by L. L. Raand
The smaller blond female was not yet seventeen, two full years younger than Gray, and even though Katya was dominant, she didn’t have the warrior traits Gray had inherited from her sentrie mother. Katya was brave, and she would fight them, but even at her most aggressive her body didn’t produce the same chemicals Gray’s did. The chemicals these humans wanted. And the more they shocked and tortured Katya trying to get her to produce them, the closer they drove her to the brink of insanity.
Gray snarled, fury hazing her vision. “What have you done to her?”
A human male wearing a maroon surgical scrub suit appeared in her line of vision, his dark gray eyes roaming over her body. She recognized him as one who didn’t seem to enjoy torturing her—he just looked at her as if she were an animal whose sole purpose was to provide him with information.
“She’s sedated.” He rolled a stainless steel cart, holding a test tube rack with a row of empty vials, Vacutainers, and blood tubes, and several syringes filled with clear liquid, over next to the restraint chair. He asked casually, “Why doesn’t she produce the same motor proteins in her ejaculate as you do?”
She wasn’t sure what he meant, but she wasn’t about to tell him that two females’ chemoreceptors naturally adjusted to match the dominance balance between them—at least, she thought that’s what she’d learned in school. She hadn’t really been listening all that carefully in that class because she wasn’t planning on mating anyone for a long time, if ever. She wanted to be a sentrie like her mother. The tech swabbed her forearm with alcohol, and she jerked away.
“It won’t do you any good to struggle,” he said calmly, inserting the needle of one of the syringes into the big vein in the bend of her elbow and plunging the clear fluid into her.
“What is it?” Flame streaked up her arm and she snarled.
“A chemical distillate harvested from your young friend over there.” He looked up at her, his expression quizzical. “Why not just stop fighting us? It would be easier if the two of you would just perform for us. It’s not as if the sex would be all that unpleasant. Then we wouldn’t have to artificially stimulate you to get the samples we need.”
“I’ll never help you.” These humans didn’t seem to know that the hormones released from a sex bite would make a female release the victus they wanted. When her captors had tried to force her and Katya to tangle by electrically stimulating them into sex frenzy, neither of them would bite the other. Neither of them released completely, and she never would, at least not voluntarily. The fire spread through her chest and down into her abdomen. She couldn’t stop her stomach from contracting when the wave of heat surged lower. She didn’t want him to know what was happening to her and concentrated on keeping her breathing even. Her canines throbbed, and the tips of her fingers tingled. Her claws would erupt in a second. She felt her clitoris stiffen, and she growled.
The human made rapid entries into an electronic notebook and took pictures of her.
The more she thrashed, the more intense the boiling pressure became. When he probed between her legs with a gloved hand she arched and snarled, her wolf so enraged she felt herself shifting. She wanted to tangle—no, no, she didn’t, that was just the drug, just the electrodes pulsing under her skin—but the need was huge, and she heard herself whimper. Humiliation made her wild, and she jerked harder at her restraints. The scent of her blood drifted to her.
“She’s ready. Get me the collection vial,” she heard him say through the roaring in her head. He fit something cold and hard over her sex. “Start at one-twenty.”
The first pulse of electric current shot through her, and her body convulsed. The silver shackles cut into her skin. The throbbing in her glands was so intense she moaned.
“One-fifty.” His voice was calm and cool and she wanted to tear his throat out. The second jolt brought her pelvis lurching into the air, and spasms began deep inside her. She thrashed, trying to contain the blood and fluid pumping into her center.
“Turn on the suction in the collection container.”
A rhythmic pulsation began in her groin, and Gray whined.
“One-eighty.”
Another jolt of electricity shot through her and the pounding in her groin doubled. The suction device worked at her like a cold, mechanical mouth.
She was going to release, going to empty, and oh, oh, she wanted to. She couldn’t stand it, couldn’t fight it, and her canines burst out, her claws tore though her fingertips, and pelt flared on her stomach. The next jolt came and her clitoris pumped, her glands emptied, and she filled their containers with what they wanted. She roared with pleasure while her heart hardened with hatred.
Becca tried not to stare when Francesca appeared on the threshold of the bedroom. She’d thought Francesca was beautiful before. Now she was glorious. Her cheeks were rose-tinged, glowing from within and more splendorous than the sunrise. Beneath her dressing gown—a flowing, silky white affair loosely belted at her waist—her breasts rode full and firm, her nipples a seductive blush beneath the diaphanous material. Michel, the dark knight, appeared in the doorway behind the queen, her black silk shirt open down the front. Her small breasts were hard, her nipples tight stones above her granite abdomen. Her eyes, the clearest, deepest blue Becca had ever seen, glittered feverishly as they followed Francesca across the room.
Becca swallowed. Maybe the Vampire’s thrall could alter her perceptions, because she sure wasn’t thinking like herself. Sunrises and queens? Not hardly. She wasn’t given to whimsy. She didn’t look at the world and see dreams come to life. She surrounded herself with facts, with truths. She’d pulled reality around her like a cloak of armor since she’d been young and had learned that only the things she could see and feel and touch were real. Promises were made to be broken. Love was often a lie. Nothing was forever. These Vampires—Francesca, Michel. Jody. They challenged the very foundation on which she’d built her life. Around them, she couldn’t trust what she saw, and she sure as hell couldn’t trust what she felt.
She knew one thing for sure, though. Michel and Francesca—she hadn’t imagined them having sex. She’d seen it. First of all, she couldn’t have imagined anything quite as erotic. Okay, maybe she could have if sufficiently motivated, but she wasn’t in the habit of imagining strangers getting it on. If she let herself go there, she might be able to put herself in that picture with someone, but other than watching Jody have sex, she’d never gotten off on voyeurism. Jody. Why did it always come back to her?
Never mind. She hadn’t made that little scene up. One of them, probably Michel, had sent her that image. She glanced from Francesca to Michel, and Michel smiled, a triumphant lift of her sinfully sensuous mouth. Damn her. Becca almost asked if she’d enjoyed taunting her but thought better of it. She wanted to get some information, one small lead, anything, something to help her unravel the puzzle. What she didn’t want to do was spend any more time than she needed to with Francesca or Michel or any other Vampire. Not when simply being in the same room with them tied her stomach into knots and made it impossible for her to think of anything except sex. She wondered about the humans in the other room. If they would stay. If they would host again. If they were all right.
Francesca settled into a deep navy armchair across from Becca. “Hosting can be quite exhausting. They’ll sleep until this afternoon.”
Becca felt her face flame. “It’s really not polite to read someone’s thoughts when you haven’t been invited.”
Francesca curled her legs beneath her, the movement causing her robe to part along the length of her thigh. She was nearly naked. “Ah. So you were thinking about them. I merely guessed.” She extended an arm languorously. “Michel, darling. Join us.”
Becca knew she didn’t blink, but she still couldn’t capture the movement. Michel was beside Francesca before she had the slightest impression that Michel had moved. She didn’t believe for a second that Francesca hadn’t been reading her mind. Jody had even said at Sylvan’s Compound that she could
make Becca believe that something she’d experienced had only been a dream. Clearly, Vampiric mind powers were much stronger than anyone knew. Another secret. She’d grown up with secrets. Secrets and lies and emotional violence. The animal part of her brain, deep down below the civilized cortex, screamed danger. Screamed for her to run far, far away from the very creatures who fascinated her. She forced herself not to move, to keep her expression completely blank. She needed to remember why she was there, and it wasn’t to ogle the Vampires.
“The night before last,” Becca said, “someone tried to assassinate Sylvan Mir. I was hoping you’d have some information about that.”
Michel’s slender body vibrated like a fine blade slashing through the air. “Why would we?”
Becca kept her gaze on Francesca. She’d often found that leading off an interview with a provocative statement or accusatory question yielded a telling response. Catching a subject off guard frequently got her closer to the truth. Clearly, that technique wasn’t going to work here. The Viceregal appeared relaxed and unperturbed. In fact, she appeared enviably sated and supremely unconcerned.
“The Alpha was visiting Jody Gates at the time,” Becca said, glancing for an instant at Michel. “She’s the daughter of the U.S. Councilor for Vampire Affairs. I’m sure the Viceregal knows him.”
Francesca’s brow quirked. “I know all the Vampires in my territory. I’m very fond of Detective Gates, although I don’t see as much of her as I might like these days. She’s here frequently to entertain a host, of course, but I haven’t had the pleasure of sharing one with her for quite some time.”
Becca clenched her hands and tried doing multiplication tables in her head. She was not about to let Francesca read her mind, not when she was fuming over the idea of Jody anywhere near Francesca in bed. The idea of Jody pleasuring Francesca was so infuriating her skin itched. “I also understand that the Vampires and the Weres are allies. I doubt there’s anything in the entire Eastern territory that happens you don’t know about.”
“Why should we share any information with you?” Michel said.
“Why would you want to hide something that would garner public sympathy?” Becca sighed. “Assassinating Sylvan Mir would likely disrupt the Coalition.”
“Why should we care about the Coalition?” Michel’s eyes were hot coals. “Humans do not dictate what we do.”
Francesca took Michel’s hand and tugged the slender Vampire down onto the broad arm of the chair. She curled her arm around Michel’s neck and kissed her, one hand inside her open shirt, caressing her. Becca tried not to stare, but it wasn’t as if she could look anywhere else in the room and not see them. Michel kissed Francesca hungrily, her hand cupping Francesca’s breast, her thumb slowly stroking the nipple into erection. Becca felt like a voyeur. She was a voyeur. Even worse, the display excited her. Just when she was contemplating getting up and leaving the room, Francesca released Michel. She trailed her fingers over Michel’s cheek. “Darling, diplomacy is really not your strong suit.”
Michel gave a disdainful snort. “You don’t keep me for my diplomatic skills.”
“No, darling.” Francesca caressed Michel’s thigh, her fingertips lingering over her crotch. “I keep you because you’re so good at what you do.”
Michel’s eyes flared, and the heat singed Becca’s skin. What the hell was in the tea?
“Then let me do my job, Regent,” Michel murmured.
Francesca leaned forward and poured tea. Cradling the cup and saucer, she sat back in her chair as if they had been discussing nothing more serious than the weather. She sipped her tea and regarded Becca over the rim. “I don’t sit on the Council, as you know. I am acquainted with the Were Alpha. I think highly of her. If there’s an alliance between Councilor Gates and Councilor Mir, I’m not privy to it.” She took another sip of her tea and set the cup down. Then her gaze intensified, and Becca felt as if a heavy hand lay on her shoulder, holding her in place. She didn’t think she could get up even if she wanted to.
“But I will offer you one observation, and you can do with it what you’d like. Not everyone believes that our species should be absorbed into human society. It’s entirely possible that Councilor Mir does not represent the popular opinion of the individuals she stands for.”
“What about you, Viceregal?” Becca asked, her mouth suddenly dry. “Do you believe in peaceful cohabitation?”
Francesca smiled, her incisors glittering. “I’ve been living peacefully with humans for centuries. None of the Praetern species could have existed this long without learning to compromise and adapt. But I have no desire to disrupt a peaceful political process.”
“Are you trying to tell me that another Were was behind the assassination attempt on Sylvan Mir?”
“My dear, however would I know?” Francesca smiled, her eyes sliding down Becca’s body. Becca’s nipples tightened, and she had to work not to squirm. “Are you here as an envoy for the Weres?”
“No. I’m a reporter. I don’t choose sides. I report facts.”
Francesca laughed and Michel grunted.
“That’s a wonderful sentiment,” Francesca said. “I wish you luck adhering to it.”
“One last question,” Becca said, figuring she might as well cast her line into the void, because she had nowhere else to go. “Have you heard anything of humans—girls—who’ve gotten sick? Maybe they were with some of the Weres who frequent the club?”
“Sick. In what way?” Francesca’s question was controlled and cool.
“Never mind,” Becca said. If the Viceregal didn’t know about the deadly fevers, it might be best not to tell her. “You’ve been very kind. I appreciate your time.”
“I’d like you to give the Alpha a message,” Francesca said.
Becca had a great deal of practice at hiding her surprise, and she hoped she’d managed it. Michel looked decidedly unhappy. “What would that be?”
“Tell the Alpha she has enemies in several camps. That perhaps she should look to her friends before it’s too late.”
“Um. Perhaps you could be a little more specific,” Becca said. “Somehow, I don’t think that message is going to get me very far.”
Francesca laughed and her face lost its soft sensuous glow, growing hard and sharp as a dagger unsheathed from a bejeweled case.
Tell Sylvan to remember the days when Vampires and Weres hunted together.
The room grew hazy and Becca’s head swam. She grasped the carved wooden arm of the sofa until her stomach slowly settled. She wasn’t sure what she’d heard, if she’d heard anything at all. “What? I’m sorry…I…”
“You look tired, my dear.” Francesca rose effortlessly and paused in the doorway of her boudoir. “I’ll arrange for someone to take you home.”
“No!” Becca blushed. “I mean, I have my car. I’m fine.”
“Michel will escort you out. The club is likely to be…raucous…for another hour or so. And do send my regards to the Alpha.”
Becca so didn’t want to walk back into the dark with Michel, but she couldn’t think of a way out of it. She squared her shoulders, metaphorically at least, and decided to make the most of the opportunity. As soon as they were in the hall leading to the stairs up to the club, she asked, “What is it that you do exactly? Are you the Viceregal’s, ah, consort?”
Michel laughed, and the sound rippled over Becca’s skin like a flood of kisses. She knew with absolute certainty she neither liked nor trusted this Vampire, but her body had no such reservations. If she’d been a furnace, the steel would be melting.
“Stop it,” Becca said, halting in her tracks. “You can stop it, can’t you? I know you can.”
“You are either very sensitive or you’ve been bitten,” Michel said conversationally.
“I have not been bitten,” Becca said. “Wait a minute. You mean once bitten, someone is more receptive to whatever it is you do? To your thrall?”
Michel took Becca’s elbow and urged her forward. “Come. If you
won’t accept a bodyguard, you should not be here now.”
Becca couldn’t detect anything except genuine concern in the Vampire’s tone, but she wasn’t idiot enough to trust her. Neither would she dispute the truth of what Michel said. She started walking, but she wasn’t about to be sidetracked. “The Risen will have all gone by now, won’t they?”
“Yes, but the pre-ans will have waited to feed until the Risen were finished. Whatever hosts remain will be depleted, and the pre-ans will be hungry.” She smiled at Becca and her incisors flashed. “Your blood runs thick and warm.”
“That is so rude,” Becca said.
Michel laughed, and heat coursed along Becca’s spine. Not sexual, exactly, but God, she was drawn to her. Excellent practice for the next time she saw Jody. As attractive as Michel was, she wasn’t Jody. “Could you just stop with the seduction routine, please. I’ve seen the show.”
“You’re either very brave—”
“I’ve heard that one too.” Becca waited while Michel keyed the heavy door at the top of the stairs, then followed her through. The hallway was as dark as it had been before, and she reached out for the wall to orient herself. Michel took her arm again, and she didn’t pull away. “Tell me about being bitten. Once you are, does it mean—”
Becca’s back was against the wall before she realized she’d been moved. Michel’s hands were on her shoulders, and her hips against hers, pinning her. Becca arched into the heat, tilting her head to one side. The fine pinpoints of pain against her throat sent a rush of pleasure scorching through her core. “Oh God.”
“Perhaps I should show you,” Michel murmured, her mouth moving slowly over Becca’s throat. “I’m still hungry.”
“Please,” Becca whispered, and she didn’t know if she meant please stop or please take me. She was wet, throbbing, her skin prickling as if electrified. She ached, she hungered, she writhed beneath the weight of Michel’s power. No. No, God damn it! She would not be taken. Not here, not like this. Not with her. She reached for the place deep inside her that had given her the courage to stand up to the father who had discounted her, to the world that ignored her, to all the voices that had said she didn’t matter, and pushed that strength into her muscles and her voice. She shoved Michel back. “No.”
