Wordless: new adult paranormal romance (Age of Blood Book 1)

by May Sage

  “Like it or not, training potential consort is legal. There’s plenty of reputable establishment doing that.”

  Next to him, Knox pointed to a girl with Asian features.

  “You. Have you consented to sex every single time you’ve been fucked?”

  The girl seemed terrified, and Vincent lost some of his poise.

  “Well, perhaps not entirely legal,” he shrugged carelessly. “I might have overlooked that dreadfully dull little law of consent. Either way, that’s all I’m doing. I’m nothing but a little fish in the pond.”

  They were wasting their time here.

  “Explain to me how you plan to get out of being arrested for threatening, raping and killing the humans under your thumb.”

  “You can arrest me,” the guy shrugged. “You just can’t torture me – or she’ll feel it.”

  To demonstrate his point, Vincent bit his own lip.

  The redhead didn’t flinch, or wince, but they all smelt her human blood when it dripped from hers.

  Apparently, the idiot knew some good witches. And yes, he was back to being an idiot, now. Obviously he’d heard of what happened to their kind during their imprisonment. Whatever their crimes, they were subjected to what they’d done to deserve their punishment – incessantly for an entire year – all the while being starved; they were given food, but no blood.

  What he didn’t know what that the prison was located in an old witch Coven, which was still entirely warded – no spell had any power inside it. The moment he stepped in, his little trick would lose its effects.

  “Fine. You’re happy to come with, then, or shall we call extra muscles?”

  “Whenever you’re ready. Unless you’d like a round with the girls, first.”

  There had never been such a peaceful arrest. Vincent’s men were nowhere to be seen, indubitably confirming the fact that they were getting played; and William knew better than to think the idiot was the mastermind behind all this.

  “What’s happening to us?” one of the girls asked.

  She sounded just as frightful as Fay had been only six weeks prior, making him wish he could murder Vincent right now, for what he did to their minds as much as their bodies.

  “You’ll be fine,” he ensured her.

  Good question, though. There were over twenty women altogether; some of them wore clothes, marking the differentiation between servants and slaves.

  The servants seemed arrogant; they looked like they believed themselves superior to the poor broken girls.

  “I can’t take them all.”

  “There are a few homes made for rehabilitation,” Knox suggested.

  That was true, but there was a reason why William personally oversaw those he freed, normally. Some of those homes harbored wolves in sheep’s clothing.

  “Take them to L.A. – Wilhelmina’s place. I’ll give her a call.”

  Wilhelmina Klein used the bulk of her fortune to help others – she generally focused on children, but William was certain she’d take the girls in.

  Knox had called his men, who’d been temporarily reassigned from soldiers to babysitters. They’d come in five cars; fitting all the girls took some creativity and a lot of patience.

  “Not her,” he said, pointing towards Cece. “She’s coming home with me.”

  It was strange how similar and different his two journeys from Riverville had been.

  Both times, he’d come alone and left with a gorgeous woman next to him. Both times, Mark was full of inappropriate comments and behaviors.

  “Fucking hell, the cousin was cute, but that one is a wet dream.”

  It was even more offensive than what he’d said about Fay, and the way he leered at her was worse too, yet today, William wasn’t on edge. He just sighed, exasperated, before moving on.

  The most remarkable difference was that contrary to Fay Turner, Cece wasn’t exactly shying away from him.

  As soon as the door closed, she removed the blanket under which she’d been wrapped and climbed on his lap, expectantly grinding against him, bare and so wet.

  “Whoa whoa,” he protested, holding her waist in place.

  He wished that didn’t feel good.

  “You’re so damn sexy. I want you.”

  Hell. He was in hell.

  “Cece, look at me.”

  She did; her eyes were clouded over – not just by lust.

  Fuck. He’d underestimated just how messed up she was.

  “I’m not going to fuck you. I can’t.”

  He didn’t want to spell out why he couldn’t, although dark, smoldering eyes, midnight black hair and golden skin flashed through his mind. He had yet to enter a relationship with Fay, but he wanted it, so touching her cousin was not happening.

  “I’m going to take you somewhere where you’ll get help.”

  He’d planned to go home, but that wasn’t an option. He needed to stop at a detox clinic, first.

  Cece got the gist. She went back to her seat. After a while, she started wiggling, crushing her thighs together and moaning low.

  Oh, fuck.

  William knocked at the panel separating them from the front of the limo, until Mark rolled down the soundproof window.

  “Yeah?”

  “I’ll drive. Cecillia needs to be fucked.”

  A sex addict. Dammit.

  It wasn’t the first time he’d dealt with one – he’d had five women and three guys who’d been pushed to that stage before. Each time, he’d helped. He really didn’t like to take advantage of ex-slaves, so he’d used his mouth or his hands to take the edge off. It had been necessary and William had never felt any pleasure doing it, but today was worse. Just recalling the way Cece had felt against him, made him feel uncomfortable.

  Which obviously was pretty fucking stupid. It wasn’t exactly his fault.

  William frowned, a new idea crossing his mind. His obsession with Fay was completely uncharacteristic, and obviously, her old master had an in with witches. Had he been spelled?

  He had to dismiss the idea, as much as he would have liked to somehow explain his interest. He hadn’t exactly announced himself before turning up at Vincent’s; there was no way he would have had the time to prepare a spell specifically targeting him. So no, he hadn’t been bewitched by anything else than her charms.

  “Hurt her and I’m ripping your balls off,” he warned Mark as they exchanged places.

  Before he’d closed the soundproof window, he heard the girl breathe a needy: “Don’t listen to him. Hurt me really good.”

  If there was a god, three Fates, or at least a little tooth fairy, the universe would throw him a bone and make the little pixie he couldn’t stop thinking about want him at least half as much as he wanted her.

  Consort material or not, he needed her beneath him, before he became completely mad.

  Nine

  Professor Javier belonged on the cover of a rock album; long hair, leather and denim was his signature and to make the image complete, he always walked in with a guitar case on his back, as though he was just back from a concert.

  “He’s so dreamy,” Sola sighed, her fangs poking out as she drooled over their teacher.

  He was the absolute favorite of everyone – except Fay. His careless, whatever persona reminded her too much of Vincent to look at him without grimacing.

  Right now, everything reminded her either of Vincent or Cece, at least until the history teacher highlighted the subject of the day.

  Nothing could have distracted her from what was coming out of his mouth, after that.

  “We all know of the law of consent, and let’s face it: we have to respect it, pointblank. Today, I’d like us to debate it as though it wasn’t the case. Let’s say you were a bunch of patriarchs and your job was to convince each other – to say whether the law of consent is worth being passed. Throw as many ideas as you can, because your next paper is going to be an analysis of its repercussions.”

  She glanced right and left, wondering whether she
was the only one asking herself what the hell that law was; after a while, she lifted her hand up.

  “Yes?”

  “Hi. Could you actually quote it? Might as well hear it word for word if we’re supposed to reflect on it.”

  It sounded like a pretty lame excuse, and she expected someone to point it out any time, but instead, the rock-star/professor smiled.

  “Little lady, you’ve just saved the majority of the class from getting a failing grade this year. Well done. I’ve asked that question to freshmen every year and every single time, they debate their interpretation rather than the actual point we should speak of.”

  On that note, Professor Javier rose from the desk where he’d been perched and went to the black board behind it.

  He took a piece of chalk and wrote down one sentence that hit her like a punch in the guts.

  No one, human or vampire, may engage in sexual intercourse unless every participating party has explicitly consented to partake in the act.

  “That’s it,” he said. “Every other law has an appendix, examples, illustrations, details. Not that one. Our King has passed it without any discussion, and this is the result. Now, tell me why it doesn’t work.”

  Fay sat out the entire debate. She didn’t care why it didn’t work; she just cared about the fact that everything she’d taken for granted over the course of three quarters of her life had been a lie. The vampire government wasn’t the reason why she’d lived through her nightmares. One individual had done that to her – nothing more, nothing less. She’d been a victim.

  It hadn’t quite hit home until then. In her mind, she’d just believed that New York City was an oddity, a haven, another reality. Now she had to open her eyes and see that, in fact, the only oddity was Riverville. She wanted to scream and hit something hard. She wanted to run and yell.

  What a pathetic creature she’d let herself become.

  She got up when the bell rang, numbly going through the motion.

  “Fay?”

  Lifting her head, she saw Jessica, who seemed worried. Had she called her more than once?

  Now she paid attention, she could see that there wasn’t anyone else in the corridor. She’d missed the next bell.

  As she didn’t recognize that particular part of the school, despite her recent tour, she’d probably walked without goal for a while.

  “That gave you a lot to think of, right?” Jessica guessed.

  Guards were admitted inside the classroom, sitting at the back – she’d heard it all.

  “Sorry, I…”

  Something caught her eye behind her shoulder and she pushed past Jessica, completely engrossed. She could see silhouettes moving but her eyes were completely focused on one woman.

  In the field behind the window, there was a group of paired up students sparing against each other. Fay just couldn’t stop looking at one girl there, because she was small. Perhaps not quite her five-one, but under five-five. She wasn’t big and bulky, either. Yet, she was kicking her opponent without breaking a sweat.

  The girl just wore sweatpants and a sport bra, and she was close enough for Fay to see her muscle definition. She had a six-pack and her arms seemed so strong.

  “Fay, are you feeling…”

  “I want that.”

  Jessica was taken aback.

  “What do you mean, her clothes? They look comfortable, I guess.”

  “No, I want to be her.”

  Demonstrating her point, the badass girl did some sort of jumping kick that landed the poor guy she was fighting on his ass.

  “Ok,” Jessica sounded hesitant. “We can get you on a self-defense course. That’s probably a good idea.”

  “Are they doing self-defense?”

  It didn’t look like it.

  “You have to start somewhere. These guys have started learning since they were in diapers.”

  Watching the rest of them, Fay could tell they all were perfectly versed in the whole kick ass thing; her eyes returned to the girl quickly, though. There was no denying that she was the best of the bunch.

  “They are human, aren’t they?”

  She was practically sure, but she wanted to check.

  “Yes.”

  There definitely was an edge to Jessica’s voice. Kicking herself off the daze, Fay turned towards her and frowned at her cold stare.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I guess we have to learn to get along these days – we’re supposed to be on the same side and all… but centuries of animosity don’t disappear in fifteen years.”

  “What?”

  The vampire sighed, before landing yet another bombshell.

  “They are Huntsmen in training, Fay. The next generation of vampire hunters.”

  William couldn’t recall ever being as tired, although – or perhaps because – he hadn’t engaged in any strenuous activity for months now. Not even one little fight.

  They’d made it back to New York, upstate, and were close to the detox clinic where he’d intended to leave Cece when a frantic knock on the window separating the back of the car and the driver cab interrupted him.

  A strong scent of sex and sweat hit him when he lowered the glass.

  “There’s something wrong with the girl,” Mark said, obviously agitated.

  At first, William had been ready to jump on his soldier, but while the girl was bleeding, nothing indicated Mark had been drinking from her – there was no trace or smell of blood on his fangs.

  Oh, hell.

  He called Knox immediately.

  “Have you got Vincent in the dungeon?”

  “Yeah. He’s getting a little taste of his own medicine right now.”

  “Stop it. Stop it right away and check if he’s bleeding…” he glanced to the redhead on his seat, “on his left thigh and his wrists.”

  A few minutes later, Knox confirmed both wounds. Shit.

  “His witch is good. The wards haven’t stopped his binding spell: Cece’s getting hurt.”

  Knox swore under his breath, frustrated.

  They had another problem on their hands, apparently.

  “Keep him comfortable,” William said reluctantly.

  That slime ball didn’t deserve it – but Cece did, dammit.

  “I think we’re missing something: he’s obviously got more influence than what we thought.”

  Their wards had been put in place by a white witch – and only another white witch could possibly be strong enough to do a spell that could counteract its effect.

  There was only one white witch alive at any given time – the uncontested leader of every witch Coven on earth.

  And she was protecting a nobody – a vampiric nobody.

  “Concentrate on the European issue,” Knox suggested. “I’ll look into the witches. They don’t like any of us, but as a Drake, you don’t stand a chance.”

  True. They hadn’t seen eye to eye since Michael’s little issue with one of their white witches, a few centuries ago.

  He’d just acquiesced when his ears caught the subtle, but recognizable sound approaching at high speed.

  Oh, hell.

  “Get out of there,” he told Mark, before throwing himself on the back seat – carelessly destroying the window on his way – grabbing hold of Cece, and opening the window.

  One second later, he was high up in the air, and looking down to the wreck his car had been turned to.

  A freaking missile, loaded with silver by the smell of it.

  Oh, well. At least, it wasn’t the Lamborghini.

  He was reasoning that the day couldn’t possibly get any worse, when the naked girl in his arm promptly threw up on his suit.

  “Nevermind.”

  Mark had only managed to get a few meters away; William could see him wobbling – some silver might have hit him.

  He considered the scene for a little while. The missile wouldn’t have killed him even if he’d stayed in the car, but it would have incapacitated him, which meant that someone wanted him alive
.

  In other circumstances, he would have gone right back down and faced whatever was coming his way to get answers, but Cece’s presence made that impossible; instead, he went east, heading right home.

  Somewhere between gunning for Vincent or Adrian, he’d obviously made enemies more powerful than what he’d anticipated.

  He made it home by dawn, truly exhausted. He hadn’t flown in so long his wings had struggled to take his weight and the girl’s, like any underused appendage.

  He landed in his gardens, dropping the woman as carefully as he could before collapsing; breathing hard.

  Cece chuckled next to him.

  “Did I miss something?”

  “We’ve just escaped a missile and then we flew halfway through the state. I feel like there should be some dramatic music playing in the background.”

  She had a point. She wasn’t all that bad, when she wasn’t trying to jump his bones.

  “I didn’t know vampires could have wings.”

  “That would be because vampires can’t,” he shrugged.

  Unless they happened to have a shifter for a best friend.

  William hadn’t meant to, but one of the many times they’d sparred, he’d bitten Adrian deep enough to draw blood – blood he’d inhaled without even thinking.

  He had to admit, the partial shifts had their perks sometimes.

  He might have tried to explain some of it any other day; right now all he wanted was to sleep for a week. William forced himself back on his feet before he succumbed right there.

  “Come on. I’m sure Fay is looking forward to seeing you.”

  The redhead’s smile disappeared, alarming him.

  “Fay’s here?”

  His eyes narrowed, assessing her. Was she a threat to her cousin? Had there been a reason why Fay hadn’t spoken of her, after all?

  Slowly, he nodded.

  “We don’t get along,” she admitted, looking away.

  There was shame in her gaze but no hostility.

  Deciding that whatever the hell that was could wait, he nodded.

  “It’s late anyway. The reunion will have to wait until tomorrow. Let’s get you settled somewhere.”