Blood Deep

by Sharon Page

  Roughly, he shoved her through the sparser grouping of people, toward the carriages that still flowed in and out of the yard. The story was spreading like wildfire. She heard the word witch muttered, then laughter and denials.

  “You see,” Ryder snarled. “I’ll be more merciful than they will.”

  “I doubt that.” How infuriating to have magic power yet be so powerless now. At least she’d saved Will. If that was her last act in life, it was worth it.

  The pistol drove into her side. “Hurry toward the stables, Miss Bond.”

  Miss Bond. He was going to blow her away with his pistol, but he still adhered to good manners. She choked on the hysterical laugh that bubbled up.

  The hum was behind them now. Then she heard a man shout, “Where did she go?”

  And the babble rose again.

  Mr. Ryder shoved her forward and she stumbled against the stone wall of the stable. The tang of manure came to her nose, making her gag. The low whinny of horses filled her ears, and she filled her lungs and screamed.

  No one came. No one shouted or called out to find out what was wrong. A woman’s screams weren’t unusual, weren’t enough to bring the stablehands out to the rescue.

  Ryder’s hand clamped over her mouth. The leather tasted of dirt and sweat, and was smooth from holding reins. The pressure crushed her lips against her teeth and she tasted the coppery warmth of her own blood.

  He spun on his heel. She felt weightless for a moment, then the stone wall of the stable slammed hard into her back. Tears sprang instantly. Her breath exhaled into his hand. More blood. She had to swallow hard to take it down, it welled so fast.

  “You think you saved that boy, don’t you?” he rasped by her ear. “You brought him back from the dead. That’s what you think, isn’t it? That’s not what you’re doing. You don’t have any bloody idea how you’re cursing the people you think you save.”

  Cursing? She stared at him. Could it be true? She’d just thought they would live—she’d never thought beyond that. But Ryder belonged to the Royal Society, and they must know more about her than she did.

  Ryder leaned closer, until she could see the silvery sheen of moonlight cross his blue eyes. “You’re a virgin, aren’t you? A baron’s daughter and a treasure in your world. A shame to kill you. But you’ve got to be stopped.”

  The pistol was underneath her heart, and his hand was still clamped over her mouth. He’d shoot her, tear her apart, splatter most of her against the stone wall, and steal her final scream with his hand.

  A black shape materialized behind Mr. Ryder. Moonlight rippled over dark fur, flashed on teeth as a jaw opened wide.

  Long, curved fangs drove into Mr. Ryder’s throat, and the wolf pulled back, dragging the vampire slayer off her. Ryder clawed at the animal’s snout and punched it with the pistol. Wild panic was in his eyes. The wolf was a huge beast, as black as night.

  She should run back to the inn’s yard. She should cry for help. She should cry for the magistrate. She should save Mr. Ryder’s life—

  Bang!

  With a burst of smoke, a deafening roar, the pistol fired. She gasped. The pistol’s muzzle was right against the wolf’s throat. Blood spurted, but the animal did not drop. It did not even loosen its grip. It reared up, dragging Mr. Ryder, then flung him to the side. He screamed as he flew, then landed with a thud in a muddy puddle.

  A flash of light dazzled her—it was like watching small diamonds being thrown in the air. Then Lukos stood there, fangs long and red with blood, his eyes ablaze, reflecting light like silver coins.

  Lukos caught her in his arms and she didn’t fight. His chest was broad and solid as he drew her to him and held her tight. His hands were big, his splayed fingers a shield for her back. She didn’t even care that he had his other huge hand under her bottom.

  His embrace felt so protective. She’d rather be with Lukos than with Mr. Ryder.

  Lukos swept her into his arms, balanced her there easily, and began to run. “Where are we going?” she demanded. He’d returned because he’d fed. She guessed that. She didn’t want to know. Her stomach turned somersaults inside her.

  “The carriage,” he growled. “Then the hell away from here.” His long strides were taking them around the inn on the side away from the yard, through the black shadows cast by the trees.

  “Who in hell was he?” Lukos demanded.

  “A vampire slayer.”

  They were nearing the yard. The clop of hooves grew louder, along with the babble of voices. Had people forgotten about her and the man with the pistol?

  “Most slayers don’t attack innocent maidens.” He lowered her to her feet. “Can you walk?”

  “Y-yes,” she said shakily. “I saved a child’s life. I brought him back from the dead. He saw me do it and thinks I’m a demon he should destroy.”

  She heard voices—a group of women gossiping about the fallen child and the mysterious lady who had helped, who had been dragged away by some gentleman with a pistol.

  They certainly hadn’t forgotten.

  “That’s what you did when you touched Zayan—you tried to return mortal life to him?” He flashed a brief grin. “A naïve hope, love.” His arm on her elbow urged her forward.

  The carriage was rumbling toward her. Where was Zayan? Already inside?

  “Why naïve?” she argued. Why was she trying to cross swords with Lukos? Why did she feel such a need to understand that she was willing to fight with a being who had transformed from wolf to man in front of her eyes? “You are without souls; you are the undead. I thought—”

  “Our souls are not lost. They are not in limbo; they cannot be returned. Lucifer owns my soul, and I sold it willingly.”

  Why? But men were willing to sell their souls—for power, for wealth, for sex, for revenge…. Miranda raced after Lukos and realized that he wasn’t holding her arm anymore, yet she was willingly pursuing him. “Am I a demon? You are one, so you should know, shouldn’t you?” Why was she doing this? How could she trust his answer? But she couldn’t stop herself. “Do you feel it in me? Am I evil?”

  The wind snapped his long black hair around his face, and his cloak whipped about like large wings. “You are powerful, my lady. That is all I can sense about you.”

  My lady. “Is that the truth? I can’t trust what you say.”

  “Then why ask?” he growled. He took a long, loping stride, leaving her as the carriage rumbled to a stop. He sent magic to fling the door open wide. He turned back to her.

  Should she run?

  To what? She glanced back toward the stable and saw the gleam of golden hair—Mr. Ryder had hauled himself out of the mud and was in pursuit.

  She bit her lip, hard, and tasted a wash of blood. A foolish thing to do in front of a vampire.

  Lukos held out his hand. She took it. He had saved her life. He had faced a slayer to do it. She was safest with him. Or was she? Or did she just not care what happened to her anymore?

  And if what Ryder had said was true—she was damning those she saved—she was no different from a vampire.

  She chose Lukos.

  But as she jumped up into the carriage. Lukos threw in a powerful ball of purple light and suddenly the interior transformed before her eyes; it changed from a simple carriage into a lavishly sinful space. The seats became larger, and covered in white silk, mounded with ivory pillows. As she stared in astonishment, the purple lights suddenly raced under her skirts. They rushed up her legs as she shrieked in shock, then danced in wild circles between her thighs. Suddenly, the energy surrounded both her wet cunny and the astonishingly sensitive entrance to her derriere.

  Lukos jumped into the carriage and slammed the door behind him.

  “Stop this—” Oh goodness, it felt so incredibly good. She stood there, her hands braced against one of the seats as the magic lights beneath her skirts whirled and spiraled and teased her. Her legs were melting. She had to resist…she had to…“Stop—”

  But her voice died a
way. Why stop? She couldn’t remember why. There was Blackthorne…whom she had fallen in love with, but she couldn’t have him. She couldn’t marry him when she might be a demon, when her power might truly mean she was cursed—

  Lukos was on his knees in front of her. “I saved your life, love, because I’ve felt a desire for you I’ve never felt for anyone before. I realized you were the reason I felt no sexual need when I fed—desire came in the instant I saw you.”

  He began to lift her skirts, and she couldn’t stop him. Not with the magic teasing both her throbbing clitoris and her tingling bottom. She was rocking, feeling that same intense pleasure as she had when she’d tried to save Zayan.

  “Let me make love to you, my angel,” Lukos growled.

  Oh heavens. Heavens. Heavens. She couldn’t answer. She cried out. The lights had delved inside both her cunny and her rump, filling her and stretching her, and she’d burst—simply exploded—in pleasure.

  “Good, sweet angel.” Lukos’s voice was hoarse with approval. “You’re coming.”

  5

  Punishment

  Translation of the Prophecy of Lukos

  From a manuscript held in the archives of the Royal Society for the Investigation of Mysterious Phenomena

  A rend in the earth shall set him free. Signs shall be sent to his disciples, to those who serve him nobly. They will feast in blood in preparation of his rise, until the seventh day before Samhain, when they will fast in honor of the final ascension. And once he steps upon the earth, he shall summon those disciples and they shall stand at his side, an army of unthinkable power and infinite evil.

  He shall find the woman bred to be his mate. Vampyre, mortal, and descendent of a god. His mate has been created to destroy God’s creation: man. But as he prepares to launch his army and subject the earth to eternal darkness, the mate of his soul will bear him a son, and that son shall bring him to his knees and take his very life.

  His army will continue and much blood will be spilled, and the earth will be plunged into two hundred years of darkness, doom, and strife, and then the world will come to an end—

  Something unexpected happened as the woman—Miranda—came for him. Lukos felt it in his mind. It was as though he had thrown open a large door and had let blinding light fall upon him. He’d opened himself to her. He could feel his thoughts racing into her mind, and hers flooded into his.

  He had Miranda’s skirts in his hands—a bunched swath of silk that carried her rosy, innocent, and alluringly feminine scent. This had never happened to him before. Since the first night he had gone into Lucifer’s labyrinth, he had been able to keep his mind closed to anyone and anything.

  He had not even experienced this with Serena Lark, the half-vampire woman who he’d believed was his intended mate.

  Another smell came to him—the earthy, rich perfume of Miranda’s juices as she rocked in her climax. It called to him. His desire surged. He yanked up her gown and put his mouth to her damp nether curls, letting her skirts and lacy petticoats fall around his shoulders.

  Thrusting his tongue out, he licked her creamy cunny, tasting the pleasure he’d given her. With one hand, he freed his cock. He moaned as it sprang from his trousers, standing up to the heavens and pointing to Miranda’s slick passage. The purple lights whirled around her, brighter now. The energy of her orgasm was combining with his magic, lighting the carriage with a beautiful, unearthly purple glow.

  It reminded him of a sunset, and that made him bury his face between her thighs and lick her harder.

  “Lukos.” She spoke his name breathily. She clutched his shoulders. This was his world—the darkness of a bedroom, the gloom of a carriage, the crisp, cool dark of the forest, where leaves crunched underneath a woman’s arse as she fucked. His world was night, and he could glimpse in Miranda’s mind and see her thoughts were always about sunshine. His only pleasures were erotic ones, and he saw in her heart a great love for family. Dimly, he remembered that—what it was like to be part of family. To love others.

  She opened up too much in him, this woman. So he clasped her firm bottom and pulled her quim tight to his face. So he wouldn’t have to think.

  You are magical, Miranda. And she was. Her cunny was still pulsing, the walls clutching his tongue as he thrust it in. She tasted of ripe, earthy juices.

  Touch yourself, she whispered in thought.

  He saw her hands at her breasts, kneading and squeezing. Her climax had shattered her defenses, and the magic was igniting her natural wanton urges.

  I don’t need to, he answered in her thoughts, and he held her hips as she began rocking against his mouth.

  She looked down, her now disheveled hair falling free of her pins. It hung in spun-gold waves around her face. He knew his cock was standing proud, bobbing in rhythm to her gyrations on his face.

  He still sensed a hesitation inside her, a ripple of fear. He wanted to free her completely. And he knew how to do it. He added another spell to the magic already swirling around the carriage. This one would control them both; it would tap into Miranda’s most private, darkest fantasies and bring one to life.

  “What do you mean—my most private fantasies?” Miranda asked sharply.

  She realized she was clutching her breasts, her skirts were bunched up on Lukos’s broad shoulders, and he was licking her silly. But she’d glimpsed his thoughts.

  And they were extremely naughty.

  Since the moment he’d saved her from Ryder, she’d felt a kind of connection with him. Energy crackled when he’d touched her like tiny bolts of lightning.

  “Now,” Lukos growled.

  Suddenly, the blue lights lifted her, and a stream of blue stars forced Lukos to the floor of the carriage. He was lying on his back. She actually saw surprise—and fear—in his reflective eyes. She was hovering twelve inches above the floor.

  Lukos’s arms were outstretched above his head, and the blue light spun around his wrists, locking them together. The lights transformed into blue velvet—a band tied neatly to bind his hands together. Another band of velvet appeared at his ankles to secure them. And one, to her shock, wrapped around the very base of his…his erection, and magically tied a bow.

  You dream of being in control. Dominating a man. His deep voice vibrated in her mind.

  Blushing hotly, she protested, “No, of course not. What madness.”

  Deny it all you want, he chuckled. Why else are my hands bound? I’m enjoying this, my love, and want to share this with you.

  She had to admit she liked having him this way. Though she suspected he could use magic to break those bonds whenever he wanted.

  The blue lights suddenly rushed around her. Her dress opened by itself, buttons popping free of their loops, one after another, like tiny fireworks. Her bodice fell and was dragged down her arms as though by invisible hands. Her corset laces undid themselves—she twisted to watch—and the ends whirled through the air as they loosened by magic. Her corset dropped just below her bosom; her shift disappeared. Simply vanished, leaving her bared breasts propped on the firm shelf of her corset rim. It made them stick right out, made them look huge, the nipples dark and hard.

  The sight was unbearable exciting. It felt wanton and delicious.

  Lukos licked his lips.

  He grinned. “I can control myself, my dear. Even when faced with the two most perfect tits in existence.”

  Even that word in his husky voice—tits—felt deliciously naughty. She wriggled on him, making her breasts sway. Blue lights appeared at the tips of her breasts. “Oh,” she moaned, as the tingling sensation struck her nipples. Then she felt a jolt of agony. A thrilling, shocking pain. She could barely breathe. Then saw. The lights had vanished, leaving two metal devices that were hanging off her nipples, pinching them. They were lined with velvet, but the pressure was so intense.

  The lights swirled again, and her hands were pulled back. Ropes wound around her wrists, just as they had done to Lukos; then they whirled up her arms and wrapped around
her breasts, making a tight figure eight. The ends suddenly threaded through rings on the clamps on her tits. And when she wriggled her hands, she tugged those vicelike clamps, and sent pleasure and pain rushing from her nipples to her quim.

  Dominating him, indeed. She liked the feel of the ropes.

  Surely this couldn’t be her doing? Her fantasy? How she realized, in that moment, she was not a normal proper woman at all.

  More ropes materialized, looped around the one binding her hands, and these wrapped in an intricate pattern of knots around her thighs, then encircled her ankles. She was bound, and each time she moved, the roughness of the rope teased her skin.

  Her quim ached. She was fluttering the muscles herself. She wanted, wanted, wanted to come again.

  “Then put me in your fantasy, love.” He laughed. “I’ll be happy to oblige.”

  “Hush, I’m in charge,” she admonished. To her shock, a gag of silk appeared over his mouth, tied so tight she could see the curves of his smile through the fabric. Had she summoned that?

  She was lifted by the blue lights and set down on Lukos’s face. Underneath her gown, she wore snug drawers with a lace-trimmed slit. She straddled Lukos’s chest, and he lifted his head, his eyes drinking in the sight of the drawers, pulled taut against her pubic curls. His hips gyrated slightly.

  Instead of moving back down toward his groin, she pinned his biceps with her knees, and pushed her hips forward so her now damp and aching quim brushed his chin. She wriggled again, so her sex and its lips—exposed just at the tips—sank down against his gagged mouth. Her drawers and the pretty lace edging were growing wetter and she could smell her potent arousal.

  Lukos breathed deeply. She felt his tongue push the silk into her. His mouth worked against her, trying to suck the lips of her sex but unable to capture them. As the blue lights rushed around them, Miranda danced her hips on him, twisting and grinding her mound into his mouth. She rocked ahead to bury his nose into fragrant silk and wet curls through the slit in her undergarments.