It occurred to me that she might be a stoner. There was nothing about her demeanour to suggest she was on drugs but she seemed so laidback, and unsurprised that a stranger had appeared on her doorstep just before dawn, that I couldn’t think of another logical explanation. Yet her arms were free from puncture wounds and her large sapphire eyes were bright and focused. I clucked sympathetically to her remark about Carlos and struggled to think of something pertinent to say.
‘You’ve had a rough night, haven’t you?’ the blonde observed.
I nodded and glanced down at my tired and grimy clothes.
I suspected the rest of my appearance was equally unappealing. Dirt, sweat and blood soiled the T. My jeans were crumpled and hung loosely around my waist. I hadn’t realised my struggles on the altar had been so vigorous but it seemed clear I had managed to stretch the waistband of the denim so it hung limp around my waist. It was annoying because they were a favourite pair. I sighed, dismayed the Guccis had also become a casualty to the traumatic events of the previous night.
‘I don’t think I’ve ever had a rougher night,’ I said honestly.
The blonde tested a pleasant smile and eased herself from her stool. ‘Let me massage your shoulders a little. You look like you could use some relaxation. It might help you loosen up before you see Carlos.’
My first instinct was to politely refuse the offer but she already held my shoulders and kneaded gently through my T. The muscles she massaged were stiff from the ordeal of the previous evening and, while I was still a little uncomfortable with the idea of a stranger massaging me as I waited for Mel’s ex-boyfriend, I couldn’t find the will to resist the potential relief.
‘Wow,’ she muttered. ‘You really are wound tight. Are you nervous about seeing him?’
‘Carlos? Not particularly.’
She used the heels of her hands against my neck. Her hold was firm and yet not forceful. Although I’d never met the woman before I suddenly decided I loved her and wanted her to live with me for ever so she could be my personal masseuse. Her fingers seemed to exude a healing force that was both relaxing and invigorating.
‘I’ve just been bitten, bruised and abused more than I’m used to,’ I explained. I contemplated mentioning the stake through my chest, and then decided that was probably too much to drop into a conversation with a virtual stranger.
‘Take your top off,’ the blonde instructed. ‘Let me do this properly.’
I could have objected.
I could have laughed the suggestion away and feigned modesty, embarrassment or a lack of underwear. But the massage was relaxing, the blonde was only wearing bra, panties and socks, and I decided a refusal would appear churlish.
Before becoming a vampire, I hadn’t considered myself to be a prude but I don’t think I would ever have undressed so easily in front of a stranger. Now, with overlong canines pushing against the top of my smile, I found my inhibitions at being topless were barely negligible. I dragged the T over my head and shook my hair back into place. With only a smidgen of self-consciousness in the gesture, I threw my shoulders back so my chest was projected prominently.
Quietly, I told myself the blonde had no sexual interest in me and I was misreading any signs that suggested otherwise. She was probably Swedish, I reasoned. She almost certainly enjoyed giving therapeutic massages. And my hesitation was most likely based on paranoia and naivety.
‘You’ve got good tits,’ the blonde observed.
I grinned and wondered how to respond to such a compliment.
She stroked a finger against one orb.
I glanced down at myself and watched her caress my breast. My concerns about her sexual interest returned but they were diminished by the realisation that I probably wanted her as much as she wanted me.
It was fascinating to note that my flesh had already healed. After all that Alan had made me suffer – branding me with the crucifix, burning me with holy water and then impaling me on a stake – I had thought the scars would be with me forever. And yet, less than a couple of hours after suffering the injuries, my skin bore no marks to suggest I had endured any ordeal. He had used a leather riding switch against my nipples yet they showed no sign of any injury. As responsive as ever, they grew slowly rigid when the blonde caressed them.
I lifted my head to study her face and watched her smile draw slowly back over long, pointed teeth. Her deep blue eyes were accented by blood red striations. The absence of mirrors and the drawn blinds – the whole vampire-friendly household – suddenly made sense when I saw she was a member of the undead.
The realisation stirred a warm throbbing between my legs. I tried not to let the arousal sweep through me but it was hard to resist. Reminding myself that I was there for a purpose; that time was against me; and every second could mean life or death for my friend, did little to distract the licentious path of my thoughts.
Mel had been a vampire.
Remembering the pleasure she inspired was enough to make my excitement pulse with vicious enthusiasm.
The blonde studied me for an age. Her gaze was vaguely hypnotic and I got the impression she could read my thoughts. Staring into her large, mesmerising eyes I was struck by the idea of what it would be like to kiss her and hold her.
The image was powerful.
I could almost taste her lips on mine – feel her therapeutic fingers stroke the aching flesh of my back and buttocks. The vision was so vivid I felt her breasts crush mine as we embraced. I winced from the pain that came when she raked her fingernails across my skin. It was too easy to picture her laid down with her legs spread and her sex open to my tongue. I had a sudden image that her pussy would be coated with a down of honey-blonde curls, possibly trimmed to a runway strip leading to the split of her labia. The mental picture was so detailed it was almost as though I had seen her naked and was recalling every secret she possessed.
I drew a startled breath and pulled myself away from the fantasy.
The blonde grinned at me as though she knew exactly what I’d been thinking. The wicked glint in her eye suggested, if she had known my thoughts, they wouldn’t have shocked or upset her. That notion added more warmth to the wetness between my legs.
‘You need something more than a massage, don’t you?’
‘Such as?’ I returned coolly.
Her fingers moved from my breast and curled around the back of my neck. She held my head still, pushed her face closer, and her tongue slipped between my lips. I made no protest as she crushed my lips with her kiss. I eased my legs apart so she could stand between my thighs. I caught the fragrance of soap and clean skin, along with the sordid perfume of her musk. My interest in the woman accelerated. I went from being curious and tempted by her proposition to harbouring an overwhelming desire. Anxiously, I pulled her into my arms so we could kiss with more enthusiasm.
‘It will be like this all the time once you’ve joined us here with Carlos.’
I pushed her away.
‘What the hell does that mean?’
She stared at me uncertainly. ‘You’ve come to take Carlos up on his offer, haven’t you? You’re going to join us and become one of his sexual servants, aren’t you? Isn’t that why you’re here? So you can call him Master?’
‘No.’
All thoughts of arousal had been brushed from my mind and I tried to grasp where the misunderstanding had come from. ‘Sexual servant? Me?’ The idea was ludicrous and I struggled not to laugh.
‘If you are not here to be my sexual servant, then why are you here, Tessa?’
The question came from behind me.
I turned to see Carlos in the kitchen doorway. He was tall and imposing: as swarthy as I remembered from the Halloween party, and looking as though he had stepped fresh from the shower. His hair was a mass of damp, dark curls and his cheeks had the pale pink flush of a recent shave. A towelling robe was draped over his shoulders but it was open exposing his broad, hairy chest and the thatch of dark curls around the base of his erection.
My gaze lingered on the thick length of his shaft and it took a physical effort to wrench my attention back to his face. He was rich, successful, good-looking and well-endowed. Again I wondered why Mel had left him to pursue a relationship with a treacherous underachiever like Alan.
Remembering I was topless, I snatched my T from the breakfast bar and draped it modestly across my chest.
Carlos’s grin was predatory. ‘Answer the question,’ he insisted. His voice was thick with an accent that could have been French, Spanish or Italian. There was a haughty arrogance to the tone that would have sat well in any of those three languages. ‘If you are not here to become one of my sexual servants, why are you here, Tessa?’
It was flattering that he remembered my name, but he used it with an intimation that was darkly suggestive. I opened my mouth, ready to respond to his question, but I didn’t get to start the sentence. Carlos had beckoned the blonde with his finger and she obediently rushed to his side and then knelt on the floor before him.
Acting as though my presence in the room was unimportant, the blonde stroked his erection and then wrapped her fist around its broad length. She licked her tongue over her lips and then tasted Carlos’s shaft. Smiling as she took obvious pleasure from the task, the blonde opened her mouth and began to suck on him.
Carlos continued to glower at me. ‘Why are you here, Tessa?’
I tore my gaze from the sight of the blonde hungrily sucking. ‘I’m a friend of Mel’s,’ I blurted. ‘I’m here to ask for your help. She was taken by the legion of vampire hunters last night. I want you to help me rescue her.’
He shook his head. One large hand went to the head of the blonde sucking his cock. He grabbed a fistful of her hair and roughly pulled her away. Her mouth was open and strings of saliva mixed with pre-come dripped from her lips to his shaft.
Still holding my gaze, frightening me with the intensity of his expression, Carlos said, ‘I do not help anyone. I only reciprocate favours.’ He nodded toward the saliva-slick length of flesh that protruded from his open robe. His predatory grin turned menacing as he said, ‘Do me a favour and then we can discuss how I shall help you.’
Chapter Nine
I pulled on my T and tried to storm past him.
Carlos flung out his hand and grabbed my arm. His nostrils twitched as he glanced at me and I knew he was drinking in my scent. It was an intrusive action and I was disturbed to find it mildly exciting. His full eyebrows sprang upwards – as though he had learnt something exciting. I watched his smile blossom into a full and knowing grin.
‘You are a newly made vampire, yes?’
‘Yes.’
‘A close friend of Melinda’s?’
He stressed the word with heavy-handed intimation.
I blushed and nodded. I’d given up trying to wrestle my arm free because I could see Carlos was strong and in no mood to relax his hold. There was something animal beneath his touch and, although I was loath to admit it, I did find him darkly attractive. Not allowing myself to give into those thoughts I fixed him with a firm glare.
‘I’m a newly made vampire and I’m a close friend of Mel’s. Can you help me to save her?’
‘How long ago did the legion take her?’
I shrugged. ‘An hour ago. Maybe two. Three at the most.’
‘You are a neophyte.’ His tone was disparaging. ‘You know nothing about the legion of hunters, do you? You are an ignoramus, yes?’
‘I know they’ve got my friend, Mel.’ I finally found the strength to wrench my arm from his grip. Anger built inside me as I realised I was being treated like an idiot by a man who looked like he had auditioned to join the Village People.
Perhaps I hadn’t yet been a vampire for a day. And it was true that I knew nothing about the danger Mel faced. But those details were not important. ‘I don’t know who they are, and I don’t know why they’ve taken her or what they want to do with her. But I know I’m trying to save her,’ I blurted. ‘What are you doing?’
He regarded me with a smouldering gaze. His dark eyes were flecked with scarlet embers that reminded me of blazing coals.
‘I can teach you about the legion of vampire hunters,’ he snarled. He spoke in the stiff and formal manner of a man who has learnt English as a second language. His Mediterranean accent lacquered every vowel and sibilant. ‘I can teach you about the legion and, with that lesson, I can show you that what you are asking is a very substantial request.’
He snapped his fingers and the blonde at his cock stood up. From the hallway, two more blondes appeared and I saw the three women were all startlingly similar in appearance and uniform. Carlos clearly had a penchant for blondes dressed in white cotton socks, panties and bras. As I shifted my gaze from one woman to the other I realised I could no longer be sure which one had massaged my shoulders and thrilled me with the promise of salacious excitement.
Each of the women bore an identical tattoo on their inner thigh. The peculiarity of that fact did not escape me but there was no time to dwell on its importance because Carlos was talking again.
‘Let me give you a small demonstration of what the legion will do to Melinda,’ he suggested. ‘Once you know the ordeal she will have to endure, you might understand why I must see a show of your resolve before I commit to her rescue.’
Regardless of whether Carlos agreed to help, I could see that it would be a benefit to learn something more about the men who had taken Mel. And, while his sexual arrogance suggested he might want more than I was prepared to give in exchange for the information, I figured that now I was a vampire I should be able to deal with him. Intuition and common sense told me I couldn’t trust him but, because he had said he was prepared to commit himself to her rescue, I thought he presented my best chance of helping my friend.
I nodded agreement.
‘Ladies,’ Carlos said, addressing the blondes. ‘You will go and prepare for a role playing game. I want to see you in hooded cowls, dressed like those monastic perverts from the legion, and I expect you all to wear erections. Do you understand?’
As one, they nodded.
‘Prepare the playroom for our Thursday games,’ he demanded.
They hurried from the room.
I considered doing the same thing myself. I hadn’t understood his instructions to the women but, when he told them to wear erections, my heightened sensitivity suggested something was amiss. ‘Perhaps it would be best if I just left?’
‘You can do nothing in daylight. You forget you are now a vampire. If you leave this house before sunset you will burn.’
‘But it won’t kill me, will it?’ I remembered Mel saying the only thing that could kill me would be a stake through the heart. She had said I should avoid sunlight but she hadn’t said it would be fatal.
He was by my side and staring into my eyes as though we were lovers.
‘Sunlight would blacken your flesh and leave you writhing in agony. It would not kill you. But the pain would make you wish you were dead.’ He flashed a beaming smile at me and produced a long, wooden stake. The point had been whittled to a needle-like sharpness.
I remembered the stake that Alan had hammered into my chest. My need to leave was sudden and overwhelming, regardless of how strong the sunlight blazed outside.
Carlos placed the stake in my hand with the point aimed toward his chest. He wrapped my fist around the wood, grabbed my wrist, and then urged me to push the stake forward. I could see the sharpened tip press against his skin and disappear into the forest of his chest hairs. It caused a dimple beneath his nipple.
‘This is the only thing that can kill a vampire,’ he breathed. His accent forced him to pronounce the final word with a ‘w’ instead of a ‘v’. I had noticed the peculiarity several times before but now it was beginning to grow irritating. ‘Remember this, Tessa,’ he growled. ‘If you want to destroy me, you can only do it by plunging this stake into my heart. By the end of this day I know you will want to kill me. So I am offering you the opportunity now.
The only question that remains to be asked is: do you have the strength to kill me, Tessa?’
The strangeness of the moment was not lost on me. After a lifetime spent in the sheltered environment of my own introspective existence, I was beginning to understand that some people carried far bigger issues than those that kept me awake and restless at night. Good-time girl Mel had turned out to be older than my great-grandmother and was trying to win the heart of a man who reminded her of her father. Alan was the dictionary definition of a man in denial. I’d just met three women who seemed to delight in their roles as the living sex-toys of a swarthy Lothario. And Carlos clearly had some disturbing worries about his sexuality. Compared to this group of dysfunctional acquaintances I realised I was the crown princess of normality.
I opened my fist and let the stake clatter noisily to the kitchen’s tiled floor. ‘I want you to help me,’ I hissed impatiently. ‘I don’t want to kill you.’
His grin widened as though he had proved a point. He released his hold on my hand and stepped back from the doorway. The blondes stood behind him, their prissily clean images shrouded by hooded black robes.
Each held a stake in one hand and a bible in the other. Pectoral crosses hung around their necks and touched lightly against the sackcloth robes that covered their breasts.
‘We understand each other,’ Carlos laughed. ‘That is good.’ In a theatrical voice he bellowed, ‘Now it is time you understood about the legion of wampire hunters.’
Chapter Ten
Carlos’s playroom was reminiscent of a medieval dungeon. The discreet wall lights glowed red and orange, giving an impression of flames instead of bulbs. The floor and ceiling were black and the centrepiece was a wooden bed that looked hard and torturously uncomfortable. The walls were mirrored and, as a newly made vampire, that struck me as being the most disturbing element. The hooded blondes led me through the doorway and Carlos followed. But, staring into the mirrors, it looked as though the room remained empty. I could see the bed and the walls around me reflected: but I wasn’t there.
Once Bitten Page 8
