Seeing his reaction, his shock, she finally realized what was happening. She gasped and snatched her hand away as though burned by the contact. He read it in her eyes and her last fleeting thoughts. She had revealed far too much, more than she had ever told anyone.
Her walls of privacy slammed back into place, severing their connection. He stood before her, eyes wide in revelation, but she had returned to the non-descript blank slate.
One tiny detail that he’d registered in the barrage of information stood out in his mind. Somewhere in her past, this creature had a link to him. This woman-fallen angel-creature had played some strange and twisted part in the vampiric family lineage.
“You are a different sort aren’t you? Yes, very unique.” Chagrin and appreciation blended into her features. “Remind me never to do that again.” She shook her head and looked down at her traitorous hand that had bled out untold secrets of human history with a mere touch.
He felt her then, in his mind, rummaging through his thoughts to learn what she had mistakenly revealed. “This will not do. You can never speak of these things, to anyone.”
Her words carried a weight of power, not unlike the feeling he had experienced when Michelle used her force of compulsion. Her will wrapped around him, massaging its way through his temples, into his mind. He shook his head to break the spell squeezing his skull.
“Promise me you will never speak of what you have learned!”
The force of her speech dropped him to his knees in submission. As ancient as recorded time, she held power beyond his measure. Empress, goddess, fallen angel, who was he to stand before her?
She smiled sweetly. The crushing pressure lifted and his anguish drifted away. “Here, child, I feel your pain. Let me help.”
She held out her hands again, offering an embrace. Luxurious waves of her sweet empathy called to him. She would make the pain go away. She was a friend, his only friend. He moved into her embrace without hesitation. He needed her comfort badly.
She consoled him in her arms, her mental shield blocked him out, but her warmth infused his being. She felt like a lazy hot summer day at the beach, sun kissing his body from head to toe, lulling him into calm happiness. Her empathy absorbed all his pain, grief, and loneliness, all that ailed him.
After a time, his emotions spent, tears shed, she spoke again directly into his mind.
In close pursuit, he followed her through the night. They sailed across the roofs of Paris, moving gradually towards the outskirts of the city. They arrived at a four story building, all granite slabs and heavy stone. Massive gargoyles perched on the corners of the roof leered down at him. This place had to be centuries old. Dropping down from above, they landed at a broad balcony of white stone off the upper floor. She led him through a sliding glass door into a monstrous bedroom decorated in an ancient Roman style – huge chaise lounges, large pieces of hardwood furniture, heavy, stylish, and very expensive. Glancing at a long, detailed bas-relief, it reminded him of Cesar’s Palace in Las Vegas, but more like he imagined the real thing would look. In one corner of the room a giant four-poster bed stood shrouded in cream-colored, semi-transparent fabric.
She disrobed without a word, zero modesty. And then she proceeded to remove his filthy blood-stained clothes. Both nude, she led him by the hand into another room, a bathroom of sorts. Covered in ceramic mosaic tiles, the massive bathing pool looked like something built centuries past, a relic stolen from a monument to the god of bathing. The bright lights and creamy tones of swirling patterned tile matched this golden-skinned goddess perfectly.
Apart from Michelle, she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Her luscious curves and exotic beauty spoke to him of foreign tongues, strange cultures, and pleasures of the Kama Sutra. He had an urge to grab her, throw her against the tiled walls and fuck her till her screams echoed out into the street. Her caramel curves and knowing smile made him rock hard, so hard it hurt.
She crinkled her nose at him with a mischievous grin. “Bathe first. You smell like death.”
Death. His master Michelle had died. This woman could never replace Michelle. The word brought a painful stab into his heart, a squeezing knot of grief. And then she took his hand again and stole his pain. All grief and anxiety flowed out into her golden fingers as she led him into the lukewarm water of the bathing pool.
With a bar of honey-scented soap she painstakingly washed his entire body, taking extra care and time with his cock. The arousal stolen by his momentary grief returned with her skilled hands. He smelled her unique pheromones signaling her arousal.
His mouth filled with teeth as he imagined what her blood would taste like. Reading his every nuance of thought, she rebuked him with a finger poking at his chest. “Do not bite me. You can never taste my blood. Never. Understand?”
He nodded yes, but his teeth had a mind of their own.
And then she kissed him, wrapping his whole being in light, love, affection, bliss. Her warmth flowed from her soft, loving lips down to his groin. She gave him a hard-on to pound nails.
“It has been a very long time since I enjoyed one such as you.”
Anticipation and arousal flooded his body as she pulled him from the pool and dried his skin with soft strokes from a fluffy white towel. And then she led him out to the bed.
“Lie down, I like to be on top.” He did as he was told.
She straddled his face, and their hands flowed over each other, touching, testing, silent mutual exploration. He worshipped at her altar, tasting her delicious vaginal folds, trying his best not to do what he really wanted, to bite her. She swallowed him whole, engulfing his erection in strange tingles of warm energy. The woman’s flesh crackled with static electricity, tickling him at all points of contact.
Her hands flowed over his thighs, reaching down to slide an electric fingertip straight up his ass. As he jolted with the intense sensations, she clamped onto his cock and sucked hard. She sucked so deeply, he thought she could have stolen his very soul through the head of his cock. And then she shoved her hips down, planting all that golden juicy flesh into his face as she kissed the base of his erection in deep throat.
He lost it, clawing at her thighs. His fingers and tongue delved into her front and back at the same time. She swallowed his orgasm, sucking every last drop. She liked it, lapped it up, and cleaned him thoroughly.
“For your sake, I hope there is more. This is only the warm up.” She smiled at him over her shoulder while licking her lips and then changed position.
He watched her flip around to grab his cock. Her power infused his groin and he grew solid in her hand. She radiated tingling warmth with every touch. Then she closed her eyes as she glided down onto him. He growled with the squeeze of her warm flesh and the massage of her energy flowing all along his most sensitive skin. Happier than he had any right to be, he grabbed her golden hips and pulled her down.
“Yes! Mon dieu that’s good!” She moved with him.
Her strength, otherworldliness, power, and sexy purring French brought on a pang for his lost love. He wished Michelle was there to take all his passions, all his strength. But this one was strong too. She could take it just like Michelle.
And so he gave it to her.
In an instant he flipped her over onto her back and laid his full weight into her. She growled in his ear sending little static snaps of energy flowing over him. Her fingers traced a zinging line over his shoulders as he buried his cock over and over, unleashing all his strength on this rare and powerful creature.
And she took every last inch.
“Yes! Don’t you stop! Don’t you dare stop! Give it to me!” She grunted and growled, her hips rising to meet him as he thrust home.
Electric sparks flew and he dug in harder and faster, driven by her cries. She gripped his thighs and the electricity from her fingers flowed straight through to his cock, bringing him to an immediate and violent climax.
Roaring his pleasure, he screamed, “Michelle!
” and bit down hard into her neck. The richest, sweetest blood he’d ever tasted flooded his mouth. An orgy of flavor.
“Oh shit! Connard! Stop! Damn you stop!” She pulled and tugged on his shoulders.
But he’d clamped down into a tight embrace, and she couldn’t pull him off. He pumped into her harder and harder, emptying himself inside her as he sucked down all that delicious syrup, the most wonderful blood ever.
“No!” She screamed in his ear.
A blinding display of light and electricity blasted him up into the ceiling. He cracked his head and fell to the floor, rolling into the impact to come back up on his feet. He crouched there growling, slightly dazed, claws splayed out, teeth bared.
She stood up from the bed, electric power crackling all over her body and fingertips. “You bloody idiot! I hope you burn!”
Roiling nausea hit him and his stomach flip-flopped. Within seconds fire trailed out from his stomach to all his extremities, working its way to the tips of his fingers and toes, to his very hair follicles.
He hit the ground, screaming and writhing in searing agony.
* * * *
Chapter 21
Michelle woke up alone, aching and fatigued, in the basement of the Hôpital Supérieur. Blood deprivation gnawed at her belly and filled her mouth with lethal teeth. Bloodlust hovered on the edge of her mind, driving her mad with its singular compulsion.
She made her way out of the hospital into the parking garage, and by sheer luck, caught a helpful young woman. She waved to the woman for aid, luring her prey in by pretense of injury. She wanted this woman’s blood, all of it. Feeding deeply from her neck, Michelle fought the instinct to drain her victim dry. The intensity of her need almost overwhelmed her.
She pulled away and roared in the woman’s face. “I am not a murderer! I am not a murderer!” Her shouts echoed across the parking garage.
Strapping her desire in iron bands, she willed herself not to shred her victim to pieces. She stripped the woman’s jacket off. She needed a covering for the hospital gown in public. She left the woman dazed and bewildered, laid out on the concrete, but still very much alive.
Food. Clothes. Aaron. She had a hazy shadowy recollection of a moment in his arms, but the details of it escaped her. I will surprise him.
She headed straight towards the mansion, the last place she left him. A cab conveniently pulled up alongside to offer a ride. “Oui, Monsieur, I have a great need.” She slipped into the backseat and waited patiently. At the street corner a block away from the mansion, she stopped him.
“Thirty euros, Madam.” She leaned forward to wrap her hands around him, jerking him up and over the seat.
He screamed, kicked, and squirmed while she fed deeply from his neck. She didn’t have any money. Letting him live would have to be sufficient payment for services rendered. She darted down the street and around the corner, out of the man’s sight. Though still thirsty enough to drain a man dry, her second feeding took the harsh edge off her desperate need.
She recovered her hidden key from the stone lion guardian and entered the mansion. She tracked Aaron’s scent downstairs to the basement. The bedding covers showed evidence of where he had slept, but the house was vacant.
Her mind instantly reached out to find him but a black void echoed vacantly where his love and lively intelligence had been. A dread sense of aloneness enveloped her.
“Foutre dieu!” God damn! She sat down on the bed in pure shock. “I can’t find him. He’s gone. Where is he?”
Her mind raced to piece together what had happened. The warehouse. Michael Jamison. Gun shots ripping into her flesh. Devouring agony. A man’s face, inches away, screaming shrilly, his bloody entrails in her hands. And then ... nothing.
She shuddered and gasped at the horrid memory. She reached underneath her hospital gown to feel her chest. The wounds had healed, but a deep soreness remained.
She remembered Aaron’s frantic attempts to help her at the warehouse. Confusion swirled in her brain. She must have died momentarily.
“Putain de merde!”
Their bond could only be severed by death. She recalled the feral animal she had become after Julian’s death and knew true fear. Aaron could be a mindless animal overwhelmed by the severing of their bond, or the unthinkable, dead. She must find him. But where to start?
The Hotel!
She dressed in a rush, grabbed a handful of cash from her safe, and raced into the city. She thought to run all the way there, but her body needed a break. Instead, she grabbed the first taxi she could find.
“The Hilton! Dépèche toi!”
The half-hour ride to the hotel drove her near insane with impatience. She shredded the upholstery in the taxi with the nervous flexing of her razor claws. Outside the entry, she threw fifty dollars at the cab driver and made her way straight to the front desk.
“Monsieur Sinclair! Have you seen Monsieur Pilan? Has he returned to the room?”
“Non, Madam, I have not seen him.” He hurriedly typed an entry to the computer. “He has not requested a new key card.”
“I need a card please, hurry! I lost mine.” He looked down at her shaking hands and simply nodded at her request.
“Here is the card, Madam, and I am calling the room now to see if he is in.”
She flew up four flights of stairs and slammed through the stairwell door. Her feet slipped on the carpet as she skidded to a halt in front of their door. Swipe. Her hand shook violently. Mon dieu! Swipe. A green light!
She flung open the door to find their room vacant, the bed made, all in perfect order. Aaron’s scent from several nights before had almost completely dissipated with the changed bedding.
“Merde!” She screamed at the top of her lungs and slammed her fist through the wall in rage.
Alone again.
A solitary creature of the night.
Worse, the man she loved was out there somewhere, hurting. He needed her, and she had no clue where to find him.
* * * *
Urvashi stood beside her manservant Renault, watching Aaron thrash about on the floor. He turned to her and sneered, “What will you do with this … abruti?” Retard.
She stared at the young man suffering such intense torment and shook her head. She had such high hopes for Aaron. “If he survives, he will serve me.”
“I serve you. Is that not enough?” Renault looked offended by the idea she would take another servant.
“It is not the same, Renault. He is now mine. He has tasted my blood.” She shook her head again. The boy has made me a fool. How could I let this happen? “Get me a nurse.”
When Renault did not move she turned her frustration on him. “Now!”
“Oui, Madam!” He took off right away, head down.
He knew when to avoid her scrutiny. He had served her long enough to learn that much.
She had watched Aaron’s writhing agony for over an hour, and though angry with the fool, he inspired her sympathy. She knelt down beside him and bathed him in cool soothing waves of empathy, siphoning off his misery. He quieted under her touch. “Sleep,” she murmured.
He drifted off under the power of her suggestion. Her hand rested on his forehead, feeling his heat, considering the possibility that he might survive. The boy knew far too much. She could never allow him to roam freely with this knowledge. Far too dangerous. “Perhaps it is best you are bound to me. I might have had to kill you otherwise. And what a waste that would be.” She stroked his beautiful pale chest, absorbing a bit of his formidable power through her fingertips. An alarming amount of power for someone so young and impetuous.
He knew her true name. No one but the closest of her confidants knew her true name. The name had been given to her millennia ago, a passing jest by a wizened and acerbic Himalayan monk she met in a shrine dedicated to Badrinath, one of many Persian Gods.
She laughed. I was such a horrible flirt. Nara-narayana never stood a chance.
In her seduction of the wise old lech
er, he affectionately referred to her as Urvashi, “the woman who conquers the heart.” Later, Vedic poets and sages wrapped grand myths around both her name and the brief moments of her eternal life they witnessed. Of course, she assumed the name as her own. And the myths were not all fabrication.
She stood up and the room started to spin. “Idiot vampire!” He had taken so much of her blood he left her dizzy. “Why do they never listen?”
She sat down before the vertigo felled her. “How people ever dominated this planet, I will never understand.” She took deep calming breaths, letting the aggravation bleed away. This one shortcoming would surely be the downfall of mankind, their inability to listen. She had long feared the day when world leaders would blast the planet to pieces in their ignorance and hubris. Probably a day like this, when she was too fucking lightheaded to think straight because she’d let some fool boy steal too much of her blood.
She watched Aaron’s chest rise and fall. “You had better be worth all this trouble, Aaron Pilan.” That is, if he survived.
* * * *
Chapter 22
Michelle roamed the streets of Paris night after night, in search of Aaron. She spent hours scrolling through her iPhone and the television for local news that might hint of Aaron’s hunting activities. Three times she visited the scenes of violent crimes, scenting out the areas, searching for some vestige of him, some clue he lived. The first, a knife fight, revealed nothing. The other two locations, drug-related crimes, also proved dead ends. No signs of her lover anywhere.
She prowled endlessly through the nightclubs, brothels, bars, and eventually took to the rooftops for a broader view of the streets. Her vigil stretched into a week, and each night that passed added to the depths of her despair. Loneliness raked at her chest, a constant ache. She needed his presence in her nightly routine, his touch, his comforting mind attached to hers at all times. She missed the lovely sensation of his breath on her neck and his powerful arms wrapped around her.
The Nightlife: Paris (The Nightlife Series) Page 14
