My Bloody Valentine

by Multi-Author

  I frown at a whiff of desire impinging on the memory. I’m sure the female had never wanted—

  I sniff and the taste coats my tongue, delicate as lilacs, intoxicating as dragon’s blood. Looking to my left, I pinpoint the source of the scent and her amber eyes flare as she sees the whole of my face. Fear laces my tongue, cool as cream, heated by her desire.

  I know I’m staring, but I can’t help it. The female’s eyes flicker around the box we stand in, but they keep returning to me. To the tattoos swirling over my face and wrists. To the scars twisting across the same. To the snow-white cuffs and collar of my shirt, as though wondering what lies hidden beneath. And to my groin, where my sex has already begun to thicken in anticipation of the feast I will make of this female.

  When her eyes can avoid mine no longer, when she has given up pretending she isn’t hopelessly attracted to the sight of me, I allow my own gaze to travel over her body. I take my time, dwelling on the soft pale skin of her throat where her pulse leaps, the heaving swell of her breasts straining at the buttons of her prim shirt, the curve and dip of her hips and waist beneath the closely fitted skirt she wears.

  I like that skirt. It’s long enough to sweep up over her face, covering her eyes if I wish, so that she has no choice but to feel every breath, every brush of fingers, teeth, and nails, every slide of skin against her own. And every time my eyes still, on this curve or that dip, her breath catches and her lust thickens.

  A rush of cool air returns me to some awareness of our surroundings. Looking around, I realize that the elevator has emptied out entirely while I’ve been looking my fill of this female. I look back at her and her mouth opens, her lips soft and plump and moist. I smile. The lips of her sex will be the same. I drop my eyes to her groin and take a step forward.

  She gasps and steps back, fear spiking ice-cold through the heat of her desire as she encounters the elevator wall. Her gaze flickers left and right but then I’m in front of her, close enough to feel the heat of her body, of her desire, burning through her clothes. Close enough for her to feel the heat of me through mine.

  I lean in, my face barely a breath from her throat. The throb of her pulse is a drumbeat that echoes in my shaft. For a moment my thoughts, my intent, my very skin, want nothing more than to be within her so deep that we will never be separated. The thought is so shocking that I pull back from her, horrified to see a mere human as more than a meal, for even a second.

  She utters a desperate mewling sound as the heat of my body withdraws and I snarl at her, baring my teeth like a hellhound ready to kill. Her desire and her fear spike through my brain and I am lost to the fire and ice of her emotions, the perfect meal.

  I wrap one hand around her neck and push, feeling the knot in her throat pulse against my palm. My head swims, the heat and cold of lust and fear making me lightheaded.

  I look around. An elevator is a fine location for a quick bite, but a feast requires more luxurious surroundings. I turn my attention back to her, my...food.

  “Where is your room?”

  Her eyes, gleaming slits beneath half-closed lids, flutter open. “My...what?”

  “Your room, female,” I growl at her, impatient with her for not heeding me. For being so overtaken by her lust and her fear that she didn’t hear me truly. I ignore my own shortcomings in this area. I have never fed as well as I do in this moment. My skin is tightening as my muscles and my veins swell, engorged with the energy flowing through them. My shaft has grown so thick it hurts. I must release it from the fabric restraining it and soon. But not here.

  Not yet.

  “It—it’s along the hall. 303.”

  I draw her out of the elevator, keeping my hand around her neck. I tighten my grip a little to feel her skin burn hotter against mine, her fear raising the hairs along my arms with its chill rush while her desire burns in my blood.

  Room 303 is at the end of the corridor and I force myself to move slowly, to press her against every spare wall and move in close, just to feel that richness of energy rolling through me. My breath grows shallow as her pupils dilate, her eyes darken, and what breath I allow her catches in her throat.

  I don’t want this meal to end.

  But I cannot stop.

  I push her against her door, her face against the cool wood, my body flush with hers from hair to heel. Her fear recedes under a burning tide of desire and I close my hand around her throat, choking her to the point where she cannot find her breath and even then, her lust wars with the chill of her fear. My sex hardens against the curves of her buttocks. I pull her away from the door and release her long enough for her to find her key card.

  The sudden absence of my touch seems to cause her more fear and I learn something new about humans, that the absence of the thing they fear can cause them more distress than its presence. I consider this while I watch her fumble her card into the lock of the door, dropping it onto the carpet.

  Her humiliation as I only watch is nothing to me. Does she think, having followed—no, dragged—her this far that I will turn away now, when it is I who have reduced her to such a melting, uncoordinated mass of quivering flesh? I would laugh, but I am not in a humorous mood.

  The lock clicks open and I am on her before she has fully turned the handle. I wrap one arm around her waist and another around her neck and lift her off her feet into the room. The desire for more than food has overtaken me. In the darkened space, her desire is like that of unicorns in rut, deep and heavy and hot, and I must taste it more.

  I cannot remove my hands from her. My face is deep in her soft, cool hair and I snarl, my lips peeling back off my teeth as I growl in her ear. She shakes in my arms, sparks and snowflakes, gasping her pleasure as I bite her earlobe.

  “Put on the lamp,” I whisper in her ear and release her, hard. I must push her away from me if I’m to let go of her at all. She hits the bed and falls onto it. I root my feet to the floor and grind my jaw with the effort it takes not to move, not to follow her and tear her clothes from her body and sink into her heated, frozen flesh.

  She crawls across the bed, gasping small, heated breaths, and the lamp clicks on. Then she hesitates and all I can see is the curve of her ass and I step forward, as if in a dream, and lay a hand over that curve.

  She shudders and I smile. I take another step and slide both hands up her thighs, pushing the skirt up to her waist and further, just as I had envisioned in the elevator. It reaches her arms and she doesn’t move. Heated and frozen. My sex swells to the point of pain and I lift her against me and push the skirt higher, so that her arms are over her head and her eyes covered by fabric.

  Beneath the skirt, she wears something flimsy and delicate, lilac to my eyes and my nostrils. I lower my hands, but stop myself. The heat of her desire is all-encompassing now. I seize the folds of her skirt and twist them at the back of her head while dragging the nails of my other hand down to her knee and then back up over the silky skin of her inner thigh.

  Her breath catches. Ice and fire once more. I smile. I want to bite her but know she will not feel it through the fabric of her skirt. I make a mental note for later.

  For now, her scent tantalizes me. Food is no longer on my mind. I slide a finger beneath the flimsy fabric covering her sex and sink it deep inside her. She cries out. I know I have hurt her, but the fiery heat of her desire continues to wash over me, chilled at the edges, but burning still.

  Her flesh is honeyed silk, so hot, so tight, heaven around my hand. I push her thighs wider to allow me greater access and her cries pour into the fabric of her skirt as my fingers slide in and out of her, harder, faster until she screams and convulses and I allow her no rest until I release my grip on her skirt and she falls forward, presenting herself to me as a gift.

  I fumble at my belt, glad that her position means she cannot see my lack of coordination. My shaft springs free and slides into her as though her body were made for mine and mine alone. I pull her skirt down and score her back with my nails. She arches, moa
ning her pain and desire. When my hand closes around her throat, the ice and fire of fear and lust peak so sweetly that I can no longer restrain myself and I fill her with my seed.

  I open my eyes to find myself lying on the bed, half on top of this human female and half beside her. The bedclothes are sticky and growing cold. It is only the fizzing sparkle and pop of the energy from this feed that has woken me so soon. The human sleeps. A human male would feel pride, but I have higher standards.

  That said, that she survived speaks very highly of my restraint.

  I clean myself without looking at her again. I know, in my central core of knowledge, where such knowledge as how to breathe and how to fight is kept, that I could make many meals of this female and never tire of her.

  But I have a meeting to go to.

  Siren’s Call

  By

  Shelli Rosewarne

  It was Midsummer’s Night the first time he saw her. The heat was stifling and after tossing and turning, unable to sleep, he’d given up and decided on a walk along the beach. It was one of his favorite spots and one of the things that had attracted him to the house in the first place. The sea was calm for once and the gentle lapping of the waves against the sand was soothing. The sky was clear and the full moon offered enough light that he didn’t need the flashlight in his pocket.

  He meandered slowly, hands in his pockets. This would be a romantic situation if he only had someone to share it with. He scuffed his feet through the sandy pebbles. Yeah, right. His friends were always laughing at his bad luck with women, and that was if he even got up the courage to talk to them in the first place. Was it really his fault that he preferred books to sports, that he couldn’t lift weights to save his life—and he’d probably be just as skinny if he did?

  Lost in his self-pity, at first he wasn’t sure what the shape on the rock was. When he actually made it out, he was convinced he must be seeing things. He slowly moved closer, mouth gaping in disbelief. Sitting on the rock, bathed in the moonlight, was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen in his life. Her skin glowed pure white in the moonlight; her hair streamed down her back and over her breasts. She was slowly running a comb through it, and his eyes became glued to the motion. At the moment it lifted at the front, he caught a glimpse of perfectly formed alabaster breasts. When he managed to drag his eyes up to her face it was a vision, delicate and heart-shaped, with huge eyes and full, pouting lips that pursed as she hummed a haunting melody.

  He stepped forward, half-convinced that he was still in his bed, asleep. At any moment now he was going to wake up, probably after embarrassing himself like he had as a teenager. Instead, he saw her eyes widen in shock, the comb stilling in her long tresses as she looked at him with fear. For a moment, she seemed frozen before turning as though to run.

  “Wait,” he cried out. “I won’t hurt you, please don’t go!”

  The woman turned, her huge eyes lit with curiosity.

  “I’m Ciaran,” he told her. “What’s your name?”

  The woman rose gracefully from the rocks, and he gulped as he realized she was completely naked. She glided towards him and he tried to subtly adjust his pants as his body hardened uncomfortably.

  “You can call me Rae.” Her voice was musical and he felt as though he could close his eyes and simply listen to it forever.

  “Are you lost?” he asked. He couldn’t understand why she was out on the beach, alone and naked, in the middle of the night.

  She smiled and shook her head. Up close, he could see that her eyes were pale, silvery in the moonlight. With only the tiniest slits for pupils, the irises looked huge. He had to clench his hands by his sides not to reach out and touch her. It seemed wrong to want to molest a woman alone at night. She seemed to have no such worries, though, and her hand drifted up, stroking down his cheek. Her skin was cold, despite the warmth of the night. He took off his light jacket and offered it to her. She simply laughed, the sound like notes on the wind.

  “I am not cold, Ciaran, but it is nice to see there are still some gentlemen left on the land.”

  He frowned; her words and manner were old-fashioned, and he had the odd feeling she didn’t belong here. She reached up on tiptoe and pressed her cool lips against his. Every other thought left his mind. Her arms slipped around his neck and he pulled her closer against him, running his hands greedily over her curves, glorying in the smooth softness of her white skin. His mind was telling him that something was distinctly strange, but his body ruled out any objections and told him not to be such an idiot. It was probably a dream anyway, he rationalized. There was no way he could be awake when the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen appeared naked and threw herself at him.

  Somewhat comforted by the thought, he slid his hands down to cup her ass, pulling her against the straining hardness of his erection through his jeans. She pulled back slightly, and her fingers went to his zipper. Her cool hands pushed down his jeans as her fingers caressed his thighs and then stroked over his cock. She knelt in the sand before him. A half-smile curved her lips as she glanced up at him from under thick lashes before she leaned forward and took his length in her mouth.

  Ciaran couldn’t stop the strangled groan escaping his lips. Yup, he was definitely dreaming! The warm wetness of her mouth engulfed him as her talented tongue swirled around the head. Her hands dug into his ass, urging him deeper; he felt his eyes roll back as he exploded in her mouth. She kept suckling, drawing every drop out of him before sitting back on her heels and gazing up at him. An oddly satisfied smile played on her lips, but Ciaran could feel embarrassment setting in.

  “I’m sorry,” he muttered.

  Her expression grew confused, and she rose smoothly to her feet. “Whatever for?”

  “For, erm, you know...” He trailed off. “Going early.”

  Her musical laugh washed over him. “Perhaps you should return the favor?”

  Ciaran felt himself grinning as he pulled her toward him, covering her lips with his before nibbling and sucking a path down to her perfect breasts. She encouraged him with throaty moans, her hands in his hair urging him on as he went lower, laying her down in the sand to part her legs. He hadn’t done this much, but the taste of her was like honey on his tongue; he used her throaty moans and bucking movements to tell what she liked. When she cried out, her hips thrusting against him and her juices coating his tongue, he felt satisfaction run through him. Not to mention his body had recovered—probably more quickly than it ever had in his life.

  He rose over her, his now-erect length probing between her legs. She wrapped her arms and legs around him, drawing him closer as he buried himself inside her. The slick walls of her channel wrapped around him and he groaned at the sensation. He tried to go slower, to act with more experience than he possessed, but she was writhing underneath him and his thrusts grew quicker and more urgent until she cried out beneath him. He felt her muscles contracting around him, shattering his control and throwing him into his own release. He collapsed on the sand beside her, his body drained, yet more sated than he could ever remember in his life.

  “That was amazing,” he managed.

  She gave a low laugh, half-rolling to pillow her head on his shoulder, her cool hand making lazy circles on his chest.

  “It was indeed. Now sleep, my love.”

  He didn’t want to sleep. He wanted to lie here and feel her naked body against him. More than that, he wanted to give it ten minutes (okay, maybe a little optimistic!) and then try again. But he could suddenly feel his eyes drifting, his limbs going leaden, and he slipped into soothing darkness.

  ***

  Ciaran woke sprawled on the cool sand. He was naked, his clothes in an untidy pile close by. He was completely alone. Groggily, he staggered to his feet. Had he dreamed it? If he had, then why would he be naked on the beach? But if he hadn’t, then where the hell had she gone? His eyes frantically scanned the beach in all directions, lighting on a flash of silver near the rocks. Snatching it up, he saw a delica
te silver comb, threaded with several long strands of dark hair. Clutching it to him, he silently dressed and stumbled home.

  ***

  Ciaran rubbed a weary hand across his face. It had been almost a month since he’d seen Rae. Since then, he’d never even been able to look at another woman, because—let’s face it—none of them compared. He’d looked everywhere he could think of, tried any means possible to track her down, and yet nothing had turned up the slightest clue. It wasn’t exactly a lot to go on—a first name and a description of long hair, pale eyes, and a perfect face and body. What he didn’t get was how anyone could see her and not remember her! He had to face the fact that if she’d wanted to stay around, she would have. If she’d wanted to come back, she could have. But she hadn’t.

  He’d driven the few friends he had mad with his incessant talking about her. They no longer called and he didn’t really miss them. Every time he closed his eyes he saw her face. In the silence he thought he heard her voice, her laugh. In his dreams he felt her soft skin and her cool lips and her wet warmth. He rubbed his eyes. He would take a walk, and though he told himself he might have a change, head for the woods, he knew he wouldn’t.

  His footsteps took him down to the ocean as surely as his mind took him back to that night. It had been a night like this, the air warm and the sea calm. He looked up at the full moon hanging in the clear sky. An odd sense overtook him and he almost convinced himself that she would be there on the rocks again. She wasn’t.

  Instead, he pulled himself onto them, feeling the rough stone under his fingers as he gazed out at the lapping waves and the glint of light on the water.

  “Rae,” he murmured, giving voice to his longings.

  A ripple split the water and he watched, transfixed, as the waves parted and white limbs stepped forth. Her huge eyes found his and her full lips curved into a smile.

  “Ciaran,” she called to him.

  He stumbled to his feet, half-running to the water’s edge.