Eternal Demon: Mark of the Vampire

by Wright, Laura

  “You bastard,” she whimpered. “You are the most vile creature I’ve ever encountered, and I’ve seen much that is evil.”

  “You haven’t met Cruen, then.” He eased back and found her gaze. “What. Are. You?”

  For a moment, her eyes blazed emerald fire and she looked ready to bite him. Instead, she drew in a breath and spit in his face.

  The thread of control Erion had been holding on to since he’d entered the dungeon snapped. He dove at her, crushed her mouth under his until she moaned, and ground her pelvis into his leg again. His tongue pushed past the barrier of her lips, and she responded instantly and sucked it into her mouth. He ripped his hands from the wall and gripped her head, raked his fingers into her curls, and kissed her hard. She was the sweetest thing he’d ever tasted, and he knew he’d never recover from what was happening between them right now, what he’d allowed. Shit, what he’d taken. He was an animal, a brute, and she was crying out for him to take her. It was all a lie, a fantasy of the worst and most delectable kind, but in that moment it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered.

  That one thought echoed through his mind. Nothing matters. Nothing matters?

  Shit. What was wrong with him?

  He pulled back and roared.

  Her chest heaving, her eyes heavy with passion and need and ire narrowing into pinprick slits. Panting, she raged at him, a sound that held acute misery. “I fucking hate you!”

  “Well, stop,” he growled. “It makes your scent stronger, your body wetter, and your mouth impossible to resist.”

  Her body trembled and she whimpered again. “You will pay for this, you bloodsucking bastard!”

  “I already am.” He shook his head, rage and lust flaring, warring, inside him. “Do you think it pleases me to want to touch and taste the female who’s going to mate with that worthless animal? I despise my desire for you.”

  “Get out!” she screamed. “Just get out and let me be!”

  His jaw tight as steel, Erion turned to go. His body raged with the pain of arousal, and he prayed he could remain under the same roof as her scent without losing his mind or going after her again. He should get out, flash to New York. Or maybe he’d wait outside Raine’s shop until daylight. But that would leave the female here alone, with just the guards, who could also scent her. He growled low at the thought of her allowing one of them to touch her.

  He was at the bottom stair when she called him back.

  “Wait!”

  His teeth grinding against one another, he turned slowly. “You have only to wait until tomorrow, female. Then Cruen will take care of this little problem himself.”

  “I can’t wait. The pain is too much . . .” Her face glistened with sweat, and shame coated her wide-eyed gaze. “Release one of my hands?”

  His brow lifted.

  “Please,” she begged.

  Erion knew exactly what she was saying, what she was asking for, and it made the blood within him rush to his cock. His skin ached, burned, it wanted her so badly. His gaze narrowed on her. He wanted to let her suffer, at least until she told him who she was.

  For several seconds, he watched her whimper, watched her eyes close, and watched her suck air through her teeth. It was only when she looked up at him with tears in her eyes and a strange expression of longing that he grabbed the ring of keys from the wall and stalked toward her.

  He tried to breathe through his mouth as he snarled at her. “You touch anything or anyone but yourself with that hand, and I’ll cut it off.”

  She watched him, panting as he shoved the key in the lock of her right hand and snapped it open.

  She clenched her fist, shook her wrist, then lifted her chin to glare at him.

  “Leave. Now,” she uttered.

  Erion took a step back, but that’s as far as he went. “I don’t think so.”

  • • •

  Hellen felt insanity lick the very edges of her mind. Back when her mother had first given her the cooling draft, she never would’ve believed her body capable of such an extreme sense of need. Intense arousal, yes. But painful, debilitating, reason-threatening, would-beg-plead-and-kill-for release kind of arousal? Never. If she had known what could happen to her, she would never have jumped from the carriage. Leaving behind not only her sisters, but the dozens of vials of draft.

  She wasn’t sure if she would ever recover from this. If touching herself, bringing herself to release, would slow the pain, or, gods help her, intensify it.

  Perhaps the male standing before her was wondering the same thing.

  Erion the brute. Erion the beast. He would remain near, watching her get herself off, while he . . . What? Would he do the same? Would he touch himself too? Or would he attack her, try to get inside her? Ruin her for her mate?

  Desire flooded through her, pooled between her legs at the thought. She was truly lost to reason. And he . . .

  She glared at him. “You’re one sick bastard.”

  “Perhaps,” he said, his eyes glowing with silver fire. “But that is not why I remain.”

  “Then why do you?”

  “I will not leave you alone. Not with your scent that heady. I won’t have the other males in this house watching you or feel tempted to touch you.”

  She sneered. “How honorable.”

  “Hardly,” he said. “Cruen will want his female back unharmed and chaste.”

  A shock of heat plunged into her sex and her clit hummed. She couldn’t wait any longer, not when she had access to herself, a way to ease the pain inside her. Her fingers flexed and she lowered her hand down her body until she cupped herself through the material. Confusion, panic gripped her. She couldn’t do it, not this way. How was she to touch herself?

  She started grabbing the fabric, yanking it up, collecting it in her fist. Her breasts tingled and her nipples tightened in anticipation. Saliva pooled in her mouth, and she didn’t care about Erion anymore, didn’t care that his eyes raked her or that a soft growl emanated from his throat. She was in pain and she could actually do something about it. Her hand shifted from the material to slip past the white silk band of her underwear. Her fingers shook as she met hot skin and soaking-wet heat, and her eyes drifted closed.

  Her fingers slipped easily through the seam of her pussy and she wasted no time in circling the swollen ridge. She released a moan, her teeth gritted. Yes. This was good. This would help. Sweat broke out on her forehead, and she moved down the ridge for a moment, then plunged one finger inside herself. She gasped at the heat there, at the juices that flooded over her knuckle. It was too good a feeling to stop or even slow, and she kept at it, finger fucking herself until her clit screamed for attention.

  In the back of her mind, she heard him, Erion, heard his breathing, his low, frightening growl, but she was too far gone now. She sensed the relief of release and she rushed toward it.

  She flicked her clit, feather light, as her breasts swelled painfully and her nipples ached. She would’ve given anything to be naked in that moment, her hands free and able to grope and spread and squeeze. But this was enough. For now, here, it had to be enough. She clenched her muscles and thrust her fingers in and out of herself while her thumb played her clit like a violin’s bow.

  It was coming, her climax, reaching up from the floor to grab her and swallow her whole. And she welcomed it.

  “Hellen . . .”

  Shaking uncontrollably, she cried out at his call. She didn’t want to see him, knew that once her eyes met his she would be weak to the desire in his own gaze. He was already in her head. In her mind, it was his hand that worked her, his mouth that sucked at her clit. Her legs threatened to lose their purchase. She didn’t want him in her head. But the more she thought of him, the more her mind kept up the fantasy, the more her cunt wept.

  “Look at me, Hellen.”

  No. No. She worked her clit harder, fu
cked herself deeper. Waves were crashing against her, inside her.

  “Look at me, damn you!”

  Her eyes slammed open, and the moment they did, the moment she connected with his face, she came. Hard, shattering blows of pleasure seized her cunt, and she doubled over. Her lips parted, and she may have uttered his name as she screamed.

  “Yes, Hellen,” he whispered, his voice racked with desire and pain and deep frustration. “Oh, gods, yes. You are . . . shit, the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

  She gasped, air caught inside her lungs and she convulsed with the final torrents of climax. She sagged against the wall, reveled in the relief of a satiated body. For moments, minutes, she hung there limp and weak, her breathing slowly returning to normal, her body temperature regulating.

  And then she saw him. Really saw him. For the first time.

  Erion.

  A few feet away and pulling in air through his flared nostrils stood a beast. Erion had always been a good-looking male, but in that moment, as his diamond eyes glowed and his face contorted into a lionlike creature, she realized why she felt so drawn to him—why he made every inch of her spark with desire. He was like her, like her kind.

  “You . . .” she uttered, wetting her dry lips.

  His gaze reached into her own and pulled out her very soul.

  “You are a demon, Erion.”

  His eyes raked over her. “As are you.”

  8

  The words, the confirmation, had come out of Erion’s mouth without his consent. It was as if the beast inside him had spoken. But what beast was that? He knew what his sister and brothers’ mutore sides represented. Lycos had the wolf, Helo the water snake, Phane the hawk, and Dillon the jaguar. But Erion, though he had some catlike features during his shift, was no feline. In all his long days, he had never known what he was—besides vampire and a descendant of the Breeding Male.

  Until now?

  His gaze narrowed on the female. Whatever he had seen in her as she’d climaxed, the change in skin color to a pale green, the ethereal glow from inside her, the electric jade eyes, was nothing compared to what he’d felt from her. The demon, her demon, had called out to him, and he’d wanted to run at it, jump inside her skin, and get lost in that strange though familiar power. It was as if he’d been branded. Her demon wanted to take and contain the part of him that understood, that connected, that desired it.

  Christ, none of this made sense. He didn’t know his history, and clearly he didn’t know his DNA. He was mutore, a descendent of the Breeding Male gone wrong. He knew that Cruen had created the Breeding Male and that he had added in some animal DNA during the process.

  But demon?

  Was that even possible?

  Hellen was staring at him, her face flushed, her eyes wide and glassy, her demon now hidden from view.

  Erion wanted it back.

  “You said you were a vampire,” she uttered, shaking her head.

  “I am.”

  “You have demon blood. How is that possible?”

  “I know nothing of demons.”

  “I do. I am one,” she said, straightening up, coming back to life from her haze of need. “You wanted to know what I am—well, now you do. And what came out of you just now, that is demon.”

  As her gaze roamed his face, Erion wondered if she’d liked or despised what she’d seen come out of him. “I have no answers,” he said. Then added with more than a touch of derision, “I’ll have to ask my adopted father.”

  “Who is that?”

  “Cruen.”

  Shock registered on her face. And if he wasn’t mistaken, fear. “What?”

  “The male who raised me, fed me, clothed me, and ultimately betrayed me is none other than your soon-to-be mate.” The words were bitter on his tongue.

  He watched her process, watched her confusion—watched her pretty brow crease with concern.

  “How did he betray you?” she asked in a soft voice.

  Erion hesitated, feeling grim. Cruen had betrayed him in so many ways, but keeping his true identity, his lineage, from him was the worst yet. But it wasn’t something he was willing to share.

  “That is my secret,” he said tightly.

  She watched him closely. “I knew I wasn’t the only one who kept them.”

  “Yes, but yours is a secret no longer, demon girl.”

  “Which means you will release me.”

  He forced his bleak mood back and he moved toward her. Cruen would not have control over him anymore, not in body or in temper. “I know what you are now, but I don’t know where you come from, why you’ve come—”

  “You know why I’ve come, Erion.” Her gaze flickered away from his for a moment.

  “I don’t think I do. You are too special, too exquisite to have given yourself to that manipulative, heartless, soulless vampire.” He shook his head. His words, the compliment to her being, had been impetuous. And yet it was true. She was an intriguing female, and beneath her needles-and-pins exterior, lay something glorious and fiery—something he’d never experienced in any female he’d encountered. There had to be more to her engagement to Cruen than a forced claim of love.

  He came to stand before her and made great effort to soften his tone. “Are you in trouble, Hellen?”

  As an answer, a pained whimper escaped her. She clutched her stomach. “No,” she whispered, her face scrunching up as she turned her head to the side.

  Concerned, Erion reached out to touch her, but she flinched and drew back. “What is it?” he said. But just as the word exited his mouth and he inhaled the scent around him, he knew what made her moan.

  “It’s returning.” He brushed a hand across her cheek. “This strange, problematic heat.”

  She turned her eyes on him, and they glittered like polished gems. Another wave of arousal tantalized his nostrils and he breathed it in and swallowed it down. What the hell had he found himself caught up in? This was supposed to have been a simple transaction: the female for the boy. It was turning out to be anything but simple. In fact, it was impossible and startling—and a potential key to his DNA, who he truly was.

  She leaned in to his hand, and heat surged into his palm. He wanted to devour it. He asked, “Why is this happening to you?”

  “Genetics,” she uttered, pulling in her air through her nostrils. “I was born with an unfortunate destiny.”

  “What destiny?” he asked, knowing this was foolish, this closeness, this care. She was his bait, his ticket to Ladd. Nothing more. And yet he couldn’t stop himself from asking. He couldn’t turn away. “Have you had this problem, this heat, since birth?” His hand refused to draw back from her face, her skin. Her warmth.

  “It happened when I shifted from girl to woman.” Her gaze held his. “But I’ve kept it under control for a long time.”

  “How?”

  She shook her head. “No more,” she begged, her nostrils flaring. “I must get to Cruen.”

  As she stared into his eyes and silently implored him, Erion’s chest tightened. The struggle within him to protect her, touch her, hold her, breathe her in, warred with the cruel understanding that she was his currency. She didn’t belong to him. It wasn’t his duty to help her. Cruen would ease her torment, ease the heat that was once again spreading through her like wildfire.

  Erion’s nostrils flared, and he ripped his hand from her cheek with a growl.

  Just the thought of Cruen touching this female made him involuntarily irrational, made him murderous, and yet he couldn’t act on those possessive thoughts in his head because if he did, he would be risking the life of the balas.

  And that he would never do.

  “Just a few hours, now,” he said, moving back, away from her, away from her scent. “You will be in the arms of your lover.”

  When the sadness bled from her emerald
gaze like paint in the rain, and was replaced with hope, Erion wanted to shove his fist through the wall behind her and roar.

  But instead he turned around and headed for the stairs, leaving her to care for herself again.

  This time, without an audience.

  • • •

  Cruen watched them, the demon females play with the balas, Ladd. They were taking turns teaching him a game Cruen did not know, but the boy’s laughter irritated him. It spoke of a brave, fearless heart. Much like his father’s. And right now, that kind of internal strength made Cruen feel even weaker.

  It reminded him of Titus. That washed-up Breeding Male who’d used him, used his blood, relied on him until he’d decided to abandon his goal, his work, and go soft. Helping the Roman brothers, pretending to be the father they’d always desired, when in truth he was perpetually clinging to the edge of Breeding Male status.

  Where was that paven? Cruen wondered with displeasure. Where had he run to when the well had dried up? Was he a Breeding Male once again? Or was he being cared for by his children?

  One of the females looked up from her game with the balas and gave him a tentative, worried smile. Cruen had assured them both that their sister would be coming home—that he’d located her and was soon to retrieve her.

  What he did not tell them was that he needed to rest first. It was why he’d told Erion twenty-four hours instead of immediately. He was too weak to flash. His lip curled. He despised weakness.

  One of the demon females stilled suddenly, confusion creasing her features. Then her eyes clamped shut and her lips started to move. Cruen leaned forward in his chair, nervous tension flickering to life within him. He didn’t know what was wrong with her, but whatever it was, it didn’t look good. Her body jerked, spasmed, and her sister gripped her arm and called her name.

  Cruen fought his fear, his ire again. He couldn’t have one of Abbadon’s children hurt or falling ill in his care. It was enough that the Demon King’s eldest, and Cruen’s bride, was missing.