The Vixen Torn (14 page)

The pale noble’s mouth opened, and he tried to speak, but
instead of words, only blood sprayed out. Jaral stepped up to him,
pushed his face into the metal bars, and took hold of the dagger
again. The gory sound of him breaking through ribs and ending the
twisted life of Zarach was chilling. Once he was done, the dark man
released the body, and let the lifeless form of the man she’d
just been passionately making out with fall to the floor.

It was as if time returned to normal then. That hyper speed
reality of their combat at an end as she watched Jaral turn fluidly
towards her, his dark gaze upon her as she lay there, cowering.

More shame. It was becoming a familiar feeling lately, and she
stood up to try to be free of it. Her breath was quick, and when she
tried to speak, it sounded off. “You made him?”

“No,” he responded, and she noticed his chest wasn’t
heaving. He didn’t even seem to be breathing as he stood before
her so tall and mighty. “I was making him into something
greater. It is a process that takes time. But he disappointed me.”
The only shift in his demeanor was the flaring of his nostrils, the
glint in his eyes as he watched her. “He would only have been a
liability—a dangerous liability—if I finished his
transformation.”

“I wouldn’t argue with that.” Or him, at that
moment. She tried to stop the trembling of her hands by hugging her
ribcage. “So that’s it? He’s not going to come back
or something?” Truthfully, her knowledge of demons and dragons
and incubi were far better than these... vampires.

Jaral came towards her, though his movements were so fluid and
agile it almost startled her in her heightened state. “He was
no true vampire,” he said, his hand coming up to her cheek,
cupping it lightly, letting her have a close look at his sandy brown
arm, the specks of blood upon it. “Not yet. He had great power,
but it was fleeting... required much sustenance to maintain.”
His thumb stroked over the smooth flesh of her cheek towards her
nose. “He is finished. For good.”

Her brows furrowed and her lips turned down.

She knew she wasn’t as strong as some. Yes, she was crafty.
Yes, she was stealthy and could be cruel as she needed to be at
times. She’d fought and fucked with beasts far stronger than
her, but they didn’t look so human. So inconspicuous.

It unsettled her until she felt his flesh against hers, and found
her tremors calmed. “Well... thanks,” she murmured, and
her fingertips went to her neck where Zarach had bit.

“He didn’t even have fangs yet,” he assured her
as she felt her unblemished neck. No piercing of her flesh made.
Though as Jaral touched upon her skin, her attention was drawn to
just how abnormally cool his touch was. The lack of heat in his flesh
which she’d noticed before but dismissed in the cool of the
basement. “He had to cut his victims with a blade, or tear into
them like a wild man, which he was too disgusted by to do.”

Anjasa laughed a bit scornfully, “I just figured it always
felt that...” she stopped herself. Good. It felt good. All of
it felt good with him this evening, and she lamented the loss for a
fleeting moment.

“Has she been able to keep down food?”

“So far,” he said, stepping to her and raising his
second arm to put it upon her hip as his other fingers knit through
her hair. “You did well,” he murred in his deep, dark
voice. “He and I were bound by blood,” he stated.
“Because of that, he would have sensed my coming had you not
been so... enrapturing.”

She hadn’t done anything differently than she would have any
other night. If he’d asked her to dance for him the night
before, she would have done just as good of a job. That was what she
did. What she was a natural at. Everything else was just...
everything else.

Her eyes fluttered shut, and she knew she should feel fear. Even
if he did protect her, even if he did save her, they never did it out
of the goodness of their hearts.

“So what now?” she breathed.

He released her hair and retracted his hand. What he did then
stunned her, though she wasn’t entirely sure how, for all he
did was simply pull down the facemask and unveil himself.

Anjasa had lived long, many lives by the reckoning of humans.
She’d seen and been with countless stunning males. The Sylvarin
lands were full of gorgeous elven men, after all, but Jaral? His was
a male beauty that was ethereal in a whole other way.

The rest of his face matched his eyes. Pronounced cheek bones and
jaw, smooth unblemished skin. A neatly sculpted beard. He looked like
he was only a fresh young man by the standards of humans, but she
knew that couldn’t be true. Not when she stared at those
luscious, full lips of his, so well—shaped, outlined by the black of
his beard and marked by the protrusion of two fangs.

“Now we move forward from here,” he said to her
simply, his dark voice so much more enticing without the light muffle
of his mask. Though through it all, the beauty, the charm, the vigor,
she still sensed that aura of dread that accompanied his true nature.

She swallowed, forcing her eyes to look away, because she felt
that warmth begin to fill her once more and she inhaled sharply. It
took her several long seconds to finally formulate words again, and
even then her body showed what she was most trying to hide.

It wasn’t a secret that Anjasa was addicted to sex. To bad
boys. To pain. Anyone who spent a moment’s time with her could
sense it, and this man promised all three. This... beast.

It was power unspoken of. Unimagined. It was as if he were a pure
demon with all their skills and abilities and none of their
drawbacks.

Her stomach clenched, and she shifted to her other foot. “Go
forward... convincing Loren to...” She couldn’t remember.
Spirits, how could his face do such things to her mind?

“Loren is yours,” he said to her smoothly in his deep
voice. “Your play thing. You shall mould him. Make him into a
useful man,” he said. “I have no doubts you can handle
him, but he is not what I speak of.” His dark eyes studied her,
his head tilting one side, then the other, almost like a hungry
predator eying a very delicious prey.

Her pulse raced and her tongue ran along the seam of her mouth as
she slowly forced her gaze back to him. “What do you want me to
do?”

With his mask dropped to dangle from his neck, he reached out,
took her hand in his. “Follow your desires,” he said,
guiding her hand towards him, touching her fingers to his chest and
abs through the leather he wore. “Embrace a new Master, who
recognizes your potential. Your worth,” and each word seemed so
honey sweet on his deep voice.

Her fingertips twitched, rubbing against his firm body and she
swallowed. Was that what she wanted? To leap into the arms of another
dangerous man, one who she knew full well could end her in a blink of
an eye? He’d seemed kind to her, but then, Zarach was initially
as well.

Better question still... did she have a choice?

Undeniably, she wanted him. He was what she’d been looking
for, for decades, without her fully knowing it. Someone incontestably
strong and handsome. Someone she wouldn’t have to hide her
nature from.

It was like she was watching herself, heading down a path she knew
was dark and ominous and fraught with horrors, but her screams of
warning died in her throat.

The alternate path looked too dull.

“What do I do?”

With his chin tucked down as he watched her. He raised his hand
from hers—that powerful, deadly hand which had been responsible
for slaying a man—and brushed his knuckles back across her
cheek and into her hair. “Be mine. Attempt to please me
further. Do your best not to disappoint me... too much.” He
leaned in, tilted his head and let his cheek graze hers as he
murmured into her ear lowly, “I can smell your cunt. And it
yearns still.”

Oh, the things she knew she should have felt at that cool hand,
those crass words.

It didn’t matter. She didn’t feel them.

Instead, she felt the things that no other woman could. Arousal.
Desire. Lust. Her breath held as she pushed her body into his, her
curvy form pressing against his hard, leather coverings. She wanted
him. That was irrefutable and had been for some time, and she would
drop to her knees and beg for him if she had to.

Everything that held her back—pride, shame, fear—were
all things she was told would hinder her ability to please. It was,
quite likely, why she’d not been happy in so long. She was
fighting her true nature, her true desires, and she didn’t want
to anymore.

Anjasa’s head tilted to his cheek, feeling her burning flesh
cool against him as her lips parted. “And if I refuse?”
she asked, though she knew she wouldn’t.

His fingers combed through her thick hair, his neatly trimmed
beard grazed her skin as he nuzzled against her. All the while he
rubbed his other hand up her side, then down, skirting her round ass.

“I will punish you without leaving a mark,” the deep
words a thrum against her eardrum. “I will make you serve me as
tool, reward you with things, and all the while dangle before you
what you could have, what you could be. With me.” His cool
breath with each word washed over her ear. “You will go from
here. You will take your toy Loren, groom him. Serve my will whether
you realize it or not. But all the while you will suffer from the
void of having turned me down.”

His voice changed then, his next words something else, as if
quaked by desire so rarely exposed on that charming but cool man,
“I’ve not found a mortal woman whose body has interested
me in many long years. But yours stirs my loins as if I still had a
beating heart to pump my dick full.” Poetry or no, she felt the
bulge that attested to the reality: he was hard for her, so very firm
and large.

How did he make her potential refusal sound like such sweet,
agonizing torture? It was if he spoke to her very soul, plucking at
the strings of her body like an expert musician.

How did he know her so well?

She inhaled sharply, and her hands rose to his arms, feeling the
bare flesh there as she pulled her body into his. “And if I
accept?” She was surprised that her voice sounded so... hungry.
Pleading.

Desperate.

The whole of his demeanor changed then, if only subtly. He wrapped
his arm about her, slipped a hand beneath her skirt and squeezed her
bare rump against his powerful palm. The other brushed through her
hair, down to her neck and together he used those mighty limbs to
nearly crush her against his hard body. “You will,” he
said, his dark eyes a glitter in the dim room. His beautifully
masculine face so delicious, even with the mark of evil upon them:
those sharp fangs. “And you shall see.”

He pressed his mouth to hers then, his tongue slinking out between
those two prongs and betwixt her lips. How strange it was, the cool
yet moist muscle meeting her hot mouth, prodding and exploring as he
kissed her with such passionate desire.

Her fingers gripped him tighter as her breath became shallower,
her lips pressed against his so eagerly. The metallic tang of blood
was still in the air, but it didn’t bother her. It was the
scent of victory, of success, and this beautiful devil was the
victor.

He’d fought for her and won, and she couldn’t resist
him. She didn’t want to.

She felt like she was stumbling headfirst into another trap, but
it simply didn’t matter to her. She’d always been
impulsive, led more by her arousal then her mind, and he was
stunning. Gorgeous.

And she was already so fucking turned on.

Amidst a sea of opulence and destruction, the dark vampire lifted
her up with his hand upon her shapely ass, gripping it and holding
aloft her weight without the slightest strain. Jaral pressed her to
him as their tongues lashed and danced. And though he’d claimed
to have not lusted for a woman in many long years, he groped and
grabbed at her with an intensity and passion that dwarfed any of the
heart throb young men she’d encountered.

Those strong arms of his held her up as he moved towards one of
the cushy sofas, his cold, hard fingers digging into her shapely
cheek and weighty breast.

She was actually surprised how much that difference in their body
temperatures stoked her lust. She felt her skin become more
responsive as his hands so rudely made her his, and another moan
pressed from her lips. Fuck, she needed this. Something real. There
was no sorrow, no anger. Just need. Primal and true, and it ran
through both of them.

Her hands gripped his arms, her legs wrapping about him lewdly as
her nude, wet slit rubbed against his leather clothing.

Jaral skirted the sofas and pressed her up against the wall, as he
went for her mouth again and again. He only relinquished his hold
upon her flesh to pull back and begin to undo the buckles and straps
that held his leather into place. Once she felt him begin to undress,
her own dexterous digits took over and he went right back to fondling
those large breasts.

She peeled back that skin tight leather bit by bit, revealing the
chiseled muscle atop smooth, brown flesh beneath. A chest of dark
hair that formed a ‘V’, then trailed down betwixt abs,
leading towards the treasure of a stunning male organ once she pulled
enough of that suit away.

Anjasa had been fortunate enough to have met men of such generous
proportions as of late, but like Jaral’s stunningly attractive
face, his cock too was not only big, but beautiful sculpted. Thick
and with just a slight curve, it bloomed into a ridged crown beneath
a dark foreskin.

She couldn’t stop trying to glance between them, to stare at
it. She wanted to simply pay homage to it, and she could already feel
her mouth begin to water. She swallowed back her saliva and gasped as
he kissed her once more,. Even though her tongue still danced with
his, she was distracted.