Beckoned: Born of Darkness (Book 1)

by R. B. Fields

  I frown. It has to be more than that. Sex is fun, but that isn’t a way to dull or intensify powers. “Did you do something more to him?”

  She stiffens. “What could I possibly do to him? You guys are vampires for fuck’s sake.”

  Is that true? Does she really not know? None of this makes any sense, and the woods around us remain dead as if every creature has vanished. That’s the most concerning part — it’s dangerous. If Mikael’s group is nearby, I have no way to know. As it is, I’m no use to her, to any of us, and if being with her gave Silas his powers back … Perhaps an experiment is in order. “May I touch you?”

  She swallows hard, but she nods. I lift the visor on my helmet and inhale her — sweet and salty and delicious. I slide one hand from her waist up the past ridges of her ribs, then over the mound of her breast.

  She does not move when I tease her nipple through the thin fabric of her tank top, remains still even as I feel the blood rush to her tender places. I slide the fingers of my other hand beneath her skirt, and though the flimsy fabric is billowing around her, the way she’s sitting on the bike makes her panties feel like a chastity belt, hiding her womanhood from me the way her mind is hiding her feelings. And then she shifts her hips, pressing herself against my fingertips. I can feel her heat. I can smell her sweat.

  I can almost taste her blood.

  But it is not until I slip my finger beneath the hem of her panties that I feel the world around us come alive, the dull meaningless silence of the hills brightening to a news broadcast of rage and teeth.

  I tense. They know we’re here. I cannot tell if it’s Mikael’s group or another hive, but these picturesque hills are hiding intense evil. But they cannot hide from us, and definitely not from Markula. He’s the most powerful Warrior I’ve ever met — by far the strongest. He probably smells them already, unless he’s under her spell too.

  I pull my fingertips from her wetness but leave my hand against the warm mound of her sex. The woods devolve into an angry, meaningless static.

  Shit. “Pull over,” I growl.

  She maneuvers to the side of the road, and it’s only then that I realize we’ve pulled to the front of the pack; the others slow. There is no shoulder here, only the soft green grass, and we have to ease into a long shallow ditch to get fully off the street. Beyond the ditch, the dark of the trees beckons.

  She shuts the bike off, and arches back against me, finally freeing herself from the confines of the seat — she’s wet, she’s so wet, and I can’t resist it. I slip my fingers deep inside her, relishing the intoxicating heat. But she tenses as the others roar off the highway and into the ditch. It’s almost as if she thinks she’s done something wrong.

  Markula’s watching us from the back of the group, his helmet firmly in place, but she’s not looking at him. She blinks at Silas as he parks beside us; he removes his helmet. I massage her pussy and feel a moan catch in her tender throat. That word — pussy — so scandalous, is new to me over the last decade, but I’ll admit, I rather like it.

  “Can you hear her Silas?” I say.

  Silas leaves his helmet on his bike and dismounts. “I hear her and everyone else since last night. It seems as if the rest of the world is louder, brighter — as if suddenly my senses have expanded a hundredfold.”

  “Even when you aren’t touching her?”

  Silas nods, squinting at the trees. “You feel them out there, right? But they aren’t of concern, not yet. They’re far off, Draynor — you’re sensing things well beyond where you usually can … because of her.” He looks at Dawn. “I think your assessment is correct. She lets us get closer to our gifts.”

  I had not even realized I was thinking it in such concrete terms, but this is exactly what I’m beginning to believe. This woman has the ability to shut off a vampire’s gifts, but those who get close to her experience an acceleration of their powers. I don’t know why … but I think it’s true.

  She’s gone still beneath my hand, but I don’t need vampire senses to understand what she wants. Even the densest of men could feel the steady throb of her sex. But she still thinks she needs permission. As if Silas has somehow claimed her as his because she shared pleasure with him for an evening. Humans. What a stilted existence — why should she have to choose? Such things can only lead to heartache.

  Silas seems to be thinking the same — he offers her his hand. She pauses for only an instant before taking it, but not before casting a glance at the others. Kain has stopped his bike beside Markula, watching our leader. Waiting for someone to tell him what to do.

  But Markula does not address him. He glares at the three of us. “Go,” Markula growls, the sun shining off his faceplate, obscuring what lies beneath. “We’ll wait.” And in his voice, I hear what he means: Weaklings.

  10

  Dawn

  What am I doing?

  We share everything. Silas said that, but I didn’t think he was serious, and now … I don’t care. I feel like I’ve been drugged, as I did last night — calmer than I should be but deliciously so. I have all my faculties, I know I can say no … I just don’t want to. I’m on fire with need, a throbbing ache pulsing through my center and into my brain — it’s all I can feel. There is no fear, no pain. Only this.

  I want them; both of them. There are vampires after us, but they don’t know where we are — they might track us once we get where we’re going, but here in these woods, I feel safe. And neither Silas nor Draynor would let Mikael’s group harm me.

  Markula might.

  But Markula isn’t here.

  It’s cool beneath the trees, the brilliant sun transformed here into the dappled light of fairy tales. I’m still holding Silas’s hand, but Draynor is on my other side, trailing his fingernails over the flesh of my abdomen, carefully avoiding the bandage that remains wrapped over my shoulder. Gorgeous, both of them, one tall and blond, one tall and dark, both rippling with muscles and desire.

  I cannot breathe. I cannot wait.

  I don’t have to. Silas stops suddenly, turns my head toward him with a pull of his hand, and brings his thick lips to mine — his tongue is gentle pressure against my teeth.

  Draynor’s hands are not so gentle. He’s already moved in front of me and is jerking my panties down my thighs, over my black boots, carefully avoiding the holster where I’ve strapped the blade — the blade. I unclasp it and let it fall to the forest floor, and though that might be dangerous, might leave me vulnerable, I can’t seem to worry about that, not when Draynor’s face is already buried in my wetness. My legs shake. Silas presses his hand against the small of my back, steadying me as Draynor slips his finger inside me once more. Wet, I’m so wet.

  I run my palm over Silas’s leather-clad shoulders. The fabric is sticky but smooth and it takes me a moment to find the zipper, but then I’m yanking at it, almost breaking the metal, and then he’s fighting his clothes too — his throws his jacket and his T-shirt to the forest floor.

  I raise my arms and let him pull the tank top over my head. Draynor is on his feet in a second, shedding his clothes with a quickness that takes my breath away, but I don’t want him on his feet — I want him between my legs. Draynor shifts behind me, his lips on my shoulder, my body quivering with need, but there remains a gentle pull of something like guilt deep in the back of my brain, a learned anxiety borne of a world that tells me this isn’t something I should be doing. No matter how strong I am, no matter how unconcerned I am with a one-night-stand, I don’t want to hurt Silas. And I’ve never met a man who wouldn’t be jealous of another man running his fingers over my hips from behind the way Draynor is now.

  “Is this … ” Is this okay, that’s what I’m supposed to say, isn’t it? You can’t just run around having sex with all the men you want.

  Silas smiles at me and undoes his pants; he nods to something behind me. I hadn’t even noticed the tree stump when we’d stopped, but Draynor’s sitting on it now, legs spread, fully nude except for his black boots that m
atch his long hair and onyx eyes. His cock is a little bigger than Silas’s and thickly veined, but his hair is far darker, a thatch of curls that begins at his belly button. Like gods — they’re both like gods.

  Silas eases me backward and pulls my skirt up around my waist as I lower myself into Draynor’s lap. I feel Draynor’s hardness against my ass, then between my legs, but he doesn’t push himself inside. His fingers play at my nipples, sending shocks of electricity through my abdomen. His lips are on my throat. There is a soreness there, a bruise from that wire, but it feels like it happened ages ago, and when Draynor tongues those tender places it’s as if I’ve been anesthetized. But Draynor’s nerve endings are taut, his muscled arms solid, his energy more aggressive than Silas. And god, I want him to be aggressive.

  Silas kneels before the stump and lowers his face to my pussy. Draynor presses his cock against my opening, slow — too slow. I arch against him, trying to draw him in.

  “Patience,” he whispers. He shifts, easing me off to the side so he can capture my nipple with his ruby lips. Soft, so soft, the naked need inside my body like a flaming torch. Silas laps at me, sucking with a series of soft pops, each of which makes me gasp, little exclamations of desire. Draynor follows suit, giving my nipples the same attention. I’m already edging into a wave that might take me straight to the top. I can’t take it, I can’t —

  Without warning, Draynor buries himself in my pussy, his thick head against my cervix. He thrusts again, deeper, deeper, Silas’s teeth against my clit, his tongue working overtime. I throw my head back onto Draynor’s muscular arm — every inch of him from his thighs to his shoulders to his cock is rock hard, like a statue carved in marble.

  But Silas’s hand is soft on my breast. Silas’s tongue is soft between my thighs.

  I spread my thighs wider, and Draynor grabs my legs beneath the knees, raising me up, then slams me back down on his cock. Silas anticipates these moves — his mouth never leaves my clit as Draynor fucks me, harder, harder, harder. I cry out — I want this to last longer — but I’m already coming, my body pulsing around Draynor, Silas lapping up my juices.

  I’m trembling, but they don’t stop, just slow their movements, letting me ride out my orgasm. Silas licks me softly, quietly, like the waves of a calm lake. It will take almost nothing to keep me going. But Silas … I need more.

  “I want to taste you,” I whisper.

  Silas stands, and I take him in my mouth. He’s not salty like humans might be — soft and sweet, like honey, which doesn’t seem to make sense, not for a monster. Is that what they are? I don’t care about that either. I lick him from base to tip, then suck him as deep as I’m able, Draynor accelerating his pace once more, thrusting more aggressively inside me. Draynor drops his fingers to my clit, circling, caressing, then clamps down and twists. Hard.

  I scream, the sound muffled around Silas’s dick. And then Silas is coming, the first spurt hot against the roof of my mouth, and then I’m going over, too, Draynor pulsing inside me, all of us groaning into the sun, my body cresting into a new pleasure I never knew existed. I’m awake, maybe for the first time ever. I can smell the leaves. I can feel the sun in my blood. The things that whisper to me in the dark seem very far away.

  How can I ever come back from this? And why would anyone want to?

  11

  Dawn

  Why come back? Um, because in my old life, no one wanted me dead, least of all a bunch of savage vampires.

  That orgasm afterglow really is something else.

  Reality had set in almost immediately upon returning to the bikes. We ride the rest of the way to Vermont in silence, Draynor behind the wheel, me clinging to his broad shoulders, still tasting him on my tongue.

  Has it only been twenty-four hours since I was at work, stitching up a car wreck victim in the ER? Has it only been twelve hours since I watched a serial-killer vampire torn apart by another member of the undead? It all happened so … fast. It seems unreal.

  I’ve spent my life being in control — my mother’s death was the last time I’ve been this fully at the mercy of events beyond myself. I cling harder to Draynor as he presses the bike past 100mph, the evening light casting long shadows over the highway. But despite the uncertainty about the upcoming days, about the rest of my life, Draynor’s presence — I know it’s him — keeps me calm. Like a drug.

  And I’m not sure how I feel about that. I’m not sure if it’s dangerous like other kinds of drugs might be. No class in nursing school covers vampire hypnosis.

  The “cottage” in upstate Vermont is an expansive Tudor which boasts lush gardens and a coy pond in the front. Rustic stones cover the entire front facade making it resemble a small castle more than a country home. My legs are still shaking as we climb off the bikes, but Kain has no such issue; he leaps off his motorcycle and is inside the house before I make it to the base of the steps.

  “So, are you guys going to tell me what kind of errands vampires run in their spare time?” And what we’re doing here? I didn’t think they came here to get away from Mikael — they had this planned before Silas showed up with me hanging onto the back of his bike.

  Silas tucks his helmet under his arm and frowns. Draynor, too, pretends he didn’t hear me, but I know he did. Only Markula acknowledges my presence — a mountain of a man that blocks the last rays of the setting sun like an eclipse. He lifts a finger in my direction, pointing, and I can almost see the scowl from the way he’s set his shoulders, but only almost — Markula’s helmet is shiny, his face hidden, his voice muffled by the still-closed visor as he says: “You stay out here.”

  I tense, my shoulders rigid, all the more aware of the blade on my hip, though I don’t believe I’ll have to use it against him. Will I? I glare at his faceplate, though my rage is a bit dull … tempered. Probably because of Draynor.

  Silas balks. “You can’t just leave her out on the lawn!”

  Finally coming to my rescue. Took you long enough.

  “Do you hear them now?” Markula says.

  Silas frowns, his eyes narrowed as if listening. “No.” He opens his mouth as if he might say more, but I raise a hand. If they need to have an emergency meeting, I’m not going to waste my time fighting that giant — I’ll save my favors, thanks. “I’m going to sit by the pond. Let me know when I can come in to eat, would you? You do have human food, right?” But the way it rolls off my tongue, “human food” makes me more than a little uncomfortable. “Food for humans, I mean. You have that?”

  Draynor raises an eyebrow, his black hair silky in the dying light, his eyes pools of ink. “We do. I called ahead.”

  “Good,” I snap. “Then hurry it up. I have to eat at regular intervals, unlike you.” I’m not even sure that’s true. Do vampires have a feeding schedule? What do these ones eat if not people — if not me? But Silas nods, and I watch them file inside, more than a little irritated. Markula’s masked face is the last thing I see before he slams the door. Asshole.

  The walk to the water is short and soft, a path made of mossy stones and surrounded by wildflowers. I reach for a bulbous pink flower with a tall, fine stem that looks too thin to hold it up, but draw my hand back. I’m not sure what vampire flower etiquette looks like, but I get the distinct impression that I can’t make any more mistakes or Markula will toss me out on my ass.

  But I didn’t ask to be here. Silas brought me home because vampires were after me.

  And now, walking to the coy pond, my footsteps a barely audible thup-thup-thup against the damp stones, finally free of Draynor’s mellow-spell or whatever the hell you call it, the real source of my unease is trying to bubble to the surface. What I thought I saw as a teenager is true: Vampires are real, and they killed my mother. And my mother’s knife, my knife, can hurt them when little else can.

  I’m a threat to them.

  And Markula knows it.

  But I still don’t know why it might be true. I still don’t know why Silas would give the blade back to me if it�
�s so important. I don’t know why my presence affects their powers. And the obvious attraction some of us have to one another … that doesn’t fit either.

  I’m missing something.

  It’s cooler by the edge of the pond, but I’m not cold, though I should be — a tank top shouldn’t be enough to keep the autumn air at bay. The only things blocking the breeze are the enormous maple trees that flank the water and frame the pasture beyond as if it’s a watercolor painting. The pond’s surface ripples, the undulating bodies swishing by in smears of orange and yellow, white and black. The biggest fish, an enormous specimen of orange and white does a figure eight over the other fish, the fin on his back brushing the air above the surface. Like a shark. Are these normal coy? Maybe they, like the men in the house, have sharper teeth than first glance suggests — things are rarely what they seem. That was my mother’s favorite saying, and it’s just as true now as it was then. And the gloaming that’s now creeping over the hills and shrouding the pond somehow makes this place feel more like home.

  The dark slithers through my veins. I breathe it in. And I remember her — I remember all the things I’ve tried so hard to forget. Because if I’m going to get out of this alive, I have to figure out what’s happening.

  Mom — raven hair, blue eyes like mine, wide through the hips, and gloriously beautiful. What would she think of all this? She was a nurse like me, and aggressively helped others wherever she could, but more relevant here, she’d been absolutely opposed to anything mystical. While other kids left cookies out for Santa and tucked teeth beneath their pillows for the tooth fairy, I was thrust into a world of knowing that those fanciful things were not real. Why had she fought so hard to erase the paranormal? Did she ever suspect that monsters existed? And the knife … where did she get that knife?

  I watch the potentially vicious goldfish. “I’m not afraid of you,” I whisper. I sit beside the water and lower my hand to the surface.