Hunger Revealed

by Dee Carney

  Moira was human, and he didn't carry a gun, but an ash stake through her heart would kill her just the same. He'd face any judgment for murder necessary to get Jasmine back.

  Extenuating circumstances. Any judge, human or vampire, would rule in his favor.

  She must have decided to take his malice seriously. Moira's hands shot into the air, signaling surrender. “I'll take you to her, and you'll see that she's fine. The Reverent Father wouldn't see her harmed for all the world.”

  Corin couldn't stop a frown from forming.

  Fuck, he did not need this shit. Did not want this shit. His wife had been through so much already. They hadn't made it a year. One year of not having to deal with someone coming after either of them, looking for blood and death.

  “You take me to her,” he said, a snarl rumbling through his words. “And you do it now.”

  ~ * ~

  No one said a word to them as Moira led the way through a ranch-style house not far from the shopping plaza where Corin had last seen Jasmine. The place wasn't fancy and thank the gods, not creepy either. If his wife had come here to hang with friends, he wouldn't have given it a second thought.

  But the fact at least half a dozen people milled around, looking a little too mellow to be anything but riding chemicals set his nerves on edge. As it was, the twenty minutes to get here had his teeth grinding.

  “You'd better not be fucking with me.” The hand holding Moira's upper arm as she led him toward a closed door tightened. Didn't matter much that she winced at the pressure.

  Edgy, he waited for someone to accost them. To talk some bullshit. To do something. The closer they got to a black door at the end of a long hallway though, the more he realized that danger didn't wander in a drugged daze on this side of the door. His gut instinct, the one that kept him alive for hundreds of years, screamed that the other side would be where he'd need to keep his wits.

  “She's in there,” Moira whispered. “Go in.”

  His fingers dug in deeper. “You first.”

  “Not allowed,” she said, shaking her head.

  “You first.”

  “I-I can't.”

  “You. First.”

  A sigh of utter exasperation and weariness escaped his human guide. “I'm not allowed without permission, and nothing you say is going to get me to break that rule. Nothing, get it?”

  He searched her eyes and found the resolution in them. Yeah, whatever awaited on the other side of the door made her more fearful than Corin ever could.

  And that concerned the shit out of him.

  She held the force of his stare for a few seconds while Corin decided on the best way to proceed. Only when she inclined her face away did he notice telltale bruising along the line of her neck. Dots of twin scars in multiple places near the rapidly beating pulse tattled on her activities when not kidnapping unsuspecting women. “Who you feeding?”

  “What?” Moira looked startled.

  “You don't get marks like those from just one bite. Those took time. Multiple feedings, coming close together.”

  She had the decency to glance at him before dropping her gaze. “Reverent Father. He…”

  “He what?” Corin thought he already knew the answer, but wanted to hear her say it, if she would.

  Moira shook her head.

  He filled in the blanks for her. “Makes you promises. Says he'll give you everlasting life. Promises to make you a vampire one day.” A day that would never come. Never. Not if the Council had anything to do about it.

  Gods. A cult. He was dealing with some sort of cult that worshiped vampires. Preyed on humans. Preyed on the desperate. She probably had some sort of story, some life she wanted to escape from, and whoever this vampire—the Reverent Father—was, took advantage of every little bit of it.

  And now this fuckhead had Jasmine.

  Without another second spent on speculating about the headstrong human in front of him, Corin curled his hand around the doorknob. It twisted smoothly, and he pushed open the door, eyes scanning the interior of the room before the door had even swung completely open.

  The vision before him stole his next thoughts.

  Jasmine lay stretched out in the center of the room, piles upon piles of pillows surrounding and supporting her. His dick hardened while he scanned her for any marks or bruises. Any sign of injury at all.

  His physical response in this insane moment couldn't be helped. The little purple thing they'd put her in would hide nothing. It was the skimpiest, thinnest, and most see-through garment he'd ever had the pleasure of seeing her in. And those little panties? Damn. They were the things wet dreams were made of.

  Tearing his gaze away took an act of strength he didn't know he possessed. If he didn't fear for her immediate welfare, things might have gone down differently. “Jasmine…mellita…”

  She didn't respond.

  Corin edged closer, very aware of the open door behind him. He remained tense, expecting someone to come barreling through at any moment to attack them both. His nerves scrambled while he willed them to calm so that he could scope out the large room and take inventory.

  Whatever they used this place for, it obviously ensured the people inside remained comfortable. It was a sensual feast. The walls were covered in gauzy material, cascading down in waves that left the impression of a breeze at constant play. Although he couldn't see any lit candles, the room smelled soft and delicate. Very feminine. The scent, one he couldn't place, reminded him of flowers yet seemed very homey.

  The same kinds of pillows piled high in the center also framed the room's perimeter. They served as seating places, as well as places where people could lie comfortably. In four corners, shelving units painted to match the reds and purples of the drapers stood watch. There were velvet blankets, folded silken sheets, plush towels placed in each one and it didn't take Corin long to figure out their purpose.

  Whatever this room, it ensured its users would be extremely comfortable while they fucked and cavorted.

  He couldn't hear or sense anyone else in the room, so Corin moved to Jasmine. By the time he reached her, the soft click of the door closing behind him sounded. A lock engaged a moment later, but distracted, Corin ignored it.

  “Jasmine?” he repeated.

  Chapter Three

  Jasmine vaguely heard Corin. Her man. Her husband and lover.

  God, how she loved him.

  Her lids fluttered, but didn't open. They felt so heavy. And she was tired. And craving something.

  Not something.

  Him.

  His taste. His kiss. His blood.

  “Talk to me.” His voice came low, concern twined through it. “Are you hurt?”

  She licked dry lips. “No.” Memories assaulted her, every one of them fuzzy. She'd been shopping. A woman took her. Then a man talked to her. He'd called her…something…something nice. Reverent. “I'm hungry,” she murmured.

  His voice whispered across her skin as he leaned in close. “What have they done to you? Anyone touch you? Make threats?”

  He sounded wounded, and for this reason, Jasmine pushed her eyelids open, though it took effort.

  A surge of ripe lust bolted through her as her gaze swept over his face. Intense, dark eyes. Roman nose. Boxer's jaw. Full, sensual lips.

  She swallowed hard as hunger and need intensified. Her vampire instincts demanded she feed; the feminine part of her psyche insisted on sexual satisfaction. Something whispered of caution, of the necessity for waiting, but the soft sounds drifted away before they could fully form and Jasmine could clasp onto them.

  Lifting her hands to his neck, she stroked over the pulsing skin that signaled a heartbeat moving rapidly. Corin bore her scrutiny without comment, but she knew the tension holding him hostage. “Feed me, Corin,” she said softly.

  He'd never before denied her when her hunger rose. He'd been the one to help her through transition from human to vampire, when her bloodlust rivaled an erotic lust. Although reluctant at first, h
e'd eventually given in. Now, more than a year later, feeding and sex went hand-in-hand. Here in this place, as she subtly writhed, twining her legs together to alleviate some of the ache in her swollen clit, she felt the decadent touch like a live wire through her teeth.

  His face darkened, awash with memories. They'd been here, in a situation almost identical to this.

  “We need to get you out of here,” he said resolutely.

  “Yes, but later.” She stretched arms overhead, the filmy material brushing over heavy breasts and plumped nipples.

  “C'mon.” Corin climbed onto the pillows and grasped her hand when she made no attempt to move. “What have they done to you?”

  “I assure you that she's fine,” said a familiar voice.

  Corin whipped around to face the large man entering through a door she'd failed to notice. The man was caramel colored. Large, in a still-eating-two-large-pizzas-by-himself kind of way. Black hair lined with streaks of gray led to confusion about his possible age. He exuded confidence, yet possessed a serenity that Corin could have learned from just about now.

  She remembered him. The Reverent Father.

  He continued speaking to Corin. “What you see is some of the aftereffects of the drugs my acolyte was a little too eager to institute. It won’t stay in her system much longer, be assured.”

  “What do you want with us?” Corin turned to face the Reverent head on, keeping Jasmine at his back.

  He dipped in semi-bow. “Only to serve the lady and goddess Jasmine.”

  “See? I'm fine, sugar.” Her gaze continued to slide up and down Corin's back, wanting with everything in her to feel his strength blanketing her right now. She needed to feel him inside her. To touch and kiss him. A smile broadened her face. “He wants to worship me. I want to worship you.” The smile turned into a giggle. “We can all worship each other.”

  Corin shot a glance at Jasmine over his shoulder, his brow furrowed. “You're drunk.”

  “Am not.”

  “You are. Flying high, drunk.” He shook his head. “Later, Jas. You, the Reverent Father, I presume, need to point the way to the nearest exit. I am Corin Gerulaitis. An executioner of the Council, wholly authorized to legally kill any vampire deemed a threat to the nation. You will not keep me nor my wife here without consequence.”

  “Hold, executioner. We're a peaceful family. No harm has come to the goddess.”

  “Peaceful? Then why did you take her?”

  He shrugged, a slight did-what-we-had-to-do smirk quirking his lips. “The goddess was never in any danger by my acolyte. Still isn't. They are here to serve her. If it helps, consider what we offer as no more than a spa day for the goddess. We would pamper her as fitting her status.”

  Although Jasmine listened to their conversation, the meaning of their words drifted out of her grasp. The sounds hovered at the periphery of her consciousness before dissipating.

  She loved this sensation flowing through her now. Fuzzy. Warm. Sexual.

  Okay, so maybe she was a little drunk.

  Falling back against the pillows, so soft and comforting, she settled in to stay a little while longer. “I like being a goddess.”

  “You are not a goddess. Wait…shit. You are my goddess, but you are not the type of goddess these people are referring to.”

  Corin's frustration made her smile. “Feed me?” she asked sweetly.

  “After we leave.”

  She sighed. There was also something she was supposed to tell him, but damn if she could remember now…

  “You are in no danger here. If the goddess's consort would care to feed her in private, I will withdraw. I only ask that you do not attempt to leave until we can celebrate her miraculous transformation in a ceremony this evening. Only two hours away,” the Reverent Father said. “Until then, please, enjoy our hospitality.”

  “How much longer before she's lucid?”

  “Not much longer. It was a small amount. Meant to keep her calm so that she did not harm herself.”

  “Hello!” Jasmine called from her pillow pile. “She is right here and not amused by this conversation.” God, did that sound oddly familiar. “I'm perfectly lucid. And hungry. And I know what I want. We've been crazy stressed this past year, and there are some people who want to pamper me for a little while. And silly, selfish me wants to be pampered. And I want to enjoy it with my husband. You. Does that make sense?”

  Corin's arms folded across his chest. “No.”

  “Just join me. Two more hours here with people wanting to do my every whim. What really could go wrong?”

  ~ * ~

  Everything in him said this was a bad idea, but she would never forgive him if he dragged her away from this type of indulgence…if the Reverent Father could be held to his word. Warrior’s instincts fought to believe it, but the compassion of loving husband wanted to believe. It hurt to admit, but he had been a little rough around the edges about the way he treated his wife lately.

  Too many questions scrambled for dominance in his mind, and without answers, they all seemed too important to ignore. When the Reverent Father exited the room almost as quietly as he'd slipped in, Corin found the voice to ask one of Jasmine. “Has the past year with me really been so bad?”

  He'd thought they'd be together for hundreds of years more. Hundreds. Had a gap already started to form in their relationship? Looking back, he recognized how they'd been almost forced together, with little room to negotiate or compromise on a lifetime of being committed to one another. Although he'd fought it initially, he'd fallen in love with a speed that shocked everyone and he'd done it hard. He'd thought she'd done the same.

  “I love you, Corin,” Jasmine said. Her eyes were glassy, but he recognized the effort to unfog her thoughts. “But I think sometimes you're afraid I'll disappear. I won't walk out on you or our marriage. When I bonded with you, you warned me that it meant forever. And it still does mean forever to me. But honey, you've got to give me some space sometimes.”

  His gut churned, the force of her softly spoken words ricocheting through his insides and leaving behind a bruise everywhere they touched. She'd wanted to go shopping for lingerie by herself today, but he'd insisted on coming with her. When she wanted to do anything at all, he stood by her side. Protests that she could never surprise him with gifts because he remained hitched like a tick were laughed off. He'd go through the motions of acting like he understood but hadn't truly listened.

  He'd never before thought he had to explain the reason for it. Not until now.

  “I still hear your screams, sometimes,” he said, unable to look her in the eyes any longer. “The night Sijourn had you, and I couldn't get to you, you screamed, Jas. You screamed, and I couldn't do a thing to help you. I had to stay there and listen. And I can still hear you at night. In my dreams.”

  A long moment of silence passed where he felt the weight of her scrutiny. Still, it wasn't cause enough to look up.

  “Why didn't you tell me about your dreams before?” Her hushed voice made the quiet room seem even more stark.

  Corin uncurled his fist and pushed through the tightness in his throat to respond. “So that you could have done what? Hold me? Tell me it's okay? Woman, I am an executioner and before that I was a gladiator. I have killed hundreds and heard the screams of hundreds. This…this shouldn't affect me like it has.”

  Jasmine pushed her hand into his, threading her fingers in between his. Together they watched the contrast. Her shorter fingers intimately placed next to his strong, rougher ones. When she tightened her grip, he automatically did the same.

  “Have you never dreamed of the people you've killed?”

  He gave it a thoughtful reflection before answering. “In the beginning, I had nightmares.”

  “And now?”

  “Nothing. I remember their faces, but I'm no longer haunted as I once was.”

  “How long did it take for the nightmares to stop?”

  “Years, I think.”

  “Did you l
ove any of them, the people you've killed?”

  With a sharp glance, he finally met the force of concern on her face. “No, of course not.”

  The corners of her mouth tipped in an indulgent smile. “Do you love me?”

  Corin would not look away for this. “With everything that I am.”

  “Then accept the fact that it will be years before you no longer hear me when you sleep. I wish there was something I could say or do to make it stop happening, but I don't think there is. You smothering me every second of the day certainly isn't going to help. And I wish I could say that I wish I never went through being tortured by Sijourn, but I can't—”

  “Jasmine!”

  She squeezed his hand. “I can't wish it never happened because without him, we might not be where we are today. We might not have survived the hard roads laid before us. We might not have fallen in love. And Corin, those things in the end, are worth any amount of pain I might have gone through. Any amount.”

  Corin tilted his head back, eyes squeezed shut, as he digested her words. After a moment, he squinted at her through one eye. “At least you seem to be a little more sober. And I suppose hearing you tell me that you love me is worth allowing this crazy situation to run its course for a while longer.”

  Jasmine grinned.

  “But at the first sign that something's not right, we're gone.”

  She grinned wider.

  “I mean it.” Hard to be stern when she looked so damned happy.

  His attention swung to the opposite side of the room where the entrance the Reverent Father had used quietly opened. Muscles tight and ready for anything, Corin still didn't let down his guard when Moira, the saleswoman from the lingerie shop, strode into the room. Her chin was elevated, but he detected a subtle undercurrent of fear rifling through her. “Yes?” he barked a little sterner than he'd intended.

  “The Reverent Father said the goddess was hungry and needed to be fed.” Her voice wavered with the same worried wariness trembling her hands. “I'm here to offer myself for her needs.”

  “Wish they'd stop calling you a goddess,” he grumbled to Jasmine, almost beneath his breath—except he didn't breathe. “Shit's gonna go to your head.”