Branded (An Otherworlders Series Novel Book 1)

by Lena Moore

  “Hello, my vampire.” She walked lazily around him with her manicured sharp nail drawing a circle around his body. “Too long. Did you forget our date?” The words left her mouth in gleeful intent.

  Draven wanted to reject her, but as much as he despised what she was and how she fucked her way into his life, he could actually use the distraction. And just maybe he could use that to his advantage.

  “I would say I’m happy to see you but that would be a lie. Did you miss me, demon?”

  She tutted, “Oh of course. I always look forward to our time again. Strip.”

  Draven was not subservient by any length. Unfortunately, a part of the contract he naively grazed over said that sometimes she would need to obtain nourishment from him. His blood was potent, laced with vigor and royalty. And although his blood wasn’t pure, tainted like it was with other supernatural properties, it was still one of the strongest lines left in this dimension. He wasn’t going to let her top tonight, no fucking way in hell. He chuckled softly at his joke, because she literally belonged in hell.

  “No. You can take what you need but tonight I’m in charge. If not, then fuck off now and approach me tomorrow.”

  She had the nerve to pout, like full on fucking duck lip pout. “What about the contr-.”

  “Fuck the contract,” he admonished.

  “You know there’s only one way to sever our ties and break the contract.”

  Her face kicked up at the sides because she knew he wasn’t going to do that, at least not tonight.

  Draven groaned and knew he’d regret what tumbled out of his mouth. “I will owe you one, but the deal expires tomorrow. Take it or leave it.”

  Melantha bit her lip. “Hmm it must be important if you are gambling with another romp in the sheets with yours truly. I accept.”

  She bit into the palm of her hand and quirked her eyebrows silently, summoning him to do the same. He bit into his palm and she clasped the pair together. The deal was bound by blood now, and it wasn’t wise to go back on a blood vow. Fuck.

  He wasn’t going to even shower. Melantha could have the left over cum that was still sticky in his pants. She didn’t deserve clean, and not just because she was the complete opposite.

  Draven wasn’t usually violent with women; however, this was not a woman. Melantha was a soul-destroying demon who fed on insecurities and pain. Tonight, it would be her pain that he would consume.

  He took a handful of her hair and dragged her behind him to his shameless lair, his fuck room. She loved it when he was rough with her. Melantha’s arousal permeated the air. It wasn’t the sexy musky scent that most women obtained, this was rancid. Pure carrion, just as she was.

  He threw her through the open door and pointed to the bracket accompanied by shackled cuffs. She swayed her hips toward them and looked under her heavy eyelashes at him.

  “Strip, and for fuck sakes try and keep this form!”

  She chuckled and removed her clothes. Small perky tits, abs of steel and a bare pussy. Draven wasn’t fooled by the appearance; he knew what she was down to the marrow.

  His dick was hard, not from arousal though. He was turned on because it was his time to deliver some pain, and he loathed himself for it. He pulled his shirt over his body and Melantha ogled him as she always did. She traced his tattooed arms to his chest then right down to his v-cut inked taut stomach with her eyes. Draven sauntered over toward her and attached the shackles to her wrists. Her forked tongue darted out, licking her red lips. Kneeling down, Draven fastened an adjustable spreader bar to each of her ankles and divided them as far as they would go. Melantha screamed out. When Draven peered up all he saw was lust soaked ambers drinking him up. He shook his head and stepped back to admire his handiwork.

  “So tell me, how desperate are you to taste me, demon?”

  “Oh please, Draven, don’t play games with me. I’ve submitted to your plea, so do your worst.”

  Draven flashed his canines at Melantha, and walked to the wall that held every possible whip imaginable. He needed to make her bleed and he needed to extract some of his darkness. He opted for the leather bullwhip. Single tail and ready to carve up her fallacy of skin.

  “Mmm, you are in a mood tonight, aren’t you vampire?”

  Draven didn’t answer. He circled around and flicked his whip, hard. He didn’t even work up to the painful lashes; he just dished them out. Blood flicked violently around the room. Her blood wasn’t the normal ruby color; it was the darkest midnight blue imaginable, almost black. It oozed from her skin like sludge. He gave her another ten lashes, arduous and fast before he finally stopped, panting ferociously. Melantha no longer stood tall; she sagged against the restraints. Draven picked up the violent electro wand and placed it on her clit.

  “I hope you’re ready, demon.”

  He shocked her. She bellowed out in pain as he shocked her again. Melantha’s body quaked and shivered. It still wasn’t enough, even with her bleeding and panting like she was.

  Draven ran the probe from her neck down over her nipples, electrocuting her with the lightest of touch before he nudged the tip inside her dripping demon pussy.

  She mewled, “Do it, fuck my cunt with it. I want you to. Bring your neck close so I can feed from you. Provide an incision, Draven,” she demanded panting.

  Tremors travelled down Draven’s body. He complied and grabbed a knife from the table and sliced a small cut into his neck. In one forceful thrust he pushed the probe deep into her canal. Melantha hollered out before latching onto his neck. He turned the knob so the electro shocks came out in bursts and not continuous. He hated when she fed from him. Draven closed his eyes and continued to fuck her with the probe, ignoring her whimpers and the way his skin crawled while she suckled at his neck.

  Long black wavy hair and the smell and taste of dark chocolate and whiskey lingered on his palate, like he’d just fed from the woman he saw in the quarter. Draven no longer felt Melantha’s forked tongue lapping at his neck. Instead, he envisioned skin like snow and hair the color of night wrapped around his hard body, with her teeth embedded into the crook of his neck, guzzling his blood like it was her life stock. If only he could see her face.

  Draven dropped the probe and Melantha groaned in protest. He reached down and pinched her clit hard before slapping it a few times. She was close to climax. Draven had wanted to hurt her so much more than he’d already done. Now, with the image of the woman in his mind, all he wanted was Melantha to finish feeding, cum and get the fuck out of his lair.

  “Change of plans,” Draven growled. “I’m pulling out of the blood vow for tomorrow. Take your fill now, demon. I’ll release you from your restraints and you have five minutes. No more.” He didn’t want to waste another night with this abomination when he could be out in the night searching for his ashen snowflake.

  “Someone has their knickers in a knot. Vampire, untie me now!”

  Draven rolled his eyes and snickered, “Domination is unbecoming of you, demon.”

  He removed the shackles and the spreader bar. Once free, she vaulted on top of him, knocking him to the ground. It was these moments that he abhorred himself completely, whoring himself out to this thing above him. She straddled him and dug her nails deep into his chest, repeatedly flaying his skin and opening him up. Melantha ground her pussy on his now flaccid cock, lowered her face to his chest and drank greedily from his upper body. Draven closed his eyes in an attempt to block out her slurping sounds and the pain she’d administered.

  He knew it wouldn’t take long for his wounds to mend. Silently he cursed and counted down the final minutes until her invasion was over. Usually she subjected him to a shit lot worse. Not tonight though, seeing he’d given her a time limit which he knew she wouldn’t refuse because she was desperate.

  Melantha cried out her orgasm and shuddered above him. Four fifty seven, four fifty eight, and then he threw her off him.

  “Leave, demon!” he ordered.

  “What? No aftercare or cud
dles?” she said then laughed. Red smoke formed and she was gone.

  Draven shook his head, he felt dirty as fuck. He took one look at the room, sighed and decided he’d clean it tomorrow. What he needed right now was a shower and a wank. It wasn’t due to Melantha’s onslaught. It was because he couldn’t get that mysterious woman’s scent out of his nostrils. It was like it was lodged so far into his nasal cavity that he would be sniffing her for the rest of his days, which he actually didn’t mind. Although, there would be no fucking skin on his hands or dick if her aroma percolated around him 24/7.

  Draven walked to the bathroom. Unlike the rest of his lair these walls were painted charcoal with a stained dark wood vanity. The shower was decorated in dim grey tiles and stainless steel. Behind his eyes, he visioned her ass swaying and it sent his cock hitting his zipper. Draven pulled his dick out and spat down, lubricating his shaft. The veins decorated his thick length beautifully as did the pearl drop of cum oozing from the slit in his knob.

  Her scent slapped him in the face, almost as if she was standing in front of him. So sweet, so sexy, and so overwhelming, it took his breath away. Her laugh trickled downward and gripped his balls. He felt them tighten, like her hand had squeezed the engorged sack. Draven hand-fucked himself violently. His strokes were unrestrained, uncontrolled, and unmeasured. He closed his eyes, sunk his teeth into his bottom lip, and inhaled. Bright violet eyes developed in his head; she was of vampire descendent, he was certain. That was enough to send him over the edge. Thick ribbons of cum hit the vanity and the dim grey floor tiles.

  Draven released the grip on his length. His dreadlocks fell forward forming a curtain around his strong features. He stared at his amethyst and ruby red eye in the mirror and wondered why on earth Goddess Kaltemis gifted him with the vision of the woman’s eyes. Who is this mysterious woman and what does she mean to me? Then the feeling of guilt and shame nestled in his core. It’d been so long since he’d called upon the Goddess or since she’d shown herself to him.

  Draven drew his lips together into a tight line and saw the pain and anger in his eyes. He blamed the dark Goddess Neferity for the absence of Kaltemis. His eyes moved away from the mirror and he studied his body art: the ones he had inked on at various tattoo parlors meshed with the ones Goddess Kaltemis had granted him. He intentionally overlooked the one Neferity had branded on him.

  It was difficult to explain to the uninformed, but the tattoos were called brandings because the Goddess had to have some influence over the recipient in order to leave her mark. Hence how Neferity had managed to stick her claws into him when he was at one of his weakest points in his life. Both Goddesses left different signature marks showing who had bestowed the ink on his body. Kaltemis’ brand was outlined in red where Nerferity’s was lined in black.

  Draven thought about the tattoo that occupied his whole back: his element, Earth.

  A tree of life decorated with double trunks was rooted into the ground. In the background was a blazing volcano with fire around it and off in the distance was water, all magically scribed into his skin. He still didn’t fully understand the tattoo. Something told him he was going to find out and real soon.

  He thought about the last time he’d called Kaltemis and how she’d said that his lack of faith would be his downfall. Well, now he was placing every ounce of trust out to the universe and to Kaltemis. What’s that saying? Good things come to those who wait. Draven worried his lip. Let’s see how long I can wait, Goddess, and hopefully you will come before the darkness does.

  Chapter Four

  ~ Draven ~

  Draven slept like the dead. It was eight in the morning when he reared his jaded body, stretched his lengthy form and looked at the ceiling. Draven knew he had some work to attend to, although he felt the aloofness and cloudy day even in his dark bunker. Call it cliché but it’s just something he could sense. The sun, the night, it was deep seated within his cranial cavity.

  Flinging the blanket aside, he scampered off the bed and padded naked across the sealed dark grey concrete floors. He felt his dong swinging from side to side and imagined the fucking thing needed its own postcode.

  He grabbed the laptop off its resting place, clutched it in his arm and walked back to the sleigh bed then sat down. He threw some pillows against the headboard behind him to make himself comfortable and opened the device.

  He flicked through his emails until he saw the one he required from Jadis Bradman, a client and his long-time best friend. Jadis was the witch who cloaked his house with magic, and she was the very reason no one could stroll down here and find him.

  She seemed to be a regular these days, with her thick mane of short electric blue hair atop her chocolate coloured skin. She had one of those haircuts like the singer P!nk but didn’t look anything like her.

  Jadis’s eyes were forest green, almost feline like. She was gorgeous. And she was a feisty little thing. Draven had had a thing with her for a little while, nothing serious, just sex. It wasn’t often that witches and vampires were friends let alone platonic, but they’d bonded over a similar traumatic experience. Both of them understood each other and the pain accompanied with losing someone close. Their little fling stopped through mutual agreement and now she was with a warlock by the name of Gwent. Draven didn’t think much of him.

  Jadis had approached Draven a couple of weeks ago. She’d been feeling depleted, drained even, and she hadn’t been doing anything out of the ordinary. She orchestrated a few small spells which revealed someone was siphoning her magic. It had to be someone close to her because the traitor seemed to know her routine. The problem was she knew a lot of people because she owned a small shop that sold herbs and such. To humans, it was just that, but beyond closed doors, she housed basically anything a witch or warlock wished to get their hands on.

  Draven thought he would start with the obvious choices: Jada, her sister, and the boyfriend, Gwent. Jada abhorred him, not that he gave her any reason. Gwent was a weasel but Draven didn’t think he had the drive to be a deceptive piece of shit. However, if there was anything he had learned in his 327 years on this earth, it was that he couldn’t really trust anyone. He browsed through a few images he’d snapped last week of Jada. She had her trademark scowl painted on her hazelnut skin and her short black hair was tousled like she’d just fucked her way out of the building. The establishment she was exiting was a small clothing shop, Carnelians Boutique. It was a front. Upstairs and around the back it was an exclusive membered strip club for anyone who had supernatural blood pumping through their veins. The club’s name was Midnight Mayhem. Draven thought it was a stupid name given the establishment operated around the clock. The club was along Toulouse Street, where seedy individuals frequented.

  Suddenly, Draven remembered his shameless fuck room needed to be cleaned. He got up and sanitised the fuck out of it before having a quick shower. Even after using all the chemicals, he could still smell that woman’s lingering scent as he threw on a pair of blue faded jeans, a tight black Killswitch Engage shirt and his black cap.

  His nostrils flared each and every time he thought about that damn mysterious woman and her scent. It was driving him to the brink of madness. Draven promised himself he would go out and hunt for her tonight, maybe even ask Jadis for a favour first. He ruminated: Hmm, I wonder if Jadis would be able to perform a location spell without any DNA. Draven would ask her later; for now, he was going to hightail it up to Carnelian’s Boutique and sniff around.

  The warm air of a cloudy and humid as fuck spring day in New Orleans smacked him when he exited his lair through an alleyway close to Bourbon St. Just like his space underneath the ground, it was cloaked by magic. No one could see the door leading into his little palace.

  Draven’s veins hadn’t stopped irritating him, they felt hot, heavy and like there were thousands of ants nipping within. It’d been several days since he began feeling this way. It had to be that woman, everything pointed back to her. But he couldn’t dwell on it now. He had t
o help Jadis.

  He strolled to Carnelian’s Boutique, sat across the road at a small café and ordered himself a black coffee. Dark and bitter just like him. As for food, he chose the sweet potato, salmon and dill potato cakes. Now he waited.

  He’d been sitting there for close to two hours and had ordered more coffee, which only made him jitterier than before. His leg bounced up and down like he’d just snorted a line of speed so he closed his eyes and centred himself. He smelled the spring air swirling with the pollen from the freshly bloomed flowers, and he heard the heartbeats from every soul around him, none tickled his fancy. And then the air shifted. He felt the clouds gather. His eyes popped wide and across the street stood Jada and Gwent. The. Fuck? he mused.

  Jada’s black hair was spiked up and she wore a short maroon dress that flared out at the bottom showcasing her dark legs. She was pretty, but he knew she was more of a bitch. Gwent, well, Draven thought he was nothing more than a fuckboy. He looked like he'd just rolled out of bed, leaving his blonde hair tousled like an overused mop. He was tall and scrawny and he’d attempted to dress himself up, but all that proved was he was trying too hard.

  Draven watched the exchange between the two of them; they seemed—cosy. Almost intimate.

  Jada laughed at something Gwent said, which prompted Draven to concentrate and listen in on their conversation.

  “Stop it, Gwent! We’re in public,” Jada hissed.

  “C'mon darlin', no one can see us.” He made a show of his hands waving around the two of them.

  Draven pulled his cap down low and pretended to mess around on his phone; he didn’t want to blow his cover. What were these two doing at Midnight Mayhem? Word on the street was that it wasn’t only a showcase strip joint for anyone who possessed magic or supernatural properties.

  He had heard the owners, which he was desperately trying to track down and find out who they were, apparently dabbled in dark magic that was more on the kinky side of life. That part he was ok with. The dark magic part, that certainly was not ok.