by Jory Strong
Pain and pleasure blended in a riot of sensation. He wanted to urge her lower, to feel her lips and teeth on his nipples. To feel her mouth on his dick, taking, giving, her touch different than Terach’s, not better or worse but a natural complement to it.
Rather than risk an end, he eased her down to the sand. Mouths connected. Breath entwined. Her body soft beneath his, yielding, inviting, unresisting when he levered himself onto one elbow and made quick work of opening the wrap, exposing skin for greater contact.
He covered her breast with his hand, the nipple stabbing his palm in a demand he couldn’t ignore. He enclosed the thin material of her bikini top in his fist, captured the nipple between his knuckles and tugged.
Her back arched off the sand. She whimpered, legs widening to make a more intimate place for his cock.
He deepened the kiss. Gentle gave way under the onslaught of need. He wanted to be inside her.
She’d be tight, making him fight for every inch just as he’d had to work at getting close to her.
Reality intruded with thundering feet and a kid’s squeal. She went rigid beneath him.
He ended the kiss, took a deep shuddering breath, forehead dipping to rest against hers. And if there was satisfaction to be had in the unwelcome reminder of daylight and other beachgoers, it was in making her forget both.
The kid’s parents called him back to them but the damage was done. Cia’s body vibrated with resistance.
He smiled. It didn’t matter. He was resourceful and resilient.
“Ever surf?”
“No.”
“We passed a shop that rents boards. Come on. I’ll teach you how.”
And he did, using the opportunity to touch her, to steal kisses, to seduce. In the process determining he valued her laughter, her serious dedication to learning, her ability to fail and try again and again—her company above the physical pleasure.
In Estelle’s household there’d only been allies and enemies. Every relationship was tainted with hidden agenda, as if they were all courtiers seeking to gain favor with their queen instead of slaves and servants just trying to survive.
They returned the boards at sunset, rinsed the salt from their skin beneath public showerheads and ate tacos at a nearby stand. He grabbed her hand, drawing her back out onto the sand and the blanket spread beneath a rapidly darkening sky.
He staved off the moment she’d return to the question he now dreaded answering by kissing her. And she didn’t protest his mouth, his hands. His weight once he’d guided her onto her back and covered her body with his.
* * *
Terach rose the instant darkness claimed the city and his heart resumed beating.
Skye waited in the main part of the club. She tossed a motorcycle helmet. He caught it and tucked it beneath his arm without bothering to ask their destination. There was only one he cared about—Ventura.
Another of Brann’s sons opened the door for them, following them out to begin his duties. Excitement rippled along the humans snaked through the parking lot.
Their anticipation might well have been a bell rung for Pavlov’s dogs. He salivated. His gums tingled, reaction rather than true hunger.
She’d parked her Harley steps from the door. Terach laughed. Skye did what she wanted.
He swung onto the bike behind her. Like a companion bond, proximity made the blood bond between a vampire and his progeny grow stronger, though Terach guessed their destination well before Skye slowed the Harley to allow the wrought iron gates of Brann’s most heavily protected estate to open.
Sorcerer. Executioner. Few vampires dabbled in magic for fear of destroying the very force that allowed them victory over death. His sire’s sire was one who dared. Brann was boogie man to fledgling and ancient alike.
Terach’s pulse sped up with thoughts of Israel. Brann’s position on slavery was well known.
He balled his hands rather than use them to grip either Skye or the bike’s seat in a revelation of nervousness. He caught himself rubbing a canine tooth with his tongue and tried to calm.
Gian would have explained how it was that one of Brann’s line held a slave, a temporary slave. If his sire was willing to allow time for the situation to resolve…
Terach couldn’t suppress a shudder.
Brann was death. And this was not a place he’d ever been summoned to.
Skye stopped the bike close to the front door. “I’m just playing chauffeur.”
He got off and surrendered the helmet. His skin cooled as he climbed the steps to the front door.
A knock brought Rafael, his usual insolence replaced by a long, assessing stare. “Enter.”
Terach paused for a heartbeat of time to allow the magical protections to fall, though it was probably unnecessary.
Rafe smirked, releasing the tension between them. “Better safe than sorry. Unless you’re a glutton for punishment.”
“Like you.”
“Like me.” Rafe turned, leading him down a hallway. Priceless art and a wealth of antiques were visible everywhere his gaze touched.
They entered a room with no windows. But unlike the rooms they’d passed, this one was designed for comfort.
The Council’s Executioner sat on a wide, well-padded couch. Next to him was Syndelle, Skye’s sister, bearing the blue eyes of the Coronado Angelini, though Syndelle had raven-black hair to Skye’s silver-blonde.
Where his sire’s mate exuded bold confidence, Syndelle seemed delicate and fragile in comparison. Not a hunter at all, but someone to keep protected behind walls and magic.
She held all of his attention, something inside him stirring beyond the desire to add his strength to keep her safe. He was drawn to her. His eyes sought hers despite knowing it was unwise when it came to the Coronados.
In an instant he was trapped.
His mind screamed it.
His heart thundered in acknowledgment of it.
But those alarms were nothing more than irritants, like gnats buzzing around him on a warm day. Her eyes were like summer sky, her gaze like having the sun on his face, his skin caressed by its rays.
Longing swelled, opening his heart and soul to her, baring them for exploration and judgment. And it came with the touch of ancient magic, talons that sank deep, ripping through what resistance he might mount to carry him back to his enslavement.
Day after day was examined, as if his life was nothing but a centuries-old book. And when the pages chronicling his slavery were finished, his childhood was revealed. His life among villagers who’d whispered that he’d been touched by the devil, the fear in their eyes an ever-present accusation.
The ancient magic retreated from its examination and he was once again lost in blue sky, Syndelle’s gaze the caress of sun, the promise of it.
Are you willing to risk everything? Your life? Those you’ve bound by blood?
Yes!
Her blink freed him.
And with that soft flutter of lashes, the truth of Syndelle slammed into him. He stumbled, grasped the back of a chair, feeling lightheaded, his heart climbing the walls of his chest.
Finally he noticed Gian sitting in the chair next to the one he clung to.
“Sit,” his sire said, and he obeyed, still unsteady on his feet.
The Masada. The dream of sunshine. Not vampire myth, but reality given delicate, feminine features and gentle nature. And those bound to her by blood and loyalty and love would become the foundation on which the old magic would rise and build, freeing vampires from their nighttime prison.
Rafael flopped on the couch next to Syndelle, using her lap as cushion for his head.
She glanced down, smiling at him, her hand settling on his chest, her fingers playing with a nipple ring.
“You only encourage his bad behavior, Syndelle,” Brann growled, gaze pinning Terach to the chair. “Gian tells me you’ve taken a blood slave.”
“I had no choice. I’d free him completely if I could.”
“You’ll make him one of us?”
/> Yes. No. “I don’t know if Israel wants to become vampire. There hasn’t been time to discuss it.”
Rafe snorted. “Too busy fucking?”
Brann reached over and cupped Rafe’s throat. Not that the implied threat had the power to scare Rafael into silence.
“You know the Angelini gather,” Brann said.
Terach’s heart lurched as if jolted by electricity. “Because of Syndelle?”
“I believe some of them have felt the old magic rising, both vampire and that of our ancient enemy. Among the Angelini and their mates are those who would kill Syndelle for what she is, believing the world safer with us locked into the nighttime.” Just as there were powerful vampires who would try to steal her from Brann.
Terach understood then why so many of Brann and Gian’s children were being called home. Soldiers were needed, not only for Syndelle’s protection, but so they might emerge from darkness in numbers too great to suppress.
He couldn’t sense the change in his sire, but it was no stretch to believe he could walk in the sun. Centuries of unequivocal loyalty had been rewarded, Gian’s to Brann, now his to Gian.
Syndelle slipped from the couch onto the floor, sitting cross-legged. His heart soared when she beckoned him with the lift of her arm.
He joined her, careful to keep his fangs sheathed.
Brann cradled her hand, using a small dagger to open Syndelle’s wrist rather than allow another male to penetrate her in any manner.
Terach bent to that same wrist. He touched his lips to her skin as one would to a holy chalice offered by a priest.
He drank deeply, her blood an elixir that stole time and will.
It burned through him, reworking the magic that had filled him in that instant of human death when it had been Gian’s wrist held to his lips, Gian’s blood that had forced change.
Freedom from the night came in an invisible explosion. His body expanded as though he’d stepped into open space after having been held prisoner for centuries in an iron maiden.
“Enough,” Brann said, reclaiming Syndelle’s wrist and carrying it to his mouth, closing the wound then pulling her onto his lap.
Terach stood, anxious to get to Ventura. Images of making love beneath the sun crowded his mind.
Gian said, “I’ll drive you to the airport.”
Brann’s gaze caught and held Terach’s. Power rolled off him. “Do anything to jeopardize Syndelle and I will end your existence.”
And by extension, all those bound to him who might also be viewed a threat.
“As you should,” he said, the warning forcing distance into his fantasies.
He couldn’t risk being seen in daylight and recognized. He couldn’t risk sharing this secret with Israel, not yet. Not until both slave bond and companion bond were resolved. But neither would he separate himself from them when he got to Ventura. That left only one choice. He would have to compel Cia and Israel to sleep through the day.
Chapter Six
Cia changed the angle of her body, driving her clit against Israel’s cock. God, he was so hard. And she was so wet. Wetter than she’d ever been, except with Terach.
“Let me have you,” he murmured, fingers entwined with hers, holding her hands against the blanket.
Yes! her body answered, urging her to forget about rules, to throw away a lifetime of adherence to them. She wanted to surrender control and give in to the temptation, to let him tug her bikini bottoms down and shove his cock in.
It took everything she had to deny that primal need. “I can’t.”
Not without the answer he’d promised her. She had to know. Had to believe she wasn’t repeating the same mistake she’d made at Fangs. That she wasn’t doing something that would make her question herself afterward, something that would keep her off the job.
“You can,” he said, rocking his hips, promising even greater pleasure when he’d already demonstrated he was a master at delivering it.
Her fingernails scraped over his back. She breathed him in, wanting him. But she needed to return to some semblance of normal.
“What did you mean when you said Terach saved my life?”
He stilled. Rigid cock mimicked by equally rigid body.
Melded together so intimately, she could feel him will himself to relax.
He didn’t succeed.
His body throbbed against hers. He kissed his way to her ear, the rasp of his tongue, the dart of it so sensual she quivered.
“Let’s come back to that question,” he said, lips capturing her lobe, sucking, sending desire streaking to her nipples and clit.
“No.” But it required force to get the word out.
“Yes,” he said, seizing on the weakness, fucking his tongue into her ear.
Her channel clenched, aching and empty and needy. Her breath caught, her body’s attempt to prevent further denial of pleasure.
She could count on one hand the number of lovers she’d had. Until Terach, and now Israel, none of them had stripped her of control or made her revel in being vulnerable.
Just give in to this.
And the next time I see Terach?
“Tell me,” she begged.
He remained silent.
The resistance he telegraphed gave her the strength to dislodge him and sit, chest pressed to her knees and locked there by arms hugged around her legs.
Israel’s sigh was masculine frustration, a heartfelt desire to avoid conversation. He sat, crowding into her personal space. He propped himself up with an arm behind her, close enough his body heat formed a diagonal slash across her back.
“What will you do when my answer doesn’t fit in one of your neat little boxes?”
She shivered, chill spreading inward. He was far too observant.
“You already know the truth,” he said, his hand shackling her ankle.
“No.” It was just a tangled dream, a mash of fantasy and reality and horror. She’d contacted Marina. The daytime memories matched Marina’s version of events, or at least the ones that involved her. “No.”
“Healed,” Israel murmured. “Not enslaved.”
Adrenaline surged into Cia. She jumped to her feet.
Dream reality cascaded in and crowded out the other reality, only this time Rico was there.
Trust him, Rico. I was in worse shape, closer to death than she is.
Skye’s voice, and Rico had listened, accepted what couldn’t be.
I’ll do it, Sire.
She hugged herself. Swallowed, only it wasn’t saliva that filled her mouth but metallic taste. And instead of nausea swelling inside her, it was desire, a hungry need accompanied by memories of Terach above her, in her. His eyes were fathomless pools with flickering candlelight deep in their centers. And like a moth to flame she’d sought them out, lost herself in ecstasy.
Take my blood, Cia. Agree to be my companion.
Israel’s arms surrounded her, enfolded her in warmth. “Do you want me to say the words? Will it make what happened more real for you?”
He grasped the medallion, knuckles pressed to her skin.
Her pulse rapped against him in a pounding demand to close this door completely or thrust it wide open and accept what was behind it.
Israel rubbed his cheek against her hair. “Terach told me he had no intention of making you his companion—at least not that night anyway. But once you were in his bed, he knew you were important to him, that you were the right choice for him.”
“And what I thought didn’t matter?”
“You would rather have died?”
No.
No. She wouldn’t lie to herself.
Israel’s mouth brushed her ear. His tongue darted out to touch and trace and thrust, sending a rush of neediness to her breasts.
“Are you going to deny you’re attracted to him? That it didn’t make you hot to walk in and find him going down on me?”
She trembled and swallowed a moan. Refused to answer and he laughed, husky and oh so confident.
His hand settled on her abdomen, palm touched to bare skin.
Her clit stiffened to became an obvious target.
His grasped it, stroked and teased her through the clinging material of her bikini bottoms until she shivered from heat instead of chill.
“Done questioning?” he asked, tracing where suit met skin along the inside of her thigh, wetting his fingertips with arousal.
Yes. No.
One thing remained unchanged. She’d awakened naked in Terach’s bed, her body well-loved.
What if she hadn’t been as badly injured as it appeared?
She could stretch her beliefs to include mind over matter given what she’d witnessed Skye do. She could accept that strength of will coupled with hypnotism could speed recovery.
And the rest of it?
Israel slipped his fingertips beneath the suit’s elastic, stroked swollen, flushed labia.
Her buttocks clenched. Her hips canted in a silent urging for him to slip inside her. She wanted to forget everything else in the pursuit of pleasure. She wanted to ignore that this man she’d spent hours with, like any other couple at the beach, who’d touched her and stolen kisses as he taught her to surf, might fit in with the pierced and black-clad crowd at Fangs.
We can work it out.
“Let’s go back to Tessa’s,” she said.
But nerves got the better of her at the car. The sight of the shotgun and personal gun were a reminder of what that night at Fangs had cost her. She should have been cleared to return to duty by now.
“I want to stop by Chloe’s father’s house.”
Israel sighed. He knew her well enough not to be surprised by the reversal, though the ache in his balls and throb in his dick grew with each mile in the wrong direction.
He understood what Cia was doing—running. And he could sympathize. Before he’d known the truth about vampires, he’d been in too deep.
Only Estelle hadn’t saved his life. She’d stolen it.
He shifted in the seat, tugged on the jeans he’d changed into, not that it gave him any relief. The only way he’d manage that would be to unzip and take himself in hand.
He laughed silently. One day Cia would view that show, but it took no observational skill at all to know she wouldn’t appreciate it now.