by Addison Cain
“No.” The resonance of his denial, of the rage I glimpsed in that simple answer. It made me nervous that it was all too good to be true.
So I tested Malcom, because nothing in my world, it seemed, could be real or trusted. “You’ll still give me Ethan.”
Glittering eyes flashed, more agitation of a different kind. “That was our agreement.”
I cocked an eyebrow. “Can you make him love me?”
“Yes.”
And I wanted that, I wanted that love I’d thought I’d had. That playful sort and laughter, the days in bed where he took pleasure of himself in my body. Like a drug. An impulse I couldn’t trust but needed to feed. “When?”
“And you can do as you wish with him, sweet Jade. That fool mortal or immortal is of no consequence to me. Our housecat, one you can fuck if you feel the need to purge that desire.”
And right there I grasped that Malcom understood exactly what was wrong with me. That after a lifetime of witnessing my rewrites, he knew me in a way I’d never possibly know myself.
The feeling, like most feelings these days, was unsettling. But it was also sanctuary.
“Who would I have been if…” Darius had not been my father.
Gentle, he tucked my hair behind my ear, massaging the lobe as he smiled. “A spoiled, rotten brat. Too beautiful for her own good and impossibly stubborn.”
I smirked and Malcom’s response was instant, brighter than any sun, and overwhelming. He kissed me.
Tongue tracing my lips so I might part them, fingers delving into my hair, Malcom took of that small smile, feasted on it, groaning into my open mouth. “Tell me, Jade, that you understand what this is.”
A collar around my neck, a white dress, a pet, the touch of a starved man already bunching my skirt up and unzipping his fly. Right there in the elevator. He’d already had me before the soiree, he’d had me dozens of times the evening prior. Insatiable. A word I’d never have considered applying to Malcom. But one second I was breathing out a response, the next he was inside me.
Full.
I don’t know why out of all the cocks I’d ever choked with my cunt, his felt so very different. Breath stolen, jerking from the frantic way he worked to bury himself deeper, and clung. It was either that or fall spiraling backward into the abyss.
“Tell me!” He panted at my ear.
He hit a spot inside me that was tender yet eager to know friction. When I squealed and hiked my leg higher, Malcom was not appeased. Not when he wanted words.
“Tell me, or I’ll take it, and I won’t even give you the ghost of a choice.” Why was he doing this to me, here, where I could not control the pitch of my moans and was ashamed? This wasn’t like fucking Ethan in all the dirty ways and silly places. Here, I wasn’t in ultimate control.
In fact, I had none.
At all.
Not over my own body’s reactions to a throbbing, glorious shaft. Not to my mental state, which grew more precarious by the minute. Not over my future.
This man had taken it regardless of what I might be underneath my father’s influence. He’d called me wife, borne my teasing because it was nothing to him. Because there was no undoing it no matter if I agreed, disagreed, desired another, or wanted none at all.
And I was coming, and rabid, head thrown back to cry out like a beast.
“It’s the end of me.” I’d said, breath lost in the waves of saturating, perfect pleasure that was so far beyond sex I didn’t understand up from down.
Filled, fluttering and clenching with every bit of unnatural strength my pussy possessed, I milked his cum, sucked it from him. Felt each burst run from the grinding base of his cock to the uncut head.
My body seemed hungry for him, for a chance to be what it was without holding back for fear of breaking a fragile human. And I’d never climaxed with a vampire before Malcom—unless I’d been in the feed and too consumed to consider something as inconsequential as sperm.
It was over almost as quickly as it had begun, but no less earth-shattering.
With so many mirrors, it was impossible to miss that I looked truly fucked… and not just physically.
After smoothing down my skirt, pocketing panties I didn’t even know he’d torn, Malcom took my chin and made a clear, concise demand. “Lick me clean.”
This was no test.
Mascara having run down my cheeks, hair mussed, dress half here and half there, I looked every bit the prostitute I’d played for years. But I knelt, holding his eyes, lost utterly, and took him in my mouth as a wife.
***
The elevator moved, the door opened, and I strolled into the lobby on the arm of a well-satisfied male. With the flavor of his cum on my tongue, I followed along, a bit dazed, my thoughts stuck on the fact he tasted different than a human.
Less bleachy. Salty, but also almost radiant like blood. Which had drawn down my fangs once he’d popped from my mouth, because I’d wanted more. Tempted to reach under my skirt and gather what ran down my thighs, but somewhat humiliated over the thought.
Because it wasn’t a sex game where I’d lick my fingers to entice him, it was hunger. Groaning I’d forced my eyes from his swollen member, already having sucked the entire thing down my throat, to ‘lick clean’ until it was only my spit that shined the fat head peeking from his foreskin. I’d wanted to nibble there, to play and rub at him. To see what made his knees weak and what made him hiss frustration.
Cocks could be such fun things.
I also wanted to sink my teeth into that perfect vein running down his turgid length and drain him until he’d be too weak to fight me. At that thought, I’d known Malcom would have allowed it, because we both knew he’d overpower me no matter how I might gorge.
And I found the idea somewhat exciting, my cheeks going pink. Still on my knees before him, but looking to the floor.
No mirrors, no male. Only his leg and a polished shoe that I could ignore. Until he’d put his hand to my hair, told me he loved me, and that I’d earned a great reward. That he was proud of me. That he’d never witnessed in all his years of endless life such a survivor. That I would give him fine sons and deadly daughters.
Slouched and mixed up, I listened, fought back my outrageous hunger, and thought I might have found a piece of myself there on the floor of that elevator.
Malcom helped me rise before the door might open and I’d be seen in such a state. He smoothed my dress and wiped the black tearstains from my cheeks, his fingertip tracing the line of my lips to tidy smeared crimson gloss.
With the practiced grace of a gentleman, the ancient warlord led me through the building’s foyer and out into the night. But I knew Malcom. He was no gentleman. Gentlemen didn’t gain the rank he had in my father’s court. They didn’t fuck like he did.
They didn’t plan to betray their king and steal the princess for themselves.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Malcom
She could not resist cutting glances at me. Or working her throat. I could see her swallowing, knew her tongue toyed with the tips of her fangs the way freshly-changed vampires marveled at their new weapons.
It was a tick, something again to remind me of just how young my bride was. How much she needed me.
There was a reason all freshly-turned served three hundred years of service in this new world. And Jade, as royalty, had only ever been served. Not that she had not been a slave the whole time… but she’d had no master to guide her. To teach her beyond what I might suggest as her guardian, custodian, and chaperon. But those days were over. I’d take my hand to her backside if that’s what it took to help her bloom.
I was her husband in all ways that mattered. My sperm swam through her belly even now, and would nightly for the rest of eternity. I’d lavish her with much more than jewels. She’d know the true attention of a powerful being. One who truly loved her.
One who would continue to keep her in line.
An adorable gr
umble came from her stomach, Jade pretending as if nothing had happened.
“Already hungry?” I teased, warmth spreading through my gaze in equal measure with gentle mockery.
She was. Her cold-eyed glance could never lie, not to me. Embarrassed, she chose her typical silence. But like a true fresh-turned, accidently eyed my throat. So much for the daywalker who’d starved herself and only dined once a week.
Had I the power to break her of that habit fifty years ago…
But her fucking father. As much as I loved Jade, I hated him. And I would see him cut asunder, scorched, his limbs spread across the world to never reunite. I’d see his dust, swallow it in my wine.
“Tonight we return to the Cathedral. You will feed, rest, and be unmolested.”
“I’ve never left this city.” Jade thought she was clever, evasive with such a comment. She was cute, extremely ruffled and ready to run.
Tightening my arm where hers was looped with mine, I made it so not only could she not pull away, she could not accidentally cast a gate without taking me with her.
She noted the aggression, digging in her heels and looking every last bit betrayed. “I’m not going back there.”
“Soon I’ll take you to Paris, to Dubrovnik, to all the wonders of Europe so you might play and leave this city for the first time in your life. I’ll spoil you with feasts crafted by master chefs, with rare wine and rarer jewels.”
“You listen to me, Malcom.” The hissing, the biting, and the scratching were soon to begin—as if her sweet fangs or tiny claws could possibly do me any damage. “I will not go back.”
“And where would you run? Our apartment? Another country? Into enemy territory as a physically weak but highly desired daywalker? I’d find you in minutes. I can feel where you are with every pulse of my heart. And if another beat me to you, an ancient older than your father, what then? Would you rather be devoured so an old corpse might feel the sun one last time? Or will you trust me?”
Her eyes, makeup already smeared, watered. Her beautiful bitten lip shook. “Is this some kind of game to you? Is that what you do? You and my father? Do you toy with my memories until I unravel then take me back home for a proper whipping and a purged mind?”
Out in the open, where we could be heard and might be, I cupped her cheek and asked her to be braver. I reminded her that she was the daughter of a veritable demon and capable of so much more than either of us might imagine.
And I made her a promise. “Vladislov.”
“What?” Impatient, her heart beating fast enough to send a human into a stroke, Jade’s chest rose and fell. All of her looked ill. “That means nothing to me.”
“Do as he asks, when he asks it. It could be that easy.”
“And he’ll kill my father?” I’d pushed her too far, Jade throwing up the hand that wasn’t trapped by my arm. “You’re all insane. No one can best him. You’ve seen what he can do. The entirety of his body can spread out to all corners of a room. All corners of your mind. He is the devil, and you are a fool for thinking your foreigner might actually take his throne. I’m going to run!”
With a sigh, and a heavy heart, I caught her flailing arm and kissed her knuckles despite how she fought. “Then I’m going to have to chain you.”
“You wouldn’t dare!”
But we were already falling through a gate. One expertly crafted to deliver us outside Jade’s preferred entrance to the Cathedral.
My hand over her shrieking mouth, I dragged her through a foyer with a new, head-shaking, eye-rolling vampire who must have heard how difficult and obstinate the king's daughter could be. Not a soul stopped me. No matter how she kicked, tore at my palm, and tried to scream for freedom.
Spectators, witnesses, smirking lips and the old dame’s style of waving hand. They had seen this before: they found it boring; they found it titillating; they found it nothing. In this dead kingdom of lost souls and the damned.
I wasted no time dragging my cargo to the conservatory, even less parting the doors and forcing her inside. Then they were dragged closed despite her attempts to pull them back open. Barred, with steel.
To the guards, I said. “No one enters. Ignore her raving and lies. The princess is in one of her moods.”
And I left her there.
Already aware a fine dinner of extremely rare Kobe beef, properly prepared as it would have been in the Land of the Rising Sun, waited under a dome. Two bottles of fragrant wine also sat atop her table. One red, decanted and perfect. The second white, chilled yet uncorked.
She’d had blood enough from me earlier to tolerate a day or two while I did the work deserving of our house.
Though I couldn’t hear her while I went about my night, I knew she cried. I suffered with her, and took out my frustration on my food. Not that I killed any of the well-fed and well-bred humans from my personal stock. I just took a bit more, a touch roughly, and didn’t give a shit that they begged for mercy.
Of all immortals in this kingdom, there were few more merciful than I.
Then a hunt began, the dregs in the lowest pens released for sport. In that game I was savage, collecting the most ears with ease. Vladislov, still the guest of King Darius, found the whole thing hilarious.
***
Jade
Days before, I’d accidentally cast a gate while in the throes of unwanted orgasm, I’d dropped my sad self into the throne room before my personal Jesus Christ. But now, stuck in my conservatory I could do nothing. Try as I might.
Blood ran down my nose, an aneurysm to be sure, I’d tried so hard.
And when I could not find my exit from hell, I made hell my plaything. Everything I might reach I destroyed. The glass coffin of my childhood, trinkets, baubles, priceless art, bedding, the rug. I even pulled every last settee and couch asunder. Raging like a demon.
Red eyes, sharp fangs.
Powerless.
Malcom would pay for this. Trickery, mockery, lies. He would pay when I tore his cock off with my teeth and shoved it so far up his ass a creature incapable of shitting would never be able to get it out.
Of course, he’d grow a new dick. Leaving me more than happy to repeat the procedure.
The pain I would bring down upon that man. The hate I felt. Like a warm blanket, reassuring and normal. Wrapped in the cocoon of loathing, covered in down feathers from torn blankets, I made a nest in shattered glass and pulled my knees to my chin.
I slept through the worst of the sun, waking at dusk.
There was no water waiting when I woke.
I, the princess of this kingdom, was made to stand, burned as I was, and walk to my bathroom to drink from the tap.
Scooping water into my palm, sucking it down a dry throat, I died a little more. Until I stood straight and saw myself in the cracked remains of the mirror. A horror.
A demon’s spawn.
In great need of a shower, a new life, a rebirth.
Poisoned by this place and the horrible creatures gathered in it.
Envy at a memory, one my father would tear from my mind the second he sensed it, lanced my being. Vladislov sitting daddy’s throne. How I would have loved, even in play to have sat that throne.
To have the immortals here look upon me with veneration. Instead, I’d been dragged inside screaming, not for the first time, and laughed at. The tittle-tattle most likely carrying on would leave me shamed for years.
I’d sucked that bastard’s cock down my throat, choked on it—gagging and drooling the way men preferred.
“Jade.”
Hands to my marble bathroom vanity, burning as if the fires of hell had been born in my womb, I refused to look toward the one who had reduced me so low. “Get out.”
But Vladislov was not moved by something as pathetic as I. “Come, love. We’ll find a place in your palace to talk.”
It was then I realized sunlight drenched us both, the remainder of the day. A pink sky. Death to any vampiric immo
rtal.
“Come, child,” he murmured to me. Beautifully ugly. That long, waved brown hair shining and glorious. “You’ve had your tantrum. Let it be done.”
My clothing was shambles, my skin left with marks of broken things and self-harm. Still I turned to face my savior. “Can you really steal the throne from Satan?”
“Let’s talk of the River Seine. And beautiful things.”
The melody of his song, the very look he laid upon me. My own father had never looked at me in such a way. “I would have been a good daughter…”
How he dug in so deep with so little effort. “I know, child.”
“You asked before if I would burn the Cathedral with everyone inside.”
“And?”
“I like Marie. She’s always been kinder to me than the others.” My forehead softened, my lips growing lax. “Perhaps it is her Hapsburg jaw and lack of ‘immortal’ beauty. Or the fact she lost so many babies when her kingdom fell. She was the first to ever offer me cake. Did you know that?” Brushing rooted glass from my forearm, I continued. “I don’t think anyone does. Something so inconsequential wouldn’t even have interested my father.”
Footstep cracking more broken glass under his heel, Vladislov dared come nearer. “And did you care for the cake?”
“I devoured the attention. Sitting on her lap like a prized poodle.”
“You’re lonely.”
“Yes.” None could be more lonely than I.
With a wink, something evil professed. “No fire then. The only friends you’ve ever known are here, terrible as they are.”
Enough. I’d had enough of being toyed with on all fronts. “You said we were going to talk of the Seine.”
He moved with the same speed as my daddy. There one instant, in another before one might see. Picking a feather from my hair, Vladislov blew on it to make it fly away. Together we watched the bit of down tumble and float, to land in the chaos. And then silence.
