Born Of Sin

by Deanna Richmond

  She pulled back. “I don’t know what this is.” Treacherous tears rolled down her cheeks while anguish sat in her heart. “Who are you really? You, this world scares me, but my heart tells me that I cannot live my life without you in it. My God, Victor I feel like I would die without you.”

  “I don’t know what this madness is either, but what I do know is that you are mine. No one else’s but mine. We are as one,” he explained, his eyes pleading for her to understand something even he could not comprehend. He had decided reason was irrelevant. When it came to Octavia, he had no choice, for she gave him life again.

  Victor removed a strap from one shoulder and when she said nothing, he removed the second, but she held her arms wrapped around her waist, preventing the gown from completely falling.

  Victor reached around through her curls and grabbed the back of her head, pulling her close to his lips, almost sucking in her air as if to take away what little fight she had left. Unaware that her dress had indeed fallen to the floor, she embraced him back.

  Victor lifted her up and placed her on a bookshelf. There he kissed her neck, her breasts, needing to feed his insatiable desire to have her again. Through the tangled emotions of unrestrained gluttony and a mindless haze, he managed to enter her.

  For an endless moment, they remained frozen within each other’s arms, unable to think or inhale. Being connected once again was too overpowering to comprehend. It was as if their individual lives had ceased to exist, for when they became one, all of the pieces fit together.

  Victor stood enthralled by her warmth. It had been a week since they’d been together, but one would have thought it had been centuries. Her silent scream parted her lips as she stayed locked in a spell, their heads resting upon each other.

  And as if time had given them permission to act, a desperate respire escaped her lips. “Scream my name,” he demanded of her. “I don’t care if the whole damn place hears.” Octavia was unable to contain herself as she obeyed his words. Her hungry movements pleaded with him never to let go. The two made the library their very own sanctuary, and as Brayden stood at the door, he knew it wise not to enter.

  Needing to ravish her completely, he carried her to the couch. There, with the glass wall facing the woods, they exposed themselves to any who might dare to watch. He lay on top, paralyzing her with his ravenous but artful lovemaking. Below him, she almost felt forced to obey his will. He admired her exquisiteness, remembering that he’d almost lost her today. She, the being who could ruin him, was all that he’d hungered for as of late, even more so than sanguine.

  As his body masterfully pleased hers, his face registered despair. Victor wanted to tell her what he was but instead, he shut his eyes and turned away as he felt himself begin to lose control.

  “What is it?” she begged. “Please…”

  He wanted to speak the words but believed showing her was the best decision. He turned back and showed Octavia what his lips could not say. “Your eyes,” she whispered but did not scream. “Victor,” she gasped as she slowly watched his blues fully change into piercing glowing sapphires. Her face held shock but amazingly, she did not flee, so he hugged her more tightly.

  “Are you afraid?”

  After a moment of silence, “No” escaped her lips and a wave of relief washed over him.

  “One day I will tell you everything,” he spoke softly against her ear. “One day,” he said as he fed her his blood with a kiss.

  Then, as if wickedness had suddenly possessed her body, she rolled him onto the floor, ravishing him as if to feed. Victor allowed her to have her way as he held onto her waist and she sat atop him, taking in all that he offered. He raised his hips up, pushing himself deeper inside her, but not too roughly, as he knew he could cause her body harm.

  Staring up at her as she mercilessly fed, for a split second, he swore her hues had sullied. Octavia rode him with vigor, unaware of his dilemma. Victor grabbed her face to see her irises, but they were in their natural state of hazel.

  He rolled her over, pinning her back to the floor as her legs wrapped around his waist. He watched her closely. “Look at me.” He grabbed her face. “I need to see you.” Her eyes stayed glued to him as he slowly thrust inside of her, feeling her body’s natural flow of warmth wrap around his manhood like her heart was wrapped around his own.

  Thinking it was his mind playing tricks, he let it go and focused on her pleasure. He knew her body well. She twisted, arched her back, and even pulled her hair as her body gave in to his perfect navigation.

  He held tight to her sculpted frame; his movements were deliberate, riding the feeling out, driving her mad. Finally, he met her at the peak, allowing them both to fall over the edge, while he fought his urge to bite her pulsating neck, instead nuzzling against it as they completed their act of love making.

  There on the floor, he held her snugly against his body, as if a looming threat was nearby, waiting to take her away. He was concerned about Octavia’s change of eye color. He could swear he’d seen her irises darken. Was he somehow changing her?

  He leaned over her to caress her face, making sure he did not disturb her sleep. He then touched her closed lids. When her body did not reflexively react to his touch, he gently lifted them to see the hue. They were still normal.

  Were my own eyes deceiving me?

  Or had it been something within her all this time? The ring, her intrigue of the castle and his true identity, Nikolai Von Mort. He needed answers.

  “Octavia.” He stirred her awake, stroked her cheek, disturbing her slumber.

  “Yes,” she roused, looking up at him. He hated to change her mood, but this was important.

  “The ring you wear…”

  “Where is it?” She reached for her neck, but was unable to locate it, then sat up in haste, searching the nearby floor.

  “Stop, Octavia.” He pulled her back down. “It is safe. I have it. Ms. Havershem showed it to me. Why do you have my ring?”

  “You mean your family’s ring?” Victor hesitantly nodded. “I don’t know. I’ve always had it, ever since I can remember. That ring is one of my earliest memories.”

  “And you have no recollection of your parents or how you came to possess such an old artifact? None at all, huh?”

  “No.” She answered quickly. “Victor, I swear. You’re looking at me as if I’m lying or some… Victor…” she leaned away at his threatening stare.

  “Nikolai,” he imperiously interjected.

  “What?”

  He remained fixated on her reaction. He wanted to trust her, but there were so many missing links, even in his own story. He needed to tell her all. “No more falsities. Call me…” Victor stopped talking and turned away from Octavia. He’d heard a strange noise far off in the castle; it was disturbing. Another threat.

  “I must go.”

  “Wait, Victor?”

  “I will be back for you. Do not leave this room.” He gripped her arm. “You understand?” His tone commanded.

  “Yes, of course.” He placed a blanket over her, then quickly dressed himself.

  As soon as he’d donned his suit jacket, his name was called. “Victor,” his most trusted guard Sergio called to him from the basement. Something was wrong. Moving like a swift wind, Victor left Octavia in a state of complete confusion.

  Down into the dungeon he rushed, past the first floor and through the secret passageway, then down the stairs. Deep below the ground, under the main basement, Victor opened a heavy wooden door, entering a stone room that had only ever witnessed malice. Warmth had no place here. he met Sergio and another guard, Claudio, holding a man captive.

  They had his arms chained up above his head, pinned to a wall. The man stared straight at Victor, informing him that he was not afraid. At first, Victor looked at Claudio and Sergio, acknowledging their prudence, then he walked over to the stranger. “Who sent you?” he asked, though he already knew the answer. The man spat in Victor’s face. He took a handkerchief and wiped th
e insolence away. “That was one. You only get one,” Victor warned. The Kazakhstan had sent him to kill Octavia. They had yet to see a body from their first attempt, to confirm her death. Victor just wasn’t sure if the assassin was here to kill Victor as well. The prisoner looked Ukrainian in descent with his dark hair, whitish skin color and prominent nose.

  “We found him skulking around on the grounds like a mongrel. He’s lucky Snow didn’t find him first. She’s brutal, that one,” Sergio said with a raised brow, envisioning the man getting shredded apart.

  “Do you know who I am? You dare come into my house to try and kill a person under my protection? You should have known better,” Victor threatened, allowing his ancient accent to slide past his tongue for the second time in a short while.

  “I know who you were. Who you’re supposed to be. The one we’ve all respected. Our prince, the Barbarian.” He tugged on the chains to get to Victor. “We were honored that you agreed to marry into our Klan because you were one of us, but you have been around humans so long, you think you’re one of them. You disgust me, bedding a humanus meretrix. You deserve to die as well,” he barked. His accent revealed his Ukrainian heritage.

  There was Victor’s answer. He’d been sent to kill Octavia, but his personal agenda had gotten in the way. He personally wanted to kill her lover too, namely Victor.

  Victor slowly paced back and forth in front of the man as he spoke. His jaw had tightened in reaction to the man’s response. As anger rose up in him, he fought to suppress it. He wanted to prolong this.

  Victor was not surprised that his captive wanted him dead, nor did he care that the Kazakhstan knew of his affair with a human. The Kazakhstan Vampires were gangsters, lowlifes, but he, as well as the council, had thought they could be cultured. They’d been wrong. Victor had made the wrong choice.

  “Unchain him,” Victor ordered. At first, Sergio and Claudio appeared puzzled, but they did as they’d been told. Directing his attention at the stranger, Victor said, “If you want her, then you have to go through me to get to her.” Victor removed his jacket and tie. It had been a while since he’d gotten the opportunity to pummel someone to death. Actually, his body was craving it. He needed to release this pent-up frustration and rage.

  “You may leave,” he politely told his trusted protectors, but nothing polite resided in his thoughts.

  “Are you sure?” Victor held up a hand and graciously waved them away. Reluctantly, both men left the chamber.

  At first, the man only observed Victor. He knew of his former reputation. Long ago, they’d called him “The Barbarian” . He’d fought cruelly. Standing at three feet taller than Victor with muscles built like a tank, the man showed no fear, only hatred in the form of a menacing scowl. Although he’d never seen Victor fight, he was sure he would not be much of an opponent. He could not wait to report Victor’s end by his doing.

  Unfortunately for him, Victor had already envisioned that man’s demise. His adversary was already dead; only he didn’t know it.

  When Victor fought, his body took control, fighting instinctively, not allowing his imagination to limit or stop him. It was uncontaminated masochism, undiluted by doubt or the possibility of defeat. He was dreaded by most because he feared nothing, and that is why the Cabalistis had sent Razvan to retrieve him.

  The man advanced, but Victor punched him in the nose, breaking it on impact. Victor’s men heard the loud crack of splitting bone from where they waited outside the door. Victor could have shoved it higher into his brain, killing the man instantly, but held back in order to continue this much-needed self-therapy. The man held his bleeding nose and stepped back.

  The Ukrainian lost a lot of blood in their battle, unaware that Victor was only extending his misery in order to release his fury. Using his fists, hearing the pounding of flesh and bone was therapeutic to him. He was releasing the depraved monster within, and it felt glorious. He was angry about the many secrets that pertained to him, enraged at his loss of control recently, but mostly irate that others saw him as weak. In truth, it takes a lot to hold one’s composure and Victor had done it for far too long.

  So, as he crushed his opponent’s head, he no longer saw him as a living being, but an enemy who had come to take away not only his lover, but also his own life. Blood spilled that night, and it was mostly the Ukrainians. Victor’s old self had resurfaced—the side he had suppressed for so long—and he exulted in every bit of the man’s gore on his person. He relished bathing in it. His fists plowed through flesh and organs, and as he pulled them back, pieces of red colored bone stuck to his knuckles.

  Once Victor had sated his bloodlust, once the scrounger could barely stand, Victor ended his life. This time, Victor slammed the man’s face to the stone floor, securing his hand around his wide neck. With his knee, Victor methodically spread the Ukrainian’s thighs apart, then slowly and painfully crushed the screaming man’s tailbone to the floor, snapping his groin apart. Screaming, the Ukrainian lay on the cold stone floor paralyzed.

  Victor rolled him over, then stood up. He towered over the man who lay brutalized, staring up at him, no longer able to speak. The pain he felt was unbearable, but Victor took his time walking around him, letting him suffer. “Do not worry, your death will not be in vain. Your body will be shipped back to the Kazakhstans as a message to all those who dare enter my home uninvited, or attempt to take the life of a person under my shield.”

  The Ukrainian was choking on his own blood and vomit. His eyes widened from his body’s inability to function properly. The man’s bowels had released from the loss of bodily control. His eyes bulged even wider when he saw Victor bend down next to him and watched as the vampire’s fist closed in on his face. Brain matter spilled onto the granite beneath it.

  Victor howled like a wild beast. Taking the man’s life was not only magnificent, it was also erotically carnal, even though Victor knew that he had just declared war.

  The Barbarian was free.

  Chapter 15: Octavia

  Octavia sat up from the library floor, startled by a hellish roar. She was wrapped in a blanket on the floor, but there was no Victor. She had fallen back to sleep, but she had woken with an achy fever. She assumed it was her immunity still trying to heal from the toxins. She could not understand why she had been poisoned just to get to him. Victor was supposed to be a good man. He gave back to the sick, so why were people trying to hurt him?

  Oh, God, his eyes, he recalled. Nothing about this was normal. She should have run a long time ago, but something inside her would not let her. She should fear him, but could not. As much as she wanted to think about his altered appearance, she could not. She wanted answers. At least that was the excuse she gave for staying.

  She knew Victor was coming back, but her body hurt terribly. She needed to get to Ms. Havershem. Obviously, whatever treatment she had received was not enough.

  Slowly but surely, Octavia redressed herself, all the while combatting the sore bones and fever. Her hands trembled throughout the process. Numerous times, she had to sit down to gather her strength. In the time it took to don her gown, she noted the reappearance of darkening spider veins on her left leg.

  After a series of labored baby steps, she made it to the hall. There, she used each windowsill to help her remain upright. The further she walked, the more she felt like she had been infected once again. She covered her mouth to cough and noted dark spider veins in her left arm.

  I don’t understand. Ms. Havershem said that I should be getting better.

  Octavia tried to hurry down the hallway, but the faster she moved, the more exhausted she became. She attempted running, but after a brief sprint, she fell against a window, soaked in sweat. The dim hall was unfamiliar to her, so she tried to retrace her steps. Her mind was losing its focus.

  She made it down two hallways before falling to the floor, doubled over with stomach spasms. Octavia coughed uncontrollably and when she pulled her hand away from her lips, there was thick black sludge.
>
  What is that?

  She tried to stand back up, but it was useless; her legs were too weak. She screamed for anyone to help. She was alarmed by her unnaturally high pitch. It didn’t sound like her, let alone human. She sat there, unable to move, feeling the black poison ooze out of her mouth and trickle down her chin. She let out another scream, mostly one of horror.

  Unable to keep her head up any longer, she fell forward and started choking on whatever was killing her. Panic rose up inside of her when she realized she was dying from the black poison.

  “Octavia!” Brayden and two other guards found her down a dark corridor. Brayden ran to her, picked her up and whisked her away. “Get Ms. Havershem immediately,” Brayden ordered one of the guards as he headed back to her room. Octavia’s head fell backward, losing the battle to retain its strength.

  In her room, Brayden propped her up with pillows. Ms. Havershem rushed into the room and examined her closely. Octavia could swear that they looked frightened. “What?” Octavia barely said, coughing up more wet putrescence.

  “The remedy didn’t work.” The woman sounded perplexed. “I don’t understand.” She faced Brayden, who faced away.

  “What is it, Brayden?” Ms. Havershem asked.

  “But why?” Octavia managed, and Ms. Havershem held up a handkerchief, helping her through a coughing spell. After her fit, the woman tenderly wiped her face.

  Victor rushed into the room, and at first, Octavia was startled by the blood on his shirt and his face. Then, she started coughing uncontrollably again. The spasms were getting more frequent and worse. He sat down next to the bed to comfort Octavia as Brayden and Ms. Havershem stepped back. “What’s wrong with me?” she asked through wheezed breaths. “I’m worse… The poison, Victor.”

  “Why did it not work? It should have worked,” Victor’s voice was incensed. When no answer came, he moved far too quickly for a human as he stood within close proximity of Brayden and the woman. “What, no answer? only whispers behind my back?” They both had apprehensive faces even before Victor had stormed over to them.