A Vampire's Hunger

by Carla Susan Smith

  “And do they?” He stared pointedly at my groin.

  “Hard to tell from this angle,” I told him. “Why don’t you see for yourself?”

  “Oh, I fully intend to, Rowan.” He gave me a flash of his teeth as he smiled. I couldn’t believe how cool he looked. Not in a polished, urbane way, although he was all that too, but more of a completely non-sweaty kind of way. He wasn’t even shiny, damn him!

  I groaned, feeling a spasm in my side. “Any chance of loosening this up a little?”

  Oooh, that’s good, make him think you want to keep wearing it.

  “I don’t think you quite grasp the implications that come with wearing such an item,” he said walking slowly around me. “You’re supposed to be submissive, offering yourself to my will.” Having satisfied himself that I was properly bound and secured as per the current demonic handbook regulations, he now dropped to his haunches before me. It was eerily reminiscent of the pose Gabriel had just taken before me.

  “I assumed the whole meek and dutiful thing was more a suggestion than an actual requirement.”

  “Really? Why ever would you think that?”

  “Are you telling me this Bridal Night Chain is more than symbolic? Sorry to disappoint you, but I’m really not into marriage. If I was, I’d already be married to Gabriel.” I couldn’t be sure, but I swear I heard a hiss at the mention of his name. “He did ask me first.”

  “And if I insist on a ceremony?” His smile was sensuous, producing a different kind of heat that pooled around the jewel inside my body.

  “Well, if it means that much to you . . . but I get to choose my dress.” I had visions of a Vegas showgirl running through my head. Something with lots of sequins, rhinestones, and masses of feathers.

  “And here I was thinking it was every little girl’s dream to get married.”

  “Yeah, and the focus word in that statement is little. As in young, prepubescent. Have you seen the divorce rate these days? Why would anyone ever get hitched?”

  “Well, I don’t do divorce.”

  No. I didn’t imagine he did.

  The moisture on my face was making my eyelashes stick together. Without the use of my hands, I had no choice but to open my eyes really wide in order to un-stick the uppers from the lowers. This also meant my mouth popped open in a comical “O” shape.

  “Are you trying to summon up some sort of demigod in the vain hope of counteracting the Chain’s enchantment?” he asked, making his brows arch quizzically.

  “Oh, for God’s sake!” I blew out a breath and watched as droplets danced in the air. “If you won’t untie my hands, then could you at least get a towel and wipe my face so I don’t suffer any permanent vision loss from eye irritation.”

  He paused and seemed to be looking for trickery in my request. “No,” he said, “but I will take you somewhere that’s more comfortable.”

  Chapter 29

  There was a sizzle, and the pungent smell of sulfur filled the air. Nothing like the fragrance of rotting eggs to exacerbate my breathing issues. Thankfully, I realized what was happening a split second before it occurred, and turned my head to my shoulder and closed my eyes before he transformed.

  “Rowan? Look at me, Rowan.”

  Shaking my porcupine quill hair was answer enough. I felt the ground vibrate as he came toward me, and something hard reached beneath my chin. I resisted, but I felt a sting as a sharp edge sliced my skin. I was already too wet to feel the blood running down my neck, but I could smell it. The bastard had used his nails to cut me! I jerked my head around, almost going cross-eyed at what was in front of me. It hadn’t been his nails. In fact, his hands were fisted firmly on his hips. Waving in front of my face was the pointed tip of his tail, dripping with my blood.

  I stared at him, raking in everything from the obscene corkscrew horns erupting out of his forehead to the disturbing cloven hooves on which he stood. He’d adopted his man-beast form with the smooth, well-defined human upper body, and the heavy, dark pelt of fur that covered him from the waist down protecting his strangely formed lower limbs. Strange only because there was no disguising the animalistic formation of bone and muscle.

  Oh, and let’s not forget the cock he was so proud of, although what he ever expected to fuck with it was beyond me. I think even Catherine the Great would have declined.

  “Just so you know,” I said, doing my best not to gag on the smell, “this is not my favorite look for you.”

  His grin was startlingly white against the blackened lips and skin of his face. “Ah, but it’s the only skin I can wear for this.”

  “For what?”

  The idea that he might want to have sex with me in this manifestation was more terrifying than anything I could ever imagine. He’d split me open for sure. Reaching down, he picked me up in his arms and held me to his chest. The chain, pulled tight by the movement, cut into my flesh, making me wince.

  “You’ll feel better soon,” he said.

  I wasn’t convinced that his idea of better and mine were necessarily the same. I looked up at him, seeing the scars that pitted his face and neck, spilling over his shoulders and across his chest. Reminders of trials he had overcome? His eyes glittered red and gold, and his long earlobes brushed the tops of his shoulders.

  “Where are you taking me?”

  His grin widened. The close-up view of the razor-sharp teeth crowding his mouth was more than I wanted to see. “As you’ve already destroyed the furniture, I have no choice but to find another bed. One better able to accommodate me.”

  “So I’m guessing it’s not the Waldorf?”

  “No, somewhere a lot more private.”

  * * *

  I lay on my stomach, holding my breath as the length of Bridal Night Chain securing my hands was removed. The chain had cut into my flesh, requiring each gem to be pulled free from my swollen skin. It hurt like a son of a bitch, and I didn’t even try to stop the tears that flowed. Strong fingers rubbed my wrists, restoring blood flow and feeling to my numb hands. Ignoring the stinging pain in my muscles, I yanked my hands away, clasping them together and sliding them beneath me between my breasts. I snarled and snapped with bared teeth when the other hands tried to take them back. A low rumble sounded, and it took me a moment to recognize it as laughter.

  “Very well, we’ll get to the rest later,” he whispered in my ear, “but come, you need to sleep.”

  Whatever was supporting me moved suddenly, throwing me off-balance and rolling me into arms waiting to embrace me. He pulled me close, molding me to fit the contours of chest and hip and thigh. Fear and anxiety had left me too exhausted to offer anything in the way of resistance. It had also dropped my body temperature, and my survival instinct arched me toward the warmth emanating from his body. With a will of its own, my hand reached up and tangled itself in the long silk of his hair, and then I heard the faint sound of rustling. Rustling accompanied by the pleasingly familiar scent of anise, which carried with it the spicy tang of danger. A light touch across my shoulder made me crack open an eye. I was covered in feathers. Black as sin, each glossy length was tipped blood red.

  “Sleep, Rowan,” his voice commanded.

  And closing my eye, I snuggled deeper inside my cocoon and did just that.

  When I opened my eyes again, I stretched. It was an automatic reflex that caught me by surprise because it meant my hands were no longer bound. Quickly I closed my eyes and performed an inventory with my fingers. No chain around my neck, nothing pressing into my back. I rolled up on one hip—no mildly uncomfortable feeling between my cheeks. Ah, but not quite everything was gone. Though no longer attached to the chain, I could still feel the large opal nestled within me.

  “Once this is inside you, it can only be removed in one way . . . by one person.”

  Katja’s voice echoed dully inside my head. Yeah, getting that baby out wasn’t going to be quite as easy as I’d hoped it would be.

  I sat up and looked about me. The bed itself was high, covered
with a sea of ornately embroidered pillows and cushions, and instead of traditional sheets or blankets, I was enveloped in bolts of silk and satin and velvet, all in varying shades of red and black, which came as no surprise. Swinging my legs over the edge of the bed, I hopped down, not noticing the small stepstool provided for that purpose until my feet were already on the floor. I pushed aside the sheer panels hanging from the ceiling and stepped into the room. Everywhere I looked, the black-and-red color scheme had been continued. Black walls splashed with what I hoped was red paint and not actual blood. The bed was the dominant piece of furniture, making the occupier’s proclivities somewhat predictable. But, to be fair, there were also two chairs in front of a fireplace, both black with red seats, and between them a black lacquer table with a red pitcher and two glasses.

  Oh my God, a pitcher—and I’m dying of thirst! I sniffed the liquid cautiously but could smell nothing. I poured a small amount into one of the glasses. It looked like water, it smelled like water, it even—I dipped a finger in the glass and put it to my tongue—tasted like water.

  What if it’s poisoned?

  If he wanted to kill me, why go to all this trouble? He could have easily done it back in the apartment and saved himself the bother of dragging my corpse down here.

  Yeah, leaving you in the apartment would have given you top spot in the unsolved kinky-sex-gone-wrong police blotter.

  It took two very large glasses of water before my thirst was slaked. And then I had to pee. I looked around for entry to another room and spotted an open archway. It led to what appeared to be a fully equipped bathroom. I used the toilet, hoping that it was functional and not just for decoration. It appeared to operate normally when I flushed it, and I figured if the toilet worked, then so would the shower. Although there was a chance my demon would return while I was washing, I decided it was a chance worth taking. Somehow it felt better to face him looking like myself.

  Removing all the goop from my hair was a challenge, and I cleaned my face at least four times just to be sure every scrap of makeup was gone. I was surprised to find I’d kept most of my lashes. Finished, I returned to the bedroom wrapped in one towel while rubbing my now much shorter hair with another. It had occurred to someone that I might be hungry because plates of food were set on the table next to the pitcher. There was fruit, bread and cheese, and a covered dish. And the pitcher had been replenished. Cautiously, I raised the lid on the covered dish. Who thought stew could be so appetizing? A fire now blazed in the hearth, giving the cavernous room a kind of cheery glow I wouldn’t have thought possible. Someone had straightened up the bed and left a robe for my use. That made me almost as happy as the stew. I looked around, staring hard at the darkness beyond the light’s reach. I couldn’t be sure, but I told myself no one was there.

  I was in the bathroom, cleaning my teeth with a washcloth, when the prickle between my shoulder blades said I wasn’t alone. Considering the bathroom had no door, I was lucky he hadn’t seen me using the toilet.

  “Couldn’t find a toothbrush,” I said, explaining the need for the washcloth wrapped around my finger. It wasn’t great, but better than nothing at all.

  “I knew I’d forgotten something,” he told me, watching as I scooped a handful of water and swooshed it around in my mouth before spitting in the sink.

  “Guess you don’t worry about cavities, huh?”

  He answered with a chuckle.

  “Did you remember lotion?” I asked.

  He pointed to a jar on the counter that held an aromatic cream. I put a generous dollop on my hands and rubbed it in, getting a nice tingle in return.

  “Shall we talk?” he asked, stepping to one side and waving a hand back toward the bedroom.

  I was happy to move past him. In my experience, conversations held in bathrooms usually involve a lot of anger and/or crying. Perhaps it’s the underlying knowledge of the room’s function that allows people to unburden themselves more freely with a toilet and sink in view.

  I took one of the chairs by the fire; he took the other. “So,” I began, rearranging the robe I was wearing so it covered my legs, “what shall we talk about?”

  “Your reason for accepting my gift.”

  I gave him a puzzled look. “Wasn’t that what you wanted?”

  “Of course.” He leaned forward and, with a flick of his finger, parted my robe, exposing my legs to mid-thigh. “And I couldn’t have been more thrilled to see you wearing it, but . . . why now?”

  I stared at him. He was in a more relaxed version of Armani. No suit, but tailored slacks and a crisp red shirt that was open at the throat. No jewelry either, I noticed. Not even the pinkie ring. He was also barefoot.

  “I’m a woman,” I said, tilting my head to one side. “I’m allowed to change my mind.”

  “Did the broken bed in your apartment factor into your decision?”

  I tried not to show my delight at his use of information I’d shared with the fake Gabriel. “Perhaps,” I admitted.

  “And the Russian broke it?”

  It was nice to know he’d been paying attention. “Aleksei owed me a favor.”

  “Yes, but why destroy the bed in the first place? Was it because of Katja? I know she was there, I could smell her scent. It was faint, but I recognized it.”

  OMG—not only had he taken the wrong path, he was skipping ahead of me. “Can you blame me?” I asked. “A possessive nature isn’t the exclusive province of vampires, you know.”

  “But Gabriel didn’t fuck her”—he frowned—“surely you realized that?”

  “Just because he didn’t doesn’t mean he wouldn’t have. It was enough she was in my apartment—in my bedroom—with him. What he did or didn’t do with her makes no difference. She shouldn’t have been there.”

  “What if she came to apologize for what she did to you?”

  I couldn’t decide if he was taking the side of the faux Gabriel or was trying to confuse me. “Flowers and a note would have been just fine. Better even.” I blew out an irritated breath. “Look, I don’t give a damn why she was there. He says he loves me. He had no business giving the time of day to a woman who nearly killed me.”

  Dear God, please let the women are from Venus, men are from Mars confusion apply to demons as well as vampires.

  I gripped the arms of the chair—just enough for him to see my anger, but I had to be careful not to overplay my hand. My anger over the imaginary rendezvous would be normal; wanting to rip Katja’s head off and mount it on the wall might be considered excessive. “And he wonders why I’m pissed at him,” I muttered.

  “So how did you know she had been there? Surely Gabriel wasn’t so foolish as to tell you?”

  Although I had told the fake Gabriel I’d been able to smell Katja’s presence, the demon would know it to be a lie. Human noses weren’t that good. “Aleksei told me,” I confessed, hoping my fib would be forgiven. “So he broke the bed.” At least that was the truth.

  I held my breath, my mind racing as I tried to anticipate his next question in an effort to stay a step ahead. I had dangled the mental carrot in front of him; now all I needed was for him to take a bite.

  “So what you’re really after is . . . revenge sex.”

  Hallelujah!

  “Do you know any other kind that’s better?” I leaned forward, making sure the front of the robe gaped open, giving him a nice view. Of course he’d already seen me completely naked, but it’s different when it’s being offered because someone wants you to have it.

  He rested his chin on folded hands. “That’s not why I gave you the Bridal Night Chain.”

  “Ah, yeah, I know, and I’m sorry if I’ve misused it, but does it really make that much of a difference?” I decided to take advantage of his ignorance about Ryiel’s making Jenna his Promise, hoping he hadn’t been brought up to speed. “Look at it this way, we’ll each get a taste of what’s to come, and, as I’m sure you know”—I dropped my voice to a throaty purr—“anticipation can be quite an aph
rodisiac.”

  He tapped a forefinger against his chin, looking at me with a studied air. “So you’re proposing we have sex now, I return you to Gabriel, and then do what? Reclaim you, as promised, in twenty-five years?”

  I nodded slowly, wearing what I hoped was a sultry smile. “Something like that.”

  “Don’t lie to me, Rowan.”

  Oh fuck. The smile on my face froze. “What do you mean?”

  He got to his feet and shook his head, making his dark hair fall rakishly across his forehead while his eyes glowed red. He held out a hand, and I suddenly realized this might be my opportunity. I might never have a better moment than right now. He wanted me. It was in the way his eyes kept roaming over me, the barely discernible tremble in his fingers, the surreptitious slide of his tongue across his lips. I placed my hand in his, and let him pull me to my feet.

  Long fingers ran through my hair, then trailed down my neck, across my shoulders, and along each side of my rib cage. Just the right amount of pressure to make me gasp instead of giggle. His hand cupped my breast, stroking it through the silky fabric of the robe before lightly pinching the nipple, which hardened immediately at his touch. His smile was wolfish. I waited until he looked into my eyes before running the tip of my tongue over my lips.

  “Mmmm . . . feels nice,” I murmured, pressing myself against him.

  His kiss was a fast, unexpected swipe of his lips across my mouth. For a moment, I was stunned, thinking I’d missed my chance, but then I realized it was the perfect opportunity to make him think there was no danger in kissing me. I returned the pressure of his lips, allowing the tip of my tongue to dance at the corner of his mouth.

  I wish I could say that it felt awful and I wanted to be sick, but that would be a lie. The truth is, I was attracted to him on a physical level. We’d both known it since our first encounter. He appealed to me in a way that was dangerously explosive. I just didn’t know how far my unpredictable lust for him could be used against me.

  Chapter 30

  “Will you tell me something?” I asked, looking up at him from beneath my lashes. My coquettish behavior was purely accidental. I have no idea how to be flirtatious. But it seemed to work because he leaned into me, rubbing his hands along my arms.