A Sinister Game

by Heather Killough-Walden

  “Help me up?” She lifted her hand, palm-up.

  Victor’s eyes had gone from green to solid black. If he’d been one of the wolves on the Field, his fangs would have been showing.

  Victoria’s lips parted. Her breath hitched. He was so beautiful.

  His long-sleeved black under shirt was smooth and tight. It outlined the perfect cut of his broad chest and well-muscled arms, and Victoria couldn’t help imagine how those arms would feel… how strong he would be… should he be holding her down and –.

  He took her hand and stood beside her, and Victoria swallowed hard as he helped her to her feet.

  “So you can fly now, can you?” he asked softly. It was almost a whisper. The light of the campfires cast shadows across his features, lending him an air of mystery that did nothing to settle her nerves.

  “Yes,” she told him. “Apparently so.”

  Kiss me, she thought. It was crazy, but it was most definitely her own voice speaking now. Take me. The thoughts came without warning. It was her soul begging – not her!

  Either way, Victor heard.

  He blurred into motion, his arm snaking around her waist, and his other hand slamming into the rock behind them as he took them to the plateau’s smooth cliff face and pressed her body beneath his. His hands slid over her wrists, lifting them to her sides as he shoved his knee between her legs.

  When she gasped and her lips parted in surprise the dark leader captured them, stilling her words to send her mind tumbling into forbidden pleasure. He tasted like mint and ice, but the pressure of his lips and the searching of his tongue as he forced her open and delved deep were sending fire rippling through her.

  She moaned against him – and then gasped when she felt something cold and smooth slide over her right wrist. She blinked, breaking the kiss. He gazed heatedly down at her, his breath hard and heavy, his teeth bared.

  Victoria’s right arm was trapped, held to the stone behind her by a thick band of ice.

  Her eyes widened.

  Victor smiled.

  Victoria’s gaze narrowed. Two could play at that game.

  With nearly no effort at all, she melted the ice, freeing her arm. But by that time, her left arm was held captive – this time by a band of rock that he’d telekinetically formed out of the very cliff face behind her. As she stood there blinking in genuine surprise, he captured her other wrist the same way.

  “We can go on like this forever,” he told her as he pulled back then and surveyed his captured prize with burning eyes. “Or you can give in to me now, Victoria. In the end I’ll win anyway.” He cupped her face and kissed her lips before he added, “I always do.”

  His right hand gently gripped her chin as he kissed her again, and his other hand slid the length of her side. Victoria gasped when she felt him fist his fingers in the luxurious red material of her gown – and yank.

  The ruined dress drifted down her body like rain to pool in a scarlet puddle at her feet. The night air at once teased at her sensitive flesh. She blushed beneath the weight of what was happening. Her legs went weak. Victor’s kiss deepened, relentless and punishing.

  The truth was, she wouldn’t have been able to fight him telekinetically for long. Her flight through the night sky had eaten up much of her strength. And now Victor Black was stealing what was left.

  This isn’t real, she thought, as her nipples brushed against the material of his shirt and squeezed into painfully taut nubs. The sensation drew a cry of longing from her throat. She was dizzy and on fire, caught up in everything that was Victor Black.

  She shut her eyes tight, her head dropping to the rock behind her when Victor broke the kiss and turned her head to the side.

  His lips touched upon her throat, followed by his teeth. He nipped and she tried to pull away. He held her fast, his free hand sliding back up her now naked body. She hadn’t worn anything under her gown. She never wore anything underneath.

  And when his hand slid across her rib cage to cup her exposed breast, she bucked against him. At once, she was distractedly working on the rock bands holding her captive against the cliff face. She needed to get free!

  “Don’t,” Victor warned. His thumb and forefinger had zeroed in on her right nipple, and now he squeezed, twisting in warning.

  Victoria cried out, arching her back instinctively against him to lessen the sharp sensation. Moisture flooded her core, and the breeze teased the damp, tender anticipation between her legs.

  Relentlessly, he used his grip on her chin to force her to look at him.

  A hard tremble ran through her. She was looking into the predatory gaze of an animal.

  Suddenly, the stone around her wrists shattered and Victor was spinning, taking them both to the ground at the center of the bon fires. Her dress and his jacket were already there, almost miraculously, to provide cushioning. The fires leaped and danced, their flames reaching new heights in answer to Victoria’s heightened emotion before Victor’s dark form was moving over her and trapping her mouth with his once again.

  This time, his kiss instantly drained what remained of her resistance. She opened to him freely, unable to stop the low moan of pleasure she released against his lips. As if in answer, his fingers gently encircled her throat, his thumb brushing the precious pulse that beat there.

  A night breeze, half cold and half warmed by the smoke of her campfires, again caressed the wetness that had gathered between her legs. The sensation whipped at her consciousness, sapping at her patience. She writhed beneath him, and her stomach clenched.

  Victor laughed, clearly pleased with her discomfort.

  In response, she curled her fingers in the material of his under shirt and tugged. She was trembling almost violently as he tasted her, explored her, drank her in with the thirst of a dying man. Her strength was dwindling – but he relented, giving her what she wanted.

  He rose, his handsome face a stark mask, his eyes green-black slashes beneath half-closed lids, and tore off his shirt before capturing her lips in a kiss once again. It was as if he intended to possess her entirely through that kiss, to consume her soul – to never let her go.

  *****

  Forgive me, he thought. He begged the universe for forgiveness – because he knew what he was about to do to this woman. Nothing in the world would have been able to stop him – not even the gods.

  He broke the kiss that he never wanted to end and rose again to look down at the goddess beneath him. She tasted like strawberries. She must have had some before she’d taken off flying. Her full, red lips were bruised, her cheeks were flushed, and her gold colored eyes burned as if on fire.

  She lay bare before him, exposed and vulnerable. Her golden skin was covered in a thin sheen of moisture that caused it to shimmer like crushed pyrite beneath his scrutiny.

  He let out a shaky, barely controlled breath and sat back to take her in.

  He could hear each ragged breath she took, each wonderfully, innocently sinful thought she entertained. Her long legs were bent at the knees – and very slightly parted.

  As he gazed down at her, she shivered and tried to move.

  But he was faster, and before she could cover herself, he’d slid over her, lacing his fingers with hers and pressing her hands into the black leather jacket and the ground beneath her.

  “You are the most stunning creature I have ever laid eyes on,” he told her, whispering the words against her lips.

  You’re all fire. He kissed her softly – pulled away. So much fire.

  He took control then, shifting above her and placing both delicate wrists into one of his strong hands.

  Victoria knew what it meant. She sensed the change in him. Her lips parted, her smoldering eyes widened, and she jumped when his free hand found the creamy expanse of her inner thighs. He curled his fingers under her right knee and knelt between her open legs, parting them further.

  She resisted, just a little – because that was Victoria.

  Victor looked up again, caught her gaze, a
nd held it. A beat passed.

  Another.

  He could see her wetness glistening, inviting him to her innermost parts. He could hear her breathing, ragged and wanton. He could read her thoughts, scattered and heated to a maddening degree.

  I dare you, came her softly spoken challenge.

  Victor smiled, all instinct and hard, unforgiving lust, and shoved her legs further apart. With one clean swipe, he ripped his breeches open, freeing himself at last from the straining pressure he’d been enduring.

  Victoria stiffened, knowing it was coming – but it was too late, and this time there was no escape.

  And that was how she wanted it anyway.

  Victor’s length throbbed painfully, hard as a rock. This was going to hurt her. But he’d never been one to back down from a challenge.

  He moved over her, teasing her for the briefest moment, touching her lips with the tip of his cock. She pulled at her arms, fought his hold, and stared into his eyes.

  Then she screamed, splitting the night with a soul-searing cry as he thrust into her with everything he had. She was so tight, if she hadn’t been as wet as she’d been, he would have damaged her. Even so, she met him half way, arching into him, pressing against him to take him deeper.

  All fire, he thought. So much fire.

  He was drowning in it, in her incredible heat, wrapped in a sheath of searing pleasure-pain, burning… burning.

  He withdrew – and pressed in again. She clung to him, pulled at him, and drove maddening sensations of impossible pleasure through his body – into his brain.

  So hot.

  He bent over her and claimed one of her nipples with his teeth. Again, she cried out, surprised and shaking, wanting more. He snaked his arm beneath her waist and lifted her, releasing her wrists. His freed fingers brushed her nipple, pinched gently – and then hard.

  At once, her hands were in his hair, combing through his thick locks. The act was so personal, so sweet and tender and loving, Victor nearly lost his mind. He looked up at her from where he was, bent over her supple, perfect body, and stamped the image of her – red parted lips, half-closed lids, and golden hair wild and free – on his mind for all eternity.

  The beast in him roared, demanding more.

  He groaned, claiming her lips in another hungry kiss, as he slowly withdrew, and shoved into her once more. Again.

  She gasped against his lips.

  Again.

  She moaned, and he quickened the pace.

  He brushed her mind, only wanting to be closer – only wanting to be inside of her in every possible way. But this time, it was as if he’d stepped out of his world and into an inferno. A whirlwind of desire and pleasure swirled and eddied around him.

  She was a vessel of need, hunger, and sexuality that blazed like a thousand suns.

  Victor! her mind breathed – screamed.

  He gave her what she wanted.

  With the sexual knowledge that came from centuries of experience, Victor pushed – taking her as he knew she truly wanted to be taken, claiming her with less mercy and more desperation. His teeth marked her breasts and his hands found those most sensitive parts of her body and wreaked havoc on them.

  She was so responsive, so innocent in her basest needs, so trusting in the way she opened up to his dominant manipulations, it was nothing short of torture to force himself to hold out long enough for her to climax.

  When she began to cum, he sensed it in her thoughts. He felt her tighten around him, heard the change in her breathing. And he could hold back no longer.

  She screamed to the tune of her own soul-shattering orgasm as he emptied himself into her. He joined her, his back arching, his green eyes glowing as he roared into the heavens. She clenched and unclenched, milking him for all he was worth, and his orgasm seemed to go on forever.

  Forever….

  He could have died just then and not cared. This was all he wanted from life. Victoria was everything.

  When at last they both came down from that dangerous, heady precipice, he lowered his head and gazed down at the goddess under him. She shone like some supernatural being in the moonlight.

  Beautiful. Gods, she’s so fucking beautiful.

  He was still lodged deep inside of her, firmly planted in the woman he loved. And just like that – he wanted to take her again.

  Thank you, she said, speaking the words almost effortlessly into his mind. “I’m glad you think I’m beautiful,” she said aloud.

  Victor could barely believe what he was seeing, what he’d just done. How lucky could a man possibly get? It couldn’t be any better than this.

  But that wasn’t true. There was one thing that would make it better.

  Fancy another game? he asked, arching his brow in direct challenge.

  Victoria studied him carefully. He moved over her, stimulating her at the core, and she bit her lip. Victor’s eyes flashed.

  One Game, he told her. Seven rounds. Escape me before they’re up, and you win. But if I catch you….

  What do you win? she asked, interrupting him playfully.

  “If I win,” he said aloud, “then you’ll marry me, Victoria Red. And become my wife.”

  The world stopped turning. Time slowed down.

  He felt her go still beneath him – but her heart sped up. Her pupils dilated. Her lips parted.

  “And if I win?” she asked.

  “Then I will marry you.”

  At that, Victoria smiled. It was the most breathtaking smile he’d ever seen.

  Promises, promises, she countered.

  “I love you, Victoria.”

  Victoria’s smile broadened. Fire leapt into her eyes. “I just bet you do,” she replied, arching against him, writing to urge him on.

  All fire, he thought.

  I love you too.

  Her words washed over him like a blessing. Victor closed his eyes, pressed his lips to her throat, and inhaled her scent as he pulled slowly out – and thrust back into her. And the Game? he insisted.

  She hesitated, distracted by what he was doing.

  Answer me, Victoria. He pressed, driving into her with demanding ardor.

  Yes! she replied. Gods yes... I accept your wager, Victor Black.

  Her surrendering thoughts faded into another moan….

  And the campfires burned on.

  The End

  From Death’s Angel, by Heather Killough-Walden

  Coming December 31, 2012

  (book three in the Lost Angels series)

  Azrael smiled, flashing perfect white teeth that sported incisors slightly longer than the norm. Some people naturally looked like that, he knew, but on him it looked different enough that he didn’t smile often. On him, it seemed to fit too perfectly and only served to reinforce the otherworldly impressions people often had when looking at him.

  He was a starkly charismatic individual. He was taller than anyone he knew, save perhaps Samael. His voice could literally mesmerize. He was also uncommonly, almost painfully handsome. He wasn’t certain why the Old Man had seen fit to bother with such a thing while simultaneously making him a vampire. It was like the curse of Beethoven, who created the most beautiful music in the world and couldn’t hear it. What good was a beautiful face when placed on a monster?

  But Sophie didn’t seem to mind the hint of fang he exposed. In fact, as he brushed her mind, unable to help himself from drawing nearer to her in any way possible, he was surprised to find that she found it attractive. My God, she thought. He really does look like a vampire.

  This was the second time she had thought such a thing. If he’d been capable of choking, he would have done so the first time her mind had muttered the impression. Hearing it now had nearly as strong an effect on Azrael. Sophie wasn’t repulsed by vampires. And the idea that he resembled one was appealing to her.

  Of course, Azrael was no fool. A lot of girls believed they would enjoy the company of a vampire – if vampires existed. In reality, he knew they would cower or scream
or run, or most likely all three. Still… he found himself hoping.

  “Sophie Bryce, right? The maid of honor?” he asked, his smile utterly disarming. He’d had millennia to practice.

  Sophie blinked and he read her thoughts. She was desperately trying to find her head in the wake of his sudden presence. She’d been torturing herself over the last few days, and he knew it. He’d watched her every night. Listened to her. He knew damn well that she was drawn to him – and that she hated herself for it.

  He sensed it when a slight pain twinged up her arm and Sophie realized that her friend was holding her tight. Taylor’s fingers curled into Sophie’s forearm in utter distraction, her hazel eyes glued to Azrael. He knew she couldn’t help it and wasn’t aware of what she was doing, but the fact that she’d brought his archess even the slightest discomfort was difficult for Az to ignore. It upset him.

  And with practiced control, he tamped down the anger.

  Sophie, on the other hand, appeared to be glad for the pain. It shot through the dazed fog that Az’s appearance had caused. It also cleared her senses enough to allow her to pull her arm out of Taylor’s grip, clear her throat, and say, “Yes.” He tried not to smile when her voice cracked halfway through the single syllable. She cleared her throat some more and forced a smile to her lips. “That’s me.” She was so fucking cute with half of her glorious golden locks tucked up underneath that Penguins cap. Wisps of it fell about her face, framing it and caressing it the way he wanted to.

  He chuckled softly, watching her carefully to gauge the effect his laugh had on her. Sophie’s gold eyes brightened, her lips parted, and her cheeks flushed ever so slightly. Az’s monster reared its head and he felt his vision begin to heat up. If he wasn’t careful, his eyes would begin to glow. “We never got the chance to actually meet the other night,” he told her, forcing himself to continue with the charade.

  “No,” she agreed, relieved that she was finally finding her voice. “We didn’t.”

  He cocked his head to one side and slid his gaze from hers to regard her friends. He needed to look away – just for a moment. Long enough to get himself under control once more. His gold eyes slowly scanned the faces of her companions – and then stopped on the pair of men who sat behind them.