Bound For Blood (Feathers & Fire Book 1)
Page 19
Oh, fuck.
His arctic eyes bore into mine as he grabs his soaking wet shirt and pulls it off over his head, shaking out his shoulder length white hair as he goes. My eyes widen, and I lick my lips as I take him in. Handsome doesn’t hold a candle to just how striking I find Lachlan. With the sharp, angled features of his face, and a body that looks like it was cut out of stone, let’s face it. He is gorgeous. Corded muscle makes up his torso, with strong square pecs and eight pack abs that lead down to a very chiseled and defined set of man lines that dive below his wet, low-hanging pants. I can clearly see the outline of his cock beneath the wet material.
“Like what you see, Princess?” His cocky attitude returns in full force, and I groan at him. He smirks then flexes his pecs, making them dance. I bite my lip and look up at him. His face becomes serious as he reaches for his pants. I suck in a ragged breath. I’ve never actually seen a male’s… appendage before. During my sessions with Handlers, they always kept me blindfolded. He unsnaps the button.
Should I look or avert my eyes?
He pulls the zipper down.
Fuck, what do I do?
He grips the sides of his pants-
Pounding on the door stops him in his tracks. “What the hell are you doing in there?” It’s Orian’s voice coming from the other side.
“Just showing the Princess how to use the shower,” Lachlan shouts back.
“Well finish up, she needs to eat something and get some fluids in her.”
“Okay, Ri. Be right out.” He looks at me sheepishly. “Guess we’ll have to save the big reveal for another time.” He gestures to the clothes next to me on the sink. “Put those on, baby girl. Let’s get you something to eat.”
After making the Princess a cup of warm broth, I grab a spoon and walk over to where she sits at the table next to Lachlan. She looks radiant, clean and fresh from her shower. I take a deep breath, inhaling her sweet scent through my nose. She smells like freshly bloomed Stargazer Lilies. Her colorful hair hangs around her face, and a soft pink glow accents her cheeks. Two guesses what caused her blush.
Her soft moans, though quiet, sounded louder than rolling thunder in our tiny camper, her pleasure strumming across the weak link that binds me to her. I know Keegan felt it, too. When I glanced at him, his teeth were clenched and perspiration coated his brow as Lachlan brought the Princess to climax.
I set down the bowl in front of her, and she thanks me, grabbing the spoon. Her dainty little hands take the utensil in an awkward grip, holding it in her fist like a toddler might. Not wanting to embarrass her in front of the others, I don’t correct her. She’s been through enough. But glancing at the others, I see smiles on their faces when they notice it too.
She’s so endearing. I just want to wrap her up in a blanket and hold her on my lap for all of time. Rock her. Sing her songs. Let her know she’s finally safe. A warmth spreads through my chest when she takes her first timid sip of the broth. As her perfect lips suck the salty liquid into her mouth, she groans. The noise goes straight to the bulge I’m desperately trying not to let grow in my pants.
“This is delicious. I can’t thank you enough.” She takes another sip.
“You’re most welcome, Princess.” I plaster a smile on my face and try to keep the anger from my voice. This poor thing, she can’t even use a spoon right and thinks a bouillon cube dissolved in hot water is something to be described as delicious. Once again, I can’t even fathom the extent of her abuse.
She must sense my anger, her eyes growing wide and her expression worried as she looks at me. “Did I do something wrong?” The innocence of her question immediately defuses my growing fury.
“No, of course not, Princess.” I smile at her. “I can’t help but feel frustrated when I dwell on how you’ve been neglected and mistreated.”
She glances down, a rosy tint gracing her cheeks at my confession. She absentmindedly stirs her spoon in the soup and takes a shaky breath. I can sense she is trying to keep her composure.
Wanting to alleviate her unease and take the focus off her, I look to Keegan. “Okay, boss. What’s the plan? Where do we go from here?”
A grin stretches across his face when he looks back at me. “We take her home.”
Looking at my watch for the hundredth time, it’s like the world has stopped while I wait for Slave Eight’s return. It’s been over a week now since her disappearance. I expect Lord Daemon to arrive at any moment to discuss the situation.
Fucking vampires.
How could he have lost her?
A feverish rage brews inside me, ready to burst like the steam from a covered pot of boiling water. I feel my face start to morph in the midst of my fury. Fangs descend from my hard palate, and my fingers elongate. My clothes threaten to shred at the increase in my size.
Fuck!
I need to calm myself before this blood bag makes his entrance. No one knows about my second form, the ability I acquired from Slave Eight’s powerful blood, the ability that I could lose with the absence of her blood to sustain it. It’s been almost two weeks since I last fed from her, and while I don’t feel the loss of power yet, I know it’s coming. I have a few bags of her blood in my reserves, some I drew after she passed out during our sessions, but I don’t want to tap into that just yet.
I pace around my office, trying to burn off some of this storm cloud of anger before Daemon gets here. He is very old and very powerful on his own. I sensed it the first time I met him a few years back in New York.
I was traveling on business, looking for new recruits and seeking new members for Exotique when I came across a kink club in the heart of the city. Intrigued, I entered the enticing red doors of Mystique, owned by Eloise Sinclaire, one of the oldest vampires in the city. It was there I found the large vampire lord lurking in the shadows, watching a knife scene unfold on the demonstration stage.
The blood lust was evident in his eyes while he watched. The dagger sparkled in the spotlight as it split the flawless, pale skin of the gorgeous girl restrained on a St. Andrews cross. His fangs were descended, and his tongue kept flicking out from between his thin lips, like he was trying to taste her from the air in front of him.
Straightening my shoulders, I walked up to the vampire, the force of his power growing thick with each step. After making small talk and commenting on the beauty of the performance going on in front of us, I introduced myself and mentioned my club.
Lord Daemon’s interest piqued when I mentioned the element of non-consent that Exotique permits. I enticed him further when I mentioned the unique properties of Slave Eight’s blood. His long pale fingers massaged his pointed chin as he took in this information.
I didn’t see him again until the Auction. He did not bid on the slaves but seemed very interested in Slave Eight. He couldn’t take his eyes off her. Not that I blame him. Most of my guests were taken by her magnificence. It was profoundly erotic watching her forced to shift, exploited and bound, with the entire auditorium observing her.
Not long after the Auction, he showed up at my office, ready to sign a purchase agreement for Slave Eight. His power poured off of him in waves as we reviewed the document. I myself am powerful, so for me to be hyper-aware of his presence was unusual to say the least.
Now that I think about it, I don’t really recall the actual signing portion, the part where I bind the contract magically to ensure the safe return of my slaves, else the Handlers forfeit their very lives. This is not something I usually dwell on. Those who I allow to use my slaves have never crossed me before. They respect my power, maybe even fear it, but not Daemon...
Now I’m fucking pissed. My teeth clench, and my hands squeeze into fists, my nails digging into my palms. I think this Lord Daemon must have used his vampiric wiles to compel me. No one has ever been able to do that! He had the audacity to come into my club and take advantage of me? And now he’s lost my fucking slave! Slave eight at that! My favorite little slut and top seller!
Fuck!
A loud knock on my door startles me. Slamming the shot glass back down on the dark wood, I lean back against the desk. Looking in the mirror, I feel down my chest and take inventory of myself. Fangs are gone, fingers are back to normal, and my body no longer tests the limits of my suit’s seams. Satisfied with my appearance, I straighten my tie, smooth my collar, and run my fingers through my dark hair before crossing my arms over my chest.
“Come in,” I say after clearing my throat. Needing no further invitation, the huge vampire lord waltzes in like he owns the place. Watching him stride into my office, I can’t help but be a little taken aback. This fucker is huge. Ancient and powerful, this vampire towers over me. I’m not one to succumb to intimidation, but something about him feels cryptically menacing. It takes everything I have to suppress the shudder that tries to make its way up my spine.
Wearing an old coat tailed suit and a top hat, the vampire looks like he just walked out of an 1800’s saloon.
“Lord Daemon,” I address him formally. I have no proof that he tricked me so I don’t want to burn any bridges just yet. I consider myself a reasonable guy, when it comes to business at least.
“Mr. Cronin.” His deep, cruel voice drips with disdain. Only now does he deign to look at me and tip his hat in my direction. His blood-red eyes pierce mine. They are disturbing and threatening. His lips twitch on the brink of what I know would be an evil smile.
“Where is she? Where is my slave?” I demand, my voice raised and gravelly. I start to get pissed when he doesn’t come forward with information on his own.
Staring at me, the vampire doesn’t even blink, not a single muscle moves in his face. It’s unnerving.
“She was taken.” His nonchalance is maddening.
“By whom? How?”
He rolls his eyes like asking for this information about my slave is putting him out. “By three of her kin. They stormed the ruins of the castle, killed most of my coven, and snatched your precious slave.” He balls his fists and spits out the last through his clenched sharp teeth.
I slam my fists into my desk. “How could anyone take anything from you, Daemon?” I’m done with the niceties. “You’re centuries old, with God only knows how many powers and abilities. And three males were able to destroy your entire fucking coven? Three! How the fuck is this possible?”
I’m shouting at him now, but I don’t fucking care. I’m pissed, and he needs to know it. I’m not one to cower and wither in front of anyone. The fact that he affects me so angers me more than anything else..
No one fucks with Boris Cronin.
“What were these males, Daemon?” I say his name with every ounce of contempt I can muster and hold out my hand, preparing to call on my magic if need be.
“Put your hand down, Boris.” He mimics my voice. “I will tell you what you want to know. I want to get her back just as much as you do.” He clasps his hands in front of him. “They were Phoenix.”
Phoenix?
I gulp as a weight presses on my chest. How the hell did a Phoenix catch wind of my slave? This isn’t good. If King Ignatius finds out what I’ve done, I’ll have an avian war on my hands.
I run my fingers through my hair. “It still doesn’t make sense. How were three Phoenix males able to overrun you, Daemon?”
“Ordinarily, they would not have been able to, but the vampires with me were not warriors but worshippers. Besides, one of them had fire power.”
“What?” I shake my head in disbelief and rub my hands on my cheeks. The Phoenix race is dying. Powers of fire have not been around, well, since I stole the Princess two decades ago.
“A larger male with bright blue hair shot flames out of his hands. He burned through half my coven in minutes. Fire is our weakness, and he was able to exploit it effectively. Another with white hair must be an arms master.” He looks past me as he talks. I’m happy for the reprieve from his crimson stare. “He wielded his daggers like extensions of his arms, turning my members into dust and ash almost faster than the raging fire his comrade brandished. If he wasn’t killing my coven, I would have been impressed.”
“Fuck!” I walk around my desk and collapse into my chair, completely dumbfounded. For the first time since opening Exotique, I have no idea what to do. In hindsight, I should have put tracking devices on my slaves. I won’t make that mistake again.
Pressing the comm on my desk, I hear the crackling as a channel opens. “Eddie, look into some sort of tracking device for the slaves. I want them all tagged by the end of the week.”
“Yes, Sir.” A staticy voice replies.
Letting go of the comm, I look over to Daemon who has not moved from his earlier position. Still as a statue, his blood-red eyes drill into mine, while his face remains impassive.
I throw my hands up. “Well, vampire, any suggestions on how to get her back? You fucking lost her.” I sneer at him maliciously, baring my teeth, my brows furrowed. “You will help me find her.”
“No one orders me around,” Daemon retorts. “Least of all you.”
“How dare you!” My rage peaks. I stand and throw a blast of my magic at him. In the millisecond it took to reach him, the huge vampire’s chest explodes out of his ancient suit and morphs from pale skin to dark gray stone.
What the actual fuck? My spell ricochets off his rock-like chest and smashes into the wall behind me. I turn to see a gaping hole where my magic crashed into it.
I’m tense when I turn back to face him, palms up, ready for the recourse that I’m sure is coming. His chest heaves as it retracts into itself, his face once again stoic.
“Think twice before attacking me again, warlock, because next time I will retaliate, and it won’t end well for you.” This cockwomble of a vampire has no idea the extent of my powers, that I can shift into a monster myself. But I won’t show him that yet. We all need secrets. If we butt heads again, I will need to have some element of surprise up my sleeve, so to speak. But even now that I’ve witnessed his power, I can’t let go of the fact that he tricked me. I’m too pissed off to care.
“I know what you did to me, Dameon, you blood sucking freak! You hypnotized me when we signed our purchase agreement for Slave Eight!”
He squares his shoulders and juts out his chin but says nothing, which only serves to infuriate me further.
I slam my fists onto my desk once more and slivers of wood go flying. “Do you deny it?” I’m shouting at this point, spittle flying from my lips.
The massive vampire clears his throat, his unblinking eyes remaining fixed to mine. He takes a threatening step towards me, fists clenched and fangs bared.
“I need her, Boris,” he growls out, his voice an octave lower than it was moments ago. “I came here to offer you payment for her, to buy her from you outright. But I see your heart now, and I know you will never let her go.”
He grins at me, like he knows something I don’t, and somehow I hate him even more. “I’ll find the female, and when I do, her heart will be mine.”
“Fuck you, Daemon.” I’m seething now. “How dare you threaten to take what belongs to me!”
“She’s gone, Boris! She isn’t yours anymore. Your lack of preemptive thinking is what lost her in the first place!”
“My lack of thinking!” I huff exasperated. “Your incapable coven lost her, Daemon! Your entire goddamn fleet of vampires was overtaken by three phoenixes! You’re undeserving and pathetic. Your coven consists of nothing but worthless, feeble, leeches. You’re not worthy of a female like her.” I take a deep breath, trying to maintain control of the monster raging inside me. “If you lay even one dead finger on her, I will end you.”
He laughs at me then. The sound is deep and rumbling like stones
rolling down the bed of a dump truck. The vibrations rattle the TV screens on my office walls. “I will have the female. Not even you can stand in my way.”
“You have to find her first, bloodsucker. I have teams already in place, searching everywhere for her.”
He shrugs, like my words are insignificant. “You know what they say. Finders keepers.” With that he throws his arms up and disappears in a cloud of swirling black smoke.
What the actual fuck just happened?
I plop back down, elbows on my desk, and hang my head in my hands. I’ve had many firsts this past week, but Daemon takes the cake. For the first time ever, I’ve been outmaneuvered.
Rubbing my hand on the back of my neck, I actually feel insecure and unsure of myself. I’ve always been powerful, never one to shy away from a fight and always ready to assert my dominance using whatever means necessary to stay at the top of the food chain. But something about Daemon makes me doubt myself. Something about him makes me feel weak and unprepared.
I fucking hate it.
My anger towards him festers. That cocksucker lost my fucking slave, then had the audacity to come in here and demand her from me? Threatened to steal her from me! In my own fucking club!
I roar and slam my fists into my desk over and over, pummeling the dark wood. I grab the edge and throw the giant piece of furniture. It barrels into the wall where my viewing screens hang, and several come crashing to the ground. I stalk over to them and rip the remaining ones down, hurling them across the room, too. They crash into the wall opposite me.
I catch a glimpse of myself in my mirror which, remarkably survived my outburst. I love what looks back at me. My eyes glow with power, my custom suit hangs off my body in tatters as my monster emerged during my fit of rage. My jaw has elongated and my teeth have sharpened into dagger-like points.