by Nikki Sex
“Yes.”
Minutes pass without another word.
The absence of sound grates on Millicent’s nerves like a high-pitched scream. She envisions herself going in there and shaking some sense into them. After many erroneous starts, and long, painful silences, Hope finally gets to the point.
“John, do you like me?”
“You know I do.”
“Do you want to kiss me?”
“Hope!” he protests.
“No, I want to know. Do you want to kiss me?”
“Yes,” he replies, shifting restlessly he adds, “but I won’t.”
“Why not?”
Millicent hears him step away, then stop, spin around. “Hope, have you ever had a boyfriend?”
“No.”
“Have you ever kissed anyone?”
“I’ve kissed my brother.”
He lets out a frustrated sigh. “You know what I mean.”
“Then, no. But I really want to kiss you.”
“My God, a virgin,” John mutters under his breath. “Hope, we can’t. I’m sorry.”
Millicent feels strong sexual tension radiating from both. She imagines the smitten lovebirds staring into each other’s eyes. Neither of them move or make a sound.
This time, the long, nerve-wracking silence is excruciating.
“I’m fifteen years older than you,” John points out. “You’re innocent; I’m a grown man. You’re a werewolf; I’m blood-bonded to a vampire.”
Ah. I was wrong. Not two humans, after all. One is a shifter.
“Those things don’t matter,” Hope replies. “I’m not a child, I’m twenty-two. Heaps of women are married at my age.”
“Hope, nothing about “us” is normal or right.”
Influenced by her inner wolf, Hope stalks toward him. A paranormal predator, her beast is very near the surface, Hope now clearly smells like the werewolf she is. Millicent envisions the couple inches apart, probably face to face. She scents their increasing passion, the rush of blood through their veins.
The primal energy humming between them excites her.
“Then why does being with you feel so right?” Hope asks.
John doesn’t reply.
John’s violent desire strikes with such force, it feels like a heavy punch to Millicent’s chest. The hair on her arms and neck stands on end. With a gasp of shock, caught off guard, she doubles over, astonished, aroused, and alarmed by John’s feelings and the strength of her psychic connection to him.
Magic! Someone is conjuring!
After living around sorcerers all her life, Millicent is hyper-aware of enchantment. The spell she senses has cast its net over Hope and John. Who would do such a thing? And why?
“My wolf smells your desire,” Hope says in a low, surprisingly animal growl. “You want me, like I want you.”
The detective shifts his feet, gives no other response, but he’s profoundly affected. His savage hunger makes Millicent’s gut twist like a stomach full of angry snakes. From within her cabin, she closes her eyes, overwhelmed by the sheer strength of John’s lust.
Why do I feel his desire so completely? Maybe because he’s Leonidas’s blood-bonded?
The young vampire hears their hearts beat even faster, harder, pounding away—speeding with health, vigor, and anticipation. If this keeps up, Hope will lose her virginity right there—probably on the kitchen table.
Would that be such a bad thing?
Upbringing shapes everyone. Many cultures decree a woman’s value is in the untouched treasure between her legs. What’s so damn special about a fucking hymen? (Or so special about fucking a hymen?)
When Millicent lost her virginity, it had been unpleasant.
A nightmare, in fact.
The “first time” is supposed to be important for a woman. But why? Shouldn’t the “first time” also be a thing for men? Apparently not. Is this due to the notion of the holy hymen? Either way, busting one’s vaunted cherry is supposed to be precious and life-changing.
What a crock of shit.
Even in ideal circumstances, true love, marriage, and so on—the most a virgin gets initially is pleasure from her lover’s satisfaction. Millicent figures closeness, connection and cuddles would be nice, but the act itself would still be a let down.
No one becomes comfortable or proficient without practice. A virgin’s “first time” expectation should be, “No big deal, sex will get better.” Why isn’t their thirtieth time the one to celebrate? The big milestone to look forward to?
Millicent imagines it now: “Hey, I’ve made love thirty times! I’ve gotten over hang-ups, nervousness, and embarrassment. I’ve started to let go and enjoy myself. This whole sex thing isn’t so hard after all. Not now I’ve hit the big thirty!
Or listening to a sympathetic girlfriend, "Still having trouble figuring out sex? Don't worry, feeling awkward and stupid is normal! You've only had sex ten times. Another twenty and you’ll be set."
Switching the focus from “first” to “thirtieth” would prevent a hell of a lot of disappointment, self-blame, and shame.
Millicent swears—viciously, violently as desire explodes, creating a firestorm of overpowering bloodlust. Magic sings in the air around her. The spell being cast is super-powerful because it’s fueled by reality.
John, a man of honor and few syllables, is paired with Hope, the shy and innocent. Their connection and affection is palpable. A magical force has taken control, allowing them both to achieve their heart’s desire.
Millicent’s mouth waters. The sound of blood rushing through their bodies draws her interest like a siren’s call—hot, captivating, delicious. Her fangs lengthen as she imagines drinking the rich magic and life essence that hums through their veins.
Dammit, I’m being drawn in as completely as they are.
Toby makes a guttural sound, surges to his feet, his hackles rising. His unusual behavior briefly catches her attention.
Why is he growling? So out of character for this affectionate dog.
Magic and need are a background buzz, making Millicent’s head spin. She recognizes something then, something that takes her completely by surprise.
I’m starving! God, I’m so hungry.
It makes no sense, as she fed from Leonidas less than eight hours ago. She’s never been so ravenous this soon after a feeding. Her need is intense—way more than mere hunger.
The human and shifter are near, but she doesn’t want to drink from them. Luckily, thanks to her ankle chain, it’s not an option. Leonidas only removes her silver restraint when he’s there to supervise. That way, he can protect her from uncontrollable bloodlust—a condition she’s never experienced.
Until now.
“I don’t know why you fight it,” Hope whispers. “Please, John,” she begs. “My beast wants you, and I need you. It’s natural—it’s instinct.” The rustling sound of Hope’s hands pulling John’s shirt out of his jeans seems loud to her ears. “Don’t you want to give in?”
“Hope, stop,” John says desperately, somewhat panicked.
“No! I’ve seen us in a vision together. We’re meant to be mates.”
“Christ, you smell good.” John’s breathing comes faster, his voice husky with arousal.
Focused on the couple inside, when Toby begins barking—a loud, urgent sound—Millicent ignores him. He nips her leg, more than once, but she hardly feels it. Determined to get her attention, the dog jumps up on her, over and over. When that doesn’t work, Toby begins a ringing howl.
Power and magic relentlessly build. Lust swirls thickly around them. Millicent’s body vibrates in an urgent hum. Toby’s efforts register as less than a mosquito to her ears.
Detective John Joseph usually has a calm, unflappable persona, but he’s certainly worked up now. Millicent hears the instant John’s firm male flesh meets Hope’s feminine softness. Their mouths meet, their heartbeats accelerate. They kiss, touch, stroke, gasp with pleasure.
Melding together, Jo
hn groans. “Christ, you taste good, too.” His voice is guttural.
“Mmm,” Hope purrs. “So taste me. Bite me. I want to bite you!”
Hope falls to the floor, pulling John on top of her. The sound of clothes ripping comes next, then more kissing. Joyous now, exuberant, uninhibited, and relieved by newfound freedom, they hold nothing back.
Millicent squeezes her eyes shut, her mind flashing back to her first orgasm. That was when she first drank blood from him, the cold-hearted vampire who controls her life.
“So beautiful.” John murmurs, awed. “So kind, so sweet.”
Making small, needy noises deep in her throat, Hope jumps from timid uncertainty to strongminded foreplay. Tongues lick soft skin, teeth bite, mouths suck. They’re lost in the moment, in each other.
Without magic, this “couple” would have taken years to “couple.” Now all doubts and inhibitions are gone. Devouring each other, the noises they make are enough to cause even a bloodless vampire to blush.
Out of control—the dominoes of events fall, one by one, faster and faster. Urgent desire rapidly culminates in mating madness. John gives a grunt; Hope screams.
Her heart pounding, Millicent closes her eyes at the very moment of delicious consummation. Hope and John rut wildly, passionately—as fierce and desperate as moonstuck wolves.
They’re so sensual, so sexual, so tempting!
The newly turned vampire lets out a groan of pleasure. If only she could drink from them—take her fill. Satisfy this terrible need!
Magic shivers across her skin, contributing to her nearly suffocating need. Bloodlust has her by the throat. Nearly choking on power, it’s hard to breathe past the thudding pulse in her neck.
Shit! Fuck! Damn it to hell! This hunger is way too much!
The spell affects her as much as them. Like a freeway pile up, Millicent feels herself caught in a whirlwind, a crescendo of action and insanity. Frenzied with need, she’s barely conscious of time and place.
God, I have to feed. I must! Right now!
Then everything happens at once.
Forgetting about her chain, Millicent takes off in a headlong run out of the cabin. Blurringly fast, with inhuman strength and speed, she causes the silver restraint to rip from her ankle like paper.
The front door to Leonidas’s fortress is locked. Kicking it in, she rushes inside. Sprinting down the hall, she flies into the kitchen. Within seconds she reaches her goal.
Fresh, living blood! Yes!
Viewing Hope and John—the naked, undulating, targets of her desire—she leaps upon the love-making couple with predatory delight.
I need, need, need to feed!
So, Millicent does.
Chapter 46.
While finding Taboo is our key priority, Stafford, Leonidas, and I ingeniously decide to use her disappearance as an opportunity to build inter-species relations. No time like the present to work toward unifying the werewolves and the vamps. Besides, Paradox needs to know I’m not only connected to the Jugulo, I’m also mated to the Beast Lord.
My bond with Leonidas isn’t really a blood-bond. We have a different connection involving my demon and a collar—but Paradox can never know about that.
As it’s early February, the sun will set at 5:34 PM. To accommodate the vampires, we meet at 5:45, where his blood-bond was last seen. That’s why we gather outside in the freezing cold, within a multi-story carpark.
Paradox brought a few articles of Taboo’s recently worn clothing, so the tracking wolf can memorize her scent. During the Vampire King’s appointment at MacLeod, we’d agreed on who would join our quest. Paradox planned to bring a Master vampire he trusts, a red-haired Viking type named Chaos.
The word “chaos” means complete disorder and confusion.
Wonderful. What can possibly go wrong?
I marvel at his choice. I guess “Utter Failure” must’ve been otherwise engaged? Did he leave “Frustration,” “Defeat,” and “Fiasco” at home?
Apparently, Chaos has been Paradox’s loyal friend for centuries. The big Viking wears a huge glamoured sword down his back, ready to draw. A tall Master vampire, he has a long aesthetic face, with a mouth as thin as a stiletto. He’s also a sorcerer who’s familiar with the Vancouver Vortex. Like all ancient vampires, he’s strikingly attractive.
Powerful paranormals don’t share information without a reason. I suspect Paradox dropped the sorcerer tidbit as a warning so we wouldn’t screw with him.
Our group consists of Leonidas and myself, Paradox and Chaos, and lastly, Stafford and Owen—one of our best trackers. Prepared for anything, we all carry a variety of weapons.
Three vampires, three wolves, including little ‘ol me (and my demon, of course.) I’ve explained as much as possible to my inner pal. I can’t always tell how much he understands, though.
Pink-cheeked with embarrassment, Owen dutifully sniffs Taboo’s sheer, white satin nightgown and matching thong. On the level above us, someone guns an engine. The place has the aroma of popcorn, exhaust fumes, and people, but other than a kid on a skateboard half a building away, no one is nearby.
Paradox’s dark eyebrows lift, he eyes the Jugulo skeptically. “You’re telling me your blood-bonded is mate to the Beast Lord?”
Leonidas, dressed in a dark, tailored suit with a warm woolen coat, gives him his best blank face. “Yes, Sire.”
Astonished, confused, and disbelieving, he looks from Leonidas, to Stafford, to me, and back again. “How is this possible?”
The Beast Lord, my hot-headed hottie, is a stark contrast to Leonidas’s dark, aloof, good looks. Stafford’s scuffed boots, leather jacket, and down-home plaid shirt make him more approachable-hot, to my mind.
Back woodsman ruggedly handsome, verses sophisticated elegance. They’re both masculine, but day and light in many ways. What the Beast Lord and the Jugulo have in common is a dark undercurrent of danger and menace.
When it comes to my safety, Stafford is super sensitive to potential risk. Currently, his “Jan is under threat-o-meter” is well into the red zone. Bossy, possessive, and protective, he chests up to Paradox.
Baring his teeth, Stafford snarls, sounding more wolf than human. “Jan is my Alpha mate—she belongs to me.”
“Forgive my misunderstanding,” Paradox sniffs, “I believed her to be blood-bonded to Leonidas.”
Stafford growls. “The demon assassin has been named friend of the Spukani pack. Jan and I have both chosen to share our blood with the Jugulo.”
This confession shocks Paradox into temporary silence. Interspecies blood donation simply isn’t done. If a vampire feeds on a werewolf’s blood, they drink to kill.
“Er…excuse me.” Raising my hand in the air, I interrupt. “Not to put too fine a point on it, but the Beast Lord is mine.” I shoot Stafford a broad grin. “We are bonded, our beasts are mated. These are ties that cannot be broken.”
Arms crossed, satisfied as a predator after a substantial meal, Stafford casually leans against a cement column and smiles.
“Although we’ve shared blood, the Jugulo and I have never been lovers.” I regard the vampire in question, my lips twitch at the neutral expression on my loyal colleague. He rarely gives himself away. “Our relationship is one of trusted, steadfast friends.”
Leonidas raises one eyebrow, but my wolf smells the sweet scent of his pleasure at my description. My vampire assassin doesn’t have many friends, not with his intimacy issues.
“Jan is unique,” he murmurs. “As is the Beast Lord.”
Staring unblinkingly at Stafford, the Master of Vancouver finds his voice. “Your scent is upon her, but I cannot taste the earthy magic of a shifter. Has the Beast Lord taken a human mate?”
My inner wolf snarls her displeasure. Startled, the Vampire King takes an instinctive step back. Paradox’s eyes widen, he looks me up and down, making no attempt to hide strong interest.
“Ah! I sense her inner beast now,” he says in a tone of wonder. “She is werewolf, yet
she displayed rare vampire power when flashing herself through the void.” His dark eyes glitter with greed. “What is she?”
“She’s mine,” Stafford reiterates, fists clenched, spoiling for a fight.
“As you say.” Paradox nods, not wanting to start anything.
Excitement flashes in my mate’s wolf amber eyes, his battle lust slips through my shield. My demon hums enthusiastically at Stafford’s thirst for violence, his desire to make war.
I blink and grit my teeth, struggling with my inner monster’s bloodlust.
Kicking ass is one of the Beast Lord’s favorite things. What does it say about me that I adore his macho alpha posturing? It’s so him. This protective, possessive thing he has going on amuses and allures.
Instantly my body reacts. My legs turn to putty, my panties become drenched. The Beast Lord, watchful and prepared for battle is overpoweringly attractive. Sexy as hell.
Aware of my state of arousal, Stafford spins toward me. Nostrils flaring, he raises one dark, smirking eyebrow.
I could do him right here, right now.
Chapter 47.
“Keep your woman,” Paradox says, breaking the spell. “It’s Taboo who is special to me. I want her back. If she’s dead,” his eyes harden, “I will have my revenge. Find my blood-bond and I shall be in your debt.”
Owen, sweet and earnest, takes that moment to speak. “Excuse me, my Lord.” He stares up at his pack Alpha. “I have the woman’s scent—it’s unique, with very bright colors to track. I can find her, even though she left in a car.”
“Excellent.” Stafford turns to his pack member, hiding his confusion well. He has no idea what Owen’s talking about. I hear his thought clearly: How the fuck can smell be represented by color?
“Tracking Taboo’s scent while she is in a closed vehicle?” Paradox’s eyes gleam. “I would have said that was impossible. I was not aware wolves had such abilities.”
“You don’t know everything about lycanthropes,” Stafford’s tone is brusque.
The truth is, Owen’s ability is not only rare—up until now, it’s been impossible. I suspect his skill comes from demon magic. My inner monster smells colorful auras, tastes power, sees energy.