by BJ Wane
“Hey,” Luc added, he and Jon completely at ease with their nudity, “if you don’t want her, Jon and I would love to have her sandwiched between us.”
“Fuck, Luc,” Jacob swore when Damien turned fiery red eyes on his brethren. Stepping between them before Damien could let loose on Luc, he snapped, “Back off, Damien. You know he’s just trying to get a rise out of you.”
Damien didn’t see the millions of dollars’ worth of artwork lining the wide hallway walls when they reached the second floor landing, or take note of the dark red, plush carpeting and the muted lighting from antique wall sconces that had been in his family for generations. All he saw was Abrielle’s naked body pressed between Jon and Luc, the twins indulging in their favorite pastime of fucking the same woman with his mate and the red haze that image provoked. “Watch your step, Luc,” he warned his friend menacingly. “I may not claim her, but neither will any of the brethren. She’s going to be free to choose her own fate, and it won’t be stuck with one of us.” Turning abruptly, he slammed into his private suite, reluctantly admitting to himself he would be just as pissed off if she hooked up with a human as he would if she found one of the brethren to her liking. Stuck between a rock and a hard place, he wished he could kill Isabelle all over again despite the fact that wouldn’t change the past.
“Sometimes, brother, I think you don’t have a lick of common sense,” Jon drawled in his Texan accent, his hazel eyes lit with humor.
“It was either goad him or beat some sense into him.” Luc looked at Damien’s closed door with a twinge of regret, his amber eyes shadowed with worry. He knew if he ever found his mate, the only one he’d be able to stomach sharing her with would be his brother.
“If that murder in Columbus turns out to be caused by one of our kind, we’re going to have bigger problems than our esteemed leader’s love life. Catch you guys later.” Jacob entered his own suite wishing he had someone special waiting for him to pass away the lonely afternoon hours with.
Isabelle Sartre gazed out her window, her anger and frustration as dark as the night. Damn those bleeding heart do-gooders, she seethed. As if it wasn’t bad enough that she had to spend decades below ground in the healing sleep of the dead to recover from the existence ending attack by Damien and Jacob all those years ago, but now she had to contend with those members of the brethren that she had managed to turn and Damien had managed to steal away from her thwarting her rogues attempts to bring her fresh victims. The two pathetic creatures cowering behind her, awaiting their sentence for failing to bring her a new mortal she could turn into one of her pets, informed her it had been a member of the brethren that had stopped them from returning to her with their victim and that if the young man hadn’t been in dire need of immediate attention, they would have perished by his sword.
She rued those days she had succumbed to her grief and desperation and sought to replace her beloved mate, Vladamir, with another that bore the mark of the brethren, one of the chosen few who could survive the transformation from mortal to vampire without slowly going insane. Damien had been the first and the bane of her existence ever since. Tricking him into killing had been a mistake, an error in judgment she has regretted and suffered for. Damien’s fear of facing the outside world as a feared creature of the night had kept him by her side for over a year and she had reaped the rewards of his compliance and wallowed in the pleasure he gave her, content with her life once again. He didn’t replace her mate, no one could, but his tall, hard body and his willingness to indulge her every kink made living without that special bond bearable.
Unfortunately, she had no idea the line he would finally draw would be at killing an innocent during one of their orgies. She knew he still possessed a moral streak too strong for her liking so, in order to ensure his cooperation, she had withheld her blood and her body for several weeks prior, knowing when the time came, he would be so desperate for blood and so depleted of strength he couldn’t fight the compulsion to drain a victim dry. His rage when he had come to his senses and looked down into the dead eyes of his victim knew no bounds and it had both scared her and turned her on.
With a sweep of his arm, he had backhanded her, throwing her against the far wall with his replenished strength. When the four other rogues in the room attacked him in her defense, he easily annihilated each of them. She knew they could never be a match for one of the brethren, but she had been secretly pleased watching him tear them apart one by one until they were nothing but a pile of ash. She hadn’t been afraid for herself; her longevity gave her both physical strength and strength of power over him. He must have realized that too, because he had sent her one last glare as she slowly licked and savored the blood from her split lip before he had stormed from the huge playroom.
Giving Damien some time to cool off had been her second mistake. By the time she returned to her chamber, he had not only torn the entire room apart, but he had found the Book of the Crescent Creed and left with it. That small book held all the information he needed to seek out the rest of the brethren and stop her from claiming them as she had him. She knew as well as he did that as mortals, none of those men would listen to a word he said, so he waited, their numerous blood exchanges allowing him the ability to track her whereabouts when she was above ground. Her long existence gave her the power to cloak herself, but he always managed to eventually break through that barrier. Unfortunately, never before she had managed to turn her victim, only in time to save him from becoming her pawn like Damien had been. It had become a game of cat and mouse between the two of them, pitting their cunning and powers against each other, her in an attempt to complete a brethren’s transformation and whisk him to her lair in the Carpathian Mountains and him in an attempt to stop her.
Despite the frustration, she had enjoyed tormenting him, got excited watching him battle the rogues who accompanied her to keep Damien busy while she sucked the life from yet another victim. It wasn’t until he had showed up with Jacob to save the Carter brothers that he managed to get the upper hand with her. The two of them had defeated her paltry backup within minutes and turned their wrath on her before she had time to pull herself from the erotic, lustful feeding she had been gorging herself on. Their attack had been painfully brutal, their aims precise, their cuts deep as they severed several major arteries, timing their assault close to dawn to ensure the sun would finish her off. If it hadn’t been for the cat that had wandered over to her just seconds before the sun peaked, she would have perished. Draining a cat wasn’t nearly as satisfying as a human, but it had been just enough blood to give her the energy she needed to dematerialize and return to her hidden home built deep into a mountainside and bury herself beneath its bowels.
Since arising from a century of deep sleep, Isabelle had spent her time thinking of a way to destroy the brethren, having finally decided they weren’t going to come around to her way of thinking. She should have realized after finding Damien on a battle field, that those who were willing to lie down and die for a cause, especially one that meant freeing an oppressed race, that they would not be easily manipulated into her immoral, evil lifestyle. She now preferred turning humans who were labeled scum of the earth, murderers, rapists, wife beaters, making it much easier to coerce them into doing her bidding, which usually entailed committing some of the very acts they had enjoyed before she came along. Even though there was a never ending supply of such mortals, their descent into madness less than a year after being turned meant she had to constantly replace them.
Isabelle turned from the window and thoughts of the past to face the rogues who had failed her. They had both been young when she had turned them, both drug addicts and criminals. Linda had been pretty once, but the need for drugs and alcohol had left her desperate to do anything for her next fix, including mugging the elderly. Now she not only bore the ravages of her addictions, but her slow shuffling walk and jittery eyes were the first indications she was becoming deranged. Matthew, on the other hand, had only been with her a month and wa
s still fresh and eager to please. Too bad that eagerness wouldn’t save him.
“Come to me, my pets,” she crooned softly as she dropped her blood red silk robe and padded naked over to her large round bed. Settling back among the piled, black satin covered pillows, she spread her legs and casually stroked a finger up her slit. “Come show me how sorry you are for displeasing me.”
With malicious glee, Isabelle watched them crawl over the hard stone floor, Linda’s large breasts swaying with her jerky movements, Matthew’s hard cock jutting out, pointing the way. Fisting her hands in Linda’s hair, she pushed the girls’ head down to her breast, sighing as her soft mouth closed over her nipple and started suckling. Matthew had come to know his mistress well in such a short time and wasted no time settling between her legs, burying his mouth in her pussy.
Releasing her tight grip on Linda’s hair, Isabelle reached above her, grasped the rod iron rails of her headboard and basked in their attentions. Linda’s mouth moved voraciously between her breasts, her lips, teeth and tongue working her nipples into reddened, stiff peaks, the pain from her bites sending shards of pleasure down to her pussy. “More, Matthew,” she demanded as he speared her with two fingers, his teeth worrying her clit. As always, she strove to achieve the heights her beloved Vladamir had driven her to and the ones Damien had come close to matching. As Matthew added two more fingers to her cunt, filling her, stretching her like she craved, it still wasn’t enough.
“Bite me,” she practically screamed in frustration, needing the painful ecstasy of their sharp incisors sinking into her soft flesh to get her off.
Linda bit deeply into the soft fullness of her breast, her fingers replacing her lips to torment her nipples as she slurped down her blood as if it was the finest of wines. Matthew filled her pussy with his entire fist as his fangs sank into the flesh of her upper thigh, the pain of both actions sending Isabelle into orgasm so fast it left her senses reeling from the impact. Despite the pleasure coursing through her, it wasn’t enough, was never enough and her frustration and disappointment never failed to raise her ire.
Jerking Linda’s head up by her hair, Isabelle sank her own fangs into the girl’s vulnerable neck, ignoring her startled cry of pain. Her hips writhing against Matthew’s mouth as he left her thigh and latched onto her clit again, she swallowed the hot, rich flow of Linda’s blood, another climax engulfing her.
Her strength at its maximum, it only took a twist of her wrist to snap Linda’s neck and toss her body onto the cold stone floor. A wave of her hand had one of the blood stained wooden stakes on the far wall flying across the room and embedded in her chest. Within seconds she was nothing but ashes and Isabelle didn’t give her another thought as Matthew looked up at her with fearful eyes, his mouth and chin damp from her juices, his fangs dripping from her blood. Smiling, she grabbed his arms and hauled him up her body with no effort, the feel of his hard cock against her damp, still needy pussy enough to let him live a little longer.
“Please, mistress,” he pleaded as he pushed into her pussy, more eager to please her than he was to find his own release.
“You know what I like, baby. Give it to me.”
He rammed into her hard, over and over, fucking her with deep, lunging strokes, his hips jack hammering so fast and hard she could do nothing but lie there and take the brutal, pleasurable assault. Another climax ripped through her, had her crying out in ecstasy as she gave him the pleasure of her bite. Because he was a favorite, she allowed him to climax before she took a razor sharp nail and slit his throat, what little blood he had left splashing on her chest before she tossed his body on top of Linda’s ashes and staked him, his disintegrating corpse joining hers.
Rogues were relatively easy to kill as long as you followed up by piercing the heart. But a member of the brethren was much more difficult, their powers much stronger than those possessed by their underlings. Now all that was left to do was figure out how to stop the brethren from interfering with her again.
Chapter Three
Abrielle stopped in front of the closed, eight foot high, rod iron gates that led into Damien’s property and took a deep, fortifying breath. She refused to let her trepidation overrule her determination to confront Damien about last night. As far as she was concerned, they had crossed the barrier of guardian and ward last night and she, for one, didn’t intend to put that barrier back up. After three years, she still didn’t know what the sudden appearance of the red, crescent shaped mark on her breast meant. The same mark Damien bore on his right palm. Even though she had asked him repeatedly about the coincidence, he had refused to give any credence to its significance. They both knew she wouldn’t fall for an inane explanation such as coincidence, and she was glad he had never offered one. However, his silence on the matter was just as upsetting as an out-right lie would have been.
They were meant to be together, of that she was convinced, and last night only solidified her conviction and she wasn’t about to let him off the hook. She had spent the day stewing over his rejection, vacillating between anger and despair, anger finally having won out. Closing her store an hour early, she had set out to confront Damien once and for all and she wasn’t leaving without a few answers. His historic plantation mansion loomed majestically at the end of the Weeping Willow tree lined drive, the wide, lower and upper verandas supported with tall white columns barely discernible in the deepening dusk. Abby had such fond memories of the times he had brought her here as a child, cherished memories that erased the bad figments of her past. Not only Damien, but other members of his household had lavished her with much needed attention, spoiled her outrageously by giving her everything she wanted, so she figured they were all partially to blame that she was going to pitch a fit over not getting what she wanted now.
Rolling down her window, she punched in the access code for the gates and drove through as soon as they slid open. Damien had top notch security measures in place which included cameras that fed live feed into his security room manned with computers that picked up movement all around the huge estate, so he would know she had arrived. He just wouldn’t know how far she was willing to go to get what she wanted.
Parking right in front, she stormed up the steps, slammed through the seven foot tall double doors calling out, “Damien!” before turning to the right and heading to the front parlor where she heard voices.
“Abby!” Luc greeted her warmly from where he was lounging on a wide, antique chair. He looked utterly ridiculous with his large frame sprawled negligently in such a fragile, delicate chair, but these men didn’t seem to have a care about the priceless antiques that filled Damien’s home. “What brings you out here on a Saturday night, darlin’?”
“Damien,” she bit out. Fisting her hands on her hips, she glared at Luc, Jon and Jacob when they remained silent. “Where is that blood sucking son of a bitch?”
“I don’t appreciate you maligning my sainted mother, ma petite. She was a good woman.”
Abby whirled around to find Damien standing behind her. Damn, that man always could move without a sound. “If she was so good, she would’ve taught you it is rude to enter a woman’s bedroom uninvited, and doubly rude to hide in a corner and watch…” She paused in her tirade, remembering they had an audience.
“Leave us,” Damien ordered his brethren quietly, his eyes never leaving Abby’s furious face. He glared at Jacob when he squeezed Abby’s shoulder reassuringly on his way out, but his friend simply raised a brow before shutting the door behind them, leaving Damien alone with Abby in the candle lit, cozy room.
“It’s Mardi Gras, Abby. Why are you here instead of out partying with your friends?” Not that he wanted her partaking in some of the raunchier activities going on in the Quarter this weekend. But he certainly didn’t have the right to keep her from having fun.
“Because I want to be with you, Damien. Why?” she asked plaintively, her anger slipping a notch as she recalled all the Mardi Gras’ he and the others had taken her to. Dressing her
up in costume, taking her on rides, joining in on the games with her, watching her overindulge in sweets and fun all while keeping her away from the adult goings on. “Why did you leave me last night? For that matter, why did you come at all?” Lifting her hand, she rubbed the side of her breast, hoping to ease the soft pulse of her mark. But that only succeeded in making her nipples even tighter, her pussy wetter. Tall and lean with roped muscles that rippled when he moved, ink black hair and eyes the color of dark chocolate, he was every woman’s fantasy. And he was hers.
Damien felt his incisors threaten to emerge when she caressed her mark, an action that did nothing to ease the demanding, erotic pulse in his palm or the erection he had been sporting since he saw her drive up. “Stop that,” he ordered her gruffly. “It won’t do any good, so leave it be.”
“Why? What will help this ache? You’ve never told me what these signs mean, but I can guess. We’re supposed to be together, Damien. You know it, I know it. Why are you fighting it?”
Damien had to steel himself against the tears threatening to spill down her flushed cheeks as well as the urge to throw her down on the two hundred year old area rug and fuck her senseless. He had to turn away from her in order to get himself under control. Striding over to a small sidebar that was kept stocked mainly for appearances, he poured himself a glass of whiskey and downed it in one gulp, an action he would probably pay for later. While he didn’t need food or beverages to live, he could swallow small amounts of both without any discomfiting side effects.
“We can’t be together and that’s all I’m going to say on the matter, Abrielle. Go home, forget last night ever happened and we’ll go back to being friends.”
“Friends,” she sneered at his back, her heart breaking. He had given her everything she ever wanted, yet now he was refusing her the one thing she wanted more than anything else. “Are you going to continue taking me to movies you don’t want to see, out for pizza and ice cream that you don’t eat? I’m not a child anymore, Damien.”