“This has been … educational.” She sounded steady enough, even to herself. Her fingers uncurled from the apple. It was the only thing she had left from Danny, but if she left it here, it would be safe. Nikolai would keep it until the dust drifted up over it. “But I’ve got a transport to catch.”
“Unsafe.” He stepped closer, and the heat from him told her he’d fed too. Cloned? Or from a willing thrall? Since this had all been a game anyway.
“They don’t usually drop paying customers into the sunlight, Nik.” It was just the right tone, she congratulated herself. Light, flippant and with enough distance between them to need a transport to cross it.
She half turned. He stood too close, and he was staring again. Yes, he had fed – and quite a lot, by the look of it. He was no longer filthy, the clothes were new: jeans and a black sweater, paper thin but still palpably expensive. She didn’t raise her eyes to his face, but the mottled bruising would be going down. His hands were still twisted into claws, but the fingers were crackling as they healed. The glaring wounds in his wrists were filling in, livid where the fresh blood was soaking through ageless tissues.
“Stay.” Peremptory command. That, at least, was the same. He was never one to simply ask if he could demand.
She made a little clicking sound, like a mother with an over-enthusiastic child. “I have a job to return to. Not to mention a life, Nikolai. Or unlife. Whatever.”
“Mercenary.” He made a restless movement, a simple flicker, and Selene almost flinched. “Must I pay you for your time?”
A few decades ago, it might have stung. Now, she laughed. “Why bother, when there are so many willing ones around?”
“You are not willing?” He said it like he didn’t believe it for a moment.
Of course, he could hear her heart hammering, a Nichtvren’s strong irresistible pulse faster than usual because every nerve in her body had tightened. The weakness was back, shortening her breath and turning her to liquid.
Well, if he could be hurtful, she could too. Or at least, she could try to hurt him. “When did that ever matter to you?”
“Always.” Another small movement, just a twitch before he restrained himself. “How could you think it would not?”
Because I remember how you forced me, nd how you didn’t care if I cried as long as you got what you wanted. Here I am, a Nichtvren, just like you wanted me. I even came to take part in this ridiculous little setpiece, whatever it is. “Goodbye, Nikolai.” A single step forwards, her hip dropping in case he moved, and she was past him. He was fever-warm, a self-repairing furnace. “Next time, I won’t answer.”
His hand closed around her bare upper arm, the prickle of his claws a delicate reminder. “Selene.” The dark tone that promised trouble.
A bolt of heat lightning crackled through her, each vein with its cargo of fresh cloned lighting up. She inhaled, sharply, the human habit of breathing too strong to break. There was that, of course – her response. A sexwitch’s response, to only one man instead of everyone. Was it any better?
“What could I offer you?” His breath touched her cheek. Leaning in, his warmth against the surface of silk and the suddenly more responsive canvas of her skin. “The city. Blood. Spectacle. More, if you want it. What will it take?”
Everything except the one thing I want. Selene froze, the gnawing in her belly easing for the first time in years. She had the chance now. She might as well use it. And perhaps, just perhaps, it would hurt him.
Selene turned her head, slowly, shower-damp hair sliding against her shoulders. He watched her from under his mask of bruising, dark eyes glittering. Like a hawk in a cage, perhaps.
Her fingers slid between his as she moved his bruising grip away from her arm. “Come here.” And she led him, step by step, to the bed.
It was a new thing, to push him down on to the dusty mattress and slide her hands under his sweater. Hard skin, muscle flickering under its stony surface, perfect and poreless. The shallow dish of his stomach, the angles of the ribs responded under her fingers. He submitted, his eyes half-lidding and his bruised mouth, flushed with his own feeding, opening just slightly.
He didn’t object when she slid her palms down his arms, the sweater’s texture alive under her own skin, and pulled his hands up. Spread his arms, as if he were on the cross again. Pushed them down. “Don’t move,” she whispered. “Your hands stay here.”
The slightest approximation of a nod – his chin dipping just a little, his mouth softening even more. There were swiftly healing wounds all over his torso; she wondered what Marya had done to him.
“Why her?” She leaned down, touched a particularly vivid bruise. His entire body tensed, but he didn’t move his arms.
“She was … Grigori’s, too. She betrayed me to him, the first time I sought to escape.” Nikolai swallowed, hard. “Selene …”
“Ah.” Selene kissed the bruise, a butterfly-stroke of lips. Her tongue dipped, tasting; she could smell the blood under the surface and her fangs tingled.
It was actually pleasant. The swimming feedback of sensation echoing between them, the curse now a drug in her veins, her fingers working at his jeans.
So many things change, but a pair of Levi’s is forever. She caught a laugh in the bottom of her throat; it turned into an inquisitive purr.
“I escaped Grigori.” Nikolai’s whisper touched the walls. “She did not. And she blamed me for it.”
“Mm.” She slid the zipper down, one small tooth at a time. “Lift up just a little … there. Good boy. I think that’ll do.” Huh. Were you hopeful, Nik? Because I seem to remember you used to like boxer briefs instead of commando. For a moment she wondered if a zipper would break if a Nichtvren male got something caught in it, and the laughter threatened to spill free.
“Selene—”
She decided to leave the jeans tangled around his knees. “Nikolai, unles I ask you a question, shut up.”
He did.
A tongue-touch, just a slight lap, like a kitten. Her tongue was rougher now, the barbs on the surface meant to help with the anticoagulant, meant to keep the blood flowing. Her fangs ached, sensitive razor points, and she toyed with the idea of distending her jaw and biting.
It would be a revenge, but not the type she wanted. So, instead, she set herself to learning him again.
He hadn’t changed, of course. Still frozen in the same narrow-hipped body, a slim line of dark sparse curls from his belly button down, the same long legs and broad shoulders. The glaring welts and jagged lightning shapes from cuts were flushed, but once she was close enough they weren’t ugly. They were simply different, a road map of suffering. She played with them while the trembling pushed through him, his arms stretched out and his body making little betraying movements when she hit a sensitive spot.
Was this what it was like, to control someone? Had it been like this for him? Except she’d been truly helpless, and he … was not.
Selene’s claws prickled. She ran them up the outside of his thigh, slowly scraping the skin. He actually shook, and a small sound escaped his throat.
Well, now. Wasn’t that interesting.
“Your blood in my veins,” she whispered. “My curse in yours. Is that what happens when you Turn a sexwitch, Nik? I didn’t get a chance to ask, before.”
“Yesssss—” The sibilant turned into a gasp as she moved, sliding snake-like up his body, her knees settling on either side of his hips. “It burns.” His throat moved as he swallowed again. “I don’t know how you stand it.”
“It was worse when I was human. And now it’s just … you.” Selene considered his face. Eyes closed, mouth slightly open as he breathed in short gasps, the charcoal fans of his eyelashes lying obediently in their proper arc, his hair still damp from washing away the filth of confinement and torture. “It’s not every man who wanders along,” she whispered against his lips, sipping his breath.
Then she slid herself down, exquisitely slowly, and closed him in her flesh.
&nbs
p; Still the same. There was nothing like the first thrust, her body closing itself against the invasion and yet accepting at the same moment. Nikolai’s back arched slightly, but he stayed where she’d placed him.
Selene settled into a slow, rocking rhythm. The blood was burning through her, but it was the warm, slowly rising aura of sex, like oil against her skin, that would feed her now.
Nikolai was actually sweating. It took hard effort to make a Nichtvren perspire; Selene’s mouth turned up in a smile and she closed her eyes, her fangs touching her lower lip. His hands blurred up, but her reflexes were just a fraction faster and she caught his wrists, slamming them back down on the bed. Dust rose, and the change of angle made her gasp. His hips tilted up, Selene gasped again. Still-healing bones ground in his wrists as she squeezed, and Nikolai stiffened.
White fire raced through her veins as he bowed upwards, his spine arching and a low throaty sound escaping. The bed shook, flesh and Power both quaking, and Selene rode the tide through, energy spilling through her skin as the curse, for the first time since she’d left, fed itself to completion.
It settled into a warm glow. Bones crackled, shifting, and new strength spilled through her entire body. She shuddered, half-wishing he’d been able to hold off for longer. But almost a century was a long time, and she had the notion that perhaps he hadn’t been using sex to feed for a while.
And her own completion didn’t matter. This was about power, and about him.
“There.” She opened her eyes, silk sliding as she moved. “You can say you’re welcome.”
“Don’t leave.” This time the rumble of Power was more definite, and the entire room resounded like the inside of a bell.
Selene sighed. She levered herself aside carefully, the skirt falling down with a whisper. She held his wrists until the last possible moment. It must have hurt, but they were whole and healed now. The rush of Power had restored him to himself, and eased her own hurts. “That’s the trouble with you. You’re too old. You don’t learn a goddamn thing.”
He had nothing to say to that. Selene slid off the bed, the silk draping soft and slick around her, and decided to look for some more reasonable clothes.
The transport hove into sight like a gigantic grey bird, the whine of hover tech settling into Selene’s back teeth. Her fangs itched a little, responding to the vibrations. The rain flashed, little jewels sparkling through street-lamp shine, and the wet breeze touched her tangled hair.
She’d found jeans and a T-shirt, and a jacket. The medallion was warm under her shirt, and she had thought of leaving it somewhere … but, this way, it couldn’t be used to lure her back. The glass apple, perhaps, but that was a different story.
There was another job waiting as soon as she stepped on to the dock in Freetown New Prague. It was a good place to work, especially since the paranormals were driving all the human mercs out. On the other hand, it meant nothing was as easy.
She suspected she didn’t want an easy job for a while. Something complex would keep her occupied enough to forget.
Her entire body glowed, her skin fluorescing a little under her clothes. The feeling, she suspected, wouldn’t last long. The wanting would settle back into her lower belly, and she would endure it.
Nikolai stepped up to the yellow line beside her. She’d chosen the most shadowed part of the dock, watching the endless flow of humanity as they filtered past.
Christos, couldn’t you leave it alone? She spoke first, to forestall him. “You don’t need to see me off.”
“I am not willing to see you off.” Quiet, but with an edge. “I have waited, and waited. If you will not stay, I have no choice but to follow.”
Well. “Does it ever occur to you to just ask?”
He was silent for a few heartbeats, digesting this. “Would it matter if I did?”
“It would.”
“If I asked you to stay, Selene …”
How can you be so old and still not understand? “I would say no, I have a job I’m contracted for. But after that, if you sent me a letter asking me to come back, I would. If you asked me to stay, I think I could manage it.” There. That’s as far as I’m going.
Another long pause. He was strung tight, a sharp hurtful readiness. “Is that all that is necessary?”
“Probably not. You’re a petty dictator.” She idly calculated the best angle of escape, wondering if she could move quickly enough to escape him.
“Do you ever grow tired of bringing me to my knees?” Lower now, and rough.
Now there’s an idea. “Do you ever get tired of ordering me around?”
“You will come?” A pause. “If I ask?”
Hallelujah. We’ve penetrated one of the thickest skulls on earth. “Yes. If you ask. Not command, or demand, or manipulate. You’re going to have to learn this skill. It’s going to take you some time.”
He obviously didn’t think much of the idea. “Selene. Please.”
She stepped out into the rain. Soft chill little pinpricks touched her cheeks, her chin. “You know what to do, Nikolai.”
“Selene …” As if he’d run out of air. Finally, she’d reached him.
“Don’t make me wait too long.” She strode through the rain as the transport’s upper doors opened. Another good thing about being Nichtvren – she didn’t have to wait for boarding.
He was silent behind her. But the words came, laid softly in her brain like a gift, the blood-bond between them pulsing once, silently.
I will ask.
“Good,” she whispered.
And kept walking.
About the Author
Sonia Florens is a British writer and translator who lives in London. She is active in the SF, fantasy and erotica fields. She was responsible for the bestselling Mammoth Book of Women’s Erotic Fantasies.
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Copyright
Constable & Robinson Ltd
55–56 Russell Square
London WC1B 4HP
www.constablerobinson.com
First published in the UK by Robinson, an imprint of Constable & Robinson, 2011
Copyright © Sonia Florens 2011 (unless otherwise indicated)
The copyright in the in
dividual stories shall rest in the contributors.
The right of Sonia Florens to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs & Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out or otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
A copy of the British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data is available from the British Library
ISBN: 978–1–84901–766–4
The Mammoth Book of Women’s Erotic Fantasies
Edited by Sonia Florens
UK ISBN: 978–1–84901–451–9
UK price: £7.99
US ISBN: 978–0–7624–4002–3
US price: $13.95
What do women really want?
A collection of over fifty intimate personal stories by ordinary women from all over Europe, North America and Australia. In these erotic accounts – sometimes light-hearted, occasionally shocking – women reveal their most sensual dreams and innermost desires. The result is a revelatory snapshot of the often mysterious nature of female sexual desire which smoulders beneath the mundanity of everyday life.
Erotic and illuminating, these are stories for open-minded, sensual readers.
The Mammoth Book of Paranormal Romance
Edited by Trisha Telep
UK ISBN: 978–1–84529–941–5
UK price: £7.99
US ISBN: 978–0–7624–3651–4
US price: $13.95
The Mammoth Book of Hot Romance Page 64