by L. A. Banks
Carlos willed the tears in his eyes to dry. He was supposed to be her protector, from the very beginning, and had fucked this whole thing up big time. Her life was ruined, all because he couldn’t keep his hands off of her. That was pathetic. No sense of control, no discipline when it came to her.
By rights, Damali should have been out there hunting down the bastard who stole the sacred key. That was her job as a Neteru. But because they’d both been off the job, and his love bites had turned into more than they’d both bargained for, he’d put his baby in a position where the clerical forces might have to smoke her. Now he understood everything Father Pat had been trying to tell him. They should have left him to die in the desert.
He sat up as her calls intensified and leaned his head against one of the cool black marble bedposts. He could feel the ache on the entire surface of her skin, even past the near sunlight, even past Marlene’s new ring of prayers. If she would only just take in a slow breath through her mouth and let it out through her nose to summon control. She had to regulate her breathing, slow her heart rate. The more she fought it, got hyped, the more her heart raced, the hotter the burn . . . A master burn was no joke, but he couldn’t afford to reach out to her in a mind lock to explain all that. Whenever they connected telepathically it was too volatile. But not watching her struggle was impossible. Just seeing her so aroused was messing him up. It was lowering his defenses, turning him on, jacking up his control, and when she cupped her breasts he tried to pull out of the vision.
He could already taste the salt of her tears in his mouth, smell every bead of sweat that had exited her pores as her dampened body tossed on her sheets. And she was so wet, and so ready . . . his hands began to tremble, he needed to touch her so badly.
The moment he’d fully entered the turn, the full impact of what it meant to be a vampire became an unforgettable, defining moment that dragged every vice, secretly harbored desire, and lust to the surface, along with the insatiable need to feed. The vibration within Damali rippled through him like an electric current, bonding them regardless of the barriers. He now understood, even if it was for a moment—she was his turn, and would home to him, also sadly understanding the rush that turning a human produced in his kind. What had he done?
Carlos pulled in a steady breath, willing his pulse to slow to a near halt. He had to. Going into her mind now to talk her down was definitely impossible. She was too strong, wasn’t a second-level, nor a mere human. That would have been easy. But this was master to council, and there was nothing in his line’s knowledge base to deal with that. There had never been, to his knowledge, a topside female master to connect with a male of the species at council level. Thus, two senior levels had never been forced to separate like this—ever. Who would be a worthy enough adversary to make them do such a thing, if one had been made? And if Damali seized upon his mind and locked it, come nightfall, he’d be over there taking a bullet. He was nearly ready to chance the sun, as it was. Not to mention, that was the last thing she needed. This was best. If they locked, he told himself firmly, he’d telepathically siphon her for sure. Her system couldn’t take another nick. But when her palm slid down her stomach, he shivered.
For a long while he just sat there with his head leaned against the marble post, a thousand thoughts feeding his despair, her insistent but confused calls making him want to jump out of his skin. Oh, baby . . . just stop struggling with this thing. No, I can’t come to you. It’s almost daybreak.
Seconds elongated to minutes. Whatever Neteru was still left within her sliced through the approaching dawn and held him hostage. “Damali, cut it out . . .” Carlos murmured, as her thoughts gripped his in a mental vise, nearly strangling him with desire.
She’d broadcasted her intense call on an open channel that static-charged the air around him. He tried his best to put a privacy seal around it—all they needed was for council or the remaining topside masters to hear her . . . and Marlene and Father Pat!
Carlos locked in on the register of her voice and put a black box around it, but even holding it at mental length from him was nearly impossible. The transmission was so hot, coming to him as though broadband video images, he could only hope that the fact that she was still the Neteru would mute some of it to anyone but him. Then her complete thoughts broke through the compound barrier, adding the element of touch to the sound of her voice. The Guardians had left a hole in their seal!
Carlos groaned. “No, no, no—how could y’all forget to mentally block her, too?” They had sealed in her physical presence, not her telepathy . . . had sealed out both of his methods of coming to her, but had left the door wide open for her to mentally escape! He had told them, shown them, that she was as much a vampire as he was, in this fluctuation state. But they were still treating her like a human, only physically barring the windows and doors! That would never be enough to contain her.
The moment he felt her hands slide down his chest, he opened his eyes, trying to break the mental connection. There was no way this could end well, and she had no concept of the torture she was about to trap them within if she started something that couldn’t be finished. “Stop,” he said in a forceful whisper. “I’m not playing, D. I can’t bite you to take you over the edge.”
In his mind he saw her tremble, then felt a hot rake score his shoulder and collarbone as her cheek grazed his skin hard and her lush mouth pulled the lobe of his ear between her lips. “For real . . . stop,” he murmured, his voice catching in his throat as his eyes slowly closed. The nip at the vein in his wrist did it, and when her tongue trailed up his forearm to the inside of his elbow, completing the sensual sweep with her deep, wet kiss at that sensitive pulse point, his shudder connected to the contraction she’d sent through his groin. He soon felt himself sliding down the marble post to lie on his back, his chin tipped toward the ceiling as her suckles intensified. “I mean it, baby. Stop.”
Oh . . . no . . . she was rewiring him, placing a physical mark . . . just like a master, doing to him what he’d done to her. Everywhere she kissed up his forearm he’d felt down the length of his shaft. His hand balled into a fist as she nursed and licked the skin inside the bend of his arm, and against his will, he felt his hips begin to move to her rhythm, the agony concentrating as though she had the head of him in her mouth. He was connecting with air, nothingness, yet needing to be inside her. He could mentally see her pelvis working against the tangled knot of sheets on her bed, could feel the tension in her building and demanding an answer. But there was no way to reach her. A groan traveled through him . . . she had no idea what she was doing to him.
Suddenly her slick, scorching heat sheathed him and the sensation was totally unexpected. Intense pleasure made him cry out and hold himself. The pressure that lodged in his shaft throbbed so badly tears came to his eyes. Pain collided with fleeting gratification, making him sweat. Her voice escalated an octave, driving him to the brink of his sanity.
Knowing that the rough sensation his palm offered compared to her was futile, only made matters worse, but didn’t stop his frenzied strokes that now matched her movements. Why did she start what couldn’t be finished? His touch soon became her wetness, and then evaporated to once again only be his dry palm. The barrier was maddening. He dropped his hand away, hoping that might ease the torture. But the instant vacancy of warmth, the lack of sensation, was so visceral that it almost made him sit up. He covered the central ache like a wound, applied pressure to staunch the throb, and just held it, trying to will away the pulse that was wed to her insistent thrusts.
Trapped without an option, he was breathing through his mouth, hyperventilating like her with ragged inhales and exhales, and he gripped the mattress, his nails ripping through satin sheets and ticking, exposing stuffing as he arched hard. He needed her skin against his, instant friction to meet the burn. He needed her in his arms beneath him. Every pulse point he owned was lit on fire for her.
Sweat soaked him as his stomach, his thighs, his buttocks, and back
muscles clenched and released to the pace she set. “Baby, stop . . . please,” he said out loud in a pained rush through his fangs. When she arched again the back of his head dug into the pillows. But as long as she moved, he couldn’t stop lifting his hips for her, couldn’t stop the hard stroke of his hand that again felt just like her, couldn’t catch his breath, much less form the words to break the connection that would haunt them both for hours.
Nearly sobbing with frustration, his mouth hungered for her kiss so much that he dropped his plundered defenses. Immediately he felt her mouth upon his, consuming it with a phantom kiss, her tongue dancing with his, planting the burn within his groin there, too, making him moan from deep within his chest. The side of his throat was on fire, needing her instant strike as much as he needed release. Her softness covered him, and he ran his hand over her round, tight behind, touching the air above him, feeling her as though she were there.
“Don’t do this,” he begged, edging toward the point of no return. Each of her hard nips along his chest and his shoulders and the side of his jaw were layering sensations inside his thighs, mirroring the unfulfilled pleasure that was now oozing from his shaft. “You don’t understand.”
A soft kiss grazed his temple, trailed down the bridge of his nose, but then became aggressive again as it captured his mouth and pulled a groan up from his gut. The way her lips hovered just a fraction of an inch above the aching skin at his jugular stripped his breath, turning the pace of his exhales into shallow pants. Then she mastered him with a long, rough lick up his jugular, the heat of it searing his oversensitive skin’s surface, making him arch hard as though a high-volt electric current had hit him. That’s when he lost it, couldn’t think about the state of her turning or the consequences.
“Deliver the bite!” His eyes were practically crossing beneath his lids. If she was strong enough to open-channel seduce him at dawn, maybe . . . “Baby please—do it now!” He could feel her struggling with the knowledge, trying to learn master technique on the fly, needing to respond to his request as much as he also wanted that, but her fangs hadn’t lowered . . . a psychic siphon took practice.
She stared into his eyes, the look in them pained and confused as she edged toward a climax that faded. We were so close, she murmured. Why—
“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you . . .” His voice was a harsh whisper. The connection was so strong that each sensation that eluded her also summarily vanished within him, leaving them both precariously hovering on the precipice. And from a deep reservoir of knowing he understood all too well that the fact that she still had Neteru flowing through her was blocking the full knowledge transfer from his line. Everything in her makeup was designed to fight a turn. “Baby, without the final bite, there is no end to this. You can go all the way up to the door, but won’t be able to open it. Now stop. All right?”
Part of him took very small comfort in the fact that her system was purging on its own. However, right now, it was a serious impediment. But it was better this way. Less complicated. He tried to steady his breathing and resolve himself to the inevitable—a very long and sleepless day within his lair.
She just stared at him for a moment. I’ve never felt like this in my life . . . She closed her eyes and threw her head back and began moving against him again. Her fluid thrusts quaked him, and every tremble that contracted her body around his made him gasp. We have to finish this, she murmured, her tone urgent just like her movements had become. I can’t take it.
If she couldn’t do it, he had to. She had to go beyond level-one thought, actually had to manifest the nick and draw blood. Had to transform matter into energy at the speed of light. He’d show her how, maybe could talk her through it? Oh, man, he had to . . . if the prayer barrier wasn’t blocking him, he’d take her to V-point on the spot. But that was crazy; he knew he shouldn’t teach her something like that . . . her team would be at risk . . . she might hurt a Guardian or worse. But she felt so good, was crooning in his ear, was promising him in fits and starts that she’d only siphon him. Just do it.
It was an offer he couldn’t refuse, not now. He focused on her throat, could feel her pulse thudding in his ears. No problem, he’d release them both from this torture. Just a nick, not a full siphon. Just one more time. His incisors lowered another lethal inch, but the barrier wouldn’t allow his penetration. Damn!
“Focus, baby,” he pleaded. She had to do this. “Sync up with my pulse. Ride it hard and drop fang, then open the vein.”
He could barely get the words out and was literally shaking with anticipation as he mentally braced himself, watched her draw a deep breath then stare at his throat, and come in against it hard. Just as suddenly, he felt the bite. It was a human one that sent ripples of pleasure through him, but it wasn’t enough to take either of them to oblivion. She hadn’t gathered enough atomic velocity in the thought when she delivered the strike. She had to break the skin. He could feel her frustration wash through him as her head dropped back, no hint of fangs in her mouth.
The near miss made him inhale and exhale hard; he’d show her how this was done. Neither of them would last more than twelve hours messed up like this.
Reflex made him roll over onto his stomach to gather her beneath him for leverage, but the compound barriers made her vanish as his intent to bite her became laser. All he had in his arms were black satin sheets. He brought them to his face in defeat and felt her shudder the moment her near-orgasm dissolved with her moan. Her tears ate away at him, making him need her even more as only the echo of her frustrated sobs remained.
He knew exactly how she felt; he needed to cum so badly he was ready to cry himself. Pure agony became one with panic as he flopped over onto his back again, hoping she was still focused enough to broadcast. Damali, come back . . . The thought was almost a prayer that shot from his brain in the tone of a command. Damn, why did she start this mess? “It’s all right, mi tormenta, stay with me,” he said gently, but deeply conflicted, and wondered why he was submitting to such agony.
She covered him immediately and he nearly wept it felt so good. If she hadn’t been able to come back, he would have lost his mind. The unrelenting tension was giving him a headache. A hard bite against his femoral artery almost convulsed him and made tears fall in earnest this time. “Don’t do it.” If she went down on him he’d open the lair for sure. Cancel that. He couldn’t take it without knowing there’d be an end in sight.
Hot moisture slid from beneath his lids and ran down the sides of his face, meeting the sweat that was coursing down his temples. When he felt her kiss the tears away from his lashes, another futile reflex made him attempt to knock her chin back with his jaw to find her throat, and he again held his length within a firm grasp. Every place that he’d ever bitten her glowed red, became an infrared beacon bearing his mark, but he couldn’t get near a single pulse point. A blue-white layer of dangerous heat covered her skin and barred his incisors entry. An agonized groan swept through him as her tongue found his navel. She was trying to make him break through a barrier that simply couldn’t be crossed. It wasn’t about not wanting to, some things just couldn’t be done.
“I can’t!” he finally yelled, his voice echoing through the lair. “You have to come to me!”
I don’t know how to . . . Every time I get close—
“Then stop,” he said as his voice faltered. “Just go to sleep.”
I can’t.
They both knew what she’d said was the truth. As her torture wore on, he began counting the hours till sunset with his eyes tightly shut. Just one more time. Anything, for just one more time . . . Her voice carried his name like a blade against his senses. Each time she said it, his name got lower in octave until it filled her abdomen, the register of it was so low and sensual it had gone beyond a croon to a desperate whisper. He could feel it vibrate inside her like a depth charge, then his name broke up into two low timbre syllables as she shuddered, Car-los.
She had to stop, but if she did h
e’d risk sunlight. He was mentally stuttering her name in three-part harmony, Da-mal-i . . . Then she seized upon the thought, mounted him, bore down on him, arched in a hard snap that made him call her out loud by name. Her response was instantaneous; she sent the message to him as a challenge, using his own past words to tease him—That’s what I was waiting to hear, baby.
“Un mordisco! Por favor . . . Damali, ahora. Baby, it’s almost entumecido.” He was nearly weeping for release as she moaned in his ear and stopped moving against him, holding his hips down firmly. What was she doing to him? A sly smile crossed her kiss-punished mouth.
She let go of his hips as he thrashed against her hold. She allowed the sensation of being inside her to ebb as she pulled back and made him slip from her warmth. Stop struggling with this, she murmured in a tone so seductive that it made him pump wildly against the air.
“I can’t,” he admitted in an urgent rush. “Finish this now!”
I thought you wanted me to stop and go to sleep?
All he could do was surrender. “No don’t,” he said between his teeth. “You win.”
You left me—
“It won’t ever happen again.”
Promise?
He nodded and shut his eyes tighter. “I promise I’ll get you out tonight—as soon as it gets dark . . . baby . . . just . . . try one more time.”
You pissed me off, and really hurt my feelings. I don’t know that I should . . . maybe I’ll just go to sleep, like you said to.
“No. Please don’t do that,” he said quickly. He could hear her thoughts but could no longer feel her touch. “I swear, girl, I’m sorry.” She was making him beg, and that didn’t make any sense. She had his dignity in shreds and fury was only stoking the burn. He tried to summon some control, throttle his impulses, tried to regulate his breathing, to ignore her, but then she pulled him into her mouth. “Please don’t stop,” he whispered, trembling as she left him again and became nothing but air.
