Destined Hearts

by Castle, Angela

  Destined Hearts by Angela Castle

  Chapter One

  The corridor was dark, damp and smelled of blood, both fresh and old; it reeked. Fear and panic gripped Aria. She froze. A steel hand banded around her upper arm, propelling her forward.

  “This is a mistake. I’ve changed my mind. You can have your money back,” she told her customer, her first and only customer.

  His charming smile contorted into a menacing grin. She tried twisting her arm to free herself, but his hand held her in place. He dragged her now. They came to a set of steps.

  “I’m not into any twisted shit. Let me go.” She snarled the words at him.

  He laughed.

  She had heard that kind of laugh before, a you’re-more-than-fucked laugh. Instinct kicked in, curling her hands into fists. She twisted sharply, ramming a bunched fist into the man’s solar plexus. He grunted, winded.

  His grip loosened. She tore herself free, spinning around on her heels, and ran. She didn’t get far; her foot twisted in those damn heels she’d borrowed from Mae. She slammed hard into the stone floor, grazing her knees and the palms of her hands. Fuck.

  “I admire your fight, little whore, but it won’t save you.” He was over her, hands on her. He lifted her, shoving her face first into the bare, brick wall, both arms pinned behind her back.

  “I’m not a whore; I’ve never done this before. I… I thought I could, but I can’t. Please, let me go.” She felt his hot breath on her ear.

  “I know that; every nervous movement you made told me you were no whore, so much so, I couldn’t resist. But you’re not here to be fucked, as tempting as you are.” He anchored one of his hands on both her wrists to keep her pinned; his other slid up over her hip and lower stomach to cup her breast. He squeezed hard. “Hmm, very tempting. It’s getting harder and harder to find fresh, young innocents. I couldn’t believe my luck when I saw you on that street corner. You are very beautiful, little dove.”

  She shivered as his tongue darted out and swirled around her ear; goose bumps broke out all over her body. “Wh-What do you want?” It was a struggle to keep the fear from her voice.

  He pulled back, taking her along with him. He headed back the way she had run from, pushing her down the stairs, keeping her moving.

  If he hadn’t been holding her so tightly, she would have fallen down the spiral stairs. The only light came from sparsely scattered bulbs.

  “I have a guest downstairs; you’re going to keep him company.”

  What kind of guest would be put up in a dark, horrid-smelling hole? In a large place such as this, there was only one word for the place he’d dragged her to. “What kind of guest do you keep in a dungeon?

  What will he do?” She was trying to keep the panic from her voice. With each struggle, he twisted her arm painfully, so she ceased her efforts lest he should actually break her arm.

  “Whatever he likes, I suppose.” The casual way he spoke only increased her fear. With the first door unlocked, he shoved her inside, pushing her away from him.

  Aria rubbed at her arms, putting as much distance as possible between herself and her abductor, watching him lock the door with a heavy old iron key. The door seemed to be the only way out. In the dim electric light of this modern dungeon there seemed to be a row of solid steel doors.

  He walked to one and inserted another key, but he did not unlock it. He turned to her, crooking his finger to beckon her forward. “Be a good little girl now and come here.”

  Aria shook her head. “Go to hell, you bastard. The cops are going

  to track you down and see you rot in prison.” Her words only seemed to make him smile that same sinister smile.

  “Oh, little dove, you do have to make things hard on yourself.” He stalked forward.

  Aria evaded him as far as she could go until he had her trapped in a corner. She kicked and punched at him, but he was ready, quick. She found herself grabbed and flung over his shoulder, her head hanging down. She beat his back with her fists. His strong arms banded around her legs. For good measure, and as if to amuse himself, he slapped her ass several times as he approached the door with the key.

  It all happened way too fast. The door was opened, Aria was tossed inside—falling hard on the concrete floor—the door was slammed shut, and she heard the key in the lock twisting with a firm click. Trying to contain the panic fighting to break free, in the complete pitch black of the cell, Aria scrambled along the floor, feeling with her fingers until she reached the metal door. She rose to her feet and loudly pounded on it.

  “You son of a bitch, you’ll pay. I swear you’ll pay!” She felt anger, fear, helplessness. Oh, God, she was going to die here. A sudden awareness that she was not alone made her freeze. Even with the blood rushing in her ears, her heart pounding, she could sense it. Sense him.

  Aria turned, pushing her back into the wall as if she could melt herself right through it to safety.

  “Who’s there?” She swallowed hard; whatever it was in this cell with her, it was dangerous, deadly. A soft shuffling of feet made her heart pound louder in her ears, and her breathing accelerated. She felt along the walls, inching back until she hit the corner and could go no farther, closing her eyes, trying to get them to adjust to the dark.

  “Please, don’t…hurt me.” Her whole body trembled; she knew it had moved closer. A breath caressed her face. Aria’s eyes flew open; she wanted to see who it was. Still nothing but darkness, every other sense heightened. Cold fingers touched her arm.

  Aria let out a strangled scream. As she was pulled forward, her body hit a wall of solid, naked, hard-muscled chest. Her hand pushed against the cool flesh as an arm banded around her back, tilting her,

  making her arch backward. Hot breath, cold body? She didn’t understand how that was possible. This man, this thing, felt big.

  She tentatively ran her hands over the wall of muscles she was pressed against. His chest expanded and deflated with each breath he took. She felt that hot breath fan across her throat; she felt his cool lips against her skin. He kissed her throat, like that of a gentle lover, confusing her even more.

  “Hungry, so hungry. I am sorry, I…I need, I need…” The voice was a hoarse, deep whisper.

  It should have sent another wave of panic through her, yet, strangely, it calmed her. If this was going to be her death, she wasn’t going to greet it like a victim. She relaxed into those strong arms. Instead of pushing in hope of escape, she let her hands feel the bare, smooth, cool flesh. Even though she could not see him, she knew he was incredibly well built, the definition of his pectorals. Her hands searched higher, finding more bunched muscles at his shoulder, and explored around his back. His hair was soft, thick and greasy; her fingers smoothed up and into it.

  He stilled but did not remove his face from the crook of her neck.

  His breathing became harder, almost labored. His cool, hard body trembled under her touch, but he still did not release her from his tight embrace. This man, this thing, was in pain; she could feel the hurt radiating off him.

  “It’s all right,” she whispered. Why? No logic came to mind. This man was in need of something, of help—her help. “If you need me, take me.” Had Aria totally lost her mind? More than likely. Shutting down her brain, she allowed herself to simply feel, to feel him, to feel her acceptance. Something about this felt right; whatever he wanted, she wanted to give him.

  Those cool lips brushed again against her neck. Giving a sharp gasp, she felt his lips widen on her throat. His lips were then replaced with hard, sharp-tipped daggers that sank into her skin. A flash of pain then a burst of pleasure ripped through her body, making every nerve ending tingle and zing with delight.

  Aria moaned and clasped him tighter to her, curling h
er fingers in his hair. The skin on her body was overheating. She wanted skin to skin, flesh to flesh, contact with the man who made her feel like this, wanted to press her breasts against his chest. She shifted her hips against his, desperately, wantonly, feeling his hard erection straining against the clothing he wore. White-hot, searing, blind lust ruled and drove her, making her hungry for completion. The more he tugged on her skin, the higher she climbed toward the pinnacle. Her body was weakening, completely at his mercy; he held her firm in his arms. With another long tug on her throat, she gave a strangled cry as everything exploded, white lights flashing before her eyes, her body shuddering, moaning. She was falling, unable to stop it. Unable to think, feel, she had no choice but to let the darkness take her.

  Ethan ripped himself from the woman with a hoarse roar. “Mine!”

  Her blood was so rich, like drinking ambrosia itself. He would not, could not, take her life, oh no. She was his, her blood, her body. She would live and live for him; he would make sure of it.

  Never had any of the others reacted to him like she had, their fear drawing him like sweet honey to a bee. She had feared him at first then everything changed, and the fear had left her. He felt her heart beat strong, willing and giving. Ethan had wanted her, wanted her blood, wanted her fulfillment. Why? Why was she different from the others? But she was. She was not the usual whore his jailer brought him, those he had mindlessly killed, unable to stop himself, never truly sating his blood lust, leaving his mind still snowed in fog. But he had stopped. Why? Hardly aware of his prison, the other women had been but a blur. He was always so hungry. Now with her lovely rich nectar running through him, every sense was sharpened; he felt strong, restored. How long had it been since he had felt this whole? He wasn’t sure.

  Taking in the vision of the woman in his arms—her hair a mass of honey brown curls tumbling down over his arm—he breathed in the scent of a flowery perfume, her skin soft, now pale from the blood he’d taken.

  Her heartbeat, although weak, labored on. If he took any more, she would die.

  Her face looked painted, large eyes tinted in a shimmering blue, long, black-tinted eye lashes, high cheek bones dusted with pink rouge, lips full and reddened with a glossy red paint-like substance. He ran the pad of his thumb over them, smudging the color. She was dressed like the usual whores he had taken. She wore a tight blood red top stretched across beautiful, ample breasts and a short black skirt, revealing the curve of her well-rounded hips and lovely long legs.

  Ethan was very much certain she was no whore. He scowled at the scrapes on her knees and the palms of her hands. Someone had caused her harm in bringing her to him; his jailer. This woman’s blood that had roused him from the nightmare that had kept him in this state… He would need more. There was no way he could destroy the one thing that had just saved him. Every instinct he possessed screamed at him to claim her; she was a blue blood, and she was his.

  The lock clicked in his cell door. Ethan set his woman down on the floor; he had to act now and quickly. He hung his head over so his jailer wouldn’t see the change in his eyes. Long suppressed powers surging through to the surface, Ethan closed his eyes, harnessing them. The door swung open, and faint light flowed in, not that he needed it. There were only two things on his mind now—he was going to get out, and he was going to take his woman with him. He needed her blood; he needed her.

  Ethan crouched down, every muscle in his body ready for action.

  His jailer sighed. “Damn, I thought this one was different.” He had assumed he was looking at another dead body.

  “Oh, she is.” Ethan raised his head, leaping at him before he had time to react, slamming him back against the stone wall four feet from his cell door; the fledgling’s head hit the stone with a heavy thwack, knocking him clean out. Ethan had a mind to finish off the bastard; it was obviously him who had been bringing his meals to him, the one who had hurt his woman. Instead, Ethan quickly stripped him of his clothing, passing on the tight, restrictive-looking material that covered his cock. The shirt and jacket were a tight fit but would have to do. Relieving him of his keys and other possessions, Ethan dragged the man into his old dank, dirty cell, dumping him there before picking up his woman. With her secure in his

  arms, he carried her out and locked the door of the cell, hoping his fledgling jailer rotted in there like he had for so long. Ethan unlocked the last of his prison, starting up the steps to freedom.

  Chapter Two

  Leaving the underground prison had proved relatively easy until he came outside. He found an unfamiliar land of bright, glaring lights and horseless metal carriages that moved on their own. Women dressed as men passed him on the streets; there was a rancid, smoky smell in the air, a constant hum of noise. So much had changed; the human civilization had advanced much in his absence. It had been hard enough adapting after being forced to survive in a harsh, primitive world. Now he had to adapt to the human advances. Snatching up a discarded newspaper called The New York Times, his gaze scanned over the date. Anger curled deep in his gut after he calculated the time he had been imprisoned.

  Over two hundred years had passed since he’d been betrayed, tricked, captured and starved into submission. He knew damn well why he’d been kept alive, not that it was living. Any attempt to kill him would mean a whole long line of ancient vampires would fall with him. It had been proven when the fledglings had decapitated his brother, Marc, in an attempt to seize power. There was shock and horror on their faces as nearly half of those present had screamed as if being boiled alive from the inside, their bodies sunk into a gelatinous mess of skin and bones. It had saved Ethan’s life; whatever Ethan and his brothers were, their creations needed them alive in order to live.

  But why had he been moved to this land? Ethan had many questions and much to discover, but they would have to wait; there was only a few hours till dawn. He could not wander around with his blue

  blood all night. Even with so much change in the world around him, the underlying basics of humanity had not changed—money, death, food, sex, shelter. Reluctantly, he was forced to leave his unconscious woman hidden in a dark alley. He snatched a passing mortal woman, finding her mind weak and easy to control; it seemed his powers had strengthened as the centuries passed. Yet, he was not fully recovered. Ethan would require more blood to completely bring himself back to full strength, but it was too soon to feed from his new source. She needed time to recover.

  Using the other woman, a blonde, he gave her a command to take him to a place of lodgings. With his blue blood back in his arms, he followed her to a hôtel, a far cry from the rented closets that used to exist a few hundred years ago in France. When asked for payment, the green paper currency found in the wallet of his jailer seemed to satisfy the innkeeper. A room was secured, high in the building’s interior. With his mind persuasion on the man behind the desk, he’d handed over a key without even glancing at the woman in his arms.

  The elevator made him uneasy, with hazy memories of his cell still fresh, so he let the entranced blond woman operate the machinery.

  Following her to the rented room, he ordered her to wait outside while he gently placed his little savior on the bed, quickly stripping off her clothing but leaving the exotic-looking black lace undergarments. Licking his lips, more of his newly acquired blood rushed to his already hardened cock. As much as he used to appreciate the curves that a corset brought to a woman’s figure, he was tantalized by the lacy wisps against soft pale skin.

  Ethan had no time to examine his new beauty; there would be time for that later. Two hundred years was a hell of a long time to go without a woman; he would have to bear it for a few more hours yet. He covered her, satisfied she was safe for the time being, and left the rented chamber after securing it behind him.

  The blond woman waited with the same blank, hypnotic expression. He commanded her to take him to a place that sold clothing and food. Following her back into the streets, she took him to a darkened store that was clearly c
losed at this hour. He pushed more green currency into the entranced blonde’s hand, commanding her to fetch food and

  drink. Ethan easily broke the locks of the merchant’s store and moved through the racks, taking what he wanted for himself and what he wanted to see his woman wearing. Thievery was not something he had a tendency for, but at this time, he had no choice. He would compensate the human merchants when he was able.

  With the clothing draped over his arm, he went to meet the entranced blond woman. She held bags and steaming cups, cooked, fleshly smells wafting from them. He took the bags and cups from her. He no longer had need of the young woman. He felt the steady, strong rhythm of her heart, hearing the blood racing through her veins, but there was no desire to taste her blood; he only craved the taste of his woman.

  Reaching into the woman’s mind, he scrambled her memories.

  “You need to go home,” he said, sending the words into her head as a mental command.

  “I need to go home,” she repeated in a monotone voice; her blue eyes glazed over in the entranced hypnotic state.

  “You will return home, go to bed, and when you awake, you will remember nothing. Now go.” He stepped back to let her pass.

  She walked down the alley and into the night, her pointed heels clicking on the strangely paved streets.

  With the bundle in his arms, he returned to the lodgings. Securing the thick curtains, he examined the bedside light to learn its workings before switching it on. He took the lid off a steaming cup. It smelt strange and was murky brown in color; if this was what she needed, she would get it. He sat down on the bed, studying the pretty, freckled face of his woman. Her body would slowly adjust to his feeding from her; her blood supply would increase in volume. Until then, he had to keep her healthy, her blood supply strong.

  *

  The smell of hamburger, fries and sweet coffee wafted into Aria’s nose. Her mouth watered, her stomach growled, yet she struggled to open her eyes. Her body felt heavy, weak.