Bite Mark

by Lily Harlem

  “You followed Aimery?”

  “Yeah.” Denny nodded at Aimery. “Looking like that I figured he must be from somewhere pretty special and I wanted a piece of it.”

  “So just like that, you dumped your knife and went.”

  “Yeah, it was like I’d suddenly found my way. And thank goodness I did. Otherwise I wouldn’t be the happiest person in the world right now.”

  Gaspare grinned down at him, his face softening and his eyes sparkling. “I agree. Thank Benedict we found each other.”

  “I’m pleased for you both, really I am.” I glanced at Aimery. “Did you know he followed you?”

  “I had an inkling but knew nothing for sure until you asked me to look into it further.”

  “And then?”

  “And then I found out how happy he was. So happy that he was planning his affirmation.”

  Denny did indeed look happy. I couldn’t deny that for a second. “Do you all mind if me and Denny have a minute alone?”

  “Of course,” Aimery said. “We will wait in the corridor beyond that archway.” He gestured to a spotlit arch next to a canvas of what appeared to be horses racing through the sea, the riders holding spears and lanterns.

  Gaspare gave a small frown, released Denny and then walked with Aimery and Ryle out of sight.

  “Ah, fucking hell, Denny,” I said, grasping his hands and lowering my voice. “You do know they’re all bloody vampires, don’t you?”

  He laughed, a deep cackle of mirth that echoed up the grand staircase and into the domed ceiling. “Of course I do, it’s fabulous, isn’t it.”

  “Well, yeah, but you have to admit it’s a bit freaky too.”

  “Turn around.”

  “What?”

  “Turn around.”

  I did as he asked and felt him move my hair.

  “Which one bit you?” he asked.

  Automatically I rubbed the bite mark. “Ryle did that one.”

  “So they’ve both bitten you?”

  A rise of color bloomed on my cheeks as I turned back to him. “Yes.”

  “Double the pleasure, you’re very lucky, Bea. There is something in their saliva that gets into your bloodstream and intensifies sex. It’s bloody amazing and I can’t get enough of it. But just one thing, make sure you drink the tea.”

  “What do you mean?” I could almost taste its sweetness now. I was growing fond of whatever brand of teabags they used here.

  “It’s full of nutrients, vitamins, I dunno exactly.” He shrugged. “But it’s like magic the way it makes me feel so great.”

  “Magic.” Okay, now I was confused. But Denny did look incredible, the best I’d ever seen him. His skin glowed, his eyes were bright and even through his suit his body was more defined.

  “Yeah,” he said, “it makes me feel really fucking sexy and strong, like I can shag all night and then take on the world the next day. Gaspare says it’s an ancient recipe designed by a Mongolian witch doctor for Benedict’s Order to keep their mortals strong.”

  I guessed that did make sense. Aimery and Ryle were both keen for me to drink the tea, and if I was going to be giving out twice as much blood as Denny, then I did need to look after myself.

  “But,” I said and then hesitated as a swarm of irritation came over me. It needed venting. “I’m glad you’re okay and all but seriously, I’ve been worried sick about you. Why couldn’t you have called or something?”

  Denny hung his head and shifted his feet. “I’m sorry, really I am. I could kick myself now for not setting your mind at rest.”

  “Too damn right.” My voice was rising. “It’s been horrendous wondering if you were dead at the bottom of a ditch somewhere.”

  He pulled in a deep breath and still didn’t catch my gaze.

  I placed my hands on my hips. “So what have you been doing for three weeks while I’ve been going out of my mind?”

  “Stuff,” he muttered.

  “Like what?”

  He looked up at me and his eyes sparkled. “We went away, Gaspare and I.”

  “Away? Where?”

  “To Italy, he owns a cliff-top villa in Sorrento. We’d only been together a couple of days and I complained about the weather. Next thing I knew he was whisking me off to the sunshine.” He sighed. “So romantic. Beautiful food, delicious wine, absolute isolation for us to enjoy being together.”

  “And they don’t have phones in Italy?”

  He reached for my hand. “I can only apologize, Bea. I should have called. I was just caught up in it all, you know, having someone who cares about me, adores me, loves me. It hasn’t happened for me like that before.”

  A small stab of jealousy hit my heart. “I care about you, love and adore you,” I said quietly.

  He stroked my hair. “I know you do. But not in the way Gaspare does. He’s my soul mate, and finding him, well, I just let myself get swept away with the excitement of it. With hindsight I should have let you know I was okay. In fact I was going to tomorrow. We only got back two days ago and we had all the excitement of the affirmation, and I guess I just got sidetracked…”

  I huffed, unsure whether to believe he would have called me tomorrow or not. I wanted to, really I did. But for Denny to be so wrapped up in someone else was new for me. I was used to having him to myself and now sharing him I felt I didn’t know him quite as well as I used to.

  “Hey,” he said. “Don’t look so worried. I might have Gaspare now, but I still need my best mate.”

  “Good. So do I.” I managed a smile. “And don’t do it again, okay?”

  “I won’t, I promise.”

  “Denny.” Gaspare appeared. “It is time for us to go to the basement.”

  “It is?” Denny turned with a smile spreading on his face.

  “Yeah.” Gaspare licked his lips. “Come on, I can’t wait to consummate our pairing.”

  “What’s in the basement?” I asked.

  “It’s fucking fabulous,” Denny said. He darted across the floor and into Gaspare’s arms. “Make sure they take you there.”

  “It was nice to meet you, Bea, and I am sorry you were so worried about Denny,” Gaspare said, holding Denny in a way that screamed possession. Denny might have been my best friend on the market, but he belonged to Gaspare now and it seemed Denny was one hundred percent happy with the situation.

  “Well as long as he’s okay,” I said.

  “I’m more than okay. I’m ecstatic,” Denny said dreamily.

  They slipped from view and I headed toward the archway in search of Aimery and Ryle.

  Voices echoed toward me. Stern tones and clipped answers rumbled from the dimly lit corridor.

  I paused.

  Aimery was speaking but was interrupted by a woman.

  “If you have a Bombay you are obliged by ancient law to declare it.”

  I recognized Elfrida’s voice and my heart tripped over itself as small spikes of heat tickled my temples.

  “We do not have a Bombay, how many times must we say it,” Ryle answered.

  “I don’t trust you, Ryle, you look out for number one. Always have and always will. I question your loyalty to the Order.”

  “That is unfair,” Aimery snapped. “You have no grounding for such a slanderous statement.”

  “No, you’re right, I haven’t. But what I do know is that you two stick together, have done for centuries, and you both have very fine taste in women. So what I can’t figure out is why you would go for a poor orphan in Calcutta, one you had to wait three years to feed from, and now a scrap of a butcher girl who has, of all things, a father.”

  “Well I’m glad you think we have fine taste in women, Elfrida,” Ryle said, “though of course we did make an exception that one time with you.”

  “You bastard,” she said. “We swore we would never speak about that again.”

  Ryle chuckled. “Well if you start insulting our chosen mortal, what do you expect from an untrustworthy bloke like me?”

 
“Listen,” Aimery said. “All the legal documents for our union with Natifa are in the vaults. You are welcome to hunt them out. You will see for yourself then, Elfrida, that our wife wasn’t a Bombay but run-of-the-mill O positive.” He sighed. “I don’t know what your obsession is with Bombays. The chances of you ever finding one suitable are slim to none.”

  “I will tell you why,” she said, her voice rising. “Because the other four members of the high court have mated with a Bombay, but I haven’t. And I know you did too, Aimery, when Henry the Eighth had our allegiance.”

  “But what difference does that—”

  “I am your superior,” she retorted. “I should have acquired the taste. If there is a Bombay within the company, then out of respect she should be handed over to the court members to protect and if necessary feed from.”

  There was a long silence. My heart pounded. Elfrida wanted my blood, and I got the feeling she wouldn’t be so concerned about my health as Aimery and Ryle were. She gave me the creeps with her chilling stares, her venom-soaked voice and continual questions about my blood type.

  “Of course,” Aimery said. “I couldn’t agree more. If there was a Bombay here then yes, he or she should be given to you. Whatever their gender.”

  I held my breath, praying that Aimery wouldn’t actually hand me over to her. No, he wouldn’t. I was sure of it.

  Sudden sharp clacks echoed toward me. Louder with each second. I stepped back toward the staircase, but it was too late.

  Elfrida strode through the archway, her slender frame moving with speed and grace.

  “You,” she said, stopping in front of me. “Stand still.”

  Ryle and Aimery appeared, their wide shoulders side by side as their brows creased.

  I gulped and my knees weakened. Elfrida’s eyes were a deep, unearthly maroon, and her white skin almost opaque. She leaned forward.

  I held my breath, watched as she fluttered her eyelids shut and breathed deep.

  She let the air blow from her nose slowly, then looked at me with such intensity I thought I might turn to stone.

  “Damn you, not a thing,” she said, turning to Aimery. “Could she be wearing any more perfume?”

  “It is her choice,” Aimery said.

  Elfrida stamped her foot, the sound bouncing around the cavernous hallway like a gunshot.

  “This is not the end of the matter,” she snapped, then stalked off, her hair swishing and her hips rolling.

  Aimery moved in close and pulled me to him.

  “You had to lie about my blood type,” I said quietly. “And Natifa’s.”

  “Yes, I changed the documentation years ago. It was the only way to protect her.”

  “And the only way to protect me?”

  “Yes, no one else will ever know what you really are. We will ensure that.”

  “That makes me feel afraid,” I said against the soft material of his suit jacket. “To think that I’m such a delicacy.”

  “You need never feel afraid; we will look after you,” he said, stroking my hair. “And Elfrida is just blowing off steam. It has been two centuries since she had a mate, I think it is disabling her sense of reason.”

  “Two centuries, that’s a long time to be alone,” I said.

  “It is indeed, but she has only herself to blame.” Aimery stepped back slightly and looked around. “Denny and Gaspare have gone?”

  “Yes, they went to the basement,” I said.

  Ryle grinned and gave a slow nod. “Ah, the basement.”

  “What’s down there?” Denny’s words came back to me. Make sure they take you. “I would like to go.”

  “Not tonight,” Aimery said. “I fear you may be too tired, Beatrice.”

  “I’m not tired. I have never felt more alive.” It was the truth. I was buzzing, running high on something. My energy levels were overflowing, as was my libido. Just the word basement had me wondering about sexual scenarios I’d read in books. Fantasies coming true, pain and pleasure blurring. Ryle had given me a taste of that already and I wanted more, with both of my men. I rubbed my hands together and looked between the two of them, pleading with my eyes.

  “See, she’s not tired,” Ryle said with a grin. “Our girl’s got stamina.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Aimery didn’t take much persuading and within a few minutes we were heading down a dark, windowless corridor toward a set of stone steps.

  I hesitated at the top. There were noises coming from behind the huge set of oak doors at the base. Cries, cracks and groans. A bubble of laughter and a snapping sound followed by a wail—I’d been right when I’d had visions of a sexual playground, then.

  “It is okay,” Aimery said, reaching for my hand. “The basement is all about pleasure. What you hear are calls of delight.”

  I looked into his face. The crimson lights overhead cast shadows over his perfect features and his eyes appeared as dark as clotting blood. “You mean…?” It was okay to imagine it, but to find out it was real… That was just taking me a moment to get used to.

  “Yes,” Ryle said, “the basement is our sex playroom. Anything goes as long as it’s consensual.”

  “What, like orgies and stuff?” I felt like I was in a movie or something. The thought of entering one of these places, turned-on and with two gorgeous blokes, was off-the-scale hot and so far from my usual sexual experiences. But did I care? Hell no. It was about time I started living.

  “Yeah, and stuff,” Aimery said. He looked at Ryle. “I think perhaps we should take a private room, don’t you?”

  “Definitely,” Ryle said.

  “Why?” I asked.

  “Because we don’t want to draw attention to you, Beatrice. And when we make love to you we will not be able to hide the intense pleasure joining our bodies with yours gives us. I fear we may give the game away that your blood is the sweetest nectar the universe has ever produced.”

  “But we could show Bea around a little first, couldn’t we?” Ryle suggested.

  “Yes,” I said eagerly, “I’d like that.”

  Aimery nodded and opened the door.

  Immediately warmth seeped from the large, darkened room. The scent of log fires filled the air, though it was tinged with the aroma of sex, sweet sweat and arousal.

  We stepped in. Aimery held my hand. Ryle clicked the door shut behind us.

  It took a moment for my eyes to adjust properly, though I could make out pale bodies in front of me, each one naked and completely engrossed in the act of sex. It wasn’t a couple; it was a group of three comfortably placed on a pile of velvet cushions, writhing and thrusting, groaning and gasping.

  The flickering light from a candle highlighted the woman’s face. She was on her hands and knees, sucking on guy’s cock while she was penetrated from behind by another man. Instantly I was turned on by the scene—my clit twitched and my pussy clenched. I watched fascinated as her body shunted back and forth, pressing her mouth around the guy’s cock as she was filled completely. She appeared oblivious to everything else, only conscious of the two men screwing her. Her eyes were shut and her groans were low and deep.

  I wanted to be her, feel what she was feeling, that absolute possession. The intense desire for it was like a wave crashing through me and I shuddered involuntarily.

  “You like what you see?” Ryle whispered.

  “Yes,” I said, almost on a pant. “I do.”

  “Good, because so do I.”

  I glanced at him. His eyes were wide and his lips held a slight sheen as though he’d just licked them.

  “This way,” Aimery said, tugging my hand.

  We walked past an enormous fireplace and a table littered with squat mugs and teapots into another section of the basement. Here a man stood on his tiptoes, his body stretched and his uplifted arms attached to a rope hanging from the ceiling. He was completely naked and his cock was thickly erect jutting from a dense patch of black pubic hair. I could see his skin was perfectly clear even in this dim light,
almost translucent.

  “You want more?” a stern female voice asked. A woman holding a long whip moved around the shadows. She wore thigh-length black boots, barely-there knickers and a corset that jutted her wobbling breasts almost to her chin.

  “Yes, Mistress, more, please more,” the man begged.

  Suddenly the snapping sound I’d heard from outside the basement door rang around the stone walls.

  The man yelped then groaned as she brought the slim leather tail of the whip down on his buttocks.

  I gasped and watched her repeat the process on his back and the tops of his thighs. Each time he cried out then groaned, his body jerking, his cock bobbing.

  My buttocks tingled as I looked at his pale orbs taking the beating. I knew what sensual pain felt like now, thanks to Ryle. It was intense, mind-blowing, and it flew me high on adrenaline.

  Ryle stroked his hand over my bum, squeezing slightly and making the tender flesh there tingle all the more. “You liked how I made you feel earlier with my slaps?”

  “Yes. Very much.”

  “Good. I’d like to do it again sometime.”

  “Yes,” I said.

  “You may come now,” the woman before us suddenly commanded. She strutted in a large arc to stand in front of her captive, held up her wrist and placed it over his mouth.

  “Come, I said come, slave.” She brought the whip around his back, slashing him twice over his shoulders and then on his arse. Each hit was deadly accurate and so intense.

  He lifted from the floor so he was barely on a single toe. His body shook and jerked, ropes of cum shot from his cock onto her shiny corset. But what captivated me the most was his face. He’d latched onto her wrist and was sucking greedily, his cheeks pulling in and out as he swallowed. A single trickle of blood leaked down her inner forearm to beyond the crook of her elbow.

  She tipped her head back, her pelvis rocking against nothing. It was as though she was orgasming without any external stimulation. Her mouth parted slackly and her breasts strained forward, the right one overspilling so her areola was visible.