The Dark's Mistress (The Saint-Pierres) (5 page)

“Kam!”

“I didn’t mean it,” she called, but she didn’t shout it.  Didn’t want to commit to that lie.  “Don’t follow me.  He’ll know.”              By the time she reached the tree-lined alley that opened onto the rue de Rivoli, only then dare she turn around.  Johnny Santiago stood at the end of the long garden walk, backlit by the carnival lights.  A rock star who had just crooned a love song to her heart.  The mirrored pond glimmered at his feet, further lighting his midnight stage. 

A man who would fight for her?  After only one kiss?

“One kiss is all that matters,” she whispered, touching her lips, and feeling his warmth there.  “It will bring my death.”

***

Upon returning from the Tuileries, Kam wandered into her flat, absently commanding the music on with but a spoken word.  Music always filled her head.  It kept her thoughts from committing hari-kari.  Because once she started to mentally wander backward in time, memories were abruptly shut out by an invisible wall that she wanted to beat her fists against.

Now, as she stretched her arms above her head and languished in the remembered feel of Johnny’s arms about her body and his mouth taking hers, she allowed a smile.  She didn’t need any music but the song his kiss had sung to her.

“Off,” she commanded the electronic system which monitored her voice and controlled the stereo and all the appliances in the flat.

Alone in the center of her bedroom, the silence fell stunningly rough and smothering upon her.  She shed her tee shirt and stepped out of the skirt, kicking off her heels.  Naked, she wandered around the bed, which spilled over with deep purple satins and silks.

Hugging herself she closed her eyes and tilted back her head.  “Johnny,” she whispered, and again, his sexy smile imprinted into her being.  She hadn’t felt so light in a long time.  It felt almost too wondrous to hold onto.

Almost.

“I’ll be careful,” she whispered.  “He’ll never know.  And if the dark prince does find out, let him try to stop me.”

Yet she knew Himself could crush Johnny as easily as clapping his hands.  Dare she risk the charming vampire’s life to fulfill her own wicked pleasures? 

She desired the giddiness of his kiss once more.

And then, once again.

And with that, the promise of something hopeful and perhaps even, escape.

Crawling between the sheets, she snuggled into the lush goose-feather pillows and fell asleep instantly.

And in the darkness something fluttered.  The tattoo on Kambriel’s shoulder lifted a wing, peeling away from her skin.  It ascended into flight, its wings catching the moonlight in the crimson scales.

***

Deep within his lair, Himself received the nightwings.  Two landed upon his eyes and their antennae drilled into his pupils, transmitting a recording of the day’s events.  He looked forward to reviewing Kambriel’s show at Club l’Enfer.  After the show she’d grabbed a bite from one of the many hundreds of fang junkies who watched her show.

Another soul for him, safely stored within Kambriel until the body died.  He did so enjoy collecting.

But what was this?

Himself curled his fists about the end of his throne, his talons scratching the adamant metal harvested from Beneath.  Another vampire.  Nothing new.  She caroused with all sorts.  None of them meant a thing to her.  She belonged to him.

Just another fling? he wondered of the bold vampire who dared to kiss her—on her mouth.  He was rarely allowed such intimacy.  He would not have access to the man’s thoughts until she had bitten him.  And why had she not?  She never engaged unless it was to feed her insatiable hunger.

Annoyed, he grasped the nightwings off his eyes and crushed them.  Himself flung the refuse away and growled lowly, sinking into the throne and kicking out a hoof against the imp that crouched nearby.  The creature squealed and scrambled off into the inky darkness.

The vampire would suffer for this.

Chapter Four

Kam tugged on a chemise.  The feather-light silk fell to her thighs.  Sheer black silk stockings tied at her thighs with red bows, and…six inch black patent leather heels.  Shoes made her feel powerful and sensual, and the higher the heel the sexier she felt.  She wasn’t sure what dress she wanted to wear tonight…

Spreading her hands up through her hair, as she pulled her fingers through it, the long locks coiled and curled as if she were styling it with a hot iron, yet all she need do was a quick fluff.  That’s how her life worked.  Being the Dark’s girlfriend had its benefits.  Most days.

Footsteps trod through her bedroom and paused at the doorway to the walk-in closet.  Stiffening, her spine elongating, she recognized his sulfur and ashes scent.  Not a terrible odor, but uniquely his.

Glancing over a shoulder she smiled at the tall man with long black hair dusting his elbows.  He wore no shirt because she preferred him that way.  Showed off his muscular chest and impossible abs.  Black leather pants.  Always. And no shoes.  It was her image of sexy.  Her greatest temptation.  Himself always appeared to others as their temptation.

Unless he chose otherwise.

“I wish you to spend some time with me before your show tonight, Kambriel.” 

His deep voice always slicked warmly across her skin.  Not quite evil, yet innately wicked.  If he ever belted out a slow, simmering love song, the result could prove dangerous to her wanting desires.

Kam toyed with the hem of the chemise.  She’d passed the afternoon thinking about that kiss with Johnny.  Over and over.  Stolen right out in the public gardens for all to see.  Except for the one who stood before her now. 

Anticipation did not suit him.

Perhaps the look he wore wasn’t so appealing after all.  She readjusted her image of sexy to scuffed boots and pants hanging low at the hip to expose sensual, taut muscles, and a crazy haircut that revealed sharp cheekbones and a switchblade smile—

Kam pushed the image away as quickly as it had formed.

Himself had an innate way of knowing what most attracted those who would look upon him.  If he ever assumed Johnny’s look, she would be in serious trouble.

“I was going to head over to the club early,” she offered, “to make some adjustments to my costume.  Maybe some other day—“

Her breath gushed from her lungs.  Chill air crept across her skin.  Before she could protest, Kam was seated before a grand, black marble table, outfitted with a feast.  He could transport her anywhere, anytime, whenever he wished.  That was one of the disadvantages to being his girlfriend; these sudden trips to his lair were unexpected and rarely announced.

She cast her gaze over the food and drink displayed to entice.  Everything was always black, silver, or some kind of shiny hematite.  Looked like something a robot would consume, if robots needed to eat.  It couldn’t be real food.  She’d never tried more than a few nibbles for she always lost her appetite.  Not that she, a vampire, had an appetite for food.

Always, the goblet filled with blood sat on the opposite end of the table—before him.  Seated on his throne, he posed with one knee draped over a chair arm, his head tilted to watch her with those all-seeing black eyes that glowed red when he was angry or pleased.  Now they were cold matte black that, with a blink, sheened briefly with silver.

“I’m not so hungry.”  Kam pushed a plate of jiggling chrome baubles away from her.  Something on the table slithered between a pair of silver candelabra.  She gave it no regard.  “Show me your true self.”

“Why?”

“Because if you wish the truth from me, I wish it from you.  You know I prefer you in true form.”

She honestly did, as horrible as that image was.

The man on the throne transformed in a blink.  The pale muscled skin turned red and then black as pitch until she could not determine where flesh ended and the black metal throne began.  Ebony horns jutted out from his temples, long, curved and deadly.  His face changed, lengthening and defining cheekbones and deep eye sockets.  Fangs elongated, cutting through leathery lips, spilling not red blood, but black.  A terrifying vision to wake to in the middle of the night.

Kambriel preferred him in this form.  It was who he was.  His truth.  She could face this demonic form with more confidence than the pretty, handsome visage he wore for her because this was not her image of what she desired, but rather, the truth of her life.

And she must never forget that.  For though her thoughts were often muddied, and she couldn’t always remember past events or names, or even her family, she had to cling to the reminder something in her life was not right.  And never would be right.

Still painfully underdressed in the form-clinging chemise and red-bowed stockings, she stepped up onto her chair, wobbling slightly on her high heels.  He’d seen her in all states of undress.  She wasn’t ashamed for him to look upon her, though, in her deepest being she thought that she should be.  It was one of those things she hadn’t control over, so she accepted their awkward familiarity with the same blind ease she’d accepted all the extravagant gifts.

Kam stepped onto the table.  Without looking down, she navigated the marble surface crowded with luscious yet vile foods.  It was a long walk, and when she arrived at the end, she squatted and lifted the heavy goblet to her lips.  She drank deeply of the hot blood.  Blood from a source of which she had long ago stopped trying to determine.  Human or creature?  Didn’t matter.  It satisfied as if a four-course meal replete with dessert and wine. 

Better than intimate contact with a blue-eyed rock singer? 

It had been.  Until now.

Drawing away the goblet, blood trickled down her chin.  Himself groaned at sight of it.  He reached for her and she leaned forward, rubbing her chin against the side of his large hand as if a cat.  He retracted and licked his fingers clean of the blood. 

“You undo me, Kambriel, my darkest treat.”

Yeah, she pretty much undid herself at times like this, too.  For while she tried to convince herself she was playing a part to appease one who could destroy her, she always got lost in the reality and could never be sure if she meant it or if it were an act.  Or if her soul was screaming for rescue amongst the shrieks and shouts of all the souls which writhed within her.

The darkest devil, the Prince of Darkness, the Old Lad Himself, the Master of Beneath and Nightmares, leaned forward, dipping his head toward hers until she was bracketed by the curving horns.  One wrong move and she’d take a horn to the brain.

“You are happy?” he asked.

“Always,” she answered by rote.  Trailing a fingertip around the goblet rim, she toyed with the thick, luscious blood. 

“But I sense you want something more.  What is it I have yet to gift you, Kambriel?  How can I please you?”

Release me.

Her heart fluttered as if trying to escape the chains.  No escape.  Never.  “I have everything I desire.  You are kind to me.”

“But you always want.”

“What woman does not desire pretty things?”

“It is something more you desire.  Something…emotional?”

Well.  That had been a hit out of left field.  Since when did Himself give a fig about her emotions?  Did she even have emotions?  She’d become expert at hiding all she feared and desired.  She wasn’t sure anymore what was real.

“Why do you ask such a thing, my dark prince?”

His eyes simmered to a deep red.  Angry?  No, his snake-slit pupils focused on the blood on her chin.  Kam dashed out her tongue to lick at the blood.

“I want to be the one who fulfills you.  I will not tolerate you seeking it from others.”

“But I must drink blood from others.  Your blood…”  Could kill her, so potent it was.  It boiled as it left his veins and sizzled through anything it should touch on this mortal realm.

A razor-sharp talon tilted up her chin so she met his menacing gaze.  Ever aware of the horns, Kam held her head up bravely.  “Kiss me,” he said.

A request she had complied with many a time.  A quick, simple peck on his black lips.  A non-committal buss to his leather-rough cheek or at his jaw.  Once he’d dashed out his tongue and the bi-forked appendage had startled her.

But after last night, Kam did not ever want to touch this bedamned creature’s mouth again.  She had tasted bliss and did not want to taint that precious memory.

“I have to get to the club,” she tried the excuse again.  “I’ll kiss you next time.”

Turning as she stood, she forgot about the horns.  The tips of them dragged down her arms and cut through her thighs as she turned to race down the table.  Tripping, she fell forward, seeing she would catch her palms on the upturned tines of a medieval fork, and then—

—she landed on the bed in her dressing room at club l’Enfer.

Kam cried out at the pain sluicing her thighs and arms.  She’d been sliced to the bone and her blood gushed onto the dark bed clothes.  Quickly, the wounds began to heal, but the pain remained as an admonishment to her foolishness.

Burying her face in the pillow she clawed up the plump feather nest to smother it against her nose.  When would it end?

Would she ever get free?