Over the last ten years, each and every Lord and Lordling having captured her over the last ten years had informed her gleefully that they would keep her chained and naked -- not because her body pleased them, but because it would mean they, and their people, would have instant and constant access to what it could provide through blood and sensation. She unsnapped her jeans and piled them on top of the shirt. Her bra and panties followed.
Her scarf was last, if one ignored the wristbands she had no intention to remove. Her hands hesitated over the cheap fabric she habitually kept closely knotted around her neck. The scars marring the skin of her neck were hideous and graphic, but had strangely excited the last Vampire Lord Paul had had sold her to. With trepidation pulled on the tight knot, let the cloth drop from her throat to the pile of clothes on the floor.
This Lord, though, did not react at all, at least not visibly, as she stood there naked, but for the two broad wristbands, her eyes fixed on the pattern of the dark red carpet at her feet. She wondered fleetingly if it was red to hide the blood spilled, then pushed that thought into the cold too.
"There is wine on the chest. Bring it here." His voice was still as calm and expressionless as it had been when he greeted her.
She had no idea why she said what she did say in answer and in the moment she did speak, she wanted to take it back: "I am not your servant!"
The silence of the room wrapped around her like a vice. She could not look at him; instead her eyes were drawn to the glass on the chest and the dark, red liquid of the wine -- liquid almost as dark as blood.
"There are three little girls in the room your brother is entering just now."
He did not have to say more. The words cut through her, and sh e closed her eyes in pain.
"How?"
"I have known for three months"
They had arrived in town only three months ago, and for the whole time, she had been relieved and happy that they seemed to go undiscovered for such a long time.
"Why?" Why had he allowed her to have that hope? To be free for another three months when the outcome had been so clear?
"There had not been any need before tonight."
No need to bring her in before the only night each year in which a bond could be effected. She was defeated.
She had started to move towards the wine, even before he continued to speak:
"The longer you obey me, absolutely, the longer they will be safe."
No contest.
The glass was large and her hands not too steady when she brought it over to him. He took it wordlessly and placed it on the table, the light of the fire behind it playing through the liquid, turning it into a goblet of mystery. Her eyes were caught by it, caught and held, as she stood naked in front of his chair and felt his eyes playing over her too thin, too scarred body.
When she finally looked at him she was surprised not to see his gaze fixed on the marks other men, other vampires, had left on her - or even on her breasts, which were the only part of her body where the constant hunger seemed to leave little sign. No, his eyes were on her face, and met hers with an expression she could not identify. She could not blame him; a man like him, she supposed, rarely found himself faced with the necessity to bed such an unappealing woman. She expected him to speak, or drink from the wine she had brought him. Instead he reached for her hands and pulled her closer, close enough for her feet to touch his and then, nudging her legs apart, pulled her even closer. When her legs touched the velvet upholstery of the chair, he transferred his hands to her knees.
"Kneel."
Her mind was not fast enough to translate the order into action, so he applied light pressure to her legs and guided them up on the chair. She found herself straddling him on the chair, his hands around her waist, settling her to sit on his lap. She noticed that his large hands easily spanned her thin waist so that his thumbs met over her belly. Not sure where to rest her own hands she let them come to lay on the armrests of the chair.
The black wristbands stood out in stark contrast on her pale skin. He let go of her waist and lifted her right hand for closer inspection, then he found the simple closure that held the band and pulled it off. However much she tried to control her reaction, her whole body still jerked. He had revealed her ultimate humiliation. These were not the scars left by countless teeth tearing into her, like those found on her neck. Her throat she could hide from the world with a playful scarf and, most importantly, those were marks of her resistance, her fight. The marks shielded by her wristbands were the scarred gouges the chains had left on them as she fought, as she ripped her skin and flesh to the bone in a desperate attempt to escape. They were marks of shame, of a fight lost against herself. He said no words, not as he removed the other band, nor as he settled her hands back on the armrests and his own around her waist.
Only then did he speak: "Pick up the wine and take a sip."
"I don't drink." She had been surprised by his words, surprised enough to once again be startled into speaking without thinking.
His eyes remained expressionless, as was his voice when he spoke again: "It was not a request."
One night of absolute obedience for the safety of the girls.
She reached for the glass and took a small sip. As she tried to put it back down, his hands tightened on her waist and her attention was brought back to him mid-movement.
"I am thirsty, too."
She offered him the glass, but he shook his head and remarked: "My hands are full."
To illustrate this fact he began to paint little half circles over her belly with his thumbs. She tried to offer the glass to his lips but he shook his head again.
"Not like this." Now there was a hint of amusement in his eyes and a twitch to his lips. Instead, she tried to offer her wrist, but that simply made him raise an eyebrow.
"How then?" She herself heard the desperation in her voice and tried to suppress it, tried to make the cold rise further.
"Take a sip and hold it in your mouth."
She was still not entirely sure where this was leading but was starting to have an idea. She tried to lean forward to feed him the wine but his hands still kept her from him.
"Set down the glass first, then let me drink from your mouth."
Carefully she put down the glass before leaning forward. In her haste and nerves she parted her lips before touching his and spilled most of the wine down her chin and his neck. She froze in terror, aware of the strength in the hands around her waist and the sharp teeth entirely too close to her. His lips parted and his tongue snaked out to lazily lap at the liquid dripping down her lips and chin. Only as he had cleaned her thoroughly did he allow her to move back enough to meet his still expressionless gaze. Her eyes fell to his mouth and the spilled wine painting his neck and shirt red. She could still see small droplets caught in the less-even skin of his cheeks.
"Clean it!"
There was not even a hint of a question in her mind, he meant her to use her own mouth for the task. The first flick of her tongue was tentative at best, barely a touch, but when he simply moved his head to allow her more access she became bolder. The taste of his skin, mixed with the taste of red wine, filled her mouth - unidentifiable, subtle and strange. As her tongue reached his neck, his arousal grew impossibly large underneath her. She shied back - feeling stupid immediately. It was inevitable where this evening would lead. For an ErGer to bond, the mind needed to be broken open as only sex did - and her own body would force it soon enough. In her experience, he had shown more patience than any other. Every Lord ever acquiring her, either because her brother had sold her to them or because they had tracked her down out of their own accord, had taken her blood and body within minutes of their acquaintance. What was the point otherwise? A bond with an ErGer doubled power levels for them as well as giving the Lord and his dependents a more elusive advantage, a feeling of home, of safety and well-being rarely found in a predatory society. All, they needed to do was break her mind with blood or sex.
He had not moved at all as she shied back, still presenting his neck for her tongue, and holding her waist between his stroking fingers, but his eyes were not expressionless anymore - they were hot and burning. Yes, indubitably, she was being stupid. She knew exactly what this would lead to, but if she could push the time it would happen in a little farther away.... Kathryn bent to return to her duty. She had reached his collarbone, had had to nose the soiled shirt out of her way when a knock sounded on the door. She gasped and his hands softly guided her back upright. She could feel her own eyes huge in her face and her breath coming fast, but she could not help it; she knew this was it - this was the moment when his people would come to hold her down, to await the time when they could take their turns with her body after he was done with her. If she was lucky, she would not outlive the night - but she was never that lucky and they were never that careless.
His eyes had turned expressionless again as he held her gaze and answered:
"Enter!"
She heard the door but did not dare turn. No matter what danger came from behind, the largest danger remained firmly in front of her. With every approaching step she heard, her throat tightened more, the speed of her breaths increased. She did not want to show fear, but it was impossible to suppress the rising terror. In those deep blue eyes holding her capture a new emotion rose, something close to worry, close to confusion, definitely concern. None of these emotions were even remotely reassuring. She could feel the tightness of her chest foreshadowing the rising hyperventilation she could not control, when a voice sounded close behind her.
"Milord, everything is arranged to your satisfaction."
Her nerves were so tense, so frayed, her body jerked at the tenor of the voice, instinctively, her body cringed away from the pale hand setting a plate piled high with cheese and grapes on the table. At her reaction, a man stepped from behind her to the side, into her field of vision, and she realised it was one of the twins. Only one. One man - she could survive only one. Her breath calmed, the involuntary shakes of her body abating almost from one moment to the next. Kathryn felt their eyes on her, felt their answering tension, their vigilance. Not even the smallest twitch, the smallest change in her body, escaped their notice. Only with the minute relaxation of her fear, did the men relax their intense concentration.
"Thank you, Brandon."
"My pleasure, Milord." He bowed to his liege and then, to her surprise, to her: "Milady."
She did not hear him leave, but the sound of the latch was loud and somewhat final as it fell close this time.
"I am still thirsty."
His demand brought her back to the task at hand, sharpened her concentration, her mind on him anew. She reached for the glass anew and took a sip into her mouth. As she leant close, she was frightened her nerves would betray her, that she would again spill the wine too soon - but before she had the chance, he closed the last distance between them and opened his lips beneath hers. When she let the wine from her mouth run into his, she felt him swallow, felt his tongue lap at her lips, never forcing its way into her mouth. When she moved away he did not hold her back, though his tongue licked over his lips as if to savour the last drop of wine he could.
"Take another sip."
She did and held it in her mouth whilst setting the glass down again.
When she turned to him, he grinned almost boyishly and said: "Now swallow."
The smooth and heavy wine slid down her throat, pooling comfortably warm in her belly, just underneath his hypnotically stroking fingers. She was not used to alcohol. It was not a good habit to acquire when you were constantly on the run - as Paul was a good example of. Even with only these two sips in her she thought she felt warm languidness rising in her joints.
"Choose something."
It was an unmistakable order. He indicated the plate with a movement of his chin. She wanted so bad to take some cheese. Cheese was expensive and therefore a rarity in her world, a rarity which, if found, was normally saved for the children. But she was afraid, she would not be able to keep it down so she reached for one of the grapes, but it was taken from her before she could raise it to her mouth. He held it between his long fingers, waited for her attention to return to him, before offering the grape to her lips.
Holding his gaze, her lips tried to take the fruit from his hand, the cold, sweetness a counterpoint to the warmth of the fingers so close. She tried to take the fruit from him without touching those fingers, without tasting the skin so strangely alluring. His fingers refused to let go, forcing her to bite the ripe grape in two. The juice spurted down his hand, the smell an somehow weaving seamlessly into the basic nature of his presence in the room. She was so mesmerised by the path the juice took along his skin, she swallowed her half of the grape without due attention to the delicacy.
He waited patiently, not even with the bat of an eyelash did he betray any reaction, simply offered the other half of the grape to her lips. This time she savoured the taste of the fruit. When she had swallowed the piece, he held his fingers to her mouth and ordered:
"Clean it."
Her tongue caught the sticky juice trail across his palm from wrist to fingers. His skin had a salty taste, almost smoky and, to her surprise, showed signs of callouses. He was not satisfied with her ministrations.
"All of it."
His hand was warm and heavy in hers as she took it to allow her better access. The skin between his fingers was so much softer, his taste so much stronger. It exploded in her mouth, mixed with the sweetness of the fruit. It was so easy to get lost in this simple task, to forget what would come. It was so easy to simply do what she was told, even though she expected some form of punishment each time she moved. She had long since learnt not to expect reason for punishments and cruelties.
But he simply sat back in his chair, watching her with those enigmatic eyes, the long limbs below hers spread in studied relaxation. When his hand had lost the last traces of stickiness, his eyes were blue slits and it was his breath coming in pants. She had no idea what she should do, what reaction might provoke him, so she simply froze. Gently, he extricated his hands from between hers and returned them to her waist.
His next question confused and shook her completely: "What will happen in an hour?"
Her eyes flickered to the clock on the mantlepiece and she realised with shock that he was right; it was only just over an hour until midnight, until her own personal biological clock threw her into hell. She sucked in a breath.
"What will happen in an hour?"
He repeated the question, clearly reminding her that she had not yet answered it. The problem was she was not entirely sure how to respond, how to comply with his request. Did he want her to tell him how to bind an ErGer? She thought that it was common knowledge among vampires and, to be honest, she did not know how the bond worked from their side. The sex and blood seemed to be clear, but she did not know the mental component. She could tell him what she did to try to keep it from happening but was not sure how much that would help, as she had promised not to resist. And in all this there was the question if she wanted to answer.
She still tried to explain, to give him as much information as she could. She had given her word and that was pretty much the only honour she had left in her life: "When you take my ..."
His finger came to rest on her lips, halting any further words. A wry smile stretched his lips. She noted that he was able to smile without letting even a glimpse of his fangs peek through.
"I do not need instruction on what to do, I am well informed there. What will happen to you?"
That was a harder question to answer, and for a moment, she almost hated him for asking it. Could he not leave her one piece of dignity? A bitter laugh escaped her lips. Dignity? She had not had any since she had turned fourteen and been recognised as an ErGer.
"My memory is a bit spotty in places but apparently I fuck everything in sight."
Her answer was deliberately crude, her voice dripping with all the hate and d
isgust she felt for herself and those forcing her into this existence. He did not flinch, did not react in any way, save for a rise of his eyebrow as he stared evenly back into her blazing eyes. She could barely stand it, the even gaze, the lack of any blame or disgust in his expression. It undermined her bitterness, her repugnance, her perception. She started to squirm in his hands in order to escape her own thoughts.
"What happens?"
Kathryn could not meet his eyes anymore, her equilibrium severely threatened by his matter-of-factness. Her front teeth started to worry her lower lip and her hands started to tense, dig into the soft velvet of the arms of the chair. He did not let her escape, captured her chin and turned her face to meet his eyes. His thumb ran over her lower lip, gently teasing it free from the abuse her teeth inflicted on it. He held her there, ensuring she knew, in her bones, he would demand her compliance.
"What happens?"
Low, slow words. His voice still held no anger, not even demand - simply a calm confidence in her ultimate submission to his will, in her ultimate answer to the question. She would not escape, but as she spoke she could not look at him, had to avoid those eyes. So she let hers flicker over the room, coming to rest again and again on the clock: 10.49.
"I don't know," she admitted.
"What do you know?" He was relentless in his pursuit of information, she would learn this to be an essential feature of the man.
"I have only been caught once on February 14th after that first time, I ..." She was lost for words, her mind too full and too blank at the same time to answer. Her breath rose, its panicky edge audible in the silent room.
His voice broke through the mounting terror: "What happens when you are alone?"
She could answer this. Holding onto that thought, the necessity to string words together, helped.
By My Side ... (A Valentine's Day Story) Page 14
