The Vampire's Doll (The Heiress and the Vampire Book 1)

by Jaclyn Dolamore

  “You scared her,” Dennis said.

  “You can have her, you monster,” Mr. Samaron said.

  Dennis opened his mouth, baring his fangs, which were very sharp from his hunger. She saw him make the briefest attempt to hold back, and then he bit Mr. Samaron’s neck. Mr. Samaron screamed and tried to pull away from Dennis' iron grip, but after another moment he relented as if mesmerized. His hands softened to a loose hold on Dennis' shoulders, almost a lover’s embrace, which was disturbing in a different way. It was one thing for Els to get off on Dennis biting her, because—well—that was still in character. But this showed the complete control Dennis had over his victims, because obviously Mr. Samaron hated him, but the fight drained out of him in seconds.

  For a moment, Parsons watched them, oblivious to everything else but the sight of Dennis draining the life out of the man who had threatened her. She could feel no sympathy. Only the rules of society and her status kept Mr. Samaraon from assaulting her, she was sure of that. It served him right.

  The crowd exploded into complete panic when they saw blood trickling down Mr. Samaron’s shirt. Some of them bolted while others edged back. Mr. Samaron’s hands slid down as he grew more limp, and Dennis had to prop him up. He seemed oblivious to the crowd and Parsons.

  A sorcerer in the crowd held out a hand and blasted a plume of fire at the wall above Dennis' head, apparently hoping that the flame would distract or frighten Dennis without burning Mr. Samaron.

  The shot finally snapped Parsons to her senses. For fate’s sake, you can’t let Dennis kill Mr. Samaron!

  She twisted the wand in her pocket and the silver bracelets flashed with magic, making that horrible crackling sound. Dennis screamed, but she kept twisting it to keep it up until he dropped the barely conscious body of Mr. Samaron. He opened his bloody fangs, sliding his tongue over his lips.

  Another bolt of flame shot toward him, and he darted out of the way, snapping to alertness.

  “Dennis, stop,” Parsons cried. “Look at me. We have to get out of here.”

  “I didn’t kill him, did I?”

  “Of course you didn’t kill him. But come on.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Dennis swept her into his arms once again and pulled her into the shadowed room, which contained some paint and drop cloths left over from building the theater. She saw this briefly before he shoved the door closed and threw a piece of furniture in front of it. A few people in the crowd were just behind them, including the sorcerer, with calls to “get him” and “punish him”.

  Once the door was shut, she couldn’t see a thing except—a thin outline of light against the opposite wall. There was a back door here, after all.

  “I can see in the dark,” he said, taking her hand.

  “Oh, of course you can.”

  He shoved open the back door and they emerged into fresh night air. Behind the theater and the other buildings on the street was an alley a little wider than a vehicle. Down either side of the alley, some distance away, more crowds pushed their way down the street. He put her down, his eyes locked on lumber and steel bars, more construction leftovers. He jammed one of the steel bars through the handles of the back door and then wedged the lumber against it for good measure. “Just in case,” he said.

  “What do we do?” Parsons asked.

  Dennis ran a hand over his face. “I still smell the blood. I need to get away from these people.”

  Parsons was wary of the crowds. “Where do we go?”

  He took a step forward, clutching his head and then reached his hand back to take hers. He squeezed her fingers so tightly it was painful.

  “Dennis—?”

  He yanked her hand and pushed her up against the wall.

  She made a sound of surprise and tried to shove him back. When this had no effect, she scratched his cheek.

  He pulled away.

  “What are you doing?” she gasped.

  He kissed her again, and at first she fought him a little, not wanting to taste Mr. Samaron’s blood, but it was hard to ignore how aggressive his tongue was, and she realized he didn’t taste bad. No…not at all. He tasted the same as before, rich and—delicious—there were no words for the taste of him. She stopped fighting him, but then he released her.

  “It’s the bloodlust,” he said. “When I smell blood I become a creature of impulse. If I can’t have what I need…I want something.”

  “Oh.” For a minute she thought she ought to protest. Then she stood on her tiptoes and pulled on his necktie until her lips were against hers again, but pulled back again as a wave of screaming came from the direction of the street.

  Dennis looked up at the buildings surrounding them. “No fire escapes,” he said. “But I think I could climb the gutter. It would be good to see what’s going on.”

  “Climb the gutter?”

  “Care to join me?” He motioned that she could climb onto his back.

  She smirked. “I don’t know if I like going places Velsa has already been.”

  “Come on.” He bent his knees a little to come down to her height.

  She put her arms around his neck and then, more nervously, hitched up her skirt and wrapped her legs around his hips. How undignified.

  She had no time to second guess herself. He immediately shot over to the gutter and climbed up, easily gripping the metal pipe and pulling himself up one hand at a time, his feet finding purchase on the bricks. Now she understood how he had climbed that sheer rock face.

  He grabbed the roof of the theater and pulled himself up onto it. It was flat and they were protected from view by a ledge that ran all the way around. She was able to slide down and set her shoes on the surface without worry of slipping.

  They crossed the roof to the other side and had a perfect view of the streets. The crowd of protestors had swelled to perhaps a thousand people. Then again, maybe some of them were here to break it up. People were fighting with each other. Guards on horseback had arrived to protect and escort the theatergoers, recognizable even by the light of street lamps by their glittering outfits and fancy hats.

  “We should be safe up here for now,” Parsons said.

  He nodded, sitting on the ledge that surrounded the roof—facing the next roof, not the street. She walked up to him, and he pulled her to stand between his knees.

  “Parsons,” he said, his tone guarded. “Is it true that Calban gave you the key to a house for us?”

  She nodded. “He did. But…it doesn’t matter. I want you to leave and be safe.”

  “God, Parsons, how can you ask me to leave you behind? I can’t do it.”

  “We’ve already been over this. I can’t ask you to stay any more than you ask me to leave. Have you considered why Calban would want us to be together? It’s because he knows that if you love me, you will never leave. He’ll be able to force you to do anything he wants, because if you don’t, he can threaten our relationship.”

  “I’m not going to America,” he said. “I’m going to the forest. And I’ll wait for you.”

  Her jaw trembled. “Dennis…please. You say this now, but…”

  He stroked her hair and before she knew it, she was kissing him again. He was a little more gentle now, his hands on her waist and between her shoulders, and she took another step into his embrace. His thighs closed to hug her legs, holding her there against him. “My storybook creature,” he said.

  “I told you not to call me a creature,” she said, but he had said it so fondly this time.

  He glanced down. “I am a human. You have to forgive me sometimes. You are a storybook girl, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.” His eyes narrowed. “Does this make me a skarnwen now?”

  She laughed. “No, I think you are the opposite of that.”

  In the darkness, she noticed the sheen of his eyes and his lips, and she thought she would never get enough of the taste of him. He read the invitation in her eyes and pulled her closer, so close she could feel his pelvis against hers, his leg muscl
es tensing around the top of her thighs. She shivered at how hard and strong his skin felt against her softness.

  His right hand moved to her back, holding her close as he kissed her again. His left hand traveled into her hair, lightly scratching along her scalp. All of these sensations at once, the force of his tongue, the gentle touch of his nails, and the firm hand drawing her ever closer, seemed to build on each other, like the trickling mountain streams that met and formed a river.

  “No one’s ever touched me like this,” she gasped, and then she wondered if she should reveal things like that. It just came out, almost as a plea.

  He stopped. “Parsons…I hate how badly I want you.”

  “I want you, too.”

  “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “You’re not hurting me.” She spread a hand on his chest, feeling emboldened by their privacy and the moonlight.

  “But I could.”

  “You really can’t. I know you’re strong and you lose control…” She paused, feeling a little speechless with excitement at the idea of his power against her skin. But maybe she was getting caught up in the moment. “Well, I don’t think you can hurt me, anyway.”

  “I don’t really know what you’re all about,” he said, and she knew he wasn’t referring to her mind this time.

  She felt so warm, unexpectedly warm. Could he feel that? Or was it in her mind? His skin was colder than hers, actually. This could have been an unpleasant union—two people who should have been dead, but had lived on in different ways. But it wasn’t unpleasant at all. His cold skin was actually comforting to her. She didn’t feel guilty for not being organic.

  He unfastened a button at the neck of her dress.

  She stiffened and moved a hand to cover his. She had stopped noticing the crowds below them, but now they were roaring in her ears again, and she didn’t feel private enough.

  “I didn’t…just mean I could hurt you physically,” he said, lowering the hand again. “I don’t know if I should be the first man to touch you, if I have to say goodbye. You deserve someone who can stay by your side.”

  “That’s why I want you to touch me,” she said. “I want to feel all of you. In case I never see you again. Dennis, I don’t know if I’ll ever care about anyone else.”

  He scoffed. “You’re young.”

  “Well, so are you. But do you feel like you’ll find this connection with anyone else? It’s like we were meant for each other.”

  “No,” he said. “I don’t. But I’m used to being alone.”

  “So am I.”

  They really were alone together now, and shadowed. There was no evidence that anyone ever came up to the roof of the theater. She lowered both her hands. “Do you really want to see more of me?”

  “Darling, once a man changes his mind about something like that, well, I’d like to rip that whole row of buttons off your back.”

  She looked up at him through her upper lashes, giving him silent permission to do exactly that. She always had a needle and thread tucked in her shoe anyway, just in case she tore her skin.

  He unbuttoned each button carefully, but quickly, and pulled her sleeves off her arms. Then her bodice fell to bunch at her hips. She was starting to feel almost desperate for him to look at her, to know that his eyes wouldn’t change.

  Her whipped off his jacket and threw it on top of her dress and then he swept up her body and folded himself over her, against the stones of the roof. His eyes met hers with a brief, reassuring glance before he stroked her neck. He looked hungry, like he was dreaming of what it would be like to taste her.

  If only I could know what it was like for him to bite me…

  His hand moved to her shoulder. The strap of her chemise started to fall, and he helped it along.

  She said nothing. She felt so reckless. She had no words for a moment like this; she was waiting in a mixture of terror and joy for him to see her.

  His fingers crept to the edge of her underclothes and he peeled them down to reveal her breasts.

  “You’re beautiful,” he said, and he couldn’t quite hide the hint of surprise. Like he hadn’t expected to find breasts at all, despite that she obviously had a shape. “I can’t believe I didn’t see it sooner.”

  “I’m glad you didn’t,” she said. “I’ve spent my whole life feeling so withdrawn and protective of myself. I know when you look at me, it means something.”

  He briefly pulled away from her, reaching in the pocket of her dress to take the silver wand from her pocket. “Keep that.”

  “Why?”

  “So you can stop me if I hurt you.”

  “I don’t think I want to stop you.” She arched closer to him, plucking open the top buttons of his shirt. “I want you,” she said. “I’ve wanted you as soon as I saw you chained to the wall.”

  “Hmmm. That was the moment, huh?”

  She nodded. “I had a dream about you…”

  “What happened in that dream?” He sounded intrigued.

  “You grabbed me. And touched me. You were a little rough. And you said I was yours.”

  He kissed her again, as her hands kept moving down his shirt buttons. Her eyes were shut, her mouth overwhelmed by his kisses. Her free hand blindly pawed at that strip of hair on his solid abdomen, where it disappeared behind his waistband. She tugged on that waistband slightly and then unfastened the button.

  Still kissing her, he tore her chemise off her legs. The night air brushed her naked body, except where his skin covered her. She felt more giddy than naughty, even as his hand stroked her from hip to waist and then dropped down…

  His fingers slipped to her folds, sending a jolt of intense pleasure through her and making her gasp and scrape her fingers down his stomach.

  “Well, that answers my last awkward question,” he said.

  “You didn’t know for sure what I was capable of, did you?”

  “I didn’t know if you’d feel the things a human woman feels, but…you do. Oh, yes, you do.”

  His fingers went farther, awakening things inside her that had barely been stirred until she laid eyes on him. It was like she hardly knew who she was anymore, feeling a Dennis' rough fingers inside her. She gripped his shirt, rumpling the fabric with her nails before shoving it off his shoulders.

  He grunted with involuntary impatience, pulling her into an embrace. “I want to take you now,” he said. “And I want to take you hard.”

  She could hardly find the words to respond. She couldn't stop looking at his eyes. He had gone from avoiding her to meeting her eyes like he could touch her very soul. Her whole body was quivering with anticipation. She didn't even care if he hurt her.

  “Parsons—say something.”

  “Oh. Yes. I mean, yes. Please.”

  His manhood thrust into her in one deep stroke.

  “Fates,” she screeched, not quite as romantically as she had hoped. Nothing had really prepared her for that feeling of being full of him. He was holding her so tightly and so easily, like she weighed nothing at all, and she could barely wriggle around the rod of flesh piercing her from the inside.

  He groaned involuntarily, a sound of deep satisfaction, his pelvis dipping and lifting against her once, stroking her even deeper before he forced himself to still.

  “Is this better than hunting a deer?” she gasped.

  “God, yes. But…I hurt you.”

  “No,” she said. “You surprised me. But don’t stop.” She really wasn’t sure what was making her more aroused, maybe more than the feel of him—which still seemed a very foreign sensation—it was the look in his eyes.

  Of course, she supposed, this was how vampires were…

  But then, if he just wanted to screw everything in sight, he would’ve flirted with Lu and Els. No, she was the only one he gave his attentions to.

  He had immediately resumed his deep thrusts, and she was so helpless against them, so small against his strength, all the fluid muscles of his body pulsing and pinning her down, and th
is was all her unbidden fantasies sprung to life. She ran her hands along his arms and his back, marveling at how so much grace and power could be hidden inside him.

  She realized she was starting to pant a little and her body seemed to be adjusting to him. He was starting to stir some deeply satisfied feeling inside her, but at the same time she was hungrier for his touch than ever.

  “Dennis…”

  “I want to kiss you so badly…but I don’t want to bite you,” he said. He was going faster. She understood for the first time why people used a word like ‘fucked’ in a positive way. No gentler word would do. She was definitely getting fucked, and the idea made her toes curl. Els would be proud, but at the same time she didn’t really want to tell Els. This is between him and me.

  “How are you getting so warm?” he murmured.

  “Magic?”

  “Yes…my magical little darling.”

  She bit her lip. His hand pushed against the mound of her breast and it reminded her of the dream. And then he picked up her whole body, as if she weighed nothing. He was cradling her, easily shifting her position in subtle ways to get at her deeper. She lifted her legs up around his hips, trying to help his leverage.

  He shuddered, grunting, his hips twitching, pumping into her with sudden slick wetness, clutching her. Is it over this fast? She knew something about how sex worked, although admittedly it was more about how Daramons worked.

  He sighed contentedly and dropped back down to the ledge, his weight sinking heavily on her chest. He was still inside her, but he no longer felt so rigid and urgent. She put a hand on his back and he propped himself up to look at her. “Parsons…I apologize for that. The only woman I’ve ever really had sex with is Eliza. She was another vampire so I didn’t have to think about whether we were evenly matched. But I also didn’t love her. I was so—overwhelmed by you.”

  “You don’t have to apologize.”

  “Your first time should be much better than a hungry vampire rutting you on a rooftop.”