WARNING – This book contains erotic ADULT material. It is of a BDSM nature (Bondage & Discipline, Domination & Submission and Sadism & Masochism) and should only be read by persons of legal age who are permitted to read erotic material.
This book is a work of fiction. Characters, names, places and events are produced solely by this author’s overactive imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, deceased or living, establishments or locales is highly unlikely and completely coincidental.
Copyright © 2014 C.P. Mandara
All rights reserved.
Cover Design by Kriss Morton
Image Copyright Subbotina, 2014
Used under license from Depositphotos.com
Dancing With
Death
By C. P. Mandara
Violetta is an executioner… of vampires. Famed for her fiery beauty and mesmerising personality, she has never failed an assignment.
Monsieur Martinet is no ordinary vampire, though. He is a master at his craft and can control humans with the merest flick of his eyelids. The vampire huntress with the porcelain skin and flaming red hair has killed all of his brethren, without exception. He now seeks the ultimate revenge: her submission in HIS bed.
If he’s allowed to stay alive long enough, that is.
Go to Heaven for the climate, Hell for the company.
--Mark Twain
Venice – Il Ballo in Maschera
She was the harbinger of death. If the rumours were to be believed, he did not have long left in this world. Infuriatingly, her scent teased him. Having become accustomed to the less than savoury smells of humans, such as blood, vomit, sweat, and terror, he found her unique essence fascinating. Was it jasmine or perhaps magnolia that assailed his nostrils with the fragrance of purity? Whatever it was, he found it intoxicating.
So, she had finally come for him. He could not wait to meet Violetta, the famed vampire huntress who had killed most of his coven in these ten years past. To say they had a score to settle was the understatement of at least the past five centuries. Although he’d been alive for several more, there were truly gruesome happenings before that. Take the plague for instance, the one hundred years war, witch hunts, or the crusades perhaps, which couldn’t really compare with the likes of her.
The partner he currently held in his arms was in a trance-like state of euphoria and awaiting his command. She was stunningly attractive, but then all his women were. Her long blond ringlets were arranged into a mass of curls on the top of her head, her pretty black lashes fluttered from behind her feathered masque, and her lips were captivating in the brightest shade of carmine. He could lure his heart’s desire with a single glance, and he wasn’t ashamed to say that he used the fact to his advantage. Lady Harriet, unfortunately, had been far too easy to bring under his control. She and all her twittering friends had little more than fluff inside their heads, and he could keep them in check with both eyes closed. He required a challenge. An intelligent mind and a quick wit would be a delicious start. Then he would dish out his revenge which had been festering inside him like a malignant tumour, growing bigger with each new death she had casually doled out to his brethren.
Twirling his lady friend around the parquet floor of the dance hall, listening to the sound of her heels as they clipped across the wood, he caught a flash of brilliant red hair. She whirled out of his sight as quickly as she entered it, but he knew with a certainty that it was his nemesis. He sensed her exhilaration upon having finally found him, and a certainty that justice would soon be served. Delving past her emotions, he burrowed deep into her head to see if she would let him discover her secrets.
His feelers reached out gently; insidious little tendrils of power that could skirt the four corners of her mind, suck out whatever he wished to know, and leave as quickly as they had entered, without her knowing he had ever been there. They could also infiltrate every pore of her being. He could sink himself into every nerve, sinew, muscle, and fibre. With little more effort than it would take a fly to flap its wings, he could control her heart beat, or even stop it, if he so desired. If she thought she was famed for death, her body count would be a mere drop in the ocean compared to the corpses he had managed to amass.
Violetta’s partner quickly pranced her to the other side of the ballroom, but even though she was now out of sight, she was most certainly not out of mind. His invisible probes dug their claws into her head and had a look around.
The girl was, incredibly, unsullied by the touch of his kind. She must have dealt out death with the skill of a medieval executioner to have remained impermeable to the ranks of the undead. It didn’t worry him overmuch. There were two possible outcomes from their meeting. Either she would serve his life as a grand feast for the Gods (if indeed there were any for the beast that he’d become), or he’d manage to have a little fun with her. Both options were tempting enough. He’d been dancing with death for the better part of the last century, and so far, his body had proved to be indestructible. If she could terminate the thick thread of immortality which remained steadfast inside his body, he would probably thank her wholeheartedly - if he had a heart, of course.
Feeling the eyes of the huntress upon him as she glided back towards him, he deposited his partner on a sentient gentleman, who was waiting patiently for a dance by the large, opaque, mullioned windows. The air was redolent with the scent of gardenias, and their perfume streamed through the partitions. He wrinkled his nose as his acute sense of smell was overwhelmed for a moment. Then, Sir Henry picked up his partner’s hand and led her gently towards the floor, giving him a gracious nod in return. The man had been observing Lady Harriet for some time, and every now again he was happy to perform a charitable deed if it suited his purposes. Whilst the gentleman’s thoughts were not particularly pure, he had a feeling they’d be in line with his salacious friend’s. He didn’t spare Harriet a glance as she waltzed away into the crowd. Striding purposefully outside, towards the sickly aroma of flowers, he awaited his enemy with almost childlike glee.
She took her own sweet time to arrive. Away from the safety of her compatriots, she was considerably more wary of him. Good. He wouldn’t mind witnessing a sliver of fear in those beautiful, wide violet eyes that were famed for their intelligence as much as their beauty.
Plunging forth into the inky darkness, he let his senses reach out silently into the night, becoming the omnipotent being that all creatures feared. Feeling the hairs on the back of his neck prickle, he knew she was close. The sound of her breathing, a little faster than it should have been, assailed his ears in sparkling clarity. When she spoke, she nearly deafened him, and he had to quickly tone down his sensitive hearing.
“Are you ready to die, Monsieur Martinet?”
Her voice was clear and deceptively calm, although he wasn’t fooled for a moment.
“What a pleasure it is to meet you at last, Violetta.” He made sure the resonant tones of his voice penetrated her eardrums, and he felt her body clench. It was a beautiful, instinctively sexual response, and she was unprepared for it. The predator inside him preened its feathers. “As ready as I’ll ever be,” he finally replied to her question, nodding his head politely. “Feel free to do your worst, Madame.”
Turning around to feast his hypnotic blue eyes upon her, he widened them to their full potential. These were eyes that could see through a person’s soul in an instant and rifle through suitcases of hidden secrets with casual indiscretion, inhaling them all into his head to be used to his advantage at a later date.
Her eyes widened in fear, as he’d intended them
to.
“You have the gift,” she gasped in a tight voice, already backing away from him in panic.
“Ah oui, mon petite,” he said with a menacing drawl. “Did none of the others tell you?” He let himself enjoy the faint tremor that shook her body and rattled her composure. Then, he pushed his will upon her, rooting her legs to the spot as if she had been encased in concrete. Moving slowly towards his now immobile prey, he glared at her with his bright blue irises. “I suspect that’s because you killed them before they had a chance to talk about dear old Daddy.” The look he gave her was faintly mocking.
She narrowed her eyes in response and tried to fight his control. The force of her will struggling to regain the use of her legs was quite impressive but ultimately futile. That didn’t mean that he couldn’t see why most of his coven had fallen under the almost indomitable power that she wielded. This one was strong. He knew her agile body would be lightning fast and that she would know all the tricks of the ‘death’ trade, but it didn’t change anything. The fact remained that she was no match for his particular talents.
“You have killed all of my children, cherie. For that alone you should die. I find these days, though, that death falls short of my expectations in the revenge stakes. It is, in my humble opinion, over far too quickly. So I’ll make you an offer you can’t refuse. Two minutes. You have two minutes in which to kill me in any way that you choose, without interference on my part. If you fail, however, the consequences will be high. I hasten to add that they might even be catastrophic for a woman of your nature, so think long and hard before accepting my challenge.”
He watched her eyes narrow as she waited for his verdict. Her little brain was whirring over countless possibilities of all the cruelties which he might care to inflict upon her and not a one was correct, although some of her ideas certainly had merit. He wasted no time in setting her thoughts straight.
“If you fail, I fancy you’ll be the first of my new breed of children. Depending on how exacting my desire for revenge is, I might even take you for a bride; an eternal one, Violetta.” Her horrified shudder amused him. Delving inside her head once more, letting his talents have free reign, he listened attentively to her thoughts. The first thing he discovered was her terror at having her body overpowered by nothing more than his gaze. She had never witnessed that kind of control before, and her thoughts were already running rampant with the significance of what killing him would mean for mankind. Now that he had demonstrated his skill, he had just painted a great big red cross on his forehead. No matter. Death was the least of his concerns. Her thoughts began taking on a different hue, and this time she wondered how he might use his particular brand of control over her, should she fail. Violetta speculated between whether he would want her as his servant, to fetch and clean for him, or as a blood slave to feed upon, which was the considerably more unpalatable option for her. He resisted the urge to laugh. His designs on her were a little more carnal in nature, although he had no objections to tasting the delightful life-force that flowed through her. He pondered on what the spicy red fluid coursing through her veins would taste like? A Bordeaux? No, that would be a little heavy and old. She was more of a Cotes de Provence rosé, soft, fruity and fresh – with a hint of summer and berries.
Her thoughts, becoming more jumbled and crazy by the second, forced him to pay attention once more. She was on the verge of accepting his challenge, confident she stood a fighting chance at extinguishing his life. Her only concern was the ‘eternal bride’ threat. She did not fear death, surprisingly enough, unlike ninety-nine percent of her fellow mortals. The thought of becoming immortal, however, would shatter her mind to pieces. The eternal damnation, the loss of her soul and becoming the evil she had fought so hard to destroy had her all of a flutter. He heard her deep inhalations of breath as she actively calmed herself down and thought through his proposal logically. In the end, she estimated her chances of success outweighed the risk of her mind’s destruction. Her reasoning was disgustingly noble. She believed that this would be the greatest service to the world her life could offer, and it was her duty to accept. Besides, she figured that he needed her permission in order to change her, and she felt that no amount of persuasion on his part could ever make her agree to such a fate.
If she failed in her task, he would enjoy proving her wrong.
“Two minutes should be more than enough time for what I have in mind, Monsieur. Release me.”
“Say please.” He gave her a dark look and a feral smile.
Attempting one last gargantuan effort at freeing her feet and finding herself still tightly pinned to the spot, she gave in gracefully. “Pretty please, Monsieur. Let me kill you.” Well, not so gracefully, after all.
The invisible glue that had held her feet pinioned to the soft grass disappeared instantly. She fell forward before regaining her balance and managed, awkwardly, to right herself. Flexing her feet gingerly beneath her, she decided no permanent damage had been done and business could continue as usual.
Kicking off the ridiculous shoes she’d been forced to squeeze her feet into for the evening’s proceedings, she let them fly in the air, and the lavender sandals hit him full force in the stomach before they dived towards the floor.
“Death by stilettos? Now that’s one I haven’t seen before…” He let his voice trail off into the cool night air as he stared at her face. She was mesmerising. The wind had taken her red hair and whipped it forward around her face. The lights from the ballroom behind her had illuminated it into seething, orange flames. The soft lilac of her dress appeared almost translucent in the bright light, and her silhouette could be seen in sharp relief through the thin organza. The laser-cut, silver filigree mask she wore was cast half in shadow and hid a good portion of her face, serving to give a mysterious but very feminine air. Although oxygen was not a pre-requisite for his kind, he sucked in a breath regardless. For one tiny split second he found himself entranced by the beauty before him, and he could have almost been persuaded to kiss her hand and kneel at her feet. In the next, he was angered by his momentary lapse in concentration and visions of the bloody massacre his coven had become haunted his thoughts. She would pay - in the worst way possible. In fact, if he lived through her attempts on his life, he would make it his mission to watch her suffer every hell imaginable.
“Your two minutes begins now,” he said coldly.
“So be it,” she whispered and, bending forwards to get a grip on the end of her dress, she pulled the floaty material upwards to reveal two, creamy white thighs complete with her instruments of death. Black leather holsters encircled each; one held a small solid silver dagger and the other a sharp wooden stake.
It took all of his will power for his tongue to remain in his mouth. She had legs that reached up to the planet Venus, kissed it, and returned. The limbs of a dancer, they were slim, athletic, and beautifully smooth. He wanted them both beneath him. As quick as the vision of loveliness appeared, it vanished. A monstrous Medusa rose in its wake, and it was clear that she was all about business-as-usual. Her mouth had hardened. Her eyes had lost their luminous gleam, and the hint of innocence he had seen within them might have been nothing more than a figment of his imagination. Here was a killer, a practiced deliverer of death, and she had no remorse for what she was about to do.
The chit wasted no time in flying at him, little good that it did her. He neatly side-stepped her advance and watched as she soared past him, towards the flowerbeds. There was a flutter of marigolds, a confusion of fuchsias, and a petulant little yelp as she got herself tangled up in the English roses. Then the tang of blood bloomed upon the air, and he cursed her every which way to hell as his mouth watered with the seductive aroma. He knew he should have fed before tonight’s proceedings, but the lure of feeding from her would make his abstinence all the sweeter. His hunger might put him slightly off-balance, but it was nothing he couldn’t handle.
Violetta’s second attempt on his life had her diving for his back, and he
saw her in his mind’s eye, flying towards him with both hands gripping the cold, silver hilt of her weapon. It was rather unsporting of her, but he had expected nothing less. She did not think him worthy enough of honour, so why should she play by the same rules? He played the same tactic as the one before and simply moved out of her way as soon as her feet had taken to the air. He watched with bored eyes as she fell heavily to the floor, dropping the knife and knocking all the air out of her body.
When she managed to refill her lungs with the precious substance of her kind, she spat at him and swore viciously. It seemed that failure did not become her. How very unladylike.
“You said you wouldn’t stop me!” There was hysteria in her voice, and whilst he shouldn’t have admitted it to himself, it was rather pleasing to hear.
“I said I wouldn’t interfere, I didn’t say I’d make it easy for you. You have control of both of your legs and I haven’t stopped your heart from beating, so count yourself lucky.” He raised his eyebrows at her prone form in challenge. Your two minutes are nearly up. If you’d be so gracious and remain where you are, I could be charitable and show you a good time before I decide whether to kill you or not.” Her eyes flashed with an almost zealous intensity and she got to her feet with alarming speed. She had not broadcast her actions in her mind, which left him completely unprepared for her attack. The girl was a fast learner. With the rough wooden stake held in a grip of iron, she slammed in into his chest with impressive force, and she gave him a wide smile of victory, revealing nearly every one of her pearly-white teeth.
The smile was short-lived. The stake did not sink deep into his flesh as she had expected, but merely bounced off his chest, causing her to fly backwards. Landing on the hard ground for a second time that evening, she felt something in her body snap. Pain splintered through her shoulder as her wide eyes almost shot forth from their sockets, giving him a look of incredulity. For a moment, shock deadened the pain.
Dancing With Death: Ensnared and Enraptured (Evading Death Book 1) Page 1
