Dancing Dragon

by Nicola Claire

  I stealthily, as quietly as I could manage, pulled all my Light together, feeling Lutin's Light in the air around me and instinctively grasping that too. Hauling it all inside, moulding it to a weapon for me. My Light. His Light. A blindingly beautiful Light that was beyond anything I had accumulated or fashioned before. The Fey Light responded to me as easily as my own, as if it was simply another part of what I am. It combined with my Nosferatin Light and became so much more. More power. More magnificent. More lethal.

  I let it build until I was a blaze of Light within and unable to contain the glow anymore and then lashed it out, like a heat seeking missile, toward the fairy, before he saw the Light engulf my outer body, sending a blinding white cadence through the night.

  It hit him squarely in the chest. The storm stilled, the tornadoes disappeared, the electricity in the air hummed, contained, trapped, but charged and ready. I pushed against his shields, I shoved hard against his mind, I felt him rally his reserves, but I'd stolen his Light too, he didn't have enough to fight back with anymore. His Light was my Light and I was now in control, not him. It made me realise that maybe earlier he had needed my Light to help heal him, that it hadn't been a ploy after all. Perhaps there was a limit to the amount of Light he actually had in this world, but then did it matter? He could control the air, the sky, the weather. Who needed to rely on just Light, when you could rain down a cyclone on your enemies heads?

  I saw the look of disbelief on his face, the resultant anger and rage at my actions, followed swiftly by the resolve to seek revenge. Men. They all believed it their right to control, discipline and subjugate their women. Well, not me. Not this woman. I pack a punch. I bite back. I am descended from the same line as Nosferatu, I will not yield.

  I gave one final push of my Light towards him, with the express thought of sending him back to the motherfuckinghole he had crawled from and mentally slamming the door behind him on the way out.

  He shimmered and flickered for a moment, suspended in all of my own and his borrowed Light, and then twinkled out of sight with a resounding pop, leaving behind an acrid smell of ozone and, strangely, peaches. Weird.

  Michel thumped to the ground limply - but again breathing, raggedly - and conscious, the storm clouds swept away, the rain stopped, the lightning and thunder were no more and the four remaining vampires and I stood up warily and took in the night time sky, in all its darkened beauty, the hint of stars glowing through the ambient light of London.

  I wanted to run to Michel, I wanted to check that he was OK. I debated the wisdom of that move, considering everything that had happened before tonight and also everything that happened before Michel had pulled Lutin off my body this evening. Part of me was thrilled at the confrontation that would undoubtedly follow, part of me was shaking with fear, but the biggest part of me, wanted to claim what was mine and never let go.

  Michel's eyes were on me with an intensity that bore through to my soul and before I even took another breath I was in his arms. I don't know if he had come to me, or if I had gone to him, but it didn't matter, we were wrapped around each other and the world no longer existed at all.

  His hands were all over my body, his tongue was almost down the back of my throat and a plaintive whimper of need, desire, fear, anger, want, possession, heat, lust and love bubbled up out of my throat and was sucked away into him. He groaned against me, his vampires doing God knows what around us; protecting, securing, shielding, I didn't care. I was in heaven.

  And then we were moving through the streets, me in his arms, the lights of pubs and bars and restaurants flashing by in a blur, the sensation of more vampires surrounding us, blanketing us on all sides and then a door to a large imposing four or five storey house, a hallway, several flights of stairs, another door and then finally he threw me on a massive bed and climbed on top of my body.

  His hands made quick work of my jacket, followed by a simple rip of my T-Shirt and snap of my bra straps, then his mouth found my nipples and this tongue and teeth set to work. Only a moment and then he was on to somewhere else. My skirt disappeared, my tights gone, my boots removed and then his own clothes in a lightning speed I couldn't even register the individual movements. And then my legs were shoved apart by strong, firm hands and he thrust in one swift motion deep inside, impaling me right to my core, claiming me as his, wiping all evidence of what could have happened with Lutin from my body with his own.

  He didn't pause, he didn't go slow, this was an urgent claim, an animalistic possession, the right to my body undeniable and undefended by me. He was mine and I was his and I would let him mark me in whatever way he needed to dispel the images I could see tumbling through his mind as he approached me and Lutin in that lane. Images he was having difficulty banishing, but with every thrust, every pump, every fervent pound inside me, faster and faster and faster, they dulled, they muted, until his rhythm was unfathomable, his possession of my body complete and then he took my soul.

  His fangs pierced the skin at the side of my neck above my pulse smoothly, his pounding never faltering, the headboard banging against the wall, the springs of the bed groaning under our frantic movements, my screams and moans beneath his body amplified by the growl from the back of his throat and my blood pulled from so deep within I felt a part of my very soul flow down my veins, out past his fangs and into him.

  He moaned at the exact moment I felt a part of me leave and settle within him, he amped up the heat and fire he had made his piercing fangs become, bringing me higher as he continued to possess, pound inside me and make me his.

  Come for me, ma douce, I heard him whisper in my mind, so soft compared to his hard and fast grinding against me, so in contrast to his urgent movements and fervent desire to claim me as his own. Now, ma belle, call my name. Let me know it is me you desire, me you want, me who holds your heart.

  It wasn't hard to give him what he wanted, it wasn't hard at all. I opened my mind and let him see the honesty in my cries of release, in his name on my lips, in the waves of orgasm that washed over me, in the way my body milked his, bringing him to climax, drawing every drop from inside, taking every last bit of his soul that he offered and sealing it deep down inside of me.

  His shout as he thrust one last time inside me, rattled the walls and threatened to break any glass in the room and stole my breath away. So raw, so full of emotion, just for me. He cradled me in his arms, still on top of me, still inside me, for a long time after we had both come down from that impossible high, then finally his heartbeat settled and he rolled to the side, wrapping his body around mine, pulling me hard against him. The loss of him between my legs made me moan, but he sent me a thought in response, that left me in no doubt that he intended to be back there again several times before the sun rose that day.

  I accepted the promise in his thoughts and settled against my kindred, luxuriating in the feel of his hard body against mine, conscious that no other could fill my heart or complete my soul like he did.

  We lay still, tucked in to each other for a good few minutes, no words spoken, no thoughts shared. I wasn't shielding and I don't think he was either, but neither of us seemed to be seeking the other out, just relishing the feel of the other, the touch of flesh on flesh, the shared heat of our bodies. And then Michel groaned - a hungry and possessive, but also resigned sound - and rolled back on top of me entering me in one swift movement before I even realised what he had in mind.

  He moved slowly at first, just luxuriating in the feeling of having me wrapped so tightly around him, of being so deep inside me I think. His lips on my face, across my cheeks and down my jaw and then his tongue slipping in between my teeth, a sweep, a suck and then a bite, drawing blood from my bottom lip.

  “Ouch!” I complained against him, as his tongue came out to swipe at the blood pooling on my lip.

  “Be glad that is all I am doing to you, ma douce,” he replied, continuing his slow pace inside me, but it wasn't a real threat, it was more a tease, his mouth was curved as he said it, h
is eyes dancing a splendid combination of mauve and violet and indigo. But the thought of what more he could be doing to me, taking up residence in his mind.

  He nuzzled my neck, and then bit above my pulse, again, drawing a small amount of blood, before sealing the wound and moving around to the other side and repeating the action. Each time his fangs entered my flesh a searing pain spread through me to be replaced immediately with a warm glow and a toe curling flutter in my stomach, making me arch off the bed and rub back against him as he thrust slowly in and then back out, again and again. He continued his little routine for a moment, bite, suck, seal, then the other side of my neck, bite, suck, seal, then back again, over and over again, until all I could feel was one sharp stab of pain, followed by unbelievable lust and ecstasy, then repeated again and again.

  He was driving me mad, making me crazy, he'd drink my blood until I bordered on an orgasm, then deny me it with the sharp sting of fangs, followed again by the unfulfilled rise to orgasm. He was relentless, all the while continuing to slowly roll his hips against me, thrust deep, then pull back to his tip, then deep again, then out, then back.

  “Michel,” I pleaded after the twentieth time through this cruel cycle. “Please.” I think I might have whimpered or sobbed at that point, I don't know. I was so on edge, so needy, so wound up, it would have taken a split second for him to bring it all to an end, but he had refused. Punishment? Perhaps. I didn't care right then. Hell, nothing existed but his glorious body above me, his rock hard erection inside me and my fervent need for release.

  “Have you learned your lesson, ma douce?” he asked, his voice rough and husky and barely in control. Ha!

  “What lesson?” I gritted, shifting beneath him to try to steal what I needed to end this once and for all. He denied me, yet again, just kept biting, sucking, seducing, denying, then on to the next repeat cycle of torment.

  “You are mine.”

  Oh, still on that bandwagon then? I toyed with the idea of denying him an answer, I even allowed myself the moment of envisioning my win, his capitulation, but then he amped up the desire and lust with the next bite, let it go a fraction longer until I felt myself about to tip, then slammed the door shut with the sting of his fangs somewhere else.

  I whimpered against him, thumped him on the chest in protest, but didn't release my legs around his waist.

  “Well, ma douce?” he purred into my neck, before biting again.

  You're a bastard, I threw the thought at him and fought back a sob of unmet hunger and need. “Yes,” I whispered, a little in defeat.

  “Yes, what ma belle?” he crooned against me. “Don't be shy, you can say it.”

  I couldn't fight it any longer, the need was overpowering, it possessed me, like he possessed me, my entire body, heart, soul and mind. Nothing else mattered, but getting release; lust meet fulfilment, desire meet ecstasy, heat meet elation, passion meet gratification. I had to have it now.

  What were a few words any way? Just words.

  “I am yours.” But as soon as I said them, my Light thrummed around us, as though it had a mind of its own.

  My Light has worked alone in the past, without any help from me, or control either. It has, on occasion, taken over and simply whispered in my mind, It's OK, I've got it, you've done well, but now let me take it from here. This time it didn't whisper those words in my head, but others. Yes. Home. Mine. Right. I shuddered beneath Michel, not just from the quickened pace and the approaching orgasm he was allowing me, but from the finality of those words, my Light, telling me, instructing me, branding me.

  If Michel heard them, he didn't show any signs, but he must have believed my spoken words because within seconds we were both coming and shouting and panting, holding each other tight while wave after wave washed through us, melding us together and sealing our desire.

  Michel kissed me softly, then rolled off, gently pushing me onto my stomach, raising my hips and thrusting back inside again. Bloody hell. He had meant it when he threw the thought to me that he would be between my legs several times before the sun rose again.

  I was quite sure images of Lutin and me had vanished from his mind, they had certainly been washed from mine, but he didn't stop taking me, any which way he could, until the shutters whirred down, announcing the approach of dawn and more than five hours had passed.

  Five glorious, soul rending, heart thumping, mind numbing, body fatiguing hours, all of which felt like five minutes and none of which I ever wanted to end.

  Finally, as the sound of early morning traffic started to permeate the shutters, he pulled my back against his chest, wrapped his body around mine, spooning me and kissed my shoulder. He'd taken a fair bit of my blood through the night, not large feedings, but purposely paced and timed sips, that along with the welcomed ache of my body in all the right places, had left me exhausted and drained, in more than just the one way. Sated. Complete. Home.

  “Sleep, ma douce. I will watch over you. Forever.”

  And I believed him. Just like I wanted him to believe me, when I hazily threw my thoughts back at him before sleep's sweet music lulled me under its exquisite blanket of warmth.

  And I'll love you. Forever.

  Chapter 20

  The Parlour and The Plucker

  “Are you sure?” Michel's voice wafted out of a downstairs room, filling the darkened stairwell I was creeping down.

  The house he had brought me to was a bit oppressive, to say the least. With all the windows still shuttered, it had that unnatural glow to it that most vampire residences had, but unlike the spacious, modern interiors Michel favoured back in New Zealand, this one was cramped and small. The ceiling seemed too low, the hallway too narrow and the wallpaper and skirting boards, all heavily ornate and dark in colour.

  There was no airy finesse, it was all doom and gloom and so not what I was used to seeing Michel surrounded by. However, I conceded - taking in an oil painting on the wall depicting a battle scene on a windswept moor - very stereotypical vampire. Dark, spooky and a little foreboding. I wouldn't have been surprised to find coffins in the cellar.

  I had taken a brief look around the third and second floors before I followed the natural pull towards my kindred downstairs, all the rooms had been fairly similar to the one Michel and I had spent those last few hours of the night and most of the day ensconced in. Large four poster beds, heavy velvet curtains, free standing darkly polished wooden wardrobes and ornate dressers and chaise longue. A little bit too much drama for my liking and it made me wonder what I would find when I made it to Michel.

  He was obviously in the lounge or sitting room, it was at what would have to be the front of the building. I could hear the crackle of a fire, the clinking of glasses and several low, gruff male voices. I allowed myself to sink into that black nothingness and seek out those on the other side of the door with my kindred.

  I can't sense humans, nor shifters and I am guessing the Fey don't come under my Sanguis Vitam Cupitor skills either, but the Nosferatu do. I could tell there were four vampires with Michel, all of varying degrees of Dark, but one in particular oozed blackness, a sticky sludge of treacle making my nose twitch and my fingers itch to hold a stake. I felt an awareness poke back at me as I let my senses wash over the room. It left me feeling cold and a shiver shot down my spine in response. I rolled my shoulders to still the feeling and lifted my hand to the doorknob.

  “If it is Amicus, he appeared out of nowhere, master. No trail can be found.” A voice I didn't recognise answered Michel and made me stop in my tracks, hand half raised to the door, head shaking from side to side.

  Amicus was the vampire that had turned Michel, over five hundred years ago. A hired assassin to the French militia, he used the cover of hit-man to find a good source of food. He had been hired to assassinate Michel, who by that stage had become a force to be reckoned with inside the New French Army, much to the horror of the aristocratic officers who ran the military for the King. However, Michel had become King Charles' trust
ed confidant by being successful in battle and held the assassin off. Only to be hunted down by Amicus the next day and turned, as a potentially powerful tool to add to his own arsenal.

  Amicus had not realised how determined Michel was to seek revenge on those who had signed his own death warrant and successfully carried out a warrant on his family's heads. Michel had told me this story some time ago, an insight into the man he had been before he had turned Nosferatu and the vampire he became directly after. I knew, from what he had told me, that Amicus was powerful and cruel, but he had been no match for Michel, who had surpassed his Sanguis Vitam level within 50 years of turning and then took his master's life.

  How many Amicus's could there be? And if this was Michel's sire they were talking about, then how had he survived the final death Michel was sure he had carried out all those centuries ago? I suddenly had a very bad feeling about why Michel was here in London, why the Champion had tasked him with a job that had to be completed before he returned to New Zealand. The Iunctio thought Amicus was alive and did not like it one little bit. Michel had told me how evil Amicus had been, but as he had insisted he had brought his master the final death, I had not bothered to push just how evil a vampire Amicus was indeed. I wondered whether that knowledge would be useful right now.

  I resettled my hand on the doorknob and was about to push the thing open when another, darker, deeper voice added, “You should be aware, gentleman, we have an audience.”

  I sighed, I wasn't eaves dropping - really! - and pushed the door open nonplussed, walking into the room.

  It was just as ornately furnished as the rest of the house, overstuffed armchairs and sofas, tasselled lamp shades and garishly embossed wallpaper adorning the walls, all in rich, dark colours. But the huge fireplace along one wall gave a welcoming glow, casting a warm golden light about the room, lifting those dark colours, filling the shadowed corners and brightening up what would have otherwise been an extremely creepy front room.