Silence

by N. Isabelle Blanco

  A few even hit my beard.

  And through it all, I can only hold onto my cock, fighting to keep my hips still. To stop myself from thrusting further into this painful orgasm. My other hand is tearing at my covers, shredding the silk . . .

  It goes on for the gods know how long, until I’m practically a drained, corrupted husk of a male on this bed.

  Corrupted. What an apt term for the fucked-up changes in me.

  I hate myself as soon as reason returns. Hell, I think I was hating myself throughout the entire fantasy. But more than I hate myself for being a normal vampire—both males and females alike fall under her thrall so effortlessly—I hate the doomed inevitably of us.

  This feeling that I’m not going to be able to beat this. That I, a male called upon to defend this kingdom his entire life, will be dealing this society its largest blow in millennia.

  Unless I can find the answer to why she is the way she is and put a stop to it. For now, more than ever, I’m convinced this is something unnatural to our kind.

  That whatever it is, it’s hidden in her medical records.

  The same records my brother has yet to provide to me.

  As I suspected he would.

  eleven

  S andor runs up to me, expression pinched. His dark skin gleams in the moonlight, half his features almost lost to the shadows. “She appeared minutes ago, sir, and refuses to acknowledge us when we try to speak to her.”

  I brush by him, my temple throbbing. What the fuck is she doing here? Absurd question. Whatever her reasoning, she’s doing what she does best: causing chaos. Disrupting the order of things.

  Putting herself in needless danger.

  We’re on the human side of the forest, near the North-Eastern edge closest to Tunari. The Cekle launched a nighttime attack on our outpost here. Reports claimed an easy victory, the danger mostly cleared, but my mind riots at the thought of this kingdom’s heir so close to the enemy.

  The female I can’t stop obsessing over within arm’s reach of beings that would gladly torture her in the name of revenge.

  That would ravage her, spoil her, until no male in this empire will see fit to have her as wife.

  And that’s only if she survives their most ancient, strongest males forcing themselves on her like that.

  I step over a fallen limb, spotting her at the edge of a narrow cliff, staring down into the valley below.

  The same valley where the sounds of a dying battle continue to ring out. Regardless of the gender, most beings sound the same when giving out their final death groans. Above the noise, commands are shouted back and forth, our side ordering the cleanup of all the bodies.

  They’ll be put to the fire. Not just to ensure death, but to erase all traces of them before humans stumble upon the remains. This entire portion of the forest will have to be set temporarily ablaze, as well, in order to disintegrate the rivers of vampiric blood.

  Yet all that truly matters to me is the impish, disobedient girl I’m approaching. “What are you doing here, Calamity?”

  The males in my command reported her disregard for them; for me, the only thing she has to give is an arched eyebrow.

  And a calm, detached explanation. “The Cekle launched their own cyber-attack against us at the same time they launched this attack.”

  I know this already. Was briefed on it earlier. “That still doesn’t explain why you’re here. Do you have any idea how dangerous this is? You’re twenty-one. Twenty. One. The Cekle don’t recruit members into their army until they’re at least a century old. It doesn’t matter how gifted you are, any one of them could easily overpower—”

  “The Cekle used the same exact kind of attacks on our databases as the Vlaqin did.”

  That I didn’t know. Unfortunately for her—and for myself, if this choking sense of concern is anything to go by—I don’t give a flying fuck about that right now. “You’re bloody impulsive and spoiled. Do you have any idea what any of those males would do to you if they got their hands on you?”

  The blood seems to drain from her face, until her luminescent skin becomes nearly paper white. She stares me up and down, an almost dismissive, definitely queenly look. “You mean the same thing you’re dying to do to me but are too scared to?”

  No she . . .

  Calamity whirls away from me, hips swinging in those black army pants. Instead of dematerializing, she stomps away, kicking at any plant life in her path. She’s mumbling to herself, angry, breathless words, but I can’t hear her above the roaring blood in my ears.

  What is this little girl’s problem?

  Flashing after her, I try reaching for her arm.

  She evades me without even looking back at me. “They found a Vlaqin warrior among the Cekle down there.” A thick, low-hanging branch is slapped out of her way—

  It’s torn right off the tree and sent flying like a missile across the forest. The impact as it pierces through another tree hundreds of yards away is a heavy repercussion. Animals react all around, scattering for cover, letting loose warning cries for others of their own kind.

  Holy shit. Even young vampires are incredibly strong, but it usually takes over a century for them to be able to do that. “Calamity—”

  “They found him because apparently now they’re working together. I overheard them. They’re holding the Vlaqin prisoner to bring him back for interrogation. All things you would know if you would stop to think before trying to control me!”

  “None of that explains why you’re risking your life by being here!” I roar at her back, sending the remaining life forms around us into another round of chaos.

  A strange, erotic-sounding growl comes out of her, seconds before she’s in front of me, eyes flooded entirely black. Small fangs bared, she pushes me with all her strength.

  I react just as the limb did, my feet leaving the ground too fast for me to process. I blink, and next thing I know my back is slamming into a rockface, the strength of my ancient body making it tremble dangerously from the blow.

  A large chunk lands on my head and small bursts of light flash before my eyes.

  Calamity is before me again, teeth gnashing at her exposed wrist, drawing blood. “You want to control me, and you sustain yourself with pretty lies. It’s all about the empire. The laws. Honoring the brother you serve who loves me so.”

  I’m already hooked on the scent of her blood, wide eyes locked with the ghastly wound she inflicted on herself. Bludgeoned by the shimmering, thick red pulse of life as she comes even closer, that wrist held up.

  I swear I can see her fucking heart beating in the trails of it. In the drops that fall, untasted, untouched, to gift the forest floor with her essence.

  “But you aren’t brave enough to admit what this really is, Uncle.”

  Like the maddened, lost creature I am, I hiss at her for that word, my fangs canine-like and monstrous compared to her tiny elegant ones. “Calamity—get away—stop—”

  “You’re ruining it,” she whispers, all-black eyes glimmering sadly. “You’re ruining all of it because you can’t let go of your old beliefs. Breaking what could be with your undying stubbornness.”

  What is she . . . doesn’t matter. Get her away. BEFORE YOU FUCKING EAT HER. An abominable shout leaves my throat, my last moment of panic manifesting itself as a verbal warning to her.

  She’s wrong. I’m not the one ruining everything. She is. And if she comes a single centimeter closer—

  It’s already too late. I’m already reaching for her, for that juicy, bleeding wrist, right as she flashes that final distance to me.

  It happens too quickly for me to make much sense of it. One moment we’re both moving closer, and the next she’s against my lips, blood-covered flesh against my mouth.

  Frenzy. It’s a sheer fucking frenzy.

  I lose all sense of reason. Of time. As if I’ve been flung back two-in-a-half-millennia, back to my youth. I’m eighteen and tasting blood for the first time all over again, except this blood
is a million times more powerful than my first initiation.

  Every pretense of control, of civility, is stripped from me in ruthless, barbaric waves. I’m arching against the rock at my back, hips seeking her, tongue lapping wetly at every drop. Lips fastened to her perfect-tasting skin and sucking out more, more . . .

  Her soft moans reach my ears and I can do nothing but bite into her, savaging her tiny, thin wrist. There’s movement along my groin, fingers seeking.

  It barely occurs to me that she’s slipping her fingers into my waistband, tearing at the fabric. Both my hands are cupping her wrist to my mouth, my mind swelling, expanding, shattering with each new taste.

  Calamity mewls my name, the scent of her arousal another attack on my senses. Her delicate, warm hand wraps around the stiff length of my cock, squeezing it with all her strength.

  A sliver of pain ricochets up my erection, into my balls. Then it’s gone, replaced by fiery pleasure as she drags me out of my pants and pumps me, fist tightening, thumb playing with the gold prince albert on the tip with every pass.

  And it’s her. Her. This delicious, wild female that’s been specifically made for me with her wrist feeding me and her hand working my dick.

  I barely manage to open my eyes, cum pulsing up my length.

  It’s the sight of her, her thick bottom lip trapped by her elongated fangs, the space between her all-black eyes scrunched with passion, her small hand struggling to jerk me, that does me in.

  Eyes on her, I shout into her wrist, back bowing with my release.

  It’s endless, one wave after another. Her thumb circles my tip, smearing another jet of cum along the gold ring, even as more of it falls to the forest floor, joining the droplets of her blood she left there.

  I hate it. I love it. I’ll never be able to live without it again, this co-mingling of us. This mixing of our essences in the most sexual, primal way possible.

  I want it on her fucking skin, my seed and her blood.

  Tearing her wrist from my mouth, I collapse back against the stone, panting. Heaving. Mumbling frantic excuses that fall on both our death ears. I mention the kingdom, the laws. The already brewing scandals among our civilization. The increase in wars against us.

  All the logic behind why she and I can never be.

  Calamity merely licks her palm clean, hitting me with a quick visual of her sexy tongue lapping up my cum, then she licks across the bite mark I left her, across where my mouth just was.

  My body continues to shake, frozen, when she tucks my still-hard dick into my ruined pants and calmly gives me her parting shot: “Go on. Enjoy fucking your little curveles,” she says, using the Romanian word for whores. “Try getting lost in them with the memory of my hand on your cock and with my blood in you. I dare you.”

  This time, she does dematerialize, seconds before my legs finish giving out. I can do nothing but slide down the rockface to the ground, my mind in tatters.

  twelve

  R ed dreams.

  Red sleep.

  Red, always red. Visions of her blood that follow me whenever I try to ignore the other visions. The diseased ones my mind keeps coming up with.

  It haunts me as much as her visage does. Whispers of torment that won’t let me be.

  This hallway again. This pitch-black, practically abandoned corridor, with its old carvings. Ancient inscriptions of a time long passed that were transferred to these bowels once our city was moved here.

  Neglected stone. Ignored history.

  The sigh of fabric ghosting nearby. Is someone else here with me?

  Of course they are. They always are. Figures from myths, beings of dark legends no longer discussed among our kind. Lost to time, just like the stories carved on these walls. Re-tellings that no one cares about anymore.

  Dreams, as I said, for although every day I lose myself a bit more, I’m very aware that these visions are accosting me in my dreams. Primal dreams that grow fiercer with each night that the message doesn’t sink in.

  But what is the message?

  Again, movement along the corridor, deeper into the darkness. The striking of a match. The flaring of a tiny light among all that black.

  A glimpse of that red veil, that tribal, frightening crown.

  Words in a lost a language that my mind somehow translates. “Eons of reproduction. One line after another. And, finally, she has arrived. My perfect descendant. The one with true power.”

  The figure vanishes before I can catch up to it. Question it.

  A footfall behind me, this one heavy. Male.

  Over my shoulder, I see his white flesh first, paler than any being’s flesh I’ve ever seen before. His lower body is draped in a black skirt. Around his narrow waist, a thick, carved belt of gold, inlaid with what looks like symbols of my family’s line.

  Around his neck, a thick leather collar that covers him from throat to collarbone. Six chains fall from his temples in perfect arches that begin beneath his chin and also end at his collarbone.

  On his head, a replica of that spiked, gold crown.

  Eyes as black as my own stare at me from a freshly shaven face that’s familiar, so fucking familiar . . .

  “Save her. Guide her. She’s needed.”

  His mouth doesn’t open but his voice rings loud and clear, a booming, deafening sound that grows louder with each moment I don’t respond—

  My eyes fly open to the emptiness of the corridor, all traces of anyone else gone.

  Shit. I’m sleep walking again.

  Too shaken up and disoriented to pay attention to the carvings on the walls, I flash away from the corridor leading to the catacombs and back to my rooms. The beat of my heart is an annoyance, a companion that causes me pain and one that I didn’t ask for. One that I can’t rid myself of.

  Fear is barely a speck upon my heart’s starving horizon. It’s the hunger that tortures it. This lust that’s robbing me of reason.

  Sweating, fighting to control my shivers, I put in a summons to have three pleasure slaves delivered to my room. Usually I go to the harems myself, but there’s no way I’ll make it there without attacking someone en route.

  They arrive in a flurry of bared flesh, hard nipples, swaying hips, and elongated fangs. Strategically placed jewels meant to enhance their figures are ignored. Their desire to touch me, feel me, taste me, is ignored.

  I lay all three out across my bed, the first time I’ve had female company on it in forever, and take turns mounting them. Pounding into any part of their bodies they offer. It’s a savage desecration, a careless attack. At one point, all three are on their knees on the bed before me, groaning happily as they lick my cock and balls, and I’m taking turns feeding as much from their wrists as I can.

  I barely feel any of it. I’m barely here with them, period. They’re poor substitutes for her, the one I truly want. The one I can’t stop thinking about. Remembering.

  She haunts me.

  My dreams haunt me.

  I think I’m finally going fucking mad.

  Afterwards, I send the females away although it’s clear in their flushed, satisfied faces that they want to stay for another round. Regret is immediate, the scent of our combined blood and orgasms so thick among my sheets that it quickly infects the entire room.

  Aggravated with myself and this morbid weakness, I sit at my computers and bring up the recent logs from the fields. One seems to call to me with the power of a neon glare, flashing at the top of my inbox.

  It’s the reports from our cyber arm—the one Calamity was just named leader of.

  Three weeks running it. A total of ten cyber “battles” won. Unprecedented progress, and this time even the council seemed a little disconcerted at her promotion within the ranks.

  Last time I saw her, touched her, tasted her, she had four battle triumph tattoos. She must have so many more on that smooth skin now.

  Soon, she’ll be the female version of me. Black-eyed, unique among our kind, covered in tattoos for helping protect this
empire.

  Unable to resist this small connection with her—since she’s gone back to avoiding, ignoring, and silently haunting me—I open the reports. I’m barely processing any of it, this confirmation of our enemies teaming up against us.

  All I want is to talk to her, I tell myself. Just talk.

  On impulse, I pull up our messaging app and open an encrypted connection.

  Stop avoiding me.

  Fuck. That’s not what I was planning to send. At all. How the fuck am I going to keep us platonic if I keep chasing her like some pussy-whipped fool?

  The icon informing me she’s read the message lights up, but there’s no response.

  Silence. As always.

  Neverending fucking silence.

  My fingers fly across my keyboard in a blur. Calamity.

  Finally, small bubbles appear, indicating her typing. Was there something on the report you need me to clarify, Uncle?

  It’s wrong. So fucking wrong. What is expected of us due to our familial connection, yet there’s no way in any bloody hell I can bring myself to see her as my niece anymore. Those days are long gone. You’re avoiding me. Stop. It’s ruining everything.

  Excuse me? Are you implying I’m the one ruining it?

  YES. The accusation behind that word can’t be hidden. I know that.

  I see you’ve encrypted the connection, so allow me to put this clearly . . . YOU BLOODY FUCKING FOOL.

  Her reply hits me like a slap. I rear back in my seat, blinking at the monitor. Finally, the curiosity becomes too much. Or is it the fact I finally have her talking again and I’m desperate to keep her like this? Why am I the fool? For caring about this empire? For caring about your father and mother? For caring about YOUR FUTURE?

  You mean the future you’re busy making sure I end up sharing with someone else?

  And there it is. Finally. The one accusation from her I’m not ready to answer. The one we both know is legitimate. I’m pushing her away with each second of denial. It’s the ultimate goal. To end this sickening desire we have for each other so we can go back to living our lives.