by Mima
She followed his face, kissing his cheek, licking his jaw. “Why?”
“I told you, I cannot drink your blood.”
Instantly, red-hot lust roared through her that made the whole evening’s sexual success pale in comparison. “Drink me,” she whispered.
“Don’t be childish.” He spoke through gritted teeth. Choking on a shaky laugh, he added, “I cannot believe this but I am struggling to let go of this railing. Your commands hold much power tonight. If you want to assure pleasure for your deflowering, you’ll release me.”
Charlotte bent over his upturned face and thoughtfully kissed his temple. She wasn’t sure about this magic. She stared down into the gently lapping water and thought she was at least sure she wanted to continue touching him. But his touching her was overwhelming.
Tonight she wanted to be in control but knew she was inexperienced. How much experience did it take to know what she wanted?
Would she release him, or keep him in place?
“I’m not giving up.” The tears stung her eyes and clogged her throat, but she gritted her teeth. “Tears take too much energy.”
Just the way she’d banished them whenever Gram had a setback, she swallowed by sheer force of will. Life kept rolling, and while she knew sometimes the tears simply had to come, right now was not the time.
What assets did she have? She could scream. That hadn’t been much help. She had a dress, underwear and bra, and sandals. She could rip the hem and wrap her fingers and work on the knot again. Shuddering, she didn’t hold much hope for that idea.
She could continue to talk to Ryder. Oh, dear God. What if Ryder raped her as he attacked her? She beat her fist on the floor, with a thunk of bruised knuckles. Pain jabbed at her. Ryder grumbled.
This whole situation was absurd! She huffed. Wiped at her nose, irritated that her new dress had a scattering of bloodstains from her fingertips. Drumming her heels in a fit, she gave a screech. Ryder snarled.
“You!” She pointed a finger at him. “Hush up!”
He bared his teeth, including those needle pricks of death.
Glaring at him, Charlotte felt her heart begin to race. “You are a stupid vampire.”
Smacking her palms on the thick metal floor again and again, she yelled, “Stupid, stupid, stupid!”
He got up on all fours, his bare feet sliding a bit in the blood.
“Don’t even bother! Think, Ryder. You’re fucking chained to the wall so just sit yourself back down.” She banged on the wall beside them.
The wall gave a clunk back from her hit. She stared at it, surprised. Without really connecting any thoughts, she slapped the floor. Bong. She slapped the wall. Thwack. She stomped on the floor. Boom. She lifted her knee and kicked the wall. Crack.
Rising to her knees, Charlotte put both hands on the floor and concentrated. The metal quivered very faintly. The engines vibrated from somewhere close. She moved both palms to the wall. The vibration was much less.
Lifting her hands, she stared blindly, cocking her head, listening with more than her ears, reaching with some strange instinct. There was water out there. She sucked in her breath. There was something else Charlotte had forgotten to list as a tool to escape. She had magic!
She stood up. Ryder hissed but she ignored him. Holding her hands out toward the wall, she imagined the ocean beyond the metal hull. Perhaps it was two or three layers away, but it was there. She imagined it beneath her, too, a bit farther but running endlessly below.
Pulling her moonlight energy up from her center, she imagined it waving out in an invisible line, connecting her to the water. Power sucked her forward so hard she staggered, head banging the wall. With a shaky breath, she sent her power out again, connecting to the ocean she was nearly surrounded by. Holding her hands steady, this time she let it crash into her. She tried to be a sponge.
Turning to Ryder, she focused her intention. “You’re going to belong to me. Sit.”
Ryder spit a bloody loogey at her and did not sit. She looked away from his eyes, focusing not on the person who wasn’t there, but his body. Staring at his knees, she whispered, “Sit.”
He went berserk again, flailing, lunging, chain snapped taut and grinding against the metal anchor.
Horribly disappointed, she lowered her hands. She didn’t have the skill to control Ryder. Maybe because he was more powerful than her, maybe because of his condition. It had been a good idea . . .
Charlotte sucked in a breath, looking up. Her gaze slid to the four large-but-not-human-size stone decorations in each corner. The one above her was the bat. The one above Ryder’s corner was the pig. But in the end, she stared at the corner opposite her, at the dragon.
She gathered the power still leaping and sparking on her skin, resisting the urge to scratch. She focused on pulling it from her center, sending it down her arms, letting it flow at the stone dragon-man. “Wake up.”
It opened its eyes.
Charlotte yelled.
Ryder snarled and swung his arms at her. She cringed, even knowing she was out of reach. She’d never watch a zombie movie again.
Breathing hard, she waited, but the gargoyle didn’t focus on her. The eyes were brown and wet, living eyeballs under lids of rock. With shaking hands, she focused again. “Come sit on the floor.”
She held her breath for an endless moment of stillness. Then it shook its head in a shower of flaking pebbles and crawled down the wall on taloned paws. It sat in the corner across from her, and this time, it looked right at her.
She looked back. After a pause to confirm that Ryder ignored it, she waved weakly. “Hi.”
It didn’t attack. This was good.
“What’s your name?”
It didn’t respond. Less good.
“Do you understand me?”
It blinked, cocked its head. Perhaps good. It followed her commands, didn’t it? It had to understand.
“I’m taking control of you. You’re not going to attack me or Ryder. I need help.” Oh, crap. Who was she going to send it to—the police? Besides the Elder and her charming assistant Willow, she knew of one other fantastical on this ship by name. “You need to go find Ivor. Just bring him here.”
It looked up at the bat above her head.
It was impossible to tell if it would need help or be more inclined to follow her command if she kept its friends. Mind racing to think of potential pitfalls, she held up her arms and said, “I order you to find Ivor and bring him here. Do not contact the Elder or any of her minions. Do it fast.” Putting all her fear and anger together, she raised her chin and snapped, “Go.”
The gargoyle stood up. It was only about four and a half feet tall, walking with the short-legged gait of a chimp. It opened the door and she held her breath. Willow wasn’t there. It left, leaving the door open. Heavy, scraping footsteps echoed off into the distance. Couldn’t it have poof-powers like the genie-brat?
She opened her mouth to call for help but decided against it. Either a human would come and she’d be breaking the ultimate law, or a fantastical guard could come and stop her. She studied the dog gargoyle, wondering if she could have it wake up and break her rope. Would that affect her control over the dragon?
Biting her lip, she realized she should have had the dragon free her first. Not that she would have left Ryder like this. A dozen of Gram’s stories featuring the way fairies twisted words and promises flew through her memory at once. She fussed over her wording, wondering if the dragon was already in Timbuktu, glad to escape the Elder.
The minutes ticked by. She stayed very still, since any movement drew Ryder and the less he fought his chains, the better. Had it been a half hour yet? It felt like four hours at least since she’d woken. When would Willow return, expecting a drained corpse, a pile of ash, and four absent, obedient gargoyles? At least the cuts on her fingers had clotted and were no longer dripping.
Finally, footsteps came. She held her breath. Two sets, one scraping, one measured.
“Ivor!” she called out. “Ivor, down here!”
Ryder went nuts, roaring and growling.
The footsteps hurried and then he was there. He had to stoop to see into the doorway. Big, wide, and sun burnished, his blond hair glinting in artfully disheveled gold over that warrior’s face, he stared at her, then Ryder.
The dragon gargoyle scampered into the room, its human eyes still very disturbing above the reptilian tusked snout.
“Thank you,” she told it. “Come break this rope.”
She moved away from the corner, drawing the rope taut for it.
“Please, Ivor, you have to help us. The Elder kidnapped Ryder and turned him into this thing. I can’t reach him, and he’s going to snap those chains soon. She wanted him to kill me, then the gargoyles would kill him. She’s going to arrange my body and his ashes in his room so everyone will think it was some passionate murder-suicide, but really she wanted my powers, or didn’t want them around, or something.”
Her babbling over Ryder’s snarls and the dragon’s grunts was full of sniffling, but Ivor stared, seeming to understand. His frown grew deeper with every word.
When she came to the end, he looked over at Ryder. “You’re a very interesting woman, but you’re not worth this.”
Impossibly, the dry response brought a burst of laughter from her. “I know that! I’m so sorry to bring you into this but I didn’t know anyone else. Please, help us.”
The rope snapped with a pop. The sting made Charlotte stagger forward. Ryder leaped, but Ivor was there to spin her out of the way, batting Ryder back.
Ryder lunged and jangled his chains continuously. The metal whined. She clung to Ivor’s warm strength, his arms like iron, both of them watching Ryder’s fit.
“He needs to be fed.”
“But he told me he can’t feed on fantasticals.”
“True. But giving him a human in this state would mean he couldn’t mesmerize them. He’d kill, which is forbidden on the Singles’ Cruise.”
She set aside the fact that killing was apparently otherwise allowed. “Can’t he erase their memories or something?”
Ivor shook his head. “No. They have to be enthralled before the bite. He needs to be fed.”
“I understand, but you just talked in a circle.” She was so close! There had to be a way to save him.
He looked down at her. “Ryder is old. Old enough to take the life force he needs out of the blood by psychic means.”
“What?”
“If we bleed while having sex, the energy would be rich. He’ll be able to take our life force psychically.”
“What?”
“Or I could just torture you. I think he could feed on agony, too.”
She recoiled, jaw hanging loose.
“Perhaps not.” He looked at her with the same flat, emotionless face he’d had when suggesting sex. “It’s not as much fun.”
She swallowed. “I don’t think I understand.”
“He’d get better a lot faster if he could eat a few humans, but that would bring him under the attention of the enforcers and trigger the gargoyles. If we can keep them asleep, they’ll never be forced to betray the Elder.” He tipped his head at the dragon staring at them from Charlotte’s old corner. “Send that one back to sleep, by the way.”
“Oh. Okay . . .” She looked over at the thing. It was getting cuter by the second. Licking her lips, she tried to be very precise. “Go back to your ceiling corner, forget about me, and go to sleep.”
“We really can’t change memories. That’s High Magic.”
She glared at Ivor. “I’m doing the best I can.”
The gargoyle went to its position and closed its creepy eyes.
“Vampires always need fresh blood, but once they get as old as Ryder, more than two hundred years or so, they can breathe the life from it. They can suck off the essence of any blood spilled, and gain the energy they need. But emotionally fueled blood is more powerful. Once they stop ingesting blood, they can usually start tolerating liquids again.”
She was getting used to the singsong difference of his European accent. “I saw Ryder drinking wine.”
Ivor nodded. “He stopped hunting with the pack when I was a kid. He runs a fight club now, and I think he set it up as his source.”
“Umm. What are you?”
“I’m a werewolf. And what are you?”
“A will-o’-the-wisp.” It came out as a whisper, as she tried to wrap her mind around the fact a werewolf held her in his big brawny arms. “What, exactly, do you hunt?”
He bared his teeth. “Whatever I damn well please.” Ryder growled and Ivor sighed. “I will help you. For my friend, and to thwart the Fairy Queen.”
“Is the Elder the Queen?”
He nodded. Stepping back, he began to unbutton the pale tailored shirt he wore, first undoing gold cuff links, then the tiny mother of pearl buttons. His tanned chest was mounded with deep muscle and completely free of hair, marred by small paler scars.
“Wh-wh-wh—”
“It will help if you get into this fast. What kind of things set you off?”
“Wh-wh-wh—”
“I like doing it from behind, and not one crack from you about doggy-style or I’ll blister your bottom. I also like being sucked off. Are you any good at that?”
“Wh-wh-what—” She cut herself off with a deep, purposeful breath that sent spots spinning across her vision. “We’re going to have sex?”
Ivor paused while opening his gray slacks, their creases perfectly sharp and even down his thickly muscled thighs. “I’m sorry. I was under the impression you wanted to save Ryder.” He crossed his arms.
Wow. Last night she’d enjoyed what she imagined to be male perfection. But this male, more deeply muscled, smoother, more golden, was also terribly perfect. She focused on the situation. “We can’t just take him somewhere? Let’s get out of here before Willow comes back.”
“Moving him in this condition is not practical. I believe we can have him at fighting strength fairly soon.” His raised one brow. “Would you prefer to abandon him?”
“No way.” Her heart pinched at the very idea. She shook her head. “But . . .” She looked over at the vampire, with his shorn hair, gash-covered body, and heaving chest. His throat was now badly bruised, the skin puffy around the chain links. “All right.”
Ivor tucked a finger under her chin. She looked into his eyes. They were as elegant as the rest of him, two rings of blues, direct and strong. “Charlotte, you are being very brave, and very clever. We’re going to get him back. Then when we’re all at full strength, we’ll deal with the Elder. You’re a moon fairy, right?”
She nodded, heart pounding. “And water.”
“Well, werewolves are all over moon magic, too. We’ll fit together fine. This is going to be really hot, really rough, fast and wild. Haven’t you used sex magic before?”
She shook her head, throat firmly closed against admitting just how little sex or magic she’d “used” before.
“Well, you’ll do just fine. Let me take the lead.” He smiled, and his face was beautiful. “I like being in charge.”
If he’d smiled at her like that last night, she would have chosen him over Ryder.
He kicked off his hip leather loafers, then shucked his pants, including some sort of silky boxer-briefs. Reaching for her dress, he untied the halter.
She opened her mouth to say she’d keep the dress on for now when he grasped it at her hips and whipped it over her head. She wheezed, hands covering her chest. The white rope belt tugged as the fabric pulled free, then settled against her tummy and hips. She sucked in her gut when pinpricks danced around her waist.
He scowled, took the rope in his hands, and r
ipped it like it was tissue paper. Flicking it to the floor, he took her wrists and spread her arms.
Standing in the harsh lights of this metal room was not sexy. She was cold, she told herself. That’s why her nipples were so thick and hard and— Her brain froze. Her gaze had made it down his huge body to his hips. His penis was lax, his balls round and tight. They were hairier than Ryder’s, although his pubic hair was a dark blond and trimmed short. For some reason this struck her as funny. She choked.
“Nice lingerie. The yellow looks amazing with your pale skin and bold hair. I wish you had long nails.” Then he cupped her by the back of her neck and kissed her.
She gasped, stunned by the force of him. Ryder seduced. He played, he snuck, he cajoled, and he slid. Ivor demanded. Her mind went blank. His lips were hard, his tongue deep, her jaw utterly controlled by his. He wanted to be her world at that moment, and she could only agree to the command.
“Have you tried calling to Ryder?” he asked between licks.
Only when he moved down to eat at her neck did she have a moment of clarity to answer. “Yes. Didn’t work.”
“We can try that again after his first feeding.”
His arms twined around her, making her feel slender for the first time in her life. His chest was so deep she could barely hold her arms to his shoulders. Tightening his grip, he slung her backward, catching her as her feet slipped out from under her. He took the cup of her bra in his teeth and whipped his head to the side. Her breast popped free, and he engulfed it.
Whimpering, she clasped his head, lying prone in his arms only by his strength. Her feet slid on the floor, restless and shocked. She opened her eyes and stared at the upside-down door, body roaring alive with heat while his teeth set on her nipple, his tongue swirled it to a peak, his lips churned her from fear into passion.
“You have gorgeous breasts. I could eat them for hours, but I fear we need to consider time.” He lowered them, his thighs spreading as he crouched to lay her on the floor.
Gasping at the shock of the cold metal, she wiggled.
He slipped off her sandals, studied them. “This would be easier with a knife of some sort. Nails hurt and teeth are so messy.” He considered her. “Ah, your brassiere, yes.”
