His woman.
His Consort.
But what if she wasn’t?
“McCallister,” Sheridan’s soft voice called to him again.
He met her gaze.
“Tell me what happened after she turned you.”
His entire body bucked and his eyelids slammed shut, trying to keep the pain and terror at bay. Much as Sheridan had trembled when he first arrived, soul-deep tremors now shook his body. The chill of memory seeped from his veins, winding insidiously through every part of his being.
Then Sheridan was there. She wrapped her delicate but strong arms around him and hugged him close. Soft, sweet kisses dotted his head and cheek and jaw before settling against his lips.
“It’s all right,” she whispered on a ragged breath. “It’s all right.”
He shuddered again. “I wish I’d died that night.”
“You don’t have to,” she started.
McCallister laid a finger against her lips. “No, I do. For you. For us.”
She eased back to the couch cushions and held her arms to him. He sank gratefully against her bosom, inhaling the now-familiar aroma of roses, hydrangea, and lavender that was uniquely Sheridan.
“I stayed in the dungeon for two weeks. Chained to the wall like an animal.”
Her fingers slipped through his hair and scored lightly on his scalp. He felt himself relaxing at her soft touch.
“Leopold was there, too. And Brooks’ brother, James.” He sighed heavily. “He didn’t make it through the two weeks. Desdemona killed him in a fit of rage one night.”
“My God,” Sheridan whispered. Her fingernails bit at his head for a second before relaxing. “He must hate her.”
McCallister nodded. “Yeah. It’s kind of a toss-up between all of us who gets her first. Well, except Valdór.”
“He’s an interesting guy.”
“And then some.” McCallister shifted on the couch, stretching out his legs until his feet hung over the stuffed arm. He toed off his shoes and nestled his head into the warm crook of her lap. She stared down at him, a soft, gentle smile on her lips. Empathy and concern filled the depths of her eyes like sapphire sunshine.
McCallister’s heart spasmed with shame and he closed his eyes. He didn’t want to see her compassion turn to revulsion when she heard the rest of his story.
“Every day in that dungeon, Desdemona would come to us. She would drink from our bodies then force us to drink her blood. If we didn’t, she would torture us. That’s how James died. She pushed him too far, believed in the fabled power of a vampire’s body a little too much. We are not immortal, garlic is our friend, but we can be killed. She drained him down to nearly his last pint of blood then waited too long to offer him the blood maidens she kept.”
Her fingers stilled and he felt the shudder rush through her frame. “What are blood maidens?”
“Exactly what they sound like. Poor souls Desdemona kept enslaved for the express purpose of supplying herself and her legion of vampires with a ready source of blood. Back then, it was perfectly legal. Now, the Brigade has outlawed it but you can bet she still does it. I suspect quite a few of the old school vampires do.” He shifted again and stroked her naked calf, smiling a bit as he felt goose bumps rise in the wake of his touch. He liked making her react to him in unexpected ways.
“What happened after the two weeks?”
The soft question shoved any relaxation he may have felt straight to hell. “I was moved upstairs. The third floor.” He closed his eyes, hoping to stave off the bitter memories and the accompanying, lingering effects but he couldn’t. The stench of heavy perfume and blood mixed in his nose and he clamped his teeth against nausea. “The second floor was where her whores, human and vampire alike, entertained gentlemen. The third floor was something entirely different. Six rooms. All male vampires.”
Sheridan’s fingers stilled. He licked his lips then slowly opened his eyes to stare up at her. She looked stunned and disgusted. He started to move away but she held him down with a soft hand and gentle plea. “Don’t go,” she said, voice as soft and appealing as a summer breeze.
McCallister allowed himself to re-settle on her lap.
“Tell me the rest.”
“I was put in a room, though my chains were not removed. Strange but I remember just how it was decorated. Heavy French furniture. Frilly curtains in a hideous shade of red, a thick, expensive carpet on the floor, a wash basin, and soft, fluffy towels. The bed was a giant four-poster with a heavy brocade canopy over it. There was a matching desk and chair with papers, ink, and quills for writing. Current newspapers and magazines were in a holding box on the floor.” He fisted his hands. “I wish to God I could rid myself of the memories.”
Sheridan’s fingers smoothed over his scalp again and once more he found himself relaxing.
“The first night was the worst.” He swallowed hard, trying to clear his suddenly tight throat. “I was stripped, held by two huge men I now believe to be corrupt Guardians, and forcibly washed by the blood maidens. When they were done, the doused me in some horrid cologne that stank to high heaven then clothed me—if you can call it that—in a pair of white half-pantaloons and nothing else. Desdemona appeared and told me what my role in the house would be.” The lump in his throat slipped to his chest. Pain radiated from the center of his sternum. He shifted again. Suddenly, Sheridan’s palm dropped down, covering the ache and driving it away.
“I’m right here, McCallister,” she whispered. “This is just a story, nothing else.”
“No,” he said on a rasp. “It’s what defines me. What happened made me the man I am today. It colors everything I do.”
She rubbed his chest lightly. “You can change that.”
He nodded even though he wasn’t sure such a thing was possible. Her optimism washed through him, buoying him. “Desdemona is twisted. Back then she provided the services of her girls in ways that were familiar to men the world over. But she wanted more. She knew women were just as sexually needy as men and found a way to create a supply chain for that demand.”
Sheridan’s hand flattened against him. “What did she do?”
He drew a hand over his face, turned his head toward the couch back, and closed his eyes. He couldn’t bear to see her compassion turn to revulsion. “She turned me into a sex slave.”
Sheridan gasped. “My God.”
“There was no God involved, believe me. I prayed hard enough for an intervention that never came.” He continued his tale, determined to be done with the damn topic once and for all. “Each night, the two men would bind my hands and feet to the bed. Desdemona’s blood maidens would come into my room and torment me sexually until I was aroused and ready to ‘perform.’ Then a female customer would enter my room. She would take her leisure of my body, playing with me however she chose.” He shuddered in distaste. “I cannot tell you how many times some filthy beast clambered onto my face and demanded I satisfy her.”
“Oh, McCallister,” Sheridan whispered. She leaned down to hug him and her warm, soft breasts enveloped his head.
Pleased shock held him immobile for a long moment. Sheridan had not pulled away or expressed any abhorrence at his revelations. He smiled against her flesh, the memories a little more distant and a little less acrid. “The first time I refused, Desdemona had me strung up naked in the middle of the house. She whipped me until my entire body was a mass of bleeding welts then she let the vampires drink from my body. She left me there for three days then hauled me back upstairs, cleaned me up, and bound me once more.” He closed his eyes as hot shame poured through him. “The next time...the next time I did what she wanted. And from that night on, I continued to do so.” He covered Sheridan’s hand with his and pressed down on his chest. “You’d think a man could control his own cock, wouldn’t you? But I was just a boy. My virginity was taken from me without my consent and all I learned about sex came from those women. Each night they’d taunt me, lick me, touch me when I wanted nothing more than to die. But they
always managed to rouse my cock hard enough to climb on board and ride me. I felt helpless, powerless. The women—and Desdemona—were always in control. I could do nothing.”
His eyes snapped open and he looked up at her with a grin. Sheridan’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. “That’s an awfully devious smile.”
“I could do nothing until I learned how to control my orgasms. After I figured that out, I never came inside one of those bitches again. It was my only means of defiance and half the time they didn’t even care. They just wanted to fuck themselves to climax then totter away, leaving me a disgusting mess in their wake. But I cared. It was my way of rebelling.”
Sheridan laughed and smoothed her hand over his forehead before tracing his lips. “Very smart, McCallister.”
Her praise warmed him from the inside, pushing aside the unease, the shame, the horrid stench of the past he’d been unable to escape for so long. “I was so damn young when it happened. I didn’t know what the hell I was doing in or out of the bedroom. Desdemona also held us as thralls to her. She had us believing we would die without a daily dose of her blood. Each night, after the women left, she would visit the six of us and force us to drink from her. I fantasized about draining her into a husk but those damn Guardians were always too close. Day after day, year after year, I could feel myself becoming less human and more monster.”
He sat up from her lap and spun to look at her, studying her face with an intensity he knew bordered on insanity. “Being a vampire is a living hell, Sheridan. The hunger is always there, the need to drink nearly unquenchable. There are changes in your body and mind that take you to dark places filled with the most wretched kind of thoughts you could ever conjure. It’s like being a druggie or alcoholic and battling the urge for one more score. The constant battle is hard and tiring and yet, it never ends. The hunger instinct begins to take over and what semblance of humanity and ethics you have slowly disappears. I felt it happening. I knew it was happening. I couldn’t live like that, Sheridan. I watched the man I thought was my best friend, the one who took me to her, destroy himself because of this curse. I knew I was heading for the same fate.” He rose and paced the living room to stand in front of her hutch. He picked up one of the lace figurines. A ballet dancer poised on one pointed toe, the other slender leg jutting out with delicate precision. He could crush the porcelain with one touch. Destroy the beautiful object in his hand with quick, easy strength, and not look back. Just as he was afraid he could destroy her if he weren’t careful.
He replaced the dancer and turned back to her. “I lost my life once and I was becoming a ravenous beast. I felt the only thing I could do was find a way to kill myself.”
“No!” She leapt to her feet and rushed forward.
He held up a hand to forestall her touch. He needed to finish the tale. “It was the only way. I could no longer live with what I had become. Even the nightly visits from the women were becoming tolerable. I was losing myself, Sheridan. I decided I would attack Desdemona when she came into my room that night. Over the five years I’d been her slave, she’d become lax with security. Some of the other men on the floor were allowed to roam freely. Leopold was one of them. She only brought one guard with her that night. He stood outside my room with the door open, as he sometimes did when she sought to satisfy her own sexual desires.” His throat convulsed. “She approached me and ordered me to kneel. I sank down and she held out her wrist then told me to drink. I knew I would need sustenance and strength. I also knew she was always momentarily weakened after a feeding. I took my fill, careful not to go over my allotment. Then, instead of releasing her, I grabbed her hand and twisted so hard, I broke bone. She cried out and struggled to free herself but I had the upper hand.”
Sheridan’s eyes were wide and both hands covered her mouth. He couldn’t really tell if she was disgusted or terrified but he could hear her heartbeat pounding as hard and fast as any train could ever run.
“I had only moments to finish the job. I knew I couldn’t kill her, but I could temporarily incapacitate her. That would leave only the Guardian at the door. I managed to get her to the ground where I put my hands around her neck.” He looked down at his fingers, still able to feel her soft, smooth flesh trapped between them. McCallister returned his gaze to Sheridan. “Vampires have to breathe, you know. If she’d been a little weaker, I could have killed her. But I knew I didn’t have that kind of time. I choked harder until she gurgled and passed out. Her mad heartbeat rang in my ears as I ran to the door, expecting to fight the Guardian. Instead, Leopold and four other stood in the hallway, the Guardian dead on the floor between them. We all escaped that night. Tore off into the darkness and never looked back.
“I didn’t know where to go, where to turn. I feared Desdemona’s retribution but I knew she was no idiot and wouldn’t ever attack me unless she could get me alone. I made sure that never happened. I returned to my family home and tried to live a normal life.” He scoffed at his own stupidity. “That worked out well. My family was shocked as hell to see me and why not? I had been missing for five years then returned looking exactly as I had as an eighteen year old.”
Sheridan crossed the room and took him into her arms. Her scent, her heat, her compassion flowed around him like warm sea water. He cuddled her close, laying his cheek to her soft golden hair.
“My God, McCallister. You’ve been through enough to turn anyone bitter and distrustful.”
He eased back. “Do I seem that way to you?”
She gave him a soft, sad smile and caressed his cheek. “You have barriers no woman could ever breach. With good reason, I admit. If I had been raped—” She faltered on a sharp inhalation and he winced at the harsh but accurate word.
“If I had been raped as you were, used as you’d been, I would make damn sure only I controlled every aspect of my body until the end of time. I understand. Our Joining, such as it is, will have to be enough. We’ll make certain it is. No matter what comes our way, McCallister, we’ll face it together.”
His nose tingled and his throat swelled, rendering him speechless. Afraid he would start bawling like a baby at any second, he hauled her back into his arms and shoved her face into his chest.
“Mcfffstrr...”
He eased his grip so she could breathe.
His mind was a dizzying, light-speed-fast whirl of thoughts and impressions. Despite her mental Keep Out sign, he could feel the tenderness for him radiating from her. Sheridan’s genuine depth of caring filled him to the brim before overflowing his heart.
She’d heard every word he’d said and it didn’t matter to her. Not that he’d been a sex slave, not that he’d drank blood every day for years, not that he’d nearly, purposefully killed Desdemona.
She understood.
He was humbled by her empathy.
“Sheridan,” he said hoarsely.
She looked up. “Yes?”
McCallister stepped back, freeing their bodies of any contact then slowly sank to the floor in front of her, knees cushioned by the soft rug. He took her hands, kissed her fingers, and met her startled gaze.
“Sheridan Aames, I do trust you.”
Her inhalation was fast and sharp. She swayed lightly and tears turned her eyes an indigo pool of cautious hope.
“I trust you and I offer myself—my whole body—to you to do with as you please. Sheridan, tonight I give you all the control.”
Chapter Thirteen
Sheridan stared down at McCallister. Tender emotion swamped her. This strong, confident man was on his knees, offering her his greatest fear. She tried to imagine how it would feel to be the one in charge. To have this wild, rugged man obey her every whim, ordering him about and denying or granting him his pleasure as he’d done with her.
A wellspring of affection filled her. Bending, she tugged at his shoulders. “Stand up, McCallister,” she said.
He frowned then slowly rose, towering over her.
Yes, this is how it should be.
One step
closed the distance between them. Sheridan cupped his cheek, stroking skin darkened and bristled by his five o’clock shadow. He remained still and neutral under her touch. Rising on tiptoe, she pressed a soft kiss to his lips.
“Thank you.”
“For what?” he asked, wariness in the words.
“For trusting me enough to tell me your story. For trusting me enough to offer your body. For trusting me enough to know I would never hurt you.” All the pieces fell into place and she smiled softly before stripping off her pink tank and pushing down her jean shorts and underwear. Still smiling up at him, she sank to her knees, spread her thighs apart, and laced her fingers behind her head. “Thank you for your offer, but I know this is where I belong. At your feet and at your command.”
McCallister’s eyes flashed a brilliant green. “Are you certain, my sweet?”
The soft warmth of certainty covered her again. “Yes, Sir.”
He visibly jerked with those two simple words. Sheridan realized she had just as much power over him as he did her.
The knowledge was both comforting and exhilarating. She bowed her head. “I am yours.”
As she waited for his first order, her entire body tingled with anticipation. Her naked pussy, spread open and gaping, pulsed hotly. Her clit swelled and her nipples hardened.
Will he flog me again? Spank me? Lightning fast memories of their last encounter zipped through her, making her lust grow even greater. She’d really liked the feeling of those nipple clamps.
“Rise, little one.”
Startled, she jerked her head upward. He stared down at her, arms crossed, legs spread, expression unreadable.
Her heart skipped several beats before speeding up uncomfortably. “Did I displease you, Sir?”
His face softened. “No. You please me greatly. Stand, Sheridan, so that I may take my pleasure of you.”
The formal words seemed exactly right and she slid her legs together. He reached down and lifted her upward. He threaded his fingers in her hair and tugged her head backward.
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