Bloodsong

by Eden Bradley

  Yes…

  Her arms were spread wide on the enormous X. Aleron bent and gently spread her thighs. He bent lower, clasping each of her ankles in thick leather restraints attached to longer lengths of chain bolted into the floor. She loved being bound like this. Feeling open to him, completely at his mercy.

  She didn’t know if he possessed any. She didn’t care.

  He rose to his feet and ran his hands over her body—her sides, her thighs, then back to her breasts. She tried to arch into him, but the chains were pulled too tightly for her to move more than a few centimeters. Her nipples ached. Her pussy ached. Her very skin ached for his touch.

  “I am going to whip you now. You’ll like that, won’t you?”

  A hot shaft of desire went through her like fire in her veins. “Yes, Aleron. Please.”

  He pulled away, and she could see his wicked smile.

  He turned his back a moment to take some implements from a rack on the wall beside her. When he turned to her once more he had an evil-looking cat-o-nine-tails in one hand and a fur glove on the other.

  Her breath caught in her throat. And in her mind was one word, running through again and again, an endless loop of begging—please, please, please.

  He ran the long leather tails of the whip over her skin, and she breathed in the tangy scent of it. She was shivering all over, need pouring through her like a hot tide. When he laid the other hand between her breasts, the fur soft against her skin, his hard palm beneath the fur holding her down against the wooden cross, something inside her went loose, absolutely limp. It was as if the last shred of resistance melted beneath his touch.

  He began with the whip, letting it cascade over the skin of her thighs, her stomach. It was lovely at first, a gentle caress. Then harder, but still doing nothing more than bringing the blood to the surface of the skin. Harder still, and she could feel the sting of the leather, like some sharply sensual kiss. And in stark contrast, the soft pleasure of the fur between her breasts.

  He worked in an even rhythm, gradually building in speed and intensity. She watched him, his face concentrated as he watched the motion of his own hand. Beneath the silk of his white shirt, she could see the movement of his long, lean muscles. Saw the tendons flexing in the back of his large hand. And all the while he kept the fur-covered glove on her body, the sensation a lovely foil to the stinging kiss of the whip.

  The pain was building. Along with it, desire rose in her body, filled her, until her breasts, her pussy, were swollen, needing release. The release of his touch. The release of real pain.

  “I know what you need, Meeraj,” he said to her.

  The whip came down harder on her in a flash, truly hurting now.

  Her head buzzed with the release of endorphins, making her dizzy. Dizzier still when he stroked her with the fur glove, that soft gliding over the undersides of her breasts, her ribs, her stomach. Her clitoris was aching, hurting, even though he hadn’t touched her there, or maybe because of it.

  “Aleron, please…”

  “Please what? What do you need that I’m not anticipating?”

  “I need… I need you to touch me.”

  He laughed then, his tone low and wicked. “I am touching you, little beauty. I will touch you more. You want my hand on your hot little slit, is that it? Ah, yes, I know it is. You’d like my mouth there, as well. My cock. You should know that my intention is to make you wait. Even though it hurts me nearly as much.”

  He stepped in then, thrust his strong thigh between hers, pressed close, closer, until the leather of his pants brushed her pussy lips. He shifted, and she could feel the hard ridge of his cock through the leather.

  “Ah God, Aleron… You torture me.”

  He laughed again. “Yes.”

  He stepped back, shaking off the glove, tweaked one of her nipples sharply, and she thought she could almost come just from that. If he would only do it again…

  He did, tucking the cat-o-nine under one arm and using both hands on her.

  She was writhing, moaning, immediately. The heat rose between her thighs, her clit pulsing. Pain. Pleasure. Unbearable.

  “Not yet,” Aleron ordered.

  She bit her lip, holding back the first waves of the climax that threatened to come crashing down on her.

  “Not even now,” he said, thrusting one hand between her thighs and right into her burning pussy.

  “Oh!”

  He pumped into her.

  “Do not come, Meeraj. You will take it.”

  She moaned, pleasure burrowing deep.

  “Tell me, Meeraj.”

  “Yes,” she whispered. “I will hold it back. I will take what you offer me, Aleron.”

  “Then take this, the Seeking Kiss, my beauty.”

  With his other hand he grasped her long hair, buried his fingers in it, pulling her head back. Then he bent over her throat. That single moment before his lips touched her seemed to last an eternity, anticipation burning through her, engulfing her like a flame.

  “Aleron…”

  His teeth sank in.

  It was like a pair of hot needles at first. Then it was pure pleasure.

  It began as a low hum. Then it grew, until it was piercing, shimmering like light in her veins, the edges sharp, like that first edge of orgasm, yet different, somehow. Like a sound she couldn’t quite hear. And images pouring into her head at a thousand miles an hour. Faces, male and female. The scents of leather, smoke, skin, sweat, perfume, blood, sex.

  Sex.

  Ah, yes…

  Then sensations, hers and not hers. The fluttering touch of a hand on her skin, the plunging thrust of a cock insider her, in her pussy, her ass. Luscious red lips, kissing her mouth, her breasts, her thighs. The taut pull of rope on her wrists, the crack of a whip on the flesh of her buttocks. Pain and pleasure, sensation and sensation. And behind it all that deep sorrow she’d glimpsed in him earlier.

  A face.

  Lovely. Heart-shaped, the pouting mouth like a doll’s. Her eyes were gray, like the storming sky. Her skin like fine, pale porcelain. Soft, warm. Human.

  She saw the face and felt…love. All-consuming. Long past, yet present still. Hurting.

  The pain burrowed deep, into her chest. Into her heart. She was drowning in it.

  “No!”

  She was back in her body instantly, Aleron pulling his mouth from her neck. The pleasure was still there, her sex pulsing. But her chest ached so.

  Aleron buried his face in her hair.

  “I am sorry,” he whispered.

  She wouldn’t have expected that from him—for him to apologize for anything, ever. She felt vaguely shocked by it. But even more so by what she’d seen as he drank from her.

  She became aware then of the dull ache in her neck. But it didn’t matter to her.

  How could she still be on the verge of coming, yet wanting to cry?

  One tear escaped, and Aleron, his blue gaze locked on hers, wiped it away with his thumb.

  “I’m sorry,” he said again.

  She shook her head, unable to speak, too full of the strange mix of desire and emotion.

  “Inexcusable,” he muttered, his mouth moving closer, until she could feel his breath on her cheek.

  “No, Aleron. Please don’t. It’s fine… But I need you.”

  “Yes,” he said quietly, his voice a low hiss.

  He moved his hand between her thighs, slipping two fingers deep into her pussy, his thumb circling her clitoris. She let out a long breath as pleasure surged through her.

  “Are you going to come, my beauty?”

  “Yes…yes…”

  She arched her hips into his hand, his fingers a lovely torture, bringing her to the edge. He bent his head once more and latched onto her neck. She felt the hot pull of her blood into his mouth. Her blood began to thrum, to sing—or perhaps it was his—the tone rising, higher and higher, hard and fast, as his hand moved between her thighs.

  This time there was nothing but the pure
st pleasure, fierce, driving all other thoughts away. Heat and need and base animal pleasure roared through her as she came into his hand. Into his mouth on her neck.

  She writhed, panting, then screaming as the pleasure built impossibly.

  “Aleron!”

  Her hips bucking, it went on and on—pleasure, the lovely pain of his teeth in her flesh. Sensation upon sensation as he pumped his hand between her tensed thighs.

  When it was over she was left shaking, barely conscious. All she knew was the clean stone-like scent of Aleron, the strength of his hard hands as he took her from the cross and carried her to some dark corner, laid her on his lap. The last thing she saw was his face over her, his eyes blazing with blue fire. Then, all went black.

  Chapter Three

  What was wrong with him?

  Aleron held Meeraj on his lap. He was filled with questions.

  Why the Bloodsong? She’d felt it this time. Dimly, perhaps, but it was there. Did she know what it was? He didn’t think so. He hadn’t caught any understanding of it in her mind. And why wasn’t he able to control the flow of thoughts into her mind? It should be up to him what she could read. He knew exactly what she’d seen, and it had taken him too long to rein it in.

  Emeline.

  Why was she on his mind so much now?

  Nissa had had a faint glimpse of her, as well, when he had been with Hex and Nissa together. Before they had loved each other, and he had released Hex from his companionship bond so they could be together. He’d been better able to control it with her, though. Why was it so difficult now?

  Something about being with women…perhaps he was better off with men, even for sex, for play. Was he weakening with age? Vampires always grew stronger as they grew older. Physically, anyway. He had heard of those who grew too world-weary, who lost their minds to centuries of sorrow and experience piled upon experience, until it overcame them. But it happened only to the truly ancient ones, those as old as his friend and sometimes lover, Ever, one of the vampires who ran the club. He had lived a thousand years, perhaps more. No one really knew. He was the most beautiful of the vampires in Aleron’s mind. They’d been together a number of times over the years.

  Ever.

  Perhaps that was what he needed. To share this woman with another of his kind. To distract him from these thoughts and doubts.

  But later.

  Meeraj was warm in his arms, her breath a panting gasp, still. He tuned in, felt the final tremors of her climax shivering in her body.

  He was still hard. Wanting her.

  Her eyes were closed, her dark lashes brushing her flushed cheeks.

  Amazing, how beautiful this woman was. He’d never seen this kind of lush, flawless beauty in any mortal. She was absolutely perfect.

  She stirred, her eyes fluttering open, and that exotic golden gaze burned into him.

  Oh yes, he needed her.

  “Meeraj.”

  “Yes…”

  He said her name once more, perhaps simply to ground himself. “Meeraj. I need you now.”

  “Oh, yes. Please.”

  She smiled, and he felt the surge of blood in her veins. He could still taste her on his tongue. Lovely. Sweet. Intoxicating.

  He pulled his shirt off, and her skin against his was almost too much. His cock throbbed with need, and he couldn’t get to her fast enough, suddenly. He laid her back a bit roughly on the settee, yanked open the fly of his pants, and pulled his cock out. It was rock-hard in his hand, pulsing.

  With a growl he parted her thighs, and she opened right up for him. He saw the glint of her pussy, the pink wetness between the shaved lips in the dim light of the club. Desire was a hard flash in his system. Need like an electric current.

  Need her!

  He spread her pussy lips with one hand, and still holding his cock with the other, thrust into her.

  She cried out. She was like a wet satin fist around his cock. She could take him, his size, his hardness.

  Pleasure rolled over him, like needles pricking his skin, deep into his belly, his cock. Unbelievable, how this woman felt to him.

  He began to fuck her, long, hard punishing strokes. Faster and faster, and he had to sharply remind himself that she was only human. The blood lust was trying to take over, and he wanted her blood, craved it. He knew if he drank from her now, while his cock was inside her, he would surely kill her.

  Just fuck her…fuck her…yes…

  She was shivering beneath him, and he could sense her pleasure rising. In moments she was coming again, her pussy clenching hard around his cock. It almost set him off—his orgasm, the nearly hysterical edge of the blood lust. He bit his lip, held it at bay.

  “Meeraj,” he ground out. “I need to hurt you.”

  “Yes…”

  He took one wrist and held it over her head, his grip tight, bruising. With his other hand he twisted one nipple until she cried out. He tuned in, felt her pain, her pleasure. He twisted harder.

  She was coming again, crying out, panting.

  “Aleron!”

  He couldn’t do it, couldn’t hold back any longer, or he would really hurt her, damage her. He let himself come, his cock, his body, convulsing as pleasure stabbed into him. Like knives. Like teeth. Exquisite and sharp and he never wanted it to end. He was feeling more than he had for a hundred years.

  “Meeraj…”

  Emeline.

  No!

  It was Meeraj beneath him, surrounding his cock, her breath hot on his stone-cold cheek. Who was making him come so hard he could barely stand it. Who was creating this mind-fuck.

  Despite that, he had to have more. He wasn’t sure at this moment how he could ever get enough.

  Meeraj was only vaguely aware of being dressed, put into a heavily armored car that was pure luxury inside. Then nothing, until she was being carried up a flight of stairs, Aleron’s hard arms holding her close.

  He was hard as stone all over. And yet, she felt his warmth, the breath in his body. That was all she could think of now. Except that she was with him. It didn’t matter where.

  Another long dreamtime, where she saw once more that lovely female face. And then it was as if that face were her own, and Aleron was there with her, beneath a star-filled sky, holding a cup of wine to her lips.

  She awoke to a dim light behind her closed eyelids, unable to move at first, unable to even lift her lashes. There was a deep languor in her body, and she ached in several places, but beautifully so.

  Where was she?

  She opened her eyes.

  It was a large room with soaring ceilings. A long row of tall windows ran along one wall, the dim light of morning peering through curtains made of some sheer, gossamer fabric. Outside, she could see the dark green of trees, the somber gray of the London sky. It was quiet here, wherever she was. There were no sirens, no yelling, no subtle rumble of crowded streets.

  Inside, the walls were done in damask, a wide cream on cream stripe, the furnishings were all heavy wood, antiques. Beautiful. Intimidating, after her mean upbringing.

  Her fingers clenched, and she found the rich softness of velvet beneath them—a midnight blue coverlet on the enormous, plush bed she lay in.

  She drew in a breath and caught the scent of old stone, the faint fragrance of her own blood on his lips…

  Aleron.

  He stood to one side of the high bed, dressed in nothing but his formfitting leather pants. His pale, bare feet made him look more naked to her than his bare chest, which was leanly muscled, the skin gorgeously white. Like satin. Like fine china.

  He was staring at her, his blue eyes dark, glittering dangerously. Her sex gave a hard squeeze.

  “I was watching you sleep,” he said quietly, so that she had to strain to hear him. “It’s something I often do with humans, since I cannot quite sleep myself. I find it fascinating. Romantic, even, in some odd way. But having lived for so long, we develop odd habits.”

  He seemed almost to be talking to himself, but she
had questions.

  “Aleron, how old are you?”

  “Too old, perhaps. I have lived this life for three hundred years, and as a mortal before that for just over thirty.”

  She paused, absorbing what he’d just told her.

  “Does that upset you?” he asked.

  “No. I… I’m simply trying to take it in, the idea of a three-hundred-year-old being. Everyone knows the vampires live nearly endless lives. But thinking of it in the abstract and applying that idea to someone standing before me are two entirely different things. I don’t mean to insult you.”

  “No, of course not.”

  “I’m trying to figure it out. I’m still a bit out of my head, I think.”

  He took two quick strides and sat on the bed beside her. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes.” When his pale eyebrows drew together she was quick to smile. “I’m just…coming down from last night. But I’m fine. Wonderful. I swear it.”

  He smiled back at her, then, and something inside her chest went warm and loose. When he picked up her hand, turned it over and placed a soft kiss in the center of her palm, her sex clenched, went damp.

  “Are you hungry, my beauty? I gave you some wine when I brought you here, but you should have some food, as well, after the Seeking Kiss.”

  “I only want you,” she told him, surprised at the honesty of her words. She didn’t feel the need to hide her desires from him, as she did with other men. There was no point with him—he could read her too easily. It was freeing. It made her feel stronger, somehow.

  He kissed her wrist, and her blood surged against his hard-soft lips, as though wanting to be drunk once more. His tongue darted out, licking the skin, and he raised his startling blue gaze to hers. He paused, her wrist to his mouth. She could see the desire burning there, feeding on her own. She could see that whispering tinge of sadness still. She could see the years he had lived in the wide, black pupils. As her heart hammered, anticipation and desire like some wild aphrodisiac, he smiled. The smile spread, until it was clearly a baring of teeth, his fangs gleaming, stark white. Powerful. He gently sank one sharp tip into her skin.

  She moaned.