s right through Serge’s trousers.

That was it. Serge lowered his lips to Philippe’s neck and swiped his tongue across Philippe’s taut throat. Dieu, that skin was luscious, creamy and salty all at once. Serge closed his lips over the supple spot right alongside Philippe’s jugular, curled his lips back and pushed his incisors into the delicious flesh.

“Yessss…ohhh,” Philippe sighed as Serge’s fangs sank smoothly in. His body sagged against Serge, his hands lightly gripping Serge’s arms.

Serge pulled his incisors out and closed his lips over the punctures. Philippe’s honeyed blood slipped through the tiny openings, pooling on Serge’s tongue before slipping down his throat. Never before had anyone’s life essence tasted like such godly nectar.

Serge’s eyes fluttered closed and he surrendered completely to his feeding. Philippe’s arm muscles twitched against his fingertips and his chest heaved, warm and alive. One hand slipped off Serge’s arm and worked open the buttons of Serge’s shirt, hand sliding eagerly over his chest muscles and rubbing his hardening nipples.

Serge groaned even as he sipped Philippe’s blood. Philippe was obviously skilled at pleasure, knowing just how to touch him to maximize the ecstasy of feeding. Philippe’s hand glided down Serge’s stomach and stole to the buckle of his belt, his fingers deftly working it open.

Philippe fumbled with the button and zipper. Serge wanted to help him but was so absorbed in feeding, he could do nothing else but sip Philippe’s blood. When Philippe had gotten Serge’s trousers open, he slid them down so past Serge’s hips where they fell to his ankles.

Anchoring himself again with his hands on Serge’s arms, he pushed his bare cock against Serge’s, hips undulating so that their hard shafts rubbed together.

Serge drank every sweet drop of Philippe’s blood, realizing that as he licked the punctures to seal them, he felt renewed, stronger…and loving the feel of his cock gliding in hard quick strokes against Philippe’s. His arms slid onto Philippe’s smooth back, squeezing the lithe muscles that bunched and stretched as Philippe ground against him.

Serge sagged back against the wall, letting his touch sliding down to Philippe’s ass. Mmm, it was hard, round…that ass was made to be fucked, those perfect globes of muscle concealing what had to be a deliciously tight hole between them. However, Serge was too enthralled by the slide of Philippe’s smooth, thick cock against his. Such a slut this vampire-immortal was. So perfect.

Serge found himself grinning, his lips suddenly covered by Philippe’s. Philippe’s tongue stole between Serge’s lips, lapping against his, greedily swirling into every corner as if to taste the lingering drops of his own blood.

Philippe groaned, his body tightening. He came then, hot cum gushing onto Serge’s belly and pubic hair, dripping into his belly button. The sight only heightened Serge’s own pleasure. Philippe didn’t stop rubbing against him, his cock still hard and slick with cum, sliding easily in heated strokes against Serge’s.

Serge’s fingers tightened on Philippe’s ass, pulling him tight against him. Serge moaned into Philippe’s mouth just as his own climax erupted, spraying all the way up to Philippe’s chest. The milky white caught in Philippe’s golden chest hairs and dripped down the center of his tight stomach.

The sight was glorious. And one he’d needed for so long.

Serge held onto Philippe’s ass until the very last spasm had wrung him out. He sagged against the wall, breathing heavily, not letting go of Philippe who now lay against him, making their bodies stick together.

Serge resisted the impulse to wind his fingers into Philippe’s hair, a tender gesture he’d often done with Valmont. He stiffened. No. He wouldn’t allow tenderness. Philippe had offered him his blood and his body as a service. He also offered the possibility, however remote, of a deeper reconciliation with Valmont, the only being Serge had ever loved more than life itself. That’s what Philippe was here for. Philippe had said so himself.

Philippe raised his face from Serge’s chest, the look in his eyes showing he’d registered Serge’s tension. Philippe visibly gathered himself and gently lifted away from Serge, picking up his hand. “Come,” he said, his gentle voice silky, seeming to promise more pleasure. “The bath is still hot and you have more relaxing to do.”