by Lund, S. E.
Marguerite was one of his favorite mortals, and when he turned her, she became his primary lover. He'd grown quite fond of her because she couldn't be compelled. He had to spar with her mentally, use pain and threats, use coercion and promises, use pleasure and love, to control her and even then, he failed more often that not. It was that which made him love her –he realizes that when he sees me with Michel and Julien.
They can't help but fall in love with me because they have to treat me like a person – one who looks almost identical to their first love, Danielle .
When he comes back to Carcassonne to find her and see the results of her seduction, he learns she was burned at the stake by the very brothers he hoped to have as his servants.
He is livid when he realizes that the young whelp of a priest and his warrior-brother had the audacity to kill Marguerite. Burn her at the stake like a common witch? She was a princess from the Norse family – the daughter of kings!
He wanted the brothers enslaved, but he wanted her to be their constant source of torture. He misjudged her ability to keep them both under her spell.
He failed. He finds the charred remnants of her bones and takes them with him, keeping them safe in a golden casket until one day in the future when they will once again be of use to him – when she will once again return to him and be his plaything and servant. Until then, he plans on torturing the brothers as often as possible as just retribution for their crime.
He lets Michel and I separate from his mind so that I'm back in the room with Michel at my side and Julien watching me from across the table, concern in his blue eyes. Michel and Julien will play a role in the future he has planned, only because he's become fond of Michel. A priest who has fallen – Soren can't resist him. Michel still believes, even after everything. He still longs for a place in the Church. Soren's promised him one, as his own High Priest. As his Pope. Michel couldn't be one among humans because of his vampirism, but now, in his ascended state, he is no longer in danger from mere mortals. Only Soren can destroy him.
Together, the three of them will rule the new Church. The Twelve will rule the world. I'll make that possible.
I'll comply, Soren thinks, because when it comes time, Soren will kill them both if I don't. He's counting on my love for them both to make me help him gain power.
He knows that I want to kill him. He knows that Michel has promised to help me. It doesn't matter what the two of us plan. In the end, he knows I will submit. That whatever little plan we have to use against him, I won't let him kill Michel.
He's counting on it.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
"Though lovers be lost love shall not."
Dylan Thomas
Soren says nothing for a few moments as Michel and I recover from sharing Soren's and each other's blood. We're speechless, for the experience is far too intimate. I feel as if I've had sex with them both, without the pleasure, for it puts me right into their point of view, into their bodies and them into mine. Now I know why drinking a human's blood is so sexual to vampires.
Once we recover enough to speak, the five of us leave the dining room and sit by the fireplace, the three men talking about the Council and its plans.
While I listen, Michel rubs my shoulder, then strokes my neck affectionately. I think of being in Soren's mind. He didn't hide his thoughts from us. Soren knows Michel and I are planning to destroy him, but he doesn’t care. He knows we must try. He also believes that ultimately, he'll use me to keep Michel from doing it himself and he'll use Michel or Julien – or both – to keep me from doing it.
He figures the bond we three share will be all he needs to keep himself safe, no matter what scheme we cook up.
Our task will be to find a way to kill him where he can't use us against each other.
As I sit at Michel's feet, I dig my fingernails into my palms and it's then I know Soren is no Ancient. He's is a fallen angel just as Terri suspected – or at least, he sees himself that way. He took physical form and was made a vampire in a moment of weakness with a female vampire he knew.
He doesn't care. He loves being a vampire, loves the connection to mortals he feels by having a body and requiring our blood to keep alive. He thinks it's the final joke against a god who cast him out of heaven. The greatest joke of all – he, an angel, forced to worship humans by a god who loved us more than the perfect creatures he created first, now drinks the blood of those very mortals who replaced him in God's heart.
His own brand of heavenly-father vengeance.
Now, with me under his control, he thinks he can create a new pantheon of gods from other fallen angel/vampires and reign over us all.
Finally, with Soren no longer apparently interested in harassing me, we leave, each couple going to our own rooms on the second floor. Michel closes the door behind me and turns the lock. I stand in the semi-darkness by the fireplace and wait for him. It's late, but I wait to see if he has something else planned for us. I don't need to feed now – not after drinking both his and Soren's blood. The way I feel from Soren's blood alone is like ten times the effect of Michel or Julien's.
Michel comes right to me and embraces me, kissing me, his passion overwhelming me and I can't help but respond. But just when I think he's going to push me down onto the floor and ravish me, he stops and presses his forehead against mine.
"Now do you believe?"
I pull back and look in his eyes. "Believe what, my Lord?"
"That angels are real. That there is a God."
I say nothing. Soren identifies himself as a fallen angel. One of the two hundred around the world who took physical form as shape shifters after a battle with heaven.
"I thought the fallen angels were cast into the pit. That's what the Bible says…"
"It was a figurative pit, Eve. Being separated from each other and from God, cast onto the mortal plane was hell for them. They've been seeking some kind of heaven to replace it ever since."
"I take it 'The Twelve' are all vampires, like Soren?"
"Yes. It's the key to their creating a new heaven, using the Church to give them access to worshippers, and you to channel that worship so they can take power. They can do small things individually – shape shift, heal wounds, manipulate matter on a small scale, but nothing really big that would impress a humanity inured to special effects, nuclear bombs and trips to the moon. They need to do something impressive to really show their powers and gain believers but they need to be connected to really mass their individual power together into one force."
"And that's my role? Collect that power through sharing their blood?"
He nods. "Soren is planning his own version of Ascension, using the Twelve and you. Do it in front of a mass of worshippers, use the sharing of blood to really pool their powers. Impress the worshippers. Do that over and over until he has the whole flock believing he's a god. That they're all gods. A new pantheon, like the Roman gods before Christianity."
"They're not gods. They just have a way to manipulate matter."
"What is a god if not precisely that?"
I say nothing for a moment, trying to process this. Michel brushes the hair from my cheek, tucking it behind my ear.
"How do we stop him?"
Michel tilts his head. "I can't tell you."
"I just go into this blind?"
"Yes. Your ignorance of the plan is key."
"You said that to me before. I ended up brain damaged, living in Ipswich."
"This time, there's no alternative. We have to do this. Blackstone has struck." He sighs. "If humans can't find a way to stop the plague, the whole of civilization will fall and vampires will claim Dominion. Soren wants to strike Blackstone and the Council members who support it first. We have a way to kill them all or gain their compliance. Then, Soren will start locally, displaying feats of power to collect followers. Once he has power over Blackstone and the Church, he'll be in a position to claim Ascendance for himself and The Twelve. That's all I can tell you."
"We'
ll stop him before that happens."
"That's my plan. And that's all I'll tell you. Now," he says and bends down to kiss my neck. "You did very well tonight. You were submissive enough at times and resistant enough at times to convince Soren you were really going to give slavery to me a try. He's counting on it."
I nod and play with a button on his shirt while he strokes my hair. I wait for him to do whatever he will do. He tilts my head up and looks in my eyes.
"I want you. Now."
The abrupt turn in his demeanor, the sound of urgency in his voice makes me almost shudder with desire.
"How do you want me, my Lord?" I whisper.
"I want you here," he says and pulls me over to an antique settee with no back, like a chaise lounge. He turns me around and unzips my dress. "Take your clothes off," he says and kisses my shoulder. "Lie down."
I do as he commands, letting the dress slip off my shoulders and to the floor. I step out of it and my panties, then lie down on the settee as instructed. He sits beside me and leans over me, his gaze moving over my naked body.
"Are you going to lie still, and wait for my commands or do I need to tie you up?"
I say nothing for a moment, the thought of him tying me up making my heart beat a little faster.
"Yes, my Lord," I say, my voice a little shaky.
"Yes, my Lord what?" he says.
"Yes, my Lord, I'll lie still and wait for your commands."
I feel drunk, my flesh throbbing under his gaze, unable to do anything but wait for him. He doesn't need restraints. I'm so intoxicated from drinking his blood earlier that I can barely move my body. Then he lies on top of me, one arm cradling my head, his other hand cupping my cheek and he kisses me, his mouth soft and pressed against mine, just chaste, his lips closed.
I feel his clothing against my naked skin, the hardness of his erection against me, the linen of his white shirt rough against my nipples. I can't help but move my hips beneath him, rubbing myself against him, trying to force his lips open with my own.
"Just lie still, Eve," he says firmly, "or I'll have to tie you up."
I just stare in his eyes.
"Do it, my Lord," I whisper, my whole body quivering.
He exhales heavily, biting my neck just hard enough to hurt but not hard enough to break the skin or make me bleed. He runs his tongue all over my neck, down to the swell of my breasts, under the curve, and then around to each nipple, before sucking, dragging his teeth over each one until I moan.
He moves his mouth over my belly to my hips, spreading my thighs and running his tongue once between my lips, stopping to swirl his tongue around my clit and I groan. I can't help but thrust myself against his mouth.
"I can see I need help keeping you still," he says, that grin starting. He stands and I glance at him from behind my lashes. His erection is bulging against his pants and all I want to do is nuzzle it, run my mouth along it.
He adjusts himself, untucking his shirt to cover his bulge. "I'll be right back."
"Where are you going?"
"To find some rope," he says, his voice husky with desire. "I know you won't keep still no matter what I do."
I watch him leave and just lay still for long moments, wondering if he'll find what he wants, my mind blank, my body aching for what's going to happen. I remember reading in my journal that he said he would that day so long ago.
In a few minutes, he returns, several lengths of thin white rope in his hand. He comes to me and leans down kissing my mouth first and then he leans down to kiss my other lips, his tongue dipping between them briefly, sending a jolt of lust to my center. I exhale and try to keep still but I can't help but shudder.
He takes a length of rope and ties it around my wrist and then secures it to my other wrist, raising them both above my head where he attaches the rope to the back of the settee. He ties a length of rope around each foot, then moves my legs apart so that my thighs are spread wide and each leg hangs off the side of the narrow bench, touching the floor, each foot tied to the settee leg. I pull briefly on my restrains and the rope bites just a bit into my skin but not so much that it hurts.
"Don't pull too hard," he says in my ear. "I don't want your pain block to keep me from reading you."
I nod, breathing fast and shallow, my cheeks hot. Then he straddles the settee and pulls a length of cloth from his pocket, covering my eyes with it and I almost say no, because I want to look at his face and in his eyes while he fucks me, but I keep silent.
He knows what he's doing.
"Keep your mouth open and your lips parted," he says and I wonder why.
He gets off the settee and I'm breathless, waiting. We remain in silence for some time – I don't know how long, but I become attuned to the sound of the room. I hear the mansion itself, the murmur of voices down the hall, the sound of a something crunching over gravel in the courtyard – probably a guard on foot patrol, the wind in the trees outside the open window. After a long silence, my senses focus back on the room and I hear him breathing, fast and shallow, just like me. I can hear my own heart beat in my ears, the sound of my breath flowing in and out of my mouth.
Then I hear the sounds of him removing his boots, the clunk-clunk as he takes off each one. I swear I can hear him unrolling his socks and dropping them on the floor. Then, the clink of his belt unfastening, the zzzhhrrr of his zipper sliding down, the rustle of fabric against fabric and I'm amazed at how much keener my sense of hearing is now that I can't see and we've spent some time in silence.
I feel him on the settee and his scent fills my nose – sandalwood. A touch of clean sweat, and a hint of his male musk.
More movement follows and I feel the whisper of his breath on my cheek. I turn my head towards the sensation and feel his lips brush lightly against my mouth.
"Don't move, Eve. Don't speak unless I ask you to. Just open yourself to what will happen. Let it happen. Don’t try to control anything. Just feel. Do you understand?"
"Yes," I say, barely able to speak.
"Yes, what?"
"Yes, my Lord."
His mouth presses against my neck, his tongue wet against my skin. The he pulls away for a moment and a silence passes between us.
“Open your mouth,” he says and I do. He slips a finger in my mouth, resting it on my tongue. “Suck.”
I suck on his finger, pulling on it, and he slowly removes it.
“Again,” he says and instead of his finger, he inserts his thumb and I suck it as well, tugging on it with my tongue and lips. He slowly pulls it out and I wait, lips parted.
“Again,” he says. I open my mouth and he covers mine with his, thrusting his tongue inside my mouth against mine, and it’s soft and wet. I suck on it as I have his finger and thumb. We kiss deeply and then he pulls his tongue out of my mouth and I wait for what’s next.
I feel him straddle me. Then the silky slickness as he rubs the head of his erection against my lips. I don’t know what to do – should I try to lick him or should I wait for him to tell me what to do? My instinct is to try to lick, to try to take him in my mouth but I wait, my lips slightly parted as he said. He rubs the head all over my lips, the fluid wet against them, but he does nothing else. He doesn’t press it between my lips nor does he tell me to lick him and so I do nothing. I wait.
“Your lips are perfect,” he says. “So full and soft.” He strokes the slick head all over them and my arousal grows as I wait. Then he pulls away.
“Lick your lips, Eve. Taste me on them.”
I do and he tastes salty, the taste sending a jolt of lust through me.
“Stick out your tongue,” he says and I do, waiting. I feel him shift on the couch, and then a drop of something cool on my tongue. It’s more of his fluid. I wait, barely able to breathe. “Swallow.”
I do, enjoying the taste of him, the fluid slippery on my tongue.
“Open wide,” he says and I open my mouth and then the head of his cock slides between my lips and against my tongue. I close my m
outh around it and suck, rolling my tongue around the glans and along the rim, taking care to keep my teeth covered. Once more, he pulls it out slowly until I am once more waiting, my lips parted, breathing shallowly, all my nerves extra sensitive.
More movement on the settee follows and I wonder what he’ll insert into my mouth this time but instead of inserting anything, I feel his breath on my sex, and my whole body tenses, a throb of pleasure racing through me as I wait.
His hair tickles my inner thigh, his lips barely graze my skin as he moves his mouth all over but never touches me. But I can feel the whisper of his breath on me, hear him inhaling deeply, taking in my scent. Now, my body trembles as I wait for what he’ll do, my flesh aching for his touch. Any touch. I want to move my hips, find his mouth, but I don’t.
It’s sweet agony.
When he finally does touch me with his tongue, a long sweep between my labia, I groan and my muscles clench. There’s just enough give in the rope restrains on my feet so that he can spread my thighs wider and he does, opening me up, tonguing me but he’s putting enough pressure on my thighs so that I can’t move my hips the way I want. I’m forced to just lie there and let him do what he wants. When he slips a finger inside my body, I clench around it and am so close to orgasm, my mind is blank.
“Don’t come yet,” he says, but he doesn’t stop what he’s doing.
“I can’t help it…”
Finally, he stops his motions and I’m gasping from how close I am, the impending orgasm receding just enough so that I don’t go over the edge.
“You’re dying for release. Wait a bit longer and it will be even better.”
After a pause, he inserts another finger and just holds it there, inside of me, not moving.
“I love your pussy all naked, Eve,” he says softly, his voice throaty with lust. “I love running my tongue all over it. I want to lick every part of you.”
