“Let. Go. Of. Me.”
Enunciating each word with care she glared at him. He only smiled, those bewitching lips holding an expression too wistful for amusement, too wry for anything remotely comedic and by far too full of an emotion she was not willing to name; but in the end he let her go.
With a long kiss to her brow, more protective than sensual, he dropped his arms to step back. Immediately the pressure of sensation, of emotion returned — her body tightening under the burn, her mind reeling under the confusion. It took all her concentration to keep her mind from drifting, to ask the question she needed to ask. She let her anger speak.
“Say it. Spell it out. Tell me exactly what is happening without prevarication and vague hints.”
Unwilling
She knew her rage to be a defence, but it was the only defence she had against what she feared he would say. Jen could not deny the rising tide of sensation overwhelming her anew. It was impossible to suppress, or filter the emotions running amok in her. She recognised even her anger as a symptom of the sudden lack of control reigning her body and mind. She was a boat on a tempestuous sea, battered and thrown rudderless from wave to wave. And she hated it.
Though no matter how much she hid behind the fear, she had reached the moment when lying to herself failed. Not even Jen herself could deny what lay beneath the fear, the anger, the confusion. Heat travelled along her skin and pooled between her thighs, her breasts felt sensitive, heavier than normal, swollen and tight. She felt her hard nipples scrape against the seam of her bra and there was no way to blame the cold for their engorged state. If anything, the room as too warm, her skin too hot. Every inch of her body, of her mind, seemed to yearn for something. But she still needed him to say the words, needed him to take away the last vestige of escape for what she suspected was too horrible to contemplate.
“You are an ErGer, a Bloodhaven.”
There it was, out in the open, and though it was preposterous, the magnitude of the declaration nevertheless robbed her of her breath. An ErGer, one of the almost mythical power nexūs. Though most races could produce them, they were so rare, and so rarely survived to adulthood, that much was still unknown about them. It was assumed their innate ability to unite the most disparate courts, their capacity to call forth the deepest loyalty from sworn enemies was a result of some ancient genetic mutation, or of inbreeding with a race long since disappeared from this earth. It mattered little, there was no real medical research on it as none of the existing ErGer’s Lords were willing to allow anyone close to their prize. There was the rumour of an unattached Bloodhaven on the run, but most held this to be the paranormal version of an urban myth.
An ErGer was the most powerful tool a Lord could acquire and therefore they were coveted and jealously guarded. For an outsider it would seem strange that the ability to concentrate loyalty, to create a feeling of home so strong the members of a court would be willing to sacrifice all for it, would be so highly praised in a society in which most was based on pure strength and power. But there is little more powerful than loyalty. Furthermore, there are few things any being would not do in the pursuit of happiness, even if that happiness was merely a limitless sensation of belonging and an illusion of safety. Though what made the ErGer so useful to any Lord was that the loyalty it created was not centred on the ErGer but rested with the Master holding the bond. And there was no need for reciprocity. There was no need for the ErGer to feel any form of happiness, or even safety, for their owner to reap the rewards of their mere presence. Fate’s cruel sense of humour.
One of the reasons why the ErGer were so rare was the way the genetic mutation made itself known. At the same time as paranormals became able to sense their rare nature, they became immune to any form of mind control of forced bondings and their blood became addictive, not just to vampires but all paranormals. Most bled out, torn apart by courts who had desperately wanted to own them. The first documented example of an ErGer was St Valentine. In honour of his tragic life the one day in which an ErGer’s hormone levels made bonding a certainty, the one day their mental shields were undermined leaving them open and without any inhibitions, was named St Valentine’s Day. An ErGer on Valentine’s day became a maniac, a being at mercy of its own body’s urges, sexually demanding without reason and if unable to fulfil that need, violent towards itself.
An ErGer’s only chance to survive was a strong bond with a paranormal able to protect them against all others and that bond came, as was rumoured, with the absolute subjugation of the ErGer’s will to that of the one holding said bond. An ErGer bonded to a master on Valentine’s Day never recovered the mental shields, utterly dependent on a Lord who more often than not broke their mind for the power they presented. No one knew for sure as the few ErGer known to exist were jealously guarded, rarely seen outside their courts. And he thought she was an ErGer? Impossible. More than impossible — and not just because she could not imagine a worse fate. He was overlooking one pertinent point, one fact which would refute his assertion of her state as ErGer. With all her strength she held on to the hope in that omission:
“I am twenty-nine years of age. I cannot be an ErGer, I would have never made it to adulthood.”
Typically an ErGer identified as such towards the end of puberty, so late teens, but was definitely fully developed before their second decade. That made her a good ten years past the date when someone should have noticed - and they had not. Lady Justitiana would never have let an ErGer slip though her fingers. The thought came almost as a relief, even though the painful burning in her body increased in urgency with every moment.
He reached for her again, his intent clear, but she evaded his touch, his embrace and repeated:
“It cannot be. I am too old.”
“Jennifer, you need to believe me. You are an ErGer - Justitiana, Fabian and I all agree on that point. There is no doubt.”
“It’s why he did not let me go home over Christmas.” Her voice was breathless, drawn by the magnitude of what she perceived as a further betrayal.
“He knew he would not be able to protect you. Tirana was the best place for you, he could keep you isolated from most stronger paranormals and his presence alleviated the effects of your development.”
She was still not certain she believed him, not certain she could, though it became increasingly hard to ignore not only the state of her own body but the fact that he presented her with an explanation for the actions of a man she knew and loved. Fabian loved her like a brother, she was certain of it, and still he had forced her to come here, had essentially sold her. Rationality told her he would only have done so if he thought he were protection her in some form by the action.
“How?”
Her legs began to shake and it was almost impossible to remain upright. She had to lean on a chair for support as she asked the question. Out of the corner of her eye she saw him move towards her, saw him reach for her as if to support her trembling form. Her raised hand halted his movements, kept him at a distance. Jen was surprised by his willingness to subside, to give her the space she demanded, though she was certain he would not do so for much longer.
“Your survival and lack of discovery are most likely due to having grown up in a court. There has never been any record of another ErGer in that position, normally they enter a court only after they are discovered around puberty. We suppose that the presence of your parents, the deep familiarity everyone had with you and the close link with Fabian, a vampire with a high enough power level to create a blood bond to you, has masked the development. The last three years, away from two of those elements and with Fabian forming his own court and therefore spreading the mental touch he previously reserved for you to the rest of his court, have allowed your body to complete the development to an ErGer. Your emotional distress, your constant withdrawal becoming ever stronger are a sign of this — your body protected itself as it was not able to hold those shields against the overwhelming pressure without the constant exclusive link to Fabi
an.”
“No!”
“Yes! Just look at yourself. Stop running and feel what is happening to you.”
His tone had lost its gentleness, its careful persuasion and left was only cold rationality. He was stating a fact and there was nothing she could do to escape. Her eyes had fixed on the pale green embroidery on the chair’s upholstery, on the image of mermaids and merrows frolicking in the sea, but she did not see them. Her knees were shaking, and so were her hands. Heat and cold travelled over her skin, a heaviness warmed her womb and breasts. She could feel the hard pebbles of her nipples painfully and her panties had long since soaked through. She knew the signs well enough, though had never felt them with such violence. She was aroused, pure and simple, aroused to a level that was beyond normal in the circumstances. He had kissed her, nothing more, and his kiss had been more designed to calm the fire burning in her than stoke it. Her arousal was too violent. She was aroused as an ErGer in the early stages of the fever taking her on Valentine’s Day.
As if the mental acceptance of that state had opened the floodgate to the wave of overwhelming need which drowned her, heat and pain and, yes, arousal, swamped her thought processes. She fell to her knees, panting, and would have doubled over if not for the arms which drew her up, fitted her back against the solace of his large body.
“No.”
She did not want this, did not want to lose herself in this, feared his very touch. It mattered not, he would not let her go again. His dark promise assured her of that:
“You will be mine, Jennifer. From tonight onwards you will be mine no matter how much you want to resist. Your own body will not let you.”
Again, she tried to step from his hold, again he refused to let her budge.
“Why did Fabian not bind me?”
It was a plaintive cry encompassing all the betrayal, all the loneliness she felt. Why had her friend not wanted her? At least she would have known he would have cared for her, no matter if she turned into a catatonic automaton after tonight. He would have done all to keep her safe, or so she had thought. But he had not wanted her. She only knew there were tears falling from her eyes when his lips caught them. His large hand cradled her head again, guided it into the protection of his neck and just held her through her pain.
“He tried, little one. He did — but whilst he has enough power, there is a sexual component to the ErGer bond. He loves you, very much, but he cannot see you as anything other than a sister.”
The mere thought of Fabian in a sexual context made her shudder, and left her slightly nauseous. Yick. The hard muscles under her cheek shook with laughter.
“I suspect his expression mirrored yours when he tried to look at you from a sexual point of view.”
His elegant fingers stroked through her long hair in a soothing rhythm, his touch enough to give her a moment’s respite. But there was no lasting respite, not really.
“You don’t want me, you just want the power.” It was the simple truth and the spoken words were more a reminder to herself than an accusation to him. But he answered nevertheless, in deed and word. His hand stroked down her back, the caress pressing her hips firmly into him. She felt the hard length of his arousal against her own body, its touch kindling the heated heaviness in her womb to flickering flames. She moaned, unable to keep her hips from rubbing over him, luxuriating in the sensation. He chuckled though there was an appreciative moan below it.
“Sweetheart, there are things I want to say to you before we get there, and you are not making it easy for me.”
His large hand flattened on her back, just above the curve of her butt, a warm weight holding her in place, putting an end to her languid undulations against him. His lips stroked over her eyes. It was a gentle reminder to open them. When had they fallen closed? It was harder than it should be possible to prey her lids apart, but she managed to lift them. His green eyes were full of desire — and control.
“I cannot say I wanted you from the first time we have met, Jennifer but I liked you even then.”
It was said with a smile and brought to mind that first meeting, her five-year-old self hiding in the garden under a rose bush eating strawberries stolen from the kitchen and congratulating herself on escaping the tight supervision of her nanny. And the tall, beautiful vampire who had positioned himself strategically to hide her when said nanny had come looking for her. He had winked at her and smiled and somehow the memory of that moment, the recollection of the moonlit path and the kindness the royal visitor had given to the little girl, let something relax in her, let her listen to his tone as well as his words. He still had that kindness.
“I can also tell you I have not looked at you with dispassion since you passed your teens, no matter how much I chastised myself for wanting you. Yes, I want the power, very much, but don’t deceive yourself into thinking I am not going to enjoy the package that power comes in, or that I would not have made a play for you the next time we would have met. You are mine.”
The last three words had an almost physical impact on her in their absolute confidence. It challenged her natural wilfulness.
“I don’t want you!”
It was a lie, they both knew it. Her voice might ring with all the obstinacy, all the stubborn resistance in her character, but it still was a lie. She wanted him, had done so since she had been old enough to see men as men. But even though she had fallen in lust with him very long ago, this did not mean she wanted to spend the rest of her life with him, did not even necessarily mean she wanted to act on the lust. She definitely did not want the position of the ErGer, did not want to lose her independence, her emotional and physical distance, her mind to him. She did not want to be so utterly in his, or anyone’s control. It took more courage, more trust, than she was able to give. So she threw the words as a challenge at him, a gauntlet and statement of intent. He accepted it.
“You won’t have a choice.” He crooned, his lips playing over the sensitive skin of her ear and drawing an involuntary moan from her mouth as she felt his caress in every pore of her body. “No choice at all. You will be mine tonight, the only question is how it will come to pass.”
She lived in no illusion that he was giving her any choice, asking her for an opinion in the matter. A suspicion supported when his next words whispered over her ear, the touch of his breath a caress that made her tremble.
“I could hold you in my arms until you scream from need but I think it would be harder for you to overcome the injury to your dignity than any fright I might give you. So I will carry you over to the bed and take my time playing with you, preparing you until you are lost in the pleasure of my touch and there will be no space for any fear, any embarrassment, when I take and bind you.”
His lips had found her throat, nibbled along it, the sharp incisor’s scratch a counterpoint to his oh so soft lips. She knew she would not escape him, would lose the life she knew in these rooms — and that there was nothing she could do against it. Still, her hands formed fists and dared to hit his chest, barely making him hesitate in his movements. A gentle nip on her shoulder was all the punishment he meted out as he lifted her.
“Fight, little one. Fight as much as you need to. I will enjoy it.”
Life
He carried her through an archway, ignoring her flailing fists with the ease of a man more than triple her strength. Only when she managed to split his lip with an errant elbow did he react. All of a sudden she was airborne, tossed through the air like so much wet cloth — it was frightening and exhilarating. A moment of flight she could never gain in her own, a moment of childhood, a sensation still familiar but fogged by time.
She impacted the soft surface of a large canopied bed with a yip, bouncing twice before her body stopped moving with the momentum. She was not entirely certain what had robbed her of her breath, the laughter bubbling up or the unexpected flight, the surprise. For that first moment she was disoriented, and disarmed, by the whimsy, the excitement and the pure animal strength. Most importantly,
she realised she might fear and hate what he wanted to do — but there was not one ounce of fear of him, as a person, in her heart or mind. It was a sobering thought.
She lay there, her breath stolen, her wits frozen, caught between fear and exhilaration. Her eyes skittered over the heavy velvet draperies surrounding the bed in a canopy of emerald and pine, the soft fabrics in hues remnant of the greens of deep forests and high meadows, cradling her in their embrace. The soft candlelight played over the intricate embroideries and shapes in a gentle imitation of sunlight thorough leaves. She fixed on the patterns, the colour, the shape —merely so that she did not have to look at the man with her.
Jen knew she could have run, could have jumped from the bed and made it to the door. Possibly. Her brain fixed on that idea for a moment, and discarded it. He was vampire, he would get there before her. A movement caught her eyes even though she tried to ignore the overwhelming presence of the man with her. Holding her gaze he reached behind and pulled the white dress shirt over his head, in a move so male and so common-place it held more eroticism than any blatant display would have done. And he knew it, his eyes told her so. Those eyes, green and devouring, their intensity filled with unchecked need. It took her breath, made her want to reach for him. And in that moment, drinking in the planes and lines of his torso, long lean muscles over strong bones, she had to admit it was not her lack of any chance of success her flight might have which kept her here, it was that kernel of curiosity, of longing, in her soul.
“I don’t want this.”
Had she said the words aloud or just thought them? Jen did not know anymore. The bed dipped as he rested one knee on the bottom, the light playing over the corded strength of his shoulders, the shadows and lines of beauty her imagination had hitherto only every painted for her. She loved watching him move, watching the muscles in his abdomen tense as he pulled himself up on the bed, as he slowly crawled up to straddle her. His skin was the pale white of milk but with the brilliance, the sheen, of the softest silk. Her hand wanted to reach for it, wanted to feel, to touch and taste. She did not, dared not. Touching him would be addictive and what was left of her rational mind told her she could not afford this addiction.
By My Choice...: A Valentine's Day Story (Valentine's Day Stories) Page 5