“You know,” Tianya piped up, “for a succubus, you seem to have great difficulty talking about sexual activity.”
Inari shot her sister an exasperated glare. “I’m not a succubus anymore, Ti. I’m Principatus, remember? A freaking demon assassin. I kill vampires, not fuck them.”
Tianya smirked, dimple flashing. “Pretty certain he was the one fucking you. With his fingers. And his tongue.”
“Go away!” Inari burst out, her whole face flooding with heat. She slumped back into the sofa, rubbing at her temples with trembling fingers. “How could I be dreaming about a vampire I’ve never met? A real vampire? What the hell does it mean?”
Tianya’s slim shoulders lifted in an infuriatingly delicate shrug. “Beats me,” she replied, her soft voice still humored. “When it comes to this kind of thing, I have no clue. I still can’t explain why I’m here. I’m starting to worry you’re more messed up than I thought.”
Inari squeezed her eyes shut again, dropping her head into her hands. “I may be messed up,” she growled through clenched teeth, a heavy pressure growing on her chest, “but at least I’m not dead.”
Silence greeted her declaration, and she raised her head from her hands and glared at her sister. Or at least where her sister should have been.
The room was empty.
Thick pain coursed through Inari and she let out a ragged sigh. Her sister’s ghost—if that’s really what it was—was gone once again, leaving her alone. “Oh, Tianya.”
Born human to sex demon parents, Tianya Chayse had loved her family regardless of their less than humane sensibilities. A life spent growing up in Daemonium, the realm all lower-order demons called home, should have twisted her soul and unhinged her human mind. Tianya had taken it all in stride. She’d never questioned her family’s actions, and like all kid sisters, had annoyed Inari to no end about every sexual conquest Inari had. Which, being a succubus, was a lot.
Rather than being shunned or killed by her parents’ kind, she was viewed first as a humorous anomaly and then as a cherished member of the Realm, educated by some of demonkind’s most brilliant scholars. By the time she reached puberty, Tianya had known more about the complex hierarchy of the world in which she’d been born than most upper-order demons. By the time she was a teenager, Tianya had known more about the human world as well, and set out to educate her older sister on just who deserved to be succubussed as she put it, and why.
Incapable of something as unfathomable, intangible and mysterious as human love, Inari had loved her sister all the same. So she was a little different. So she couldn’t make a man come with a single kiss. Or drain him of his sexual energy with a roll of her hips. That didn’t make her any less a Chayse. She’d had the temper of one, that was for sure. When something hadn’t gone Tianya’s way as a babe, all the Realm had known about it.
At the age of eighteen, and against Inari’s adamant protests, Tianya had opted to move to the world of man, settling in Salzburg of all places to study under a musical virtuoso called Amadeus. Inari had visited her as often as she could, finding the males of seventeen seventy-five easy prey for her particular kinds of appetites, and the music of her sister’s mentor very calming. When fortune smiled on her, Inari had often combined the two. There was nothing the succubus Inari had found more satisfying than to fuck a man to death while the mellifluous sounds of good music wafted on the air in the background.
Two years after leaving the safety of their parents’ home, Tianya was attacked, raped and slaughtered by an empathic leech demon, a vile creature from the lowest levels of hell who fed on the terrified, agony-filled psyche of his victims.
A leech demon Inari herself knew well. The same leech demon Inari had rejected a day before when he’d had the deluded audacity to suggest a sexual relationship with her.
She’d never recovered.
Nor found him. Hunting him as a succubus for almost two and a half centuries had achieved nothing. Neither had hunting him as a Principatus, except deeper guilt and futile rage. She’d failed Tianya on every level imaginable.
Inari swiped at her checks, blinking away the tears stinging her eyes. It shouldn’t wound her anymore. It shouldn’t weaken her. It was over two hundred years ago, and Tianya was long dead.
But not long gone, Inari. When did you start seeing her again? Around the same time you started having the dreams of the master vampire if you recall correctly. And is it really her? Or just your messed up psyche?
Inari opened her eyes and stared at the carpet between her feet, her body aching, her chest tight. “By the Powers, I’m fucked up.”
And submitting to a master vampire. Was Tianya right? Was she really that messed up? That broken?
Inari shook her head. How was it possible the very vampire from her dreams was real? How could she dream of the bloodsucker night after night after night, experience the most amazing sex of her existence with him every one of those nights only for him to walk into a strip club and find her? Masturbating, no less?
She plonked backward into the armchair, letting the piece of furniture swallow her in its deep, cushioned comfort. She’d been well on her way to a tormented climax back in the Pleasure Pussy, her fingers making her body burn even as she imagined them to be his tongue, when he’d appeared at her table. The second her gaze fell on him the heat in her core erupted into an inferno.
Or so she’d thought.
A real inferno of pleasure, however, had claimed her the moment his skin touched hers, the very second his cool fingers plunged into her sex. She’d never felt anything like it. In all her centuries of sexual mastery, she’d never experienced anything close. It was power. It was lust. Pleasure beyond rational comprehension. What would she feel like when he took her with his cock?
A tense shudder rocked through Inari’s body, clamping her sex and stealing her breath. She swiped at her lips, her mouth dry. His cock? What was she thinking? She would never let him penetrate her again with anything, let alone his cock. He was a bloodsucker. A parasitic demon.
So why is your pulse pounding now? Why is your clit throbbing?
Inari shifted in her seat, gasping when the torn crotch of her jeans rubbed against her sex. Wicked sensations shot through her body, into her core, and her eyes fluttered closed. She whimpered, lips parted, breath rapid, pressing her legs together and shifting on the chair again.
Another hot stab of pleasure shot through her, followed immediately by an image of the nameless master vampire, his fangs flashing as he plunged his fingers into her sodden folds.
“You will call me master. And I plan on being very, very filthy with you.”
The remembered declaration quickened Inari’s already rapid heart and she squirmed in the armchair. Her clit ached, her nipples pinched hard. Filthy. Oh, how she wanted to be filthy. With him. She wanted his fingers in her sex, his tongue in her ass. She wanted him to chain her to a bed and take her again and again.
No, you don’t.
Yes, she did. Even if he was her natural enemy.
She did. So much it hurt.
Gnawing on her bottom lip, she shucked her ripped jeans from her legs and slid her hands between her thighs. Her fingers found her pussy and stroked her moistened folds with firm pressure. She pictured the vampire from her dreams, from the Pleasure Pussy, raking his strong hands up her legs, pushing them apart. Warm tightness squeezed her sex and she bit back a whimper. No. She would make no sound for him, not even here, in the emptiness of her home.
That didn’t stop him from grinning in her head. He touched the tip of his tongue to his fangs, rolling the pad of his thumb over her clit. Sizzling tension radiated into her core and she arched in the chair, dipping her fingers into her folds. The vamp followed her lead, replacing her fingers with his—long, strong fingers that knew where to stroke her. He wriggled them about, withdrew them, teased the swollen nub of her clit with his thumb and plunged them back into her cream-slicked cleft, all the while holding her legs apart and staring at her with
ink-black eyes.
Inari’s breath quickened and she licked her dry lips. The sliding caress reminded her of the vampire’s savage kiss and her pussy throbbed, squeezing her fingers tight.
“You will call me master.”
His command echoed through her head, so like his command from her dreams, and she arched her back, letting him grind his knuckle against the sensitive button of her clit. Explosive pleasure claimed her, made her skin tingle and her nipples hard. She dragged one hand up her body, over her ribcage to cup her left breast, her fingers leading his to capture its aching tip. He rolled it between thumb and forefinger, pinched it, flicked it. Ribbons of wet heat unfurled in her core, knotting in the pit of her belly. Oh, it wouldn’t be long now. Not long.
She bit back another whimper, her neck bowing as she rolled her head to the side. She saw him loom up over her, one hand buried between her spread legs, stroking the sweet spot within, one hand cupping and mauling her heavy breast, teasing her nipple until a tremble began to own her. Eyes closed, breath ragged, she saw him lower his head closer to hers. Felt his cool presence brand her skin, the caress of a winter’s breeze. She gasped, driving her fingers higher into her sex.
She was close. Close.
He smiled, fangs glinting in the muted light of her living room, black eyes burning into her, branding her. Marking her.
“You will call me master.”
The words slipped into her ear, a nonexistent whisper, as his head lowered to her neck, his mouth brushed her throat, his teeth pierced her flesh.
“Oh, yes, yes, yes!” Inari screamed, riding her hand, squeezing her breast. Her orgasm detonated in her body, incinerating her control. She bucked, thrusting her fingers deeper into her contracting core, even as she craved them to be his. His fingers, his tongue, his cock. She fucked her fingers and hungered for the nameless vampire. The black-eyed bastard who had taken her so easily in a strip-club booth only an hour ago. Her fantasy. Her enemy.
The scalding burn of her climax turned to ice. She withdrew from between her legs and dropped her hand from her breast. Her enemy. He was her enemy. And he knew it, just as much as she did.
Which meant only one thing.
“Well, that looked like fun.”
Tianya’s lilting voice tickled Inari’s ears and, mouth dry, heart hammering, she opened her eyes.
Her sister stood beside the sofa, lips twitching. “Feel better?”
Self-contempt flooded through her. “No.”
Tianya cocked an eyebrow. “Are you sure? I’ve never seen that look on your face before.”
Inari turned her head to the side, gazing at the silent television. “What look?”
“Contentment. Like the proverbial cat that swallowed the canary. Or should that be the succubus that swallowed the, well, you know.”
“That’s not funny, Ti,” Inari snapped. A shard of something tight and dark and foreboding stabbed into her chest. Contentment. She clenched her fists, not wanting to believe what her sister was saying. Contentment implied more than just physical pleasure. Contentment implied emotional pleasure as well. An emotional connection that propelled her physical release to a whole new level. Contentment? No. It couldn’t be true. She was Principatus. She didn’t fall for master vampires, regardless of her countless fantasies. She didn’t. He was her enemy. She didn’t need to see his fangs to know that. It ran through the blood in her veins.
She shook her head, looking back at the ghost of her long-dead sister. “That can’t be the way, Ti. There is nothing about the master vampire that makes me feel contented. Contempt, yes. Definitely. But contentment? Not with him.”
Sadness stole over Tianya’s beautiful face. “So what are you going to do then?”
Ignoring the fading heat of her orgasm, the potent memory of his touch, Inari clenched her jaw. “Have a shower,” she said, her stomach knotting as her sister’s image faded to nothing. “And never sleep again.”
Jacob watched as Ezryn paced the expansive floor of the master vampire’s living room, unable to miss the way his friend’s fingers opened and closed repeatedly, the way his nostrils flared and his eyes narrowed to slits. Jacob cocked an eyebrow. His master seemed a bit miffed.
“Are you going to tell me what’s pissing you off, or do I have to glamour you into a confession?” He leant back against the bar and crossed his ankles, flicking his attention to the floor-to-ceiling windows. “Y’know, dawn is almost breaking, and it’s not healthy to go to bed with a temper. You’ll get heartburn.”
Ezryn shot him a dark look. “I’m not in the mood, Jake.”
Jacob laughed. “Gee? Really?” Shoving himself from the bar, he scooped up Ezryn’s glass—filled with lukewarm, early twenties O-positive—crossed the room and held it in front of his friend’s scowling face. “Here, knock this back. It’ll make you feel better. Maybe then I can get some sense out of you.”
Ezryn glared at the glass. “I’m not thirsty.”
Jacob laughed again. “Bullshit.”
With a low growl that would have made any other vampire piss blood in fear, Ezryn snatched the glass from Jacob’s hand and swallowed its contents in a single mouthful.
Jacob grinned, removing the glass from Ezryn’s hand. “Now cough it up. What’s got you so riled up you look like you’re about to hyperventilate…a neat trick for a vampire, I might add.” He turned, walked back to the bar and deposited Ezryn’s empty glass on the smooth, black marble counter. “Does this have anything to do with the female I saw you sampling back in the Pleasure Pussy? I gotta say she was pretty damn fine.” He grinned, remembering the sight of Ezryn buried face-first between the delicious little human’s thighs. If he hadn’t been distracted, he would have enjoyed watching the entire act. Maybe even asked if he could join in. “What happened to you, by the way?” he asked, refilling Ezryn’s glass from the decanter sitting on the bar. “I got nabbed by a vamp-groupie, and by the time I’d had my fill of her you were…” He turned back to Ezryn, the last of his sentence fading on his lips.
The master vampire stood at the window, face carved from granite, his normally black eyes burning iridescent red fire. Jacob frowned, swallowing a sudden lump in his throat. When Ezryn’s eyes changed color, bad things happened. Bad things to bad vampires. The only bad vampire Ezryn had seen lately, as far as Jacob knew, was Fat Harry. A squirming finger of hope pressed at Jacob’s chest. Did that mean Ezryn was finally going to do something about his brother? Was he finally going to deal with the ridiculous situation and take back the position rightfully his?
“I had her.” The flat calm in Ezryn unexpected statement made Jacob blink. “I tasted her.”
Jacob’s frown deepened. “Who did you taste? The woman from the club? Who was she?”
Ezryn’s nostrils flared again, his molten red eyes glowing darker. Angrier. “The Principatus I am to kill.”
The blood drained from Jacob’s face. “The Principatus?” He dragged his hand over his mouth, staring at his friend. “Dark Ones, Ezryn. Did you know that before or after you stuck your head between her thighs?”
A somehow tormented tension flashed over Ezryn’s stony expression, and he turned to look out the window.
Jacob raised his eyebrows. “Ah, I see.”
“That’s good,” Ezryn growled, his stare never wavering from the lightening skyline beyond the glass. “Because I don’t.” He clenched his fists and folded his arms across his chest, his eyes a deep red. “I smelt her. I knew what she was. I knew what I was there to do. And then I saw her, I felt her, and all I wanted to do was sink my fangs into her flesh and make her mine.”
Jacob studied his friend’s brooding profile, an uneasy itch awakening in his gut. “Make her yours?” Make her his. Not fuck her, or take her or even drain her. Sink his fangs into her flesh and make her his. What did that mean? What exactly did that mean?
To a vampire, there were four reasons for fang-to-flesh penetration. To feed, to kill, to change and to bind. The first two happened frequent
ly—although neither Jacob nor Ezryn, nor any of those loyal to Ezryn had bitten to kill for over five centuries. The third reason—to change a human into a vampire—occurred less often.
The vampire race existed in a permanent state of tenacious control—those born vampires ruled over those changed. It was a relationship born on respect and loathing. Lifers, those born vampires, tolerated bleeders, vampires created by a lifer who didn’t rein in their blood lust during feeding. Occasionally, the odd bleeder rebelled against the natural order and suffered the consequences. Those consequences were not pretty. Far from it, in fact. A bleeder who forgot their place in the hierarchy soon found themselves pegged out naked and spread-eagle in a treeless field or shadowless rooftop, their flesh scored in ribbons of tiny lacerations, waiting for the sun to rise as their blood slowly oozed from their veins. A bleeder who fought to rise above their place and did so by challenging the power of a lifer soon discovered the true force of a born vampire. Unfortunately, it was the want of every bleeder to flex their new vampiric muscles, and many rarely survived beyond the first year of their new life. As a consequence, the changing bite occurred less frequently than in centuries past.
The only time a bite to change from human to vampire was condoned was when the two parties involved—vampire and human—consented to the transformation. Love or lust created bleeders, and the emotion behind the transformation tainted that new vampire’s state of psyche from the second of their resurrection—a fact that led to more than one joyous joining…or bloody reprisal. Those changed for love lived long. Those born from blood lust lived until their violent birth caught up with them.
The fourth reason—to bind—was permissible only between a master vampire and his human lover. The act required monumental power and endurance on the master’s behalf. Forging such a profound emotional, psychological and mental connection between a vampire and a human without the human transforming wasn’t easy. It drained and exhausted them. Depleted them of their croi, the life essence of all paranormal beings. But the payoff—a human bound in body and soul to their vampire master—was a thing of exquisite beauty and reverence.
Dark Embrace (Principatus) Page 6