The Beginning

by Eden Wildblood

  Wynter did as he asked and followed him into his makeshift office, where she found Warren already pouring two steaming cups of black coffee from the percolator. “If you want milk, you’ll have to make do with the powdered stuff,” he told her, and grinned when she shook her head no.

  “Black is fine, thanks,” she replied before taking a long inhale of the caffeinated air.

  Wynter then took a seat and watched him as he stirred a teaspoon of sugar into his brew before joining her at the desk. Warren eyed her up and down, clearly checking that she was okay before he started with his questioning.

  “So, how are you?”

  “Fine.”

  “Not good enough,” he demanded. “How are you, really?”

  “Knackered. Wired. Angry. Horny. What else do you wanna know?” she told him, and was surprised by her own honest answer.

  “How many bites?”

  “In total over the day?”

  “The weekend.”

  She mentally counted them and frowned.

  “Seven,” she eventually answered, and found herself scratching at the tender mark on her neck Marcus had given her the day before. It was beginning to itch, which was a good sign really as it meant it was healing, but she hated the reminder of what he had taken from her.

  “Want some magic cream?” Warren asked, and Wynter giggled, but she nodded in answer. He then threw her a tub of ointment from his desk drawer and she peered down at it with a smile.

  “Nappy rash cream?” she asked with a frown.

  “Trust me, it’ll take away the itch as well as help it heal quickly. Here, let me help you,” he told her as he stood and wandered around to her side of the desk and plucked the tub from her hands. He then scooped a small bead of the ointment out and rubbed it between his fingertips before pressing them either side of her neck where the scratches were.

  It was like heaven. Wynter peered up into his incredibly dark eyes and forced herself to remain calm. To not remember how he had invaded her thoughts at the most inappropriate moment. To not feel like she had to tell him all about how he had featured in her dreamy fantasy, and now was on her mind for more than just how kind and helpful he had been. No, Wynter steered her thoughts out of the gutter and looked up at him as a protector. A powerful ally. A friend.

  “Let me guess, they frequent the same drinking spots?” she asked while she did the same and took care of the two marks inside her wrists.

  “Yep. Thighs too?” he asked, and when Wynter nodded Warren turned away and walked to the window so he could look out at his team, and to give her some privacy to rub some cream onto the two wounds inside the tops of her legs.

  Wynter also unbuttoned her shirt and rubbed some of the cream onto her tender nipple and was just removing her hand when Warren turned back around and glared at her in horror. She quickly buttoned her clothing again and flushed with shame, while Warren just continued to stare at her like she was a ghost or something.

  “What is it?” Wynter asked timidly, and he suddenly seemed to snap out of his moment of contemplative disgust.

  “It’s just not right,” Warren answered, his voice merely a whisper. “None of this is right.”

  “No, but it isn’t like we have much of a choice. Is it?” she replied with a frown. “The curse has me, just like it has all of you. The more we fight, the more they like it. The more he likes it. I tried, Warren. I was cold and cruel towards him, but I’m pretty sure that only made him want me more. He drew it out. Savoured the taste of my hatred rather than turn away from the bitterness I hoped he’d sense in me.”

  It felt strange being so open and honest, but she was glad to be able to speak her mind at last. To be able to say the words rather than hide them any longer.

  “I know that feeling,” he then answered dejectedly. “I have to work Friday and Saturday’s and I dread them each and every week. I hate every second of the feeding time and while I know they love it that I fight back, I just can’t help myself. I fight for me. Not for them. I do it because, if I stop fighting, then I’m scared I’ll never start again. I’ll be lost. Another mindless lover of those bloodsuckers and the euphoria their bites bring.” His words made so much sense to her it was insane, but he was right. She had to keep on fighting, and not because Marcus wanted it, but because she needed it.

  “Why does the euphoria happen?” she asked, thinking how great it was having someone who was so willing to give her the god’s honest truth.

  “There are many theories, but I think it’s because our natural instinct is to survive. Even the biggest thrill-seekers in the world wouldn’t knowingly put themselves in the path of certain death. There would be a safety harness. A plan-B. Not here though. Not with them. They are the harbingers of death and yet we are lured to their sides like the sirens of the sea. Their bites bring passion and ecstasy, rather than pain and fear.”

  “It feels so good,” she answered honestly. “I would’ve gladly kept on feeding him so I could get to my release. Even if it meant death.”

  “Never, ever let yourself go over that precipice while Marcus is feeding from you,” Warren demanded, his face turning cold again. “Your body will rush with endorphins and the blood will pump into his mouth in droves. He will be driven wild by your frenzy and will take it all.” Wynter gulped and stared back at him in horror.

  “So, if you reach that climax, you die?”

  “Nine times out of ten,” he replied, and then noticed the awkward look on her face. “Did you do it? Did he make you come?”

  “Yes. He had closed the wound already, but my body was lost to the sensation and it happened before I could control it,” she answered, suddenly feeling dirty. Wynter wasn’t sure if it was because Warren looked even more horrified than before, but she hated that she’d disappointed him by letting Marcus elicit an orgasm from her. She hadn’t been in control of her own mind, let alone her body, but Warren seemed appalled. Like she had somehow betrayed him. “Don’t be angry with me.”

  “I’m not angry with you, Wynter,” he answered, the look of hurt and shock so prominent on his darkly handsome face that she couldn’t bear it. “I just can’t believe he’s taken so much from you in just two days. It isn’t right.”

  “I know,” she replied. “I know.”

  Eleven

  Marcus watched via his camera systems as Wynter went about her night’s work. She seemed lost. Like she didn’t quite know what to do with herself. He considered going to her, having realised he’d never properly shown her the ropes the evening before, but eventually decided against it. She needed to find her own way. Even if it meant him leaving her to fend for herself so he could watch and enjoy the journey.

  She hadn’t lasted long in her office. Wynter had needed company and clearly wasn’t a lone wolf like his other managers, so had taken herself off to the IT department. She had then stayed down in the basement for a long time and he found it strange she would want to associate herself with the riffraff of the team down in the depths of the club.

  Her decision irked him. Marcus had steered her towards his chosen employees to befriend and wanted to know why she wasn’t doing as he had planned for her. Why she had denied Jack’s advances when he had specifically put him in her path the day before. Why Wynter had been interested in his second choice David but not taken the bait, even when he’d ensured he was served up on a plate. And of course, why his new prize hadn’t found solace in any of the friendly faces he had introduced her to himself. Not even Marcella, with whom she’d seemed to strike up and instant friendship. Wynter was a conundrum to him. A true enigma. But still a code he would crack. A puzzle he would solve.

  Two-am soon arrived and she left for home, leaving Marcus feeling somehow empty. He’d known it wasn’t her day to feed him so didn’t know why it bothered him. Mondays and Tuesdays were Jack’s responsibility, but still, Marcus had hoped she would stick around a while longer. Or perhaps she might’ve chosen to at least come up and say goodbye before running out the door.
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br />   He couldn’t make her stay either. Or could he? Perhaps she would be less inclined to leave if there was something keeping her at the club? A home there, like he had. That would work out nicely, and especially if he could orchestrate it in a way that she wouldn’t know it was his doing until it was too late. There would be no more upper-hands offered to her, not after she’d got her own way not just once or twice over their initial weekend together.

  Marcus vowed he would find a manner in which to ensure Wynter remained there with him as long as possible, even if he had to work her to the bone to do it. He would formulate a plan and knew he had to study her some more and figure out the best way, so watched the various recordings of her back. He needed answers that were still beyond his own reach though, so knew it was time he tapped into a wholly different power.

  The ancient vampire lowered his head and focused on her. Not his new prize of course, but the embodiment of the one, powerful bloodline which had served him for centuries. The same one whose mastery was behind his curse he’d had placed upon thousands of employees across the world. Marcus called to his Priestess and willed her to come to him, and in a second, the powerful young woman appeared. The witch was covered from head to toe thanks to her red cape, her tiny body shielded from view and from the various forces all around them. He knew why she shrouded herself. After all, the Priestess was not an elemental witch, but one of ancient power. A force taken from deep within the Earth itself. Supremacy no one creature should’ve ever been able to tame, and yet it had been harnessed by only one powerful coven. The same coven that had served his needs without question or argument ever since turning him into a vampire all those years ago.

  There was no doubt Marcus was the most powerful of his kind. He was their most prominent leader, the oldest surviving vampire and a wiser one than any he had ever met before. Their kind looked to him to guide them and so, of course, he did. He’d provided them with feeding stations across the globe, negating the necessity for the innumerable predators to hunt out in the open. Marcus was as strict with his own kind as he was with the humans in his employ. He commanded respect, as well as the adherence to his rules, and the belief that should anyone step out of line, his punishment would be swift and merciless.

  His dear Joanna had been reminded of that fact the day before thanks to her jealous reaction to Wynter’s presence. Marcus had delivered her with ten lashings himself and had savoured every second of her pain and torment during her atonement. But he knew she would do it again, and that he would punish her over and over. She couldn’t help herself. All any of these humans ever seemed to want to believe was that the bad guy could turn good. That he could be tamed thanks to love. Joanna had believed so for two decades now, and yet he’d never once given her any reason to chase that fruitless dream. She was nothing more than a romantic fool.

  The woman standing before him was the most recent in the only line of women he’d ever cared for.

  “My lady,” he whispered in greeting to his Priestess, bowing his head in respect.

  “My lord,” she replied before she took a step closer to his desk and inspected him. Marcus could feel her eyes on him. “You are burdened this morning. Tell me what ails you.”

  He didn’t answer, and knew he didn’t need to. His witch reached into his mind and plucked the information from him anyway and he didn’t even try to stop her. The information delivered to her all-seeing mind, the Priestess inhaled sharply and then ran her fingers over his desk before licking the tips of them. “You desire her. The scent of her arousal drives you wild and you wish to take her.”

  She paused to gather her thoughts and then reached for Marcus’s hand, which he gave her without question. He also didn’t so much as flinch when she produced a blade from the bag at her hip and sliced his palm open. The Priestess then scrutinised the small pool of blood that gathered in his hand and whispered to herself as she worked out the meanings behind whatever it was she somehow saw there. “The full moon… blood will spill… wars will be won and lost all at once…”

  “Tell me more, wise one,” Marcus implored. He had been through this with the Priestess and her ancestors many times before, so knew her visions could go on like this for hours, but that a little prompting didn’t hurt to remind her he was waiting.

  “She’s strong,” the Priestess replied. “She will fight the curse. Fight you.” She then dipped her head and lapped at the blood still sat in Marcus’s palm, her tongue darting down into it like a cat’s. “This girl will both adore and despise you, but you are capable of making her yours. If you don’t, she will find love in another’s arms.”

  “Then we shall continue to fight and she will love another, because I won’t do it,” Marcus demanded, thinking she had to be mistaken. He’d relished drinking from Wynter and had let himself enjoy her company, it was true, but not enough to have anything more with her. “I have never taken a bride or created another like me. And I never will.”

  “Stubborn fool,” the Priestess hissed, but he sensed her flinch with fear when she felt his anger spike within. “When the moon is full it is time to choose. Change your mind later and it will be too late. The girl will never love you.”

  “Not unless I force her,” he groaned. “Or you cast a spell.”

  He withdrew his hand and licked the last of the blood clean. Marcus could taste Wynter’s scent in his own rich blood. Her essence was a part of his now and he shuddered as a wave of arousal struck him.

  “No force or spell would be needed if only you followed your instincts…” the Priestess answered, and then she gave out a shrill cackle and staggered back towards the centre of the room. Marcus thought she was about to leave, but instead she held on. He was about to ask why when she clutched at her stomach and let out a low moan.

  “It’s time,” Marcus said, not in question but in knowing. He’d been through this hundreds of times already and knew the signs. The witches of her coven were always female after all. Always in need of a male to help further their line, and when the time came both Marcus and the Priestess serving him knew about it. And the forces demanding an heir weren’t exactly gentle about letting them know it.

  The coven leader would wrack with pain until the dark need was satisfied, and it appeared the current Priestess was ready. Patrick had helped her mother and delivered the seed unto her belly, which had given life to the Priestess standing before him now. Her father was never far away and yet she had never cared to know him. Never wanted anything to do with him. Only Marcus. He was their eternal father—the caregiver for every generation—and it didn’t matter who had been the one to procreate with the Priestess before them. They were nothing more than a donor.

  Marcus knew who to choose for her, and so he summoned Jack to his office, who appeared within a couple of minutes and was understandably surprised to find the Priestess there. He fell to his knees before her and bowed his head, having met with her many times before during his time as Marcus’s Blood Slave and so knew what was expected of him.

  “My lady,” he said, but she didn’t answer.

  “Come, I am in need of you,” Marcus commanded as he climbed up from behind his desk and joined the two of them. Jack was ever the willing and obedient servant, so he did as he was told and immediately offered his master his wrist to drink from, but Marcus refused. He instead nodded to the Priestess, who was standing utterly still, watching them from beneath her hood. Jack followed his gaze and frowned at the hidden girl. The one whose face he had still never seen. The woman as precious to Marcus as the child he’d never get to have, well at least until her daughter grew up and came of age before taking her place, and so on. The cycle would continue like it had for centuries, and to do so, Marcus needed the seed from another loyal subject. “Congratulations,” he told Jack as he took his offered hand and led him towards her. “You have been chosen.”

  “Master… I don’t know…” Jack tried, but then he fell silent thanks to the sight of the Priestess lifting her skirt to reveal slim, womanl
y legs and a natural tuft of dark hair atop her thighs. Marcus wondered if he’d expected her to be old beneath that cape, but Jack seemed impressed to discover the Priestess was in fact just a young woman.

  “She’s untouched. Ready for you to be her first,” Marcus whispered in Jack’s ear before running his tongue down the nape of his neck to the vein he regularly fed from there.

  His actions had the desired effect. In spite of them never having entertained any sexual kinship, Jack was hard in an instant. It didn’t matter that Marcus hadn’t actually bitten him either.

  He let out a soft moan, unbuckled his trousers and let them fall open at the fly. Jack would do whatever was required of him without much in the way of hesitation, and they all knew it. Marcus was once again pleased with him and told him so.

  “Where, my lady?” Jack asked the Priestess, who lifted her hand and pointed one delicate finger towards the couch they all knew was behind the glass screen. She then went to it, her skirts still gathered around her waist, and waited.

  Jack followed and Marcus directed him to remove his clothes and sit down in the centre of the couch. He did as he’d been told and was soon ready, as was the Priestess, and Marcus watched as she readied herself to mount him. He knew she was not to be touched, other than the obvious, so he stood behind Jack and held his hands behind his head to stop him from trying.

  To then further his compliance, Marcus pressed his lips to Jack’s wrist and unsheathed his razor-sharp tongue before pressing it against his vein. A trickle of hot blood reached the back of his throat a second later and he felt Jack relax into the euphoria of his bite.

  Marcus smiled and sucked at the wound, desperate for more, and was rewarded when Jack’s heart began to pound in his chest with sexual need. The Priestess felt it too. She knew the time was right and Marcus watched as she sunk down onto the rod protruding up from Jack’s waist.