Seduction's Bite

by Madison Layle

  "Necessary?"

  "You'll suffer no ill effects from it. Trust me."

  "Trust you? A vampire ... Yeah, right."

  With a sigh, he sat on some stone steps leading to the door of a massive family crypt—the name, Beauregard, etched in the granite façade.

  She now had the high ground, the advantage in battle.

  She didn't take it. Instead, she put away the knives, leaned back against an angelic statue, and waited. She refused to ponder why she no longer felt threatened by him. He was a vampire, a killer with fangs and a thirst for blood. Hell, he'd bit her! That should've been enough for her to put a stake through his no-good, undead heart, but she couldn't. If he meant her harm, why save her from the fanged trio? Why not let them do his dirty work?

  No. He posed no danger to her. She knew it as well as she knew the sun rose in the east. Although she scoffed at the idea of trusting him, she found herself doing just that. As crazy as it seemed, she believed he'd been honest about his reasons for being here. The only questions that remained were who and why.

  "You said you were sent here. Sent by whom?"

  He shrugged. “Does it matter?"

  "Yes, it does to me,” she said, unable to hide her pique over his attempt to avoid answering her question. “Tell me."

  His sudden smile was pure, cavalier arrogance. “Make me."

  Frustrating arrogance.

  She pulled one of her knives and, without pause, flung it at him, missing his head by mere millimeters. The tip stuck in the tomb's heavy wooden door, the handle briefly wobbling.

  "Tell—"

  He was on her before she had a chance to complete the command. He didn't strike her but rather wrestled with her until he gained the upper hand, which didn't take long, much to her dismay. He flung her around off balance until she was pressed against the wall of the Beauregard tomb, her wrists imprisoned above her head in his fist, her neck held in his other.

  For a brief instant, she feared she'd been wrong about him. But he didn't squeeze, although his grip was firm enough to keep her in place. And his eyes ... They held no evil, no insane, animalistic fury like the kind she'd witnessed before in other vampires she'd vanquished. No. His were ... passionate.

  The nearness and strength of his body were also enough to send a shock of adrenaline through her veins and heighten her desires, which only served to tick her off and increase her arousal even more.

  Damn, he smelled good ... for a walking dead man. A sexy-as-sin, arrogant, walking dead man.

  "Someone needs to teach you—"

  She lifted her knee but missed the intended target. Worse, her attack backfired when he leaned his body against hers to prevent further such attempts.

  "—to not play with knives. Someone might get hurt."

  She squirmed, but only managed to rub herself between a cold stone wall and a hard-muscled, hot-blooded vampire. If she could just get one hand free...

  "If that's what it takes for you to see my point,” she gritted out. “Answer my question."

  "Oh, I see your point,” he said before stunning her with a fast and furious kiss, which ended all too soon. “But your affinity for attacking me will only gain you a well-deserved spanking, my bloodthirsty beauty.” In a flash, he sat on the steps once more and had her sprawled facedown across his thighs, her wrists captured in one fist at the small of her back.

  "No!” She grunted. “No. You. Don't! Don't you dare—"

  Smack.

  "Ow!"

  Smack, smack, smack.

  She panted and wiggled, bucked and shouted, all to no avail. His hand collided with her ass several more times. “Ssst-stop.” Though she screamed the command, it lacked sincere authority or much force since she struggled to catch her breath.

  Smack, smack. He paused, his large hand like an electric blanket over her stinging flesh despite the barrier of clothing between them. “No more trying to cut me, stab me, or slice me in two. Got it?"

  "If I'd wanted to stab you,” she said, albeit breathlessly, “I would not have missed."

  "Hmm. Is that so?” He didn't strike her any more. Rather his hand continued its soothing caress of her offended backside. Then, he released her and helped her to her feet.

  "Sadist,” she muttered with a frown while rubbing a palm over her smarting ass.

  "Bloodthirsty masochist,” he replied with an amused tone and answering smile.

  Her frown deepened. She never would've pegged herself as a masochist, but the wrestling had been ... thrilling, and the initial pain from his swats had receded into a warmth that felt rather ... good. Not that she'd ever admit it to him.

  In defense, she dropped her gaze to the bulge in his pants and laced her words with contempt. “Do you always get so excited over whipping someone?"

  "Do you always become this aroused after being spanked?"

  She huffed. “I most certainly am not—"

  "Careful, my dear. You can deny it all you want, but I can hear your pulse quicken, see the arousal in your eyes.” His gaze dropped to her chest. “And in a pair of hard, delicious nipples."

  "Don't flatter yourself.” She crossed her arms over her breasts. “It's chilly.” Delicious?

  He cocked a brow and smiled at her obvious lie.

  Damned frustratingly arrogant man.

  He took a step toward her, lithe and predatory. She inched away, up the steps to the tomb, one hand rising to delay his advances.

  "Hold it right there, you ... you ... Vampire Valentino. Don't come any closer."

  He paused, grinned, and burst out laughing.

  She released an unsteady breath. “I'm warning you."

  Amid chuckles, he repeated, “Vampire Valentino ... That's priceless."

  The rumble of his laughter was contagious. Recognizing the humor of the moment, she fought against the urge to smile, but her lips still twitched.

  Her body collided with the door behind her. Realizing she'd backed herself into a corner, she grew serious in an instant.

  By then it was too late.

  He took the top step and stood before her, so tall, dark, and provocative. He closed to within a couple of inches, filled her vision, and blocked out the rest of the world. His gaze captured hers and wouldn't let go.

  Her breaths stalled in her throat. Her pulse skipped.

  With an attractive smile, he whispered, “You can't hide it, chére. Not from me.” Without looking away, he reached for the blade sheathed beneath her arm, carefully slid it from its holder, and dropped it a few feet away. Next went her Ka-Bar, along with any ability of her lungs to function. After a third blade sailed to the ground where it joined the rest, he asked, “Any others?"

  Since her fourth was still stuck in the door, low and off to her left, she shook her head.

  Without a word, he made short work of her straps; the holders joined her arsenal on the floor, followed by her belt. As his hands moved methodically over her body, unbuttoning her blouse, unzipping her pants, she closed her eyes and let her senses focus on his touch, the way he smelled ... Mmm. The subtle sounds of his breathing.

  He didn't remove her clothes so much as he moved them out of his way. The dull pops of his button fly joined the faint chirp of birds in the distance. Then, his large palms cupped her butt and slid to her thighs, lifting her, spreading her. As he picked her up, he stepped over her pants, which were still bundled like makeshift cuffs around her boots, and moved between her thighs.

  "Hang on,” he murmured before his lips ensnared hers and his body pinned her against the door.

  She wrapped her arms around his neck and held on amid a storm of sensations that erupted in her body when he simultaneously stabbed his tongue into her mouth and thrust his impressive cock home, deep in her pussy. Her legs bent over his forearms while his hands kneaded and held her ass.

  He didn't go slowly this time, didn't let her set the pace. No, he took her with an unyielding tenacity she'd never before experienced.

  A faint voice in her mind
reminded her that this was no ordinary man. He was a vampire, a monster. Dominant and dangerous.

  But the woman inside her focused on the masculine hardness of his broad shoulders, strong arms, and powerful legs—the last of which he used perfectly to move the most potent evidence of his manhood in and out of her body with erotic precision.

  His hair made a soft bed for her fingers, his arms a warm cocoon for her body, and his mouth, his tongue, a hot lure to her lonely soul. He bucked into her with a vigorous rhythm, and broke from their kisses only long enough to allow her to suck in a healthy dose of oxygen.

  She came once after a shockingly deep thrust, but he swallowed her scream and continued to fuck her against the door. Her back rubbed the hard wood, her shirt the only barrier between her flesh and the door's rough surface, but somehow the raw nature of his strokes made her want more.

  He released her mouth to plant a trail of kisses along her jaw line.

  "Again,” he said, a husky command in her ear. “Come again."

  She panted for air and squeezed her eyes shut tight as he pushed her to new heights of pleasure. “I—Oh, God. I..."

  "I need...” He ground his groin against her clit. His lips brushed her skin. “I have to..."

  "Yes, please,” she said, unsure what she begged for—just knowing that she needed more, wanted more.

  His teeth pierced her neck, and she cried out. Her arousal doubled at the bite, tripled with each fierce suck.

  She moaned. Her nipples beaded. Her clitoris tingled. Her pussy contracted, the inner muscles gripping his cock, which filled her, stretched her, and throbbed inside. Her orgasm exploded, and it didn't stop at one blast. It pulsed with every draw of his mouth on her tender skin, each swirl of his tongue, sending wave after wave of sparklers throughout her body.

  Her mind hung suspended in a euphoric subspace even as he held her impaled on his cock, pinned between his body and the door. His hips pumped his cock farther into her pussy—in, out, in again, all to a consistent, stalwart beat that battered her overwhelmed senses into orgasmic submission.

  The seductive pull of his bite was so much stronger than before, now when their bodies were united as one. He sucked harder on her neck with devastating effects on her most erogenous zones—her clit, her nipples, her pulse.

  She couldn't help but succumb to the intense titillation. Her awareness became acute. She felt everything, reveled in it, and longed for it. The sweet friction of his cock sliding into her moist depths. The delicious rub of his body against her clit. The addictive suction of his mouth on her flesh. She didn't want it to end, pleaded for, “More,” although her limbs grew weaker, her eyelids heavy.

  Then he reared back, fangs exposed and cock buried to the hilt, as he came long and hard, deep into her womb. She climaxed a third time and collapsed in his arms, her head on his shoulder.

  Weakly she pressed a kiss to his neck and heard him groan.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter Nine

  Kieran leaned over to pick up Cheyenne's pile of weaponry, debating with himself whether it was wise or safe to return them to her. A glance her way told him she was on the last button of her blouse and that she was still a bit overwhelmed—her buttons were misaligned.

  He could relate. He was as stunned as she seemed to be.

  The sun was up. Its rays weaved through the trees and lanes that divided the above-ground vaults. Even in the shadow of the tomb's portico, he felt ... spent. And he wasn't foolish enough to attribute it all to the sun's effects.

  He'd had sex with plenty of women over the years, even drank from some on occasion, but he'd never been so drawn to one before.

  Shit! He'd fucked the woman in a cemetery.

  Not just any woman, but Cheyenne, a vampire slayer in her own right.

  He fucked and fed off Cheyenne in a cemetery.

  "I'm so going to hell,” he muttered.

  "What was that?"

  "Nothing.” He turned to face her and held out the knives, all re-sheathed in their corresponding holders.

  "Thanks."

  As she donned the rest of her garb, he noticed the tell-tale bite wound on her neck. Although the puncture marks healed quickly, thanks to his saliva, the bruising effect of his suction would remain for a while like a hickey left by an adolescent prom date.

  He turned away and looked up, noticing the family name carved into the stone. I'm going to hell, and the Beauregard ancestors are my witnesses.

  * * * *

  Anessa approached Marsalis with caution. The head vampire of their coven was well known for an explosive temper. A vampire so ancient no one in the coven recalled a time before him, Marsalis was a worthy leader—ruthless and invincible.

  Dressed in garb more suited to an antebellum reenactment, his tall, imposing figure stood with his back to her, but that gave her little relief. She knew he was aware of her presence. Marsalis always knew.

  She ignored the whispers and stares of the others in the large space and cleared her throat, the sound echoing off the walls of the once grand ballroom, now worn and ravaged by time. The moment he turned toward her, she dropped to one knee, head bowed.

  Silence made her insides quiver. She rubbed her palms on her thighs.

  "Where is the human?” His tone, like terror unleashed, turned that quiver into a full-bodied shudder.

  "I was unable to retrieve her, Sire. There was another..."

  "Another slayer? But her partner was vanquished already. Were those rumors untrue?"

  "I didn't see a human partner. It was another vampire who came to her aid."

  "Gregory? Neal?"

  She took a deep breath. “Dead, Sire. The other vampire killed them."

  "Dead?” he shouted. The volume made her jolt and others around them take steps back. “I sent three of you! Three against two—one a mere human—and still you fail me. They're dead, the human is lost to us and, yet, somehow you survived to tell me this?"

  She rushed to explain. “But I—Kieran was too strong, too fast. We couldn't—"

  His hand shot up, palm out, and she winced in fear of the strike that never came.

  "Kieran? Did you say Kieran?"

  "Yes, Sire. I heard the woman call him that.” She didn't volunteer that she'd fled to the other side of the cemetery before stopping to hear the woman call out that name. It obviously meant something to Marsalis, judging by the toothy grin that spread across his face. And if that knowledge saved her undead life, then she'd thank her lucky stars for her vampiric hearing with a hearty toast of AB-positive.

  "And you say he protected her?"

  "Yes, Sire.” She lowered her gaze once more. “Does this knowledge please you?"

  "Yes, it does. It confirms my suspicions that the online slayer is working with the Order after all."

  She sighed with relief. That was the reason he'd ordered them to kidnap the human in the first place. She knew, after learning of the team through rumor of one's demise, he hoped to force the surviving slayer to give up the names and locations of others in the Order.

  He paced a few steps away from her before turning to face her once more, the dreaded whip now in his hand. He swung fast. The thin leather sliced across her back forcing a cry from her lips. “That doesn't excuse the fact that you lost the human."

  He swung again and popped her across the left cheek. She cowered before him. At the scent of blood from her fresh wounds, the other vampires shuffled around her, their hunger and excitement evident. But not too close; they didn't want to feel the lash any more than she did.

  "I can find her,” Anessa screamed. “I've tasted her blood!” It was only a few drops from when she'd scratched the human, which she sucked from the tips of her own nails, so it wouldn't have the full range of tracking that a bite to the neck would, but it was all she had to offer. It should buy her some time to regain his good graces.

  Marsalis held up his empty hand and lowered the one with the whip. A collective groan of disappointment passed ov
er the group.

  "You've earned a temporary reprieve.” His footsteps echoed in the chamber as he drew nearer. His palm settled on her head. He remained silent until she looked up at him. “Disappoint me again, and I'll slice you apart and feed your blood to my pets."

  She glanced at the two vicious rogue vamps chained to one wall. They'd been force-fed victims’ blood beyond death's final heartbeat so many times, they'd gone insane with bloodlust, addicted to the kill. She swallowed hard and looked away.

  She would not fail him. “Yes, Sire."

  * * * *

  Cheyenne glanced in the rearview mirror at Kieran lying on her mattress in the back of the van. He'd driven his own motorcycle as she returned to the hotel to gather her things and check out. Then, he'd continued to follow her for the hour and a half it had taken them to return from Baton Rouge to the outskirts of New Orleans, but upon entering the Crescent City, he'd signaled for her to pull over in a shopping center where he parked his motorcycle and climbed into the back of her van.

  She realized that, although he could walk about in the daytime, he'd still become weaker as the day progressed. At least he appeared weakened so long as he was exposed to direct sunlight.

  She didn't ponder too long the trust that he expressed just by willingly getting into her van, a slayer's van, but she had noticed and appreciated it.

  She needed nourishment so, while he rested in the shadowy confines of her home on wheels, she made one stop to get something to eat and stretch her legs. She'd been starving and decided that lack of sleep, a lot of hot sex, and no-fun battles with vampires could wear a woman out, although the food and a super-sized caffeine fix helped.

  By the time she'd returned and pulled out onto the road again, he'd revived and now lay with head propped on palms and booted feet crossed at the ankles. While she drove to, of all places, a church.

  "Tell me again. Why are we going to this church?"

  "You'll see soon enough."

  She sighed and fisted the steering wheel. With a glance in the mirror, she pressed the gas and merged with highway traffic. “Can you not answer one single question without evading?"

  "That wasn't evading."