by Ines Johnson
“Do you wish me to stay?” he asks.
“You kinda have no choice. Trapped, remember?”
Virius nods as though turning my words over in his head. Decision apparently made, he nods. “Then I’ll stay.”
I give my head a shake. I’d heard he isn’t playing with a full deck up there. But now I see that the rumors are true. This man might be crazy.
“Would you like me to pet you?” Virius says. “Cats like to be scratched behind their ears and on their bellies.”
One: I’m not some house cat. I’m a jaguar—a panther, actually, because my coat is midnight black and I have no spots. Two: he must not have come into contact with any kind of domestic cat before because not a single feline would let a hand anywhere near its belly without sinking in claws or teeth.
“Or having your tail stroked. Would you like me to do that?”
“No, I—ah.”
With cat-like reflexes, Virius snakes his hand out and grabs me. My hand opens in protest. When it does, my knife clatters to the floor.
I’m not defenseless. I’ve been trained to take down assailants. Though I don’t feel under attack by his hands.
Virius brings me to him, picking me up as though I weigh nothing and sitting me on his lap like I am some damn house cat. His lap is still covered by the sheet, but it’s not much of a barrier for what he’s packing. Before I can yowl in protest, his hands are on me.
To my utter shock and embarrassment, I let out a low purr as his long, thick fingers find a spot behind my ear and he rubs me there. Somehow, he knows the right pressure.
His fingers have me shuddering, mewling as he hits the right spots. I am ready to curl into him and rub myself against him. I am knife-less, defenseless, and ready to show him my belly as long as he keeps scratching at that particular itch that I never knew I had.
Chapter 5
Virius
Zahara trembles at my touch. My little cat is a small, wee thing. Whereas I am a monster, a blunt object used to smash and stuff into small things that like to be broken.
For a moment, fear grips me hard. Have I hurt her? It’s always been difficult for me to tell the difference between pleasure and pain. Women’s cries of passion as their flesh bleeds from my pounding sound the same as a prisoners’ screams as I ripped off their fingernails.
I know my strength. What I don’t know is how to be gentle with all the power I wield in this overlarge body of mine. Tenderness has never once been requested of me.
Not when I fought for every scrap on the streets of ancient Rome. Not when I whored for Domitia. Not when I was an executioner for Inquisitors.
My little cat purrs as she shudders. That is a good sign. That is a sign of pleasure.
Animals, I have always understood. The sounds they make to showcase their intentions are clear. A low growl as a warning. A high-pitched rumble as an invitation.
Zahara’s sigh rolls off her tongue. The sound, beginning from high in her nasal cavity, reminds me of the coiffed singers in the theater that Gaius liked. Those women always sounded to me as though they were screaming along with the music. The sound that comes from Zahara is like that, but pleasant to my ears.
As my fingers continue to stroke her, she hits a higher note. And then an even higher one. Her eyes are closed, but I still see her lashes flutter. Another sign of pleasure. My chest puffs out at the thought that I have brought her this satisfaction.
I run my nails behind her ears. Her lobes are shaped like teardrops, reminding me of individual grapes hanging from the vine. I let my fingers follow the curve of her ear.
She shudders again. Her small breasts rub against my shirt. I have the urge to rip away the fabric between us and feel her flesh against mine. I look at the handfuls on her chest. What would it be like to cup them in my hands? What would it be like to taste them with my tongue?
I banish the thought before it can take more shape. Women have only ever wanted me to squeeze their breasts until they reddened. To punish their nipples with a vice formed by my blunt fingers until they screamed from an orgasm. Even if Zahara wanted that treatment, I don’t think I could give it to her. Seeing even the slightest red mark from my hand on her dark skin would gut me.
Gentleness is still a new thing for me. It’s a skill I’ll need to master before allowing any more contact than this. I’ll need to ask Gaius for guidance. He is a master of women’s pleasure. Giving it. Withholding it. Prolonging it.
Hadrian, on the other hand, likes to tie up his vampire wife, Carignan. But from her screams, which are filled with declarations of love for him, I gather she likes it.
I don’t want to hold Zahara down. I know what it is like to be bound and forced against your will until you have no will left. No, I want her to seek me out for pleasure. Just like a cat would curl up in its master’s lap.
Just as she’s doing now as I stroke her.
The sound of her purring makes the beast grow harder. It throbs and pulses, eager to get at her. The head of my cock rubs away at the thin sheet separating us. It’s blunt but it could punch a hole in the cotton with the right amount of friction.
I need to put it away. To jam it back inside my pants, which are now too small. Though I know it’s a fool’s errand. The monster has reared its head. It won’t go down without a fight. I don’t have much fight in me with heaven in my arms.
Zahara is pressing her face into the palm of my hand. She rubs her cheek against my fingers, as though she’s seeking more of my touch. The sensation is so foreign to me that I stop petting to watch her now pet me.
From a distance, the angles of her heart-shaped face had appeared sharp. Now that I’m holding her cheekbones, I feel the softness of the flesh there. There are fine hairs along her temples that tickle my fingertips. I stare at them in wonder as her softness, her heat, her nearness, invade all of my senses.
Does she realize that I am now wrapped around her little finger? Does she understand that my entire world view has narrowed down to encompass only her? Does she know that I have her scent, and will follow her wherever she goes until the end of time?
She says she’s trapped me. She is entirely right. My cage is here inside the palm of her hand, and I will never leave willingly. If she wants to keep me underground in this room, in this bed, I will gladly stay.
I am so hyper-aware of all the new sensations that I miss the invasion. An unfamiliar sensation presses against my mouth. It’s Zahara. She rubs her lips against mine—once, twice. And then she presses forward. I jerk away from her before she can…
I’m not sure what she had planned.
Zahara’s eyes slam open. She gulps and looks around as though she’s forgotten where she is. Her brown cheeks are stained red. But it’s a darker shade of red than passion. She looks embarrassed.
“What did you just do?” I ask her.
“Me? I didn’t do anything. You’re the one who got all handsy.”
She swats at my hands. I do not loosen my hold on her, though I am mindful of my strength. I only exert enough power to keep her in my lap, pressed against my chest so that she cannot escape.
“With your mouth?” I say. “What was that?”
“Don’t get all excited that I kissed you. It didn’t mean anything. I was just sampling the milk, since I’ve already bought the cow.”
Zahara continues to push and shove at my chest. She turns her head away, avoiding my questioning gaze.
“That was a kiss?”
Her face reddens. She manages to get an elbow free and uses it to deliver an uppercut. I merely grunt and tighten my hold. She is strong for a little thing. But she doesn’t realize she is mine and I will not let her go.
“No one’s ever done that to me before,” I say.
Zahara stops struggling. She turns back to me, her lips parted in a perfect O.
I gaze at the shape. My eyes do a full circuit of her upper and lower lips, remembering their softness. I knew what a kiss was, though it was rare to see in a whorehouse. Pat
rons came to have their loins plundered, not their lips.
“Do it again,” I say. Then, remembering my manners, I add, “Please.”
Zahara’s breathing is heavy. But she’s stopped struggling. Something else that has stopped throbbing is the beast below. It appears just as entranced by the kiss as the rest of me.
I taste the sweetness of her breath as she exhales once more. My tongue aches to trace her lips. My belly aches to drink her down. Not her blood—though I wouldn’t mind a taste of that, as well. But right now, I just want her. Her breath mixed with mine. Her essence inside of me.
Barely a couple of inches separate us. Zahara’s lips are right there for the taking. I hunger for her mouth, but I don’t want to do it wrong.
“Show me how?” I say. And then I remember, belatedly, “Please.”
She swallows, and I want to growl in protest. I wanted to taste that.
One of my hands releases the hold I have on her face. My fingers slide down her body to rest on her hip, to hold her steady and not let her go.
“Please,” I repeat. It’s the last time I’ll ask. Then I’m going to take.
“Sure,” she says. Though she fails at the nonchalance I think she’s aiming for. “Why not? We’ll be fucking soon anyway.”
I don’t correct her. I was being truthful when I said I wouldn’t have sex with her. Down below, the monster in my pants calls me a liar. He’s only patient now because he wants to taste her as much as the rest of me does.
Zahara leans in. I try to wait, to be patient, to follow her lead. But then, like the brute I was raised to be, I strike.
Chapter 6
Zahara
The man is lying. He has to be lying. I’m not buying that a four-hundred-year-old vampire has not kissed a woman in all his unnatural life. But I don’t care if it is all a lie, a bit of a Roman-tic game to loosen me up, because hell, can the lying fiend kiss.
He made it seem like he didn’t know what he was doing when I first brushed my lips to his. Now that he is brushing his lips against mine, it is clear he knows exactly what he wants. And what he wants is me.
If I hadn’t known that from Frankie still stirring beneath me, like lightning was striking volts into his balls, then I would know it by the way Virius growled low and deep in the back of his throat at the second brush of our lips.
At first, I was the only one out in the storm. Now, Virius is with me every step of the way. Using his lower lip, he tests the touch of my top lip. Moving his head back and forth in a slow, sensuous motion, he covers every part of my mouth, from the corner, to the seam, to the divot at the center.
I feel devoured by this man, and he isn’t even using any tongue. Not that I’ve had anyone tongue kiss me before. Unless he’s lying to me, this is the first kiss for both of us.
The more Virius’s mouth moves against mine, the more I begin to believe him. Not because of his inexperience. Because of how he revels in the experience.
It’s the same way that I am getting caught up in the unfamiliar contact. We both take our time exploring. There is no rush to get to a particular part because it’s all new territory. From the way he pulls me closer with each stroke, and the way I come to him without protest, I gather we both are thoroughly enjoying this brave new world.
The moment Virius’s tongue sneaks from his mouth and into mine, I lose control. His licks are not tentative flicks. He’s a man trying a new dessert, as though he knows he will clean the plate and order a second serving.
He licks at me in long, silky strokes. Then his tongue disappears into his mouth to savor what he’s captured. After another of those low growls, he licks again. And then again.
Virius bites at my bottom lip, tentatively, as though he thinks he might hurt me. I should be worried that he’ll bite me. That is his natural instinct. But he only nibbles softly, as though I am an appetizer. When my lips part, he starts in on the main course.
He licks into my mouth like I am a rare steak. His tongue sweeps over me, devouring me. I meet his tongue finally. The first flick of my tongue catches the sharp side of one of his fangs.
I feel the tiny pinprick like a needle. Then there’s the metallic taste of blood. Virius’s tongue circles around mine. He snatches the droplet away and then sucks. Hard.
I should be afraid. A vampire has tasted my blood. But the feel of him pulling from me, the knowledge that he is swallowing a piece of me down, it turns me all the way on.
I squirm in his lap, needing to feel the same kind of friction between my thighs. Frankie coils beneath me, ready and eager to slither his way into my depths.
Virius’s hold on me tightens. His hands lock me down so I can’t wriggle away. Not that I’m trying to escape.
The anaconda between his thighs slithers higher and throbs at my core. It pokes at the bud at the apex of my thighs. Like Eve, I want the snake to take a bite.
Somewhere in the room, a throat clears behind us. I wonder if it’s the voice of God. Is he looking down from on high and showing his displeasure at the sin about to go down beneath the garden on the surface?
I don’t have the chance to look up to see if it’s the Heavenly Father. I’m being thrown onto the bed. Virius puts himself between me and the throat-clearer. His large body blocks me from seeing who has come into the locked room. The menace that runs off him should scare me, but it turns me on.
I’ve had men protect me before. But each one had done it for his own gain. I know without a doubt that Virius is sticking his neck out for me because he wants to please me.
If I were a weaker woman, I’d reach up and twirl my hair. I’d swoon back on the bed and let him fight this battle for me. Unfortunately, that’s not the woman I was raised to be. That level of inaction isn’t how I was taught to move through the world.
I look over to see Itzel standing in the doorway. My aunt is no match for this vampire. But like the fierce warrior she is, she holds her ground, teeth bared and dagger in hand.
When I try to move around Virius, he puts out a meaty paw, holding me back. Does he still not realize who is the captor and who is the captive here?
“Down, boy,” I say. I get off the cot and move around him. “This is Itzel.”
“She’s your kin?” asks Virius.
Technically, she’s not my blood. Both my parents are dead. I have no direct relatives left. But I do claim the women of this tribe as my family. So, I nod to Virius.
And just like that, the menace rolls away from his large body. His entire being changes from one of destruction to a teddy bear—a soft grizzly of a teddy bear with sharp claws and deadly fangs.
I want to cuddle into him.
I am so fucked in the head.
“My apologies,” he says. “That’s probably not the impression I should make if I want to impress your family.”
Itzel isn’t looking at his face. Her gaze is below his belt, because he isn’t wearing a belt, and he never refastened his pants. They are down around his ankles. Frankie stands as erect as a flag pole. His one eye salutes Itzel.
The older woman clears her throat before she jerks her gaze away. “You’re needed, Zahara.”
It takes me a moment to tear my gaze away from Frankie. The little monster certainly knows how to get attention. I walk to the door.
When Virius starts to follow, pants still around his ankles, I hold up my hand. “No, you stay here.”
He frowns at me.
“You’re my captive, remember?”
The frown doesn’t leave his handsome face. Nor does he make a move to pull up his pants.
“Go back to the bed, or I’ll have to bring out the chains.”
“You like bondage?”
I realize he’s asking a legitimate question. Not a hint of kink-shaming.
“I’ll be back later,” I say, avoiding his question and, more importantly, avoiding my piqued interest in the subject matter.
Virius bends, giving me a delectable view of his ass. It’s just as nice as the front package
. When he straightens, I see that he has a dagger pointed at me. My dagger.
“Here,” he says, handing it to me.
I want to tell him that no one here will hurt me. Instead, I say nothing. I’m gratified that Itzel didn’t see that I had dropped not only my guard against my prisoner, but also my weapon.
Virius toes off his pants, then he kicks them into a corner of the cave. With one final glance over my shoulder, I see him go and sit on the bed, lounging as a panther would. I tear my gaze from him and follow Itzel down the narrow passageway.
“What do you think you’re doing, playing with that demon like that?” she demands once we are out of the vampire’s earshot. “Remember your role, Zahara. Remember your purpose.”
As if I could forget. It’s been drilled into my head since before I could form words. As I open my mouth to speak, I see shadows moving from the wall, some in feline form, others on human legs. They all converge on me, gazes flashing, shining the bright light of sacred responsibility directly into my eyes.
“I know,” I say. “My womb will birth the child to save our land and our kind.”
“Don’t forget the other part,” says Itzel. “The prophecy says he’ll die before the child is born. So don’t get attached.”
Chapter 7
Virius
I can’t keep my fingers off my lips. They still tingle from where I pressed them to Zahara’s. They feel swollen, like I’ve been punched in the mouth. I’ve been hit in the face many times; the majority of blows came when I was still human.
If it wasn’t my mother, or the lena, or one of the puellas of the brothel knocking me out of their way, then it was someone on the street throwing into me. As a human, I had to fight for every breath I took, every scrap of food I stole, every tendril of warmth I could scrounge. By the time Domitia turned me, I’d given up the fight.
I was scrawny and helpless as a child. I grew overlarge and stout when I came into my manhood. As a vampire, I had the power to take whatever I wanted. But by then there was nothing that I craved.
