Tentyrian Legacy (34 page)

I growl. She removes the press of her lips
and looks at me intently, her eyes searching for answers. This
time, she doesn’t pull away at the sight of my fangs.

“Why? Because you think I don’t know what I
am doing?”

“Because I don’t know what I’m doing. We
shouldn’t be together. I am supposed to protect you.”

“You’ve said it before, and I don’t want to
hear it,” she interrupts. “Your idea of chivalry is antiquated. I
don’t need a protector. I need . . . you . . . right now, just as
you are. I’m flesh and blood, not a china doll.”

I know she is no doll. She is temptation
incarnate. From the night she walked into that ballroom, I knew I
had been wrong. I was a fool to think I could take on the role of a
protective uncle, like I had with Hathor’s daughters. I thought she
would follow my direction—my centuries-old wisdom. Laughable. There
is nothing wise about me now. The truth is—I’ve wanted her for
myself the moment I began to track her and obsess over her like a
miser does his gold.

“I want you, Maximos.” Her soft plea followed
by the lick of her tongue on my mouth is as much as I can take.
Like an addict who has his first pull of a drug after trying so
hard to stay clean, I let go of my hesitation with only a flicker
of shame. The roar is so loud now; I give up trying to listen to my
conscience. I tip her onto her back in one swift motion, and my
mouth begins to devour hers. Her mouth opens slightly as she lets
out a soft moan. The sound is so beautiful and arousing, like the
call of a lioness to her lion. The animal I am, I take advantage of
her open mouth and taste her deeply. I am not patient. I’m
demanding and hungry. She responds just as eagerly—holding to me
tight as her tongue dances with mine. Delicious.

I can hear her blood literally humming; it’s
singing to me. I stroke my thumb over the pulse of her carotid and
replace it with my lips. Just feeling the heat pulse beneath my
mouth drives me further to the edge. But I won’t take her blood.
And I cannot let her take mine. I travel from her neck down to her
breasts that want to be loved.

“You are so beautiful, Arianna. I could just
stare at you.”

“Well I want you to do more than just stare.
Make love to me,” she murmurs.

“You don’t know what you are asking, matia
mou.”

“Don’t I?” I can see pricks of white now. Her
fangs have manifested. It’s almost too much for me to handle.

“If we do this, you have to resist the urge
to bite me, Arianna.”

“Why?”

“Because it is going to take us to a place
that’s difficult to return from.” She nods in vague agreement as I
caress her. I have to stop.

“Do you understand what I am saying, Arianna?
It’s important.”

“Fine, just don’t stop. I need more,” she
pants.

“My demanding princess, be careful what you
wish for,” I growl. Her impatient hands struggle with the ties of
my pants, and in her frustration, she tears them off in shreds. The
sound of the tearing fabric helps pull me from the erotic haze that
is swallowing me.

“Matia mou, maybe we should take a
breath.”

“No!” Before I can blink, she has me flipped
me over on my back. “Did you see what I just did?” she says in
amazement. Her strength likely equals mine.

“Yes. You are amazing.”

Her hands lock on my wrists, and she is in
the position of control as she holds me down. Her body is locked
around mine, now just as naked as hers. I can feel myself against
her thigh. I’m rock hard. Feeling this close to her almost drives
me to the brink. It would be so easy to let go of that last bit of
control I’m struggling to hold onto. To lose myself.

Her fingers dig into my wrists, and I can
feel the crescent moons of her nails leaving their mark. It’s her
turn now to explore me as she kisses my neck and chest. Her
trailing mouth leaves gooseflesh in its wake. Her mouth is magic.
She lazily strokes my nipple and gives it a nibble. The small pulse
of pain makes me groan. There is so much I want to do to her body,
but I can feel the clock tick. I want her the way I’ve never wanted
another woman. And it’s making me impatient.

“Arianna, if you continue to tease me, I’m
going to lose myself, and then it will be over quicker than this
started.” She gives a throaty laugh and stops the play with her
mouth. This time, she slowly rubs her body along mine. Her breath
slows but deepens; the softness of her touches my hardness. She is
biting her lower lip, and while she looks excited and aroused, I
sense uncertainty that wasn’t there before.

“Matia mou, what is wrong? Something is
troubling you.” I reach my hand up to brush a lock of hair, which
has now dried in sexy waves, from her face.

“I don’t have doubts about us and what I
want. It’s just I’m not sure exactly what to do. I know you have a
lot of experience. I can only imagine how many women . . .”

“Only you matter, Arianna,” I interrupt. “And
as far as I can see, taste, and feel—you are doing everything
right.”

“No, you don’t understand.” She shakes her
head. “I know what to do up until now . . . but not what comes next
. . .”

What she is alluding to finally hits me. She
is a virgin. My inner reaction is a mixture of surprise, worry, and
pleasure. This bold vixen of a woman is an innocent. In my time, it
was expected one waited until marriage to have sex. In fact, there
was great dishonor in not waiting, for the woman at least. But
cultural norms change, and to expect that of today’s modern female
is unrealistic and ignorant. I’ve always believed women have the
right to embrace their sexuality, and making love is to experience
life. To be chaste for one man until their marriage bed was
certainly an honor for him, but for her it meant forever being tied
to one man. Who would want that?

It is the idea of that invisible tie that has
always made me avoid virgins like the plague. And marriage, I
suppose. I have enough duties keeping me on a tight leash. But as I
look at Arianna and the alluring glow of her eyes, my attraction is
heightened, rather than tempered, at the prospect of making love to
her. The idea that she has been untouched by any other man strokes
my ego. She would only be mine. And for that I feel like a
hypocrite. I also recognize the gravity of the situation. She
deserves for her first experience to be just as sweet and pure as
herself. And what I would do to her now would not be that. She is
in the midst of the Turn, and it’s wreaking havoc on her hormones.
If I were to take her innocence tonight, she would regret it and so
would I.

“Ah, I see. How about we stop for a while and
talk?” I say calmly. I don’t want to upset her.

“I knew you’d do this. I shouldn’t have even
told you!” she says, frustrated as she shoves me hard into the
pillows behind me. “I’m ready. I don’t see what difference it
makes.”

“It matters to me. If I were to take your
virginity tonight, you’d wake up tomorrow fully aware of yourself
and regret it.”

“I won’t, I know I won’t. I can’t explain it
. . . but this feels right,” she whispers in my ear with the full
press of her body against me. It does feel right, and my body is
failing to agree with the reservations of my mind.

“How about this. I will show you something
amazing tonight . . . and we can talk more about this tomorrow.”
She looks at me in surprise and triumph; she thinks she’s won. And
she partly has. Tonight I will not be the beast I want to. But it
doesn’t mean it won’t be satisfying. I sit up, pulling her onto my
lap. Her flesh is exposed and beautiful. I kiss her deeply as she
pulls herself tighter to me. Ignoring the urge to bury myself in
her, I lay her down on her back while not stopping the assault on
her mouth.

My fingers find the delicate rosebud of her,
and I begin to stroke it softly. Her moans intensify. But before
she becomes too frenzied, I pull away, to her immediate
frustration. “Maximos!” she cries.

“Be patient.” I abandon her mouth and start
my descent downward, trailing kisses along her stomach. There I
find her again and tease her with my tongue. She practically
lurches off the bed in surprise and pleasure. I have to hold her
thighs in place with my hands. This is what the gates of paradise
look like. And they are beckoning to me.

“Please, Maximos, I can’t last much
longer.”

“You have to matia . . .” I urge her. When
she reaches her release, I want to look into those amazing eyes and
see the gratification on her face. So I leave her on the brink
again with my mouth—her nail marks on my shoulders proof of her
frustration. I pull her under me, her body trembling with desire. I
kiss her deeply again, the taste of honey lingering on my tongue.
She is pulsating with heat, making it easy for my fingers to reach
her core and apply the pressure she is seeking. She is sleek and
narrow, and by the goddesses, so tight. Her muscles clench and
pulse around my fingers. I’ll give her just enough to take her to
the edge of the place she wants to reach so badly.

“Look at me, Arianna, and say my name.” The
intensity of her gaze is arresting, and I feel as if she can see
through me.

“Maximos, please . . . now.” I want her so
badly, and my ability to say no is practically nonexistent.

“Not yet. I’m giving . . . you what you
need,” I struggle to say. The fangs in my mouth ache. I can tell
she is almost there, her moans peaking. Her right hand clutches my
neck, and in one swift motion, she pulls my neck to her before I
can resist. Her bite is swift and painless. It’s also
excruciatingly pleasurable. With the first pull of my blood, her
body gives a violent shudder and she cries out with her release, a
wild and beautiful sound.

But just one pull of my blood isn’t enough.
For her or for me. She takes more from my vein hungrily, and the
natural aphrodisiac of her venom seeps into my neck. I’m at my own
brink of release, and if she doesn’t stop soon, my own hunger will
overcome me. And I’ll take everything from her.

“Stop, Arianna, you have to stop . . .”

2010 AD, July

New York, New York / Hamilton, New Jersey
Trebuchet Global

The melody of Beethoven’s Für Elise does
little to quell my anger. How typical of a Subordinate to screw up
a simple order. Fortunately, he won’t have the opportunity to fail
again since he’s dead. That’s the problem with leaders of today,
corporate and government alike: they’re too lenient. You’ll never
have the respect required for success if your employees think
they’ll be forgiven. I press the buzzer on the intercom to connect
with my secretary.

“Bridget, can you please have someone come in
here to clean up this mess?”

“Yes, sir, right away,” she replies. The
carpet is ruined. Fortunately, I was never a fan of the green
Turkish weave.

“And Bridget, can you please order a new rug?
Let’s try something red this time.”

“Yes, Mr. Papadakis.”

The auburn-colored scotch is almost drained.
A gift from the Japanese pharmaceutical plant we just acquired.
While I prefer my private label with its infusion of B+, this does
the job. After all, I’ve had my fill of blood for the day. Ignoring
Marcellus’ body on the floor, I turn up the music and rotate my
leather swivel chair to see the view of Central Park. I prop my
feet up on the windowpane and lean back, admiring my black velvet
driving shoes embroidered with a cheeky red devil dancing on the
tongue. A gift from Calix; he thought them ironic and irreverent. I
suppose they are. Lucifer and I are both misunderstood light
bearers.

How far my feet have come from their
Tentyrian leather sandals. I like how today’s fashions are more
comfortable and practical, yet I find I gravitate toward the
refinement of the Victorian style. Nothing beats the sophistication
of a waistcoat, or “vests” people call them these days. Because I’m
rarely seen in public and I keep my meetings small and intimate,
which is essential for anonymity, I typically wear whatever I want.
No one gives a shit, because I’m in charge.

This morning I’ve chosen a light charcoal
cotton and silk single-breasted lapel jacket with matching bespoke
pants that run on the slim side. My frame has always been long and
lean, not as muscular as most Tentyrian men. Like Maximos—that
bastard. My shirt is a cream linen button-down fastened at its
French cuffs with ruby cuff links. The wool vest I wear is a darker
shade of gray and is lined on the inside with scarlet silk. I’m a
firm believer in always looking your best. After all, if you don’t
have personal convictions, then what do you have?

Speaking of convictions, from my penthouse
view I can see the humans everywhere; running, walking their
animals, pushing baby strollers. It’s disgusting. They are like an
infestation, breeding in mass and leaving destruction wherever they
go. They consume resources and destroy the planet and each other.
I’m not an avid environmentalist by any means, but what I’ve seen
happen to this Earth in the thousands of years I’ve walked it is
sickening.

Blood doesn’t even taste the same. Now, it’s
tainted from pollution and the hormones in livestock. If humans are
allowed to continue as they do, this Earth will die and so will I.
Tentyrians may be able to live forever, but we still need oxygen
and blood for survival, two things that may not exist in the
future—if the humans aren’t stopped. But that will happen soon
enough. A few more kinks just need to be worked out.

One of which is Arianna Parker. I gave
Marcellus a simple task: retrieve her. But he missed his
opportunity before she got on the train. Mistake number one. I
should have pulled him from the job right then and there. But he
assured me he’d have her back in the City by nightfall. Instead, he
botched it again and only brought me back the worth-less doctor,
who by then he’d practically drained and tortured so much he was
useless. Mistake number two, which was his last.