Dangerous Cravings: Disdain

by Kate Hill

  Sighing, she approached him. He seemed to enjoy using her as the first example for all of his hellish exercises. If he was the sort of man who appeared to possess emotions of any kind, she might have thought he was still angry over their misunderstanding earlier in the week. Since the night he found out she wasn’t a hooker, he had been avoiding her outside of class. He never failed to use his “do not disturb” sign, and they had established a set time for her to clean, during which he was nowhere to be found. The few times she had seen him eating a meal in the club area, they exchanged nods and afterward he didn’t even glance at her.

  As she’d suspected, he was harsh and unfeeling. A few of the club’s prostitutes had been with him, and while they said he wasn’t cruel or kinky, he was mechanical. A few quick thrusts and he sent them on their way with a decent tip. Strangest of all, he asked for absolutely no blood sharing.

  “Ready, Ms. Travers?”

  “For what?” she asked hesitantly.

  The sensation of a wooden stake pressed over her heart sent her pulse racing.

  The vampire hunters’ attack flashed through her mind. The tip of the stake broke her skin. She felt the spray of blood from Stella who was held down beside her, screaming.

  “No!” she whispered. “Don’t.”

  “Make me stop,” Disdain said, his tone firm, not taunting.

  Trembling with fear and rage, her wrists burned at the sensation of silver manacles snapping tightly around them. She was no longer in the basement of Burgundy Peak, but in the street. Disdain wasn’t creating an illusion, but the hunters were attempting to kill her like they had killed her creator.

  Mel’s voice broke through the memories. “Leave her alone.”

  “Quiet!” Disdain hissed. A silver collar clamped around her throat and the pressure of the stake against her breast grew harder.

  “No, no, no!” she screamed, leaping in Disdain’s direction, her hands like claws.

  The sensation of the stake and silver disappeared. She found herself struggling against Disdain’s grip, her hands inches from his face. “Excellent. I didn’t expect one of you to actually stop me so quickly, but --”

  “Bastard!” she snarled, kicking him hard and fighting against his grip. Tears streamed down her face, but she didn’t care.

  “Ms. Travers, control yourself.” He flung her aside. “There will be no crying and certainly no brawling with me -- yet.”

  “Fuck you!” She leapt to her feet, making no effort to stop her tears. If she had a stake, she would have driven it through his heart. Fighting him would be useless. Besides, she wasn’t really mad at him, but at the memories he’d conjured. Turning on her heel, she rushed out of the basement.

  “Alana, wait!” Mel shouted, attempting to follow her friend to the door.

  “You leave this class and don’t bother coming back.”

  “Some things are more important than your damn class, you son-of-a-bitch,” Dechrista snapped.

  Disdain glanced at the group, noting the anger in the students’ expressions. He could feel their hatred of him, but thrust it out of his mind. They apparently cared about Alana and one another -- a complete waste of effort. Then why did he feel a twinge of envy? It had been a long time since someone cared about him, so he should have gotten over the craving by now.

  “Then go. If you leave now most likely it means you were just looking for an excuse to fail.”

  Ash narrowed his eyes and stepped closer. No matter how much punishment the young male endured, he seemed incapable of learning to keep his mouth shut. “Have you retained even a portion of your humanity? She ran out of here for a reason.”

  “If her reason was enough to make her leave, then it’s probably for the best. Our practice will only get harder. If she’s not ready, then she doesn’t belong here. The same goes for the rest of you. Anyone who walks out of my class doesn’t get a second chance. Think before you rush after your friend. You have ten minutes left before our session ends, then you can coddle her to your hearts’ content. Make your decision wisely.”

  Mel, who had been halfway to the door, glanced at the exit with worry. For a moment Disdain thought she might give in to her emotions, but she returned to the group.

  “Kneel in silence until the end of class,” he stated. “I want you to think very carefully about what you wish to gain from these lessons and whether or not you have the strength to learn it.”

  When the class ended, Disdain left the basement before the others and exited the club. He needed fresh air.

  Passing the alley between the club and the empty warehouse next door, he caught Alana’s scent and heard the sound of her crying.

  Telling himself that her problems weren’t his business, he continued walking by. Unable to resist, his mind touched her briefly, and he was surprised by the force of her grief. Whatever caused her to run out of his class hadn’t been the usual terror of him that many of his past students had suffered. This was far more serious.

  He closed his eyes for a moment, drew a deep breath and released it. He turned and walked down the alley where she sat, her back against the side of the brick building, hugging her knees, her face hidden by a veil of disheveled red hair. Sighing, he squatted beside her.

  “What the hell do you want?” she demanded.

  “I want to know why you left my class.”

  “Because obviously I can’t handle it.”

  “You can handle it better than most of the others. You have talent.”

  She continued sobbing as if he didn’t exist.

  “Do you think you could stop that?”

  “If you don’t like it, there’s the door.”

  “Well, I suppose I had that coming.” He knew he shouldn’t get involved in her life, but he’d already taken the fatal step toward caring about her welfare. The woman had too much psychic talent to waste. “Look, why don’t you tell me what the problem is and we can try solving it.”

  “It can’t be solved.”

  Seeing that she wasn’t going to tell him, he slipped into her mind. Instantly he understood. An attack by vampire hunters had left Alana terrified and her creator dead. He pulled out of her thoughts, more shaken than he wanted to admit.

  Apparently he and Alana had much in common. In spite of himself, he sympathized with her. “I’m sorry your creator was killed.”

  She raised her tear-stained face, fury glistening in her eyes. “Who told you about that?”

  “You just did.”

  “You looked in my mind without asking? Just because you can doesn’t mean you should. Besides, you don’t give a damn about me, so why bother looking?”

  “Because your talent shouldn’t be wasted. You can’t let fear control your life, and you can’t learn the skills I teach out of guilt alone. If you do, you’ll simply exist, not really live.”

  She gazed at him, trembling probably as much from the cold as from her tangled emotions. He slipped off his jacket and offered it to her.

  Sniffing, she turned away from him. “No thanks.”

  “It’s cold.” He draped the jacket over her. What was it about this woman that inspired feelings of protectiveness and arousal? “Let’s go inside.”

  She shook her head.

  “Do you plan on spending the night out here?”

  “Look, just take your jacket and go back to doing what you do best.”

  “Which is?”

  “Acting like a son-of-a-bitch.”

  “I should make you do five hundred push-ups for that.”

  “You can’t. I’m not your student anymore. You threw me out.”

  “I’ve changed my mind, unless you really do want to weasel out.”

  She sighed, wiping her face with the back of her hand.

  “Come back inside.” When she didn’t move, he yielded to a stupid yet overpowering urge and swept her into his arms.

  “What the hell are you doing?”

  “What does it look like?” He carried her to the club’s back entrance a
nd up the stairs.

  Shocked, Alana clung to Disdain’s neck and wondered why she enjoyed being in the arms of a man she’d wanted to kill such a short time ago. His rock-hard body exuded power. His black hair brushed like silk against her hands, which were locked behind his neck.

  Though she knew she must look like a mess from crying, she couldn’t resist gazing at him. His thickly lashed eyes were the color of freshly dug earth and for some strange reason she had the urge to brush his aquiline nose with the tip of hers. His beautifully formed lips looked far too kissable. Her pulse skipped as she recalled his passionate kisses that night in his room when he thought she was a hooker.

  “Where’s your room?” he asked.

  “You mean you can’t just look in and pull it out of my mind?”

  “I believe I said on the first day of class that I don’t waste my skills on stupidity.”

  “Have you always been this charming?”

  He met her gaze, a hint of amusement in his eyes. “All my life.”

  “How long has that been?”

  “Longer than one so young can imagine.”

  “I’m in room 104.” She wanted to add that she could get there on her own, but she didn’t want to leave him. For some reason, she didn’t think many women were lucky enough to get toted by this particular Master.

  All too soon, they reached her door and he put her down. “Thanks.” She glanced at him, wondering if she looked as sheepish as she felt. Somehow she had succeeded in making a fool of herself in front of him yet again.

  “Thank me by finishing my class without another incident like today.”

  “I’ll try, but I can’t make any promises.”

  This time she turned away and opened the door. For some reason she knew her answer wouldn’t please him. At the moment she didn’t want to see the harsh look that often dominated his face -- not after she had just started thinking of him as halfway decent.

  When she stepped inside she realized he was following her. Surprised and a bit wary, she turned to him. “What are you doing?”

  “You still have my jacket.”

  “Oh. Right.” Alana shrugged it off and handed it to him.

  Slinging it over his shoulder, he turned, but she touched his arm and he paused.

  He glanced at her hand, then back to her face with a coolness that chilled her to the bone. “Yes?”

  “Nothing.”

  Was she insane? How could she possibly be attracted to someone whose heart seemed to be made of arctic ice?

  Seemed to be.

  For a few moments in the alley, she had caught a glimpse of compassion in his eyes. Before he stepped out the door, she said, “Do you want to stay for a while?”

  This time he paused, but didn’t turn around for several heartbeats. Finally he glanced over his shoulder at her. “You’ve had an upsetting night, Ms. Travers. Maybe you should find one of your female friends and talk.”

  His rejection struck her like a bucket of cold water. She was about to tell him good riddance, but a question popped into her mind. “Why is it when you thought I was a hooker you were ready to spend some time with me?”

  “If trading sex for money was your business, then there would be no emotional attachment.”

  “Are you afraid of emotions?”

  “No. I simply find them useless. If we spend time, as you put it, then I’m sure you’ll expect some emotional commitment from me.”

  Folding her arms across her chest, she stared at him, unsure of whether she felt pity, anger, or amusement. “That might be nice.”

  “It would be inappropriate.”

  “Well, do you always act appropriately?”

  “Yes, Ms. Travers, I do.” This time he left so quickly she hadn’t the chance to stop him.

  A slight smile touched her lips. “We’ll see about that, Master.”

  Turning away, she kicked off her shoes and headed for the bathroom. A knock on the door sent her heart pounding. Had he changed his mind after all?

  Mel’s and Dechrista’s scents struck her and she opened the door, hoping she didn’t look as disappointed as she felt.

  “Honey, are you okay?” Dechrista asked.

  “Where have you been? We’ve been looking all over for you,” Mel said.

  “I went for a walk.”

  “When these classes are over, I am going to give Master Disdain a boot in his ass,” Mel snapped.

  “The man is like the poster boy for asshole.”

  “Thanks, guys, but I’m fine. Actually, he’s not so terrible.” She nearly laughed at her friends’ stunned expressions. “He actually talked to me for a while about what happened. I’ll be in class tomorrow night.”

  “He let you back in?” Dechrista asked. “Are you sure that’s what you want?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, we need to meet Zigor and Woodrow for dinner,” Mel said. “Want to join us?”

  “No, but thanks,” Alana replied. She had some fantasies to explore and a seduction to plan.

  A cold, uncaring man wouldn’t have bothered talking to her and he certainly wouldn’t have carried her to her room. Disdain was hiding something, and she was determined to find out what.

  Once she was alone again, Alana undressed and stepped into the shower, allowing the warm water to soothe her while her thoughts lingered on Disdain. He was without doubt the sexiest man she had ever known. He was also harsh, inflexible, and rude, yet just thinking about being in his arms made her tingle with desire.

  Soaping her hands, she smoothed the lather over her breasts, pretending it was Disdain’s hands upon her. She squeezed and stroked the fleshy globes, then ran her thumbs over the nipples.

  Her head arched back, facing the water pouring from the faucet. Streams of it washed the soap from her breasts, but she continued caressing them, pinching the nipples and imagining how wonderful it would feel if Disdain bit them. A quiver of passion trickled down her spine when she envisioned the tip of his fang piercing the plump little bead.

  Alana’s breathing deepened, her body heating from more than just the warm water. One of her hands slipped down her stomach and dipped between her legs. She parted the slick folds of flesh and explored. Gently, she used the pad of her finger to circle her clit.

  Visions of Disdain kissing her neck and grasping her buttocks soared through her mind. She rubbed herself, dropping her hand from her breast and turning to face the tile wall. It felt smooth against her nipples and when she rubbed them against it, the sensation aroused her. She gyrated against the wall while her fingers teased her clit.

  In her mind, Disdain had grasped her hard and pinned her to the floor. One of his large hands held both of hers above her head while his other stroked her from throat to hip. His earthy brown eyes held hers captive, growing dark with passion. Then his cock slipped inside her. Though she guessed he would probably be a rough lover, in this fantasy he was tender. He claimed her with passion, but sought to please, not hurt. He released her hands and she splayed them across his back, feeling the powerful muscles flex beneath her palms.

  Alana had never slept with a man before and had rarely thought about it. Attracted to both men and women, she had chosen her companions carefully. Until Disdain, Stella was the only person who had aroused her enough to consider sleeping with.

  Panting hard, she thought about sinking her fangs into Disdain’s flesh and drinking his blood. It would taste strong and delicious. If he bit her simultaneously, the pleasure would be indescribable… Alana gasped, her hand flying between her legs. Her entire body tensed and she came, writhing and throbbing in pleasure.

  For several moments, she leaned heavily against the wall, her cheek pressed against the tile and her heartbeat slowing.

  “Disdain,” she whispered, a slight smile on her lips.

  * * *

  The following evening, Alana arrived in the basement ten minutes before class. Ash, Harold, Marie, and Disdain were already assembled.

  Harold’s brow furrowed a
nd he pointed at Alana. “I thought you said anyone who walked out of your class isn’t allowed to come back.”

  “I did,” Disdain stated. “She did not walk out of my class, however. She ran.”

  Ash and Marie smiled slightly, but Harold still looked confused. Moments later, Mel and Dechrista arrived.

  “Good. Since we’re all here, we’ll start early,” Disdain said.

  “I don’t suppose that means we can leave early?” Harold asked hopefully.

  “It means you can do five hundred chin-ups while the rest of us practice some of the concentration techniques from last class.”

  Mel smirked. “At least now we’re doing chin-ups instead of push-ups.”

  “Well, just for old times’ sake you can give me three hundred,” Disdain said.

  Curling her lip, Mel dropped to the ground.

  Though tough, the night’s class went smoothly. Alana even managed to get through another imaginary attack with stakes and silver without falling to pieces. When the class ended, she felt stronger than she had in months. After the others left, Alana remained behind, practicing a meditation technique they had just learned.

  “Are you planning to stay here all night?” Disdain asked.

  She opened her eyes and glanced at him. “Why? Am I bothering you?”

  “No, but I had planned on getting in some fencing practice and --”

  “You want to use the room. No problem.” She stood and walked to the door, but paused before stepping through. “Stella, my creator, taught me how to fence. I don’t suppose you’d want to practice with me for a while?”

  His discerning look almost made her sorry she’d asked, but he nodded and beckoned her to join him. An hour later, after learning exactly how horrible her fencing skills were, she returned the sword Disdain had loaned her and leaned against the wall, gazing at him.

  “What?” he asked.

  “I was just thinking there must be something a young vampire like me is better at than an old one like you.”

  “That’s asking a lot of yourself.”

  She curled her lip and snorted with laughter. “Well, aren’t we modest?”