Ranson, Tracy L. - Prince of Darkness [Bloodborn 3] (Siren Publishing Classic)

by Tracy L. Ranson

  She relaxed into his touch and caress, her sex clenching and aching to be stretched and filled. Gooseflesh broke out wherever his skin met hers, the tingles of anticipation getting far beyond her control.

  “Everyone needs them,” she murmured, only dimly aware of his tender nibbling of her exposed shoulder.

  “Not me.”

  Before she could say anymore, Drake captured her lips in a hungry kiss, full of passion and blazing with desire. She answered his urgency with her own, winding her arms around his neck and drawing him closer.

  * * * *

  Drake touched her inner thigh for a minute and waited for her reaction. He expected her to push him away, but she didn’t. Taking her silence as an invitation, he swept higher up the soft, smooth expanse. Surely, she would make him stop before he went too far. She didn’t.

  Damn, she made his cock hard! He went a bit farther and touched the damp crotch of her panties. With his superior senses, he could smell her desire for him, her body pumping out the delicious juice needed to clear the way for him.

  He paused at the tight elastic. Still, she didn’t stop him. Good. His prize lay behind the brief expanse of wet fabric.

  Hooking one finger through the elastic of her panties, he had them off in a flourish and casually dropped them to the floor. Christine didn’t balk at this either.

  Drake slid his hand back up her thigh. Her shaved pussy greeted him like a beacon, soft, smooth, and soaked. He touched the quivering lips and Christine gasped, her hips rocking.

  He touched her delicious smelling sex, drawing a finger up the damp crevice. Flesh parted, slick and ready.

  “Yes,” she moaned against his mouth and lifted her hips. “Touch me.”

  He’d do better than that. He slipped on finger inside of her. Instantly, her cunt slammed down on his finger and held it hostage. He groaned and tucked another finger next to the first one. She widened instantly and sucked him deeply inside. Unable to stand the resistance, he stroked in and out, pumping like a piston. She creamed against his fingers as he thrust.

  “Faster,” she begged in a strangled moan.

  Never one to shirk a request, he increased his actions. Christine lifted her hips, begging for more. Well, he had something special in mind for her.

  Slipping to the floor, he urged onto her back on the couch. He hooked her right leg over his shoulder, the left on the back of the couch. Her desire drifted from between her legs, peppered with a musky, wanton scent. His cock was rock hard, but after several hundred years, he’d learn to control himself.

  * * * *

  Christine felt so desired and wanted in this moment that she wanted it to last. Drake had been so tender with her and seemed so compassionate that it didn’t feel wrong to be here with him like this.

  The rough pad of Drake’s tongue traced up and down both sides of her labia, lapping up all her juice. His giant thumbs held her open, exposing her for his use. Strangely, she liked this situation. Jason had never performed oral sex on her, and he never wanted her to. He said she was lousy at it.

  Drake blew a cold breath over her clit, and the blossom stood at attention, swelling not just with blood but lust as well. She shivered and lifted her hips, offering more.

  “What a wanton wench you are.”

  He chuckled softly and covered her pussy with his mouth. His tongue danced up and down her sex, tasting her dew. He nibbled a bit on her clit, taking the nub gently between his teeth then let go. Flick. Suck. Flick. Suck. She shuddered as the familiar burn of orgasm curled in her belly. Dear Lord, she was ready to come!

  Drake caressed her clit with his tongue, the roughness enough to send her to the moon. Her cunt convulsed with each suck and release of her nub. She teetered on the precipice of complete and utter submission, and she didn’t care if she tumbled downward. No man had ever made her come like this before—only her hand or a vibrator did.

  The burn turned to a full, roaring flame. Fire licked up her limbs and spread with the quickness of a harsh summer storm. She cried out as her orgasm blew.

  Drake tenderly kissed the inside of her thigh. “You were saying something about ground rules?”

  Christine panted hard. The effects of her orgasm circulated around her body, making it hard for her to speak. What in the hell did she just do? Give liberties to a man she found attractive? She should have known better. She was here to investigate David’s murder, not to lie here with her legs spread so man she barely knew could lick the daylights out of her pussy.

  The moment she regained her senses, she swung her legs over the correct side of the couch. She ran her hands through her hair and looked into his smoldering eyes. “One of the ground rules is that this never happens again.”

  Drake slipped a hand over her knee. “It’s a pity because you have a delightfully tasting pussy.”

  “Please stop with the sexual innuendo!”

  “I like it.” He slipped his hand down to her thigh, threatening to come up and caress her again. “Apparently you do, too.”

  She stood on weak knees, her purse under her arm. Her body continued to rumble with the aftereffects of the orgasm, making her resolve utterly weak at the moment. “I’ve had enough. I think I’d do better conducting the investigation on my own than with your help.”

  Drake pushed himself from the floor and rose to his full height, towering over her. “I don’t think so. You’ll need my help.”

  “If this is the kind of help you’re offering, forget it.” She stalked to the door and threw the lock over. Without another word, she exited. Time to work the club.

  * * * *

  Drake watched her leave. He’d given her a slice of heaven she’d never had. Like a drunk taking his first drink after a long sobriety, she’d be back for more.

  A flask of red on the floor caught his attention. He bent down and picked up the panties he’d carefully removed from Christine. She’d drenched the material with her perfume, a scent he could enjoy forever. He strode over to his desk and opened his secret drawer. He threw them inside. Those he’d save for later.

  Drake left his office with a whistle on his lips. Christine was his whether she knew it or not.

  * * * *

  Christine surveyed the club from the bar, trying to decide who to talk to. She noticed Drake had returned to his friends and engaged in a jovial conversation by the way everyone was laughing.

  She turned away. She would have loved to have close friends, but that wasn’t her lot in life. People couldn’t be trusted enough to be called friends or even lovers. David had been the one exception to the rule.

  At the thought of him, she turned to look at the dance floor. People gyrated in all sorts of strange ways, some having no sense of rhythm at all. She smiled. They looked as though they were having some type of seizure but didn’t seem to care if anyone watched. Oh, to have that type of freedom!

  Without warning, the crowd parted and she caught a flash of familiar dark hair. She narrowed her eyes on those locks. Who was that?

  Dancers moved in a strange circle again, parting a bit more to give her a better glimpse into the middle. Suddenly, she saw someone she longed for.

  David was dancing with a young redhead near the center, their bodies writhing to the strange beats of the music blasting from the speakers.

  Christine rubbed her eyes, completely forgetting about her makeup. No, it couldn’t be! She spun around and stared at the neat granite top of the bar, her heaving breath returning. It couldn’t be David because she’d scattered his ashes at sea weeks before. You’re just missing him, her mind concluded. That’s why you think you see him.

  Christine resumed her former position only to find herself locked in a heated stare with David from the middle of the club. His hair had lost its familiar luster, seemingly dull and lifeless against the contours of his head. Black eyeliner rimmed his eyes, giving him a very haunted look

  He wore tight black leather pants and motorcycle boots. A white shirt covered his upper torso. She closed
her eyes, banishing the very sight of him. It couldn’t be David because Mr. Conservative wouldn’t have worn anything like that.

  The crowd seemed oblivious to David standing in the middle of the dance floor with legs splayed and hands crossed in front of him. His voice echoed through the chaotic thoughts tumbling through her mind.

  “Come to me, Christine. Follow me”

  Christine shook her head. No, this wasn’t possible. She ran for the bathroom and hid in the first stall, the terrible urge to urinate overwhelming her. Lifting her dress, she discovered her panties missing. Damn, they were in Drake’s office! Shit! How could she go back there and ask him for them back? She pounded her thigh. Great, now what was she going to do?

  Once she finished, she exited the stall more calmly than she had gone in. She washed her hands in the sink with a quick soapy twist under the hot water. Then she turned on the cold tap and splashed her face a bit. The scene with Drake really sent her mind spinning. If she were careful, that scene would never replay, if she could help it.

  The door to the bathroom swung open, and the next woman came in. Christine stared at the mirror in front of her and noticed the club with each time the door moved. On the last swing, the door revealed something else. Christine saw with horror David’s face beyond the door, watching her as if waiting for her to come out.

  She froze. He was just a figment of her imagination, nothing more. She wasn’t going to be afraid or squeamish—wasn’t her nature. Standing tall, she slipped the strap of her purse over her shoulder and walked out.

  The David look-alike walked away from her, weaving through the crowd. Her temples pounded, and her breath hitched. Was it David she was seeing? She couldn’t be absolutely sure until she stood toe to toe with him.

  Christine shoved her way through the swaying forms in an attempt to follow him. She called out, “David!”

  He ignored her and moved away, keeping just far enough out of her reach.

  “Stop, David! I want to talk to you!”

  The figure stopped in his tracks and squared his shoulders like he needed to compose himself before facing her.

  Steady beats of the techno music faded slowly into the background and the chatter of the dancers died away, leaving only her and the man to face each other.

  The man turned slowly and faced her. Dear God, it was David! “How in the world?”

  His black-rimmed eyes narrowed, and he said in a chillingly controlled tone, “I told you I’d come back, Christine. I’ve come for you.”

  “This can’t be,” she stammered. “You’re dead.”

  “Yes, I am.” His familiar mouth spread into a manic grin. “I want you with me—always.”

  She shuddered with unexpected fright. “This isn’t real. I’ve either had too much to drink or I’m dreaming.”

  “You haven’t touched a drop of alcohol, and you’re not dreaming,” David offered. “I’m just as real as you are.” He grabbed her and pulled her close.

  The smell of earth, mold, and death overwhelmed her senses. Bile curled at the base of her stomach and threatened to erupt any moment. The iciness of his hands, not to mention his foul breath, fed her fear and fright. “What’s wrong with you? You’re ice cold?”

  “That’s because my heart hasn’t beat since the day I died.”

  Christine wrested herself out of his grip and attempted to flee. This wasn’t possible! Get a hold of yourself, McCall. This is all in your imagination. Never one to believe in ghosts, she was positive that one stood before her at the moment.

  David halted her flight and dragged her back to the center of the dance floor. He held her tight in his cold death grip and drew her close, telling her with an evil tone, “You’re going to stay with me, Christine. You’ll be mine forever.”

  He opened his mouth to reveal two sharp canines descending from his upper jaw, wet and lethal looking. Drops of saliva dripped from his mouth to her skin, burning slightly where it fell.

  “What—what are you?”

  “A vampire who wants you,” he snapped and lowered his head toward her neck. “And I intend to have you.”

  Suddenly, her knees weakened and her legs collapsed. She felt herself falling to the floor and nothing else after that. Someone help me!

  * * * *

  A wild cry inside of Drake’s head summoned him toward the dance floor, and he sped there without haste. Rage consumed him the minute he saw Zakara’s creature hovering over Christine’s limp form ready to suck the life from her body.

  He grabbed the creature from the back of his shirt and threw the dead cop aside. David hit the wall and fell to the floor in a heap but didn’t stay there long. With superhuman speed, he was on Drake in a second, his fits flying in all directions.

  “Get away from her, she’s mine,” David said with a low growl.

  Drake looked up from his position next to Christine on the floor. He’d checked her out, and it seemed she merely fainted nothing more. Thankfully, his patrons saw nothing, for David used his power to glamour everyone around them.

  Drake rose in a controlled motion, his fists clenched at his sides. He leaned down to Zakara’s new minion. “I’ve marked her, boy, and she belongs to me. I’m free to kill any vampire who tries to take what belongs to me.”

  “You can’t kill me.”

  He lifted a blonde brow. “Want to try me? As I’ve told you before, I’m much older and stronger than you, so it won’t be an equal match. I thought Zakara would have taught you a few things before she let you off the leash.”

  “She has and will make me her vampire king soon.”

  He laughed and waved a dismissive hand in front of the little idiot. In time, the dead cop would learn. Right now, the little asshole had a lesson coming to him. “Do you know how many men, myself included, she’s dangled that title in front of? You’re just another in a long line of playthings, that’s all. Now run back to your maker before I really get angry.”

  David launched himself on Drake, but he was ready. Punches flew around his head, but he felt nothing. The man wasn’t as strong as he was.

  He gripped David by the throat and held the man aloft, his fingers digging into the lifeless neck. He shook his foe quite heavily. “You must really want to die, boy. If I ever catch you around my woman again, you’ll pay with your life. Do you understand me?”

  With a scratchy hiss, David disappeared from his fingertips in a swirl of black mist.

  He lowered his hand. Thankfully, his foe was gone for the moment, but when would the bastard return again? Not too soon, he hoped. If he killed another minion of Zakara’s, she’d be down on him like a lion down on prey. His biggest fear was not being able to defeat her when the time came.

  He looked down at Christine. She seemed so helpless, fragile and so alone. His still heart went out to her. She honestly reminded him of Dagmar—tough on the outside but soft as butter on the inside.

  Drake bent and scooped her off the dance floor and carried her out the door. The best place for her was his house for now. There she could rest, and he could privately glamour her into thinking everything had been nothing more than her imagination.

  Chapter Five

  “Hey, wake up sleeping beauty.”

  Drake’s voice broke through the hazy veil of unconsciousness and dragged her to reality. She opened her eyes and blinked hard in an effort to discern where she was. She lay in some sort of masculine bedroom decorated with dark colors and strange objects covering the walls. No lights were on and made it fairly difficult to see much of anything. “Where am I?”

  She looked over to her right. Silhouetted, he sat next to her on the bed, his hand covering hers.

  “My house—actually my bedroom.”

  Christine jerked into a protective sitting position, ready to bring him to his knees should he try anything. “What the hell? How did I get here?”

  “I brought you here. You fainted in the club.”

  She blinked hard a few more times to push the haziness from her min
d. “Thank you.” She sat silent for a moment. “Why did you bring me here?”

  “I wanted to take care of you and make sure you’re all right.” He touched her shoulder with a comforting caress. “Do you know why you fainted?”

  She drew a deep breath to calm her erratic nerves and started her story in a ragged tone. “I—I thought saw David in your club. I followed the guy to the dance floor and—” She swallowed the growing lump in her throat. “It was David.” Her chest constricted as she fought back the tears threatening to erupt. “I swear he’s dead. I scattered his ashes in the ocean weeks ago.”

  “Maybe you just thought you saw him.”

  She spun around, her anger flaring at his insinuation that she was crazy. “I did see him!”

  “I think you saw what you wanted to see.”

  “Don’t tell me what I saw!” She pushed her legs over the side only to notice carpet fibers against the naked soles of her feet. “Where are my shoes?”

  Drake rose from the bed to give her some room to move, carefully stepping back as if to avoid touching her. “I took them off so you’d be more comfortable.”

  Christine rocked on the bed. This evening had gotten entirely out of control, starting with the little scene in Drake’s office and ending with her sighting of David. How in the hell did she let all this happen? “Just give them to me so I can leave.”

  “Not yet. You’re scared, and I’m not letting you leave until you’ve calmed down.”

  “I’m not scared! I just need to leave.” She was on the verge of a crying jag, and she needed to get out of her before it came on. Tears were a sign of weakness to her, and to shed them in front of anyone else committed a cardinal sin for her.

  Drake drew her into the strong circle of his arms and held tightly, his wide palm against the flat of her back stroking gently. “Not yet. You’re too frightened and upset to leave. Let me take care of you.”

  His kind, compassionate words were enough to bring on the tears. “Please—let—me go,” she begged and pounded against his thick chest, but it didn’t do any good. He only tightened his hold. “I want to go home.”