by Aja James
But Anunit lied.
It was hours and hours before the second child was born, flushed out like so much rubbish with almost no fluids but a great deal of blood. Its mother passed out from weakness, pain and massive blood loss. The last words she remembered before losing consciousness was that this baby was too weak to live.
The babe itself, a boy with tufts of curling dark hair, did not breathe no matter how many times the nurse smacked its bottom and back. It came out with a sickly grayish hue to its skin that turned to blue from asphyxiation.
Eager to restore her sister’s health and have her all to herself again, Anunit took Ishtar back to the Palace in an awaiting caravan with Pure slaves to provide blood, while Enlil and the human nurse were left to dispose of the evidence of the blasphemous union between a Pure and Dark One.
Holding the infant’s tiny, rapidly cooling body in both his hands, the shadow warrior felt something he’d never felt before. A sense of loss, perhaps, for a child that he’d never have, for the Dark Star, Anunit Salamu, was destined never to have offspring. As her Mate, he shared her fate.
Out of pure instinct and that unnamed emotion fracturing his heart, he breathed long and slowly into the boy’s slightly parted mouth, letting particles of himself swirl within the tiny body, reaching its lungs, its heart.
Until, suddenly, there was a weak little cough, and then another, and the infant’s chest inflated for the very first time.
The shadow warrior exhaled deeply and closed his eyes, briefly nuzzling the paper-thin skin of the baby’s belly.
He handed the babe to the awaiting and consternated human wet nurse.
“Take him far, far away from here,” he instructed, “give him to a good family if you cannot raise him yourself. Never come back to the Palace.”
She bobbed in awe and obedience, rushing away with the babe in her arms.
When the warrior returned to his Mate, she gave him another hard stare, but she was not foolish enough to lash out again, whatever she saw in his eyes that sparked her displeasure.
Instead, she put him to good use, bending his body to her will as her poisonous blood flowed down his throat and through his veins.
This was the first time he’d defied her. Twice in one night!
She’d thought when she chose him that he was like her, hungry for power, flexible with morals and trained to be obedient.
She was wrong.
Apparently, Lord Wind had a mind of his own, no matter that he’d tethered his heart and body to the command of her blood.
How inconvenient.
Well, she’d find a way to possess him entirely, make him obey.
He depended on her for Nourishment, after all. She’d give him her blood, as well as the venom that was infused into it.
They had eternity together. It would only be a matter of time before he succumbed to her control entirely and lost all sense of self.
Chapter Twelve
Ava was finally meeting Ryu’s best friend’s Mate, Grace Darling.
“Finally” was a relative term, however, as Grace and Devlin had only recently been Mated. Among the first things a newly Mated couple would do, Ava could understand if meeting her didn’t rank high on the priority list.
Besides, she’d been tied up with helping Rain find a cure for Tal-Telal, the Pure Ones’ General and Inanna’s father.
Well, he was no longer “the General,” per se, a title bestowed on the leader of the Elite fighters who protected the Pure Queen, Sophia. But Tal would always be the General, the legendary warrior who’d secured his Kind’s freedom after untold millennia of slavery.
“Haven’t you ever wondered why the Dark and Pure Ones are at war? And how it all started?” Ava blurted the first thing that popped into her mind after initial greetings were made, not even waiting for her guest to make herself comfortable on the deep-seated couch opposite hers across a glass coffee table.
Instead of being nonplussed, Grace didn’t miss a beat, diving right into the train of thought as if they were long-time friends in the middle of an ongoing conversation, rather than meeting for the very first time in Ryu and Ava’s apartment in the middle of the night while their “husbands” attended to vampire business.
“I’ve wondered several times,” Grace answered literally, as she did with everything. “Just the other day I asked Devlin why they seemed to care about each other, the Chosen and the Elite, when they are not quite friends.”
“But not quite enemies, either,” Ava added.
She shook herself and tried to be a better host, beaming in welcome at her guest.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to start our first chitchat on such a heavy topic. I am so glad to finally meet you, Grace! I’ve heard a lot about you from Ryu, who sees Devlin as a brother, which means you and I are sort of sisters. I’m an only child, but I’ve always wanted siblings.”
“We are not related,” Grace stated factually without any change in her placid expression. “I am also an only child, and I have never thought about having siblings. I don’t think in terms of what ifs, only action and reaction.”
Ava blinked at her.
She hadn’t quite believed Ryu when he said that Grace could be extremely awkward and disconcerting. Ava herself wasn’t the most socially adept, but now she understood what Ryu meant.
She smiled. It was just a gut feel, but she liked Grace a lot.
“I like you, Grace,” she said exactly what she felt, as she had a habit of doing all her life.
Grace tilted her head and considered Ava for long moments, unblinkingly.
Finally, she replied, “I like you, too.”
There was no sentiment in her voice, and she didn’t smile, but Ava had a feeling she meant what she said.
“How have you been adjusting to vampire life?” Ava asked, morbidly fascinated.
She herself was a genetically altered human, and she had no desires to become a vampire (she liked her daytime routines just fine, and hated the sight of blood), but she’d always longed to have fangs to sink into her scrumptious vampire husband, the way he sank his into her.
“It suits me,” Grace answered. “In the beginning my fangs gave me a bad lisp, but I’ve learned to talk around them now. They were fully extended when I was first turned because I needed blood. Most of the time, they’re retracted and extend only when I want to sink my teeth into something.”
“Like your Mate’s vein?” Ava couldn’t help but tease.
Again, Grace answered her seriously, and with a lot more information than Ava bargained for.
“Yes, of course. He’s the only person I’d ever sink my fangs into for the purpose of drinking blood, since we’re Mated, and since I only desire him. I particularly like to drink from his sex while he comes in my mouth. Best cocktail I’ve ever tasted.”
Ava’s face went up in flames while Grace’s complexion stayed the same—pale white skin defined by bold eyebrows, dark eyes fringed with thick, curling lashes and a wide, full mouth.
“That, ah, that sounds…” Ava sputtered for the appropriate response while Grace waited, gazing unblinkingly into her eyes.
Ava swallowed and got out, “I’m rather envious of your fangs, in that case. Wish I had a pair of my own without the other vampire foibles to use on my husband too.”
The two women stared at each other for a beat and broke into satisfied, cat-got-the-cream grins.
“I have a feeling we’re going to be best friends and sisters,” Ava said.
“Since I have no friends apart from Devlin and my aunt Maria, I think your feeling is likely to come to fruition, at least on my end,” Grace returned.
They chatted for an hour more without pause, often talking over each other and finishing each other’s sentences as if they were best friends already, each enjoying the fact that they finally had someone to share their unbelievable lives with, someone who could relate and truly understand.
Ava served decaf coffee with some of her mother’s Bolo de Rolo.
&n
bsp; “Does your aunt Maria know about Devlin yet?” she asked. “That he’s not quite human?”
Grace cut her slice of cake into bite sized pieces, chewed and swallowed before replying, “No. Devlin said I shouldn’t just tell her out right. He said we need to think through a strategy.”
“Same here,” Ava said, talking as she chewed. “If you come up with a great strategy, let me know, because I’m still trying to think through how I’m supposed to break it to my parents—that Ryu drinks blood to survive and is eternally youthful while I am just eternally youthful. At least, as far as I can tell for now. I don’t even want to think about the Assassin part of Ryu’s night-job yet. So far, I’ve gotten away with saying he works in security, like extremely important, top secret stuff.”
“I just tell Aunt Maria that Devlin was born rich, which is true, and is an avid investor, which is also true. I can’t lie very well, so I stick to the truth as much as possible.”
“Oh, me too, me too,” Ava nodded. “Ma can see through any lie I tell like she has laser vision. And Pa’s worse.”
Grace’s eyes unfocused for a moment as if in memory, with a hint of wistfulness.
“You sound like you’re very close to your parents. It sounds nice.”
“I love them to pieces,” Ava gushed. “Were you not close to your parents?”
“They died when I was twelve.”
Before Ava could apologize for bringing it up, Grace added, “I was never close to them, the way you seem to be close to your family, even when they lived. You can probably tell that I am not normal. My father was the same way. My mother was a little better, but still not average. But the three of us made sense in our own way.”
“I’m sorry for your loss,” Ava murmured.
“It was a long time ago. Devlin is trying to help me uncover who had them killed, and what exactly killed them. Their deaths are tied to Medusa’s IT company before Zenn, so we believe she’s behind it all.”
“Let me know if I can help in any way,” Ava offered, “though I’m sure you and Devlin have it covered between you two cyber geniuses. But if you ever come across any genetic engineering, I’m your gal.”
Grace gave one nod and sipped her coffee.
“Actually,” Ava ventured, “I was hoping you can help me with something.”
“I will try.”
“I’d like to find someone, but I don’t know where to start. I thought if I gave you his description…I don’t know, maybe you can narrow down the possibilities digitally.”
“Assuming he has digital signatures, yes, I can do that,” Grace said readily. “Who are you looking for?”
Ava leaned forward intently, her coffee and cake forgotten for the moment.
“Ryu’s father. He’s tall, broad shouldered…well, you’ve met my husband, right? Imagine someone who looks like Ryu, but slightly taller, slightly broader, very pale, with long dark hair, all the way past his hips. He has double-lidded black eyes, just like Ryu’s, but he’s not at all Asian. I’m not sure—”
“I can do the search for you,” Grace broke in, “but I can already tell you one person I know who fits that description. Except recently, his eyes are no longer black.”
“Who?”
“Dr. Weisman, my ex-psychiatrist.”
*** *** *** ***
Eli was teased into semi-wakefulness by soft, gentle hands on his body.
Even without opening his eyes, he sensed that it was still nighttime, perhaps an hour away from sunrise.
He felt both lethargic and energized. Lethargic from the intense emotional and physical release a few hours before, the likes of which he’d never remotely experienced, and energized by the summer night, the animal inside of him growling with hunger, bloodthirsty and lustful.
The soft hands moved more purposefully down his body, no longer glancing his skin in exploration, but kneading his flesh with sexual desire.
He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, still keeping his eyes closed. If this was a dream, he didn’t want to ever wake up.
He tilted his torso and hips to give those wandering hands better access, and they immediately took advantage, dragging inquisitive fingertips down his taut, ridged stomach to the unyielding planes of his lower abdomen, to his hairless groin to grasp his swollen, throbbing cock in a firm, needy grip.
He nudged his hips forward slightly to offer himself to the owner of those magical hands.
Take me, he communicated with his mind. Take everything you want from me. Use me to bring yourself pleasure. I know now that it is what I have been made for.
The hands clutched him tighter, squeezing him with rhythmic pulses, one fist stacked over the other along his column, from his thick root to his sensitive, vulnerable head, where he was soft and plump and weeping.
“Clara,” he rasped on a low moan, his own hands searching for her silky skin.
But she was not lying beside him on her pillow. When his hands found the thick waves of her hair, the top of her head was level with his stomach.
He didn’t fully register her position until, without warning, she took his sex deeply into her mouth, almost all the way down her throat.
Involuntarily he bucked his hips at the indescribable feeling of her hot, wet mouth sucking on his staff, slowly and deeply, with incredible pressure that made him hiss with an acute pleasure-pain as her fists worked on the rest of him that couldn’t fit inside her wet recesses.
He was absolutely certain, amnesia or not, that no one had ever done this to him before.
This was for his pleasure above all else, and no one had ever put his pleasure above theirs before. He’d been used for others’ pleasure. He’d never taken his own pleasure. He didn’t even know how to take it, for he’d never truly felt it.
But he was definitely feeling it now. And it felt so fucking gooood.
One of her hands left his staff to cup and squeeze his scrotum gently, kneading it, massaging it, testing him, learning him, trying to pin point exactly the right pressure and friction that made him feel the most, that made him gasp and break out into goose bumps.
All the while, she continued to eat his cock, pushing the top of her head into his stomach and angling herself so that she could swallow him deeper and deeper into her throat, her full lips and teeth dragging along the raised ridges of his veins, her sharp little human canines intentionally scratching his most tender skin, making him fist his hands in her hair and give a sharp tug.
She bit the swollen crown of him in retaliation and squeezed his balls, and the pain-pleasure zig-zagged through the root of him like a jolt of pure lightning.
“Clara,” he groaned, her name a prayer and a plea.
She sucked his head strongly, fast but shallow, her tongue lapping around his glans and corona with each twist into her greedy mouth. Below, she rubbed her index and middle fingers against his perineum with increasing pressure, while still holding and squeezing his scrotum in her palm.
“Clara…” his breath hitched on a broken gasp, “please…I can’t…”
But she didn’t relent. She only drove him closer to the point of no return, using her other hand and her mouth to torture his cock, turning up the dial of his desire until the conflagration consumed him.
His back arched as if she’d stretched him on the rack, his thighs and buttocks tensing so tight the muscles were harder than stone.
Give me what I want, her merciless hands seemed to say. Give me all of your pleasure, her cunning teeth nibbled across the slippery head of his penis. I want you to break with it.
Come apart for me, my love.
And so he did. On a deep, primal, guttural groan, like thunder rolling across the dawning sky.
He bucked and twisted and jerked in her grasp, but her hands and mouth held him tight, clamping down on his sex like a vise so she could gulp down his cream as he jetted in hot gushes into her throat.
She drank him as fast as she could, still sucking hard on him, drawing out more of his release, pushing her
face into his groin and inhaling his essence in deep draws through her nose while she gorged on the milky thickness of his seed, as if she couldn’t get enough of him, would never get enough of him.
He came until his penis, testicles, thighs, buttocks, abdomen were sore from the seemingly endless clenching and tensing, the shudders and quakes.
And still, she didn’t relent, squeezing and pulling more from him, until finally, he couldn’t take it anymore, and pulled her up forcibly by her hair, crushing her into stillness with his tight embrace, even as she refused to relinquish her grip on his tortured sex.
“Did you like it?” she whispered almost shyly when his body calmed to more of a shiver and his penis stilled to a pulsing throb in the aftermath of his explosive orgasm, her hands still holding him captive, still stroking and petting him as if she couldn’t help herself, her fingers and palms slick with his fluids.
“Yes,” he barely managed to rasp out.
“I want to do it again,” she said, her voice low and smoldering with unabated lust, her thumbs rubbing his hyper-sensitive crown mercilessly.
He groaned as his body shook at the mere suggestion, both anticipatory and afraid, for the pleasure had been so undiluted and sharp it had bordered on pain, and for a male who didn’t recall feeling either—feeling anything—he wasn’t sure how much more of these unimaginable extremes he could endure.
“I want to give you pleasure now,” he murmured, nuzzling her throat. “You’ve already given me too much.”
Her warm, feminine laughter bubbled up between them.
“You were giving me pleasure,” she told him, a pleased smile still in her voice. “And there’s never such a thing as ‘too much’ between us. I loved every minute of it. I came too, just having you in my mouth and knowing that I can drive you insane. I’ve never done this before, and I’ve never wanted to, but you make me want to do everything. It’s like I can’t stop until I’ve marked and tasted and owned every inch of you. I—”
He silenced her possessive, elemental words with his mouth, pulling her head back with his hand still in her hair so that he could plunder that sexy, dangerous, torturous mouth to his heart’s content.
