Struggling with her conflicting thoughts and desires, she took what he offered, sucking his thumb into her mouth, pulling upon it so that the hot liquid of life filled her mouth and soothed the painful clamoring of her belly for nourishment.
But the warmth that began to suffuse her went well beyond the satisfaction of appeasing her hunger for food. Her breasts tingled. Her nipples tightened and stood erect, began to throb with the blood pulsing there with every heartbeat. Low in her belly, her woman’s place filled with the warmth and moisture of carnal need.
That’s it, my sweet! Take all that he has. Kill him and I will come for you. You need not feel the pain of this life any longer. You can join with me and experience ecstasy unlike anything you have ever felt before. I command you! Drain him of his life’s blood and join me…
Amaria snatched Arsen’s thumb from her mouth abruptly as if that in itself would be sufficient to break the connection to her tormentor.
She thought it actually had until she heard his laughter in her mind and realized this was no dream as she had thought before—or at least had believed she’d experienced. This was not simply her imagination. The blood might have appeased the pain of hunger, but it had also brought her closer to Ezantor.
Or Ezantor closer to her.
She wanted to scream and claw the mocking sound from her ears. He would drive her mad, but the laughter faded. She knew no peace when she felt that he had left her because that only confirmed that he had been in her mind. A connection had been formed and was growing stronger. Did blood support this tether between them? If nothing else, the suspicion strengthened her certainty that she would lose her battle by inches each time she allowed her hunger to overrule her wariness. She prayed to the Sun god that her paranoia was false.
In any case, what little nourishment she derived from Arsen was enough for her hunger to wane. For a time, her conflicting desires warred within her but, oddly comforted by the strong arms of her captor and the warmth of the sun she could only truly enjoy now from the shadows, she drifted to sleep once more.
Amaria!
Amaria woke with a start, jerking all over as Ezantor’s voice echoed in her mind.
“What is it?” Arsen asked as his arms tightened around her.
She flicked a glance up through opening of the blanket at Arsen’s hard face when he spoke and found she could not tell him. It was as if an invisible hand encircled her throat, forbidding her to speak of the connection. “Nothing. It is nothing.”
It wasn’t ‘nothing’, however. It was her master. And he was close.
Chapter 3
As ill and as miserable as Amaria was she spent much of the day trying to understand her predicament and figure a way out whenever she rose toward awareness. Even when she dozed her mind picked at the puzzle so that she was never truly at rest.
And Ezantor taunted her endlessly, sometimes trying to tempt her with offers of an eternity of pleasurable pursuits, sometimes threatening her with destruction, at times trying to appeal to her as a lover with promises she knew he did not mean and would never keep.
The search for hope produced very little to lift her spirits.
She was weak. She had little strength to fight Arsen let alone Ezantor. The food and drink that had sustained her for her entire life made her feel ill now—gave her no strength. In fact, consumption of earthly delights only seemed to make her weaker for even if she managed to keep it down she was so nauseated she could do little beyond lay about trying not to pray for death.
The blood her body now demanded made her almost as ill in the sense that she knew that road led to a creature she would not, could not become. Death was preferable.
But her death would not stop Ezantor, and she knew she had to do all that she could to destroy him.
By the time Arsen stopped the horse and allowed her to dismount, she was so exhausted she simply sank into a puddle on the ground, too tired and ill to care what he thought of it to worry about her pride.
He ignored her, tending his horse. When he had seen to the comfort of the creature, he removed his bedroll and pouches of supplies and went about setting up an encampment.
Dusk settled across the land as her precious Sun god’s image disappeared beyond the reach of her view. Seeing the dying rays ripped a hole in her soul as she pondered a life without the caress of beautiful sunlight. What horrors awaited her without the sun? How could only blood and the light of the moons sustain her?
Amaria gathered herself after a few moments and looked about the place where he had stopped. She saw that it was yet another place where the ground had been consecrated for the dead. Around them, weathered, tumbling headstones suggested it was a place of great age. Grasses untended for years grew thick on the grounds, tangling around her bare feet as she moved. The smell of dark, rich earth clung to her nostrils as she sat in a bed of grass and traced her fingers over mossy, overgrown stone.
The headstones were ancient and most worn free of the names to which they belonged. She wondered to which gods this hallowed ground once belonged. The crosses, both stone and wooden, explained the true reason the Hunter had chosen the place—in the hope and expectation that it would keep Ezantor at bay. Though why, she had no clue since he had told her that he had taken her to lure the vampire to his destruction. Why did he not simply face the creature now and be done with it?
Arsen had built a campfire in the shadow of an enormous, stone mausoleum.
She shivered, struggled for a few moments and finally managed to push herself to her feet. She swayed for a moment when she’d achieved it, dizzy, weak, but managed to stumble closer to the fire. Her state left her sickened. She was a pale shadow of the powerful woman she’d once been, and it gave her more empathy for those stricken with illness. She’d never been sick before, and this prolonged and growing frailty was unlike anything she’d experienced.
She’d barely settled when a wine or perhaps water skin landed at her feet with a loud splat, startling her so that her heart jerked painfully in her chest. She jumped all over—nearly leapt to her feet in fright. When she realized what it was and how it had come to be there, that the bastard had simply thrown it at her, she sent a resentful glare at the Hunter.
If he was aware of it, he gave no sign. He continued with the careful building of his fire and preparation of his dinner as if he hadn’t just frightened her half out of her wits.
After studying his hard face for a time, it occurred to her to wonder why he had set himself upon a course of self-destruction. He was a big man and no doubt accustomed to being the victor in any contest of strength, but surely he must know that no human, however huge and strong, stood a chance against an unnatural?
Unless they were in possession of some sort of unnatural power themselves?
She shook that hopeful thought. He might be an exceptional human, but he was only human and she had seen nothing to suggest he possessed a magical token that would help either of them in a fight against a vampire. The vampire had killed everyone in her trade party save for her, and these were warriors well-versed in the ways of war that outnumbered the vampire ten to one. He had killed them all without suffering any injury to himself. Spears and bows had done nothing to even slow the monster down.
No. She was in a far better position to destroy Ezantor herself—which was sad considering she was so weak, weak enough she doubted she could gather what she needed.
Perhaps it was only that he was so pig-headed that he believed he had a chance to defeat the vampire? Or just plain stupid arrogant?
But whether true or not, that brought her no closer to understanding why he would risk his life only for the chance to destroy the vampire.
She shook her head. Did it really matter? They were both going to die.
But, she discovered it did matter to her. Whatever his motives, he had saved her from the horror of being burned alive and she was grateful for that.
She had mixed feelings about the things she had felt when he had fed her but neither
hatred nor indifference were part of it.
The desire she dismissed even though she could see he was a man to be admired by most women. Under other circumstances, she was sure she would have. But the desire … that was false at least in the extremity of it--a side-effect of drinking his blood.
Because of what Ezantor had done to her.
He had made her feel desire for him and she loathed him.
Amaria thought she might have dozed, but she was having trouble telling the difference between nightmare and reality. Ezantor had blurred those lines when he had chosen to turn her, opened a door into her mind so that he could taunt her.
Thankfully, Arsen dragged her back to reality and shifted her focus to him when he shook her hard enough to rouse her. She lifted her head and stared at the thing he was holding out blankly, without comprehension.
“Eat,” he growled.
She took the steaming cup and the dry chunk of bread he held out, sniffing at the heated mixture inside the cup. A wave of both nausea and hunger went through her and for several moments she thought she might throw up. She managed to battle her stomach into submission and lifted the cup, blowing, and then taking a minute sip. Hunger surged to the forefront then, but she was still cautious, sipping slowly at the thin broth and nibbling at the bread.
Arsen consumed his meal long before she had even managed to swallow half of hers and got up and disappeared. Call of nature, she wondered idly? Or was he merely stretching his legs after the long day of riding? Or looking for Ezantor?
She dismissed it after a moment and returned her focus to her food, but she discovered the hunger had given way to nausea again. Very carefully, she set the remains near the fire and focused on trying to keep what she’d managed to swallow. It was an uphill battle. It seemed the longer she sat perfectly still and willed her nausea away, the sicker she felt instead of the other way around.
Finally, she reached a point of no return. Leaping to her feet, she dashed toward the iron fence that surrounded the cemetery and emptied her stomach.
To her chagrin, Arsen appeared, gathering her against his length and supporting her until she’d finished retching.
She had mixed feelings about that. It showed a level of sympathy and concern toward her that she wouldn’t have believed he possessed. At the same time, it was humiliating to be sick in front of him.
“You alright now?” he asked.
She gathered the moisture in her mouth and spat in the hope of getting rid of the awful taste. “No,” she responded sullenly.
“Well then we should move away from this spot, I’m thinking. The stench isn’t likely to help,” he murmured, amusement threading his voice.
Thank you, asshole! So much for thinking he was sympathetic.
She thought later, though, that she had misjudged him. He dragged her down on his pallet beside him, curled his arms around her, and offered a thumb for her to suckle nourishment.
She did not want to take it in the worst sort of way. She was taking his strength, she knew, even if he did not, weakening him when he needed all of his strength and more to fight his enemy—her enemy.
And she felt like she was slipping closer to Ezantor and away from the people and life she loved each time she gave in to the unnatural hunger and fed.
Arsen would not take no for an answer, however. When she twisted her head aside, he forced it back with one large hand that spanned the width of her jaw. His fingers were warm and firm and tendrils of heat swirled down her neck and spine. When she clamped her jaws shut, he forced them open and shoved his bleeding thumb into her mouth.
It was too much to resist. The moment the blood filled her mouth, her mind filled with the drug of ecstasy. Shifting closer to him, she began to pull hungrily on his thumb and as she did, desire of a different kind filled her. She embraced him, began to stroke his huge body with her hands and legs and to writhe against him with mindless need.
She could feel his response. For many moments he merely lay passively, resistant to her attempts at enticement, but when he cupped her buttocks and pulled her hips against his, she felt the thick, rigid evidence of his desire for her and it provoked a mindless frenzy. She sucked harder at his thumb until he began to go limp.
It took more than a few moments for that to sink in, still more to examine it and realize it was less likely that he’d merely fallen asleep than it was that she’d weakened him.
She jerked away from him then in horror, staring at him in the dim light from the fire he’d built until she could see his chest rising and falling evenly.
Relief flooded her then, but also remorse that was so profound it brought her to tears. She struggled to stifle the sobs and finally rolled away from him and covered her face with her hands to muffle the sound.
Silly chit! Feed! You’ve done well. He is unconscious and cannot fight you off! Feed and then come to me.
Stop it! “Stop! Get out of my mind! I will never join you! Never become a monster like you!”
She leapt to her feet then, looking around the darkened cemetery for a way to escape. Gathering her skirts to prevent them from tripping her up, she stumbled toward the gate when she spied it, intent on nothing but putting some distance between her and the temptation of Arsen and escaping the hateful voice in her head.
Chapter 4
Amaria was sweating with effort by the time she managed to reach the gate, almost too weak to lift the latch, but by that time she was mindless with the fear rattling around in her mind and could not think beyond a need to escape.
If she stayed, she would not be able to resist feeding as Ezantor kept urging her to do. She would not be able to fight her needs. She would weaken Arsen so that he was easy prey for Ezantor or kill him herself from the feeding.
She had to go!
She had to!
She had no idea how far she managed to go only that she had not gone far before a great crashing and thrashing of the undergrowth behind her made her heart lurch fearfully and added strength from reserves she had not known existed. She ran faster.
And still the thing behind her came closer, closing the distance between them.
When it launched itself upon her, grabbing her, a blood curdling scream ripped from her lungs. She whirled, whipping around to face the threat and shred it with her fingernails and teeth.
He lost his balance in the battle and fell with her, nearly crushing her as she landed on the hard ground and his great weight landed atop her.
“Stop it!” he growled, fury vibrating in his guttural voice.
Amaria did stop, not because of the violence in his deep voice, but because she realized it was Arsen.
He rolled off and onto his feet, dragging her with him. The connection of their bodies seared into the muscles of her belly and the softness of her breasts. The run enlivened her blood--sent emotions spiraling through her veins.
His hands were tight on her biceps, so large and strong that she nearly wilted with relief. Short-lived, as it happened, since he vaulted her off her feet onto his shoulder like a sack of flour. “Dashing off to your lover?” he demanded furiously as he began to race back toward the safety of the cemetery. His hand wrapped around her bottom, fingers digging into one cheek and eliciting a strange excitement to flitter into her core.
Amaria would have gaped at him if she was in any position to do so. The question stunned her so that it took her a few moments to think of any kind of response. “That…monster? You think I would run to him after what he has done to me?”
He said nothing for several moments, jostling her up and down as he jogged. “Where were you going then?”
She could not think of a response to that because she had been trying to run from herself.
Something huge and dark swooped down at them when they were within a few yards of the safety of the cemetery.
“Give her to me!”
Terror stabbed at Amaria’s heart for she knew that voice. It figured in her worst nightmares.
Arsen’s response w
as to lift her and toss her over the fence and into the cemetery.
Amaria screamed as she went airborne. The landing forced the air out of her lungs and cut off the scream. While she was trying to recover, she listened fearfully to the battle being waged outside by Arsen and the vampire, Ezantor, but it ended almost as quickly as it began when Arsen managed to launch himself over the same fence he’d tossed her over.
Even in the faint light from the moons and stars Amaria could see he had been grievously wounded in his battle with Ezantor. Guilt swamped her. She had led him from the safety of consecrated ground into the hands of the vampire.
“I am sorry,” she gasped as Arsen grabbed her and hauled her to her feet.
He shook her furiously. “Not nearly as sorry as you will be if you try that stunt again!” he growled angrily.
She scarcely heard the threat for she’d become aware that he was bleeding from his fight with Ezantor. She stumbled beside him as he marched her back to the area he had set up as encampment, too focused on keeping her feet under her to say anything until they halted beside the fire. The scent of blood from his battle with Ezantor trailed them, dragging at Amaria’s feet, pulling at her mind and soul and finally coiled around them both, enveloping them like a lost lover when they came to a halt. She could scarcely force her mind from the seductive scent from that moment. She swayed when he released his grip on her. Lifting one hand, she braced herself against his hard chest just below his beating heart, felt her own heart catch the fire and rhythm of his and then begin to race a little faster. “I never meant that you be harmed! I would not wish to cause harm to anyone…let alone you,” she mumbled almost drunkenly.
Taming the Vampire: Over 25 All New Paranormal Alpha Male Tales of Contemporary, Military, Shifters, Billionaires, Werewolves, Magic, Fae, Witches, Dragons, Demons & More Page 148