Bite Me: A Vampire Anthology

by Cain, Addison

  “Take what you need.”

  I dropped him. I backed away. I ran the back of my hand over my blood red lips.

  And I could not meet his eye for the shame.

  That was nothing to the utter dread that surged into my breast a moment later.

  “Daughter.” A living nightmare whispered into the room behind me. “How good it is to see you.”

  Chapter 8

  It had been five months since my Father had approached me in his Cathedral. Five months in which I’d grown complacent.

  Five months since I felt raw fear the way I felt it when his dulcet voice drifted over my ears.

  Scrubbing my mouth of all traces of blood, as if that might make any difference, I’d made sure to straighten my dress before turning to curtsey and cast my eyes to the floor. “Father.”

  Robed, he still dressed as if ruling the ancient Persian empire from which he’d hailed, vivid, gem-encrusted red scraped over the floor. He came nearer.

  “My king. Senator Rothschild has proposed a marriage between your daughter and his nephew. He seeks to keep your favor as he abandons your policies. Jade argued with the boy this afternoon, sent him to his mistress.” Just like that the only report of note I had to deliver was stolen, Malcom taking the credit and leaving me to look petulant, weak, and most importantly, disobedient.

  For I had not made note of the situation the previous evening, too busy scrubbing off the stink of garbage and cum. Then I had played at bed sport with the human who’d failed to seed my womb for years. Unable to resist the scratch of filthy fingers picking though my thoughts, I wobbled on my feet, regained balance, and tried my best not to resist King Darius’ mental probe.

  “It’s unbecoming, daughter.” I heard it. I felt it. I knew my daddy’s words in every last cell.

  My attachment to Ethan; the feelings of comradery. He and I, both servants to great houses. Trying to paint myself as if it was us against an unjust world. My righteous anger that he’d claimed to love a replaceable blonde.

  “How many times must we have this discussion? Did you learn nothing from your time with Gerard?” As if loving, as if he wasn’t seeking to make me squirm for his own amusement, my father chided, “Did that old corpse leave his wife for you? Did he love you back?”

  “No.” Yes. Yes he had. He’d loved me and he’d been sent off to die thanks to Malcom.

  And that was entirely the wrong thought to have in the presence of an all-seeing evil.

  The taste of King Darius’ displeasure soured the stolen blood in my belly. It turned my bones to mush. Even so, I looked up, certain my eyes were pleading for mercy I’d never know. “I wish to marry Ethan.”

  I wished to run away with him and hide where no shadows could ever touch me.

  “Hmmmm.” A warm sound that chilled my marrow. More beautiful than any ancient contracted to walk the halls of my father’s Cathedral, the king of my entire universe sighed. The unbearable weight of glowing red eyes left my body to settle on my guardian. “Tell me, Malcom. Has she been repeatedly disobedient?”

  My father’s favored guard did not hesitate. “She uses starvation as a means of rebellion, but in no other way has she dissatisfied.” Feet planted as if an entire temple was braced on his shoulders, Malcom was the perfect servant. “I suggest a mandatory feeding schedule and the instillation of rotated offerings placed in her building to attend her requirements.”

  A trough of unwilling and embarrassed immortals for me to nip at when I had a hankering.

  Already my cheeks heated from the mockery that would be made behind my back should my father agree.

  I’d rather starve, eat once a week, and look strong in the only way I could than be forced to snack nightly like my brethren did. This rebellion, as Malcom called it, was all I had to own my place here.

  I hadn’t seen him move, but next thing I knew, my father’s thumb and forefinger pinched my chin. “You don’t look enough like your mother to please me, girl. Keep that in mind when you let your thoughts run wild.”

  Because I looked just like him. Same high forehead, same lush mouth.

  The only thing I had of her was the blue of my eyes… when they didn’t go red.

  “I apologize.” For being born the way I was.

  Next I knew, my hands were taken, arms spread so my father might peruse my clothing. “I like this color. Next thing you know, black will no longer be the staple at court.”

  Black had not been in vogue for years, but my father had not sat his throne or paid attention to such trivialities for longer than that.

  My thoughts made him smirk.

  Pressing a fatherly kiss to my cheek, I heard my sentence for whatever list of failings he’d compiled. “Malcom, you’ve done well. Tonight she’s yours.”

  “Sir.” Said with perfect reverence.

  “Well, go ahead. She’s failed with everyone else. Enjoy your reward and give me a grandchild.”

  To protest in any other way than the hysterical quickening of my heart and shallow breaths was unthinkable. I hated Malcom more than I hated life itself, yet still I turned, bending over the nearest table to present.

  With my father as witness, my short skirt was lifted, lace thong pulled down my buttocks to stretch across my spread thighs. And then the blunt end of an extremely hard cock met the dry lips of my sex.

  Quickly working himself in, Malcom took my hips and began a slow, steady pace. All the while I stared at the wall, unblinking, even when my father’s red robes slipped from my door.

  The snap of the latch, two more thrusts, and Malcom ceased the rock of his hips. “Do you wish for me to stop?”

  Nodding my head, I was already sobbing before he drew completely out. Slipping down the table to the floor, too overwrought to be ashamed of such a display, I curled in on myself and cried harder than I had in years.

  I wept at the feet of a man I’d never forgive, and let him pet my hair because I lacked the strength to show him just how much I desired his death.

  Broken by something so commonplace as penetration, I was every bit the child Malcom endlessly accused me of being.

  Crouching so that his weight rested on the balls of his feet, he set his lips to my ear, whispering things I could not hear over the sound of my sobbing. Not a word made sense, and I could not shrink into myself further.

  But somewhere, somewhere between my gasps and choking, a single string of coherent, unlikely words broke their way through the gibberish muddling my thoughts. “This does not change how much I love you, my darling Jade.”

  To be continued…

  Thank you for reading Cathedral! Jade and Malcom’s story is far from over. Craving more? Read the twisted tale of sick love between King Darius and his Pearl in the prequel, CATACOMBS, now!

  About Addison Cain

  USA TODAY Bestselling Author and

  Amazon Top 25 Bestselling Author.

  Addison Cain is best known for her dark romances, smoldering Omegaverse, and twisted alien worlds. Her antiheroes are not always redeemable, her lead females stand fierce, and nothing is ever as it seems. Deep and sometimes heart wrenching, her books are not for the faint of heart. But they are just right for those who enjoy unapologetic bad boys, aggressive alphas, and a hint of violence in a kiss.

  FREE full-length novel by Addison Cain!

  Join Addison’s Facebook Reader Group!

  Sign up for Addison’s Exclusive Reader List.

  Also by Addison Cain

  Born to to Bound (FREE)

  Craving more? Omegaverse Dark Romance at its most gut-wrenching! Jealous, possessive, and willing to commit any sin to steal his mate, Shepherd is the antihero book boyfriend you’ve been waiting for.

  Branded Captive (FREE)

  Cruel, powerful, and wealthy, Caspian meets my desperate gaze and smiles. Because he grasps that no matter how I might bargain, my life now belongs to him. Lips brushing my ear, he offers me a fair exchange. He’ll release my wards from his service… if I take their place.<
br />
  Sigil

  Prefer your men doting, affectionate, and utterly possessive? The Irdesi Empire Series is smoldering page-turner sure to satisfy. He will have her. Even if he must crush empires. Even if he must harm her for her own good. Even if he must share her with his brothers. Sigil will be his.

  Crimson Seduction

  Zoe Blake

  Chapter 1

  Wallachia Kingdom, Fifteenth Century

  The spicy scent of myrrh grasped the air with a fist.

  Everything about her felt tense, as if her whole life were being forced, compressed, into one small moment. The pitiless pounding sounds of battle washed over the castle walls like waves, day after day after day.

  One after another… never ceasing.

  She had dreamed the sounds were truly water, slowly and relentlessly stripping away the thick stone walls, grain by grain.

  Mirella tossed aside her sable-lined wool blanket and stepped onto the thickly woven carpet, its heavy threads shielding her feet from the harsh icy floors. Reminding herself she was Mirella Szilágyi de Horogszeg, wife of Vlad Dracul, Voivode of Wallachia, she summoned her attendants.

  Poenari Castle was erected on a steep cliff of Mount Cetatea and surrounded by a deep canyon formed by the turbulent Arges River. It was a fortress; one her husband would defend with his life from any siege by the Ottoman infidels. It was her duty to keep up appearances for their subjects until his triumphant return.

  She chose a velvet and silk Burgundian gown with a high collar and wide sleeves. The garment was richly embroidered with a bold pomegranate pattern and lined with lynx. It was the height of European fashion befitting her status as a princess. She sat stoically as her attendant pulled her long hair taut and placed the extravagant hennin headdress over her braided locks. It was lavishly decorated with gold thread and pearls over a turned-back sable trim. Her attire was completed with a delicate veil which seemed to float about her as she moved. As the final touch, she placed a hammered gold chain from which hung a cross encrusted with pearls and rubies, a symbol of her deep orthodox faith, around her neck.

  Gripping the cross at her breast, she said a prayer to their Savior, asking for his blessing in vanquishing the barbaric infidels.

  * * *

  As she was sitting down to break her fast with a meal of blood sausage, calf’s head and dark bread, one of her husband’s palace guards disturbed her peace.

  “The infidels… they are here!”

  “Scourge! You lie. Your prince would never allow that to happen.”

  “By all that is holy, my princess, they are surrounding the castle.”

  Pushing him aside, she rushed to the east tower. In horror, she stared at the mass of bright war banners and heard the ungodly sound of drums. The Turks. They were besieging the castle. This couldn’t be happening. Her husband was the Dracul, son of the dragon. He was protector of God’s word and holy ways. How could God be allowing this to happen?

  “My princess.”

  Mirella turned to see a quaking subservient peasant kneeling at her feet. “Speak!” she commanded abruptly.

  The servant quivered, and with head still bowed, he handed her a torn piece of parchment.

  Our Master is dead.

  The Turkish soldiers on horseback raised their sabers into the air letting out a cry of victory. She could see rows of oxen straining under the weight of the massive bronze bombards. Soon hundred-pound balls of stone would be hammering at the castle walls.

  It would not withstand.

  With Vlad dead, there was little hope his soldiers would continue to defend the castle.

  Mirella grasped the cross at her neck. She thought of all the hours upon her knees in devotion to God it represented. Clutching it in her fist, she could feel the sharp edges cut into her flesh. Tearing at the chain, she flung the cross to the ground and stomped on it.

  This was God’s fault.

  How could a just god allow such infidels to breach their Christian walls? To allow a godless people to declare victory over his own devout subjects?

  She knew what her future held as a prize of war. She would be taken to the heart of the Ottoman Empire. Stripped bare of her robes and wealth. Raped and reviled. Tortured till she prayed for death.

  She would not give them the satisfaction.

  This was God’s fault.

  I curse you, she thought.

  I curse you in the heavens above me.

  Would that I dash my body upon these stones then allow the fate you have deemed for one who has only lived to serve you.

  You have taken my love, my master from me. I have no god.

  Mirella stepped onto the parapet.

  “Hear me, Turks. Your victory will be a hollow one,” she screamed into the wind. “Damn your souls.”

  She stared down at the rocky precipice to the river below. The turbulent waters crested white with froth as the current raced by, heedless of the trials of man.

  “I have no god,” she rasped. “Would that my soul reject the lure of heaven to wander restless upon this earth than ever to set eyes upon his grace.”

  Throwing her arms wide, Mirella closed her eyes.

  And jumped.

  Chapter 2

  The waters closed in fast about her small frame. As her velvet robes became drenched, the weight of the fabric pulled her deeper and deeper into its dark depths.

  Mirella could feel the cold thicken her blood as her final breath left her body.

  Once more she repeated her vow.

  Would that my soul reject the lure of heaven to wander restless upon this earth than ever to set eyes upon his grace.

  Before darkness consumed her.

  * * *

  Her eyes opened.

  All was still and dark.

  Her body floated under water. She could see the turbulent waters above her, but around her was stillness.

  She lived though she did not breathe.

  Kicking her legs, she broke through the surface. Her mouth opened though no gasp of breath broke free. No clawing need to fill her lungs. All about her was icy waters. She felt the cold but was not chilled.

  Moving her arms, she reached the jagged shore. As she extended an arm forward to grasp the rocks, she could see her nails had grown into long, razor-sharp claws so fierce they easily pierced the stone. Hand over hand, she clawed her way out of the water and over the sharp rocks to rest on a small patch of earth.

  The ancient forest was so thick with evergreen boughs she could not see the sun or moon. Mirella had no notion if it were night or day.

  She could hear the creatures in the forest shuffling through the dry leaves but could not hear the drums of the Turks.

  Was the battle over so soon?

  Her only thought was to get back to the castle to perhaps gaze on the corpse of her beloved one more time.

  * * *

  Removing her heavy ornate robes of gold thread, she was left only in her cream silk kirtle. Picking up the voluminous skirting, she stepped barefoot onto the path which would lead to the castle.

  Nearing the village outskirts, she could hear suffering moans on the wind. She hoped it was the death throes of her enemies.

  As the thick foliage of the forest gave way to open fields of golden grain, she saw a macabre forest made of spikes and human beings.

  Thousands of men, women and children were impaled on thick wooden spears driven deep into the ground.

  Mirella inhaled. The scent of decaying flesh smelled sweet and tantalizing.

  Walking slowly through the forest of death, she ignored cries for mercy and water. All she could do was smile.

  Her husband. Her beloved. Must still be alive.

  Only one man was powerful enough to exact such a devastating punishment on so many people. Vlad Dracul, Voivode of Wallachia.

  She could see his skill and cruelty. How the thick stakes pierced the body through the anus and followed the bones of the back, avoiding the necessary humors of the body, for to pierce an or
gan would mean quick death for the dogs. Vlad always wanted his enemies to suffer. To linger in agony as the wood ripped through their flesh and slowly drained them of blood.

  He did this for her.

  In his grief, he showed his own anger with God by impaling thousands in her honor.

  The sweet scent of blood and decay called to her.

  Mirella approached a man who had been impaled upside down. His limp pathetic body twitched as his bulging eyes shifted relentlessly from right to left as if in search of a redemption which would never come.

  His mouth was slack. A pool of fresh blood had collected behind his teeth, like a sacrificial offering cup.

  A communion.

  Pressing her delicate hands on the dying man’s shoulders, she ignored his groan of pain as she lifted her mouth to his own.

  The tip of her tongue stretched between her lips to lap at the blood as a feline would a dish of milk.

  It tasted warm and sweet.

  Her whole body hummed in response. She began to drink from his mouth with enthusiasm. Looking down at her hand, her pale, translucent skin took on a pearlescent sheen as blue veins plumped with nourishment. She could feel warmth return to her cheeks.

  Excited, she began to run from one body to another, in search of those still clinging to the last vestiges of life. Mirella ran her tongue along the thigh of one man, licking the fresh blood off his flesh. She suckled the slashed teat of a woman, draining it of its milky blood.

  With every crimson drop, her body grew stronger, her mind sharper.

  When she came upon a boy in early manhood, still alive and struggling, Mirella soothed him with honeyed words as she lifted one clawed fingertip to caress his navel. Pressing her nail in deep, she pierced his flesh. Bright red blood dripped onto his pale, quivering belly.