And he had given her a box of chocolates.
“You are a complicated creature, Vlad Dracula.”
Alfonzo wiped a bit of sweat and blood off his brow before it dripped into his eyes. He didn’t know if it was his blood or that of the creature whose ribcage he had just cleaved with his sword. It didn’t much matter. He was close now. The library was near the center of the city, and he was only a block or two away. He could see it. Adrenaline drove him forward. It would all soon be over.
The sun had risen unexpectedly. He had to stop to look at it in surprise when the sky began to glow brighter. He knew it was not because the vampire had been defeated. Why Dracula had chosen to do it was a mystery to him. Nor did it make much difference.
It hadn’t stopped the creatures from attacking him. It seemed that some of them did not care for the glowing orb in the sky. But perhaps it gave the innocent civilians the chance to escape. He could hope, but he couldn’t stop. He couldn’t help those who struggled in the streets as they evacuated their cursed and ruined city.
The vampire needed to die. Once he was lifeless in the dirt it would not matter how many escaped—all the rest would be spared. If he could cut the poison off before it spread, the rest would fall, and no demons would linger in the shadows to plague those who ventured too close.
He had prayed Maxine would do what was right and rip out the vampire’s soul. For a moment when the sun had risen, he had thought perhaps that was what had come to pass. But as a creature crawled from the shadows of a home to lash at him, he knew it had been a pointless and futile hope.
Finally, through all the pain, the muck and the mire, he made it to the courtyard between the library and a large, gothic reproduction church. It, like all the rest, had become perverted and warped by the curse of the vampire. Not even a house of God seemed to be spared from the depravity that followed the creature wherever he went.
Statues that he was certain once depicted saints and angels now showed anything but—sinners, demons, and monsters that tore into the flesh of stone victims whose faces were caught in silent screams. Their eyes rolled to the heavens as if to beg for forgiveness from the God who had abandoned them to their fate.
Alfonzo tightened his grip on his sword.
It was an abomination. All of it. But to see the perversion of a house of worship—a house of mercy—sent rage coursing through his veins. He could not let it stand. He would burn it to the ground, and hopefully take as many of the monsters inside down with it as he could.
Glancing at the library, which now resembled more of a fortress or a castle than its original structure, he gritted his teeth. He would use the church as a warning to the creatures that dwelled within the library proper. Setting the structure ablaze might also serve as a distraction and draw several of them out into the open.
Storming up the stairs, he kicked open the large wooden doors and prepared himself for a fight.
He had not expected the room to be empty. No one was there. Stepping carefully into the structure, he kept himself braced for a fight. For this to simply be a trap. But there was nothing but empty pews and shadows, rays of light shining in from the stained-glass windows and streaming into the building.
Perhaps they had all retreated into the darkness of the basement to avoid the sunlight.
It was only after a few seconds that he noticed the sound of someone crying. Turning toward the source of the sound, he paused. At the head of the sanctuary stood the altar. It once likely featured a statue or depiction of Jesus and provided hope and guidance to many. Now it was an enormous brass sculpture depicted a twisting mass of naked bodies, all enjoying the sins of the flesh in profane and twisted ways. It was revolting.
There on the altar was a young woman, wearing a dress made of thin white lace. It was sheer, all but showing her naked body beneath it, leaving little to the imagination. She was blonde, her hair flowing loose around her in delicate waves. She was gagged and bound, her arms tied over her head, her feet lashed to the base.
She was weeping, muffled against the fabric tied around her head.
Alfonzo’s heart leapt into his throat as he raced forward. He was moving out of instinct before the thought even fully formed in his mind. He knew the woman.
“Bella!”
Hopeful blue eyes turned to him, wide and tearful, and she thrashed in her restraints. Alfonzo sheathed his sword and pulled out a dagger and quickly cut her restraints then helped pull the cloth gag from out of her mouth.
“Oh, oh Alfonzo! Oh, I’m so happy to see you!” Bella sat up and swung her legs over the side of the altar, and before Alfonzo could do much else but stand there in shock, she had thrown her arms around his neck and hugged him close.
He was suddenly standing between her knees, her dress riding up dangerously high—not that it was much of a dress at all. She was clinging to him as though he were the only thing that existed in the world. Alfonzo hugged her back, wrapping his arms around her, and pulled her tight.
Even through his leather coat, he could feel the pillows of her breasts against him. He bit back what unexpectedly surged in him. Lust. He fought it like he always did. He had watched the girl grow up from a child into a woman. He had watched her bloom into such beauty.
It was wrong.
It was a sin.
But God above, if he hadn’t always wanted her. Her fierce intelligence. Her indomitable spirit. Watching her learn to fight had been one of the proudest moments of his life. More than once, he had watched her in awe.
And desire.
He hugged her tightly. No. She is like a daughter to me. I raised her. I took her from the orphanage. I am over twice her age.
Her hand wandered from his shoulder up through his hair, stroking slow circles at the base of his neck, her nails lightly scraping at the skin. He tensed—it was that, or he would shiver at her touch. She smelled like flowers.
He forced himself to focus. “Are you all right? Dear God above, Bella. I was so worried…”
She nodded then nuzzled into his neck. Christ above, she smelled so good. Like warm summer days and the promise of happy memories. “They didn’t hurt me. I was so scared…I was so very scared, Alfonzo. Please, hold me tighter.”
He was helpless but to obey. She felt so small against him. So young. So perfect.
When the fingers of her other hand traced over the collar of his shirt along his neck, he couldn’t help but shudder. “Bella…?”
“I’m just so relived. I’m so happy to be safe in your arms.”
Safe.
“Eddie, he—he went to find you.”
“I’m glad it was you who found me.” She tilted her head up, her warm breath washing over his jaw. “I’ve always been so much safer with you. He’s a nice boy. He means well. But he doesn’t have the experience I want. The strength.”
Without realizing it, he stepped closer to the lip of the altar. Closer between her legs. She was so warm. She smelled so goddamn good. And the way she nestled in his arms, nearly naked, it felt like all the dreams he had wished would have left him alone. “Bella…I…”
When her lips grazed his cheek, something in him broke loose. Something in his mind…gave way. He felt drunk. Slightly detached. But like with alcohol, his reservations seemed to be what left him. It only left a growing heat that seemed to coil low in his body.
“I’ve seen you watching me. When I train…when I sleep. I’ve seen the looks you gave me, over all those years,” she whispered.
Her breath was like Heaven against him. He wanted to feel those soft lips. He wanted to taste them. “This is wrong,” he murmured.
“I never wanted Eddie. I never wanted the boy.” Her legs hooked around his waist, and she shifted her body against his, pressing the bare heat of her core against his own eager need. “I wanted the man.”
“I—”
“Shush…” She ran her fingers slowly through his hair, looping behind his ear and tracing over his jaw. She tilted his head to hers, then…then sh
e kissed him.
All his restraint crumbled at the feeling of those lips against his. It was what he had always dreamed of. What he had always imagined. And now they were his. She tasted so sweet, so perfect. It was wonderful. It was bliss. There was nothing wrong about this. He had loved her, raised her, trained her—this was right.
He kissed her back, harder than she had begun the embrace, his hands slipping over her body. She was lithe, but soft in all the right places. It had been so long since he had known the embrace a woman—and this was Bella.
Her hands were at his belt, undoing it, letting his weapons thunk to the ground, abandoned and forgotten. They were not her goal. Not his either. He had other needs. He undid his pants, freeing the painful urgency that had grown swollen and tight in desperation.
When her hand grazed over his hard and eager member, he moaned. “Please…”
“You’ve wanted me for so long. I’ve wanted you too, Alfonzo.” She breathed against him, her hand grasping him, stroking him, and he almost buckled from the pleasure of that simple, tentative gesture.
He watched, dumbstruck, as she lay back on the altar, spreading her legs wider for him, her fingers twisting in the lace fabric of her dress and pulling it slowly up to her waist. He could make out the hard peaks of her breasts through the lace as she breathed, her chest heaving with her own desire.
Heavy-lidded eyes gazed up at him, the blue shades turned darker with need. She was so beautiful…so perfect. So ready for him. He stepped into her, and leaned down to kiss her, her tongue rushing into his mouth to twist with his.
Her legs wound around his waist, pulling him to her. When he broke the kiss, he was breathless. He watched her writhe beneath him in abandon. She was undoing his shirt, her hands finding his bare skin and running over him like he was her lifeline. “Please, Alfonzo…Please, I need you. I’ve wanted you for so long…”
It was when she chewed on her lower lip, furtive, as if she was unsure of herself, that his remaining control shattered. She looked so innocent. He grasped himself, pressed against her wet heat, and slid himself inside her. He growled in ecstasy.
Her cry of pleasure echoed through the sanctuary of the church.
21
Bella gasped and moaned as she rode the man beneath her. It was so good. She rubbed her hands over her breasts as she lifted her hips and drove them down against him in slow, deep movements. Alfonzo Van Helsing lay naked and lost in bliss, his head thrown back, mouth open, as he filled her.
She knew she should feel guilty. The man had saved her from an orphanage. He had raised her. Trained her to fight.
But Mordecai’s words echoed in his head. She had not hypnotized him—she had only compelled him to do that which he had already desired. He had wanted her. And she had only given him the small push, the very small push, it required.
There was some odd, strange poetry to the whole thing. He had been the one to lead her into this life. And he would be the one to lead her out of it. It was his fault Boston had fallen to Dracula. He could have traded a willing Maxine for all their lives. Of course, then she might not have found Mordecai…but no. They had already met. He would have found her anyway. She was sure of it.
Mordecai had already told her that Zadok had offered her freedom in exchange for their departure. Alfonzo had said no. His revenge had consumed him. And now…she was consuming him. He had trained her how to hunt vampires, and now he was training her how to be a succubus.
She would have felt bad if this were not such a perfect and beautiful moment. If he did not look so stunning beneath her, his body beaded in sweat, his muscles tensing and relaxing in waves. She was bringing him more pleasure than he had ever known.
He wanted this. He wanted her. And he could have as much of her as he wanted, until he broke down and couldn’t take any more. Wouldn’t this be a better way to die? In the arms of the woman he desired instead of on the end of one of Dracula’s pikes? This wasn’t a violent death. It was a loving one. He would drift away into darkness, held in her tender embrace as she brought him to ecstasy over, and over, and over.
They had been going for hours, and he was drifting in and out of consciousness now. He was barely awake long enough to cry her name, grasp at her body, and release himself deep inside her.
Each time he did, something inside her surged. It was not merely pleasure—it was a hunger being fed. She was consuming him, little by little, and it was better than anything she had ever experienced in her life.
Except perhaps Mordecai. Oh, Alfonzo was fine—firm and big enough to reach some of the right places—but nobody filled her like her beloved. Her mate. The father of her child. No one was better than he was. Nobody made her feel like Mordecai. But Alfonzo—her former mentor, her former friend—held a special place in her heart. He was the family she was leaving behind.
And he was giving her the family of her future.
With him, life bloomed inside her. It was not his seed that would take root in her body. It was his very lifeforce. Alfonzo would be the match that started the fire inside her. “Yes, Alfonzo—yes—oh, yes!” With each weakening eruption inside of her, new life was fed. Her baby. Mordecai’s baby. And a little bit of it would belong to the man beneath her.
Alfonzo moaned in bliss, lifting his hips, burying himself deeper. “Bella…” He was breathless, gasping, and lost.
A pair of hands helped guide her, showing her how to roll herself against him on the downstroke as she rode Alfonzo toward his death.
Hands that did not belong to Alfonzo.
“That’s it, my angel. That’s it. Just like that.”
She learned the pattern, and she watched as Alfonzo twisted beneath her, the movement sparking new ecstasy inside them both.
Leaning back into Mordecai’s chest, she turned her head to kiss him. He met her embrace eagerly. She moaned against his lips. He eased his lips away from her to kiss her shoulder. “Do you feel him? Do you feel him feeding you? Giving to you?”
“Yes…” She shut her eyes. “I want more.”
“Don’t kill him. Take little pieces. We need him alive, don’t forget. Master Dracula will be very upset if you eat the rest of his life.”
She whined like a child. “But I want to.”
He dug his teeth into her flesh. “Good girl. I know you do. I already have another man ready for you. One you can kill. A new one, fresh and afraid. One you can fuck until his heart stops beating.”
That did sound wonderful.
She purred happily—the noise coming from her throat wasn’t human. She probably should be scared by that. She should be horrified at what she was doing. She pressed her palm against her abdomen, feeling the life inside. But that was not all she felt. Suddenly, something began to itch on her back. Then the itch began to burn. “Mordecai?” she whimpered nervously.
“Ssh… It’s all right.” He leaned away from her a little. “Let it happen. Don’t worry. It’ll only sting for a moment.” He held on to her waist, continuing to guide the motion of her hips. “Take him one last time. Ride him to one more climax. Become who you were meant to be.”
“Yes—oh, yes—” She leaned down to kiss Alfonzo, waking him from his stupor. His eyes were glassy, and it was as though he were drugged. But he responded to her, his hands drifting to her hips, pulling her weakly down to him, humping up into her. Even through his daze, he remained hard and hot inside her, throbbing.
“Please, Alfonzo—please—I need you,” she urged. “Love me, Alfonzo—love me!” She rolled her hips as Mordecai had shown her. She let her breasts press against Alfonzo’s chest. She kissed him like she kissed her mate. She let her tongue tangle with his.
He twitched inside her, his body spasming beneath her. He cried out in bliss as he painted her body with his very life. Something on her back burned, but it wasn’t pain.
It was freedom.
She spread herself wide, and she looked up in awe as she saw feathery wings to each side of her. They were white, the feathers t
ipped in tones of light sky blue. They were beautiful. And they were hers. She gasped, and the shock stilled her movements. She pulled Alfonzo free of her body, used and forgotten, and reached up to trace her hand over what she could feel like new limbs.
They were hers.
She had wings! The feathers were soft like down under her fingers. New and strange. But wonderful.
“Oh…Bella.”
Something in Mordecai’s voice sounded wrong. She turned, and he was kneeling there, straddling her victim’s legs with her. He was weeping. Tears streamed down his cheeks, unchecked.
She stood to face him, feeling her feathers brush against the furniture nearby. She pulled her wings in—oh, how strange it was to have new limbs—and reached for him. “My love, what’s wrong?”
Mordecai stood only to kneel again at her feet, looking up at her with nothing but love and adoration in his eyes. She stroked her hands over his cheeks, gently wiping away the tears.
“Nothing is wrong.” He took her calves in his hands and pulled her closer, leaning in to kiss her abdomen. His tail wound around her legs. He tilted his head to rest his cheek against her there. “I am just so happy…now you really are my angel.”
Maxine found a balcony to stand on somewhere around sundown. She wished to watch the sun set for the last time in likely a very long time. Who knew when Dracula would release it from his grasp once more? Who knew if she would be alive to see it when he did?
She looked down at the street beneath her. The very city itself had been turned into a battlefield. Fences were torn asunder, trees knocked over, doors and windows punched in. Bodies littered the roads, shredded and half-eaten. She tried to ignore it all, but it was hard to do so.
She had slept with the man who had done this. She had given him her body and had reveled in the pleasure—in the happiness—they had shared. She was a traitor to the living. She should rail against him for causing the agony washing over her. But, damn her to the pits, she still didn’t want him to die.
Curse of Dracula Page 20
