“You should be dead,” she whispered.
“Should be, would be, could be; but still am not, more’s the pity.” He pulled her to her feet with her good arm and did not miss her sharp intake of breath. “Your two minutes is up,” he said with quiet derision, “but I find I’m feeling generous. If you can stab me with your bad arm and your little silver blade over there, we’ll call it quits.” He let her eyes follow his as they directed her to the fallen dagger, glinting forlornly in the soft moonlight with a freshly honed blade that would melt through flesh and bone.
When she hesitated, he reached for the knife himself, but his hellcat surprised him. Flipping her body over, she cradled the dagger in her good arm and spun it around to slice through the pale skin of his throat.
Again, she did not achieve the desired result. The blade merely scraped against the hard stone of his neck, and when she drew the edge back, she looked at the dulled surface in horror.
Grasping her fractured arm, he pulled her towards him and let her bitten-off scream warm the hollows of his mind. “You cheated,” he accused her, his grip on her arm tightening.
“You lied,” she reposted, wrenching herself painfully out of his grip. “There was no possibility of your death this evening, was there? You are far too old. Older, even, than they say you are.” Her expression was bleak and her face had taken on an unnatural pallor, but there were still twin shards of fire blazing from her violet eyes.
“I did not lie.” He sighed softly. “I had hoped that my body had not hardened into one of the Masters of my kind. It appears that you are too late, however, to put an end to my suffering. So, in order to entertain myself in the light of my new knowledge and misery, we shall begin to put a start to yours.” He paused, lost in thought for a moment, before his cold face took on a smile of sorts. “If I am to take on a bride as the first of my new children, it would be wise to start training her in the art of pleasing me, would it not?” His eyes were now dark voids of immeasurable power, and he directed them towards her. He painted an image in her head of what he wanted her to do to him and let her feel the insidious pull of his insurmountable will as it surrounded her like a shroud.
“No,” she whispered as his thought bloomed in her head like a blood-red rose, surrounded with thorny spikes. He projected a vision of perfect beauty polluted with the seeds of evil, for there she was, on her hands and knees, crawling towards him. There was no thought in her head except the desire to please him. Mud forced its way beneath her fingertips as her body ignited in flames of heady, potent arousal. Her breath ran short and her limbs quivered as she sought to reach the inverted V of his legs. She wanted him with all-consuming passion, and the emotion scared her. He had her hands running up the soft wool of his trouser legs, and she threw her head back, letting her red hair cascade in a curtain of soft waves as pleading words dripped wantonly from her lips. They were dirty words, hateful words, words of carnal sin, but it mattered not. Her whole body ached to see his naked flesh and feel her lips upon the most delicate part of him. Oh God, oh God, oh God.
Whimpering under the image he had planted in her mind, she tried to shake her head to get rid of it, but he had locked her whole body in a state of paralysis. Fear flooded her as his visualisation continued. Her hands continued their exploration, finding the hard, long length of his manhood, captured and restrained within several cloth boundaries, and her need to free him increased. She caressed him with her fingertips, gripped him softly in her hands, and ran her soft, wet tongue along his fly before letting the tips of her teeth nip lightly at the head of his covered cock. Her hot breath spilled over him, and he jumped and pulsed underneath her. The ache in her loins grew. She could feel moisture pooling between her legs and a gnawing hunger that could not be appeased with anything less than his domination of her body. Body, mind, and soul – everything hungered for his touch. No! Another whimper left her as she continued to fight his control and tried to think of anything bar the images he was propelling into her brain. A crucifixion cross, her mother’s face, the setting sun on an ocean of tranquillity; all of these images managed to flutter across her eyes before he pushed them roughly away and forced her to continue with his monstrous vision.
Her body now made its way up his, hands taking a gentle hold of his balls as she palpated them softly in her fingers. Her teeth found the shiny buckle of his belt, and her tongue lapped at the cold lines of steel before her teeth worked at the supple leather, anxiously trying to free it. Her hands encircled his waist before they impatiently pulled the dark fabric of both trousers and pants down his legs. As his cock sprang up to meet her, eager for the touch of her lips and tongue, she cared not that they were in a semi-public place, and she didn’t spare a thought for her embarrassment at the possibility of being caught. She simply speared her throat with the beautiful, hot essence of male hood and worshipped him with her lips and tongue, too impatient to continue any games of teasing. He suddenly released her from his vision, and her jaw opened in a silent O of shock.
“Perfect. Come over here, and I’ll put that hole to good use,” he said with dark amusement. Her mouth snapped closed, and she stared at him, dazed and confused at her body’s response.
“Shall I make you do that, right here, right now?” His voice was a seductive whisper on the breeze, and it entered a head that was in turmoil. She had to choke back the immediate answer of ‘yes,’ which wanted to burst from her lips before she managed to issue him with a, “Go to hell.” The energy she had to expend to get those three words past her lips took all of the fight out of her. He laughed, a soft, throaty chuckle that had her body clenching in desire.
“It appears I’m not going anywhere soon, but when I do, rest assured I’ll be taking you with me.” His attention turned back to the bright lights that glittered behind them. He decided he’d toy with her a bit, enabling his arousal to simmer gently before whisking her away to his abode, deep in the heart of the Dolomite Mountains. There would be no escape for the poor wench as soon as they entered his home. All mortals who entered either died or took the change, but not one life had ever managed to escape its confines.
“Let me go,” she whispered miserably, her arm in agony and her head a spinning vortex of shock and repulsion.
“Why on earth would I do that, when I have only my revenge to keep me warm at night? Speaking of revenge, I think I would like to dance, cherie.” He held his gloved hand out, his fingers turning slowly to beckon her forward. When she didn’t move, he simply commanded her body to obey, and she advanced into his awaiting arms helplessly.
“I can’t dance,” she hissed. “My shoulder is broken.”
“You will do anything I tell you to, and believe me when I say that your pain will be my pleasure.” He led her slowly back from the neatly manicured lawn and they re-entered the rich, warm glow of lights. She could not fight his control over her, hard though she tried. When he took her in hold to begin the fast Viennese waltz, pain shot through her humerus and brought tears to her eyes, but she could not utter a word in protest.
“You’re beginning to see what your life will be like, then?” He nestled her face in his neck and let her smell the spicy sandalwood of his aftershave. He played about a little with her hormone balance, and it wasn’t long before her lips were on his neck, tasting him in an almost drugged state of lust. She barely knew what she was doing, but she would remember it all when he released her from the sensual haze. He would make sure of it.
The dance continued. Their feet moved in perfect unison, their bodies sat perfectly aligned, and their timing was impeccable. It should be, because he’d had several years’ worth of practice. Taking his time and finding perverse pleasure in their closeness, he let himself examine the severity of her fracture. He immersed himself deep within her body and took a look at her shoulder, extending down the length of the arm so he could assess the damage. It took him barely two seconds. It had been a bad fall, that much at least was apparent. She had fractured the bone in several places
, and it was already beginning to swell. She would bruise badly, and there was the possibility that she would not retain complete use of the limb. He brought her out of his trance with these thoughts and allowed her the privilege of her voice.
“I feel faint and a little nauseous,” she whispered, closing her brilliant violet eyes, which looked all the more vivid against her newly pallid face.
“You will. It’s a nasty break. It needs medical attention.” He tipped a finger under her chin as they paraded around the ballroom, and two of his fingers reached for the pulse in her neck. “Your heart-beat is racing, my dear. Is it the pain of your injury or my presence, perhaps?” He drew a single finger down her injured arm and watched her face blanch in agony.
“Can you withstand it, Violetta? Or would you like me to take the nasty ache away?” He smiled an evil smile that left her in no doubt of his attentions.
“And what would be the price of such a good deed?” Her voice was breathless and thready, her pupils were dilated, and she felt horribly dizzy as the room spun by in a blur of motion.
“Your complete surrender, my dear. Your capitulation to my every whim and desire. Oh, and your soul, of course.” He let his lips graze both her eyelids before sweeping towards her mouth. Again, she tried to resist his lure, and again, she failed. Her mouth actively sought his, but he pulled his face away before they had a chance to connect. Her face crumpled in disappointment before she could mask the sentiment.
Giving her a playful wink, which quickly changed her expression to one of anger, he ignored it and bent down to purr in her ear, “Lack of control is infuriating, is it not?” He rubbed the pad of his thumb across her cheek in a gentle caress. “I need you to call your hounds off, cherie.” He glanced over at the motley crew of religious fanatics that had gathered at the entrance. Some were from the top tiers of society and others from near the bottom, but they all had one thing in common. They hungered for his blood. Before the night was over they would get their blood, but it wasn’t going to be his.
“No.” Her word of refusal was the gentlest of murmurs, audible to no-one bar him, but it seemed she had not given up the fight entirely. How wonderful. The girl had spirit, and he admired that. This was going to be a lot more fun than he had anticipated.
“No?” He let his eyes linger on her thoughtfully, admiring the delicious curve of her neck and the hammering of her pulse before deciding on the best mode of torture to imply. It didn’t take him long to come up with an answer. “Well, if you’re going to be awkward, darling, and make me do my own my dirty work, perhaps we can make a start on your education. It will be infinitely dirtier, I assure you,” and he smiled darkly as their feet ate up the floor of the ballroom, easily outshining all the other couples who were currently strutting around like proud peacocks, anxious for attention but not co-ordinating their moves as they should.
The bright colours swirled all around in delicious hues of lavender, indigo, peach, crimson, teal, aquamarine, and cerise. Some of the dresses the patrons wore were full and flounced, exactly as they would have been at the advent of the masked ball, but others were deliciously daring, exposing thighs, backs, and breasts, and it was clear that the echelons of Venetian society had gathered in full force and were sparing no expense for the event. Swirling sequins dazzled, gold jewellery glittered, and the beautiful Italian teardrop chandeliers spun their lights gracefully on the revellers below. Masked, enigmatic patrons were everywhere. Full face masks covered some of the guests and others, similar to hers, hid little more than the eyes. The room was full of secrets, and none as great as the one she had discovered.
Violetta had no time to dwell on the fact. She had been whisked far away from the sparkle and glare of the masked ball and into a cold stone room. Her feet were naked. Absurdly, that was the first thing she noticed. As her eyes began running up the length of the rest of her, she discovered she was pretty much naked all over bar the addition of a silky smooth, cream negligee, and that could hardly be classed as clothing. She wore no panties underneath the flimsy garment, and for some reason that made her feel even more naked. Positioned before a large king-sized four poster bed, trimmed with rich, velvet crimson drapes, she felt cool air prickle at her skin.
A large hand snaked out from behind her and circled the delicate flesh of her neck. “Cold, cherie? I should think that could be easily remedied.” His lips pressed themselves to the vein in her neck, and she began throbbing with impossible need. Somehow, her body exploded with arousal, coming to life as if struck by ten thousand volts of electricity. As his body pressed up against her back, she crackled and sizzled as if set alight.
“Do you like my room, Violetta, or is it merely my body that has your heart rate doing a tremulous tango?”
Ignoring the comment and the implications of his remark, she raised her eyes to examine the room in detail. Rugged stone walls encapsulated them, and whilst they should have given the room a cold, perhaps even dismal feel, candles had been employed in hundreds of tiny nooks and crannies to vent their delightful amber ambiance in beautiful, flickering waves across every available surface. Faded tapestries hung from the ceiling at regular intervals, softening the harsh lines of rock, each telling its own story. There was an oak armoire, a set of drawers, and a bedside table as furniture, but what captured her attention were the books that were liberally strewn around the room. The man had accumulated quite a collection. Some were of a venerable parentage, presented with thick, hardback covers and gold lettering. Others were from a considerably more modern era, with dog eared pages and creased spines to attest to their popularity. Last but not least, her gaze came to rest upon the bed which was the focal point of the room.
The four poster was of Jacobean origin, and the craftsmanship was exquisite. Intricate carving adorned its dark oak panels, and the red satin sheets stood out in perfect contrast, not a single wrinkle among them. Either the man was a perfectionist, or he had a cleaner. She suspected it was the former. As her eyes skimmed over the bedframe, a glint of steel caught her eye. It was a pair of handcuffs, one attached to the narrow dark oak post, the other open and available for use. There was also a reel of thick, black rope wound around the pole and when her gaze turned to investigate each in turn, they were similarly attired.
He drank in her thoughts and smiled to himself at both her fear and her lust. The first she would readily admit to, but the second would be a challenge that he would relish every second of.
“Yes. They would be for you,” he whispered and his teeth grazed her neck, to feed her fear and let his dominance be known.
“I shouldn’t think you’d need to tie me up,” she spat, pushing him away from her and landing clumsily on the bed. Stifling a sob as she began to take in her new predicament, she continued, “Can’t you just control me by thought alone?”
“Of course, but tying you up and watching your body struggle as I make it crave the sweet release that only I can bring it would be rather satisfying. I’d love to hear you beg, my name whimpered pleadingly on those sweet lips of yours.” He came up behind her and pulled her legs backward, pushing her knees to the floor and pressing her stomach into the shiny satin. Kicking her legs wide apart, he knelt down and positioned himself between them, holding her there in perfect stillness. He allowed her the luxury of breathing but little else as his hands roved over her erotic attire, feeling the gentle swell of her breasts and the sharp points of her nipples as they peaked beneath his touch. His hands smoothed themselves down her back, across the undersides of her arms, lingering at the pulse point in her wrist before they moved lower. He let himself caress the beautiful rounds of her ass, pushed up prettily for his attention, and felt his erection burst into life, pulsing and throbbing in his pants as he pushed his body into hers, letting her feel exactly what she did to him.
“I will never beg,” she managed to get out through gritted teeth. “I will never utter your name past my lips, and I will never crave anything which you might choose to inflict upon me.” The last s
entence roared through her lips, but he knew all too well that terror that had begun to spin its web around her vital organs; the ones which he now controlled.
“You will do all of that and more,” he said with a seductive murmur, curling his fingers around the edge of her revealing garment and sliding it upwards, feeling her try to fight him once more as he began to unwrap her body and reveal the most secret parts of her flesh. She could not raise a fingernail to stop him. “So sweet, so beautiful,” he crooned as his lips bent once more to her neck and his incisors elongated with hunger. Pressing the razor-sharp needles into her neck, making sure they did not puncture her skin, he let her witness his other appetite, the far more deadly and insatiable one.
“Don’t,” she whispered, but he ignored her plea and scraped his teeth along her neck. “Please don’t,” she whimpered, feeling him press down upon her vein.
“See? You’re already begging, and I’ve barely even started with you.” He chuckled and released his hold on her neck. Denying his body her sweet sustenance was harder than he thought, but there would plenty of time for that later. “You’re right; we’re jumping ahead of ourselves here. You’d require training first. Obedience training. Did you know that’s the hardest part of becoming a vampire? You are always required to be totally subservient to your Master.”
“Even though we choose our children with the utmost care, the complete submission required to become one of the undead will break one in three. Most go quietly mad; some seek revenge and try to kill their makers, and the rest? Well, they usually kill themselves or find someone else to do it for them, if they’re lucky enough. As you can see, I never was. He cupped his hand over her sex and let his fingers stroke her labia. A little, tormenting caress that would increase anticipation and expectation, not that she would ever admit it. “You will be trained to submit in every way imaginable, and I mean every way.”
Dancing With Death: Ensnared and Enraptured (Evading Death Book 1) Page 2