Dancing Dragon (22 page)

It wasn't hard to give him what he wanted, it wasn't hard at all. I opened my mind and let him see the honesty in my cries of release, in his name on my lips, in the waves of orgasm that washed over me, in the way my body milked his, bringing him to climax, drawing every drop from inside, taking every last bit of his soul that he offered and sealing it deep down inside of me.

His shout as he thrust one last time inside me, rattled the walls and threatened to break any glass in the room and stole my breath away. So raw, so full of emotion, just for me. He cradled me in his arms, still on top of me, still inside me, for a long time after we had both come down from that impossible high, then finally his heartbeat settled and he rolled to the side, wrapping his body around mine, pulling me hard against him. The loss of him between my legs made me moan, but he sent me a thought in response, that left me in no doubt that he intended to be back there again several times before the sun rose that day.

I accepted the promise in his thoughts and settled against my kindred, luxuriating in the feel of his hard body against mine, conscious that no other could fill my heart or complete my soul like he did.

We lay still, tucked in to each other for a good few minutes, no words spoken, no thoughts shared. I wasn't shielding and I don't think he was either, but neither of us seemed to be seeking the other out, just relishing the feel of the other, the touch of flesh on flesh, the shared heat of our bodies. And then Michel groaned - a hungry and possessive, but also resigned sound - and rolled back on top of me entering me in one swift movement before I even realised what he had in mind.

He moved slowly at first, just luxuriating in the feeling of having me wrapped so tightly around him, of being so deep inside me I think. His lips on my face, across my cheeks and down my jaw and then his tongue slipping in between my teeth, a sweep, a suck and then a bite, drawing blood from my bottom lip.

“Ouch!” I complained against him, as his tongue came out to swipe at the blood pooling on my lip.

“
Be glad that is all I am doing to you,
ma douce,
” he replied, continuing his slow pace inside me, but it wasn't a real threat, it was more a tease, his mouth was curved as he said it, his eyes dancing a splendid combination of mauve and violet and indigo. But the thought of what more he
could
be doing to me, taking up residence in his mind.

He nuzzled my neck, and then bit above my pulse, again, drawing a small amount of blood, before sealing the wound and moving around to the other side and repeating the action. Each time his fangs entered my flesh a searing pain spread through me to be replaced immediately with a warm glow and a toe curling flutter in my stomach, making me arch off the bed and rub back against him as he thrust slowly in and then back out, again and again. He continued his little routine for a moment, bite, suck, seal, then the other side of my neck, bite, suck, seal, then back again, over and over again, until all I could feel was one sharp stab of pain, followed by unbelievable lust and ecstasy, then repeated again and again.

He was driving me mad, making me crazy, he'd drink my blood until I bordered on an orgasm, then deny me it with the sharp sting of fangs, followed again by the unfulfilled rise to orgasm. He was relentless, all the while continuing to slowly roll his hips against me, thrust deep, then pull back to his tip, then deep again, then out, then back.

“Michel,” I pleaded after the twentieth time through this cruel cycle. “Please.” I think I might have whimpered or sobbed at that point, I don't know. I was so on edge, so needy, so wound up, it would have taken a split second for him to bring it all to an end, but he had refused. Punishment? Perhaps. I didn't care right then. Hell, nothing existed but his glorious body above me, his rock hard erection inside me and my fervent need for release.

“Have you learned your lesson,
ma douce
?” he asked, his voice rough and husky and barely in control. Ha!

“What lesson?” I gritted, shifting beneath him to try to steal what I needed to end this once and for all. He denied me, yet again, just kept biting, sucking, seducing, denying, then on to the next repeat cycle of torment.

“You are mine.”

Oh, still on that bandwagon then? I toyed with the idea of denying him an answer, I even allowed myself the moment of envisioning my win, his capitulation, but then he amped up the desire and lust with the next bite, let it go a fraction longer until I felt myself about to tip, then slammed the door shut with the sting of his fangs somewhere else.

I whimpered against him, thumped him on the chest in protest, but didn't release my legs around his waist.

“
Well,
ma douce
?” he purred into my neck, before biting again.

You're a bastard,
I threw the thought at him and fought back a sob of unmet hunger and need. “Yes,” I whispered, a little in defeat.

“
Yes, what
ma belle
?” he crooned against me. “Don't be shy, you can say it.”

I couldn't fight it any longer, the need was overpowering, it possessed me, like he possessed me, my entire body, heart, soul and mind. Nothing else mattered, but getting release; lust meet fulfilment, desire meet ecstasy, heat meet elation, passion meet gratification. I had to have it now.

What were a few words any way? Just words.

“I am yours.” But as soon as I said them, my Light thrummed around us, as though it had a mind of its own.

My Light has worked alone in the past, without any help from me, or control either. It has, on occasion, taken over and simply whispered in my mind,
It's OK, I've got it, you've done well, but now let me take it from here.
This time it didn't whisper those words in my head, but others.
Yes. Home. Mine. Right.
I shuddered beneath Michel, not just from the quickened pace and the approaching orgasm he was allowing me, but from the finality of those words, my Light, telling me, instructing me, branding me.

If Michel heard them, he didn't show any signs, but he must have believed my spoken words because within seconds we were both coming and shouting and panting, holding each other tight while wave after wave washed through us, melding us together and sealing our desire.

Michel kissed me softly, then rolled off, gently pushing me onto my stomach, raising my hips and thrusting back inside again. Bloody hell. He had meant it when he threw the thought to me that he would be between my legs several times before the sun rose again.

I was quite sure images of Lutin and me had vanished from his mind, they had certainly been washed from mine, but he didn't stop taking me, any which way he could, until the shutters whirred down, announcing the approach of dawn and more than five hours had passed.

Five glorious, soul rending, heart thumping, mind numbing, body fatiguing hours, all of which felt like five minutes and none of which I ever wanted to end.

Finally, as the sound of early morning traffic started to permeate the shutters, he pulled my back against his chest, wrapped his body around mine, spooning me and kissed my shoulder. He'd taken a fair bit of my blood through the night, not large feedings, but purposely paced and timed sips, that along with the welcomed ache of my body in all the right places, had left me exhausted and drained, in more than just the one way. Sated. Complete. Home.

“Sleep,
ma douce
. I will watch over you. Forever.”

And I believed him. Just like I wanted him to believe me, when I hazily threw my thoughts back at him before sleep's sweet music lulled me under its exquisite blanket of warmth.

And I'll love you. Forever.

“Are you sure?” Michel's voice wafted out of a downstairs room, filling the darkened stairwell I was creeping down.

The house he had brought me to was a bit oppressive, to say the least. With all the windows still shuttered, it had that unnatural glow to it that most vampire residences had, but unlike the spacious, modern interiors Michel favoured back in New Zealand, this one was cramped and small. The ceiling seemed too low, the hallway too narrow and the wallpaper and skirting boards, all heavily ornate and dark in colour.

There was no airy finesse, it was all doom and gloom and so not what I was used to seeing Michel surrounded by. However, I conceded - taking in an oil painting on the wall depicting a battle scene on a windswept moor - very stereotypical vampire. Dark, spooky and a little foreboding. I wouldn't have been surprised to find coffins in the cellar.

I had taken a brief look around the third and second floors before I followed the natural pull towards my kindred downstairs, all the rooms had been fairly similar to the one Michel and I had spent those last few hours of the night and most of the day ensconced in. Large four poster beds, heavy velvet curtains, free standing darkly polished wooden wardrobes and ornate dressers and chaise longue. A little bit too much drama for my liking and it made me wonder what I would find when I made it to Michel.

He was obviously in the lounge or sitting room, it was at what would have to be the front of the building. I could hear the crackle of a fire, the clinking of glasses and several low, gruff male voices. I allowed myself to sink into that black nothingness and
seek
out those on the other side of the door with my kindred.

I can't sense humans, nor shifters and I am guessing the Fey don't come under my
Sanguis Vitam Cupitor
skills either, but the Nosferatu do. I could tell there were four vampires with Michel, all of varying degrees of Dark, but one in particular oozed blackness, a sticky sludge of treacle making my nose twitch and my fingers itch to hold a stake. I felt an awareness poke back at me as I let my senses wash over the room. It left me feeling cold and a shiver shot down my spine in response. I rolled my shoulders to still the feeling and lifted my hand to the doorknob.

“If it is Amicus, he appeared out of nowhere, master. No trail can be found.” A voice I didn't recognise answered Michel and made me stop in my tracks, hand half raised to the door, head shaking from side to side.

Amicus was the vampire that had turned Michel, over five hundred years ago. A hired assassin to the French militia, he used the cover of hit-man to find a good source of food. He had been hired to assassinate Michel, who by that stage had become a force to be reckoned with inside the New French Army, much to the horror of the aristocratic officers who ran the military for the King. However, Michel had become King Charles' trusted confidant by being successful in battle and held the assassin off. Only to be hunted down by Amicus the next day and turned, as a potentially powerful tool to add to his own arsenal.

Amicus had not realised how determined Michel was to seek revenge on those who had signed his own death warrant and successfully carried out a warrant on his family's heads. Michel had told me this story some time ago, an insight into the man he had been before he had turned Nosferatu and the vampire he became directly after. I knew, from what he had told me, that Amicus was powerful and cruel, but he had been no match for Michel, who had surpassed his
Sanguis Vitam
level within 50 years of turning and then took his master's life.

How many Amicus's could there be? And if this was Michel's sire they were talking about, then how had he survived the final death Michel was sure he had carried out all those centuries ago? I suddenly had a very bad feeling about why Michel was here in London, why the Champion had tasked him with a job that had to be completed before he returned to New Zealand. The
Iunctio
thought Amicus was alive and did not like it one little bit. Michel had told me how evil Amicus had been, but as he had insisted he had brought his master the final death, I had not bothered to push just how evil a vampire Amicus was indeed. I wondered whether that knowledge would be useful right now.

I resettled my hand on the doorknob and was about to push the thing open when another, darker, deeper voice added, “You should be aware, gentleman, we have an audience.”

I sighed, I wasn't eaves dropping - really! - and pushed the door open nonplussed, walking into the room.

It was just as ornately furnished as the rest of the house, overstuffed armchairs and sofas, tasselled lamp shades and garishly embossed wallpaper adorning the walls, all in rich, dark colours. But the huge fireplace along one wall gave a welcoming glow, casting a warm golden light about the room, lifting those dark colours, filling the shadowed corners and brightening up what would have otherwise been an extremely creepy front room.

I looked about the parlour - it definitely had that parlour feeling about it - taking in all of the vampires and singling out the Dark One, filing his position for future reference and then walked over to Michel who sat watching me on a sofa. Part of me thought he might play the dominant master of the line. I had no idea if all of these vampires were his own, one had called him master, but often when in the presence of other powerful vampires - and let's face it, these guys all reeked
Sanguis Vitam
to alarming degrees - he could be quite standoffish, quite distant, not my Michel at all. I was prepared for it, I'd hate it, but vampire politics are what they are and bitching and moaning about it right now would get me nowhere. I could always take it out on his hide later.

Now there's an image I liked.

The corner of Michel's lips curved in a smile and he reached his hand out to me as I approached, pulling me to him on the couch and whispering against my cheek as he kissed me, “I would be careful what images you fill your lovely head with,
ma douce
, Avery has a habit of plucking thoughts without permission.”

I raised an eyebrow at Michel, but he just shrugged, his usual elegant movement of his shoulders that could mean anything, or nothing at all. I hastily erected shields around my mind - whoever the hell Avery was, he could kiss my vampire hunter arse. Michel gave me a reproachful look and then his eyes flicked to the vampires in the room and a shot of magenta flashed across them.

Three of the four vampires immediately knelt before me and all intoned the pledge. You know, the one that pledges their undying allegiance to their master's kindred Nosferatin. All of Michel's vampires do it, when they meet me for the first time. It's weird, but I've got used to it. Kind of.

I nodded in return - standard response I've been told - and then glared at the Dark One, who undoubtedly had to be Avery. He just looked like a thought plucking pervert. His lips quirked ever so slightly, one second there was a infinitesimal movement on the edges of his mouth, the next those ruby red lips were pursed in a thin line. Yep. Plucking pervert.

Michel sighed next to me and ran a hand over his face. OK, so maybe I wasn't shielding as well as I could have, stuff it, it had been a tough month.

“Lucinda, these are Alain, Christopher and Daniel, all of my line.” Michel indicated the vampires who had knelt and pledged, so that meant old Dark One was definitely Avery. And not of his line?

“Avery Rousseau, my kindred Nosferatin, Lucinda Monk,” Michel continued.

Avery inclined his head briefly and let his eyes trace over me slowly from head to toe. So, I returned the favour, if we're all going to be obviously leery, why not? He was your typical vampire male; tall, strong, broad shouldered, muscular, blah, blah, blah. Hazel eyes, framed with long sweeping dark lashes, chiselled cheek bones and dark brown, slightly auburn wavy hair tied back at the nape of his neck. He was dressed in the obligatory Nosferatu uniform, that's an expensive suit, super expensive shoes and absolutely ridiculously expensive watch and cuff links. He was perfectly presented, right down to his neatly, precisely, trimmed goatee. A well put-together vampire, if ever I saw one.

Yep. Typical vampire hottie. Seen one, seen 'em all.

“You're not even trying,
ma douce.
Please don't toy with him, he is not of my line and I would hate to kill him defending you. It would cause an unmitigated mess and I simply do not have the time.”

Michel hadn't spoken quietly, he'd just chastised me in a conversational tone and then taken a large sip from his Scotch. I don't think I was making his day any brighter and looking at Avery, the Dark One, the Plucking Pervert, I hadn't made an outstanding impression there too.

I sighed and refortified my shields, meticulously adding mortar to the bricks, reinforcing with metal plates and rivets, trying a bit of
Selley's
All Purpose Gap Filler
for good measure and then wrapping the whole lot in chains and padlocks and mentally swallowing the key. When I looked back up at the room with what I hoped was a blank expression, Avery was watching me with a small smirk on his face. The bastard was amused.

Christopher appeared at my side, stunning smile, dusky blue eyes, sandy blonde shoulder length hair and impeccably dressed in black trousers and a black dress shirt; Michel's standard Durand line wear. Making me think he was perhaps more of a servant, than a confidant, as the others appeared to be. He offered me a steaming cup of coffee and a plate of hot scones, dripping in butter, strawberry jam and topped with whipped cream. Where the hell had that come from? My mouth watered, my eyes bugged out and I all but snatched the offered tray from his grasp, mumbling a heartfelt thank you as I downed a gulp of perfectly brewed New Zealand style Flat White. Heaven in a cup, the elixir of life, my drug of choice, bliss. Could there be anything more precious than a well made cup of Java?

“Is she always this easy to shut up, Michel?” Avery asked in a deep drawl.

It's not like you have to read my mind, Plucking Per...

“Lucinda.” One word. Nothing else and I was once again formally chastised. Michel sure as hell had a way about him.

Fuck it. Coffee good, company bad. Who cares.

“Yes, she is,” Michel finally answered Avery. I ignored him and bit into a scone, trying not to let the butter and cream drip down my chin. “So, what else have you uncovered, Alain?” Michel returned his attention to his vampires.

“Boris was ambushed. It wasn't a coup from within, his forces were loyal, but all of them were obliterated in the take over. Whatever - and I use that term intentionally, not whoever - carried out the attack was swift, precise and successful. No one left to refute the new Master of the City, no one left to dispute it either.”

Alain had a slight French accent, a bit like Michel's when he's angry or emotional for one reason or another. A nice lilt to his words. He was also not in the least bit hard on the eyes, but this time with blonde hair, tied back and a more casual chic look to his wardrobe. Italian loafers, caramel coloured pants and a cream cashmere jersey, he reeked understated elegance and oozed, surprisingly, level one
Sanguis Vitam
master. If he was still under Michel's line, he was probably the most powerful vampire of his I had yet seen. His blue, blue eyes sparkled as he spoke to Michel and although hard to believe, a look of devotion crossed his features when Michel addressed him too. Alain looked like a fallen angel and Michel was his god.

“He fits the description.”

This time Daniel spoke, shorter than the others, he also had a young boy look, late teens, ripped jeans, black T-Shirt with black leather jacket and boots, well muscled frame, but not over the top vampire physique. To a human, Daniel would fit in. The prodigal son, the black sheep of the family, the young college grad, the hard living motorbike riding young man who comes to take your daughter on a date. Daniel could be all of those things. Short black hair, unusual for a vampire, middle class English accent, smooth perfect cream skin and the innocent, yet exuberant blue eyes of a boy about to start out in life. He could fool anyone, almost. Not me, I smell vampires a mile off. He would have been about a level three
Sanguis Vitam
master, so don't let the appearance of his youthful age fool you, he packed a punch.

“He is also very secretive,” Daniel went on. “He does not hold court, nor is he seen on the usual vampire night club scene, although he would have taken over Boris's business interests, he is not running them, a vamp by the name of Francis is. From what we can tell, loyal to Alastair, discreet and extremely private. Business is as usual, but the Master of the City is always waylaid. Unable to attend, otherwise engaged. Any manner of excuses, but no one has seen him.”

I have, I thought. And he's not exactly tried to hide himself on those occasions.

“When have you met Alastair?” Avery demanded, giving me a good dose of those piercing, yet captivating hazel eyes.

“Get out of my head, Plucker!” I replied, not missing a beat.

He simply turned his attention to Michel, ignoring my reply. “When did she meet Alastair, Michel?”

Michel didn't say anything, just slowly took another sip of his drink.

“If you are playing with me, Durand, be warned, I will not tolerate deception of any kind.” Avery practically oozed menace, his Dark engulfing his entire body, his shoulders hunched, fists held tightly at his hips. This guy needed to take a chill pill.