Careless of her clothing, Valerie dropped into the mud and opened her own pants. Her fingers were cold and hard on her clit, but her body burned there like a blast furnace.
Fortunately, the baby was asleep. Valerie was not up to explaining the beauty of sexuality while she was chasing her own orgasm down like a hawk on a rabbit. Her free hand worked on the fastenings of her own shirt. Her overheated tits needed the cold air licking over them, right now. The muscles in her vagina pulsed over and over, spreading her thighs and the ground with her hot musk.
At her cry, the men rolled to cover her.
Valerie opened her mouth to question them, but Lance pulled her shirt’s neckline farther under her breasts. Before she could argue, John latched on to one nipple.
Lance’s strong fingers immediately set to work on her other breast until Valerie protested. “This is your time together,” she panted, smacking them away from her body.
John nipped. “Stop thinking.”
Lance ripped her shirt down to her waist. Slithering in the mud, he pushed under her, cupped her breasts, and offered them up to John’s mouth.
John growled a little around her nipple before releasing it with a pop. Immediately, he pounced on her second breast.
Valerie’s eyes rolled up into her head. Her vaginal walls swelled so fast that she ached inside. She felt her juices gather and trickle down her thighs.
Lance had no time to waste. He lowered his mouth to Valerie’s lips.
She devoured him with all the frustration and impatience she’d built up over the last six months. She clawed his muck-encrusted white shirt, ripping it with her long nails.
The scream of cloth hung loudly in the still, moist air. None of them retained enough thought to realize that they were not the only beings in this London.
“Don’t you fucking leave us again,” Valerie ordered Lance even as she dug her claws into John’s back. “Or I’ll drag you down to Hell with me when I turn to dust.”
Lance nodded wildly as he ground his cock against her ass. “I promise.”
John merely grunted and pulled her pants off, leaving her in her black woolen socks and sock garters. He teased his cock out of his pants and rammed that thick, smooth cock home in her pussy. Lance did some angel magic and his clothes were gone. His far-too-long-gone cock tempted her lips until she growled and slid down on him.
She hissed and screamed as they filled her.
“Fuck yeah, baby. Take it, girl.” John pinched her clit between two fingers and they were off.
They fucked her.
They fucked her, they fucked her, they fucked her until she realized that their arms were her home, her safety, everything she’d ever needed.
Lance leaned forward enough to press his lips to John’s. The power of Valerie’s orgasm forced the men from her body.
At that moment, she needed something even more than she needed sunlight. She whispered, “John, take him.”
Neither of them resisted her order. Lance arranged John until the human was looking into his eyes. With a deep groan, he wrapped the rescued man in feathers and lust.
Over the centuries, Valerie had seen many people kiss their beloved, entwining in perfect trust. Men, women—in the end, it didn’t matter to her.
They kissed harder, bit and scratched and clawed each other as though they were trying to keep their long-lost lovers safe inside their hearts. They jacked each other as viciously as two lions tearing into a wildebeest.
Then she lost all thought as the men rolled to the ground. Somewhere in the night, her heart exploded in a shower of light and joy.
John’s cock, not quite fully hard again, fitted Valerie’s mouth completely. When he was erect, she couldn’t fit him all the way. She wrapped her fist around the base of his penis.
She had unseemly large hands for a woman, but her fingers still did not meet, his girth was so great. Her jaw stretched to her outermost limit as she gobbled his smooth, hard cock.
She sucked on his head, licked his shaft, teased his balls with her fingers and tongue. His dark, thick body hair scraped as she brushed the tips of the curls with her tongue. He jumped and shivered. She flung her arm across his thighs and drew him deeply into her mouth, over and over.
“So he likes it just as rough as he gives it,” Lance observed.
“Mmm-hmm,” Valerie agreed around John’s cock. The vibration made John shove.
“Enough,” he growled. Calling on his unusual strength, he flipped her over to her back. “Give me this.”
He shoved her thighs wide apart, his hands holding her down. He breathed on her pussy, long and deep, as if she were something exquisite to eat.
His sweet, sweet tongue descended to her body. Expecting a firm, direct stab to her clit, she squealed when he licked her with a flat, wide tongue. Over her labia, he petted her pussy, coaxing her lips to widen for him. Once she was moaning and writhing under him, he finally touched her clit.
Valerie’s throat pulled tight. Her body curled in, her abdomen pulling her head off the ground. The sensations coiled in her hypersensitized organ. Tighter and tighter she squeezed, her face pulled in a nearly painful rictus. Could she make it? Would he take her there?
With a clever twist of his mouth, everything exploded. Her body uncoiled violently, her back arching. Her hands grasped Lance’s. The angel sang in time with her screams as the unending crests overtook her.
Merciless, he sucked every drop from her pussy, every moan and cry inflamed him further until his cock skin nearly split.
She lay, panting and heaving, tears sparkling at the corners of her eyes. He put her legs on top of his shoulders. He knelt between her legs and fitted the head of his erection inside her swollen, twitching vagina. He pushed.
She screamed again.
He pumped inside her clinging walls. He licked her smooth legs as they rested against his neck. Her hands flew over his body, pinching his nipples. John kissed her calf.
Lance watched her slack face. Had Valerie ever looked so abandoned and relaxed?
“I want her on top,” John panted. He tucked his legs and tipped backward. Lance caught John and eased them both down until she was on top and riding him.
“Give me your cock,” she told Lance, her voice raspy from the exertion of sex.
Lance eagerly wiped the mud from his thighs and let her take him deep into her throat.
With a huge ripple, she came again and took them over the edge with her.
Hours later, Valerie and her men lay in a muddy ruin of come and discarded clothes. She could address the situation that literally lay between the three of them, demand they face the cold truth of what they were to each other. Or she could let them figure it out. They were smart. They could figure all this out without her.
No. They all went together, or they didn’t go at all.
The baby stirred, stretching the boundaries of its small world.
“Boys. The baby is moving.”
Two pairs of eager hands reached for her squirming bump. She grasped a wrist in each of her own hands and placed their fingers where the unborn’s feet were pressing. Then she laid her hand on top of theirs.
The men stopped breathing at the sensation of the child rolling.
Valerie spoke, breaking the silence. “All of us,” she said quietly. “This is what must be. Or we will fail.”
Lance ran his hand along the curve of Valerie’s belly. “For the baby.”
“No. For us. All of us. Together, Lance. Nothing less can save our lives.” She gripped his wrist. “You will stay.”
“How can I stay when I know I will be the deaths of you?”
“Are a vampire and a Guide so easily killed?” John roused enough energy to lift his lip at Lance.
“Trust us,” Valerie said.
Lance sat up and opened his wings to their full breadth. As softly as a woman’s tears, he wrapped them in the embrace of Heavenly love.
“Is this your true form?” Valerie asked Lance as she shoved
someone’s pants under her head.
“No. What angels truly are is hard to show to human eyes.”
John frowned. “I am not human either. When you earned your redemption and ascended back into Heaven, we beheld your angelic brethren. We will have nothing hidden between us again. Show us.”
“Very well.” Lance unfurled his wings from underneath him.
The outlines of his human body fuzzed out like a water-color painting under a faucet. He expanded and blurred until Valerie saw nothing but flaring gold light.
Unlike his black and white human aura, this light rippled with iridescent gleams of every color. Angels experienced emotions, she realized. Through every experience, compassion ruled. There was no action, no fear that was not understood. There was no sin that the Divine Realm could not face, no desperation that went unheard.
She wiped at the blood pouring down from her eyes. “Let’s go home.”
“First things first.” Lance swiped those unbelievable golden feathers against John, then Valerie. The tips washed against her in a wave of pure pleasure.
Clean and dressed again, Lance twined his fingers with John. “I’ll fly to Geneva and get the apartment ready,” Lance said. In her joy, Valerie could do nothing but smile. The baby inside wiggled in reaction to her near-giddy excitement.
The sky blackened. A spray of ice pellets splattered against their faces and pinged off the surface of the Shelby. The paint dimpled under the force of the attack of the weather.
Lance spread his wings, protecting them from the stinging shot.
A horrible, viperlike green slithered through the sky, seeking a weakness.
CHAPTER 31
Seeking warmth, Mina closed her arms around herself. Broken glass lay over the thick Persian rug in Jonathon’s bedroom. The shattered window in the room allowed the frigid winter air to flood the house, leaving her shaking in fear and in shock. She crossed the room, the glass crunching under her shoes, and knelt by the stove.
Uncertain of how to stoke the dying fire, her hand hovered over the cast-iron poker. Many times she had seen the maids do this. It usually involved poking.
Carefully, she folded her hand over the brass handle and lifted the heavy tool. A tentative jab at the black, skeletal wood and the poker clattered onto the floor. Mina shrieked a little and toppled over onto her rear.
The shards of glass pressed into her hands as she struggled to stand. Little drops of blood welled from the small wounds.
Mina lifted her hand to her throat. She would not cry. Just because Jonathon had disappeared, obviously kidnapped by Thuggees, and her father had left her alone in the house were not reasons enough to cry.
Shaking, she reached to the bed where her husband had last been seen and dragged the mink comforter to herself. Her knees weakened, leaving her sitting on the floor, her back against the bed. Slowly, too slowly, the fur warmed her. Her courage returned as she warmed.
Her father, her husband could be lying out there, bleeding or dying from the attackers. She had to help.
Mina shuffled from Jonathon’s bedroom, the mink still wrapped around her shoulders. She followed soft whispers in the fog until she wandered into the middle of Hyde Park. Jonathon and another man wrestled in the mud, while another man slung a strange bag onto his back. Mina gasped. Something about that standing man repelled her.
His face was familiar: the high cheekbones, the dark hair, the soft-looking lips. Even the faint odor of rosemary teased her memory, bringing up a feeling, a ghost of a memory that said her wants and pleasures were unimportant.
As she took another step forward, a light flashed. The two attackers and her husband disappeared into a glowing, frightening hole in the ground.
Mina dropped the blanket and ran through the cold. Jonathon was in danger!
The man with the bag was the last to step into the hellish light, giving Mina a peep at his face. Dirt smeared under his nose gave him a flamboyant mustache. High cheekbones. Full lips. Dark hair, slicked back. He disappeared through the opening.
Mina screamed as hundreds of years of memories poured into her mind.
“Mina!” Maxwell ran from the park into the streets, following her maddening howls. “Mina! Where are you?”
She had to be carefully evacuated in order to prevent her mind from cracking. He and Mina were supposed to exit through Lance’s portal so they could die gently. They had very little time left.
Out of the mist, a gruesome image emerged. Mina’s normally carefully coiffed hair flew around her head in wispy rattails. Her delicate skin showed red scratches where she had clawed at her eyes. A mink blanket dragged behind her, ruined with wet earth.
“Daughter.” Maxwell ripped off his overcoat as he ran to her. He wrapped her in the heavy gray wool and clasped her shoulders. Futilely, he tried to calm her. “Mina. You are safe now.”
She hissed.
Her spittle flew through the air to land on Maxwell’s coat. She broke his grasp with the strength of the mentally broken and slashed at his face with jagged, sharp nails. He jerked his head back, but her middle finger caught the tip of his nose. The skin tore. Blood dripped onto his waistcoat and ate away the fibers.
“Find him!”
Maxwell staggered against the compulsion of her words. The powers of the thrice-bitten were indeed formidable. His knees locked in protest. Unwillingly, Maxwell walked to the portal, shuffling like a primitive wooden doll.
“Kill him!” Mina’s command filled the air.
She fisted her hands in the hair at the crown of her head. At her cry, a giant snake materialized from the ether and opened its venom-laden mouth.
Mina pointed at the deadly throat. “Go!”
Maxwell’s oxford shoes skidded against the snake’s tongue as he resisted her mental coercion. If he died now while under her spell, he’d not go home. He’d end up back in Hell.
Save me, he begged anyone who might be listening.
CHAPTER 32
“Oh, yes, darlings,” a ravaged voice mimicked. “Let’s go home.”
Valerie slapped leather and drew her pistol, pointing it in the direction of the threat. The impound lot was lit by powerful streetlights, but the maze of cars and trucks created pools of darkness.
“Who’s there?” she challenged.
“I’m crushed you don’t recognize me. Husband.” In the silence that followed that statement, Mina, splattered with mud, limped through the impound yard. Her white dress was torn and smeared with the bilious green of her snake-portal’s venom. The acid of the poison ate through her face until her nose was destroyed and her lips nonexistent. She no longer smelled of lavender; bile and hatred coagulated over the harsh odors of asphalt and metal.
Valerie’s stomach froze at the rage in her former wife’s voice. Ilona used to have a nasty temper, sure, but this was the final madness of the thrice-bitten. Her damaged brain now had near-angelic levels of powers.
Maxwell, his body fighting with every move, followed as though he were a zombie.
“Mina,” she said. “Let Maxwell go.”
“Oh, no. Husband.” She dragged out the endearment as though it were a razor in Valerie’s flesh. “I think I’ll keep him. After all, he wants to die. What better way to finish him off than fighting for me?”
John casually reached into the Shelby’s still-open trunk and cradled a fully automatic HP MP7.
His movement caught Mina’s remaining eye. “You. Deceiver!” she snarled, toxic saliva landing on the parking lot and eating holes in the surface. Hot asphalt added to the repulsive brew of odors in the air.
“You knew the truth, Mina,” John spoke clearly, sounding nearly robotic after Mina’s garbled words. “I told you I was not your husband.”
At her step forward, Lance drew his sword. The obsidian blade absorbed the yellowish sodium light in the air and vibrated with power. He rotated his wrist and swung the sword in a vertical circle in front of him. He spread his wings and spoke with power. “Mina. Face me.”
> While she was distracted, John leaned into Valerie’s ear. “The baby,” he whispered. “Valerie, get inside.”
“The baby is fine,” it answered in all their brains. “You three fight. I’ll take care of the intelligence.”
Mina wagged her finger at Lance. “I don’t think so. I see into your minds and I know your fears. I have a little surprise for each of you.” When she grinned, two of her teeth fell and bounced on the pavement. “Maxwell, destroy the angel. I will take care of my husband, Vlad. And as for you, you liar …”
The parking lot crackled and buckled. With the roar of angry earth, an enormous mound of honeysuckle, at least eight feet high, rose out of the parking lot’s surface. The flowers were hot fuchsia, a disturbingly human shade of pink. The mass heaved once and rolled like a wave over the ground towards the Guide.
Fear cramped John’s bowels. That thing had robbed him of his youth and nearly killed him when he was eighteen.
“How about a little blast from your past, as well?”
The baby snapped directions, countering Mina’s attack.
“Lance-Dad, bless our weapons, then take to the air. Get Maxwell away from her. Your sword should do the rest. John-Dad, fire at will. Guns won’t kill it, but it’ll slow down. Mom, aim for Mina’s head. Finish this for once and for all.”
Fast and easy, John crouched behind the Shelby and opened fire. Lance went aerial, grabbing Maxwell by the collar and flinging him into the air. Valerie dove into the confusing darkness, Mina giving chase.
John’s blessed MP7 sprayed the hillock like weed killer. The relentless honeysuckle reeled closer and closer even as his bullets gnawed away at it until it shrunk to less than four feet tall.
The flowers sighed, a never-forgotten sound that haunted his nightmares. With an unfelt breeze, the flowers ruffled together, morphing into the beautiful woman who had attempted to eat him. Only now, thanks to Lance’s blessing, the formerly seductive form hung open, revealing the worm-infested interior of its truth.
Dracula's Desires Page 12
