Be Not Like (Vampire Assassin League Book 33)

by Jackie Ivie

  Damn it!

  Eska was alive with motion. This time, they didn’t rise from the mattress. Paul Henry wouldn’t have allowed it, and he had command somehow. Her movements went to ballistic level. She grabbed a breath, lifted her chin and sent a long scream into the chamber. The sound swirled about them, as if a wind-filled entity whirled about, snuffing out candles. Lifting hair. Cooling skin. Her act had done something more, too. It put her neck on display. Her throat drew his gaze, the skin...so perfect. A rapid pulse pounded beneath flesh as he watched.

  One lick shouldn’t matter.

  Just one.

  Paul Henry lowered his mouth, licked her skin, and then, despite everything, he stabbed into her throat. And sucked.

  Oh! Baby!

  Liquid ecstasy filled his mouth, burst through his senses, ripped through his subconscious. The world went completely off-kilter. All manner of sensations blew through him, obliterating his lessons. Warnings. Decisions. Every thought fled, except one. Meshing his body with Eska. Now. Right now.

  It wasn’t just need. This was a physical requirement.

  And it was massive.

  The pleasure from taking her fluid defied logic. It sent throes of absolute magic. Then, something in the back of his mind actually registered. He mustn’t go too far. He pulled away from her neck reluctantly. Lifted his head. Eska seemed to be watching for it. She licked her lips, highlighting her spikes. And then she smiled.

  A missile whooshed through his chest cavity, spreading sparks. It slammed past his heart, and went down his belly as if aimed for his groin. Paul Henry smacked his free hand to the mattress, denting it. Lifted enough to navigate. Each move was rapid. Reactionary. His other hand grabbed the waistband of the expensive boxer briefs. He pulled. Tugged. Got frustrated. Then angered. That emotion triggered even more weirdness. The nails he kept manicured and short grew, became talons. He didn’t look to verify. He felt it happen. He stuck them beneath his waistband, stabbed outward through cotton spandex, and ripped the damned garment open. Tremors filled his rotations back and forth to push the briefs down, freeing him. Ripping the briefs even more. He didn’t have time to waste on this shit.

  Heaven awaited him. Moist. Hot. Readied.

  He scraped his thigh, stopped at the sting. Within seconds, his nails retracted. What in the hell? And how? Eska moaned, stealing any vestige of thought. Her body surged up against his. She wrapped her silk-stocking-covered limbs about his hips. Then pressed against him, her loins so wet. Open. Shivering.

  Ready.

  He couldn’t wait a second longer. Her entrance more than beckoned. Paul Henry pushed. And oh! The woman was beyond perfect. Coils of heat surrounded him, alternately pulling and massaging. She was so tight. So firm. Paul Henry grabbed her hips. Thrust. Reached her core, filling her. And pulsed in place with the flush of success.

  Holy shit.

  The fit was amazingly perfect. Incalculably pleasurable. Beyond compare. It wasn’t possible to contain how it felt. He arched upward to howl the satisfaction. He felt her hands, palms flattened against his pecs, as if he needed buttressing. His voice hoarsened before he ran out of breath. Something rattled. More candles got snuffed out. Paul Henry lowered his chin, snagged her gaze, held it for the barest moment…and then he started withdrawing. Slowly. Lingeringly.

  “Oh, Paul Henry! Oh!”

  Her legs tightened about him, and she shoved, as if trying to hasten their joining. He was not allowing that to happen, despite the instinctive moves his body attempted. Something else had been in charge since he’d met her. It was passionate. Dangerous. Hot. With a sharp edge that demanded all kinds of foreign responses from him. For a master of self-dominion, it was sobering.

  But he was not letting it prevail.

  Not yet.

  His body had always been controlled by his mind. Not vice-versa. He knew how to work this. He went over it again. Go slowly. Conserve energy. Use his stamina wisely. Orchestrate, not participate. This was an all-night engagement – the lone one they’d ever have. He wouldn’t succeed if he lost control. Started dominating.

  He hovered at the point of withdrawal. Trembling. Tensed. Holding back. It was tortuous, but necessary. Everything depended on his ability to control this. Paul Henry moved finally, working his way back, alternately erupting in goose bumps and shudders. Oh. This felt unbelievably divine. As if Eska had been created especially for him.

  He filled her again. Waiting a few moments. Pulled back out. Slowly maneuvered back in.

  Only to withdraw.

  Push back in.

  Her soft cries incited, as did the pulsing pressure that surrounded and enveloped. This was incredible. Unique. Fantastic. Paul Henry set his jaw, ignoring the pinprick of pain as his lower lip got sliced. It no longer mattered if he had fangs. Nothing mattered except control and command. He was determined to pleasure the goddess before him. The mattress started swaying. The bed frame groaned. Their every breath rasped. Thunderous heartbeats filled his ears. All the while, she massaged and grasped, engendering all kinds of havoc. He took her to the brink time and again, slowed the pace markedly, and then ramped it up again.

  Thrusting in.

  Pulling out.

  In.

  Out.

  Thrust.

  Withdraw.

  Despite his set lips, a sob escaped. This was so difficult. The pleasure already vast! A knot of pressure formed in his lower back. Grew. Hardened. His hold on this tenuously stretched. Neared a breaking point. It was torment. Torture. And punishment in a combination that came in waves. He didn’t know how much longer he could last. And that’s when her pleas reached him, spoken between pants for breath.

  “Oh...Paul Henry...please? Paul Henry...please!”

  He slammed into her. Withdrew before her gasp made sound only to thrust back in. His movements were powerful. Dominating. The mattress leapt with each lunge. The bed frame creaked in accompaniment. The knot of pressure at his back twinged painfully. A cacophony of sound swelled around them as Eska matched his every move.

  He pounded into her.

  Harder.

  Deeper.

  Eska pulled in a huge breath, taking his with it. Her neck arched back. And then she launched into a shriek that not only added to the chorus of sound about them. It blistered past it.

  Her throat beckoned. So sweet. A blue-toned vein, just beneath the skin, drew him. Paul Henry lowered his mouth. Licked along the vein. Struggled to contain a massive craving. Knew exactly how it felt to lose.

  He stabbed through flesh...

  And went berserk.

  Every semblance of control vanished. Need drove every hammered thrust. Each withdrawal. The mattress jounced. The room gyrated. The pressure in his lower back grew to fire-tipped pain.

  “Oh, Eska! Oh, baby! Oh, sweet!”

  Words spewed from him in a litany of growls. Her rasped responses only added fuel.

  “Yes! Yes! Oh, Paul Henry...yes!”

  “Eska. Oh…Eska.”

  “Oh, my!”

  Paul Henry exploded and launched backward, taking her with him. He smacked into the ceiling. Rebounded back. He didn’t even feel it. His body was in the grip of something beyond scope. Paradise opened right in front of him, and he had the wings to reach it. Once there, it defied comprehension. A fractured pulse of sensation captured him, filled with color and light. It surrounded him in a vista of crystalline hues. Beauteous. Ecstatic. Rapturous.

  Eska was with him the entire time. Holding tightly. Their limbs entwined. Bodies joined. At one. Mated.

  And truly, that was the most perfect thing of all.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Paul Henry stared at the ceiling for long moments, unaware of just about everything. He didn’t know when they’d returned to the bed. Or how. He was on his back, disengaged from Eska. He still throbbed with a level of satiation that stunned. He was adrift on a sea of bliss. Making love to Eska was supposed to be a chore. A business transaction. Sex in exchange for his freedom.


  It wasn’t supposed to be a life altering event.

  A few eye blinks brought a light fixture into focus. That was interesting. There was a large chandelier hanging up there, sporadically lit with long tapers. Others were cold. Some dangled uselessly. The fixture looked like wrought iron, intricately worked. Archaic, but very classy. He hadn’t noticed it before. Then again...he hadn’t noted much except Eska ever since he’d charged into this chamber and forced her to finish the bargain. Because that was the only way he could do something about the powerful craving that had blindsided him.

  And still pretend to be blameless.

  Why had it gone so awry?

  Pondering that was senseless. A waste of energy and time. The decision had already been made. Once finished here, he was going to move the entire episode into a compartment in his mind. Lock it away. Never open it. This night was an aberration that wouldn’t happen again. It couldn’t. His life was set. His purpose branded into his consciousness for years. He was the leader of the Hunters. This was only a life altering event if he allowed it.

  Wasn’t it?

  He watched the chandelier above him as if it had answers. Candles flickered, making myriad points of light as they reflected off crystal. Paul Henry trembled through another round of tremors signaling a previously-unattainable level of fulfillment. He wondered how in the hell he was supposed to disavow it.

  “Oh, Paul Henry. I’ve never...felt so—”

  Her voice was a whisper of sound. The words interspersed with gasps for breath.

  “Yes,” he replied. He didn’t give the word any inflection.

  “I’ve...never felt. That was...the most amazing...”

  “Yes,” he replied again.

  “Ever.”

  He rolled toward her. She was also on her back, but looked ashen, especially against the white coverlet. Her nipples were a paler shade, as well. He tried not to notice, but she was almost naked and she had a spectacular body. He daren’t overlook the rest of her treasure-trove of sensual weaponry, either. The woman would stir anyone’s blood. And he was a young male. Single. Virile. Completely sated at the moment. Absolutely replete. But...

  What in the hell?

  Without one directive from him, his groin stirred. Paul Henry slid a hand into camouflage position in front of it. “Ever?” he finally asked.

  She nodded.

  Paul Henry swallowed. He knew exactly what she meant, but he’d never admit it. He couldn’t. That left him options. When the choice was to lie or prevaricate, he usually chose the latter. It was easier. Lying led to more lies, and they became difficult to keep up with. The better option was to evade. Confront as needed. Deflect. That decided, he cleared his throat and replied noncommittally. “Well. Whoever initiated you into sex was a failure.”

  She shook her head, sending it slowly back and forth across the coverlet. “That...isn’t it.”

  “Then let me clarify and add. Your lovers since then were obviously all self-absorbed fools, too.”

  She studied him for long enough, he almost broke eye contact. That would likely be followed by fidgeting. Both dead giveaways to his intent.

  “I lived...in a small village. Had...a hut. And a husband.”

  “Children?”

  “No. I was...a newlywed.”

  “At your age?”

  It was a guess, but she looked about twenty-five, and most societies in the past notoriously wed young. He’d guessed right. It was a minor victory, but he’d take it.

  “I was...rather selective.”

  “They allowed that?”

  “My mother was...an elder.”

  “Mother?”

  “Inupiaq...is a matriarchal culture.”

  “Oh.”

  She gave a ghost of a smile. Her lips had a blue tint he hadn’t noted earlier. Paul Henry’s eyes widened as he actually felt a sliver of something twine about his intestines. Or thereabouts. Surely it wasn’t concern.

  For a vampire?

  He quickly glanced away...toward the bottom of the bed. Blinked a couple of times. She still wore a garter-belt. Thigh-high lace-topped stockings. She had such gorgeous legs. Long. Shapely. Just right for diving between. His dick twinged at the thought.

  Shit.

  Nowhere was safe. It didn’t matter what they discussed. His mind and body were on one track.

  “You are...very cute,” she told him.

  Paul Henry pulled his gaze back to hers. “What is it with the cute stuff? I am not cute. Cute is for babies. Do I look like an infant to you?”

  She smiled, and changed the subject completely. “Have you ever...fished for salmon...during the run?”

  Paul Henry’s brows lifted. “I’ve heard of it. Seen nature films. Have to admit I’ve never fished during one.”

  “A King Salmon...is the best. Male. In his prime. Firm flesh. Very tasty. They are the best fighters...very difficult...to catch. Wily. Smart. Quick. Hard to entice...to a hook. Harder still to land.”

  “I’ll take your word for it.”

  “That’s what...I was looking for.”

  “A fish?”

  She giggled. Ended with a weak-sounding cough. That was mystifying. He was energized. Abuzz with vitality and vigor. While she looked like death warmed over.

  “It’s...a metaphor. I wanted the best male...a King Salmon.”

  “I see. So you found one. And wed him.”

  “Not...exactly. I finally gave up. Settled for...a good provider. Handsome. Young.”

  “And this is the man who botched your satisfaction the first time? How about the men since?”

  She regarded him silently. Paul Henry worked to maintain eye contact. Exhibit completely calmness. His ears buzzed. His mouth went dry.

  “I have...been searching...for my King Salmon...for centuries. And I think...I finally found him.”

  Oh, no. Not the mate thing again.

  Deflection time.

  “Tell me more about this husband of yours. Surely he improved over time?”

  “I told you. We were...barely wed. A week. Maybe more.”

  “You can’t recall?”

  “It’s difficult...to measure time when the weather is good...and the sun does not set.”

  “Oh. I keep forgetting. You’re from the arctic. So...what happened?”

  “There was a rumbling sound. The earth shook. Fissures opened in the ground.”

  “Earthquake?”

  “I think so. Could have been...a volcano. All I know is...the sea disappeared. Fresh fish...were everywhere. Alive. Easy to harvest. It was a boon.”

  “Tsunami?”

  She nodded. “The elders...ran for high ground. They tried to warn us...but it wouldn’t have mattered. The wave was...too high. It took...everything. And everyone.”

  “Yet, you survived.”

  “I was plucked...from the sea...by Akron. And then—.”

  A knock at the bolted door stopped her answer. His head snapped that direction.

  “Don’t tell me you’re expecting company?” He put just the right provocation in his voice. He was really pleased with it.

  “I will...answer it.”

  She tried to sit, but the act matched her speech. Slow. Feeble. Paul Henry leapt to the floor, stumbled as the remnants of his boxer briefs tripped him. He yanked them up, held them in place, and a flash of time later, he was at the door. And weirdly, he didn’t recall taking any steps. He really needed to figure out this half-turned thing, so he’d fit in with real live humans still.

  When this night was over.

  And he returned.

  The bolt scraped as he lifted it. The door had the weight of a piece of cardboard as he pulled it open. Looked left and right and then down. There was a carafe of dark liquid resting on a silver tray, a note beside it. Written with an impressive calligraphic script, and addressed to Eska. Paul Henry lifted the drink, snagged the note, turned it over.

  ‘With my compliments. A.’

  He didn’t have to ask
who ‘A’ was. He knew.

  He shut the door. Shoved down the bolt. Turned around. Barely snatched his drawers before they slid down again. She lifted her head using another frail movement.

  “It appears a libation has been delivered for you,” he announced.

  “Libation?” she asked.

  He lifted the carafe.

  “Oh. A libation. Of...course. I do so love...the way you talk.”

  Paul Henry approached. She’d managed to sit up before he reached the bed, although it appeared to have taxed her. Despite that, he felt himself harden more. What was wrong with him? She was clearly feeling ill, yet he couldn’t prevent wanting her again? Already?

  He hitched his boxer briefs a little more securely. Ordered his eyes to look elsewhere. It was difficult. Her brassiere was another casualty of this. And she had a fabulous bosom. And he didn’t know why he bothered dredging up a semblance of self-control. He’d already bungled that exercise.

  He held the vessel out to her. She shook as she reached for it, taking it with both hands. Paul Henry waited while she downed the liquid. Took the empty carafe from her. Set it on the floor. He settled onto the mattress edge. Watching. And noticing immediately how her skin pinked. She looked much less pallid. And when she spoke, her voice was stronger too, without any panting between words.

  “I suppose that was blood,” he remarked.

  “Akron knew I would need it.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you drank mine, and I could not reciprocate.”

  “Half-turned individuals do not drink human blood.”

  “They must. You did.”

  “Very well. I forfeit. They must indeed, drink blood. But this is the first time I’ve heard of it.”

  “You know half-turned individuals?”

  “A few gents. You?”

  “None. I don’t even know how it’s done. I’ve only turned one human. I’ll never do it again, either.”

  “He failed to satisfy you, too?”

  That was a perfect sally, with just the right amount of offense. It hid the arousal he couldn’t seem to calm. Covered over any wayward emotion. Was designed to place her on the defensive. Paul Henry was damned pleased with it. Except that she regarded him as if she knew exactly what he was doing.