He searched through his memories to piece it together. “How the hell did this happen?”
She had snatched him up from the rooftops and brought him here. And then she wrapped him around her little finger with one shot of her wicked blood. He needed answers. Who or what the hell was this strange woman? A laptop sat on a heavy oak table, beckoning to be tapped for information.
“Google.”
He slid the laptop open to a desktop image, an ancient city of stone in a tropical rain forest. The place was overgrown by vines and trees wrapping around the ruins in a choke hold. Angkor Wat. He’d seen it before on the Discovery channel.
He opened up the internet browser. A Google search bar sat conveniently in the upper right corner of the program, waiting for him. What was that thing they called her? Apsara. He typed Apsara and hit enter.
A massive list of websites came up. The first one he clicked on brought up a page detailing the history of classical Cambodian dance, and an image very similar to the desktop photo of Angkor Wat. His memory clicked. “That’s right, this is in Cambodia.”
He scanned through the site, mostly about the history of the Khmer people. They had carved Apsaras into the bas-reliefs and pillars of the city. Apsaras were defined as celestial nymphs.
“Oh. My. God. This shit is for real.”
The rest of the site detailed the ancient court dance rituals and their recent revival since the 1900’s. He clicked on the next site. He found this page much more to the point. “Apsaras are the nymphets of the east … their task is not to reward, however, but to tempt and seduce.” Scanning past tales of various Hindu myths, he found her. “Urvashi was said to be the most beautiful Apsara of all. Somehow, she had invoked the wrath of Lord Brahma, and was cursed to descend from heaven.”
“Well isn’t that fuckin’ awesome. Of all the things in the world, I gotta get tangled up with a fallen angel.” He shook his head. “Boy, Aaron, when you screw up, you do it big time.”
His hands trembling, he backed up to Google and typed Apsara Urvashi and hit enter. Wikipedia popped up. “She’s in Wikipedia?” He almost choked.
He clicked on it. Born of Indra’s court, the celestial court of the Hindu religion, Urvashi was considered, “The eternal woman whom man can only desire, but never possess,” characterized as, “Extremely moody, seductive, and jealous.”
“Perfect. Sounds like a royal bitch.”
How much of the Vedic myths were embellishment and how much based in fact? Obviously they weren’t all myths. Some of the mythical descriptions rang true. He had seen her shape shifting capacity firsthand. And powerful. She hummed with power, like an electric conductor of sorts. And she had seduced him quite effectively.
Staring at the screen deep in thought, he felt her nearby, that nondescript presence, a blankness moving towards him. He turned in the chair to face her. She stood three feet away in a flowing cream-colored dress, something designer, expensive, and definitely complementary to her hourglass curves. His words caught in his throat as her staggering beauty tripped his tongue.
“So … should I be calling you Master?” Tinged with sarcasm, it was a serious question.
“You’re a quick one.” She smiled appreciatively, looking pleased with the intelligence of her new slave.
“I have my moments. But I wasn’t quick enough to escape you.”
Her features turned warm, and a calm seeped over him, anxiety and uncertainty drifted away. He sighed with the wonderful sensation, his shoulders loosened and relaxed as his burdens lifted.
“Is this who you really are? This face?”
“It’s the look I prefer. For now.” She smiled again, and he knew exactly why the myths raved of her beauty. He had grown a semi just from her damn smile. The woman was sensuality personified.
When she laid her hand to rest on his shoulder, up close and personal, his cock stiffened instantly. The bathrobe did a poor job of hiding it.
“How do you feel?” She smirked, taking in his obvious arousal.
“I’m confused, not sure what the hell is going on, or who or what you really are. But if you’re asking if I am okay, then yeah, I’m great.” He adjusted his cock slightly in a failed attempt to hide his raging hard-on. The damn thing sprang right back up, pointing straight at her.
She rubbed her thigh across his arm as she ran her fingers through his hair. “You are a beautiful man.” Her electric fingers traced a wonderful sensation across his scalp working down to his jawline. “I think I will keep you around for a while. Try not to ask too many questions.”
Her every move spoke of possession, ownership. While he sensed her power over him and resented it severely, her hands still felt wonderful. She could make his life very pleasurable, if he didn’t piss her off. He felt like a stray dog snatched off the streets, held prisoner to be fed and coddled, as long as he behaved.
“Could you enlighten me here? I am trying to get a grip on this … thing between us.”
She glanced at the webpage he’d been looking at. “I think you know enough. More than you should. A girl has to have her secrets every now and then.”
“Right.” He didn’t know what kind of hell a fallen angel could bring down on his head if he made her angry, but he couldn’t stand playing this game for much longer. “So, what happened when I drank your blood? Why do we have this connection?”
“Questions, questions.” She closed her eyes, as though looking for some source of inner peace or wisdom. She pegged him with her teardrop eyes. “By some miracle you have survived the infection. You are bound to me. Centuries ago this would have made you my slave. The world has changed, and that is not an acceptable practice.”
Her magic fingers danced through his hair again, bringing an entrancing sensation that traveled straight to his erection. Her pheromones of arousal signaled that she wanted him too.
“Though I am inclined to keep you close for a number of reasons, I am not your master. A mentor perhaps. There is much I can teach you, if you listen, and be patient. And I am not unkind to my men.”
She slipped her fingers down the nape of his neck to his collarbone, and kept on going inside his robe, sliding down around his nipple. He wanted her hands lower, but the electric tingle on his nipple wreaked havoc on his reasoning processes. She had him going.
He caught his breath and fought hard against the raging desire to tackle her to the ground and bury his cock in her. “While I am sure I will appreciate what you have to offer, you’ll have to forgive me if I don’t celebrate. I’m not excited about being anyone’s property. Been there, done that before.” Grief for Michelle flashed, but Urvashi ran her fingers down the back of his neck and it drained out of him with her caress.
He could hardly fight off her overpowering seduction. His cock flexed, ready for her hands, her body, anything warm and wet. Another minute of this and he would surely shred her clothes where she stood.
“You mustn’t be so cynical. It makes you look menacing, unattractive.” She sighed. “You enjoyed my company before, why fight it now?”
Deliberate and calculated. She played his body like a damn harp, tweaking his strings to make him sing with aching desire. He hated the manipulation, just like he had resented when Michelle did it. Too late, Urvashi had already taken him to the edge of his self-control.
She leaned down to whisper and her lips brushed sparks over his ear. “Give it to me, Aaron. I want all of your passion, your grief, your resentment, your desire. I can absorb all of it.”
She took his hand and pulled him from the desk, drawing him to the bed. His control all but completely gone, he shed his robe and helped strip her clothes. Zipper, bra, panties, his hands shook with need as he tore at her clothing. Finally, her luscious golden body beckoned in an enticing surge of smooth curves. He explored it all.
He consumed her mouth, smothering her with kisses. Tongues and bodies wrestled for position and they toppled onto the bed. She flipped him and he flowed with her, rolling her over onto her back. They tumbled, slippin
g and sliding, kissing, hands groping. He couldn’t say how, but her hands seemed to caress him all over simultaneously. She pulled on his ass, his shoulders, tugged on his cock, stroked his balls, and yet pulled his head down into a deeper kiss. He moaned into her lips, shuddering as her touch danced all across his body, electric snakes writhing around him. She could have sprouted eight arms like a Hindu goddess for all he knew. He briefly wondered if she had given rise to those myths as well.
And then she wrapped her legs around his waist and he buried his hard cock in her hot, moist, electric-tingling embrace.
“Oh damn that’s good.” He growled into her ear as she took all of him.
The sensation so intense, unlike anything he’d ever known. This must be how she had seduced men of all ages and races, emperors, princes, kings, presidents. Her power flowed up through his cock and across his whole body, coursing in and out as she held him tight, grunting with his relentless thrusts.
Her power surged into him, and he slammed her harder and faster. She made him feel so alive, so strong.
She started chanting in the strange tones of Hindi, her hips rising to meet him. He slapped and pounded her luscious golden thighs, her grunts and melodic chants goading him on. He gave her every ounce of desire, frustration, grief, fury and resentment. His release unloaded a bottomless well of depression into Urvashi.
“Michelle!”
She took it all, listening to him scream as he buried his cock with all his strength. His passionate fires eventually burned out and he collapsed into her soothing embrace. Barely able to speak from his exertion, he breathed in her ear, “Can you forgive me? I just miss her sooo much. And …” He recalled how she had played her dirty trick the first time they met, wearing Michelle’s face. He considered asking her to do it again, to play the role, just to hold Michelle in his arms one more time.
She read him so easily, knew what he wanted. She pulled his chin up to look him in the eyes with her temptation. “I will do it if you want. I can be your Michelle.”
Bleeding tears on Urvashi’s shoulder, he knew it would only make matters worse to play this sick game. “No. She’s gone, and I need to accept that.”
She held him, stealing his grief, giving him back a wonderful zing of crackling power with her every touch. He could lie in her arms like this endlessly. He could almost forget Michelle. Almost.
In the early morning, sprawled across the bed, exhausted, sated, cuddling together in sweet contentment, she sat up and tugged on his arm. “Come, I want to show you something.”
Daylight approached, with it the heavy lethargy and a good dose of fear. “I can’t, I must sleep. We need to block the windows now.”
He stood up, panicky, he had waited too long and the sun sat just over the horizon.
“Hush, trust me.”
She took his hand and pulled him to the balcony, to stand in their bathrobes in the dark grey twilight. In seconds the grey turned purplish, signaling the coming light. He turned to run back into the room and she snapped, “STAY HERE.”
He couldn’t leave her side. She had used their bond to entrap him there to die a horrible death by sunlight. “You want to kill me? You fuck me all night long just to kill me in the morning?”
“QUIET.”
He stood facing forward, stomach churning with fear, waiting for fiery death to blast over the horizon. As the sun kissed his face for the first time in over three months of nightlife, he sent out a silent prayer that he could be reunited with Michelle somewhere in the afterlife. Heaven or hell, it wouldn’t matter as long as she was there. The light of the sun, the first he had felt in three months, warmed his neck, then his cheeks, then his whole face. The second hand on the wall clock ticked off noisy seconds in the silence as he waited for the searing fire, the burning pain. He slowly opened his eyes to the orange-pink-yellow colors of the sunrise.
Urvashi looked at him and winked. “You’re welcome.”
“Wow. I don’t know what to say … thanks.”
He squinted at the near blinding brightness and held her hand as they watched the November morning sun bloom upon the sky. He still felt the lethargy, that heavy dead-tired weight upon his eyelids, but he no longer feared the sunrise.
He wondered what else she had done to him.
* * * *
Chapter 24
Michelle walked through the lobby of the Hilton towards the door, intent on continuing the search for Aaron. The night manager, Maximillian Sinclair, watched her walk past. He seemed to have developed a fixation on her. She had avoided him for the past week.
“Madam, excusez-moi!” He spoke up louder when she kept walking. “Madam Michelle!”
She finally stopped and answered, “Oui?” He jogged up to her, catching her at the front entrance.
“How are you, Madam? Is everything okay?”
With the painful truth in her heart and a lie on her lips, she managed a pretense of a smile. “Oui, Monsieur, I am fine.” She didn’t feel fine. She felt lost, more so than at any time in her very long life.
“Have you seen Monsieur Pilan? Is he aware of the wire transfer? We have some papers he must sign.”
She shook her head no, unable to speak. Her façade hiding the angst and loneliness cracked.
“Is there something I can do for you, Madam?” Max’s aura swirled full of concern, his hand at her elbow.
“I will let Monsieur Pilan know … when I see him.” She choked it out, looking away, unable to face Max.
“He is missing? Non? I can help you find him. If he is staying in another hotel in Paris, I will find him. Don’t worry.”
A spark of hope flared, a light in her darkness. “You would do that? You can help?” She smiled brightly, her first real smile in weeks.
“Though he does not deserve a woman such as you, I will find him if you wish.”
She hugged him, speechless with emotion.
* * * *
Beyond his tolerance to sunlight, Aaron noticed another difference, a diminished need for blood. He could go one or two nights without feeding, and it didn’t really bother him – his thirst no longer the all-consuming drive it had been.
In truth, he had no issues with his new life with Urvashi. Well, except for Renault.
Aaron tried to be polite when they met. “Hello, my name is Aaron Pilan, nice to meet you.” He held out his hand.
“It speaks?” Renault looked to Urvashi.
Renault spoke with a French accent and a hint of something else, a flair from India.
“Yes.” Aaron glared at the compact little man with curly reddish-brown hair cropped close. He tried to penetrate his mind, but the man had a rock-solid privacy wall. He imagined Urvashi had trained him well.
Renault snorted in derision, ignored Aaron’s offered hand, and pretended Aaron didn’t exist. Aaron sniffed the air, caught the scent of something earthy, leaves in the fall, pine needles, and an animal taint. Something with animal fur. This man was more than he seemed. Not quite human.
“What’s his problem?” Aaron flicked his head towards the asshole.
“He’s jealous. Renault has had me all to himself for far too long.” She twined her fingers in Aaron’s, with a pointed look in her manservant’s direction.
He loved the feel of her. Every time he stroked her skin, power thrummed through his body. He could be happy any time she touched him.
“Well, I’m not into the sausage fest. Whatever you two have going, don’t include me in it. And he smells funny.”
“Renault and I have a working relationship, very professional.”
“Right. And that’s why he’s staring at me like I’m banging his mother?”
Renault looked at him full of menace. “Je t'em merde!” Fuck you.
The little bastard growled at him. Aaron growled right back, sliding out of his seat into a crouch.
“Behave!” Urvashi’s will lashed around him, restraining him from taking the snide little prick’s head off.
Renault snickered,
delighting in Aaron’s frustration.
“Both of you.” Urvashi’s finger snapped out at Renault and he went rigid, veins standing out in his neck and forehead. Whatever she had done to him, it looked painful.
She released her hold on them both, and Renault took off immediately. She watched him go and explained. “He will not be a problem, but he does not understand my reasons for bringing you here.”
“That makes two of us.”
She glared at him. “Patience. In time all will be clear. Come, I have another lesson.”
She trained him nightly in numerous strange and fascinating arts. Some nights she tortured him with hours of meditation and focus. Other nights, he hung on her every word, fascinated by the intricacies of swords – katanas – specifically the wakizashi, a twenty-four inch blade.
He followed her into the adjoining room filled with museum-like displays. Her walls held an array of exhibits of all different kinds, mostly archaic weaponry, with some vases, sculptures and other oddities of human history. They headed to the far end of the room, a large open area he called, ‘Urvashi’s Dojo.’
A week earlier, she introduced him to the Japanese short sword of tradition. “The wakizashi is an elegant and deadly weapon for indoor battle, and the preferred sword of assassins. The Japanese designed it for decapitation and close quarter dueling. I use only the handmade clay-tempered swords from Cheness Oniyuri, the Demon Lily.”
She smiled sweetly as she demonstrated how graceful and deadly the short sword could be in the hands of a master. She sliced through the air in a humming blur – slash, parry, stab – a spinning arc of razor sharp death. In a matter of seconds she could carve a man to pieces.
After finishing her exercise, she lectured him. “This is the only weapon you will ever need. And you will need it. Dangerous as you are, there are those who can best you. Learn what I teach, and you will handle any situation.”
And then she taught him to use the short sword like an extension of his own body. After several nights of practice he moved through her katas – exercises – with speed and fluidity, the tempered steel singing through the air. He found peace of mind and a certain zen with the sword in his hands.
The Nightlife: Paris (The Nightlife Series) Page 16
