Isadora (Masters Among Monsters Book 2)

by Ella Frank

  “I thought you were smarter than this, Leonidas. So did they.”

  “Who are they, Elias? Quit with the lies already.”

  “Yes, I have to agree,” Vasilios finally spoke aloud and made his way down the steps. “It would be wise to stop with the falsehoods unless you wish to relinquish the ability to speak at all.”

  Elias broke eye contact with him to stare at Vasilios, who was now standing opposite him. “I presume you plan to kill me no matter what I do. So I have no problem speaking my mind.”

  Leo released his hold on Elias and clenched his shaking hands as he dared to address Vasilios. “I did what you asked.”

  Vasilios angled his head towards him, and when their eyes met, Leo’s heart pounded. He was commanding as hell in the suit he’d put on.

  “So you did, agóri. Would you like to be rewarded now or later in my bed?”

  Elias grunted with disgust, but Leo was too angry with him to care. He wouldn’t be judged for having offered himself in exchange for their lives.

  “You’ll keep your end of our bargain, right?” he asked.

  “Oh, yes. I will not kill your friend. However, I made no such promise for Diomêdês.”

  The vampire who’d been waiting behind Vasilios made his way towards them, and when he stopped opposite Elias, Leo wondered if he was about to see his biggest mistake play out in the murder of his friend right beside him.

  The one with the unique-colored hair, which was half pulled back and tied behind his head, seemed to tower over Elias, and he was a tall man to begin with. The vampire’s skin was perfectly smooth, and where he was leanly muscled, Elias was broad and built. The one thing they both shared, though, was the fierce scowl of anger, as they each sized the other up. The air was ripe with tension, and it seemed to have a visceral effect on Vasilios—his eyes had turned black as the night sky.

  “Where is she?” Diomêdês demanded as he glared over Elias’s shoulder.

  Leo didn’t have to turn to know that Alasdair was now walking the same path he’d just taken. Paris, no doubt, left on the floor, hopefully forgotten if he was lucky. When Alasdair stopped by the other side of Elias, he shifted Isadora off his shoulder and into his arms.

  “She is here, Diomêdês.”

  DIOMÊDÊS LEANED OVER Isadora and placed his lips to her cheek. She looked dreadful, the worst he’d ever seen, and as his rage bubbled within him, he faced the human who was standing by Alasdair’s side.

  “This is the one?” Diomêdês asked.

  “It is,” Alasdair confirmed.

  He narrowed his eyes and lifted his chin, catching a particular scent on the man—apples. His arm flew out, and he grasped the man’s shirt and dragged him closer.

  “You have been inside my Isa. I smell her on you.”

  The human glared at him with such defiance that Diomêdês had to respect his courageous stupidity. Although it was misplaced and would get him nowhere, it was there just the same.

  “Respond.”

  The man’s lips curled into a demented kind of grin, and Diomêdês found it much like one he himself would flash.

  “Yes. I have been inside your Isadora.”

  Diomêdês thought that would be all he would say.

  But then the human added, “Many times.”

  He wasn’t sure he could ever remember a time when he was so irate, and as his temper reached a fever pitch, he moved his grip up the bastard’s thick neck and squeezed. “Do you think it is wise to provoke the one who has the ability to kill you in an instant?”

  Silver eyes locked with his, the irises swirling. Vasilios was right—this man was more than what he appeared to be.

  “It’s better than giving you the satisfaction of fear. Which is what your kind thrives upon.”

  “You presume an awful lot.”

  “It is not presumption when you have been shown facts.”

  Diomêdês tightened his hold, and then the male coughed as the air became trapped in his throat, fighting to get down to his lungs.

  “Diomêdês.”

  His name was barely a whisper, but he’d have known that voice anywhere. He turned his head and found that Isadora had lifted hers. He dropped the human to the floor, and as he fell a curse left him.

  “Mikri mou polemistria, you have awoken.” He took her from Alasdair and cradled her to his chest.

  Her hands clutched at his coat as she buried her face in the fabric. I am home, she pushed into his mind.

  Diomêdês shut his eyes as he held her tighter. Yes, you are home. Safe with me.

  She lifted her face, and when her eyes found his, she gave a weak smile. It was so unlike his fierce little warrior that the expression alone made him want to commit murder.

  You rest. I will make sure he pays.

  “No,” she said out loud as she continued to gaze at him.

  “Isadora. He deserves death for what he has done.”

  “I agree. But, first, I think he should see the faces of a race he wished to destroy,” she said, lowering her eyes to the human, who was staring up at her from the floor. When she returned her eyes to his, the warrior resurfaced. “And when his demise comes, it will come from me.”

  “Very well.” He glanced down the line of figures standing stock-still, and when his eyes fastened on Vasilios, he stated in a voice so cold that it was a miracle the room didn’t form icicles, “Have him taken to the Adjudication Room. We will deal with him when we are ready.”

  Vasilios gave a slow nod and then looked to his yielding. Was he… No. Vasilios would never seek approval from a human. But the Ancient seemed to want some kind of reaction from the man. When the blond turned to the oldest of them all with a grim expression, Diomêdês wondered what had just been pushed into his mind.

  “Alasdair, secure the human in the proper locale and then come find Leonidas and me. We will be in my chambers. We have much to discuss.”

  “And what of the one by the door?” Alasdair inquired.

  Vasilios faced him.

  Diomêdês shrugged. “I do not care one way or another.”

  “Take him with you. We have no use for him.”

  ‘Wait,” Leo spoke up.

  “Leonidas,” Vasilios reprimanded. “Not now.”

  “But he’s done nothing wrong.”

  “He knows too much.”

  “So do I.”

  Vasilios stepped in front of his brand-new plaything and told him, “You will stop fighting me this instant. Do you understand?” His tone brokered no arguments.

  The human was smart enough to heed the warning. He stayed silent, his jaw set and his cheeks flushed.

  “Good boy,” Vasilios praised. Then he issued the final order to Alasdair. “Take them away.”

  DIOMÊDÊS WATCHED ALASDAIR leave the Chamber several minutes later with both men in iron chains. The one who’d taken Isadora, the one known as Elias, hadn’t taken his odd-colored eyes from them as he’d been dragged out of the hall. Diomêdês knew this for a fact because he hadn’t taken his own eyes off the man. It had been a stalemate of sorts. A direct challenge to come and get him, one he was more than willing to accept.

  “Brother.” Vasilios’s voice broke through the roiling rage festering within. “You need to feed Isadora. The human, he will wait. And, when you are well, you will have your revenge.”

  Diomêdês looked at the female he was cradling and gave a swift nod. “You are correct. We will be in my bedchambers.”

  Vasilios glanced over his shoulder at his yielding and then back to him with a salacious grin. “And I will be in mine.”

  Diomêdês frowned and then faded Isadora and himself from the Chamber.

  When they reappeared in his chambers, Diomêdês made his way over to the large framed bed enclosed by a thick, black canopy. He pushed the heavy drapery aside and climbed onto the mattress, where he lay down with Isadora atop him.

  He settled his head against the pillow and parted his legs to cushion her body against his. As her hair
flirted against his chin, he closed his eyes and sighed. He’d almost lost her tonight, and that thought was more terrifying than the thought of losing his own life.

  He wrapped his arms around her waist. Her body tensed, and then her head rose ever so slightly. Her nose brushed the skin of his neck and she burrowed in closer, if that were possible, her hands clutching at the fabric of his shirt as her cool lips kissed his neck.

  Then she murmured, “My knight. My protector.”

  He smoothed a hand down her tousled hair and disagreed, just as he had many times before. “I am not a knight, nor anything as fanciful. I am the monster in those tales, agapi mou.”

  “You are wrong. I saw my monster tonight. His face is always the same. Dimitri. But not you. Never you. You have always protected me, watched over me, even when I did not know. Now is no different.”

  “Shh…” He kissed her forehead. “You need to feed and heal.”

  She nuzzled her nose up the line of his neck and whispered, “Take me there. Take me back before the monster. Back to the beauty that was. The beauty you saw when you found us that first day…”

  Diomêdês closed his eyes as her words washed over him. He knew what she was asking, what only he could give her from his memories. It was a moment they often shared, one they hadn’t indulged in for months.

  “Isa, now is not the—”

  “Please,” she implored. “I cannot bear to think of her that way.” Her voice trembled as she fought back tears.

  Isadora was fierce, but tonight, she had been broken.

  “Close your eyes and feed. And you shall see your Daphne once more.”

  Emperor Nikitas’s Palace—31 BC

  THE SUN HAD just hit the highest part of the day as Diomêdês walked the north corridor. It was the day after the banquet, and he was on the hunt. Not for food, but for the woman from the previous night. He was searching for Isadora Nikitas, the emperor’s daughter.

  A smile twisted his lips as he thought of the woman he’d seen at last night’s festivities, and it had become somewhat an obsession to track her down again. Carefree and vibrant, she was exactly what he’d been searching for to counter his darker moods. He wanted that zeal for life; he wanted her by his side.

  Nearing the end of the walkway, where he’d heard her room was situated, Diomêdês slowed his pace as whispered words emerged from behind the thick, wooden door. Not one, but two occupants were enclosed in the room off to the right, and as he came closer, the sweet sound of feminine voices met his ears.

  “What did I tell you? You had nothing to worry about. I knew your presentation would be favorable.”

  The lyrical laugh that followed the sure statement was the same joyous sound from the night before—Isadora.

  “You are biased. However, I shall take it.”

  “Of course you will. I would expect nothing other than confidence from the emperor’s daughter.”

  The two women giggled.

  Then the one he was unfamiliar with added, “Your flame burns bright, Isadora. I knew the moment they saw you they would fall in love. Just as I did.”

  The words were met with silence, and Diomêdês pushed the hood of his cloak from his head and placed a hand to the stone wall that separated him from what was taking place within. He wished he had faded in when he’d first arrived. That way, he could have seen Isadora’s reaction to those words.

  Did she already belong to another? Or was this declaration a new one?

  “We cannot do this,” Isadora said in a hushed tone. “You cannot say things like that to me.”

  “Why not? When I know you feel the same.”

  He thought about remaining where he was, but as always, his curiosity got the better of him. He faded inside the room, behind one of the large pillars. From where he was standing, he could see the tall, regal line of Isadora. Her long hair was piled atop her head with tiny curls spilling down her neck. He could not see the one she was conversing with.

  “It does not matter. You are betrothed to my brother.”

  As the words were spoken, the other woman in the room stepped around Isadora and Diomêdês got his first look at her. She is beautiful, was his first thought before she turned her back to him to face Isadora, who’d followed her movements.

  The woman’s fair hair was braided in an intricate pattern down the center of her head, and she was dressed in a forest-green chiton. Her eyes were the color of shiny copper, and her skin was creamy and rich in complexion.

  Isadora was speechless, and just like the emperor’s daughter, Diomêdês was enthralled.

  “I may be betrothed to Dimitri, but you and I, we know the truth, Isa. I am in love with his sister,” the woman whispered.

  Isadora gently shook her head, her eyes fluttering shut.

  “You love me. I know that you do.”

  The conviction behind those words made Diomêdês’s heart ache. These two were struggling. Against not only each other, but what they felt. Their relationship would never be accepted by society. They would be shunned and, if this woman was indeed betrothed to Isadora’s brother, likely executed for their grievous sin.

  “Isa…open your eyes. Look at me.”

  Isadora’s eyes opened, and love shone from them. So did pain.

  “I am a woman in love. So are you.”

  “I cannot be. I cannot love you.”

  “But you do, don’t you?” The woman placed her hands on Isadora’s shoulders and gently ran them down her arms to her hands. As she entwined their fingers and stepped in closer, she whispered, “Tell me you love me.”

  “I cannot.”

  The woman sighed, cupped Isadora’s cheeks, and softly said, “Then show me instead, agapi mou.”

  My love, Diomêdês heard, as he remained hidden, unsure as to what would happen next when the woman pressed her lips to Isadora’s. He waited in anticipation, a silent voyeur to a forbidden tryst, as the blonde lowered her hands to Isadora’s hips. Her fingers dug into the material of Isadora’s chiton as a soft moan filled the air. He wasn’t sure which woman it had come from, but as soon as it had slipped free, the floodgates opened.

  Isadora slid her fingers into the woman’s hair, uncaring that she was ruining the beautiful design some poor maid had spent hours on. The fingers on Isadora’s hips flexed into the material, and then one of those hands swept down and gathered the garment, pulling it up her long legs. Isadora raised her head, and her parted lips were shiny and swollen as the blonde’s hand smoothed along the side of her bare thigh. When the fingers disappeared under the fabric, the woman walked forward, urging Isadora back against a wall where the two of them were as close as two bodies could be.

  It was one of the most bewitching visions he’d ever bore witness to, and he couldn’t tear his eyes from them.

  Isadora raised her leg up to the other woman’s hip, and the blonde’s hand trailed up the outside of the silky flesh and under the fabric, where he assumed she grabbed her ass cheek because Isadora thrust her hips forward and shut her eyes. A whimper escaped her pouty, red lips as the woman rubbed herself between her thighs.

  “Daphne,” Isadora sighed, and finally, he had the other woman’s name.

  “My Isa,” Daphne moaned as Isadora’s hands came up to cup her breasts.

  “We cannot do this here,” Isadora said, continuing to writhe against the woman and knead the soft flesh in her hands.

  “Then where?” Daphne panted. “Tell me where and I will meet you. I want your hands on me, not my clothing.” She leaned in and pressed kisses along Isadora’s collarbone as she removed her hand from beneath her skirt.

  “It cannot be today or tomorrow. Father has me meeting suitors for the next three days straight, and Dimitri will expect you to be planning your nuptials. After that, I am free. We can meet by the waterfall. Tell him we are going for a swim.”

  Instead of a yes or no, Daphne stepped away and said, “I will be there at dusk.”

  Isadora stared at the woman with complete adoration
and replied, “As will I.”

  ISADORA’S HIPS PUSHED down against Diomêdês’s. He was used to that reaction. Whenever they revisited her past, Isadora ended up writhing against him as though he’d been the one with her in the room that day.

  But he hadn’t been. And, just like then, he was unable to give her what she truly needed even now. It wasn’t due to his not being female. No, his Isadora was more than happy to satiate her desires with a male or a female in her bed. It was due to a punishment he had been given many years before she arrived in his life. A punishment which left him unable to satisfy her deep inside, where her body was the neediest.

  The razor tips of her fangs were deep in his vein, and her tongue tickled the skin it was pressed against as she continued to grind over the top of his useless body. Most days, he would offer up his fingers or a toy, or she would bring someone to their bed and he would watch with quiet, burning desire. Today, though, as she moved against him, he recalled the taunting words of the human who’d taken her hostage—I have been inside your Isa. Many times—and it galled him that, for one second, he’d felt cheated.

  He wished, in some fucked-up way, that he’d been there to see that coupling. Because the defiant bastard who’d met him eye to eye was a handsome male. As dark as his Isa was and as confident as he himself, that fucker would’ve been a sight to behold while taking his female.

  ISADORA WITHDREW HER teeth from Diomêdês and placed her hands on his chest. Pushing herself up from him, she saw that his eyes were shut and his long hair was strewn against the pillow as he lay there in silence.

  Although not fully healed by any stretch of the imagination, her muscles were much stronger than they had been, and a strange combination of peace and arousal now thrummed through her body.

  As requested, Diomêdês had taken her back to when he’d first seen her and Daphne—a memory she cherished above almost all others. One where she got to see them as he had that day. She’d witnessed the love in her eyes, the desire in Daphne’s, and, when they had eventually come together, the merging of two souls. Such a beautiful moment, one she could watch over and over thanks to her Ancient.