“One word, Inari,” her lover went on, moving his lips up to her jaw, her ear. “You know what it is, don’t you?” He withdrew his hand from between her spread thighs enough to find her clit with his fingers, pinch it between their tips and then sink back into her pussy once more. Three fingers this time. Three long fingers driving her closer to the brink, closer to a precipice he would only let her tumble over when she uttered what he wanted to hear. The one word she never would say.
He traced his tongue over the shell of her ear and she trembled. “One word, Inari.” He nipped her earlobe with his teeth, scissored his fingers inside her sex. “Say it for me, my stubborn little assassin, so we both can be as one. Say it, say it.”
She ground her teeth, rode his hand and felt the word begin to form on her lips. Felt it form on her tongue. Felt it form in her soul. Just one word and he would claim her as his own. One word…
Master.
She opened her eyes, that one word on her lips. And saw his fangs extend. Glistening with saliva. Ready to pierce her—
Inari jolted awake, her ragged breath stripping at her throat, burning her lungs. She flicked her gaze around her dark bedroom, shame and dismay flooding through her. The same dream. The same vampire.
Scrubbing at her face, she let out a strangled groan, struggling to calm her rapid heart rate. Damn it, what was going on with her?
She stretched across her bed and snared her old wristwatch, a present from an enamored seventeenth-century watchmaker she’d fed on for over a decade. The tiny hands mocked her and she groaned again, slumping back to the mattress. Forty minutes. That’s all the sleep she’d had. A mere forty minutes of sleep, and she’d had the same goddamn dream she’d had for what felt like forever. The same cursed vampire doing the same cursed thing to her. What in all the levels of the Realm was wrong with her?
Immediately, an image of the vampire from her dreams filled her head, his dark eyes glinting red. He smiled at her, an arrogant grin that barely curled the corners of his mouth. His black hair fell over his smooth, pale forehead in a tousled mess, the thick strands brushing eyebrows equally black and thick.
The pit of her belly squirmed with instinctual interest, her pussy throbbing with unnerving awareness, and she groaned.
Why did she continually dream about a bloodsucker bringing her to climax after climax after climax with just his hand night after night after night? Worse still, why did she crave more than his fingers every time she woke?
Because you’re an ex-succubus who hasn’t had sex in twenty years? Because since your rebirth as a Principatus you’ve spent the better part of those twenty years hunting and destroying vampires and shapeshifters and all manner of demon-kind, and your previous demon existence is fucking with your already messed-up psyche?
Because deep down inside—in the dark, twisted place you fear to explore—you want to be claimed by a vampire? A master vampire?
Letting out a low growl, Inari threw herself from the bed and stormed across her room. She didn’t want to think about that last question. It was too…disturbing to consider.
Leaning her flushed forehead on the cool glass window, she stared at the cityscape ten stories below. It was still dark, the sun not even close to illuminating the sinful mecca that was Kings Cross.
“Argh!” Inari threw up her hands and turned away from the window. She needed to get laid. If she weren’t so sexually frustrated all the time, she wouldn’t be having freaking wet dreams about a master freaking vampire.
Then go out and get laid. Obviously dusting that vampire earlier did little to ease your tension. Go find a male, preferably human, and fuck the dream out of your system.
The suggestion sent a wet shard of heat straight into her sex, and she pressed her thighs together. Oh, if only she could. She wanted to so badly. The need for sexual release ate at her every minute of her existence, but she didn’t dare risk it. As appealing as daily multiple climaxes were, she didn’t want to be a sex demon again. She didn’t want to return to that life, and she feared one moment of sexual connection with another being, no matter how soulless, would feed the succubus still inside her waiting to be nourished. Waiting to be freed.
Which meant she currently held the all-time succubus record for abstinence.
It was safer that way.
And you’d throw that safety record right out the window if the vamp from your dreams walked through your bedroom door. You know that, don’t you?
Inari ground her teeth, ignoring the little voice—that little voice—in her head. Crossing to the cupboard, she grabbed her vest from its hanger. She was going out again. It may be—she flicked her watch a quick look—two forty-five in the morning, but if she didn’t leave her apartment right now, go to a club, or a pub, or a bowling alley or…or…shit, something, she’d just end up masturbating to the memory of her dream and feeling wretched the second her empty, unsatisfying orgasm faded from her body.
Tugging on the black leather garment, she snatched her skin-tight black jeans from the foot of the bed and pulled them up her legs and over her butt. It was a clichéd outfit to be sure, the kind Hollywood seemed infatuated with when it came to anything related to vampires and demons, but she wore it for a reason. Bait. She was tiny, barely five foot four, and the body-hugging clothes made her look even smaller. Well, except for her boobs. Like all succubi, her boobs were full and heavy and round—the stuff of most men’s fantasies—and the corset-style vest did little to conceal their lush shape. It made her the perfect target for some absolute shitheads though, shitheads who wouldn’t think twice about taking from her what they wanted, whether she said they could or not. Which made them the perfect target of her Principatus rage when she couldn’t find a demon to tear apart.
She yanked on knee-high stiletto boots and slid her blade into the top of the right one, beside her calf where she could get it in a hurry if she needed to. It was illegal to carry knives on your person in Australia, but with the help of a little glamour incantation she’d picked up from a love-struck warlock a century ago, anyone who saw the blade would think it a long-stem red rose.
Which came in handy. In more than one way.
Looking at herself in the full-length mirror propped against the far wall, she pulled in a long, slow breath. She looked sexy. No, more than sexy. She looked fuckable.
A bitter smile twitched at the corners of her mouth and she turned from her reflection. She hoped she got some violent, brutal action before the sun came up.
Before she really went insane.
The delicious scent of sweat, sex and human flesh threaded through Ezryn’s nose and into his body as he and Jacob walked into the Pleasure Pussy, Jacob’s premium nightclub catering to Sydney’s underground paranormal residents.
“I’ll get us a drink,” Jacob shouted over the noise, the muted lighting shrouding him in shadows.
Ezryn nodded, his stare fixed on the show currently taking place at the end of the club’s main extended stage. Two females and one male, all fae, danced together around one thick, gold pole, three purple-hued spotlights capturing their every move. The females, stunning creatures with high cheekbones, large, liquid eyes and lean, sinewy bodies, wrapped themselves around the lone male, their limbs entwined with his. The male’s long, solid cock pressed against his belly, its distended head deep purple, tiny beads of glistening pre-come squeezing from its tip.
With every thrumming beat from the multiple speakers embedded in the club’s walls, the females stroked the massive erection, their long fingers painting the male’s smooth, pale flesh with his own excitement, their tiny tongues lapping at the silver smears in time to the sultry music.
Ezryn’s own cock twitched at the sight. He’d never been one for skin-shows. He had nothing against voyeurism, nor ménages for that matter—he and Jacob had shared more than one willing female since moving to Australia. Impersonal, dirty fucking relieved their sexual hunger but didn’t touch their tormented hearts. Something about performing the act for money
lessened its appeal. This skin show, however, seemed to pique his interest.
Or is it the idea of hunting a Principatus that has your juices flowing?
The dark thought made him clench his fists. It was true. As civilized as he was, he was still a predator, still—according to the insulting definition used by all Principatus—a demon. Hunting the very thing created by the Highest of Powers to terminate his kind gave him a rush he didn’t want to think about.
Perhaps you really are as barbaric and unevolved as Harry. No better than your brother and undeserving of the—
“Decided we need something stronger than whiskey for the occasion.” Jacob’s voice rose over the din, cutting the unsettling thought before it could finish. With a grunt, Ezryn turned his stare from the copulating fae on the stage to the vampire on his left.
Jacob handed him a squat glass half-filled with an angry purple liquid and raised his own glass in a casual toast. “To Fat Harry. May he be dusted by a Buffy-wannabe using a termite-infested stake.” With an evil grin and a flash of fangs, he lifted his glass to his lips and drained it in a single mouthful.
Ezryn cocked an eyebrow. “To my baby brother,” he murmured, raising his drink. He pressed its cool rim to his parted lips and swallowed.
Liquid fire poured down his throat, turning his gut into an inferno. He gasped, biting back a choking cough. “Dark Ones, Jake, what is this?”
Jacob’s evil grin turned positively demonic. “Carpathian mountain water. Trust me, you don’t want to know how I get it.”
Ezryn licked his lips, his gullet burning from the inside out. “I’ll take your word on that.” He scanned the writhing crowd, taking note of who and what enjoyed the attractions of Jacob’s club. Vamps, weres, the odd warlock, a banshee or two, numerous demons and more than one human offering themselves to whichever paranormal creature pressed their buttons, taking their life into their mortal hands with every second spent in the strip joint. He turned back to his friend, the smoldering fire in his gut abating a little. “I’m going to check out the booths.” He handed Jacob his empty glass. “Get me another one, will you?”
Jacob chuckled. “They’re your organs.”
Ezryn grinned. “My lifeless organs.”
Leaving his general, he moved into the crowd, the scent of sweat and sex pervading his senses. Detecting a Principatus was never easy. If it were, the assassins would not be the lethal, effective killers they were. They looked human, sounded human, felt human—that was until they shifted into their other form. There was no mistaking them in that form. When they were in their human form, however, they were undetectable. But to a master vampire such as himself, one centuries old with all the power that comes with age, not to mention the supremacy of his bloodline, the Principatus could be identified by scent. Sweet, delicate, like mist on a rose. Pure in its composition yet steely in its intensity.
If the Principatus he hunted was in the Pleasure Pussy, her scent would lead him to her.
And then, to use a tired phrase, the game would begin.
Weaving his way through the sweaty mass, Ezryn pulled in another breath. Sex. He smelled sex. A lot of sex. Pheromones, ejaculate, saliva. Human, demon, mage.
His cock stirred and he ground his teeth. With the level of sexual activity in the place, was it any wonder he was on edge?
He shoved past a particularly thick group of humans, clenching his fist at the overly friendly hands skimming his ass, his hips, his crotch as he did so. Everyone in the Pleasure Pussy, it seemed, was here for one thing and one thing only. To fuck. There was no way he would tolerate that kind of contact outside the club, but he ignored it now. Well, tried to.
His cock stiffened again and he growled, the cold blood in his veins running hot with carnal interest. It had been a while since he’d fed, even longer since he’d fucked. After he’d finished with the Principatus, he’d find a willing female or two, maybe human, maybe not, and sate his appetite. If Jake was lucky, he might even invite him to join in the—
An unknown scent slipped into Ezryn’s nose, a soft tickle so subtle he almost missed it. Unknown and yet so very familiar.
He froze, eyes narrow, nose lifted.
There. To his right.
He turned, scanning the muted depths of the club. The Principatus’s scent came to him from the shadows, wafting in teasing tendrils from the back booths only those wanting to conceal their actions used.
A smile pulled at the corners of Ezryn’s mouth. Perfect. He couldn’t have asked for anything better.
Indifferent to the come-hither glances and stares directed his way, he began walking forward. Until tonight, he’d only known of one Principatus living in Sydney, and the scent curling into his nostrils definitely did not belong to Ven Watkins. That could only mean unless there were more than two of the Highest’s assassins in the city—a very unlikely situation—it belonged to the Principatus he hunted. His muscles coiled, readying for his attack. Unprovoked and unexpected as it was, there was still a chance she would fight back. Ezryn’s fangs extended. He needed to be quick. As ridiculous as the notion sounded, he needed to make it humane. Painless.
The shadows melted away as he drew closer, the din of the club fading to a low buzz. He zeroed his senses onto the very end booth tucked away in the corner and its sole occupant, learning everything he could as he moved toward her, everything his heightened sense of smell and sound perception could detect about her—how fast her heart beat, how clean her skin was, how she sat on the booth’s seat, how her limbs moved against each other, in what position she sat, the material of her clothes she wore, what weapons she carried if any.
He drew to a halt, the sound of soft feminine moans floating from the booth stilling his feet for a moment. He recognized the emotion behind those moans all too well. Pleasure. Mounting release. He pulled in a deep breath, the musky aroma of female juices filling his body. Whatever was happening in the booth, his assassin was more than turned on by it. His cock, already half-erect, sprang to instant attention, as if the Principatus’s arousal was a beacon for his own.
Ezryn sneered. His fangs dug into his bottom lip. He was aroused for one reason only—the successful hunt of a natural enemy. That she smelled like sin and rapture combined meant nothing.
He started walking again, his pace quick, his stare locked on the darkest corner in the club. She was there. And by the sounds of it, she wasn’t as alone as he’d first thought.
So who is with her? Why couldn’t you detect them?
Another moan caressed his ears, a hitching whimper he knew came from her throat. An image filled his mind, unexpected but very appealing—a petite female with hair the color of dark chocolate and eyes the color of moss, her full lips parted, her neck offered to him as she slipped her fingers between the sodden folds of her pussy and rode her hand to a savage climax.
Maybe she is alone after all? Alone and needing to…
His cock jerked in straining need, rubbing against the coarse denim of his jeans. He bit back a groan.
Maybe he could sate his rising sexual hunger?
Her whimper came again. Higher, faster.
He sucked in a sharp breath, the taste of her pleasure thick on the air. She was close. Close to coming.
Concentrate, Ezryn. You are to kill her, not fuck her.
His body burned with a hunger he couldn’t deny. By all the levels of hell, he wanted to be there when she came. He wanted to shove his head between her wet thighs and plunge his tongue into her sex. He wanted to taste her fully and completely. If someone was with her, he would dispose of them quickly, remove whoever had brought her to such heights of passion and take her even higher, feasting on her pleasure as she came for him over and over again. Drink of her release before puncturing her flesh with his fangs and feeding on her blood. He would feed from her in every sense of the word before ending her life. Pleasure for pleasure. Rapture for rapture. A sensual end before a senseless death.
He pushed forward, his stare locked on the booth
and its shrouding darkness. Ten steps away. Nine. Eight. Seven.
A choked cry shattered the Principatus’s moaning whimpers, and he leapt forward, mindless of the other club patrons as he became a blur. He crossed the distance remaining between himself and his quarry in less than a stolen heartbeat.
She lay stretched along the booth’s bench seat, black denim-clad legs spread, her hand dipped below her open fly, her eyes closed, her lips parted.
The Principatus.
Completely at his mercy.
Vulnerable.
Killable.
His mouth filled with saliva. “And so very, very alone,” he murmured.
Her eyelids snapped open and green irises the color of flawless emeralds pierced his unbeating heart. Fear exploded on her face, followed by inexplicable, stunned recognition and fear again. Her lips forming an O of shock, she yanked her hand from between her thighs.
And before she could react further to his sudden appearance, he shoved the table aside, grabbed the waistline of her trousers and tore them down her hips, He dropped to his knees and plunged his tongue into her sodden, cream-slicked folds.
Inari arched, her raw cry bursting from her throat. By the Powers, what was he doing to her?
Isn’t it obvious?
Liquid heat rushed through her, detonating from the masterful tongue invading her sex. She threw back her head, driving her nails into the stiff leather bench on which she was pinned. Christ, she was on fire.
The vampire between her legs growled, sending a wave of vibrations through her body. She cried out again, pumping up her hips, shoving her sex harder to his greedy mouth.
This is not a dream, Inari. Stop him. Stop him now.
He growled again, grabbing for her ass, holding her trapped against his lips and teeth and tongue. He nipped at her clit and fresh heat exploded in Inari’s core. Stop him? Was she insane?
But you’re not asleep, girl. This is real!
She didn’t care. She didn’t give a rat’s ass. The vampire who’d haunted her dreams forever was fucking her with his oh-so-talented mouth.
Dark Embrace (Principatus) Page 4