Bound By His Blood

by Jennifer August

  She peered at him. “Uh, what?”

  He met her gaze, his liquid green eyes still fuming, but thankfully not nearly as hot as before. “That was Sullivan being an ass. I recognized his car. Explains why I didn’t get any kind of warning, too. He meant us no harm.”

  Instant indignation swelled in her and she smacked the steering wheel. “Yeah, well, the next time I see him, I just might mean him some harm.”

  McCallister’s small chuckle broke her last stubborn defense.

  “I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “I didn’t mean what I said. I was just jingle-brained. Shocked. I know you would never hurt me.”

  “How?”

  She exited the highway and thought about it. “I’m not sure,” she replied honestly. “But I know I can trust you implicitly. Know you’d never hurt me.”

  “That’s technically not true,” he said.

  She was relieved his voice was even once more and she no longer was buffeted by waves of his anger. “How’s that?”

  His hand slid over her thigh, along her bare skin. His fingers stretched and nudged the lower edges of her crotch.

  Sheridan swallowed hard, but remained still, concentrating on the street traffic.

  McCallister slowly increased the pressure on both her thigh and pussy lips until she jerked and pushed back into her seat.

  “I want to hurt you,” he said.

  The silky sensual threat beaded between her legs, searing her clit and causing a low ache to begin in her lower lips.

  “I want to watch your skin turn red and mottled because I’ve used my hand on you. Or a flogger. Or a whip. I want to see you bend and arch because I’ve caned you. Disciplined you. Brought you to the brink of orgasm and denied you the pleasure until you beg and plead for it.”

  His voice melded with the unbelievably realistic images in her mind and she barely realized in time she needed to turn on his street. With a wide jerk and squeal of tires, she made the turn and bumped into his driveway.

  Killing the engine, Sheridan remained still, hands gripping the steering wheel, legs gripping his fingers.

  “I want to hurt you until you beg me for more, Sheridan. But I want to pleasure you as well. Torture you with my hands and tongue and cock. Fill every orifice, take every part of your body. Brand you as mine. Forever.”

  She heard the snick of his fangs, was surrounded by the blanket of sexual need swamping the small interior of the car.

  God help her, she wanted it, too.

  She panted and closed her eyes, then settled her hands over his and pressed him deeper into her wet crotch.

  “I’m not the kind to serve, McCallister. I have a brain and a backbone. Kneeling and obeying are not in my blood.”

  “Yes,” he whispered and leaned closer. “They are. Submission does not mean pushover. It doesn’t diminish your strength, it highlights it.”

  His lips found the wildly beating pulse at her throat and she groaned then gasped as his fangs scraped along the tender spot.

  “You are the perfect submissive, Sheridan. Passionate, powerful, independent. You will be a joy to break.”

  “I don’t—” her voice cracked and she cleared her throat. “I don’t want to be broken, McCallister. I don’t want to lose myself.”

  His teeth sunk a little deeper into her skin, scoring her with a hint of pain. Her clit jumped and she moaned.

  “You won’t be lost, Sheridan, you will be re-born.”

  Something in his words shook her to the core and she pulled away, her hand covering his mouth. “I don’t want to be a vampire, not that. Never that.”

  His eyes glittered with a sexual power so deep she forgot everything but him. His heartbeat echoed in her ears and she could smell his arousal.

  Taste him in her mouth.

  She licked her lips and struggled for words. “I will not be turned.”

  Something akin to pain washed over his face. He nodded. “If that is your wish.”

  Sheridan couldn’t stop herself from cupping his jaw. “I’m sorry but I want to live out my life as a normal, ordinary girl.”

  He covered her hand. “You were born extraordinary, Sheridan Aames.”

  Her heart melted a little more. She closed her eyes and leaned her forehead to his shoulder. A vision of herself as he described burned brightly in her mind and shot to every erogenous zone in her body.

  She licked her lips. What would it feel like to be whipped by McCallister? To be taken? To submit? Overwhelming hunger and curiosity filled her and suddenly she burned to know. The need to give control to him became a sudden aphrodisiac she felt powerless to resist.

  Her eyelids flew up and she jerked back to look at him. “Did you do that?”

  His brow furrowed. “Do what?”

  McCallister’s puzzlement was genuine. Sheridan’s heart kicked wildly. “We should go inside,” she said.

  He studied her for a long, intent moment before nodding. He opened his mouth and she put her finger over his lips.

  “No, hush,” she ordered softly.

  His brow rose and the shadows in his gaze lessened. He nipped her finger. “You have it all backwards, sweetheart. Come on, let’s go inside where I can show you just what I’m talking about.”

  Sheridan waited for him to come around the car and open her door. She loved his show of manners, but more than that, the time gave her a moment to breathe and compose herself.

  She fully admitted she wanted him, was attracted to McCallister more than she’d ever been to anyone in her life.

  What shook her even more, though, was the urge to go inside, fall on her knees, and let him control her completely.

  While the thought scared the hell out of her, it also turned her on like nothing ever had.

  Chapter Eight

  “Come inside,” McCallister’s deep voice invited.

  Said the spider to the fly.

  Sheridan crossed the threshold of his front door, breath held. She wasn’t sure exactly what she’d expected—maybe a supernatural jolt of some sort—but nothing happened.

  As soon as she moved past him, the door clicked shut, tumblers rolled over and a warm whoosh of air swept through the room.

  His house hadn’t changed since last night and the couch caught her attention. Her nipples hardened as she remembered vividly lying against McCallister, her body pressed so tightly to his she could still feel the imprint of his desire for her.

  “Sheridan, come here.”

  She pivoted, fingers running over the gold chain of her red handbag.

  “Why?”

  His lips twitched. “You’re going to be difficult about this, aren’t you?”

  “I told you so.” Her heartbeat sped up as he padded toward her, all power and sensual intention. She lifted a palm and stepped backward. “Hold it, McCallister. We need to finish our discussion.”

  He didn’t stop until he’d invaded her personal space and she refused to budge any further. Start off as you mean to go on.

  “So talk.”

  She cleared her throat. “I want to know more about this Joining and why you’re so insistent I have to submit.”

  He sighed and his gaze flicked to his watch.

  “What? Are we on a timeline or something?” she joked.

  His expression didn’t alter but she caught the subtle tensing of his shoulders. Her breath whooshed out. “Are you freaking serious? How long?”

  “That’s not important,” he said. The tension radiating from his taut body belied the mellow tone of his voice.

  Sheridan sank onto the couch. “If your expression is any indicator, I have to disagree. Talk. Fast. Apparently I have a decision to make.”

  McCallister settled next to her. He turned his big body so he faced her but didn’t make any effort to crowd or touch her. She didn’t know if that bothered her or not.

  “The Joining is your choice, Sheridan. For all your worldly ways and journalistic stories, I don’t think you quite understand the power you have in this partn
ership.”

  She snorted. “Partnership? It sounds more like a ‘Mongo, do what I say or get smacked’ situation.”

  He choked on a laugh as he raked a hand over his face. “Oh, Sheridan, you are something else.” McCallister stroked her cheek and sighed. “There isn’t enough time to explain everything.”

  “Let’s start with the basics. What is the Joining?”

  He picked up her hand and smoothed his fingers over her knuckles. The small caress felt good. Sheridan realized it was also helping her relax.

  “In the normal course of things, when a vampire takes a human Consort, it’s a mutually beneficial agreement. The human is gifted with a small portion of their patron’s strengths.”

  Sheridan squirmed on the sofa. “What sort of strengths? What does the vampire get in exchange?”

  McCallister squeezed her hand. “Each vampire has a different skill set. We don’t really know why but I think it has to do with who their Sator was.”

  “Sator? What’s that?”

  McCallister’s brow wrinkled. “Uh, closest thing to an explanation is their sire, I guess. A Sator is the vampire who turns a human into a vampire.”

  Sheridan mentally cringed. She wasn’t ready to think about that. “What strengths do you have?”

  He shrugged. “Speed, hearing, and, to some extent, a sort of psychic ability. I can hear thoughts sometimes but that really depends on the Consort.”

  She sat up.”Really? Hearing the thoughts of others. Boy, could I use that when I’m talking to an informant. I’d never get shafted again.”

  He laughed. “It’s not a guarantee, Sheridan.”

  “Well, damn. That sucks.”

  “Sorry.”

  “You don’t sound sorry.” She took a deep breath. Her nerves clamored as loud as marbles in a tin can. “So, what do you get from me?”

  His fingers tightened as his expression turned a little dark, almost sorrowful. “Life.”

  The simple word hit her with the force of a two-ton truck. She reeled backward and flopped to the sturdy couch back. She understood, of course. Everyone knew that vampires had to drink human blood in order to survive. Hearing the reality of it, though, was something of a shock.

  “Oh.” Brilliant response, but the best she could do.

  McCallister pulled her to him, nestling her against his side. He brushed his lips over the top of her head. “I wish it were different, Sheridan. I wish I could tell you something magical would happen but it doesn’t. Humans feed vampires and keep us alive.”

  She looked up at him. The pain on his face went back hundreds of years. She cupped his jaw. “I understand.” She grinned weakly. “Hey, finally, the movies got something right.”

  He smiled. “Yeah, imagine that.”

  Being the reporter she was, another question reared its head. “If any human will do, then why is it so important that it’s me who feeds you?”

  He winced. “You’re right about any human. In our world, the more human blood we drink, the slower we age from the time of our turning. Any human Consort will give a vampire that necessary life.”

  “Which doesn’t answer my question at all, but brings up another one—how old were you when you were turned?”

  His face went granite. She didn’t have to be observant to read the sudden “Do Not Trespass” signs he’d thrown up around himself.

  She held up a hand. “Okay, okay, question withdrawn. Back to the original. Why me?”

  “Sorry,” he muttered.

  This time he actually sounded contrite.

  “Well, it’s nice to know even vampires can get touchy.”

  He snorted and tugged on her hair. “I don’t have all the reasons why you’re so important, Sheridan. I only know that you are. Whatever Barrett knows about you is driving him. I don’t want you hurt. By fully becoming my Consort, I can protect you. He can’t have you.”

  She frowned. His words sounded too carefully chosen, as if he were omitting something of great importance. Or that could just be her own building hysteria hearing things. “But if he did get a hold of me? Could he turn me into a vampire?”

  McCallister hugged her tighter. His heart beat as hard as a runaway bull. “No,” he whispered. “You will be under my protection and he can’t break that to turn you.” His chest expanded as he took a deep breath.

  Uh-oh. “What aren’t you telling me?”

  McCallister caressed her cheek again, then cupped her shoulder before sliding his hand down her back. Each touch sent shivers of awareness and safety through her. Despite the seriousness of their discussion, she felt herself relaxing more and more.

  “He can’t turn you, but he can kill you.”

  She bolted up and away from him. “That’s so not reassuring.”

  His face was shadowed by regret. “I know. But all I can tell you is that I’ll protect you with my life.”

  Sheridan slumped back down. Confusion and defiance fought for dominance inside her. She should walk away from the entire situation. Wash her hands of McCallister, Paxton Barrett and the lot of vampires.

  Her soul chilled at the thought, nearly paralyzing her with fear. She was already in too deep. She had to see this to the end, no matter what end that was.

  Sheridan had no rationalization for her feelings but a soul-deep certainty propelled her forward.

  A tiny whisper echoed behind her, she turned behind her but no one was there. The words came again, softly whispered but strong and insistent. She concentrated on them but they made no sense.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  She frowned up at him. “I don’t know. I heard something. Like a soft voice talking behind me.”

  He tensed. “What did you hear?”

  “I’m not sure. It’s weird but they sounded like a foreign language.”

  His body went ramrod straight.

  She grabbed at him and leaned back. “You know what it is, don’t you? What I heard?”

  His emerald eyes shuttered. “It’s not possible.”

  “You keep saying that, McCallister,” she muttered. “Two days ago, I didn’t think vampires were possible.”

  “Good point.”

  “Yeah, I’m full of ‘em. What did it say? And who said it?”

  “I don’t know who’s whispering you. It’s very rare.”

  Sheridan frowned. “Whispering to me?”

  “No,” McCallister said. “Not to you. Just the barest hint of sound in your head.” He studied her like a bug under a microscope. He looked like he was fighting an internal battle and wasn’t happy about it. Finally, he cursed and exhaled sharply. “Sine Qua Non.”

  Her eyes widened and she gasped, grabbing for his shirt. “Yes,” she yelped. “Yes. That’s what I heard.”

  He closed his eyes and leaned back against the couch, shaking his head. “What the hell?”

  Sheridan tugged on his shirt. “That’s what I want to know.”

  McCallister shifted on the sofa and drummed his fingers on his thigh. He looked a little uncomfortable. “In our world, I’ve always heard stories about something called Sine Qua Non. I always thought it was bullshit thought up by desperate vampires to snare the woman they lusted for.”

  Her lips twitched.

  McCallister slid closer and took her hand. His long fingers tangled with hers and squeezed. Heat spread up her arm and across her chest in a slow and sensual crawl. The air grew heavy with anticipation.

  “You see, Sine Qua Non is supposed to be the calling card of a vampire’s soul mate.”

  “Soul mate,” she said on a low gasp. His fingers tightened and she gripped back, needing the stability of his strong presence. “What do you mean?”

  His smile was gentle. “Exactly what I said. If a vampire recognizes the Sine Qua Non of another person, they are destined to be soul mates. If the vampire doesn’t act on the bond, then he, or she, will wither until they are no more than dust and ash.”

  Her heart spasmed painfully in her chest. “And I have
this Sine Qua Non?”

  He nodded and reached up to caress her cheek. “The first time I saw you I smelled it.”

  “Smelled it?” she asked. Her mind raced as fast as the pulse pounded in her veins. “McCallister, are you saying I stink?”

  “No jokes, Sheridan. Your Sine Qua Non is multi-layered and incredible. Lavender and roses mixed with brilliant hints of pink and white lights. I see the strength in you and it calls to me.”

  She frowned. “Wait a minute. If you thought Sine Qua Non was crap then why all the fuss about us Joining? Don’t other vampires do that, too?”

  “I knew you were smart,” he said with obvious approval. “Joining is a different bond from Sine Qua Non. When a vampire takes a companion, there is some sharing that goes on but it’s not to the extent that a soul mate bond will create.” He smiled ruefully. “Granted, all of that is hearsay since I’ve never known any vamp who’s actually had a Sine Qua Non partner.”

  “Have you had many Consorts?” She could have slapped her hand over her mouth when the question popped out. She sounded defensive with a twist of haranguing fishwife.

  H shrugged. “I’m a guy with big appetites, Sheridan. I’ve had my share.”

  She struggled to tamp her annoyance. The past is the past. She didn’t want to reflect on why it irritated her. She also didn’t want details but she felt compelled to ask about them. “How were those bonds with them? Do you still have them?”

  He shook his head. “No, my last Consort died over thirty years ago.”

  “Did you love her?”

  “No.”

  His short flat answer pleased her and that made her frown. She shouldn’t be happy he hadn’t loved the woman who shared his bed.

  “The bond was plain and simple. I accepted their submission, I took their blood. I never turned one, though.” He gave her a meaningful look. “Turning someone against their will is very dangerous. It manifests a lot of anger and hate that can turn the vampire into something truly evil.”

  “Vampires aren’t evil inherently?”

  “No.”