VAMPIRE: COLLECTION - TWO HOT & PASSIONATE Vampire Short Stories to Tickle You Numb! (MMF, Menage, Threesome, BDSM, Vampire Romance)

by Celia Styles

  His finger swept up to wipe the tear from her face as he smiled at her. “I know dear. That is the way it should be. You do belong at his side. I am fortunate to have been able to play a part in your adventure.”

  He stood and she watched him walk from the room. Her head rose again when she heard the door open and then shut. Looking up she saw Damon walk her way. He wore nothing but his tux pants as he made his way to the bed. He unbuttoned his pants and she watched as they fell to the floor. He slid under the sheet in his boxers and gathered her close.

  “I have to hear you say it for it to work honey.”

  She took a deep breath and looked up at him. “What does it mean if we become mates? I mean, what do we have to do?”

  “First I will turn you, and then when you wake, we will feed each other while we make love. When this happens, no other can take you from me. The only way to break our bond is if one of us dies. For a vampire, the only way is the removal of our heart or decapitation.”

  “So crosses, garlic… none of the tales are true?”

  “No my dear, they aren’t.” He laughed at her as he kissed her cheek.

  “Ok. Damon I chose you. Turn me and make me yours.”

  “Ok but the next day is not going to be easy for you.” She nodded her understanding and moved her hair to the side for him. Damon slowly licked the spot between her shoulder and neck before biting into the flesh. She tasted of sweet rapture. His mind picked up her thoughts and he knew that for her, this would feel like an orgasm building. When her body went lax he kept going until she was almost completely drained and her heart beat was faint. Biting into his own wrist he fed her from his vein and then waited the next 24 hours.

  Angela felt a burning in her body. She awoke and looked around. Damon was beside her and she looked around the room. Everything seemed to be in more detail. More vivid pictures and colors came to sight and she smelled meat cooking down in the kitchen. She heard voices, tons of voices coming from all around. She looked at Damon wide eyed and then she felt something in her mouth. Her mouth suddenly seemed too full. Reaching into her mouth she felt her teeth with the tip of her finger and yelped in pain. Grazing the sharp point she brought back her finger to look at it. There was blood trickling from the tip. She went to take it back into her mouth but Damon was there and took her finger into his mouth to suck it gently. His eyes closed and she watched as his emotion of pure bliss traced across his face.

  “You are now one of us my dear.” he smiled at her showing two sharp points where his canines should be. She smiled as she slid against him. “Come, you must drink from me and then we will mate.” His eyes darkened at that sentence and she felt her heart thud against her chest.

  “Ok. I am quite thirsty. For more than one thing.” She smirked. “I hope you can help me with that.”

  He chuckled as he tackled her to the bed, baring his neck to her. “Oh I definitely can sweetheart. From this day forward you will need only me, and I will need only you.”

  “Good because I don’t share.” She said it with a pout and then pulled him down closer to her as she licked his neck.

  “Neither do I love.”

  PROWL

  In Need of a Vampire

  By Celia Styles

  "Lady Sybil. It is time again."

  I opened one eye slowly. It was hot in the room, a stuffy kind of heat that felt like it was going to choke everything despite the fact that the curtains, light white muslin sheets, were billowing in some imaginary breeze. I was lying on the chaise lounge, in the far corner, and the sun was on the other side of the house, but the light still made my eyes burn until Nicholas closed the French windows and an artificial twilight settled in the room.

  "Are you sure it's not early, Nicholas?" I asked. It seemed awfully bright outside. I threw off the sheet I'd been using as a blanket, smiling coyly at him. I was naked already, but he hadn't expected that and he gulped as he took off his shirt and knelt on the floor. "To the contrary, Lady Sybil. I am afraid I am a bit late."

  Even in this heat, the muscular body of Nicholas Wexler was covered in goose pimples, and I could see the bulge of his cock twitching beneath the tight jeans he wore. I smiled to myself. He couldn't help it. Humans rarely could. All the same, I was feeling rather weak. I glanced at the clock--he was right. He had been late.

  I put my hands on his shoulders and began to rub them. "How should I punish you for being late today?" I asked, whispering in his ear.

  "L-lady Sybil," he gasped. "P-please. I live only to serve you." The fear in his voice was genuine. Traditional punishments for dysfunctional thralls included cutting off an "unnecessary" finger, putting out an eye, bleeding them to the brink of death. I'd never done any of those to Nicholas, of course--I prefer my blood servants intact--but he had been whipped before, and severely, too, and as I traced the scars on his back with a finger his skin broke out in a cold sweat. l slipped my hand between his collar and his neck, and he gulped, but didn't move. I smiled approvingly.

  I pulled his head to one side and sank my fangs into his jugular, mouthing the wound to get every last drop of that precious blood, enjoying the salty-musky flavor of his skin. In that moment, I could feel his pain and fear, taste his relief, and see the stars he saw. We were connected in that moment--I knew him and he knew me, and even as I finished my meal, I could sense the renewed purpose in him and he folded downwards, touching his head to the floor. "Command me, Lady Sybil," he murmured.

  I stood up, feeling stronger by the minute. "Please me," I said, spreading my legs just far apart enough to admit his tongue. "Please me, and I might not whip you for your transgression."

  He began licking his way up my legs. I watched him, feeling myself go soft and wet as he worked his way up. As he lapped his way closer and closer, the little electric tingles from his tongue began to work their magic on my knees, and I felt myself sway as his lips touched mine. He eased me to the floor, constantly fluttering his tongue inside me like a butterfly. Pleasure came suddenly, a wave of euphoria that clenched every muscle in my body. The urgency to release it built up quickly, and he seemed to sense it because just as the pressure grew to be too much, just before the release came, he stopped and took a deep gasping breath and asked me, "Will my lady allow me to please her?" he asked, working his jeans off.

  "Yes," I groaned. "Take me, now."

  He worked his cock inside me, bit by bit. He was almost too big for me--the main reason I selected him--and the pain of taking him only magnified the intensity of the delight when his tip touched that spot, and the convulsion of fireworks it set off in my mind were almost too much for me. All of the pleasure that had been building up inside me released at once, and I rose, feeling like a phoenix on fire as the hot waves of passion shot through me. I screamed and then I found myself melting into a contented heap on top of him.

  "My lady," he whispered, before he nodded off.

  I stayed against him for a while, enjoying the warmth of his body and feeling invigorated. I dipped a finger into the come that was running down my thigh and tasted him, tasted myself. Salty-sweet-sour--the taste of animal lust and primal pleasures. It was why I was still sane, even after 150 years. I still enjoyed my body, my life--most of my kind went mad at around the age of 80, when their blood servants, companions for a lifetime by that time, died or took ill. I had been determined not to make that mistake. Hence, Nicholas for pleasure, and Reshi, my oldest and dearest friend, for company.

  I got up, still feeling a bit raw, savoring the ghost of his cock inside me for one more minute before I covered him with the sheet. It had been a good session, and I wouldn't whip him, but now there was business to attend to.

  ***

  I didn't like him from the moment I lay eyes on him: Charles Magliano, businessman, philanthropist, sportsman--and a shapeshifter. It's hard to explain, exactly, what it is about magical people that allows us to see one another and tell from a glance what they are, all the while mingling with clueless humans who have no idea how c
lose they are from becoming someone's feast. It'd been a while since I'd last seen one. They were supposedly dying out according to the latest news on the matter, but I still found it hard to have any sympathy for them--shapeshifters were a shifty, dishonest lot, the magical equivalent of gypsies, except worse, because while people only imagined that gypsies ate babies, shapeshifters in their animal guise actually could, and sometimes did. There was no real, formal battle between my kind and theirs--just a sort of understanding that if we killed each other, it was just how things were supposed to be. And I wanted very much to live.

  Nevertheless I put on a delighted smile and held my hand out for him to kiss. It was what you did at this soirees, and I was too well-known to make a scene. His eyes flashed at mine--he recognized me, too--two sky-blue flashes in his perfectly handsome face. "Sybil Kensington," said Christiana van Dreyden, our hostess.

  "Your contribution to the International Schooling Foundation this year was quite impressive," he said, as he took my hand and led me away. His voice was deep. He wore his dark hair short, cropped, but the way his lips curled gave him a feral feel, as if just underneath his carefully kept and civilized exterior lurked a dangerous and deadly beast. Shapeshifters can take on any form they want, but they usually have one preferred form one, and even as I wished I could break away from his firm grasp I wondered what his was. "I can only wish that I could afford to be so generous."

  "It's been a good year for me and the currency markets," I said.

  "No doubt. That is a lovely dress you are wearing."

  "Thank you."

  "Second only to you, without it."

  Despite my shock that he would be so bold and distasteful about it, I felt an unexpected flush creep into my cheeks. Nicholas pays you these kinds of compliments every day, and he's usually naked and on his knees when he does so, I reminded myself, forcing myself to imagine Nicholas before me, willing and eager. "The gentleman pays me a great compliment," I said archly. At that moment, thankfully, I saw Gemma Hayes and Francine Rawlins, and walked quickly over to them, crying out, "Darlings!"

  They were humans, the worst gossips--and there was no better way to get a man off your back than to introduce him. They would chat his ear off about what so-and-so wore, how gauche it was, what someone's nanny supposedly stole, what calls someone made--all of the horrible, mind-numbing, small and close minutiae that supposedly matters to people trying to cut it in this world. "This is Charles Magliano," I said, flashing him my most brilliant smile. "He's a business investor--I think they call him an angel investor? Is that right, Mr. Magliano?" I didn't wait for him to answer. "He's in town for a few weeks and I thought it would be so wonderful if you could introduce him to everybody."

  Usually men were filled with despair as they were led away by the chattering harpies, but the look he gave me as they insisted he meet the chairman of some board or other wasn't one of dismay, just a nod of shrewd admiration. I had the sinking feeling that getting rid of him was going to be a lot harder than I'd thought.

  ***

  Nicholas came to pick me up at the end of the evening. "Lady Sybil," he said, as he opened the door for me.

  "Thank you," I said. The collar of his shirt didn't quite manage to cover the gauze pad he'd placed over the wound in his neck. I would have to find a better arrangement.

  "Your pet?" Charles appeared behind me. He smiled and licked his lips--his tongue was obscenely long and pink, and against all my better judgment I once again found myself wondering what he was underneath that body of his.

  "I serve the lady," Nicholas said, bristling.

  "You do a wonderful job of it, I'm sure," Charles said, glibly. "But she would never go out to dinner with a thrall, now, would she?"

  This was getting dangerous. Nicholas looked as if he could murder Charles. It was one thing to be my thrall, it was another to be toyed with by an outsider, who wasn't part of our bond. "I serve the lady," Nicholas repeated, through gritted teeth, and he tugged up his sleeves, giving Charles the briefest glimpse of the knife he wore in his sleeve.

  "Nicholas, drive," I ordered, before things could disintegrate any more.

  Nicholas, fortunately, had been trained well, and though every fiber of his being was spoiling for a fight--I had to remind myself that he couldn't see Charles for what he was, he just thought Charles was a jerk--he got in and slammed the door. "I'm sorry, my lady," he said.

  "Don't be," I said. "I should have asked Reshi to pick me up. People don't understand what it means to be a thrall. I just never imagined he would have the nerve to follow me."

  "Yes, my lady," he murmured. "I thought only to defend you."

  "I know. And I love that you do."

  It was quiet for a while, just the purring of the car as we zipped through the streets of Manhattan. He eventually pulled into our parking garage, and opened the door for me to get out. "My lady," he said, as we got into the elevator. "May I ask you something?"

  "Yes."

  "Can you love me?"

  "Nicholas, you know I cannot answer that."

  He nodded. He was turned away, but I didn't have to be a vampire to know the bitter disappointment in his heart.

  ***

  Reshi and I were in my kitchen the next afternoon, drinking wine. Nicholas was at the gym, working out--he would be back later, in time for the evening feeding. I had a platter of smoked salmon and blini with caviar out for him. I stuck with the wine. "I am worried about the boy," he said.

  "Don't be," I said. "You were like that once, too, remember?"

  He smiled sadly, remembering the days when he had pleasured and served me. He was still lithe, a dapper 80-year-old man who probably could have continued to fuck until he was dead. But our relationship had deepened into a true friendship over the years, and five years ago I released him and got Nicholas. "I do, Sybil," he said. "And I also know that it's much harder for him than it ever was for me."

  "What do you want me to do, though? He's a thrall. For life--you still remember what that means, don't you?"

  "Sybil, please don't take this the wrong way, but I was never in love with you. Infatuated, yes. And I spoke the words it pleased you to hear, but I loved the game, not you."

  I rolled my eyes. "You humans and your love," I said. "Why do you make everything so complicated?"

  "It is, unfortunately, part of our condition. You'll have to get used to it, unless you want to enthrall a wizard."

  I snorted. "And nobody in their right minds would enthrall a wizard," we both said. Wizards were a varied bunch, and besides being extremely temperamental and partially insane, their powers varied greatly between them, so that while one might have the ability to control fire, another might be the kind of make a literal tempest in a teapot. "So what should I do about Nicholas?" I asked.

  "Release him."

  At that moment the bell rang. Reshi put his hand on my arm, telling me to stay here, he would get it. I watched him leave the kitchen, wondering if I'd made a mistake of letting him stay. I wasn't used to getting advice I didn't want, and the temerity of the suggestion that I release Nicholas from our bond was almost an insult. Didn't I take good care of him? Didn't I look out for all of his needs? He had a flashy car to drive--in Manhattan, no less--and we took trips around the world and had sex in positions that would put the Kama Sutra to shame. Wasn't that enough?

  "Sybil," Reshi said, coming back. He was leading Charles. "I'm sorry, he says he knows you and that you have a date?"

  "We have no such thing," I snarled. "He's a shapeshifter."

  "And you're not a thrall," Charles said, to Reshi. "So what are you doing here?"

  "Reshi is my friend," I said. "Believe it or not, I have them. Unlike you."

  "Maybe you could teach me how to have them," Charles said.

  I looked over at Reshi, seeing if he would help me out by dragging this guy outside and kicking his ass, but Reshi was already on his way out, sensing as he did that nothing good could come of a union between a vampire and a sh
apeshifter.

  "Someone who doesn’t get the hint doesn't sound like a promising student," I said.

  "So where is your pet?" Charles asked.

  "Leave, now," I said. "Or God help me, I'll find a wizard to put a hex on you against ever coming here again."

  "One dinner," he said. "Please. That's all I'm asking."

  For the first time since I saw him he was being sincere. There was something more to his urgency, something that went beyond the age-old rivalry of our kinds. I decided I could spare myself one tedious dinner if it meant that he would never come back. "One dinner," I said. "And only after I've fed."

  ***

  Reshi drove me this time, I didn't want Nicholas making a scene when he saw Charles again, so I loaned him to my friend Lisette for the night. "Her thrall has been taken ill," I told him, which was true enough. The poor man had had a stroke two weeks ago, and was still paralyzed on his right side. "And besides, it's been a long time since she's had anybody half as virile as you." If Nicholas objected, he was at least well-trained enough to submit gracefully.

  "I think it's a mistake," Reshi said, on our way to the restaurant. We were a bit early; our reservations were for 8:00 pm but I liked driving around New York at dusk, catching the last fleeting bits of sun as they kissed the tops of the skyscrapers. It was as close as I could get to being in that light, and I'd instructed Reshi to go the long way.

  "I'll just hear his case," I said. "If I don't do at least that much someone will start asking questions. And we absolutely can't have questions."

  "True," he agreed. "But I don't have to like it."

  The restaurant was the Fat Goose, a spin-off of London's Fat Duck. Like everything American, it was everything the original was, except bigger, more excessive. I saw Charles at the bar, waiting for me. He had a bottle of wine and two glasses, and as I walked closer he began to pour. Right away I realized that something was off--what he was pouring was blood.