by Joey W. Hill
Though Uthe knew himself to be far from such perfection, he understood that feeling. He gave Keldwyn a courteous bow, his own mask back in place.
“So be it, my lord.”
Chapter Two
As Uthe strode down the hall to his sleeping quarters, he fought the needs of his own body, but he already knew he wasn’t going to win. He was aroused, flushed with heat, and his fangs had no desire to retract, his blood lust fully provoked. He’d learned to accept his weaknesses, manage them with control and denial as much as he could, but Keldwyn was just too much to be denied.
Mariela, I have need of you before I sleep.
Yes, my lord. I am already here.
Of course she was. Unless he told her otherwise, she always came to his room at dawn in case he needed blood. Six feet tall, built with the curves of a goddess and the strength of an Amazon, she was an intelligent, warm and steady servant, offering him everything he needed from her, yet never asking for more than he could give. If he’d ever sensed otherwise, he would have had Lyssa re-assign the Inherited Servant to another Council member. He had no desire to bring her pain. She’d given him too much to hurt her so carelessly.
Yet today he needed more from her than he usually demanded.
I want you undressed when I get there, Mariela. He wanted to feel her skin under his hands, see her body vulnerable to him. His.
Blessed Virgin. He stopped himself in the hallway, despite the protest of his dual hungers. He could do better than this. He usually did. But lately… His jaw firmed. Damn his soul to Hell, he had to do what he had to do, and these arguments with his conscience were pointless. The Templar vow of chastity had always been something different for him, far more in keeping with the spiritual meaning than the functional one. Keep your intentions pure, so that you may stand in the light of the Lord…
The tenets of the Cistercian Order had guided much of the Templar Rule, thanks to St. Bernard, one of the original authors, being a member of that Order. Uthe recalled the words of Guerric of Igny on poverty: "…truly blessed poverty of spirit is to be found more in humility of heart than in a mere privation of everyday possessions, and it consists more in the renunciation of pride than in a mere contempt for property. Sometimes it might be useful to own things…"
He wondered what Guerric would think of his words being applied to a vampire’s carnal needs, or the ownership of a third marked servant’s soul.
All Council guest rooms were suites, with kitchenette, bathroom, bedroom, living room. His had little in it beyond the provided furnishings, his small collection of books and a locked chest of belongings. His few items of clothing were solid black, white or brown. The garments had simple lines, but the tailoring and fabric were excellent quality. Despite their lack of ostentation, they ensured he represented his position on Council appropriately. Due to the conscientious care they received from Mariela, they did not require replacement often.
On the dresser next to his bed, seven candles were lined up on a silver tray. When he retired for the day, Mariela would light one of them, and it would burn until sundown. Its sputtering was his nightly alarm clock.
She’d turned down his bed and laid his nightclothes on the foot, a T-shirt and cotton drawstring pants. In accordance to the Rule, he always slept dressed. Mariela knelt at the foot of the bed. She’d unwrapped her long blonde hair, which she usually kept plaited, and it was falling over her bare shoulders. He paused beside her, put his hand upon it. Soft and thick, not as silky as Keldwyn’s, but still pleasing. He trailed his fingertips down the curve of her spine, watched her shudder at his touch. The mark that indicated her link to him cut a diagonal track across the firm flesh between her left shoulder blade and hip bone. It looked like a spear, tipped like an arrow but with no feathered fletching.
The shape of the mark that appeared during the third mark binding was not dictated by the vampire, but by Powers beyond understanding. He understood the message in that mark, though, and had always been grateful for the reminder, especially on a night like tonight.
He could be inside her heart, mind and soul to whatever depth he chose. There was no place for a servant to hide from her vampire, inside or out. The bond was absolute, which was why one of the few vampire laws to protect servants required that a human’s decision to become a servant must be a willing one. Enforcement of that was too lax for Randoms, those servants chosen by vampires from adult humans who weren’t part of the Inherited Servant program. However, the issue didn’t exist for an InhServ like Mariela. She and those like her were raised from the age of six to serve vampire masters or mistresses. The children were provided by human families who had generational ties to the vampire world, reminiscent of feudal loyalty to liege lords.
As he touched her, he saw the curiosity in Mariela’s mind, a pleased surprise. He didn’t often engage in a drifting caress like this, exploring her lovely skin. In the twelve years he’d had her service, he’d never even shared a bed with her. But he looked after her well-being, made sure she was honored by his protection and care as her service deserved. He permitted her to have human lovers if she desired them, and so he knew she had an ongoing arrangement with Torrence, Lady Helga’s servant. He also gave her several vacations each year. Though he always had to order her from his side for the prescribed time, he knew she benefitted from those respites from the demands of being a Council member’s servant.
As his fingers trailed downward, she anticipated his desires and moved from her knees to all fours, lifting her ass to accommodate his touch there. Curious at his own reaction, he traced the seam of her buttocks to her cunt, stroking as she opened her knees wider. Her lips were slick, ready for him. Inherited Servants were trained extensively in sexual arts. She’d likely become aroused when he’d ordered her to get undressed, or even before that. She was schooled to stay in a state of readiness.
He respected their dedication to the demands of their order, which resulted in a deserved pride in the skills they honed. Yet it was balanced with their steadfast humility, their joy in serving their Masters and Mistresses, however was required.
As a Templar Knight, he understood that dichotomy well.
He was taking too much pleasure in this. He should open his trousers and take her quickly, empty his seed and relieve the pressure in his cock and balls, currently intense enough to beat on the back of his brain. Then he could give her a prolonged and intense climax with his fingers or mouth, a reward for her devotion that allowed him to stay emotionally in control but not unkindly detached.
An image flashed through his mind. Keldwyn on all fours beneath him, naked and savage. That slim, taut ass waiting to be penetrated, the male’s head turned, those glittering eyes focused on him. Strands of dark hair would spill forward to tease his knife blade cheek, his sinfully tempting lips.
That scenario was even more improbable than the Fae allowing Uthe to take his blood. Uthe thought of Keldwyn’s attack in the stairwell, the way he’d pinned Uthe against the wall, holding him fast, proving his ability to overpower him. His palm had been hard on Uthe’s chest, his other one spread over his throat. He could almost feel Keldwyn’s nails digging into the arteries, constricting the flow of Uthe’s blood.
Mariela gasped as he dropped to a knee behind her, snaked his arm across her chest and brought her up against him, so forcefully he had her body arched and her knees off the floor. She had to rely on him to hold her upright. Fisting his hand in her hair, he pulled it out of his way and sank his fully lengthened fangs into her throat. As she let out a startled cry, a growl rumbled from him.
The sound, the act, was so unlike himself, it should have shocked him. It might later, but now he unleashed his hunger. Despite her initial shock, Mariela had caught up with him, swaying with the vibrations of his body. Her hand dropped, curved over his thigh. He could have forbidden her touch, but when her fingers convulsed, a physical reaction to the rush of responses in her mind—that sweet taste of fear a vampire enjoyed, coupled to her intense pleasure at
serving him in this way, her willing surrender to him no matter what—he wanted to feel the pressure of her fingers. He wanted to feel openly, no restrictions, no safeguards.
The kiss you really wanted to give me…
Whereas vampires were all natural sexual Dominants, the Fae were more like humans. A Fae might be Dominant or submissive or neither, according to their desires. Yet Uthe had known from the beginning Keldwyn was pure Dominant, in, out or across species. That awareness made something tremble deep inside Uthe now, thinking of the male’s mouth so close to his, that unveiled threat.
If you use that courteous tone on me once more…
He understood the danger of locking down impulses too long. It was why he had made the concessions he’d made over the centuries. It had worked, for so very long. The knowledge of why it wasn’t doing so now was a barb in his gut, a weight on his shoulders. He was an exceptionally intelligent male, yet that would mean nothing in the end. It made him so angry, and yet anger wasn’t an option. He was supposed to accept any contingency, be prepared to surrender all.
As his fingers tightened on her throat, Uthe realized he was cutting off his servant’s air. He couldn’t kill her this way, but he could render her unconscious, causing her the wrong kind of discomfort. He eased the touch with effort, but the blood was leveling him out. Sweet Mariela’s blood, so rich and pure.
As he let his fangs retract, he shifted and lifted her in his arms, something he also rarely did. After a hesitation, she curled her arms around his shoulders. She was a tall woman, built strong, but he was far more powerful. Feeling her arms around him made him lay his temple against hers. He drew in a steadying breath, her female scent.
Bernard of Clairvaux, who had endorsed the Templar Order and given it momentum, had revered the Virgin Mary. That reverence gave the Templars leeway to embrace her nurturing power and strength, though their Rule forbade them to kiss women, even their own mothers or sisters.
His lips curved at the thought as he pressed a kiss to Mariela’s forehead. He laid her on his bed, her knees bent over the edge, and stood above her, studying her naked body. Her brown eyes flickered up to his face, then down again, awaiting his desires. He didn’t typically forbid her to speak until spoken to, but he could tell she thought herself in uncharted waters right now.
It was further evidence of what Keldwyn had said, about how Uthe held himself away from everyone. Yet for good reason. Reminding himself of that, he took a settling breath. Laying a hand on either pale thigh, he knelt between her dangling feet.
“How was your day, my dearest servant?” It was how he greeted her every sunrise.
She propped herself up on her elbows and smiled tentatively before she responded in her usual way. Sincerely. “It was a blessing, my lord. Every day I am yours is. May I…please you?”
In her mind, he saw she wondered if he would reverse their positions, put her mouth to use on his cock. It was the usual way he availed himself of her sexual charms, and even that not nearly as often as other vampires did. He was able to stave off the relentless vampire sex drive with the act once or twice a week. Most vampires craved sexual release almost more than they craved blood. He was no exception, but abstinence was a discipline. Constant practice helped, but “practice makes perfect” was never going to apply to a vampire. He’d learned to accept that, as he’d learned to accept many things, to fulfill his role in his strange straddling of multiple worlds. He’d learned to indulge in a controlled manner.
That control, maintained by countless paternosters and other types of penance, returned him to the center line of the road each time. However, maybe that success was because he’d never been knocked all the way off the road and into the weeds by a desire for someone in particular. He thought of Keldwyn’s taste on his lips, the primal need that had gripped and led him to take his own servant’s blood so passionately.
“You never do anything but please me,” he answered her. “I want you to lie back.”
She obeyed, with that lovely little trembling. Even after twelve years, she was affected by his touch and demands. Yes, it was InhServ training, but the remarkable thing about that training was that the reaction was genuine. An InhServ like Mariela desired to serve her vampire, and every option he gave her to do so was welcomed with enthusiasm and fervent pleasure.
A shadow darkened that thought as he recalled Alanna, an InhServ who’d been bound to a treasonous Council Member. Thanks to the scientific prowess of Lord Brian, they’d been able to separate her from her Master before he was executed, but the girl had been tortured almost to the point of madness before it happened. As he thought of anyone doing such a thing to Mariela, his bloodlust rekindled.
Lord Mason had proposed a policy to grant more protections to servants. It was the first to address the welfare of servants in decades, introduced by Mason as a result of how his own servant, Jessica, had come to him, a story even more horrific than Alanna’s.
Uthe had always been ambivalent about vampire-servant issues, because the structure of the relationship had been in place for a long time, and had proven more beneficial than catastrophic. He wasn’t inclined to endorse new policies based on the needs of an exceptional few cases. Reactionary legislation only overloaded a governing body, and the Council had far more pressing issues that affected the majority of vampires. Yet when Alanna had been brought before them, nearly broken in mind and body, but still doing everything she could to serve the Council, he couldn’t help but respond to her courage and loyalty. If she’d been a Templar Knight, she’d have never left the field of battle.
Fortunately, she had a far better Master now. The highly trained echelon of the servant class were usually given to powerfully placed vampires, but because of the extenuating circumstances, the Council had made an exception. She’d been allowed to stay with the vampire who’d protected her while her Master was being hunted down. Evan was an artist, with no political standing at all, yet he had recognizable potential. He also had the patronage of the Council, because Uthe had sired him when Evan was a nineteen-year-old dying human.
People, vampires, Fae…they could all become something different and unexpected when needed, couldn’t they?
If he was thinking of Council business, his meal had achieved the desired effect, restoring his control. He gazed down at Mariela, enjoying the view, fondling her white thighs as he collected his thoughts. Perhaps he’d been hungrier than he expected, suggesting he needed to start feeding more often. Another voice interrupted his sudden tension.
A missive is coming. Are you ready to sever all ties, if that is what God demands? Go beyond the things you know, back to that which you once knew…
This voice was filled with God’s purpose, no serpent’s smoothness. The gravelly throat had been burned by the heat of the desert and the stress of God’s might. Uthe always respected that voice, prayed for its owner, but that message, with only slightly different words, had come to him repeatedly over the decades. Right on cue, the seductive voice came in right behind it to mock.
Like Armageddon, Madman. Everyone is sure of its coming, but does not even your own revered text say no one will know the time? Stop your raving. You’re giving me a headache and making me wish for the End of Days in truth.
That voice might personify evil, but he had wit. Uthe shook his head, offering a respectful prayer to the bearer of the first voice before he attended to his present task. He’d learned to not be distracted by those voices, though it had taken several decades to learn the way of it so he didn’t appear like a madman himself. Vampires couldn’t afford to appear weak in mind or body.
He staved off his worries about that, about the missive never coming, about a whole basket of things he couldn’t control. Trust in God’s will. And celebrate the beauty of His creation, spread before you now.
Mariela arched into his touch as he leaned forward, placed his lips on her sweet cunt and tasted the honey there. He’d read her desires from her mind and body, and take her to the pinnacle he
wanted to see her reach. Whenever his heart was raw or his mind uneasy, immersing himself in giving rather than taking restored them. He could spend a sleepless day in a prayer vigil, work out a Council problem…or give his servant mindless pleasure.
As Mariela began to writhe under his ministrations, he clamped his hands around her thighs, holding her still, driving her ever higher by denying her a climax until she couldn’t hold back her begging cries. Sometimes giving could be a sharply sweet taking.
Come for your Master, Mariela.
She obeyed with vigor, her lovely nipples tight and dark rose, her stomach and thighs taut with her response, her sex suddenly dewed with moisture within and without. He brought her down with gentle licks, a few nips that had her shuddering. A whisper of a smile crossed her pale pink lips at his teasing. Her hand moved toward him, but he closed his around her wrist, kissing her palm before she could touch his head as Keldwyn had done.
Rising over her, he stripped off his clothes. He could have resolved the issue with his hand at this point, but bringing her to climax wasn’t what gave an InhServ true contentment.
Taking a seat on the bed, he directed her to her knees on the floor between his feet. Service your Master, Mariela. Bring him ease.
He closed his eyes as Mariela’s soft hands slid up his thighs, her mouth closing on the head of his cock. As he moved his grip to her hair, he tried not to think of dark tresses or a male’s firm mouth sucking him the way she was doing it now, but he knew some fantasizing was necessary to reach climax. It wasn’t essential to think of that particular male, but his mind was giving him no choice. He supposed that was fine. There was no universe other than the one in his imagination where a Fae would kneel at his feet and suck his cock. He envisioned Keldwyn’s reaction to the fantasy. All that fine black hair would stand on end, wouldn’t it? What would Kel’s retribution be for such an outrageous insult?