by Emma Jaye
However, this building was isolated, which was understandable given the nature of the residents. He wouldn’t want to live near beings who considered his blood food either.
How many vampires lived here? How many was he expected to serve for a decade? Or until one got peckish, or decide there was something wrong with him that warranted culling.
Bollocks to sitting here like a fatted calf waiting for the slaughterman.
He couldn’t see the sun under the cloud cover, but the sky was steadily darkening. Night probably wasn’t an ideal time to escape a vampire nest, but the note said he needed to be ready after sunset. The clock was ticking. Frost already touched the blades of grass on the lawn stretching beside the gravel driveway.
An ornate set of black iron gates stood in a fifteen feet high wall a hundred yard away. A deserted, unmade road passed the gate. It would be long, cold, barefoot walk to help, but it was a better option than ‘fatted calf’.
The small, diamond paned window wasn’t locked; he opened it and leaned out. The cold bit at him immediately. The wall looked sheer, and his heart fell. Yes, even as an immature demon, he was tougher than a human, but jumping and perhaps breaking an ankle wouldn’t lead to freedom. Nor would staying put.
The drop was around twenty feet. He glanced back at the door. He hadn’t even checked if it was locked. What would be his chances of getting caught if he tried to sneak down the stairs? He wrinkled his nose. Probably a lot higher than breaking an ankle. Maybe that’s what they wanted, what they expected. Despite his crooning sympathy, Silas had enjoyed his struggles. In the instant between relaxing and the drug taking the last of his senses, he’d felt Silas’s erection as the vampire held him. Every, single, time.
Even if unlocked, the door wasn’t an option, nor was meekly waiting for them to come and change him forever. He scanned the room for anything useful. Turning the sheets into a rope to lower himself would take time, perhaps too much.
Taking a steadying breath, then another, he opened the window as wide as possible, and climbed up on the deep window sill. He counted to five, straining his senses for signs of movement. Hearing and seeing nothing, he turned and backed out of the window. Heart thumping, he lowered himself to arm’s length. He remembered cook telling him about a man surviving a fall from a scaffold because he’d known how to fall ‘properly’.
The urge to close his eyes was intense, but if he did that, he wouldn’t see the ground coming up, wouldn’t know when to soften his knees and roll.
Do it, do it now. Hit and roll, hit, roll and run. Putting his feet on the wall, he counted to three, and pushed back with all his strength.
His planned, controlled landing didn’t happen as he ended up in a heap on the gravel, sharp pain radiating from his ankle. It didn’t stop him scrabbling to his feet, so he assumed he’d sprained it, rather than fractured a bone. Casting a glance back at the monstrous wooden front door, that thankfully remained closed, he hop-limped for the gate.
The freezing gravel bit into his feet. Come on, come on, he pleaded with himself. It felt as if a hundred pairs of eyes were watching, but no shout of alarm split the night.
Its fine, no one’s watching, it’s just nerves, I’m going to make it.
The large padlock on the wrought iron gate meant he’d have to climb over. Yes, his ankle hurt, but he had three good limbs. Yes, I can do this. Once on the other side, do I go left toward the city, or right into the countryside? What would they expect? Which will get me help faster? Can I count on the local human authorities? How do I contact the sex demon council? Mother hates them, but surely they’d help one of their own in distress?
“I win.” The quiet words from the gloom beside the stone gate post made his blood freeze. Ezra halted, eyes straining to see the figure attached to the voice coming from the shadows.
He glanced behind him at the empty lawn, wondering which direction would be best.
“Oh, please run, we like a chase to whet the appetite, don’t we son?”
Silas emerged out of the darkness on the other side of the gate. “A little energetic for me, father. You know how I despise getting sweaty.” Instead of approaching Ezra, Silas leaned up against the stone pillar.
“I’m disappointed in you, my dear. You see, I believed you when you said you’d be good. I even told my father you’d behave, that you deserved to be treated with dignity like your mother. Instead, it appears you are too much like your father. Which is a pity, for you anyway.”
The relaxed honey tones lulled him until his father was mentioned.
“He was here?” Ezra blurted.
Silas glanced toward the other figure.
“Questions? From a toy?” The voice that didn’t belong to Silas was deadly calm. “You have much to learn, and I’m going to thoroughly enjoy teaching you the correct way for a lesser demon to behave when amongst his betters. Take him.” Fabian waved an elegant in the air.
A blow to his back found Ezra face down, his arms wrenched up behind him. A pair of polished shoes appeared in his line of sight.
“I suggest you do everything you’re told as quickly as possible and to the best of your ability. My father does not have a forgiving personality. I did try to warn you, my dear.” The gravel crunched as Silas walked away.
Without effort, two unfamiliar vampires hauled him upright. There was no sign of Silas or the unseen figure of his father.
“I for one am glad you disobeyed. It means we can have some real fun with you; I like a spirited fuck,” one of his captors growled in his ear as they moved him, each holding one of his arms in a vice-like grip, back across the sharp gravel and into the building.
“They call me Bones. I hope I get to show you why.”
“Oh, shut up, you blithering idiot.” The vampire on his other side spoke with a Scottish burr. Despite being in Scotland it was the first local accent Ezra had heard. “If you want to keep your head on your shoulders you’re not going to be snapping any o’ his bones. I’m Stephen and if you behave, I’m sure we’ll get on just fine.”
CHAPTER 8
A brief view of a grand hallway, with a roaring fire in a granite hearth, and tapestries covering the walls disappeared as his captors opened a heavy wooden door. It revealed a narrow set of steps heading down into blackness.
“Walk or be thrown down, your choice,” Bones said. With the two vampires behind him, he descended the worn, stone steps. Broken limbs would only make his chances of escape even slimmer.
The door closing behind him thrust him into complete darkness.
“Come on, get going,” Bones growled from only inches away.
“Don’t push him, he probably cannae see; their eyesight is as bad as a human’s. Hold the back of his shirt so he does nae fall,” Stephen said from further away. That they cared if he got injured was reassuring, but the reason why they wanted him fit sent a shiver up his spine.
A hand grasped the back of his shirt and propelled him forward and down. The oppressive inky blackness and musty smell had butterflies swirling in his belly. Will I ever come up these stairs again?
A sniff came from behind him. “Nice,” Bones murmured.
What the hell anyone could consider ‘nice’ about this? Ezra made it down another five steps before a faint light came from below.
Despite the predator behind almost treading on him, Ezra halted on the bottom step, unwilling to step into the unknown. A single flickering lantern hung from the ceiling illuminated the centre of a large, empty, cold dungeon. Cellar, it’s nothing but a cellar, he told himself.
He didn’t get a chance to examine his surroundings further. A shove in the back pushed him out into the space. Rustles in the shadows to his right had him fruitlessly peering into the gloom. He hated that they could see his every twitch clearly while he didn’t have a clue about how many were watching.
Are they hiding to unnerve me? Or is it easier to hurt someone you don’t know rather than someone you have connected with... and perhaps find amusing?
“I’m Ezra,” he called out. “I would say it’s nice to meet you, but to be honest, this sucks donkey balls. Which, by the way, I don’t do.”
A titter of laughter came from the darkness. Twenty? More? Whatever the exact count, there were quite a few back there and all sounded male. At least the echo gave him some idea of the cellar’s size.
They pushed him ten paces across the freezing floor before hands on his shoulders forced him to his knees.
Swallowing down his fear, he said, “Hey, mind the knees; I’m delicate.”
Stephen leaned down to his ear. “You might be a lesser demon, but you’re still a demon. We know you’re tougher than you look. Take my advice; lose the smart mouth, do what your told, say ‘yes sir’ a lot and howl when it hurts. Loudly.” The heat of the two bodies beside him left.
The vulnerability of his situation flooded back as someone uncovered a second lantern on the back wall. The space was thirty feet long, but he couldn’t yet tell its width.
A tall, mature, blond man emerged from the darkness. His clothes were even more old-fashioned and foppish than Silas’s. This must be Fabian, the one who had all the other vampires pissing themselves in fear. His steps echoing in the heavy silence.
The scene was ridiculously theatrical. The stress, the fear, the horror he’d witnessed, had Ezra fighting against hysterical laughter. With lace dripping from his collar and cuffs, Fabian could claim the title ‘King of the Fops’ rather than ‘terrifying demon’.
“You see something amusing?” Fabian’s voice possessed the same honey tone as his son, but its intense edge had Ezra sobering fast. The vampires who callously slaughtered the man on the train feared this dandy.
Ezra shook his head, not trusting himself to speak. Whatever came out would either show his terror or make things worse. Stephen’s advice came back. Would acting like a scared stable boy really help? The doctor’s terror hadn’t helped him survive. But he had been human. A condition these vampires clearly despised.
The lump in his throat threatened to choke him, but he swallowed it, pushing it down where he hoped the fear couldn’t affect him. Even if he never became a functioning incubus, which, given the circumstances was as likely sprouting wings in the next few minutes, he wasn’t human. He was the last in a line of demons who used others for food, including vampires, these vampires.
They had fed his mother, at her request, and hadn’t hurt her. Or at least they didn’t hurt her enough to trigger her protective instincts; she’d kept him safe for them his entire life.
She must have manipulated them in some way, so the chances that I can do the same is high. He chose to ignore that the skills of his kind were used to lure people into sleeping with a stranger, rather than persuading them not to indulge in carnal activities.
His gaze slid to the side, was Silas among the glowing throng? The dark-haired vampire had protected him to some extent on the journey here, would he do it again?
The indistinct glow of lust wasn’t light; it didn’t illuminate anything. It was more of a feeling, a heat. It didn’t reveal identities, although his mother said she could tell one of her regulars from his lust signature. Ezra had never been interested in staying in the same room with them to register any distinctions. Skin prickling, Ezra wondered how many people were watching him, anticipating, admiring, wanting. To his horror, there was an unfamiliar pressure in his groin. He looked down. Fuck, that’s all I need.
When he glanced up, hoping no one had noticed, a slight smile quirked Fabian’s lips. Ezra couldn’t let him get the upper hand, although being on his knees would make this a tough sell.
“So? You think an incubus having an erection means anything? Just because my body’s reacting, it doesn’t mean I want this.”
The smirk got wider as the vampire inclined his head in acknowledgment, but he didn’t speak. Ezra tried to stop his hands trembling. Being on his knees didn’t improve his negotiating position or confidence. He started to get up.
“Stay,” Fabian’s soft voice didn’t carry an implicit threat, but annoying him wouldn’t make this any easier.
Trying to prove they were indeed equals, Ezra held his head high and met the vampire’s gaze. “There’s been a misunderstanding. I appreciate your interest, but I don’t wish to be here. As an adult, I’m not subject to the contract you made with my mother; I’m not bound to obey her wishes. If you release me immediately, I won’t report this unfortunate incident to the Supernatural Council. You can take up your grievance with my mother.”
Fabian’s mouth twitched. “Morvan was right, you are lively, pretty too. I have to say, you’re far more appealing than either of your parents. It appears that you can indeed make a silk purse out of a sow’s ears.”
Laughter came from the shadows. Ezra’s eyes shot to the gloom, trying again to make out who was back there. Feeling this vulnerable sapped his resolve; it couldn’t continue. Ezra got to his feet.
“The floor’s cold, and as a fellow demon, I deserve respect.”
The light from the lantern glinted off silver threads in Fabian’s yellow hair. How old did a vampire have to be to get grey hair? An angular face, high cheekbones and a straight nose gave the vampire an aristocratic appearance, just like his son.
The vampire sighed as if he had the weight of the world on his shoulders.
“That’s two. One for refusing my hospitality; one for disobeying a clear instruction. Your mother is clearly as poor a parent as she is a succubus. To be honest, I’m surprised she hasn’t starved to death since she left here. What’s the average age of her current collection of addicted humans? Sixty? Even if they can still feed her, they’ll be dead soon and her chances of attracting new ones?” The vampire shrugged.
“What my mother does is no longer my concern. If I never see her again, it’ll be too soon.”
Fabian inclined his head. “I wholeheartedly agree. The likelihood of you ever seeing the rancid hag who bore you again is nil.”
Ezra frowned. Did Fabian’s words imply something permanent had happened to Clarissa, or that he’d never get out of here?
“Have you killed her?”
Fabian’s head tilted. “Would you care if I had?”
Ezra searched his feelings. Nothing, he felt nothing. “Not as long as it was quick.”
“Spoken like a true demon. There may be hope for you yet.” Fabian smiled with approval before his face hardened. “By the way, before you threaten me with the Supernatural Council, you should know that I’m the leader of that august body.
“Avery, the sex demon delegate was quite perturbed when your mother registered your birth, as he refused her petition to use his vascellum to conceive. I convinced your fellow incubus, your distant relative by the way, that you are nothing but a figment of the imagination of a senile, barren succubus. Your entire species thinks you’re a human she adopted as a pet. Apart from those in this room, and your mother, no supernatural believes you even exist. You are mine, while I chose to keep you. And you will beg for my attention within the hour.”
This isn’t happening. The cold hard stone beneath his bare feet told him otherwise. His world, his future, was about to be ripped away as the suave demon forced himself inside him, branding him deep inside with his seed. Fear, combined with a swift stab of desire, made his arse clench.
Sick, I’m sick if any part of me wants that. I won’t be a slave to my primitive instincts; I’m not an animal. But how would it feel?
Anger at himself, at Clarissa, at the vampires for making him feel this way, exploded.
“Bastard!” he yelled, lunging at the figure in front of him.
Hands grabbed his shoulders and wrists before he made it more than two steps. Ezra’ arms were stretched straight behind him as his shoulders were pushed down. Strain as he might, he was forced back to his knees and bent over, as if bowing to his tormentor. Ezra kept his hate-filled gaze on the vampire.
“That’s three,” Fabian said as he strolled toward him. The aristocra
tic nose wrinkled in distaste.
Clenching his jaw, Ezra glared at his captor, trying to convince everyone in the room, including himself, that no part of him wondered how it would feel to have this powerful demon fucking him.
“The count is now four. It appears you can’t even follow the simple instruction to wash. You nearly smell worse than a human. Most unsatisfactory.”
“My Lord, he did use the chamber pot as instructed,” Morvan’s respectful voice came from the shadows.
“Bowels too?”
“No, my Lord, but he hasn’t eaten since leaving his mother and she confirmed he moved his bowels that morning.”
Ezra knew he stank, but if it kept the vampires at a distance, he was fine with it. The longer they stayed away from him, the longer he had to control himself and work on a plan to get out of here with his virginity intact. Because that is what I want. Saying it didn’t stop the fact that his dick had swelled to the point of discomfort within the confines of his trousers.
“At least that’s something we won’t have to worry about again; primitive species are so revolting.”
The comment reinforced what was about to happen. Mature sex demons fed off lust energy, not the ‘baby food’ his mother had termed human food. Having bowel movements wasn’t something he’d ever really thought about, but now he probably wouldn’t have another, it took on a new importance.
Fabian fixed his gaze on a specific spot in the shadows a frown on his face.
“Morvan, why do I smell semen on him?”
“It’s his, my Lord. He’s a horny little bugger; we had to restrain and drug him to stop him worrying at his dick every chance he got.”
Ezra struggled against Stephen and Bones’ grip as a wave of soft laughter ran around the room.
“Liar,” he shouted, before realising the implications of what he’d said. If he hadn’t come, whose semen did Fabian smell? If he could smell it at all. Ezra sniffed, trying to detect anything unusual. He could smell his own sour body odour, but that was all. Vampire senses are sharper than mine.
