by Jory Strong
Death had once seemed preferable in that long ago human life, and he’d taken his chances. He’d run, knowing that hunting and killing escaped slaves was great sport for the soldiers left with little to do after the lands they’d invaded had been thoroughly conquered.
A companion was not a slave. But still, he had made Cia his without her consent, without giving her even the choice of death. He’d acted on the glimmer of precognition that had once set him apart in the superstitious village of his childhood. An ability that had made his senses buzz at life-changing crossroads.
The night he followed Gian was one of those times. He’d leaped to Gian’s defense, when in fact, Gian had been setting a trap for those who would prey on him, leading them into darkness so he could feed.
Centuries had passed, but fierce satisfaction still surged through Terach at remembering the joy of becoming the hunter after that chance encounter with Gian had led to his being made a vampire.
With the ravenous, mindless hunger of the newborn, he’d gorged himself. He’d killed those sent after him, and those who’d used him, and finally, he’d drained his fat tick of a master dry.
He touched his tongue to a canine tooth. Stroked, allowing both of them to descend into fangs.
Prowling forward, he circled the homeless shelter in the hopes some fool would attack him so he could vent his frustration. But tonight he was the only predator waiting outside it in the darkness.
If Cia wouldn’t allow him across her threshold tonight, he would have no choice but to feed from another. It was an unappealing prospect, an unappetizing one.
He wanted her. She was his companion, bound to him by blood and magic eight nights earlier when he’d saved her life. Though at the moment she was an unknowing companion and presented with the truth, would be his unwilling one—at least until he could convince her otherwise, to accept not just what he was—vampire—but what she was—a human gifted with supernatural abilities.
The memories he left in the wake of his claiming were fact overlaid by fiction, a mix to explain how she’d begun the evening at Fangs on police business, but had awakened the next night in his bed wearing his medallion, her body well satisfied, left marked by passion and suffused with craving.
His cock jerked with thoughts of that waking, of rolling on top of her before her rational mind built a wall between them. She’d spread her legs willingly for him in those moments of sleepy lassitude. He’d buried his fangs in her flesh and joined his body to hers, giving pleasure as he took it.
Arousal leaked from his cock head with the remembered heat and flow of her blood over his tongue and down his throat. He craved her taste, needed the press of her naked skin to his, the tight fist of her channel and the sounds of her cries.
He’d blurred the feeding from her mind but hoped the pleasure preceding her scream of release would bring her back to his bed. It hadn’t.
She’d dozed. And upon next waking, passionate lover had become cool, controlled cop.
Seven times he’d asked her out since then. Seven times she’d refused.
Terach slapped the wall he stood next to. His body hummed at hearing her begin her goodbyes.
She’d been at the homeless shelter for hours, first helping the children with reading and writing and math, afterward the adults, doing what she could to give them the tools necessary to break free from the cycle of poverty.
He admired her for it. This was not a new activity for her, though now it had become something more than giving back—whether she would admit it or not. This was refuge, retreat. Avoidance.
Of him. Of the changes wrought by claiming and blood exchange. Of the future.
Several moments later she emerged, dressed conservatively. She looked the part of an off-duty cop, as if khaki pants and loose-fitting shirt could hide her femininity, and with it, the cravings of her heart and body. As if somehow clothing served as a shield against tender feelings by projecting authority and confidence. She’d be offended if he told her the short cap of brown hair coupled with fine facial features made him think of pixies.
His lips curved upward in a satisfied smile at seeing her sweep the area, sensing his presence. He remained motionless, watching her out of the corners of his eyes rather than with the direct gaze of a predator.
A delicate shiver went through her. Had the breeze cooperated, it would have brought him the scent of dewy arousal, her body’s acknowledgment that he was nearby.
She moved with quick strides to her car.
Amusement tempered his hunger. She was conscientious even in the choice of what she drove, choosing a small hybrid rather than a gas guzzler. She would be good for him, making him see the world in a way he hadn’t for a very long time.
He allowed her to get out of sight before he returned to his dark SUV. A bouquet of amaranth lay on the passenger seat. He stroked a soft white petal then did the same to a dark pink blossom.
In the language of flowers, these stood for immortality and unfading love. He had the first, in a fashion, and hoped to fill his life with the second.
Las Vegas was not so large that she could outrun the bond forged by the taking of his blood and the acceptance of his medallion. But given the hour, and the fact she hadn’t returned to duty, he expected her to go to her apartment and she didn’t surprise him.
He parked, emerging from the car with the bouquet in hand. She glanced over her shoulder, hesitated before stopping and turning to face him.
Her chin lifted and spine straightened. He held his smile, knowing she would slouch instead if she was aware of the way her nipples had formed into hard buds of temptation pressed to the front of her shirt.
Hunger surged through him, need intensified by proximity and by how long he’d gone without touching her, without taking her blood.
Patience. It will pay off in the end.
Their eyes met, testing that patience with the lightning strike of desire. It surged between them, gripped him in a lust that nearly had him curling his hand around his cock.
“You followed me from the shelter,” she said, using glare and accusation in an attempt to beat back attraction.
“Yes.”
He stopped in front of her, delivered the bouquet in a quick strike toward the chest rather than risk her refusal.
A blush spread across her cheeks at ending up holding the flowers.
He crossed his arms to prevent their return. Hope and satisfaction surged through him when she didn’t toss them at his feet.
“Give us a chance, Cia.”
“No. No. What happened the other night was a…”
She stopped short of calling it a mistake.
It was a good thing.
“Invite me in, Cia.”
He fought the predatory instinct to compel her. The masculine desire to claim what already belonged to him.
“No.” But her tongue darted out, wetting her lips.
He leaned in and was rewarded by the soft catch of her breath, by the deepened scent of aroused woman. “Cia,” he said in a lover’s tone.
She jerked away, retreated a step, driving his hunger for sex, for blood, for her, even higher. The rushed cadence of her heart was a summons he wouldn’t be able to resist much longer. His fangs threatened to descend.
“You can’t keep running from the truth. We belong together.”
The lips he wanted touching his, exploring his body and taking his cock between them, thinned. “You’re wrong. Stop calling me. Stop showing up.”
She spun and headed for her apartment, still clutching the bouquet. He balled his hands into fists, need and desire now accompanied by an edge of violence, hunger exacerbated and intensified.
Tonight he would take his sustenance at Wyldfyres.
It was not where he wanted to be, but he was no stranger to it. And though both blood and the offer of sex were easily found at Fangs, he could well imagine his sire’s words slicing into his mind when he showed up after having again been rejected by his companion.
; He could hear Gian’s amusement-laden voice saying, I can’t believe one of my making is so foolish. But far worse would be the pity he might read in his sire’s expression, at having shackled himself after having so thoroughly embraced freedom.
Yearn and ache and hunger, they’d become constant companions since the night he’d had Cia in his bed. He managed a smile that wasn’t a gnashing of teeth. In the end, his choice, the decision to bind Cia rather than just heal her, would come to be important. He felt it.
Old magic was returning to the world. He read the signs like a village witch catching a glimpse of the future by casting bones or animal guts.
He drove to Wyldfyres, parking several blocks away to allow time to center himself before entering a place that reeked of sex and blood. Many companions considered the taking of blood from another—when it wasn’t a matter of survival—as unfaithfulness.
It had become necessity for him. But he would choose a human male rather than a female. Someone forgettable.
He didn’t worry he might lose control and shove his cock into another woman. He didn’t worry about taking some nameless man while feeding. He could stave off the needs of the flesh because when Cia finally understood what she was to him, he wanted there to be nothing in his memories that would hurt her.
Chapter Two
A group of whispering human women out on the town as part of a bachelorette party preceded Terach to the club’s doors. The one leading them was allowed to pass while the others were each asked, “Do you enter Wyldfyres of your own free will?”
Fear laced their scent. Tittered laughter jumped among them along with hushed exclamations of Oh my god, this seems so freaking real!
One-by-one they ignored survival instinct and answered yes to enter the club. But short of seizing their minds and ordering them away, he couldn’t prevent their playing here, and given that truth, he wished there was a token male in the group, a girlfriend except for gender.
He passed straight through the foyer without lingering, preferring less of an audience when he fed, though to come to Wyldfyres at all signaled a willingness to be part of the entertainment in exchange for being entertained.
Without a companion at his side, he wouldn’t climb the stairs at the end of the wide hallway. The upper parts of the club allowed for greater privacy, but they were roamed by more powerful vampires. Any feeding he might be offered would come with obligation and complication.
What he desired was what the women he’d followed in unwittingly offered. Blood without bond, without any assurances—even pleasure, though that in itself created a small crisis of conscience.
He didn’t want to do anything that might hurt Cia. But under normal circumstances, he’d always returned ecstasy in exchange for blood.
And I will tonight. I must.
His code dictated it, though discomfort clung to him until he reached an open doorway into a dungeon.
The heady scent of sex and the lush, metallic smell of blood assaulted him. His cock throbbed in time to the slap of a paddle wielded by a dark-skinned male vampire and slammed against the tautly muscled buttocks of an equally dark human chained with his legs spread so his testicles were displayed.
They were a compelling pair, as was the raven-haired threesome on the bed. A female lay on her back, fingers tangled in the hair of a companion whose medallion shone with an extravagant ruby, while a slave wearing ruby-studded bands knelt between her splayed thighs, mouth worshiping his mistress.
The sight enthralled Terach, so much so that he stopped fighting the urge to grasp his cock. He stroked it through the material of his jeans as he watched the threesome writhing, the sounds of their pleasure and the scene playing out obliterating everything else.
He climbed with them toward release, faced the choice of turning or remaining in the doorway and coming when they did. A breath from losing control, his fingers became clamping steel.
Pain drove need back a step. Forcing a retreat from ecstasy’s precipice, though his balls ached and his cock screamed in protest.
His fangs slid into full prominence and he couldn’t expend the effort necessary to draw them back.
Enough! instinct shouted. And he heeded that voice, striding toward the doorway that would take him to the nightclub-like room that was hunting ground for blood donors and sexual partners.
Steps from where a scantily clad human took receipt of surrendered clothing, an exotic blonde with one blue eye and one green intercepted him. She knelt, inviting him with lifted face and wet lips to free his cock and make use of her.
“Thank you, but no. I have another in mind.”
A nameless male he would forget. A human like those who’d entered the club in front of him. Never a slave. Not even here, where some of those wearing bands had happily surrendered their free will to become meal and plaything.
He abhorred the practice. None of those Gian made took or kept them. The same was true of his sire’s sire, Brann, the Council’s Executioner, a being feared by even the most powerful of their kind.
The beautiful blonde was too well trained to push, and Amadeus too exacting a master to risk displeasing. She rose gracefully and moved toward the foyer. Perhaps to check on those in it, or perhaps to wait for a new arrival, in all likelihood hunting for a vampire who might one day elevate her to the status of companion.
Terach entered the main area, lust cooling and pity forming. Rather than dancing, the floor had been turned over so freed slaves might be claimed by new owners without implied debt or the extension of responsibility.
The interested and curious gathered in a wide arc facing the pillar next to the disc jockey’s booth. He took a seat at the bar.
Strip-tease music blasted from speakers. A door set in the column opened and a large-breasted brunette emerged.
Her confidence left her along with each piece of clothing. At the song’s climax she was completely naked in front of them, her pulse beating wildly in her throat, her dancing becoming frantic.
Notes away from silence, a male barely beyond his fledgling years stepped forward to claim her. She left the area marked by a change in floor tile color, going immediately to her knees to service her new master.
Another song played. Another woman emerged from the holding area, this one slight and blonde.
A female of Juric’s line stepped forward immediately, anxious for this particular prize. And by the human’s smile when no one else wanted her, it pleased her too.
The music resumed, a throbbing, more primal beat.
The column door opened.
A man took the floor, his cock hard against his belly, swaying when he moved. Black hair shimmered to mid back, light catching on silver nipple bars.
Terach’s heart lurched. Electricity charged along his nerve endings as though he’d been jabbed by a cattle prod.
No! It can’t be.
But it was.
Israel.
Heat and hunger engulfed him. Need too long suppressed.
He found himself steps away from the bar and heading toward the gathered crowd. He faltered when a female said, “I claim him.”
Desire warred with thoughts of Cia. He’d made his choice years ago when he hadn’t tempted himself to take Israel as a companion by making him a lover.
Few vampires could claim more than one companion. And he was more heterosexual than otherwise, though Israel had stirred his desire in a way few men did.
Terach halted, his chest tight, his breath locked in his throat.
He’d done the honorable thing, or so he’d told himself. He hadn’t allowed lust to overrule conscience. He’d convinced himself that it was the right choice when it appeared Israel would become Estelle’s companion.
He hadn’t known Israel would end up a blood slave. He’d never have wanted that for Israel. But maybe Israel had desired it rather than been forced into it.
Given the way Israel’s hand traveled seductively over his abdomen for the benefit of the female vampire, maybe he knew her. May
be he wanted to belong to her. Maybe—
Israel glanced up.
Their gazes collided.
Time stopped.
Everything around him disappeared in the desperate throb of lust and longing, in the shiny wash of dark eyes pleading with him, silently begging for rescue.
His entire being responded, Yes!
A male voice said, “I lay claim to this slave.”
Israel looked away first, freezing like prey at the sight of Diarmid.
Fury snarled through Terach. The crop alongside Diarmid’s thigh was more than a fashion accessory. His preference for pain and terror was well known, as was his view that scars were marks of true artistry.
“I cede him to you,” the female vampire said.
“I claim him,” Terach countered, creating a ripple of excitement among the gathered.
Diarmid turned, green eyes burning with challenge. “I don’t cede him.”
“Then we fight.”
The music ended, sealing challenge and closing it to any other.
Amadeus joined Israel in the cleared space. The black, high-collared cloak he wore flared, dramatizing his sudden appearance.
The room went still and quiet. Eyes of a brown that shaded into gold bored into Terach’s.
“Your sire’s line is well known for their lack of blood slaves,” Amadeus said. “Your claim to this human stands only if you agree to leave Wyldfyres with a slave or a companion. Do you accept this stipulation?”
Bile rose in Terach’s throat. He wasn’t strong enough to claim a second companion, and might never be. He couldn’t counter Amadeus with the pledge to turn Israel, not here in this place, not now with his bond to Cia unsettled.
Terach’s gaze shifted to Israel. He was rigid with anticipated abandonment, his face schooled into an expressionless mask.
“I accept,” Terach said, watching hope and need and fear tumble through Israel’s eyes, ache gripping him at what Israel might have endured.
Amadeus’s hand grasped Israel’s upper arm. “Then we adjourn for the challenge.”
Vampires moved toward a doorway between the bar and disc jockey, their companions with them, the air thickening and darkening and heating with blood lust that would morph into sexual frenzy.
