The Mammoth Book of Hot Romance

by Sonia Florens

  He studied the larger-than-life image of himself on the ceiling. “I’ll finish out the year teaching English. That gives me some time, and money. But I know I won’t follow in Uncle Ed’s footsteps.” He turned his gaze on her. “I asked him about your mother, though I suspected the answer. He told me everything.” He looked down at his hands now folded around his drink. “Uncle Ed had a chance to be Apollo, and he threw it away. I feel like I’ve been asleep until now, only dreaming my life. You woke me up. And now that I’m awake, I want to stay awake with you. I don’t want to miss out on anything.”

  Her stomach did a little flip-flop as his words sank in. “Then you still want to be with me?” The words trembled from her lips, lacking confidence, but not hope.

  His grip was nearly painful as he took her hands and held them to his chest. “I actually came here to make you an offer. After everything you’ve been through with your mother and Golgotha, and with me being such an idiot, I’ll understand if you don’t want to take me up on it. But I’m desperately hoping you will.” His pulse fluttered against his throat. A deep blush rose up his cheeks, and he offered her a shy half-smile. “I’d like to be Apollo for you, or at least try to be. If you want me.”

  She spoke around a tingle of barely controlled nerves. “Apollo’s always welcome at the Jenkins house.”

  “I’m extremely glad to hear that,” he said, folding her in his arms. “Because I know who inspires Apollo, and she lives at the Jenkins house.”

  That night, as they lay in each other’s arms bathed in moonlight, she couldn’t help thinking that her mother had been right, and she had been right too. Inspiration was worth the price, whatever it was, and she had gotten off easy this time. This time, it was a price she was only too happy to pay.

  Just Ask

  Lilith Saintcrow

  Of course it was raining.

  The cold didn’t bother Selene Thompson; Nichtvren were largely immune to temperature and, in any case, it was much warmer than it had been half a world away. But stepping off the transport and on to the concrete of Santiago City’s dock, she shivered. The chill radioactive heart of this felt no different, even though she’d spent a century on the other side of the globe. Her body tingled, adjusting to the change in ambient Power, adapting in seconds instead of the day or so it would take if she were still human.

  What a laugh. She’d be long dead by now. She bared her fangs at the thought, a swift flash of sharp white, then caught herself.

  The rain didn’t reach down here below ground level, but cold stray flirting breezes touched her long dark hair as the anti-grav. on the transports played havoc with air currents. She suppressed the urge to hunch her shoulders. In her coat pocket, the medallion gave a small fluttering pulse against her finger. She hadn’t even been aware of touching it.

  Nikolai’s hand polished the curve of her hip, something cool and metallic sliding against her skin. He drew it up over her ribs, under her breast, then the medallion lay where it used to, half the chain spilling down to pool on the sheet. He fastened it at the back of her neck, one-handed, and flattened his other palm against the silver lying between her breasts.

  “This is important, Selene. Without it, you’re at risk. This gives you protection. You cannot throw it away. Understood?”

  She’d left it on his riven, bloodless chest as he lay on his deathbed, a hundred years ago. And yet, two days ago it had arrived at her Nest in Freetown New Prague. A cedarwood box, the medallion on its tarnished chain and a note on expensive linen paper. Two words in fantastical calligraphy: Come home.

  Her boot heels ground the concrete as she turned in a full circle. The flight had arrived after dark, but the new transport well was deep enough it didn’t matter. A calculated risk, travelling by hover transport … but calculated risks were what she did best. Or at least, what she did now that she was a functionally immortal blood-drinker and very hard to kill.

  There really wasn’t that much difference, she reflected, between being a sexwitch whore and a Freetown mercenary. Both accepted money, but performed for a darker need. In Selene’s case, it was all the cloned blood she could drink and the leeway to find the limits of her preternatural body and mind on the battlefield – because she hadn’t had a Master to teach her about being a suckhead. The one who Turned her was dead. She’d seen as much, sent him to his afterworld with all the offerings she could manage.

  So who sent me this, then? Her fingers touched the warm metal. Oh, what the hell.

  She drew it out of her pocket. A hard silver gleam, the full moon rising. Spiked runic writing on one side, the figure of some odd animal scratched on the other. A lion, perhaps? Who knew? The fastening was tarnished shut, but she slid the chain over her head and dropped the medallion down her shirt. It felt like it belonged, cold metal warming and nestling against her breastbone. The Power in the medallion thrilled along her nerves, a small zing lilting biting tinfoil.

  Let’s hope someone’s noticed that. The languor of dawn approaching weighted down her fingers, a warning.

  There was another feeling. Anticipation. It ran along her veins, pooling in her lower belly. She hadn’t felt the swimming weakness, the hunger, the need in so long. She didn’t miss it – after a whole human life spent as a slave to a sexwitch’s need, it was impossible to regret its disappearance.

  And yet.

  Nikolai.

  There. She’d thought of him. Dark eyes, his fingers, the soft curl of dark hair that fell over his forehead. The sense of contained power and grace, the utterly frightening control he took of every situation she’d ever seen him in. Other memories crowded in, and the lump of cold iron in the bottom of her belly warmed. His blood in her veins, her curse in his; the need didn’t rule her any longer but with no prospect of it ever being satisfied, it was best not to taunt it.

  I hated him, she reminded herself. Then, judging she’d stayed on the transport dock long enough to be noticed by someone, she gathered herself and melted into the crowd of humanity. Up above the rain would blur her scent … but she would take care not to blur it too much.

  The geography of Saint City hadn’t changed out of recognition. Spread, of course, and there were different peaks and valleys. Cities aged as slowly as Nichtvren, even in the New World.

  How anachronistic of her, to call it the “new” world. By the time she’d been born, it was already old.

  The International District was still rough trade. She remembereds anothnting in these alleys to feed her human curse, sailors and soldiers while her brother stood guard. Time healed plenty, but it didn’t ameliorate the sharp shame or disgust.

  Even boom towns had abandoned buildings, and she found what she was looking for after a half-hour’s worth of wandering. The warehouse slumped against its bones, dispirited under the strengthening rain. Water falling from the sky bleached everything here, turned it grey.

  Not really. Things had been grey since she left. She’d lost her curse, but also lost the hurtful colour of the world.

  In any case, it was child’s play to break in past the maglocks and recon. She could have found a hostel downtown, one that catered to her kind … but why? Make it difficult for whoever wants to trap you, that was a rule of survival. She planned to make it just difficult enough.

  She dug in her bag for the small rolls of tripwire, spent a precious twenty minutes laying surprises. A hard delighted smile lingered on her lips as she worked; spending fifty years as a mercenary was good training for booby traps. And they had such delightful little toys nowadays, like the plasbursters and the new vaston explosive; light, easy to carry, wouldn’t blow up unless you primed it but once you did, watch out!

  Her fingers and toes were full of lead by the time she finished and settled in her chosen resting place. No chance of sunlight, even if they came after her; the explosives would take out the support structure and bury her safely.

  She was counting on whoever-it-was wanting to capture her alive. If that wasn’t the case, well …


  Selene curled into a corner, her back braced against concrete. The sun pressed against the horizon like a boil, she felt it with the queer inner clock every Nichtvren possessed. How long would it be before she could walk around by day but not in sun, like Nik—

  Sunrise. The blackness took her. And as always, she dreamed.

  Of him.

  At least the space inside her head was her own. “Go ahead and feed,” she whispered, and closed her eyes, shutting him out. Hot tears trickled down her temples, sank into her damp hair. “Don’t mind me.” It doesn’t matter to you, it never matters to any of them. Christos, just hurry up and take what you want, the sooner you do the sooner you’ll leave me alone.

  “You’re weeping.” As if surprised.

  Selene went limp under him, pliant. Just get it over with, will you? Fuck me if you have to, but leave the rest of me alone. “Of course I’m crying,” she said, her body gone hot and prickling with a sudden flush of Power. “My b–b–brother—” Shut up, Selene. That’s not his business. The bed was soft underneath her, she sank down helplessly.

  “I did not want you to see …” He sounded, of all things, uncertain.

  Nikolai, uncertain? No. I didn’t hear him right. “I had to. He’s my brother”

  And it’s my fault, sucktooth. Someone else tore him into bits, but it’s my fault. And for once I’m not fucking blaming you, either. Even though I am, you got him involved in whatever killed him, but if I wasn’t what I am you never would have been interested in me and—

  He freed his fingers from her hair long enough to stroke her cheek, a gentle and completely unexpected touch. “A bargain is a bargain, dear one,” he whispered. But still he didn’t move, though she could feel him pressing against her inner thigh, hot skin against slick dampness. She was wet and the low constant ache had started again. She wasn’t drained, but her body wanted completion now.

  Again. My curse. Selene’s throat was blocked with unshed tears. “Just get it over with.” It took work to force the whisper out.

  “Do you still hate me?” He kissed along her throat. His teeth scraped above the pulse and Selene’s heart slammed against her ribs.

  “Don’t,” she began. “Nikolai – don’t!”

  “Too late,” he whispered, and his hips came down. She was so slick and wet with need that he had no difficulty – and, at the same moment, he drove his teeth into her throat.

  There was no laying in bed half-awake for Nichtvren. When the sun sank, consciousness returned with a sound like metal breaking.

  No. Metal clashing against itself. Chains, and fiery pain in her wrists.

  Selene opened her eyes. Not quite a glare, but the light was painful. She disregarded it, stretched out her senses. Power swam in the air, a heavy weight against breath and heart and mind.

  Another Nichtvren. She inhaled, tasted the air.

  That’s not Nikolai. It’s female. And old.

  The vaulted ceiling was stone. Softness under her, a type of padded platform. And the chains, clasped at wrist and ankle, pulled tight. Chill air against her bare skin. The medallion shifted against her breastbone.

  Well. This is interesting.

  “Don’t bother testing the chains.” A high tinkling voice, the Merican accented broadly. Something Eastern Europa, if Selene was any judge by now. “You’ll just be damaged.”

  The burning at Selene’s wrists intensified. She already had scars there, from Grigori’s little mixture so long ago. He’d chained her too, but not for very long.

  Selene blinked. The light scored her eyes, brought hot water out to trickle down into her hair. Her ankles began to prickle, too. Something was smeared on the insides of the restraints, an oily residue.

  “You cost me eight thralls, with those little explosives.” That high sweet voice smoked with contempt and absolute power. “But I caught you, nonetheless.”

  You were supposed to, you idiot. Well, at least this part had gone according to plan. Now she would find out who this was, and what they wanted.

  A shadow in the light. It leaned over Selene, two blonde braids falling over her slim shoulders. A fair clear complexion, dainty fangs, half-lidded blue eyes and naked skin dusted with golden freckles. She’d probably been Turned because of that fresh, freckle-faced look, like an Alpine milkmaid on an advertising holo.

  Jesu help me, I’ve been kidnapped by Heidi. A rill of laughter rose in Selene’s throat; she didn’t even try to contain it. Her laugh came out as a harsh caw, bouncing off stone. The echoes gave her the dimensions of the room – large, a high vaulted ceiling, and it felt underground.

  Blondie’s face twisted itself up a little, smoothed out. She didn’t like being laughed at. That was the problem with so many Nichtvren Masters. So touchy. That prickly pride made them predictable, as far as Selene was concerned. It gave her an edge. And as a lone Nichtvren, she needed every edge she could get. Particularly since she was chained down and naked.

  Funny how things don’t change. Spent a lot of my life naked at someone’s whim. Her lips peeled back from her teeth, exposing her own fangs. It was a show of aggression, and likely to madden this bitch, whoever she was.

  It worked. The little nose wrinkled, and she slapped Selene hard enough to bounce her head off the padding. Selene didn’t even strain against the chains. The Power in the air drew close and stifling, ice cubes against every exposed inch of her, and she calculated the little blonde girl was at least as old as Nikolaiut she didn’t have Nikolai’s sheer suffocating will, or his strength.

  Hmmm. Again, interesting.

  “Bitch.” The woman climbed up on the platform, gracefully. She wore her nakedness like another woman would wear expensive silk; she’d been Turned right in her prime and she knew it. “Of course, this is what I expected from his inamorata.”

  Something in Selene stilled. The other Nichtvren must have felt her reaction. She leaned down, those blonde braids slithering down to brush against Selene. “He never spoke of me, I would hazard. I am Marya. You are Selene. His precious Selene. So easy to catch, and my vengeance is complete.” Her lips brushed Selene’s cheek, fangs scraping lightly. Instinct warred with will; Selene tensed.

  Marya smelled of cloves and old rusted blood. Her breath was a little foul; she must have just fed because her skin was bloat-warm. Fed from something drugged, most likely, that would be the acridity in her mouth, her metabolism burning through whatever her victim or thrall had been high on. Loathing crawled through Selene, even as Marya’s mouth met hers.

  She could have bitten the bitch, she supposed. Her own teeth were just as sharp. But this woman had a script she was working from, and letting her play it out would get Selene further than violence at this point. Her fingertips played over the canvas cover of the padding, her hands twisting to feel at the cuffs. Whatever was smeared on the inside of the metal was beginning to hurt like hell, and the coppery-sweet scent of her own blood rose in the charged air.

  Marya’s tongue slid into Selene’s mouth. Obviously nobody had taught her to kiss, she just shoved it in like Selene was supposed to be grateful for the privilege.

  Oh, Jesu. Nothing ever changes, does it? Selene restrained the urge to roll her eyes and accepted it. She even went loose under the woman’s dense weight, a Nichtvren’s heavier muscle and bone pressing down. Her knees were on either side of Selene’s hips, she settled like a dog crouched over a bone.

  Marya broke away. “Once a whore, always a whore.” A bitter little laugh, her young-old face contorting. You could have mistaken her for a teenager in certain very dim light, except for the mad, ancient thing peeking out through those bright, bright blue eyes. “Except I know you were tantraiiken, you filthy little …” A long rumble, the growl filling Marya’s chest. She pushed herself up, settled her weight firmly on Selene’s hips. She ground down, and Selene went utterly still.

  Her script’s changing. Huh.

  Marya turned her head. “Bring him in,” she snarled, the command unmistakable. There was a sound –
ah, her thralls would be outside the door. Close enough to hear their Master, by flesh or mental call.

  Selene tipped her head carefully to the side, a few millimetres. The other Nichtvren glanced back down, and she leaned forwards. Her long, capable hands – they felt too broad and strong, rough as if chapped – closed around Selene’s throat. But gently.

  “What is the best revenge, kallike?” She smiled gently as a scraping sound filled the room. A door, opening. Selene didn’t dare turn her head further to look. She kept her mouth shut, watching like she would have watched a client in her human days. When she would have been waiting for a cue, her curse throbbing through her flesh.

  “The best revenge,” Marya continued, her thumb stroking along the side of Selene’s throat ever so gently, “is to kill the thing your enemy loves before him. While he is helpless.”

  What the hell is this bitch talking about?

  “Look,” Marya whispered, and tilted Selene’s head to the side. “Look at him.p>

  Selene did as she was told.

  The scraping had been double doors, iron-bound and made of some dark wood. They were pushed open now, and the darkness behind them was absolute. A huge hideous creaking, and the shape became visible. Selene blinked again, fresh water trickling from her eyes. How did the other Nichtvren stand it so bright in here?

  It was a low wooden cart on broad iron-rimmed wheels. The thralls – huge muscle-bound men with empty stares, their will erased by their Master’s dominance – pushed it forwards, straining. It barely cleared the opening, and threatened to tip over because a massive X of plasteel beams crouched on it.

  And there, spreadeagled and in rags, his face and body horribly mangled and seeping thick sluggish black blood, was Nikolai. A glitter of eyes under filthy hair showed he was conscious.

  So he was alive.