Calling for a Miracle [The Order of Vampyres 2] (Siren Publishing Classic)

by Lydia Michaels

  His eyes then caught on another topless woman in sharp, shiny, red boots. Her legs were spread, her rear pressed into a seated man’s face. The woman’s white hair appeared blue in the light reflecting from the stage. Her breasts where also bared and she wore some sort of string contraption between her hindquarters. There were dollar bills laced throughout the string and a wad of more sweaty bills in the male’s hand.

  There was no logic behind his presence here. He needed to leave. He maneuvered his way in between crowds and used compulsion to deter the woman serving drinks from approaching him and slowing his exit. The song playing thankfully ended, but was then replaced by the sound of a horn pumping over a woman’s erotic moans and sighs. A voice chimed in over the music. “Next up, the lovely Larissa, dancing to Janet Jackson’s ‘Throb.’”

  Everything in Eleazar stilled. He turned in slow motion toward the stage. All was dark. The pole that had been there now was mysteriously gone and a wooden chair sat in its place. All at once the tempo picked up. A tall woman wearing a man’s white dress shirt and necktie marched out on stage, her legs smooth and bare, her sharp, high shoes causing the muscles of her calves to press against her glowing flesh, the same muscles that flexed in the midst of a female’s climax. Those shoes had been created to tempt a male. Her face was shadowed by a male’s hat. He could not quite make out the color of the female’s hair, as it was tucked up within the hat.

  When she reached the chair, she stood behind it, facing the audience, and grasped the high back with her hand, spinning the wooden seat around to face her. She made to straddle the seat, but rather hovered over the wood, legs spread, her pelvis undulating slowly above the length of the seat. Eleazar swallowed. The music was not music at all, but rather a collection of fast beats accompanied by feminine sighs a woman would make in the throes of passion. The eroticism of the song was so blatant it almost had him blushing, over five centuries old and blushing!

  When she finally did lower her bottom onto the seat, Eleazar found himself also sitting, but had no recollection of finding himself a chair. His mouth had gone dry at the sight of her dainty hands gripping the back of the chair. Never in his long life had he had such a reaction to a female. He noticed the loosely cuffed sleeves of the man’s shirt draping over her petite wrists. He wanted to find the man whose shirt she wore and rip his throat out for some irrational reason.

  She stood again, twisting the chair as she did so. The woman glided around the piece of furniture as if she walked on air. She straddled the chair again, now with her back to the audience. Eleazar quickly scanned the crowd, a growl slowly built in his chest at the other men in the audience admiring the girl.

  Suddenly she tipped her head back and the hat fell to the ground. Long, black hair cascaded down her back like a waterfall. He knew that hair, knew it better than he had any right to. He knew that it smelled of mixed berries and was softer than silk. He knew that it was thick enough to fill his fist. He saw his fingers running through the long, raven-colored strands, knew the soft weight of it upon his palms, and suddenly a vision clicked into place. He knew, just knew the face hidden under all that luxurious hair.

  “No.” He heard himself say under his breath. She turned and his greatest fears were realized. There, dancing like a common harlot upon this stage of ill repute, was his charge.

  He stood so fast the chair he had been occupying crashed backward to the ground. His jaw clenched and his nostrils flared. Barely containing his rage, he turned to the men in the bar and sent out a mental command. At once, every patron lowered their eyes and tilted their heads away from the stage. Apparently undeterred by her audience’s sudden lack of interest, Larissa danced on. It was as if she could not see the crowd that watched her so avidly with eyes full of lust and minds full of ignominious thoughts.

  She danced on, her hips swaying and undulating, mimicking the intimate motions that should be shared only by man and wife. He was ashamed of her.

  Her fingers began to work at the knot of the tie. Her left hand worked up and down the narrow fabric. Her actions had somehow stimulated an image of his very own anatomy, her hands working his flesh until he swelled to a point of pain that would be eased only by plunging into her warmth. Dear God, she had to be stopped. Looking back one last time at the practically sleeping crowd, satisfied no eyes were on the stage, he heard the tug of fabric and ping of little buttons across the stage under the blare of music. He turned, lightning fast, and leapt onto the stage.

  Larissa stumbled back in her chair and gasped. She grew pie eyed with fear and he smiled, knowing she understood they would be returning to their home that night.

  “Bishop King,” she breathed and he sensed her frantically considering ways to escape him.

  “Go ahead, Larissa, run.”

  She stood and bolted to the door at the back of the stage with immortal speed. He had reached the door first. His chest swelled at the rush of adrenaline from toying with her. Some deep-seated instinct wanted to play and chase her. His heart pounded at some long-forgotten emotion he was suddenly experiencing. Arousal.

  She stood before him, dark hair tousled around her oval face, eyes wide, and lips parted as she caught her breath. Her shirt, no longer in possession of buttons, gaped open, exposing the valley between her full breasts, the length of her long, trim torso, and her narrow hips covered in black silk that formed a V above her thighs. He looked into her eyes and suffered a jolt of déjà vu as if he had stared into those eyes a thousand times before.

  “Your husband has been worried about you, Larissa,” he said and twitched at the shock of irritation he felt at mentioning her husband. “It’s time to return to your home and duties.”

  “I’m not going with you,” she dared, but he could sense the uncertainty of her words.

  He reached forward in an almost fatherly manner and pulled the edges of her shirt together. “You have had your fun with the English and now it is time to come home.”

  “I’ll only leave again. I will not live out my eternity as only Silus Hostetler’s quiet, forgotten wife.”

  Good! he heard his inner voice proclaim. He didn’t understand the satisfaction he felt over her reluctance to return peacefully to her husband. He kept his confused musings to himself and said, “Be that as it may, I have a duty to return you to your family.” She was trembling. Her fear of returning to their home did not make sense to him. Larissa had been a happy child on the farm, always pleasant, never complaining. What was she so afraid of?

  “Come with me now, child.”

  “And if I say no?” she asked.

  “We both know your objections will only take you so far. You are no match for me. You do not belong here in the English world. You certainly do not belong here on this stage. If you fight me, it will only make me more determined to have my way. Come with me easily and I shall discuss with your husband the severity of your atonement for running from him.”

  “I told you, I would only run again. I will not go back to the life I had there.”

  “And what of your family? Do you plan on living out your immortal existence with never seeing your parents or brothers or little Grace again?”

  “I see my brother now.”

  He pressed his lips together. “Yes, Cain would be the one to find you and turn his back on his order by not informing them of your whereabouts.”

  “Cain is loyal to his family before all else.”

  “How noble. Now, if you will come with me. We can gather your belongings and be on our way.”

  “No.”

  His eyebrows slowly rose. “No?”

  “No.”

  He clucked his tongue and shook his head. “How disappointing. Very well.” Eleazar pressed into her thoughts, intending to force her mind into an unconscious state, but the action seemed to hit a wall. He grunted at the force of the energy pressing between them like two mutual sides of a magnet. His brow creased. Did she know she was somehow blocking him? A female, four centuries, almost five his minor, sh
ould not have the power to block him. He tried again.

  This time he watched as Larissa gritted her teeth and growled, “I said no!”

  The compulsion to sleep was suddenly catapulted back at him. He felt a sudden fog of peace settle over him, cloaking all sound. He vaguely registered the look of shock on Larissa’s face. He reached for her but his movements were slow and sluggish. She stepped out of his grip. Her image swirled and dipped. He was all of a sudden looking up at her rather than down. She had lovely thighs, sweet and flush with soft muscles. His vision blurred. Larissa looked at him one last time, confused and panicked, then ran out of his peripheral. Next thing Eleazar knew everything went dark.

  * * * *

  Eleazar stood at the foot of Larissa’s bed as she slept, sprawled out under a soft green-and-beige quilt, her dark, raven-colored hair fanned out over her pillows. Her body was long and lithe. She was tall for a female, but still small in comparison to him. He glided closer to her bed. Her scent filled his senses. His body hardened and he became drunk with some unfamiliar excitement. She had run from him, but he found her. He always found her.

  Reaching down, he slowly plucked the quilt from where it draped over the edge of the mattress and pulled it back, revealing one naked patch of flesh at a time. Her breasts were full, her nipples the exact pink of her lush lips. While one arm curved up toward her face, the other rested just over her narrow torso. He swallowed at the sight of her small belly button. The quilt slithered lower, revealing the soft swell of her hips. She was built as a woman should be. She would have good, healthy pregnancies.

  The quilt moved lower and he saw a soft dusting of black hair covering the apex of her thighs. A sigh escaped her lips and he stilled. Looking at her face, he noticed her lashes flutter just above the high arch of her cheekbones. She opened her eyes. Pools of ice blue stared back at him.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked, her voice husky from sleep.

  “I told you I would catch you.”

  “I’ll run again.”

  “And I will find you again. There will be no escaping me, Larissa. I am more powerful than any male of The Order. I am used to getting what I want.”

  “And what is it you want, Bishop?”

  He pulled the quilt the rest of the way down her naked form and let it fall to the floor. Her long legs curved and pulled together, but he could not tell if she did this to entice him or because she was feeling bashful. “You know what I have come for.”

  “You have come to return me to Silus,” she said with a slight but meaningful sting to her voice.

  Slowly he shook his head. “No. Not tonight. Tonight you belong to me.”

  Her soft, black lashes lifted and she looked at him with a world of emotion; relief, hope, fear, trust. No, not trust, but something close. The trust one provides another just before entering into a contract perhaps. Slowly she rotated her hips again, placing her backside more firmly in the center of the mattress as if in invitation. She was magnificent, displayed before him in all of her naked beauty. Her arms lifted above her head, causing her breasts to lift and her nipples to darken and pull tight. He slowly reached for her ankles. His fingers were able to wrap around her delicate bones and then some. For being so tall, she was still rather petite. Even her smooth feet seemed exceptionally feminine and dainty next to his large hands.

  He slowly pulled her legs apart and lifted them off the bed. Her back slid down the mattress then arched with the new position he had placed her in. He brought her ankles close to his face. Turning slightly to his right, but never taking his eyes from her, he kissed the soft flesh. “You have broken rules, Larissa.” She looked up at him and he could tell she was feeling vulnerable. “This body.” He kissed her other ankle. “It is only meant to be shared with your mate.”

  “Silus is not my mate,” she said vehemently.

  “I am quite aware,” he commented back. “Why don’t you explain to me how you were able to reject my compulsion earlier?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You must,” he argued in a voice so calm it was misleading.

  “I don’t. I just…did it.”

  “And what was it you did?”

  “All I did was say no.”

  “Not a word I prefer to hear from you, beautiful Larissa.”

  “I won’t go back. Ask me again and again I will tell you no.”

  He chuckled softly as he slowly moved forward and dragged the backs of his fingers over the soft flesh of her thighs. “You will.”

  “No.” She shook her head as if certain.

  He arched an eyebrow and smirked at her insolence. “No?”

  “No.”

  In a flash he dropped her legs to the side and had her pinned beneath him on the mattress. She breathed heavily and the scent of her fear filled the room. Her palms were now pressed into his heavily muscled shoulders. His body seemed to have grown instantly hard. He pressed himself firmly into the cradle of her hips to show her she was outmatched. He was bigger, older, and stronger. She would be wise to surrender.

  She whimpered and gave his shoulders a futile push. “Get off of me,” she said with only mediocre conviction.

  He ground his hips again. “I rather like it here, with you under me at the mercy of my will.” Her eyes began to dart back and forth as if she were thinking of a way to escape. “Accept it, Larissa. You are no match for me.”

  “No!” she shouted and suddenly Eleazar was hurtled off of her body with such force he was struck dumb. His body slammed hard against the wall and all went black.

  * * * *

  “Okay, Fabio, time for you to go.”

  Eleazar felt the sensation of his full body soaring through the air and expelled a grunt as he landed roughly on the cold, hard ground. He blinked and brought the filthy pavement his cheek was currently scraping against into focus. Someone was going to die.

  “Go on now. Get the hell out of here. Don’t come back either. Once you venture backstage you’re banned for good. Now go before I call the cops and have your drunken ass taken in.”

  Eleazar’s fangs punched through his gums. He pushed himself up from the ground and was shocked at how weak his body felt. What in the name of God had that brat done to him? Chances were she had long ago left the club. Just wait until he got his hands on her. He grunted again as he pulled his body fully upright. His tongue tasted blood.

  He turned back to the man who had thrown him to the ground and gave him a look that promised retribution as he slowly swiped his thumb under the cut in his lip. He recognized the male as the man called Vito who had greeted him when he first arrived.

  “Go on, kid. Take it somewhere else.”

  Kid? Eleazar sucked in a deep breath through his nose and tried to rein in his control. He would gain nothing from sparring with this mortal. Slowly he asked, “Where is Larissa?”

  The man laughed. “Like I would tell—”

  Eleazar looked the man directly in the eye. “Where is she?”

  The mortal’s eyes glazed over. “She went home for the night.”

  “Where is home?”

  “Bristol. Jefferson Ave. She rents an apartment there. I don’t know the exact address.”

  “Good enough. You will no longer allow her to dance here.”

  “I don’t have a say in who dances,” the man replied as he stared blankly at Eleazar’s chest.

  “You will say whatever you must to the person who chooses the dancers in order to guarantee she no longer dances here. Do you understand?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. Now, you will forget that I was here.”

  The man blinked a few times then looked at Eleazar as if just seeing him for the first time. “Can I help you?”

  “No, just passing through,” Eleazar replied, tucking his hands in his pockets as he meandered into the shadows and out of sight.

  Jefferson Avenue was not a great distance from Larissa’s place of employment. As soon as he reached the street, he was able to se
nse her. Within minutes he was standing outside of her apartment complex, a large stone building surrounded with a wrought iron fence. Just as every voice has a different pitch, every immortal had a different sound to their thoughts. Like identifying a thumbprint, Eleazar had found Larissa’s mind’s mark. She was on the second floor. She was anxious and unsure if she should run or wait him out.

  He smiled, enjoying the game of chase they had started. It occurred to him that smiling was not something he had often done of late. He knew it would be a fight once he approached her again. The girl would not go easily back to her husband. Eleazar’s smile faltered. He frowned. Something about the idea of returning her to Silus Hostetler did not sit right with him. He just couldn’t figure out why.

  It didn’t make sense for him to take such a personal interest in the girl. He frowned. In his older age he seemed to be developing strange idiosyncrasies. Eleazar could not recall the last time he wasn’t plagued with the sense of exhaustion from an unfit rest. Could he be receiving the Lord’s call? No. He had no recollection of dreams and his moods seemed steady, if not always pleasant. He never lost his control.

  Just as he was about to open the gate and make his way to Larissa’s door, he stilled. Someone was in his mind. He immediately threw up a wall and guarded his thoughts. He pressed back at the intruder and felt them surrender under the pressure. He followed the cognitive bond and probed the intruder’s mind until their identity was clear. He relaxed the moment he recognized the immortal on the other end.

  Adriel.

  He greeted his friend, allowing her now to enter the surface of his mind enough to communicate over such distance, but still not granting her full access to his thoughts. It was rare that any immortal could cross his mental guard, but Adriel had been his friend for four hundred years. She was only a few decades his minor so she possessed a great deal of her own power. Being able to intrude on another immortal’s thoughts was one of her gifts.