Retribution (Book 3 of The Dominion Series)

by Lund, S. E.

  "Good," he says and reaches out to stroke my cheek. "Thank you for understanding," he says quietly, his voice almost a whisper.

  I have a nice long soak in the tub and then dress in one of the dresses in the armoire. They're all pretty formal and more fitting to a night out than a day spent at home. I pick the most casual dress, a long black silk dress with a very low décolletage, a square neckline and fitted bodice. I feel like a lady from some medieval court and smile to myself, wondering if Michel will just take it off once he gets back. I probably should have stayed in my robe and nightgown.

  I eat my breakfast of poached eggs, orange juice and coffee and wonder what Soren's up to, calling Michel away so early in the morning. It can't be good. I wonder what new form of torture he'll inflict on us all. I wonder what Julien is doing and if he's really unconcerned about my being with Michel. I kick myself mentally for even thinking of Julien when I've been with Michel.

  I will not become Marguerite.

  It's while Michel's away that I start to explore the mansion a bit, checking out the library where I find thousands of volumes, old and new. Then I find a dark wood-paneled room that seems like an office and go inside. In the corner is a huge wooden cabinet and I open it, curious to see what's inside.

  Bingo...

  Boxes from my apartment – my own things, and my mother's files. Immediately, I know the one document I want to read more than any other – that report prepared by the Council on the prophecy Dylan mentioned. St. Therese of the Reeds.

  I start to sort through the files, sitting on the floor by the closet. I find the file after about ten minutes of flipping through the file box contents. Inside is a typewritten report titled "Revelation of St. Therese of the Reeds" – Analysis and Conjecture. Included is a photocopy of the original document written in the Third Century in some language I can't read, and a typewritten translation.

  I lean against the closet and start to read:

  This being the revelation of The LORD God, as shown to His humble servant Therese of Aquitaine, by an angel of The LORD to whom God sent to bring the prophecy and news to all who have ears to hear. Blessed are those who read the words of this prophecy, and blessed are those who hear it and take heed what is written in it. Let it be known that the time will come when the children of God shall weep and moan, for an ancient evil will rise. Only the Sword of Megiddo shall free those who suffer slavery to the Fallen Ones who pollute the earth with their pestilence.

  I, Therese, your sister and daughter and companion in the suffering and kingdom and patient endurance that are ours in Jesus, was among the people of Persia, where I sat by a river along the Euphrates, in the place that Adam and Eve once lived, called Paradise, or Eden, and I heard behind me a loud voice like a horn, which said: “Write what you see and send it to the seven churches: to Ephesus, Smyrna, Pergamum, Thyatira, Sardis, Philadelphia and Laodicea.”

  I turned to see the voice that was speaking to me. And when I turned I saw a being with wings of grey dressed in a uniform with leather breastplate and helmet, a huge sword in its hand. Behold, an angel of The LORD, an Archangel, come to bring news of the end of days. His skin and hair was as white as snow, and his eyes were like blazing fire. His face was like the sun shining in all its brilliance.

  I fell to my knees before him, my eyes burning from the brightness of his countenance. When he touched me, I saw a vision of the future and fear was in my heart for a rain of blood fell from a cloudless sky and all was cold and dark. One would come, the Angel told me, who would take over the holy Church, and fight those who would enslave the Children of God across the world. He would wield one weapon that could save those who faced the blood tribulation – a double–edged sword of dark and light, but the one who wields the sword must be pure of heart for the blade is a harsh mistress and he who wields her should regret the day they raised it not in service of The LORD.

  "Woe is to him who wields this weapon who is not pure in the ways of The LORD for it shall destroy them," the Angel of The LORD said unto me. “Write what you have seen, and what will come to be. Let those who have ears to hear and eyes to see take heed, and find the one who wields this weapon that The LORD has provided to fight this pestilence. Follow him and heed his word for it is he whom The LORD GOD sent to save the world from perdition.

  Just a lot of mumbo jumbo from a young woman visiting Persia, probably suffering from some kind of tropical disease and having visions. But something nags at me. A rain of blood? That sounds too much like the red rain for my comfort. All would be dark and cold? Sounds like what's happening in the areas hit by the red rain. A being with grey wings and white hair and skin? With eyes that burn like fire… It sounds too much like Soren – or at least another vampire – for it to be a coincidence.

  Was it Soren? Did he plant this prophecy so long ago as a way of manipulating us? Or, like Michel, did he see the future and was trying to use it to his advantage? I just don't know what to believe but whatever the truth, I suspect that it's part of some grand plot of his to take power.

  I put away the boxes but keep the file from Seth and a few of my mother's on angels and go back to the bedroom. I sit on the bed and open a document and search for what angels are supposed to look like, and the descriptions come back very similar to what St. Therese described – huge wings, white skin and hair, red eyes, blinding brilliance, booming voice. Not that I believe in angels, but perhaps all accounts of angelic beings really are just accounts of Ancients trying to appear to be angels as a way of manipulating poor religiously-susceptible mortals.

  Then read the report prepared by some nameless researcher for the Council. It reads like a serious paper with footnotes and annotations, referring to other authors and to literature on angels, on ancient prophecies, to swords of power in myth, on the Plains of Megiddo where the battle of Armageddon is supposed to take place – somewhere in Palestine. It says that the battle will be fought by two opposing forces – those mortals who want to rid the world of vampires and the vampires who seek their Dominion over mortals. The Ancients will jockey for power over what remains.

  The Sword of Megiddo itself is seen as either real or symbolic. If real, it is judged to be the sword that the Archangel Michael used to defeat Lucifer in the original battle before the creation of humans. It is not known where this sword might be located but there is a section on speculation as to its location in Palestine, perhaps in Jerusalem itself, buried somewhere in the ruins of King Solomon's Temple. There's a section that speculates about the role of the Knights Templar in protecting that sword and keeping it safe for the future. That they carried the secret of its location away from Palestine when they were disbanded in the 13th Century and that it is now hidden somewhere in Scotland.

  Other speculation is that the Sword of Megiddo is metaphorical and refers to people or a person instead of an actual sword. This line of thought has the weapon being a powerful warrior who will fight against the Fallen, against the Ancients, and will destroy their leader and them. I think of Julien, an ascended vampire, former knight, manipulated by Blackstone to be a day walker. I think of Soren, who was so prominent in the peace negotiations in Palestine, with his militia and soldier of fortune business and his goal of becoming the God of War reborn.

  It's as I'm reading the final page that Michel returns and finds me absorbed in the document.

  "What have you got there?" he says as he enters the bedroom and sees me reclining on the bed with papers spread around me. He comes to the side of the bed and touches my cheek when I sit up and face him. "That's quite interesting reading," he says. "And was never meant for your eyes."

  "Seth gave it to me – one of the techies at the SCU."

  "I know who Seth is." He looks at his watch. "Your time off is up, Eve. I expect you to comply with the terms of the Contract now."

  "I'm sorry, my Lord. I forgot." He nods and I hold up the photocopy of the scrolls written by Therese. "Do you believe this?"

  "It's hard to know what to believe with t
hese apocryphal gospels." He scans Council report. "I remember reading this when it was first sent out to Council members. There are some pretty shocking parallels in it. The rain of blood seems to refer to the red rainfall we had. The description of the archangel sounds a lot like an Ancient."

  "I've only ever seen Soren, my Lord. Do they all look like him, with white hair and skin?"

  He nods. "They're northern because the Nephilim were up north looking for new peoples to conquer and those were the only group to survive the flood in the Middle East."

  I sigh, not knowing what to believe. "Speaking of the devil, what did Soren want?"

  Michel pushes the papers away and sits on the bed beside me. He takes my hand and waits.

  "I'm sorry," I say and close my eyes. "My Lord."

  "He wants us to go to his estate and live there. Today. He's having a grand party tonight and wants you to be with me."

  "Why do we have to live there, my Lord? Will Julien be there tonight as well?"

  "Of course he will," Michel says, exasperation in his tone. "How better to torture Julien and me than to have you there with both of us in attendance? As to us living there, he wants you and I and Julien to be with him all the time, the way it was back when we were first under his servitude."

  Apprehension fills me. Michel must sense it for he releases something in my brain and I relax, leaning against him, my head resting on his shoulder.

  "Now," he says and runs his finger over the tops of my breasts. "Put those documents aside. No more snooping and no more reading things you don't have to know. The servants are fixing me that bath I missed and I want you to do all the work, washing every single inch of me. I was supposed to fuck you senseless this morning, before we were so rudely interrupted and so we have to get back on schedule."

  I look up in his eyes and see that lopsided grin and smile back.

  "My Lord, that's the kind of work I know I'll enjoy."

  Once the servants finish filling the bath, I wait for Michel to give me my orders. He stands beside the tub and feels the water. Finally, he turns to me.

  "You should be naked when you do this, Eve. I don't want that gown to get wet."

  "My Lord, that sounds like an excuse to get me naked."

  He smirks. "A slave is not permitted to express her opinion on the intentions of her Master, Eve. She merely accepts that he has intentions and leaves the content of those intentions up to him. A slave is especially not expected to have a saucy mouth when speaking to her Master or he'll have to contemplate putting her over his knee and administering a good spanking."

  I can't help but smile, but I turn away to try to hide it and begin to undress, my hands behind me to try and pull down the zipper, but it's so much easier to zip it up than down.

  Michel comes behind me and does it for me, kissing my shoulders as he pulls the straps down and the dress falls to the ground. I have nothing on underneath. I'm careful to pick the dress up and hang it on the back of the door on a hook.

  I turn back and begin to undress Michel, who's already looking at me with lust in his eyes. I go right to his jeans this time, wanting to get them off so I can touch him, but he stops me.

  "Slowly, Eve. Seduce me."

  I note the delicious–looking bulge in his jeans. "By the looks of you, you don't need to be seduced…" I say but then I realize I've offered my opinion on his intentions and I close my eyes, unable to stop from grinning.

  "Eve, are you deliberately provoking me?" he says, his tone light but with an edge to it. "Do you want to feel my bare hand smacking your bare ass? Because if you do, I'll have to find some other way to punish you."

  "No, my Lord," I say, and a note of frustration enters my voice that I can't disguise. "It's just I'm so used to being able to express an opinion. Some people," I say and hesitate, thinking of Julien. "Some people actually want to hear my opinion."

  "Eve," he says and takes hold of my shoulders, bending down to look in my eyes. "I'm not doing this to be mean. I'm trying to teach you what's expected of you. Tonight, you have to perform. Soren's expecting it. The better able you are to comply with the terms of the Contract, the sooner we'll gain his trust and will be able to make a move."

  I look up into his eyes, at his stern expression, and feel a bit petty. "Of course, my Lord," I say, glancing away. "I'm sorry. I'll do better."

  He tips my chin up and kisses me softly.

  "Good. I'm glad you understand. I enjoy your resistance, Eve, and if it was just you and I, and none of the rest of this was in play, I'd indulge you. But it's not just us and everything is in play. You have to convince Soren that this is what you want. That you willingly submit to me completely. That I control you. I know he's not expecting perfect compliance tonight and in fact, it might be good to show a tiny bit of backbone with me just so he can see me discipline you and know that I will do it."

  "My Lord, what do you suggest I do?"

  He shakes his head. "If you are slow to comply, or inattentive, or saucy, I'll have to discipline you. Publicly make you perform to a better standard. If you deliberately disobey an order, I'll have to punish you. Make you kneel at my feet, kiss my boot. Even spank you in front of him if the infraction is serious enough. I'll leave the nature and degree of the indiscretion up to you. You'll have to accept my judgment on what's appropriate in terms of discipline or punishment."

  I nod and start to slowly undress him, beginning with his jacket, which I remove and hang up on the back of the door beside my dress.

  Once he's undressed, he steps into the tub and submerges himself completely, ducking his head under the water. He surfaces and his long hair is soaked, his lashes clumped together. He stands and smiles at me, waiting, cock jutting out. I take the bar of sandalwood soap and work up a lather, then lean closer and start soaping him, starting at the shoulders and working my way down each arm and then over his pecs and abs.

  My fingers trail down the line of hair that leads from his navel to his pubic hair. I avoid his erection, then lean closer, slipping my hands around him to soap his ass, which is so nice and round and firm beneath my hands. I have to press up against him in order to get my hands completely around his body and the soap from his belly gets all over my breasts, which I take care to rub against his erection. He leans into me, moaning softly. After washing each leg, he waits with an expectant look on his face, smiling, his eyes half-hooded.

  Finally, I wash his cock, which is thick and beautiful, taking care to give his testicles and scrotum some attention, my hands and fingers gentle, sliding between his thighs and all around and he responds to the stimulation, becoming even harder from my touch.

  "There, my Lord," I whisper as my fingers curl around his shaft and I pull them over his length and off the head. "I think I've got every inch of you."

  He exhales, leaning slightly forward. "I believe you have."

  I take a pitcher and fill it with water then rinse off his soapy body. He looks so gorgeous wet and naked, the bubbles sliding over his muscles and pale skin.

  "You've got soap on you. Better come in and let me rinse you off."

  I step in the tub and he looks me over.

  "Might as well finish the job." He takes the bar of soap and begins lathering me all over, my back, my buttocks, my breasts and between my thighs. Then he rinses me off and steps out, taking my hand as I follow. He dries me off with a towel and I dry him off. Before we even get out of the bathroom, he pulls me against his body, his erection pressing against me. He kisses the scar from his bite mark on my neck and my legs go a bit weak at the thought of what will come. He pushes me over to the vanity and I lean against it as he starts to kiss my breasts, one hand trailing down my belly to my shaved pussy.

  How exactly will he fuck me senseless? At least two orgasms?

  I'm ready.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  "Who so loves believes in the impossible."

  Elizabeth Barrett Browning

  We arrive at Soren's mansion in time for the evening meal
after a day spent either in bed or walking the grounds. I'm nervous as we enter a huge mansion in Cambridge that looks to be right out of Pride and Prejudice. Michel does everything he can to relax me. I remember reading about that night in Franklin Park when I first was in the presence of other vampires and how Michel calmed me. He's doing that now and I'm thankful, for otherwise my heart would be pounding, my instinct just to run. That or run to Soren and kill him with my bare hands. I have to be on my best behavior, but not too good. Soren won't believe it. He has to see Michel discipline me or punish me.

  Thankfully, Michel's left it up to me to decide just what it will be.

  I don't want to please Soren too much through my misbehavior. At the same time, if I'm too well-behaved, he might feel it's just an act. He wants to know whether Michel will do what it takes to ensure my compliance.

  I can't be compelled. I can be controlled – at least, that's the purpose of this whole Dominance/submission relationship. To control me so I'll be the good little slave-Adept when Soren needs me.

  A host of servants greet us. Some take our trunks out of the cart, while others take our coats. I walk beside Michel but a pace behind him. Michel's instructed me to keep my eyes averted unless he speaks directly to me, addressing me by name. I'm not to let my eyes wander around the room. No matter what I hear, I'm to sit at Michel's feet like a good slave and keep my eyes down, waiting for his questions or orders.

  We enter a large salon and Soren is seated at a table playing backgammon with Julien. When I see Julien, my heart does a little flip flop and I hate Soren more than anything. He's truly a bastard and despite what Michel's done to calm me, my heart rate increases. Michel can sense my emotions and turns to me briefly, squeezing my hand as if for courage. He releases a little something in my brain to ease my anxiety and I walk behind him, keeping my eyes on his back, slightly lowered so that I don’t meet anyone's eyes.