For years, Raymond du Sable has chased rumors of a woman shrouded in legend, a woman of almost unearthly beauty. Finally, on Crusade, he finds her. She is Cytharea, daughter of Aphrodite, irresistible to mortal man -- and Raymond's key to grasping the throne of France.
To transport her there safely, Raymond hires a Templar Knight, Gerard d'Amiers. Sworn to chastity, Gerard has a deep mistrust of women, born of the infidelity of his boyhood love. Yet Cytharea stirs him in a way no woman ever has. And Cytharea herself is battling a deadly imperative -- she must feed from the sexual energy of a man soon, or die.
Together Gerard and Cytharea discover a passion so overpowering it shakes the very foundations of Gerard's faith. Upon reaching France, he must either abandon every vow he's ever made -- or lose Cytharea to the abusive ambitions of a madman.
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Reviews
LRC 2008 Awards -- Best Vampire book: Honorable Mention!
NOR Fall 2008 Awards -- Best Historical: 3rd place!
PNR Reviewer Top Pick! "Gods, Legends and Passion! If you enjoy hot sex coupled with an intriguing paranormal story, this is a must-read for you." -- ParaNormal Romance
NOR Reviewer Top Pick! "Strong characterizations coupled with vivid scene imagery combine to make this story one that will stay with the reader a long time. Included in that imagery are some of the most intense sensual/sexual love scenes that you could hope to read." -- Night Owl Romance
5 Blue Ribbons! "Under the skillful direction of this amazingly talented author, IMMORTAL LUST happens to be one of the most poignant and tender love stories I've read this year. Sierra Dafoe has penned yet another 5 Blue Ribbon story...and proven once again why readers cannot get enough of her wonderful stories." -- Romance Junkies
Twenty minutes later, the hare he'd trapped earlier that day was spitted and sizzling nicely over the flames when Gerard heard a cry from the pool. It was so feeble he almost didn't catch it above the crackle and hiss of his small fire.
"Gerard...! Gerard, help me..."
Standing quickly, Gerard saw Cytharea draped over the stone, half in and half out of the shallow water. Bounding down over the tumbled rocks to the pool, he stooped and gathered her up. She weighed no more in his arms than a child, and her face was so gaunt that as her head lolled back the moonlight cast deep shadows under her cheekbones. Her eyes glittered from within sunken pools of darkness and Gerard cursed himself silently--how could he have refused to let himself see? He had been so angry at her for the desire she'd stirred in him that he'd barely been willing to look at her. Even though, he realized, that maddening arousal had been slowly diminishing, fading from a constant, searing torment to no more than a low, steady ache.
Then you will slay me too.
There was something here, he admitted at last, beyond his understanding.
Wrapping her in the surcoat he'd given her, he bore her to the fire, where she sat huddled close over the flames despite the warmth of the night. He offered her a haunch of the rabbit and she shook her head weakly.
"Cytharea, you must eat."
"No." She stared at him, and he noted again how sunken her eyes were. Her cheeks were hollowed by the moonlight and her collarbones protruded above his cast-off surcoat like twigs. "I... It is not food I need." A tear slid down her cheek, gleaming orange from the fire.
Gerard swallowed and looked away. "My lady, I am sorry. I do not know what to do for you."
"Yes, you do." She wiped the tear away absently, not looking at him. "You do, but you won't. You will let me die instead."
Part of him wanted to pretend he didn't understand her--but it was just the two of them, here in the middle of nowhere, hundreds of miles yet from their goal.
And Cytharea was dying. He believed that now. Gerard cleared his throat. "What you ask is a sin, Cytharea. You ask me to put my immortal soul at hazard. The pleasures of the flesh--"
"Pleasures?" She laughed bitterly. "What pleasure? Do you think I enjoy it?"
He glanced at her, startled. "But... You..."
"I do what I must to survive, that is all. I have never enjoyed it. Never." Her gaze met his, clear and direct. In those deep ocean depths, he saw no trace of a lie.
"We'll ride faster then," he muttered. "We'll get you to France, back to your husband..."
"He is not my husband. He stole me from Saladin, just as Saladin stole me from another."
"Raymond? The cousin of the king?" Gerard shook his head sharply, trying to clear it--the shocks were coming too quickly tonight, too fast for him to handle. Why would Raymond have lied to him about such a thing? "Why would he steal you?"
She shrugged listlessly. "For the same reason all men do, I suppose. To possess me. To have the use of my body."
The bitterness in her voice was unmistakable but Gerard ignored it for the moment, caught up with the question her words had raised in his mind. Why, if Raymond desired her, would he have sent her back to France with Gerard? It made no sense...not unless he'd foreseen the same difficulties in having Cytharea aboard a ship full of sailors that Gerard himself had.
Yes. That must have been it. Raymond had determined to send her by land, while he could leave later by water and still arrive back in France before them.
Then he thought again of her bitterness. I have never enjoyed it. Never. But then why...? He hardly knew how to frame the question in his own mind.
Luckily, Cytharea answered it without his asking. Staring into the flames, she spoke, her voice a low, mournful murmur in the vastness of the night. "I am not what you think me, Gerard. I am not human." At his sudden start, her lips twitched in an unhappy smile. "Will you slay me now? Spit me upon your sword or cast me into fire?" Her eyes met his, dark and haunted. "I know a little of your religion, you see."
Then her gaze dropped to his hand--which, he realized, had closed about his sword hilt at her words. Flushing, Gerard dropped his hand. A spasm of pain crossed Cytharea's features, almost as if she'd hoped he would draw it. Returning her attention to the fire, she continued, "I was born of Aphrodite, the goddess of Love, and a mortal man."
He stared at her, appalled. What she spoke was sheerest heresy. Sternly, he replied, "There is only one God, Cytharea."
She laughed. "Tell that to my brothers."
"Your brothers?"
Her bony shoulders moved in a shrug. "They're not truly my brothers. They're the children of the other gods. Ares. Apollo. Hephaestus... But we are all godkin. All cursed to be neither mortal nor divine. For centuries I have been kept, by one man or the next, a prisoner to his lusts and appetites. But the essence of their bodies keeps me alive. I must have it, or die."
The images her words wove made his heart clench in pity. He believed her. God help him, but he believed her. Driven by her very nature to couple over and over with men who cared nothing for her, not even enough to give her pleasure in return.
Even Brigette had at least given him that much. Given it and demanded it as well...
"I cannot," he said softly, truly regretting his decision. But his vows allowed for no other answer. "I cannot give you what you need, Cytharea. My God forbids it."
"Then your god has no mercy." She glanced at him again, her eyes hard and yet sorrowful. "It would be kinder to take up your sword and strike me down where I sit. Because you will kill me just as surely, either way. What does your god say of murder, Gerard d'Amiers?"
He flinched, recoiling in horror from her hard gaze. Immediately it softened, and she shook her head. "Forgive me. That was unfair. It is not your fault, any more than a man who sees his brother wounded in battle and has not the skill to save him." She reached out and touched his cheek lightly, as if trying to smooth away the horror she saw in his face. "Truly, Gerard, it will not be murder."
"Will not". Not "would not". Abruptly, he pushed to his feet and strode away from the fire. Once past its light he stopped, staring out at the plain. Behind him, the moon had risen higher, coating the world in a thin sheet of silver.
She had told him nothing but the absolute truth. She would die if he did not bed her.
It is not your fault--wasn't it, though? Wasn't it? When he had not only the means to save her, but the skill as well? Fornication was a sin-ibut to let her die when he could save her? How would Heaven judge that act?
Then your god has no mercy. Her words rang harsh in his mind. And they were false, patently so. He knew what Jacques Moires, his marshal, would have said. Jacques would have said her death was the will of the Lord; that if He wished her saved, He would save her.
But had not the Lord placed him here at this moment? He was a God of mercy, whatever Cytharea thought. Would He condemn Gerard to damnation for taking pity on her?
Gerard could not believe it. And even if so, was it a greater sin than coupling with Brigette had been? He turned, looking back at the small, wan figure huddled by the fire, his cast-off surcoat clutched around her shoulders like a robe.
No. Even if it damned his immortal soul, he would not let her die.
