The Vampire's Seduction (12 page)

We were in one of Eleanor’s viewing rooms, seated behind mirrored glass. Comfortable chairs and a long leather couch had been placed so that watchers could have a full view of the proceedings. The swan waited on the other side of the glass, in what humans nowadays call a
dungeon.
Funny that. I’d seen the original versions, which consisted more or less of a hole in the ground with a heavy wooden lid. Eleanor’s dungeon resembled the operating room at a local hospital, or perhaps an epicurean’s shiny chrome kitchen. There would be no cooking here, however. The stainless steel and leather tools so carefully arrayed around the soundproofed room were meant to restrain or to cause pain. From bullwhips and cat-o’-nines to chains with cuffs and locks, the chamber held a little something for everyone’s preferred torture. It couldn’t rival the deviant dens of Amsterdam, Paris, or even New York, of course, but in this small corner of the world it was obvious Eleanor had spared no expense. The tray of scalpels and custom-made knives alone had cost a small fortune.

Eleanor had removed her suit jacket and now she wore a silky white blouse, open at the neck. She escorted Olivia into the room. There were no formal introductions. Olivia slowly warmed her hands on the swan’s quivering shoulders and back, sizing up the merchandise. Eleanor, satisfied she’d done her job, turned to leave. Olivia, however, grabbed her hand.

“Why don’t you stay,” she said, the persuasion in her voice palpable. “We could both play. I don’t mind sharing.” Then Olivia kissed Eleanor, teasing her mouth open, their tongues meeting, exploring, accepting. After one very long moment Olivia released her.

Eleanor’s wary eyes searched the mirrored glass—she was looking to me, whether for help or permission I could not tell. I waited, as interested in her answer as Olivia. The kiss had been exquisitely tempting.

“I’d rather watch.” She barely managed to get the words out, held in the gaze of Olivia’s compelling eyes.

Olivia brought Eleanor’s hand to her lips but paused before kissing it. She laughed when Eleanor startled at the touch. “I could show you a whole different world,” she said.

Eleanor removed her hand and stepped away, anxious to leave. The lack of common sense in her dealings with the only vampire she knew—me—had fled her with a vengeance. My Eleanor was
afraid
of Olivia. “I’m sure you could,” Eleanor responded in a subdued tone. Then to my further surprise, she paused, as though waiting for permission to go.

Olivia transferred her unnerving attention to the swan, and Eleanor slipped out of the room.

Then Alger’s child-woman began to slowly strip off her clothes. I watched as she raised her arms and tugged the gossamer silk blouse over her head before dropping it to the floor. Her breasts were high and full, the nipples the palest pink. Looking straight through the mirror as though daring me to watch, she unzipped the leather pants and slid them down off her hips, stepping out one leg at a time, until she stood naked but for a red scrap of lace covering her sex.

She had the body of a goddess. No, of the huntress—Diana.

Diana.

The emergence of the name in my mind brought back a rushing tumble of memories.

My Diana, running with her skirts rucked up through a field of barley. Laughing, daring me to chase her down. And I did—both of us tumbling to the ground, out of breath and as horny as any two creatures in rut. With the sun warm on my back and the golden bed of barley beneath us, I’d felt more than heard her sigh as I sank between her welcoming thighs. Then, with her urging, I rode her until we both were well satisfied.

“My own sweet William, my heart.” She’d smiled, eyes closed, lying back among the crushed barley like a fair bird fallen from the sky.

“I’ll naught get any fieldwork done if you keep tempting me,” I said, out of breath and completely happy. “Married or not, if the priest catches us here in the broad light of day we’ll be damned.” The memory brought as much pain as pleasure. If I had died in that moment, I would’ve been a fortunate man. Instead, I’ve been made a damned one who lives in the dark.

A living hand touched my back, jarring me out of the painful vision of the dead. Eleanor’s voice whispered my name. The image of my lovely Diana evaporated.

Beyond the barrier of glass, Olivia, perhaps sensing my distance of mind, reached down and with little effort dragged the swan to his feet.

“You’re very strong, mistress,” he said in a low voice.

“Are you afraid?” she asked, running her palm over his chest then downward to cup his balls in her hand.

He drew in a quick gulp of air. “Yes, mistress.”

“You should be.” It came out as a purr, but more tiger than kitten.

On my side of the glass, Eleanor’s hand was moving, pushing under my shirt. I had a vague notion of stopping her . . . but then Olivia, busy like a spider in her dungeon, wrapped herself around the swan and bit.

Whether by savage kinship or the magical properties of my tainted blood, I could taste him—warm and bloody in my mouth. I could feel the well of wetness sliding over my lips and down his neck. Without thinking I drew Eleanor into my arms, allowing her to nuzzle my warming skin. A soft sucking sound filled my head with the powerful intensity of a train engine. Eleanor squirmed as I clasped her closer.

Just as I reached an almost dangerous level of sensual attunement, Olivia released her hold. As blood trickled down from the wound, she wiped her fingers through it, wetting her hands. The swan stood, panting, with an erection to rival a bull’s.

“My, my, my,” Olivia said as she slid her hands over the length of his penis—lubricating it with his own blood—and pumped, once, then again. The swan moaned. I stood mesmerized, unable to stop Eleanor as she slid to her knees, working the fastenings of my pants.

Olivia smiled, her lips and teeth red with new blood. She seemed to be orchestrating her play for my benefit rather than her own, or even the swan’s. She pumped his length again and I felt Eleanor capturing my organ in her greedy mouth. I leaned forward, placing my hands flat on the mirror, my face close to the glass as Olivia squeezed until the swan whimpered in pain. Before she let go, the identical sound rose in me. Gracefully, she removed her red lace underwear and stuffed it into his mouth.

I could taste her.

Shoving her now eager volunteer backward until his thighs were pressed against the leather-covered table, she ordered, “Lie down on your back.” With a muffled reply, the swan complied as quickly as he could with bound hands. Impatient with his performance, she selected one of the knives from the tray and cut his bonds. He made the mistake of relaxing too soon, however. In a lightning-fast movement that only another vampire could see, Olivia sliced down with expert precision and opened a vein in his wrist.

She stared at me as she sucked, as Eleanor sucked. The experience was like none in my long memory. I had lost all control and felt myself inexorably drawn toward a staggering orgasm. My breath had warmed enough to fog the glass as I groaned and came. Moaning in response, Eleanor sucked harder, taking all of me.

Olivia, however, looked like the cat who’d swallowed the canary. With a sly smile, she mounted the swan and with little or no fanfare rode him until he was quivering and twitching. Dragging Eleanor to her feet, I pinned her between my chest and the glass. At the mutual moment of orgasm, Olivia bit the swan, sinking her already bloodied fangs into the other side of his neck.

I felt a second erection filling and hardening. I heard the sound of ripping silk as I tore Eleanor’s clothes from her body. The urge to feed had grown so urgent that I found my bared fangs poised at her neck. Her heart was fluttering like a trapped bird. She gasped and leaned into me, offering . . . anything . . . everything.

The scent of her blood teased my ever-present hunger. Blood meant life, blood meant power.

As if awaking from a dream, I looked down at Eleanor writhing against me, begging me to take her. A sudden cold wash of reality slid over me before I did any further damage. And as odd as it might seem in that moment, I thought of Jack. Some nagging worry. But first I had to pleasure my sweet Eleanor—something I could accomplish with a physical fucking. Jack had Lalee’s charm. He would have to take care of himself for a little while longer.

Jack

“Come out wherever you are, you murdering sonofabitch!” I hollered after the last of the humans had disappeared around the corner. I can see pretty well and hear even better. Nothing. Whoever was stalking me was not going to make himself known until he was good and ready. I was starting to hate surprises.

I’d managed to alienate all the human beings I’d come in contact with that night, and my fellow vampires were playing bloodsucking sex games without me. I figured I might as well see if I could commune with some dead people, the kind who couldn’t get away from me—a captive audience for my self-pity, you might say. So I headed off to Colonial Cemetery a few blocks away. When I got there I easily vaulted the iron fence, avoiding the spikes on top.

As soon as my feet hit the spongy earth, I felt them. The dead in Colonial were as restless as they were at Bonaventure. I closed my eyes and opened my senses. Yes, they were disturbed, all right. I walked around the perimeter, getting a feel for their mood, trying to gauge the depth of their agitation. I’d never felt anything quite like it. They seemed to be warning me. Things had come to a sorry pass when I had to depend on the long dead to give me advice. But I couldn’t count on my own sire. William had been so damn busy in that whorehouse, he’d forgotten to block my thoughts. Too bad he’d had his mind on nookie instead of the killer, or maybe I’d have picked up some information I could use. Instead I’d gotten a jolt of such raw sexual energy that I needed a cold shower.

As I walked through the center of the graveyard, over the usual rustling and scuttling animal sounds in the night, I heard the unmistakable whine of a Jaguar’s engine. It was moving away from me, going east toward the ocean. The gradual settling of souls underneath my feet told me what I’d already figured. It was the rogue vampire in William’s ride. He’d probably been hiding under one of the concrete slabs covering a crypt.

I sat down near the garlanded headstone of one Gerald Hollis Jennings, a victim of galloping consumption a couple of hundred years ago, or so he’d indicated the first time I’d visited him. His soul was always quiet, so he was a good listener. Believe it or not, sometimes people die with no unfinished business.

“Gerald, my man. Have you sensed any evil here recently? I mean,
big
evil? Not the usual suspects lying around here.”

I’d never known him to actually speak out loud. There was a groaning and a little vibration, which I took as a yes. When the dead communicate with me, it’s usually sort of indirectly. It’s all in my head, so to speak. I closed my eyes and words formed in my brain, almost shouting:
Danger, Jack.

I had known I was in danger, of course, but this coming from Gerald startled me. How bad was this mess if a codger as old as Gerald here could feel it?

“Is there anything else you can tell me?”

I sensed a frustrated thrumming, as if he was using all the psychic energy he possessed to work up another message, but I also got the feeling he’d petered out with that last all-out brainstorm. What could you expect from a guy whose brain had been dust since before I was born? Maybe a more pleasant subject would charge him up again.

“Do you remember sex?” I asked.

The image popped into my head of a blushing housemaid smiling shyly, chest heaving. I felt Gerald reach under her kerchief for a handful of red curls as he pulled her against him. She closed her eyes to receive a kiss. Then she raised her skirts with one hand.

Of course I’d had to ask. Now I needed another cold shower.

There was a pause as I sensed laughter, and I laughed along with him. I stopped laughing when I heard a cry.

“Errrmmmph,” someone or something said.

“Gerald?” I asked. But this voice sounded human. Kind of constipated, but human.

“Aaarrruh,” it said.

I followed the sound a short distance to the scrawny and squirming contents of a black leather suit. It was caught by the collar on one of the spikes of the iron fence circling the cemetery.
Dammit!
Humans should have better sense than to sneak around cemeteries at night. They just aren’t equipped to handle what they might come across, such as the likes of me. I got in the struggling stranger’s face and demanded, “What are you doing up there?”

A pair of brown eyes as wide as headlamps peered out from beneath a thatch of spiky ink-black hair. Multiple earrings studded both ears and one nostril of his bladelike nose. Because of the way the fence was holding him by the collar, he looked neckless, like a turtle afraid to come all the way out of its shell. I grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him, which made his collar swallow even more of his head, like he was disappearing bit by bit into the quicksand of his all-black clothing. “Answer me, you little twerp!”

“My name is . . .” His voice broke and he started again, trying to compose his face even as he trembled. “My name is Lamar Nathan Von Werm, but the underworld knows me as the Prince of Misfortune. I’m pleased to make your acquaintance.” He extended a slender hand, which was sporting a large silver ring in the shape of a skull.
Geez Louise.
I didn’t shake his hand—some things can creep out even a vampire. “The underworld? The Prince of Misfortune? What kind of freak are you, and what do you want with me?”

If he took offense, he didn’t show it. In fact, his face took on a rapturous look. “Bite me,” he said.

What the
—“Bite you? Bite
me
!”

“You don’t understand. I want to be one of you. I want you to initiate me into the brotherhood of the blood. I want to be a vampire!”

To say I was stunned would be an understatement. Never in my existence had a human being confronted me like that. Sure, a handful of humans sorta knew what William and I were, all of them trusted longtime confidants like the regulars. Even if the ones who worked for us hadn’t been well paid for their silence and loyalty, they would have been too terrified to ever betray us. Or to come right out and ask. As I looked at the pathetic little weasel I figured I had two choices on how to deal with him. I could tell him he was being crazy and insist there was no such thing as vampires, or I could skip denials altogether and just scare the bejesus out of him. But first I had to know how he knew.