by Nikki Sex
Crack!
He watches me on CC TV, waiting for my eyes to turn red. Only then, my vampire feels certain he’s addressing my demon.
He doesn’t know I know what he’s waiting and watching for.
When my vampire brings in new tormentors, I always manage to appear composed no matter how I feel. I shrug and put on my “what-can-you-do?” face, but torture is torture.
I hate it. I shake with fear of it, but I’m resigned. I must endure what I can’t change. What choice do I have?
Crack!
In the end, pain is just pain. It is not me—not the essential soul of who I am. Like a picket fence, or a sunset, or my little toe, pain simply is. When I can’t ignore it, there is always a place inside where I can take refuge.
Every day, I’m closer to finding the way out of here.
Today I had to hide a smile when these two came in holding a couple of whips. Whips? That’s nothing. Last week a woman broke several of my ribs while using a baseball bat.
With the meager amount of power at my demon’s disposal, it took three days to heal. While unable to supply vast magical sustenance, I do manage to keep my friend alive, and me whole.
My demon is so damn ravenous, I’m fairly certain he’d eat anything.
Crack!
I’ve spent my life making sure my monster never fed on pain, death, or blood. Before my imprisonment, I never allowed myself to even enjoy an erotic spanking. Why would I want my demon to pick up bad habits?
Once we’re free we’ll obtain all we need from the Beast Lord. If I have my way, he’ll never taste blood-magic again.
Crack!
My tears have gone. I breathe in chest-heaving gulps. Around this point my demon begins to vibrate with piranha-like excitement. His dark hunger excites me—he waits in expectation of a good meal.
I tense. I guard. I fight the pain.
Suddenly, my body relaxes. All tension disappears. With real joy, I surrender completely.
What a relief to let go! I start to savor the bite of the whip, as well as each breathtaking rush of pain. Every blow becomes highly sexual.
Lust, sharp, and urgent runs through my veins. From necessity, I’ve discovered the dark and soul-purifying pleasure of punishment.
I sigh deeply, at times I whimper.
Crack!
My body burns. I’m no longer on fire with agony, now I blaze with unchecked desire. My heart beats hard and fast; my body pulses. Arousal throbs between my legs.
Hot, hot, so hot! I sizzle with wanton need. My sex pounds as if with its own heartbeat. I make small, eager noises.
What I would give to be caressed.
Closing my eyes, I seek vivid sensory memories of Stafford. I imagine his big, warm hands, his soft lips, and captivating kisses—his raw lust for my body, and his delightfully hard cock.
Crack!
Today I can’t see the Beast Lord.
For the first time, it’s my vampire’s brilliant blue gaze holding my attention. I can’t get him out of my head. Tall, commanding, and eye-blindingly handsome, my vampire fills my senses. The sight of him, the heavenly male scent of him, the feel of his hard cock.
Crack!
With imagination, anything can happen. In my mind, it’s my vampire who is beating me with a whip, while somehow also slamming hard and fast between my legs. I visualize absorbing his intoxicating power, right through to my bones.
Crack!
The snap of the whip merges with the sound of flesh against flesh. Sexual tension builds and builds. My demon pulses, holding back, waiting for the crowning moment to feed.
I crave release!
I imagine my vampire’s big hands cupping my breasts, positioning me as he likes, using my body for his own release. I hear his husky voice giving me orders. I listen to his ragged breath and sexy male grunts as he takes his pleasure.
Christ, it’s so damn hot! My entire body throbs, my nipples peak into tight points. I begin to moan.
A flash of memory hits me: My vampire’s lips against the pulse in my neck right there. The bite of his fangs, him taking his first pull of my blood—the sensation of his erotic tug lower.
His mouth works against my throat. I feel him swallowing me down.
I cry out—
—and promptly climax.
My inner monster has been waiting for this moment to satisfy his appetite. We rise into ecstasy together. I taste his joy as we feed, and feed, and feed.
I’ve finally reached the pinnacle, a delicious state I’ve been waiting for. My body hums. I luxuriate in power, drunk with mind-numbing pleasure.
I no longer feel the effects of pain. Now, I embrace it.
Crack!
The man and woman continue their work, but other than hearing the slap of leather, and feeling my flesh rock with thudding sensations, I float in a sea of pleasure.
I’m high as a kite and back in control.
I’m in the zone.
Endorphins flood my body, power shivers across my skin. My blood runs in rivulets down my back, and falls to the floor—each drop flaring with raw magic. It doesn’t matter. Now I heal almost as fast as I’m injured.
Pain and blood.
Blood and pain.
The power rush is amazing. My eyes heat, I tightly shut them. I feel them glowing crimson-red as my friend feeds, and feeds, and feeds.
I smile as my demon pulses with lust, pleasure, and sensual joy. It could be worse. He could be running around maiming, murdering, and tormenting innocents. If someone must suffer in order for my demon to survive, I’d rather I be his sole victim.
They say what doesn’t kill you, makes you stronger. What they don’t tell you is, it also makes you smarter.
Necessity is a powerful, motivating force.
There’s nothing like sleeping on stone, never being warm, and daily torture to make a person focus.
My mind is bent toward getting the hell out of here, returning to Stafford, escaping to the magic lands.
Luckily, I have a plan.
I’ve been studying the magic my vampire uses to compel humans. It presents itself as a glowing collar of energy around their necks.
I must learn as much as possible during this state of hyper-alert awareness. My strategy is to release the human puppets from compulsion and ask them to set me free. Either that or maybe I’ll work out how to create a link of my own. Then I’ll bespell them into setting me free.
In theory, anyone can be enthralled, as long as the one doing the mind-fuck has greater clout.
Wouldn’t I love to bespell my pesky vampire?
Logically, I know I should hurry. Yet when power radiates from me, I feel as though I can take all the time I want.
Existing in a magical state is much like being a ghost. Everything slows down, events pass differently.
Slowly.
Languidly.
Unconnected to the world, unrestrained by physical laws, when I’m on a power high my brain switches off. I don’t have to think—I know.
Supercharged with magic I simply look. I see.
I am.
Power spills over me. After living without, it’s such a rush! When I’m in the zone I view the world physically and metaphysically.
I see, smell, hear, feel, and taste everything.
As I’ve mentioned previously, not all magical energy is the same. My vampire’s power is not dark magic. A little shadowy gray, maybe, but not necessarily evil. Like demon magic, it emits a thrumming electric heat. All ozone, and energy, it tastes of fresh vibrant air after a thunderstorm.
The woman wielding the riding crop intrigues me.
I send out a tendril of psychic energy, prodding and poking at the necklace of power enchanting her. It’s a puzzle, but I’m good at puzzles. I’ve been trying to figure this one out for a while.
My fresh flowing blood, an offering from my soul, will help unlock the secret.
I smile with satisfaction when I observe her choker is not one single element, as
I first thought. It’s a number of different strands, all braided together. Why didn’t I notice that before?
White as lightning, one magical component produces deep compulsion—the force that overrides will.
Another aspect fashions intense sexual attraction. Cobalt blue, it works on the “inner animal” and comes with the faint sound of drums, and the scent of musk.
The third and final element creates total submission. Smelling of ozone, this magic ensures the victim is overjoyed to obey.
Fascinated, my demon and I could do this all day.
I wonder how my vampire cast this spell?
The answer arrives between one heartbeat and the next. I see it, then. Oh, my God, it’s so damn obvious I can taste it! I can almost hear the song of making from my vampire.
The sound of it is like the pure, clear ring of a bell in my heart and soul. When I cast this enchantment, it will be similar, but different. I’ll add a unique thread of demon magic into the mix.
Yes, yes. I can do this.
The moment I’m about to use my new-found knowledge, my vampire steps into the room.
“Demon, open your eyes,” he growls.
The bitter scent of his anger sizzles through the air. Psyched with power, I can’t help but taste him. Uh-oh, I think I’m in trouble.
God dammit to Hell. Talk about rotten timing.
Chapter 76. Change of Heart
I open my eyes and see from the rigidity of his back how pissed off he is.
The Jugulo directs his stare at my human tormentors, his blue eyes alight with angry fire. “Go upstairs. Tidy yourselves. You will remember nothing of your time here. Leave us. Now.” His voice is a flat, unemotional command.
The human puppets cease their work, drop their tools, and leave. The flow of magic and energy channeling into me suddenly stops.
How long before my power fades?
I know why he’s mad. He’s realized I shut my eyes to prevent him from seeing when they turn red. I don’t want him to disturb me when I’m in the zone. It’s the only chance I have to learn vampire magic.
When my eyes change color, he thinks he can more easily speak to my demon. It took me a while to figure out that’s why he’s into daily torture sessions. I wonder what he’d think if he knew they also glow red during sex?
“Now.” His expression is implacable. “Demon, you will answer my questions. Tell me exactly when you arrived on our earthly plane.”
My lips tug up into a slow smile. “Vampire, you sense the truth. I’ve lived with my demon for nearly two-hundred-years. My mother conjured him in 1833 when I was seventeen.”
“Lies!”
“It’s not a lie. You know this.” Tilting my head, I study my vampire. Viewing him through otherworldly power, I find him much more interesting.
The Jugulo says nothing.
“Why can’t you accept it?” I ask him the question, but I’m really asking myself. With sudden insight and clarity, I blurt out the answer: “The truth frightens you! When you’re frightened, your fear emerges as anger. Fascinating.”
My vampire’s expression remains deadpan, but he can’t hide a flash of fury in his gaze. A discordant bite of energy brushes over my skin. Oh, yeah. He’s pissed off.
In this languid state of elevated power, I see so much! Minuscule twitches in his nostrils and lips. His pupils contracting and expanding. His body language telegraphs his every thought and feeling.
Body and soul, he thrums with delicious energy. I taste the electric pleasure of it, the full spectrum, every molecule, every atom.
He’s so beautiful.
As with the Beast Lord, his magic is a wondrous, natural part of him.
My vampire turns, moves to the wall, loosens the winch, unties and releases the rope.
My arms lower. I’m relieved to have the blood return to them. One hand holding his trusty Taser, he throws me the keys.
My eyes burn with unearthly energy. I can’t stop smiling as I unlock the iron shackles from my wrists. “You know, Sparagis, let’s just pretend for a moment what I say is true. I’m not some evil spirit. If I were, why did I kill the other demon?”
“You are the other demon. The woman whose body you now have has become possessed by you.”
“Nope. I admit your bite was fucking amazing, but you never bespelled me. I was only playing along. Why do you think I was able to talk back to you? Think about it. Do other humans do that?”
He says nothing, but I see I’ve made my point.
“And how do you think I’m able to repair my physical injuries? Like me, my demon is a healer. I’ve told you, I’ve taught him to embrace the virtues. Together we do no harm.”
He shakes his head. “You were not demon-possessed when we first met. I drank your blood. I compelled you.”
Yeah, go on thinking that, you stubborn SOB.
I tilt my head, meet his gaze. “I wonder how many others like me there have been? You know, people you shouldn’t have tortured, innocents you shouldn’t have killed. If you’d let me, I could talk to your ghosts.”
His blue gaze flares with terrifying beauty as he holds back rage. I knew my comment would piss him off. My vampire sees himself as the good guy, doing an important job. Isn’t that amazing?
I can taste the weight of his years upon him. He’s lived such a long time. He’s seen countless births and deaths. He’s watched empires rise, seen kings fall. He’s been a spectator, an architect, a rook and a pawn, as entire continents have become enslaved.
I’m so close. So close to understanding this melody!
My vampire has known the death of love. He’s seen it all, but his life is empty. Meaningless.
That’s why he’s so driven. He has nothing else.
The answer strikes me with sudden blinding clarity.
That’s it. Yes. I know what to do.
“When it comes to ghosts, I’d particularly like to talk to the boy that never leaves your side. You know, the one who looks like you? Was he your brother? Or your son? Did you kill him?”
Angry energy pools around the Jugulo, pouring outward like boiling lava from a fissure in the earth. Enraged, my vampire rips a broadsword from the wall and steps toward me—
— exactly as I’d hoped.
I’m struck by a strange sensation of time whirling; spinning backwards. Feelings. Impressions. Memories of earlier feedings and exchanges of power. Hardships, losses. The joy of being alive.
I recall communications my demon has patiently tried to get through to me. All this time, I thought he was the child. He was a baby, and he was. Yet he sees me as a child. To him, I’m unaware, someone who can’t understand him.
I feel his jubilation at discovering another of his kind. I took that away from my inner friend.
If I had to kill the sorcerer again, I would, yet my demon lost that precious connection because of me. Why does he let me live?
I understand so much now. So, so much!
Exposing my soul, I lower every barrier. I reach out with every ounce of power I have. The notes of my vampire’s magic hums within me in soft, familiar music. It becomes a tune I can’t get out of my head.
It’s all so clear!
A great roar echoes in my ears. Deep inside, I feel this ancient vampire, I recognize his aura. We know him—so we take him, absorb hm.
He has so much power!
My demon and I have been empty for so long, we don’t stop to think, we feed.
I find myself singing a song of my own.
My vampire drops the broadsword and stands stock-still. Stunned, his gaze becomes heavy-lidded. His anger vanishes. The sweet scent of his surprise fills the air.
He’s gorgeous—simply gorgeous. Artists must have wept with joy to be allowed to paint his face. Broad shoulders, ripped, perfect body. Thick black hair, golden tan, long eyelashes outline his fathomless blue eyes.
Yet most desirable of all is the magic of his power.
Oh, his power!
My demon and I e
at his power, drink his power, roll and swim and soak in his power. So much magic! So much energy!
With such an intense connection, moments from his past wash over me. As though looking through a window into another world, I catch glimpses of my vampire. I see him as a seven-year-old child training to be a soldier in Sparta—he had to be strong. Tough enough to endure and survive.
Something terrible happened to his brother—it seems the dead boy was his brother after all.
Ah, they were identical twins.
The memory fades before I have time to make sense of it. Buried deeply, it’s too painful for him to view.
As I scan through his past, my vampire observes what I’m doing with cool detachment. He can’t stop me, but that isn’t why he remains untroubled.
To him it’s as though these things have happened to someone else.
Proud, arrogant and isolated, he’s separated himself from everyone and everything—including his own past. The Jugulo has been an assassin for centuries.
His heart is empty, his soul is cold.
He’s so incredibly lonely!
Why doesn’t he allow himself the joy of love or companionship? Doesn’t he think he deserves it? Or does he fear the inevitable loss?
When I view him in his youth once more, I’m blinded by the taste of the sun inside his soul. The truth behind him slams into me with shocking clarity.
Jesus H. Christ. My vampire was born a powerful empath!
Chapter 77. Fortress
What the fuck?
Sparagis is the least compassionate person I know! He’s like some sort of an anti-empath. How did this happen? Why did it happen? And what did it take for him to shut down his feelings to this degree?
Psychics are uncommon, but empaths are extremely rare.
I’ve met very few in my long life, each one was unique. There are those who sense emotion, while some can read superficial thoughts. One I met could read a person’s mind as long as they were physically touching them.
Many empaths cannot bear another’s pain—I call these healers as they make excellent nurses, psychologists, or physicians. Emotionally sensitive, healers often protect themselves through isolation. From what I’ve observed, empaths often end up in mental hospitals.