by Kit Tunstall
“What is my name?”
The question was unexpected, and her mouth fell open. She took a deep breath, trying to combat the anguish he inflicted. “I don’t know.” Her voice was a reedy whisper, completely lacking the conviction she planned to interject.
The pain grew sharper, and pressure filled her skull. Emily’s eyes bulged outward, and she vomited on the carpet. A scream rose in her throat, but she had no voice to give it life. Once more, she heaved, disgorging the remainder of the meager contents in her stomach. A fresh wave of nausea swept through her when she saw the red-black color of her vomit. It looked like blood.
He knelt before her, brushing aside the snakes casually. “Say my name, and the pain will end.”
She whimpered and tried to fight back the word hovering on her tongue. Uttering it gave his insanity validation. She was determined not to give in, but the name forced its way through her locked teeth, as if she were not in control of her own tongue. “N-nich-nicholas.”
The pain eased immediately. She dropped her hands from her head to support herself and touched soft carpet. When she looked down, all the snakes were gone. Only the vomit remained. She looked at the back of her hand and saw the wound close before her eyes. By the time she leaned back and brought her ankle up for inspection, the skin was smooth and unmarred—as if the bite mark had never been there. Was it all an illusion?
Her eyes were wide, and she felt a phantom pounding in her ears, though she could barely hear her own heartbeat thumping faintly. “Where did the snakes go?” Her voice emerged as a rasp.
Nicholas pushed the hair off her face and smiled at her. He didn’t answer her question. “Obey me, and there will be no more need for unpleasantness.”
She swallowed back a protest at the quaint description of unpleasantness. The last few minutes had been torture and terror, but nothing so easy as unpleasantness. “Never.”
He sighed, but his anger didn’t appear to return. “Never is a long time, my beloved. Rest now and dream. When I return, I may allow you to feed.” With one last caress of her cheek, he got to his feet and walked to the door.
Emily reached out for him, but her hand missed his leg. “I’m so hungry.”
He opened the door, not giving any indication of having heard.
“You can’t do this to me. You can’t starve me to death. What kind of monster are you?”
He half-turned to look over his shoulder. “Enough,” he said impatiently. “Sleep.”
“I’m not—” Even as the protest formed, Emily’s eyes grew heavy. Her body relaxed, and she slumped forward. She was vaguely aware of him returning to lift and carry her to the bed, but was unable to pull away from him. Within seconds of her head touching the feather pillow, she was asleep.
1511, San Juan Bautista (Puerto Rico)
He didn’t seem to be like the Spaniards. The differences went deeper than his pale skin and dark hair, or his name of Nicholas, which sounded nothing like the others’. There was darkness in his eyes that drew her in. They seemed to watch her every move since his arrival at Boriken—or San Juan Bautista as the foreigners called the island—a few days ago.
Erukán’s eyes were just as quick to follow him. Something about the man drew her to him. She had seen many foreigners in her fifteen years. The Spaniards invaded her home just a few years before her birth, so she had never known the glorious times when the Taíno were free, or when her father’s status of Cacique still meant something. All she had known was the casual cruelty of the men who had invaded her home. Her knowledge of glory days came from tribal elders.
He was different. He didn’t assume he could have any woman near him, and he had not beaten anyone in the days she had watched him. He kept strange hours, often sleeping through the afternoon, but when disturbed from his slumber, he might be impatient, but never violent.
She loved him. Erukán had no idea when it had happened. Perhaps the moment their eyes locked when the latest ship from Spain arrived. She had stood in the pre-dawn light watching the men unload the dark-skinned African slaves and had noticed the way he knelt to assist an elderly slave to his feet after one of the Spaniards knocked him down.
How could she love him when they had never even spoken to each other? It made no sense, but she knew him in a way she couldn’t explain. He had haunted her dreams, even before his arrival on the island. She shivered as a dream fragment came back to her. It was the one she hated, of the woman with the cross so similar to the ones the Spaniards worshipped.
Erukán blocked out the memory and slipped across the rocky shore to follow him. She knew his destination, if he followed his pattern of the past few days. Near sunset, he always went to a private section of beach where few ventured. After bathing, he would slip into the foliage and return anywhere from a few minutes to an hour later. Once he washed his face, he would return to the settlement. She didn’t know what he did during his trips into the undergrowth and hadn’t been confident of her ability to follow silently.
She stopped several feet from him, pressed herself behind a large rock, and leaned out to watch him disrobe. Her cheeks flushed pink when he stripped off the leather tunic, followed by the boots and trousers. She couldn’t keep her eyes from drifting to his lower body, to admire the size and shape of his cock, resting on a bed of dark curls that beckoned her fingers to run through them. Although she had seen him nude every night for the last four, his body still awed her. Never had she seen skin so pale, even on the Spaniards, whose olive skin was no match for her own deep bronze, and certainly not on the imported slaves, with their skin of matte black.
She held her breath as he walked into the gently rolling waves. From her vantage point, she couldn’t clearly see the details of his body, but the bunching of his muscles and the fluid way he moved was visible, making it difficult to breathe. Warmth spread through her body, seeming to radiate from her pussy. She knew the ways of men and women, thanks to her mother’s warning to avoid the Spanish men. Her mother’s description of rape had haunted her, making her wary of any man, but for the first time in her life, she wanted to lie with a man—him. Nicholas.
He stayed in the warm water for several minutes before returning to the sand. He perched on a rock near the waves until his pale skin had dried in the fading sun before slipping on his boots and trousers, but leaving the leather tunic hanging over the rock.
She watched him disappear into the jungle and dared to slip away from her hiding place. Erukán’s eyes darted around the stretch of sand, seeing no one. On fleet feet, unimpeded by the heavy brown dress she had wound around her hips and tied at her waist, she went to his tunic and lifted it, burying her face in the leather material to inhale his scent. Her nose wrinkled at the faint smell of old blood, not quite masked by the mingled scents of sandalwood and perspiration. Had he injured himself?
“My little follower,” he said in a smooth, rough voice, with an accent different from the others.
Her eyes widened when he spoke behind her, and she whirled to face him. He stood inches from her, and her stomach quivered. Never had she expected to stand so close to him. Her heart pounded in her ears, and she dropped his tunic. Erukán ran from him, but skidded to a halt when he was suddenly in front of her again. She blinked, and then looked back at the rock. “I—”
He smiled, revealing even teeth with pointy incisors. “You speak Spanish.”
“I went to the school in Caparra for a time.” She couldn’t believe her first spoken words to him were about her enforced education. At least she hadn’t blurted out her tender feelings.
He stared at her in silence, and then reached out to touch her coarse dark hair, bound into braids. “So different in appearance, but I recognize your soul.”
“I do not understand.”
Nicholas smiled at her. “You do not have to. Come with me, Erukán.”
She frowned. “You know my name?”
He nodded. “I know all about you.” He took her hand and led her back to the rock, where he knelt
to pick up his tunic. “You are the reason I am here, beloved.”
His use of that endearment stirred shadowy cobwebs in her memory. Her frown deepened. “I am? But, why?”
He sat on the rock and pulled her down beside him. “A woman I met nearly a hundred years ago—”
Her eyes widened. “A hundred? How can that be?”
Nicholas pressed a finger to her lips. His eyes clouded, and his mouth twisted. “I knew her briefly. Her gift of sight led me to you.” He must have seen her confusion. “I had despaired of ever finding you again. She told me to seek out Ponce de León to find my lost love.”
“The governor?”
He nodded and put his arm around her. “Yes. She told me I would understand when the time was right. I awoke a few months ago and knew where you were, as surely as I know myself.”
Erukán shook her head. “You are confusing me.”
Nicholas shrugged. “You will remember after the change. She told me the memories would return as dreams, with a little prodding from me.”
“Dreams?” Her eyes widened. “How do you know of the dreams?”
He looked surprised. “What do you dream about?”
“You.” She blushed and dropped her eyes. “And a woman,” she whispered. “She has a cross like the priest’s, and she—” She broke off, unable to give voice to the woman’s deeds.
“What of this woman? How does she look?”
“Long black hair and dark green eyes. Her skin is nearly as pale as yours.” She met his gaze, drawn into the deep black pools. “Who is she?”
“She was Emma de Gaunthet, my betrothed.” He lifted her hand and kissed the palm. “You are she.”
Erukán’s brow furrowed. “How can that be?”
He lifted a shoulder. “I do not know how you came to be again, but I am thankful. Is there somewhere private we may go?”
She didn’t feel even a moment’s hesitation when she nodded and grasped his hand before standing. “The caves. We must walk.”
“I am capable. Show me the way, beloved.”
She led him up the mountain, grasping his hand. Her bare feet moved easily over the rocks exposed under the gray dirt. Her mother had told her of the days when this mountain was covered with trees, before the Spaniards came and dug holes inside, forcing the Taíno men to mine for the gold they hoarded and sent by shiploads back to their homes across the vast ocean.
“You are not winded,” she commented near their destination. Many of the Spaniards had grown fat and lazy because her people met all their needs, and they could not have made such a trek without being carried by a slave or horse.
A strange expression flitted across his face. “Nay, I am not. I did say I was capable.” His eyes gleamed with a teasing glint. “I am capable of many things, beloved.”
She looked away, alarmed by the heat suffusing her face. It was almost painful to meet his eyes as her heart pounded in her ears.
Halfway up the mountain, a few of the trees had maintained a tenacious hold, before giving way to a rocky outcropping. She detoured around the trees and knelt on her knees, slithering in through the small hole as she wondered if Nicholas would fit.
Erukán turned to see if he could come inside. Her eyes widened when he stretched his body to slip inside the dark cave. “Are you a god?” she whispered reverently.
He laughed. “Of course not. I am…gifted.”
She started to ask more, but her eyes locked with his, and she forgot the questions. Her head started spinning, and she felt dizzy. As she looked into his eyes, it was as if they were sucking her into a vortex. Crimson and red-brown swirled together, blotting out the black. Her body went limp, and she fell onto her back. Moistening her lips, Erukán fought down a stirring of fear. She loved him and was safe with him.
He sprawled beside her, touching her lips with his fingers. “I have not eaten this evening. I feared you would slip away if I took time to hunt.” His lips quirked. “An exercise in self-control, no?”
“What?”
He touched her thigh, bared by the way she had wrapped the dress once out of sight of the village. “I will not change you until our return to England. It is too risky to have two such as I on the same ship, with no protection.”
She fixed bewildered eyes on his face. “Please make me understand.”
“Later.” His voice was an impatient growl. “It has been too long, Erukán.”
She experienced a moment of fear when he gathered her in his arms. The first touch of his lips on hers sent waves of warmth cascading through her, and she trembled. Erukán threaded her fingers through his hair and returned the kiss. When his tongue entered her mouth, she instinctively mimicked the action and cried out when her tongue raked across his sharp tooth.
He groaned and pushed her away. “You are bleeding, my beloved.”
“I am fine.”
A shaky smile split his face. “I fear I shall not be.” Sweat beaded his forehead, and he visibly trembled. He looked even paler than before. “Give me a moment.”
She stayed still as he pulled away and closed his eyes. She blotted her tongue on her finger, and his eyes opened. He watched the finger bearing her blood as she moved to wipe it on the rough cotton gown. She cried out when he seized her wrist in a tight hold and pulled her hand to his mouth. “You are hurting me.”
His hold loosened as his tongue darted out to lick away the small smear of blood. “You taste so sweet, beloved.”
Her fear returned when his eyes shifted from black to dark-red. “Nicholas?” she asked with a catch in her voice.
He blinked, and the strange color faded a bit. “I cannot change you, but I must savor you. Will you let me taste you, Erukán?”
His expression was so tender, and his need was so visible, that she found herself unable to refuse him. She nodded, and he returned to her. Her stomach churned when he sprawled beside her, and she tensed when his hand slid up her dress to touch her. His head descended, and he buried his face against her neck.
As his fingers penetrated her pussy, circling her clit, his teeth slid through the smooth skin at her throat. She gasped with the mingled bliss and pain. Almost immediately, the sting faded, and pleasure swept through her. She had never known such a feeling existed. Pure sensation overwhelmed her, and she willingly surrendered to his touch. Her hips moved in rhythm with his hand, and his hand responded by increasing in tempo. As he caressed her clit with his thumb, one of his fingers sought out her entrance, easing its way inside to slowly stretch her.
Erukán whimpered at the burning sensation that lingered for a moment, before fading to pleasure again, as he pushed another finger inside, past the barrier of her virginity, and began thrusting in time with the movements of his mouth at her neck.
A quiet sucking sound penetrated her dazed brain, making her realize he was drinking her blood. Rather than repulse her, the knowledge heightened her pleasure, and ecstasy rushed through her. A new rush of moisture drenched his hand, and her muscles convulsed around his fingers, as her body sought release.
“Nicholas.” His name was a rasp from her dry throat. She arched her back, emphasizing her breasts. He complied with her unspoken request, moving his free hand to caress her nipples through the thick garment, before groaning with impatience. Her neck absorbed the sound, and her spine shivered in sympathy with the vibrations of his mouth.
Spasms swept through her pussy, alternately contracting and releasing, bringing along a wave of pleasure. Erukán moaned at the sensation, while arching her hips, wanting more of his touch. A small cry burst from her, and her heart raced. The release of the orgasm, coupled with the floating sensation in her head, was enough to make her go limp.
As her orgasm faded, he lifted his head and met her eyes. His face bore smears of her blood. “I dare not take more.”
She sighed and reached for him, incapable of speaking at that moment. She wanted only to hold him and enjoy the peace and pleasure filling her. When he took her in his arms, Erukán was comp
lete, as if part of her had been missing, but had now returned. She could stay with him forever. “Show me more.”
He chuckled, a rich sound, warm with love. “Of course, beloved.” He straddled her, sitting up with his thighs keeping her lower half clamped to the ground, while he urged her to sit up with him. Nicholas’s fingers were deft when he unfastened the first of the small buttons that led to the waist of the dress, not bothering to undo them past her neck. The garment went easily when he lifted it off her, exposing her nudity underneath.
She looked down, caught between shame and defiance. “The priests at the Convent of Franciscans say we must wear undergarments, but it is too hot.”
“I am thankful.” Nicholas leaned forward to press a kiss to her shoulder. His lips were little more than phantoms as they skimmed over her skin, eliciting sparks wherever he touched. She threw back her head when his tongue slid over her skin, heading upward, to lick the trickle of blood still seeping from the wound at her neck. She stirred against him when his tongue raked the punctures left by his teeth, renewing their sensitivity. Her nipples throbbed in simpatico with the pulsing wound, and Erukán threaded her fingers through his hair, trying to hold him against her neck.
He pulled away. “I dare not take more, beloved. You would not survive if I were to drink my fill of you, and you cannot change yet.”
Her brow furrowed with confusion. “Please explain. What is this change you want me to make?”
He pushed her flat again. “There will be time for explanations later, Erukán. Right now, I want to feel the heat of your pussy enveloping my cock. I need you.”
How could she ignore his necessity, when she desired him just as desperately? As he said, there would be time to learn all of his secrets later. She relaxed under him, watching with rapt attention as he stripped off the leather tunic before opening his trousers to expose his cock. She had seen it from a distance, but up close, it was more impressive and more frightening. Her thighs clenched involuntarily when she imagined his cock driving into her pussy. Would it hurt? His fingers had hurt, but had also eased open her snug passage. She would place her trust in him because she knew he wouldn’t disappoint her.