I drink him deep, sucking hard on his neck as Sorrow slides his fingers in and out of me, moving his mouth from my thigh to my clit. His tongue flicks across the swollen nub and my hips buck excitedly. The rush of sensation is almost too much, so I let go of Vyce and he turns back to me with a grin.
“Good stuff, don’t you think?” he asks, a bit of shiny red on his lower lip that he swipes clean with a single flick of his tongue.
“What the hell are you?” I whisper, because I’ve never been with a vampire this powerful before. It’s his connection to House Stiltz is what it is. Has to be. There’s no way a thirty-two-year-old living vampire is this strong on his own.
“Your entertainment for tonight,” he breathes, kissing me hard on the mouth, mixing the taste of our blood. Our tongues swirl together, stifling a small gasp when Sorrow rises to his feet between my thighs and reaches down to unbutton his black jeans.
“Even a dhampir shouldn’t need a condom, right?” he muses, and I break briefly away from Vyce to give him a look. Diseases aren’t an issue—our bodies heal them like anything else—but pregnancy could be a problem if I weren’t infertile. Heh. Even if I were fertile, House Verenim basically shoves birth control down dhampirs’ throats, because if there’s anything worse than a halfie, it’s a three-quarter vampire or a one-quarter, both of which are still considered dhampirs, and both of which the Houses despise even more than they do me. Never could figure that one out. I guess fucking one’s food while in the passionate embrace of a bite is more understandable than screwing a mistake.
“No condom required,” I breathe as he steps up close and finishes freeing his cock from his jeans. It’s as pretty as the rest of him, long and thick, pale like his skin and hard as hell. Clearly, he’s excited to be here.
Sorrow steps forward and slides his shaft along my folds, teasing me as I bare my teeth at him.
“Horny dhampirs do bite, you know,” I say and he gives me this stupid shit-eating grin.
“Yeah? Good. Then I’ll just have to keep teasing you until you do.”
“Keep teasing me and I might kick you out and keep your friend all to myself,” I growl, and he has the audacity to chuckle.
“He’s annoying, but he’s a good fuck,” Vyce whispers, moving his mouth down to my breasts and taking the left one into his mouth. He tugs my shirt the rest of the way down and frees the other one before moving his mouth over to it. “Or so I’ve seen; I personally don’t have any experience with his cock.”
Vyce sits back up and yanks his black tank off, tossing it onto the floor before reaching down to undo his leather pants. My eyes flick briefly back to Sorrow, his red and white hair falling across his forehead, frosty gaze focused on my face. With a sideways smirk, he pushes the tip of his cock inside of me, challenging me with that stare.
“You want this, dhampir?” he whispers, and I nod slightly, throwing my head back when he pushes in even further. Technically, Vyce’s blood was enough to heal my wounds; I don’t actually need to delve any further into sex. But...I’m going to do it anyway.
Sorrow thrusts his hips forward and fills me completely, drawing this breathy sound from my throat as Vyce licks his palm seductively and then grabs a hold of his shaft. He watches us as Sorrow begins to move, sliding deeper and deeper inside of me with each successive movement.
Licking the blood from my lips, I stay propped up on my elbows, watching the movement of Sorrow’s body inside of mine. He feels damn good, better than all of the men I’ve been with recently. Maybe ever. He just has the right shape. And holy crap, that’s something you just can’t plan for, sexual chemistry this nice.
My gold-blonde curls slide past my shoulders when I lean back, and Sorrow follows after me, keeping our bodies locked as he puts one long-fingered hand on my hip and helps me scoot onto the bed, so he can climb on top. As soon as my mouth is near his neck, I bite him, and wait for the sweet taste of his blood to fill my mouth. The second it does, I know that he isn’t quite what he seems. There’s a different taste to him, something beyond vampire.
He’s not a pure-breed either.
Nope, there’s something else in there that he’s trying to hide. My fingers brush the tattoo—which is now on his back again—and run across what I’m almost positive is fur. Sorrow shudders and presses his neck into my mouth, letting me gorge myself on his blood. Fire and ash, that’s what he tastes like.
His thrusts pick up in speed and intensity as my fingertips probe his strange tattoo and my tongue laps at his strange blood. The faster and harder he moves, the faster and harder I suck at his neck. We become this tangled circle of life—food and sex all in one simple transaction. I tighten my grip on his back and feel something sharp cut my finger. As soon as that happens, Sorrow tears his mouth from my neck, slamming into me with these vigorous and violent movements of his hips that toss me right over the edge into another orgasm.
By the time I blink myself out of it, he’s coming inside of me with a snarl and then stumbling away.
“I gotta go, Vyce,” he says, his voice shaky and...off. Just off. I can’t explain it, but it’s distinctly not right. I’ve seen guys book it after sex before, but this has to be a record. Sorrow barely bothers to tuck his wet junk back in his pants before he’s heading out the door and slamming it behind him.
He even leaves his coat and shirt behind.
“What the...” I start, but Vyce is already taking his place, kissing the still throbbing wound on my neck and making me forget all about his friend’s strange behavior. My finger is bleeding and I can’t for the life of me understand that tattoo or the weird taste of Sorrow’s blood. But...I also can’t think with Vyce moving his bloody lips from my neck to my mouth, kissing me long and deep, this sensual swirl of tongue that almost makes this feel real, like it’s more than a one-night stand.
Ridiculous.
He’s good at playing pretend though.
We kiss, grinding together below the belt but not taking it any further, not yet. Vyce makes me so hot I can’t stand it, forces me to forget all about my last two orgasms and convinces me with his hands and his hips and his mouth that I’m starving for sex, that I haven’t been touched in years. I have a feeling he’s using a little vamp magic on me, but whatever. That’s the thing about vampires: they make you feel real damn good while they kill you. Death by bliss. Death by pleasure. It’s the only way to go.
Vyce stops kissing me, locks his red-eyed gaze on mine, and then slips slowly inside of me, inch by inch. I almost come then, but he stops, waits, looks me right in the face and then starts again, taking me to that precipice and then holding back. Most of the time, I like to be in control during sex, but holy hell, these guys know what they’re doing and why shouldn’t I be pleasured like a goddamn queen?
I relax back into the mattress, Vyce’s elbows on either side of me. He curls his back a little to look down at me, but he’s quite a bit taller so I get some seriously up close and personal views of his chest and nipples. Baring my teeth, I bite down on his pec, sinking my teeth into his muscle and flicking my tongue across the hardened peak of his nipple. He shivers above me, and even stops moving for a while, exhaling sharply and cursing under his breath.
Vyce gets control of himself quickly as I let go of his chest and wrap my legs around him, digging my fingertips into his colorful hair as little droplets of red slide down his skin and plop onto mine. They scald and tantalize, as pretty as rubies. Letting myself go completely, I let the natural rhythm of Vyce’s body take mine to a razor-sharp edge. I teeter and fall right over, cascading into a white-hot shock of pleasure as a third orgasm wracks my sensitive body. My poor clit feels so painfully aroused that I can’t handle it being touched anymore.
Somehow, Vyce seems to get that, sitting back up and pushing my legs up so that he’s not touching me anymore, moving with sure, confident strokes until he, too, lets out a deep, wild groan, his pupils dilated fully, dark and terrifying. He comes hard, leaning back over me with a palm on eit
her side of my head as he finishes.
“Mm, I forgot how fun dhampirs could be,” he whispers with a small smile, and I cock my eyebrow, pushing him off and rolling away from the wet spots on the bed.
“Not dhampirs plural,” I correct, standing up and tearing my tube top back over my boobs and then over my head. I toss it into the hamper—Sorrow apparently picked up all my dirty clothes, so no way I’m letting this place get trashed again—and head for the bathroom to clean up. “Just this one,” I say with a wink and a smile, loving the way Vyce looks stretched out across the surface of my bed. I almost ask him to stay a while longer, but that could get dangerous and quick. He’s a Stiltz, and that’s too close to home for comfort. “Door’s over there.” I point in the direction that Sorrow left. “Show yourself out while I shower? I’ve got your card if I need you.”
Vyce laughs at me as I step into the bathroom and slam the door behind me.
3
The Verenim Family House is only about ten miles from my apartment and as a dhampir, I can run fast. Still, by the time I get out of the shower and get dressed, I’m already late. When I stumble into the servants’ side entrance, Atticus, the head of the crown’s human servants, is waiting for me with an annoyed look on his face.
For a human, he gets awfully cocky and bossy around vampires.
“Already sent the report from last night,” I say, not even winded by a ten-mile run. Shit, that’s like a walk in the park for me. “So, if you don’t need me, I’ll just be on my way...”
“Your report only had five photos attached,” the man says, sitting at a massive, curved desk in the corner, his MacBook open in front of him. “It’s three photos per target.”
“Yeah, three for Lenora,” I say, naming the dead vampire girl. “And one for each of her victims.” Atticus looks up me with this smug as hell expression on his face.
“We changed the official rules of operation last month: it’s three photos per individual involved. I’ll have to dock your commission by ten percent.” He gives me a look and then nods with his head in the direction of the main hall entrance while I stand there gaping and doing way too much math inside my head. Fuck it. I don’t want to know how much that ten percent cut is going to hurt or what I’m going to have to cut out to afford it. I can barely manage the rent on my place and it comes with utilities and free takeout. Between the crowns’ ridiculous tithes, and all the territory bribes I have to give out to royal vamps to even live in the city, I’m dead broke.
Also, I sort of want to rip Atticus’s head off his shoulders and chuck it out the window. That’d make me feel a hell of a lot better, I think. And the spray of blood would be quite cathartic. Instead, I clench my hands tight at my sides. The punishment for killing another vamp’s human servant is death. In fact, that’s the punishment for most crimes in our world. A professional hit.
“Can I go home now?” I ask, finding the process of checking in like this so goddamn tedious. Even vampires use the internet and all my reports are sent digitally. I feel like making me come in here and kowtow to a human every day is just another layer of fuck you frosting layered on top of the crumbly cake of my life.
“You have another assignment,” Atticus says, running his palm through his thick, brown hair. He’s a beautiful man, I’ll give him that. He’d have to be, to be chosen and bound by a vamp. A vampire can only have one human servant, and that human servant is the only person they can ever turn in their life. So if they want to be a master to a fledgling vamp, they have to choose carefully, time the change just right, and make sure that whoever it is started out gorgeous. There is no insta-beauty spell to change the human after they transition. “Go inside,” he continues, gesturing at the door to the main hall. “There’s a servant waiting. She’ll get you dressed up in something...” He scowls at my red Marilyn Manson tank top and the leather short-shorts I’m wearing with heels.
Yeaaaaah, I ran all the way over here in tennis shoes and then changed outside. Sorry, but I’m just a dhampir, not a god.
“Something less tacky,” Atticus finishes, and I come this close to punching him in one of his big, round blue eyes. If I hadn’t had three glorious orgasms earlier, I would’ve. My body feels feather light, energy surging through my limbs. I feel like I could lift up a skyscraper and throw it. All my wounds from last night are gone, and other than being tired, I’m generally in a pretty good mood.
A woman doesn’t often get to engage in a threesome with two spectacularly handsome men.
“There’s a proclamation being given by The Crown at first dark, and you’re expected to be there. I don’t know what it’s about, but the pay is good, and I hear you’re being given a long-term assignment.” Atticus smirks at me and then points to the door. “Go. It’s going to take the rest of the day to make sure you’re presentable enough for the king.”
“Fuck you, asshole,” I say, flipping him off and sashaying over to the heavy wood door. The carvings inlaid in it are gruesome depictions of sex and violence that I completely glaze over as I push my way through and find another human servant with waist-length blonde hair waiting for me.
She leads me upstairs and basically forces me into a bath filled with flower petals. I come out smelling like petunias, which is so totally not my thing.
“This really isn’t necessary,” I grumble as she sits me down on a stool in front of a giant mirror and attacks my short gold-blonde curls with her brush. But even if this woman doesn’t haven’t the power to keep me here, an order that comes through Atticus is as good as one from the king himself.
I sigh.
However they want me primped for this ridiculous meeting, I’ll have to suffer through it. Hours of work for what, a forty-five-minute get-together? A bunch of pomp and circumstance, gossip and power struggles galore.
Sounds like a nightmare to me.
The woman finishes my hair, leaving it with loose, glossy waves that shimmer like gold. No matter what I do to my hair, I can’t make it look like that. Even though she refuses to speak to me, she makes it look easy, moving from my hair to my makeup. She gives me a smoky eye and thick kohl liner, dark red lips and a dash of dark blush on my cheeks.
“Jewelry and clothes are in there,” she tells me, pointing back toward the guest bedroom we’re using. The damn thing is bigger than my apartment. Fuck, the bathroom is bigger than my apartment. No, no, the powder room that leads into the bathroom is bigger than my apartment. “Get dressed. I’ll be waiting outside.”
She leaves me to check out the ostentatious display of wealth on the bed: a ruby necklace with matching earrings and a matching bracelet as well as a black velvet dress stubbed with diamond swirls that make it look like Picasso’s “The Starry Night” painting.
I’m tempted to pop off a single tiny diamond and pocket it. It would probably pay my rent for an entire month if not more...but someone would notice, and I’d end up losing at least a finger if not a hand for it. Vampire body parts grow back, but it takes forever and it’s a very disgusting process to bear witness to.
I dress as quickly as I can, admiring the way the velvet dress clings to my curves. As I run my hands over my body, I can’t help but think of Sorrow and Vyce. They were amazing lovers; their blood and their seed are making my flesh sing. I pity the next person that pisses me off. The way I’m feeling right now, I could kick some serious ass.
The blonde servant is waiting for me in the hall when I step out, determined to spray me with this pheromone dampener shit that smells like baby wipes. Supposedly it’s to keep less...self-aware vampires from tearing my throat open if things get heated, but there have been times when I’ve suspected it’s just another slap in the face for daring to be born a dhampir.
“Right this way,” the woman says, flicking her shiny hair over one shoulder. She’s got the haughty, entitled attitude down pat. If her mistress or master ever decides to turn her, she’ll fit right in, I’m sure.
Like that dickhead, Wolfe, I think with a small scowl, foll
owing the woman’s swishing red skirts down an opulent hallway lined with...uh, unconventional?...art pieces. There are oil paintings of bloody orgies and busts of dudes’ pelvises dressed in nothing but short-shorts with hard dicks underneath that look like octopus tentacles. Actually, pretty sure that last piece is Colin Christian’s work, and I kind of...want to steal it and take it home with me. But again, not worth getting my finger cut off by a human servant while their vampire master watches with a maniacal grin.
Down the stairs we go, heading across the massive grand foyer and into the receiving room for the crown chambers. On the other side of this door is a ‘throne room’ of sorts. There’s a raised dais at the head of a massive open room just dripping in opulence. Gloriously detailed antique wood moldings on the wall—probably carved on-site when the Verenim Family House was first built—and huge crimson sconces to paint the room red as blood.
I’ve seen the room maybe twice since I started working here two years ago. Yet another heavy disappointment my mom would carry on her shoulders if she were still alive. Instead, when she needed me most, I wasn’t around and she was literally torn apart by...someone or something.
Fuck, I can’t think about that, not right now.
“Have a seat and someone will come for you when it’s time,” she tells me as I flick my gaze over to the ancient grandfather clock on the wall. Probably some heirloom a vampire royal brought over from Europe back in the day. There are an awful lot of people in this building who saw the USA be born in 1776. It’s a weird thought to have.
“Half past four,” I murmur, closing my eyes and leaning my head back against the tall, cushioned back of my chair. I am so fucking tired right now. Staying up all night to kill a vampire royal, having a threesome with two hot vamps, and then getting poked and prodded by some bitchy human servant was seriously taking its toll on me.
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