Dancing With Death: Ensnared and Enraptured (Evading Death Book 1)

by C. P. Mandara

  ‘Sort him out, Vi, and make it snappy. You know how Eleanor hates these stuffy affairs. She’s been looking at her watch for the past half hour and snapping everybody’s head off.’

  Violetta knew the feeling. Wanting to grind her teeth painfully together, instead she formed a bright smile of farewell and gave Con a little wave as her feet began to move once again. Her hands itched to run themselves through Con’s fine, sandy hair as she often did in a manner of friendly affection, but she had no control of them today. Walking off into the distance, towards the soulless black of midnight, it felt bizarre to realise that she wasn’t in the least bit afraid. Even her emotions were under his command. It was a sombre, if not somewhat dismal thought. Did she have a hope in hell of getting out of this mess? Positive thinking, she berated herself. Where there was a will… there had better be a way, because she was far too young to die.

  The sounds of chatter faded away slowly as her feet searched for a secure landing place on the soft grass. The beautifully groomed gardens were the reason the ‘Green Castle’ or Castello Verde had acquired its name. In the daylight they were truly stunning and home to all manner of flora and fauna. At night, twinkling solar lights keep the pathways alive but the vibrant colours of the flowers were snuffed out. Petals hid, stamens cowered in their protective green casings and everything took on shades of grey and black. It could pretty much be the state of her own continued wretched existence, if Martinet were to be believed. Speaking of the vamp, where on earth was the guy? As her eyes scanned left and right, there was not even the merest flicker of movement that could be detected in the humid night air. There was barely a breeze, very little noise, and it left her feeling eerily… alone. Spinning around in a three hundred and sixty degree circle, she confirmed what she already knew. The place was deserted. Maybe he had decided to let her go after all? Maybe the beast had the tiniest twinge of conscience and… her thoughts broke off abruptly as a figure flew from the rooftops and landed behind her. Before she had recovered from the shock, an arm had flown round her neck in a tight arch and began constricting her airway.

  ‘Drop that pretty little glass vial you’ve got hidden away in your right hand on the floor, now.’

  That the voice and arm belonged to Martinet was not in question. He injected the words into her ear with such rancour that she wondered if he’d kill her there and then. A few seconds of terrorised silence passed. His grip tightened around her neck. Gurgling in protest, her hand stubbornly clutched the precious little bottle even more tightly because it might be the only lifeline she had left.

  ‘You’re a tenacious little chit, aren’t you?’ He growled as he shook her body forcibly. ‘Do you really want me to employ ‘other’ tactics?

  She burbled insensibly as he began to cut off her air supply but she didn’t drop her precious cargo. If he was going to kill her, then it would be better if it were sooner rather than later.

  ‘You surprise me, Miss…’ He let the sentence hang in mid-air and Violetta felt him give her a push to answer it. She held on to the words that threatened to erupt from her lips, even though it was a hard won battle.

  He frowned. ‘I’ll stamp that wilfulness out of your body, Violetta. Mark my words. All you are doing is waving a bright red banner saying ‘spank me’ in front of my face and the outcome for your arse, delectable though it may be, isn’t looking good.’ Sarcasm dripped off his tongue.

  While Violetta did not respond to his words, she did stop struggling. The intelligent part of her brain said that the action was worthless, for his strength more than quadrupled hers. Feeling her hands shake around the smooth glass vial and a bead of sweat drip down her neck, she wondered why he didn’t just pluck the offending item from her fingers and smash it against the wall. He was more than capable of such a feat.

  ‘Ah, but where would be the fun in that? It’s much more amusing to watch you do my dirty work for me and the more painful and unpalatable you find my ideas, the better.’ His arm softened around her neck, but she did not feel in the slightest bit relieved. ‘Last chance, Vi. Drop the bottle.’ Her spine stiffened at the use of her nickname, which had previously been reserved for friends, but her backbone did not waver. She would not drop her little present. He would have to take it from her. Smiling darkly at the thought, she imagined throwing the contents of the tiny tube all over his body and watching as his skin blistered and burned.

  ‘Oh, I think not, precious,’ he purred into her ear and with his free hand, he ran his fingers through the tempting, glossy red waves of her hair. Without warning his fist closed around a handful of her locks and yanked it tightly downwards. Her head flew back sharply and her eyes immediately connected with two bright blue orbs that had danger written all over them.

  ‘Your face looks so much better when it’s immersed in pain. Not quite so smug now, are we?’ His breath tickled her ear, as his hand purchased an even tighter grip on her hair. The ends that were buried into her scalp began protesting at the cruel treatment. ‘Drop it. Now.’

  Violetta’s head stung furiously as he forcibly tried to wrench several follicles out at once, but still she retained her tight grip on the bottle. ‘What’s to stop me from flicking the cork stopper out of this bottle and throwing the contents all over you?’ She asked the question in a saccharine-sweet voice, laced with irony. They both knew he would not take the bottle from her. It was far too risky.

  Sighing, Martinet released her hair and the impressive grip he had maintained around her neck, before walking backwards a couple of steps. She waited for something to happen, but the whole world had gone silent and the only thing she could hear was the sound of her strained breathing and a heartbeat that felt like it had just witnessed a murder. On the plus side, she guessed that he had released his hold on her. Turning around slowly, she watched his steely gaze bearing down upon her. Her internal organs began to liquefy.

  ‘Afraid, Violetta? What’s stopping you?’ He took another casual step back and lifted his arms in the air, as if urging her to do her worst. If that was the way he wanted to play things, so be it. Her thumb flicked at the cork stopper that held the precious water inside. Whilst there was probably only twenty centilitres of water held inside the small tube’s confines, it would be enough. With a little hiss, the cork popped free and there she was, holding her escape ticket, just a few scant inches away from her prey. All she needed to do was throw it. A quick flick of the wrist and her nightmare of an evening would be over. She would watch him writhe and roll around the floor in the throes of agony and not feel the slightest bit of remorse knowing that she had delivered his last steps upon the planet earth. He was a monster that needed to be stopped. She was a trained huntress. She had been primed for this moment for the last ten years of her life. It was time to put that training to good use. She thrust the contents of the vial at him.

  An excerpt from ‘Named and Shamed,’ also by C.P. Mandara

  GOOD EVENING

  The Mercedes coupé slunk silently through the evening traffic, sneaking in and out of lanes with stealth and speed. Like a bullet made of liquid silver, the six litre engine had eaten up several hundred miles of motorway with sublime ease and was now purring happily in the smog-filled heart of London. Comfortably stretched out in one of its grey, Nappa leather seats, the driver was in a world of his own. His knuckles were tightly clamped around the steering wheel and it was evident that the events of his day had been stressful. The bittersweet strains of Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata could be heard throughout the vehicle, but the dulcet tones did not manage to soothe its occupant.

  After forty minutes of queuing, the driver finally reached his destination, exited swiftly and tossed his keys to a waiting valet. In the heart of London, the city played its usual vibrant tune and the sounds of honking horns, noisy car stereos and cursing motorists could be heard. Usually, he barely even noticed them, but this evening they appeared to be amplified to unbearable proportions. His usual smile was absent and the state of agitation he found hims
elf in grew with each passing second. Walking purposefully towards the revolving doors of the sheet glass skyscraper that towered in front of him, the only sound that could be heard was the receptionist as she scraped back her chair and rose to greet him.

  ‘Good evening, Sir. I hope you had…’

  ‘Thank you, Lucinda.’ He shut the blonde down with those three clipped words and continued walking. Initially her eyes flared with shock, but recovering quickly, she looked carefully at the floor before re-seating herself. She didn’t quite manage to hide her disappointed expression. Although they had been intimate on several occasions, the blonde was not what he needed today. He required a brunette and not just any brunette. He wanted a trained accomplice for the deeds he had in mind. He would find one of those several metres up in the air.

  Pressing the button for the elevator he waited until a melodic ping announced its arrival. Immediately stepping inside, the doors closed swiftly behind him and he rode in contemplative silence until they opened their jaws on the twenty first and uppermost floor.

  ‘Good evening, Mr…’

  Another chair moved and another blonde shot up to try and greet him. ‘I want Marianna in my office, now,’ he barked.

  Unlike the female downstairs, Kerry had the benefit of at least three years of submissive training. His surly demeanour and sharp commands immediately primed her for action.

  ‘And tell her to bring me a cup of coffee and an aspirin.’

  He strode purposefully to a dark panelled door on his left, which bore his name plate in scripted gold lettering and pulled it open wide. He rifled through the papers on his desk and checked his messages. There was nothing that wouldn’t wait until tomorrow, which was good. This evening, he had plans and lots of them. No sooner had he sat himself down, than Marianna’s high heels could be heard marching efficiently down the corridor. Kerry had obviously relayed the news of his good humour. He almost smiled.

  The long-haired brunette entered gracefully, bearing a silver salver with a cup of black coffee, a tall glass of water and a blister pack of tablets. She laid it to rest on his giant, solid mahogany desk and gracefully fell to the floor beside it. On her knees, she kept her eyes downcast and tilted her head forward. Her arms were then neatly folded behind her back.

  So, this was the lovely Marianna. He vaguely remembered employing her. Unlike most of the girls in his office, she had been hired chiefly for her computer skills rather than any other purpose. Of course, the girl was a beauty, but then… they all were. Her long chestnut hair framed her face in delicate waves, she had a pair of sparkling green emerald eyes which could dazzle a lesser man and her lips were full and ripe for the taking, dressed only in a thin coat of clear gloss. They were currently posed in the most deliciously sensuous pout. For a couple of quiet minutes, he allowed himself the pleasure of admiring her tantalising form. The sheer white blouse that she wore accentuated her full breasts and he could see wisps of white lace beneath it. The knee length black skirt did nothing to cool his ardour because he was already imagining what it might be concealing. Most of his submissives knew that he preferred his women clean shaven and without the additional hindrance of underwear, but he would have to wait and see what delights this one would reveal. He suspected she’d toe the line. The penalties for misbehaviour in his office were often detrimental to the health of one’s backside… amongst other things.

  He had never used her. It was no secret that he had a preference for blondes and eighty per cent of the woman in his office conformed to this whim. The brunettes were there purely for decoration. They were often used by his colleagues or a visitor, but rarely, if ever, by him.

  It was clear that she was nervous by the faint ripple of movement which flowed through her body and so she should be. Women talked and the other ladies in his office had many tales to tell. Tonight, this beautiful creature was going to be used as he had used no-one else in his office before. He punched two chalky white tablets from their plastic coating and let his fingers rest upon the highball glass. There was a slight wobble in his hand as he reached for the water, and it annoyed him. He needed to calm down and he needed release. One would probably follow the other, although the order might need to be reversed. Swallowing the tablets, he began to envision how his evening would unfold.

  ‘Stand.’ The command was soft, but there was no disguising the edge to his voice. She obeyed instantly. ‘I want my coffee, Marianna.’ His voice was a growl and his eyes appeared almost evil in their obvious carnal intent.

  To her credit, Marianna didn’t miss a beat. She took hold of the platinum edged cup and proffered the beverage towards him.

  Finally, his mouth turned upwards at the corners. ‘That is not how I want to drink my coffee.’ The girl looked at him blankly and stood frozen in an obvious state of panic.

  He took pity on her. ‘Take a sip, but do not swallow. Remember those words. I’ll be using some of them again, later this evening.’ Finally, a smile left the contours of his lips. He waited for her to obey.

  Raising the cup, she took a tiny sip of the scalding brew and waited. He let her wait. She could cool the damn stuff down, as the girls always made it too hot. He watched as she struggled for a moment with the heat. He could see the slight downturn of her eyelids and the pinched set to her face. The beautiful emerald eyes changed briefly from their transparent crystal sheen to cloudy pools of discomfiture. His need to devour her grew.

  ‘Straddle me.’ He swung his chair out from under the confines of his desk and allowed her legs to position themselves over his. Inhaling the sweet scent of her perfume, which was spicy and enticing, he allowed his hands to brush lightly over her hips. She shuddered in response. His hands circled her tiny waist and caressed the soft flesh of her stomach through the thin material of her blouse. He couldn’t wait to unwrap every last morsel of satiny skin and have her laid bare before him, but there was no rush. He let his hands roam, stroking the soft orbs of her backside before running them down the coarse fabric of her tailored skirt. When the material ended, the smooth silkiness of her legs was a beautiful contrast. His hands began to roll her skirt upwards, inch by slow inch. His fingers walked a leisurely path up her naked inner thighs. Would she be wet? Did she want him? He would demand answers to both of his questions shortly.

  ‘Kiss me.’

  He watched as she bent down and angled her head. He waited. Plump, full lips pressed against his and he did little more than accept their gentle pressure. If she wanted to get rid of that coffee, she’d need to convince him to open up. If you were asked to play with the boss, you needed to know how to tango. It didn’t take her long to figure the game out. She tilted her head back, keeping the liquid safely inside her mouth and let her tongue trace a warm, wet path around his lips. She circled them from top to bottom with the softest of caresses. Oh, this one was good. Pulling her roughly onto his lap, he sealed his lips over hers and drank from his vessel.

  He took his time plundering her mouth. With slow swirls and long snakes of his tongue he revealed his intent and let the battle commence. Threading his fingers through her luxuriously thick curls, he deepened the kiss, and his mouth sucked the very air from her body. She tasted divine; mainly because she was drinking his coffee, but he could taste peppermint, too, and the combination when added to her sweet saliva was intoxicating. Reluctantly, he released her lips.

  ‘We’re going to play a little game, you and I,’ he murmured seductively.

  ‘You’re going to feed me every last drop of my coffee, using nothing more than these.’ To reiterate his point, he traced an outline of her damp lips with his index finger. Pausing for a second, deep in salacious thought, he took the opportunity to give her a dark look. ‘If you manage to complete my task without spilling a drop from these luscious ruby-reds, I will allow you the choice of foregoing the punishment I have planned for you, which will be three lashes from my belt.’ He watched how her eyelids fluttered downwards and knew she was studying the thick brown leather that encircled
his waist. He knew what she was thinking. ‘Yes, they will hurt.’ The delightful shudder of her body caused his cock to pulse and twitch. ‘Just remember that if you manage to accomplish your task, you have the power to avoid them, but you should also know that if you fail miserably the lashes will be doubled and you will beg for each and every one,’ he paused again and bent down to whisper in her ear, ‘and believe me when I tell you they will lacerate both body and mind.’ He tipped her chin back with his fingers to admire both the apprehension and lust that were reflected in her large, expressive eyes. She didn’t appear unduly concerned. Ah, so she thought this game was going to be easy. Was this one going to make a grave error and underestimate his tactics? The sexual tension in the room rippled upon an invisible thread and he could smell her arousal, which was pouring off her body with a pleasant and yet powerful aroma. It suffused his office in a matter of seconds and was far more potent than any aphrodisiac he had ever tasted.

  She took her time, giving her lips a sly lick as she was fully aware he had his eyes on them, but when she made to take the cup and saucer in her hand, he had the last laugh.

  ‘I distinctly remember saying you will feed me using nothing more than your lips, my dear. I believe those are your hands, are they not?’ The black look he gave her would have destroyed a lesser mortal.

  When the mesmerising eyes connected with hers, Marianna found that her breath was imprisoned in her throat, too scared to divulge its presence. The cup and saucer rattled dangerously in her hands, the coffee sloshed from side to side in the inadequate confines of its creamy-white porcelain container and her grip faltered. Spraying a moving arc of steaming brown liquid, the cup sailed through the air.

  DISASTER AVERTED

  He caught the cup neatly in one hand and by following the direction of the moving liquid, managed to contain the imminent disaster which threatened. A few drops of coffee sailed over the rim of the cup and sloshed around in the saucer. No matter, he’d make sure they were not wasted. Setting the cup back on his desk and returning his attention to the employee before him, he studied her expression. Marianna’s face was a picture: Edvard Munch’s ‘Scream’ to be exact. Her jaw was slack in horror, her eyes were so wide her eyelids had almost lost themselves in the back of her head and her hands flailed around madly. She began stammering.