by Emma Dawn
The bitch hung up on me.
Chapter Two
The door to the bathroom shuddered twice more while I desperately tried to dial 9-1-1 again, praying I would get a different operator. Someone who would take me seriously. Someone who wouldn’t just hang up on me. What a twat! Who did that? What operator hung up on someone when they were calling for help?
It was not to be, though, there was no chance to get the phone dialed again. While I fumbled with the stupid little phone, my knees in her blood on the floor, and Cassie grabbing at me with her flailing hands in a vain attempt to help, I think, the bathroom door crashed open and that shit-faced (okay, I’ll admit now in the light, he was pretty flipping handsome) Malcom stood over me, still clutching his balls with one hand. “Did you truly walk away from me, woman? You dared to bust my balls and walk away?”
I glared up at him, fear and anger making me waspish and far bolder than even on a good day. “Did you seriously tell me to suck your manhood when you don’t even know my name? What is wrong with you? That is not how you talk to a lady. Do you kiss your mother with that filthy, dirty, dirty mouth?” Sure. I might have been staring at said mouth a little too much, a little too long.
So, sue me, I could look. I just wouldn’t touch. I wasn’t that desperate.
His eyes widened with each word. “Obey me!” He spoke with such force I wondered if he was constipated. I debated offering to get him a laxative.
“Go away!” was what I settled for yelling at him. “Unless you’re a doctor, in which case you can stay and help me because she’s bleeding badly.” I waved a hand at Cassie who mumbled in her semi-conscious state. With her unhealthy obsession with the idea that vampires could be real, I was not surprised she believed she had been bitten.
My choice of storytelling had been right up her alley, and she’d gobbled the fantasy book after book. Vampires and werewolves and witches, oh my! But I knew the difference between reality and fantasy.
Cassie did not, as evidenced by her reaction to the cut on her neck, calling it a bite. She’d been chasing a sexual high that didn’t exist for years. My worst fear for her was facing me—that she’d found someone to play into her fantasy who would hurt her and leave her to die somewhere.
“You better hope to God you didn’t do this to her.” I glanced at Malcom while I kept pressure on the wound. “I mean it, HOPE TO GOD.”
“I did not bite her. But what exactly do you think you could do to me, if I had been the one?” Malcom asked softly, his blue eyes turning dangerously dark.
I stood and jammed a single finger into the tip of his nose. “I’ll cut your damn balls off myself and turn them into hacky sacks,” I snapped. “Now, help me get her to my car since the damn 9-1-1 operator won’t answer me.”
Malcom reached past me with a speed so fast, his hand blurred. He snatched the phone and crushed it in his palm as if it were nothing more than a child’s toy.
“What are you doing, you idiot!” I screamed at him, but I knew what he was doing. I knew exactly what he was doing and it freaked me out.
He was cutting us off from getting help, from getting out of here alive. I dropped back to my knees and put pressure on Cassie’s neck once more, feeling her heartbeat throb under my hand. She was alive, but I had no idea for how long, or how bad the wound was. What if one of these maniacs—the other six men now peering in through the doorway—had actually bitten her? The wound would be ragged from their blunt teeth, and for sure, her neck would need stitches and care from a proper hospital and doctor. Maybe even a rabies shot, by the looks of a few of the men.
Malcom smiled at me. “Feisty, and somewhat impervious to my voice. That is interesting. The queen will want to meet you. Perhaps, you are the last.”
One of the other men grunted and shook his head. “You think she’s going to be bonded to one of the five?”
Malcom nodded. “Yeah, it’s about the only thing that would make sense. No other reason for her to be able to ignore my call.” He rubbed at his balls and squinted his eyes. “And that knee to my balls was no human blow.”
I stood again and snapped the fingers of my free hand back and forth in front of his face to get his attention. “Hey. My friend needs help, not some mumbo jumbo about being bonded. If you still want a blow job, you can have one from my pencil sharpener.”
Not to mention the queen comment. What queen? We lived in New England in the good old U.S. of A. No queens here. Other than those who dressed in drag on the weekends.
I blinked in mid-thought, and the world moved at a rather sudden and rapid pace that I couldn’t follow. Between one moment and the next I went from standing on the floor, to being in the air, and then hung over Malcom’s shoulder. I hadn’t seen him move, or even take a breath. Just one minute on the dirty bathroom floor in my pj’s and the next on his shoulder. Was that even possible?
I took a breath, kicked and screamed as I slammed my fists into his back, my elbow in the back of his head, bruising my funny bone and barely making him move. We walked through the club in this fashion as though it were completely normal. Then again, he wasn’t exactly immune to my attempts. I angled my elbow to drive into the side of his head, snapping his head from side to side.
“If you were anyone else, I’d drain you here and be glad to watch you die.” He all but hissed the words. Harder than it sounded when there was only one s in the sentence.
I paused in my ministrations on the back of his head and looked around for my friend. One of the other men had Cassie in his arms. She was still passed out.
“Don’t you dare hurt her!” I screamed at him, shaking a fist as though I were some curmudgeonly old man on the edge of his porch, screaming at the neighborhood kids to get the hell off his lawn and stop toilet-papering his house.
“Then be still,” Malcom said as he tightened his hold on my legs. “She is our security for your good behavior.”
I clenched my hands into fists as I fought not to fight. I didn’t want to give in, but I didn’t want Cassie to be hurt either.
“What are you going to do with us?” I cringed as the words slipped from me. Like a damsel in distress, waiting for her white knight to rescue her. Bah.
“To the queen,” was all he said. We stepped—okay, he stepped; I was still slung over his shoulder—out of the bar and into the now-snowing night.
“Wonderful,” I muttered.
“Get rid of her car.” Malcom made a motion toward my car.
“No! Don’t you touch my car!”
One of the other men who had stringy long black hair grinned at me and jingled my keys before he slid into the driver’s side. My most favorite car with the all-leather interior and the beautiful purple paint job with thick black racing stripes.
Not my car, don’t let them hurt my car, I thought.
I let out low snarl. “I hate you.”
“Fine by me,” Malcom grumbled. “I hope I’m wrong about you, and the queen drains you.”
His words made me blink. “Drains me. What is that? Some kind of euphemism?”
He snorted. “No, it’s not. Drains means exactly what your brain thinks it means. Drains you of all your blood and bathes in it. I hope she does that exactly, and that she allows me to watch.”
Now, to be fair, I was slung over his shoulder, and there had never been a time in my life that I had been prone to passing out.
Seeing as I’d just been essentially kidnapped, my favorite car stolen and likely driven into a ditch somewhere, then threatened to have all my blood drained from me, now was the time to have my moment.
My eyes rolled and I slumped, the world spinning as I fought to claw my way back to a more conscious state. Yet, it was not to be, not even after I was shoved into the dark space of a vehicle I didn’t know, or when Cassie was shoved against me. If anything, the pressure to let the blank space of unconsciousness increased until I succumbed, and slumped into the far-too-cushiony seats.
My last thought was simple.
If I a
m going to die, I hope I can at least get in one more kick to that dipshit’s balls.
Chapter Three
I came out of the cold fog of unconsciousness with a bolt, flinging my fists outward as if I would slay the dragon...Where was I? Still at the bar with Cassie? No, that wasn’t right. There had been a total dick named Malcom who’d tried to command me to suck his balls.
That had to have been a dream. No man was that stupid or that arrogant.
Running water trickled at the edge of my senses, helping me ground myself, and though it did that, it also gave me the intense urge to pee.
I shuddered and a raspy breath rattled through me. I blinked and tried to see through the tangle of my dark blond hair. Carefully, I pressed my hands to the stone beneath me and pushed until I was standing on slightly wobbly legs.
That cold stone continued up the walls and to the ceiling of what could only be called a castle. A castle? In New England? I knew there were a few mansions that dated back to a bygone era, maybe that was where we were. But I didn’t think so.
I rubbed a hand over my eyes and did a slow turn toward the one sound in the room. In front of me was a waterfall cascading down behind a throne that looked to be made of solid gold. Seated on the throne was a woman far younger than me, by what had to be at least twenty years. Her face was unlined, that soft skin untouched by the woes of the world, the pain of the heart, or the hurt caused by those meant to love you. Dressed in a shimmering gown of gold, the material clung to her curves. Where the throne left off and the gown began was hard to tell. Jet-black hair hung to her waist in perfect, artistic waves, and eyes the green of an emerald stared down at me.
She was stunningly beautiful.
I hated her a little bit just based on that.
She helped cement that hatred with the first words out of her mouth. Her plump lips turned downward as she stared at me.
“Why would you bring us an old hag, Malcom? She has to be almost forty. What use has she left?”
I glared up at her, my mouth filter not catching up with my brain. “Who would put a child on a golden throne and think her capable of anything other than saying stupid shit?”
Gasps rippled around the room from people I hadn’t seen before. They did that creepy, ghosting in closer thing that Malcom had pulled on me at the bar. I went from being alone, standing in front of that snot-nosed, beautiful brat, to being surrounded by men, yet again.
Run away.
The thought was so strong inside my mind, I wasn’t entirely sure it was mine.
I frowned harder. Mind reading was not real. Vampires were not real. This was not real. I was in some sort of dream—
“It is not a dream, Allianna.”
I gasped and spun toward the man who’d spoken. “How the hell do you know my name?” Because Allianna was a name I’d legally given up years ago. Too long, too hard to spell, it didn’t fit well on book covers. Allianna was just too much for me. I was little old plain Ally Swift and happy to be so.
The man in question took another step. Unlike Malcom, he made no effort to hide his face from me, and I will admit that I struggled to breathe as I took him in. Eyes of the darkest blue, and hair the color of mahogany, lips that looked as though he’d just finished laughing but with a hint of sadness on the edge of them. His face was narrow, coming to a squared-off chin covered in a slight stubble that was shades lighter than the hair on his head. He wore a black button-down shirt open at the throat and black slacks that clung to his very, very, very nice lower half.
With effort, I drew my eyes back up to his face and managed to croak out a few words. “Who are you?”
“I am known as Preacher.” He tipped his head ever so slightly. “And I am your first.”
“First what?” My brain didn’t like this game. Going from fear, to confusion, on to a burning lust so hot, I was pretty sure I was no longer wearing any panties because one look at him had melted them off, and then back to confusion made my head hurt.
Preacher smiled, showing off perfectly white teeth and...a pair of fangs. Fangs. Real fangs. No, fake fangs.
“They are not fake, Allianna, they are real, as this is real.” He took a step toward me, then another and another, and the tension between us ratcheted up at a speed I could not understand. My heart was pounding and my skin prickled with a need I hadn’t felt since Mike had left me and broken my heart.
Preacher lifted a long-fingered hand and ran the tips of his fingers down the side of my face with the most careful of touches, as if I were something precious. “Come with me, I will explain everything.”
I let him take my hand, let him begin to lead me away until that twat on the throne snorted. “She will never take my place. Not if you worked with her a thousand years, Preacher, would she be what you want her to be. Like the others, she will die.”
From his hand, I felt the slightest of tremors, which meant the shot she threw at me was meant for him too. I found myself squeezing his hand in a small attempt at solidarity. I half-turned, but spoke to Preacher.
“Funny, did you hear something? For a just a split second there, it sounded like a baby crying.” I smiled as I spoke. Maybe I’d lost my mind, because I’d just been threatened with my life and it had done no more than amuse me.
Preacher tightened his hold on my hand and then we were moving so fast my feet skimmed the floor, like I was flying as he drew me away from what could only be called a throne room.
“You should not push her like that. She could kill you if she was so inclined.” He glanced at me, his eyes softening, and the color seemed to soften with the emotion on his face.
“Here, come and I will explain why you are here, and what...I am to you, being your first.”
We stood in front of a large door strapped with metal bindings, as though being held together more by metal than the wood. He touched the door and it swung inward. The room in front of me was warm, and for the first time, I realized how cold I was. A shiver ran down my body and I rubbed my arms.
“Ah, perhaps we should get you some dry clothes and increase your temperature.” Preacher didn’t let go of me, but drew me deeper into the room by my hand. The door closed on its own behind us with a soft click. The room seemed a cocoon of safety and warmth, every breath of air against my skin felt like Preacher was touching me. Which was stupid and silly because I’d met the man with the fake fangs only moments before. I refused to think of him as a vampire. I was not Cassie.
Thoughts of my friend sent a shot of shame through me. “Wait. What happened to my friend? Where is she?”
Preacher smiled and I thought for a moment the breath in my body might flee and I’d die right there on the spot, his mouth and face were so dang delectable. Cover models be damned, this dude was the real deal.
“She is in the hospital wing being taken care of by the very best doctors. Do not be afraid for her. She will go home and remember none of this.”
A breath of relief slid through me.
He tipped his head to the side. “You trust my words?”
I shrugged and a small laugh escaped me. “Crazy, I know, but I feel like we’ve met before. Or that I’ve known you before. I think I can trust you.”
He closed the distance between us, and cupped my face with his hands, splaying his fingers over my cheeks.
“I did not want to feel this. I did not think it possible, though I have been warned for years.” He dipped his head so our foreheads touched. He drew in a shuddering breath. My hands were on his forearms, clinging to him, holding him to me. I swallowed with some difficulty.
“What happens now?”
“I need to get you warm, and then I will explain everything.” His words were a whisper that floated out and landed on my lips, slid down my neck and curled over my skin, tightening my body with a luscious need. I dared to look into his eyes, to see what was there, if it was just me slowly being consumed with want.
His dark blue eyes were nearly black with desire. “I need to get you warm.”
/>
“You already said that,” I pointed out, unable to stop the stupid smile that slid over my lips. “Is there a shower or a tub?”
A part of my brain yelped at me that this was beyond foolish, stupid, dangerous. It was downright ridiculous. I was basically inviting a man I’d met only moments before, a man who believed he was a vampire no less, to have a shower with me.
Ah, what the hell, you only live once, and he was the finest piece of ass I’d ever seen in my entire life. Besides, I wasn’t entirely sure this wasn’t a dream, and if it was a dream, I could do anything I wanted and it would be safe. I would wake up, and have an amazing memory to look back on.
I arched an eyebrow and stepped back, letting my hands slide down his arms to his fingers. I couldn’t help but notice the size of his hands, wondering what magic they could send sizzling over my skin. I pursed my lips. “You game, or am I showering by myself?”
His eyebrows shot up and a smile tickled at the edges of his mouth. “Game, very, very game, Allianna.”
He slipped toward me, catching me up in his arms, one hand going to my ass, the other holding me tightly around the waist. The hand on my ass dug in with a delicious strength, massaging at the flesh while pressing me against him as he walked through the main room.
Distantly I took note of the bed, the silk sheets, the two chests on either side of the bed, the open closet full of clothing. I think perhaps I was making a weak attempt to keep my wits about me. It wasn’t working all that well as my eyes kept sliding back to Preacher’s face.
My interest in the room faded as we reached the bathroom, though bathroom wasn’t quite the right word. Perhaps spa would be a better, more accurate descriptor. The intricately tiled room was done in black and gold, from the floor up to the walls and across the ceiling. The designs in gold, swirls and the like, shimmered in the candles lit throughout. The room was as big as any master bedroom, and in fact, there was a lounge on one side I could easily sprawl on and have a nap. Though sleeping was most certainly not on my mind at that particular moment.
Dreaming, this was all a dream, therefore I could do whatever I wanted.