To My End

by Belle Frost

  “Tell me, Vi,” he begs for once. “Tell me what it felt like.”

  “Feels like,” I correct in a foreign tone, sounding all lusty and out of my own element. “The magic is still buzzing in my veins. It’s other worldly, Sonny. I’ve never experienced anything like it.” I stop kissing for long enough to look at him. Really look at him, wanting something I never thought I’d long for.

  “What is it?” he whispers, eyes racing back and forth between mine, burning.

  “Taste me,” I say, swallowing between words. “See if it’s the same.”

  “No.” He untangles my arms from around his neck and lays me back on the cot, almost snapping out of the zone. “I’m scared I won’t be able to stop.”

  “Then don’t stop.” I grab his hand and put it on my neck where the beating vein pulses, urging him closer. It sets his eyes on fire. “You want this,” I say. “You want to taste me. You know you do.”

  “Yes, I do,” he says in a hungry whisper. “But I can’t. Not before—”

  Cutting him off from speaking, I urge him even closer by still holding his hand, so he’s kneeling between my wanton legs. The hair on his calves tickles. And I can feel a strange heat. Skin on skin...that’s what it is, just like in my vision. It ignites everything all over again.

  Reaching between our bodies, I clutch his solid length and line him up, no hesitation.

  “Take me,” I purr, arching into him. “Feed on me. Do whatever you want.”

  I detest the hesitation in his eyes, arching harder, but it does nothing. We’re just staring at each other, challenging. For a second, I wonder if he wants to abandon the whole thing—until he lowers his head and slams his mouth on mine, taking me in another ardent kiss. It’s ravenous. Our tongues are entangled; lips swelling under the pressure. I whine like a whore when his teeth bash mine. Louder when he splits my bottom lip. It makes him hiss like a beast, as powerful tremors tear through his muscular body.

  I press with my breasts to assure him it’s okay, enjoying the way the hair on his chest rubs my nipples, turning them into bullets. That’s when his meat rubs up and down my soft, wet folds. Sonny grinds his hips in wide, circular motions, making my clit throb like a jackhammer. I’m sure he can feel it, too. As I blink at him, his eyes turn from green to black, hooded under the flickering candle lights.

  “Come on, Sonny,” I moan, all but drowning in sensations. “You want this. That’s why you kidnapped me. That’s why you compelled me. That’s why you fed me your blood, to drive me crazy with desire. You want to feast on me, too. Admit it. Please, just admit it.”

  He nods, practically salivating at the mouth. “It’s true. It’s how I want to kill you, Vi.” One of his fingers traces the palpitating vein in my neck, teasing his soul. “When I orgasm for the first time, I want it to be at the very moment I drain your body of blood. I want to watch the life disappear from your eyes as you fall into a peaceful sleep. Then, it’ll all be over. For you and for me.”

  I couldn’t think of a better way to go. No pain. Only peace.

  I shut my eyes, as I feel his length nudge my entrance.

  “This might hurt,” he warns, resting his forehead against mine. “Just let the pain pass. It will get better.”

  I’ve no idea why, but I believe him. I believe everything about what’s happening right now, even if it’s not real.

  I can’t control my gasp when Sonny pushes in. Nor the cry that escapes my lips when he slowly tears through my virginity. It burns. Stings and burns. But it doesn’t matter. Inch by inch, he fills me up until he’s lodged deep inside, balls pressed against my ass.

  “Open your eyes,” he commands in deep, dominating notes. “I want to see into the deepest, darkest depths of your soul. I have to watch you unfold. I need to imagine what’s possibly running through that sweet mind of yours.”

  I’m so foggy that it’s like I’m looking through slits, gazing up at his flushed face. Sweat beads on his temple, where there’s a little pulse throbbing. His pupils are completely black now, letting me know he’s holding on by a thread. I don’t want that. I want him to feed on me as I fed on him. I want him to lose control.

  If this is going to be my end, it’s going to be powerfully poetic.

  I tilt my head back, giving him full view of my neck. “Do it,” I breathe. “Do it now while you make love to me.”

  He doesn’t.

  Rather than fulfill what I assume is his most debauched desire, he begins to move his body on mine in long, ceaseless waves. Breaths ragged, puffing at my cheek. The muscles in his body contracting, bunching beneath my palms.

  It’s all so heady, tinted with the sweet scent of sex in the air. The pain is gone now, too, replaced with something indescribable. On every thrust, he hits a spot that makes me whimper with zeal, helping me climb higher and higher until an explosion starts from within. It radiates outward, causing my body to spasm in a frenzy. My feet thrash against the fur blanket. Hands clawing down his muscular back. I scream through the ecstasy, not sure of what’s happening.

  That’s when I feel Sonny’s teeth sink into my neck with the sharpest pinch, drawing blood until I draw my last breath.

  Epilogue

  The Morning of The Witch Trials event

  From hiding in the darkness of her closet, I watch Vi’s petite form sleeping on a pretty pink bed. She’s very calm for a while, oozing a sense of peace. But then she begins a process of tossing, turning, and groaning like she’s trapped in some kind of nightmare. I can’t even begin to imagine what it’s about. Ponies, maybe? I laugh under my breath because I wouldn’t be surprised if it was. The girl is nothing short of Little Miss Perfect. Boy band posters litter her pastel-colored bedroom walls amongst magazine cut-outs and friend-on-friend photos. A red and white cheerleading outfit lays on the chest at the foot of her bed. Too many brushes line the ornate dresser by the curtained window. Tons of necklaces hang from a jewelry stand.

  Little Miss Perfect indeed. She’s an all American girl—but still, that doesn’t change the fact that something is tormenting her. She’s sobbing now, clenching tiny fists at her sides as if trying and failing to fight someone off. The worst part is when she shoots upright to a sitting position, gasping for breath. And she whispers something that knocks my senses.

  “Sonny...Sonny...”

  I flinch in reaction, almost convinced she’s saying my name. But it’s impossible. I’ve never met the girl—though, I probably should have. I can’t deny she’s gorgeous. Pale eyes in a sweet, equally pale face. Beautiful white hair sticks to her face where diamonds of sweat trickle down to her chest, soaking into her ivory colored vest. My cock juts in my pants as she clutches her slender neck, prodding and poking the flesh there like she’s expecting to find a wound or something. A bitemark, perhaps? Oh, the irony.

  At the thought, adrenaline booms in my veins, telling me to do it now. Stop delaying. Stop watching her. Just kill her!

  I’m already on it.

  Pushing open the closet door, I edge out inch by inch and prepared to slay the last living Potential—until a woman interrupts me by shouting up the staircase.

  “Vi! Honey, are you awake? Are you in your room? We’re prepping for the Witch Trials event tonight! Please, say you’re going to help?”

  Great. Just fucking great. It’s Vi’s mother, and she couldn’t have come at a worse time.

  My eyes dart back to Vi, surprised to find she’s still struggling to catch her breath. All shaky and disorientated, she tosses the duvet aside and manages to wobbly feet, causing something to topple off the mattress and onto the carpet with a delicate thud. My stare thins, zooming in on the object. And then I see it, clear as day.

  A pale rock from the White Mountains.

  “What the...?”

  My adrenaline turns into panic as I wonder where she got it. Did the witches get to her before I could? Or did her parents give her the rock? Do they know what she means to the Albino Coven?

  My panic intensifies whe
n I consider the fact that Vi might know I’m here. With that rock, she could have foreseen my presence. She could have foreseen all I’ve got planned. And if that is the case, she could change the course of everything.

  I realize then that I don’t have a second to waste. Crossing the closet threshold, I expose my sharp fangs and ready for the kill—but Vi races past me with her face in cupped hands, exiting the bedroom. I have no idea why. She’s on the landing now, crying and wheezing for someone to help. That’s when I hear delicate footsteps coming up the staircase, so I back up inside the closet once more.

  It’s her vexing, ill-timed mother, telling her daughter to calm down and breathe.

  “Tell me what happened, Honey. Did you have a bad dream? Oh, there, there. It’s okay. Don’t cry. Everything is okay.”

  She goes on for an age, amping up my frustration. I suddenly wish they were the only two in the house because I’d happily kill them both—but they’re not. With vampire hearing, I detect more voices downstairs in the kitchen. It’s two teenage boys, a young, squeaky girl, and a man. I figure it’s Vi’s brothers, her sister, and her father.

  Fuck.

  Instincts tell me to get the hell out of here, certain there are too many possible witnesses. If I attempt an attack and someone gets away, they could speak of what I am, and I can’t have that. M.N. warned that there would be consequences if I don’t remain discreet in my endeavors.

  It doesn’t matter, I tell myself, determined not to feel like a failure. I’ll just have to find another way to bring Vi to her end. Tonight’s event could be the perfect opportunity. If I play it right, I can steal her out from under everyone’s nose.

  Because let’s face it, in this day and age, there’s nothing easier than kidnapping a girl in a crowded place.

  The End

  Thanks for reading. I hope you’ve enjoyed the To My End short story and the bonus scene ending. If you could leave an honest review on Amazon and/or Goodreads, I’ll be forever grateful.

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  Excerpt from The Dark Romance Series

  Keep turning the pages for a sneak peek of The Dark Romance Series, an International Top 20 Amazon Bestselling Series that readers say is “Screen Worthy”. Please note: It is NOT a short story. It is a full-length novel.

  Chapter 1

  I walk through Maksim's strip club like a ghost, under streaming red lights that flash in tune with the pounding music. The air smells potent with sweaty bodies and cheap perfume, a mixture of men and women.

  Just how my master likes it.

  Everything I see moves through my mind's eye in slow motion, my brain carefully and collectively scanning for danger. There isn't much out of the ordinary going on tonight. A few regulars line the stage in the center of the club, all unaware of my presence.

  I know why.

  They're too focused on the strippers, beautiful European girls leisurely peeling off their clothes. I'm wearing the usual: black sports trousers, trainers, and a thin black leather jacket over a long-sleeved sweater. Not exactly arousing attire but this is how I like it, being under the radar.

  The strippers are the only people who do notice my presence. As I pass the stage, they each scowl with obvious loathing. I understand their loathing. I'm the only girl in Maksim's inner circle, and this lot—the strippers—hate it. They wonder why. They've always wondered why.

  No danger here.

  “Is Cэp Maksim back there?” I ask a member of security in Russian, gesturing at the door he's standing in front of like The Great Wall of Man.

  “Yes,” he says in Russian, pale eyes empty of emotion. “He's been waiting for you.”

  I nod, aware I'm an hour late. I'm never usually late as I know poor punctuality results in a good bloody hiding. But my phone was on silent by accident, so I didn't hear Maksim’s text message.

  The security guy pushes open the heavy door and stands aside. I saunter down the red hall, turn left, and knock on Maksim's office door three times. The knocks echo, carrying over the music booming through the walls.

  “Come in, My Little Pet,” Maksim says through the intercom system in his thick Russian drawl, making me shiver with awareness.

  His voice brings my entire body to attention.

  Pushing with both palms, I force the door to creak open and go inside.

  Maksim isn't alone.

  I don't react—I never react to surprises. I briefly look to see who is accompanying my master, and though it's quite dark in here, I'm very aware of the powerful blue eyes watching me from the leather couch by the left wall; eyes that seem to be all over my body at once.

  Sharp little hairs race down my arms and legs.

  I haven't seen him before.

  The notion that he's a stranger puts me on guard because Maksim rarely allows strange faces in his circle—let alone in his office.

  I stop before the wide desk and fold my hands behind my back, feeling sheathed in darkness. Maksim only has the desk lamp on and that isn't exactly bright. It just about illuminates his diamond-shaped, iron face.

  “You are late, My. Little. Pet,” he says each word with significant and singular meaning, speaking in Russian.

  My blood runs cold when he's like this, mulling over something other than business. Today, it seems it's my timekeeping.

  I keep focus, my gaze level and on him slouching back in his chair. He's a striking man with steady, expressionless golden eyes, and shoulder-length dark brown hair that smells like brut from the candles he burns. I remember the scent well.

  I remember the feeling of his hair on my face when he cuddles me after a beating.

  “My phone was accidentally on silent,” I say, and my voice is low, as per usual. “I’m sorry, Cэp Maksim.” I offer him a little head-bow of respect.

  Leaning forward and resting his elbows on the desk, he entwines his fingers together, holding my gaze with soul consuming eyes. “No more keeping your phone on silent, Blaire.”

  I flinch subconsciously, stepping back. He only calls me by my given name when I've done something wrong, and that usually means trouble for me is brewing.

  Maksim cocks a brow at me. “You got that?”

  I nod, taking his warning seriously. I might be in his inner circle, but it takes just one bullet to remove me.

  “What have you been doing for the past few days?” he asks in Russian, his tone husky and utterly terrifying.

  “Nothing much,” I whisper in our language, squeezing my hands together on the low of my back. “I've been training, of course, went to the salon yesterday, and I went out to a club last night.”

  “Yes”—he tips his head—“my men saw you driving through the countryside. Did you have fun?”

  I shake my head, being honest. “I was just getting out of the apartment, Cэp Maksim.”

  “Of course, My Little Pet. Of course. Though, next time you want to visit a club, you come here.” He taps his desk with one finger. “You do not have to travel to strange places to have fun.”

  This is a shame. I like visiting strange places when I’m alone, since everything in my life is a consistent bloodbath with the people and the work I execute. Sometimes, I just like a change of scenery.

  I guess, at his command, I don't like visiting strange places anymore.

  “Okay.” I lift my lips in a forced, wary smile. “As you wish.”

  Maksim acknowledges my obedience with a returned smile. Then he gestures to the right, to the man sitting on the couch, and I know the conversation about my last two days is over.

  “My Little Pet,” he's speaking in English now, “meet my old friend, Mr. Decena.”

  Old friend?

  It takes a lot of effort not to frown.

  I've been with Maksim for ten years, and I've never seen or heard of a Mr. Decena.

  I look at Maksim's friend with my face blank of sentiment. Above him, a long tube light attached to the wall flickers on, buzzing with
electricity, illuminating a tall, muscular frame.

  “No matter what happens here tonight,” Maksim says in sly Russian, “you are ordered not to challenge him.”

  The back of my neck pricks.

  Maksim never orders me to stand down.

  Though nervous, I obey without question, nodding to show I understand his command. I then study Mr. Decena, surprised by how relaxed he is in his pose, sitting there in the middle of the couch with one arm draped over the back, long legs stretched out in front of him.

  This is bizarre. No one is ever that relaxed in Maksim's company.

  I reckon Mr. Decena is in his late twenties. He looks young, wearing fitted jeans, tanned boots, and a black round-neck t-shirt that boasts solid muscles. He's nothing at all like my master who favors suits, but Maksim has a tall, athletic body for them. They are wearing similar watches on their left wrists with thick silver straps, but that's where their similarities end.

  “Mr. Decena would like to ask you some questions,” Maksim says.

  I nod in response, still studying the relaxed pawn. Unruly, ink black hair curls around his neck and face, abating a strong, square, clean-shaven jawline, and a blade of a nose. His black eyebrows are thick and long, framing prevailing blue eyes that stand against his naturally tan skin. He's a good looking man, and judging by that lazy, narcissistic expression on his face, he’s aware of it. He fancies himself.

  He stares me up and down with slow meditation, taking in all my features from head to toe, and I'm suddenly so uncomfortable that my stomach knots.

  I can't really explain why, but he makes me feel naked to the bone.

  I shift on my feet, trying to iron out my anxiety. That’s when a smirk lifts the side of Mr. Decena's lips; a mischievous smirk full of promise.

  “What do I call you, Señorita?” he asks, his voice deep yet calm. He's American but there's a sprinkle of Latin in his accent. “My Little Pet, or Blaire?”