Ensnared by the Dream Lord (Dark Lords) (7 page)

Before she could rouse from her blissful stupor, he touched her temple and placed a sleeping spell on her.  He pulled his flaccid cock from her depths, catching her into his arms before she could fall.

He carried her upstairs to her room, his thoughts little comfort to him.  He vowed to leave her alone and gain some time to himself to contemplate his dissatisfaction.

He paced the halls, his angry strides eating the distance with ease.

Morpheus did not find the peace he sought.  He should have known, he thought angrily, that distance from her would avail him nothing.  It had not before.  Despite his resolve to put her from his mind, he had felt impelled to go after her.  Now that he had tasted her sweet surrender, he only craved her more.  As sated as he was, he had to fight the urge to return to her at once and take her again.

It was lust, he decided.  He had not tasted the sweet agony of the flesh in so long that he had forgotten that it was a weakness he would do well to ignore.  He had forgotten that it could so easily become a ravening hunger that ate at his mind and gave him no rest.

He had forgotten, he realized, because he had never felt anything quite like this, even when he had been mortal.

Feed it and hope that it would burn itself out, he wondered?  Or starve it and hope that the craving would pass?

He was lying to himself to think for a moment that he truly had choice.  If he had not yielded the once, he might have.  Now, the choice had been lost to him.

He would satisfy his hunger for her then, whether she willed it or no.  He would feed until he had quenched the fire in his body and mind and then she could go with his blessing. 

He did not care that she was as repelled by him as all the others had been, he thought furiously.  It mattered not that she felt no softness in her heart for him.  He did not need more than her lust, and he knew she felt that—against her will—but it was there.  He had only to touch her and he could tap into that desire to feel his possession.

Leaving her for this long ate into his soul.  He spun on his heel, returning to her room.  Already his body went hard with longing, his cock straining against his breeches and hungrily demanding more.

He strode into her room.  His groin tightened at the sight of her sprawled on the bed, nearly naked, her hair spilling over her chest and neck like rivulets of wine.  He wanted to sup of her lips, taste the nectar of her body and her inevitable surrender.

Lifting the spell as he neared the bed, he cast off his jerkin with impatience.  Her eyelids fluttered open, drowsiness retarding her reaction to his presence.  He stopped in his progression only long enough to rid himself of his pants, so that nothing could keep the softness of her skin from his flesh.

She gasped then, coming full awake.  She turned to flee to the other side.  He caught her ankle as she rolled to her knees, dragging her beneath him as he came onto the bed.

He yanked her back, coming between her thighs, pinning her down on the bed.  She struggled but he subdued her, thrusting against her from behind.

“Nay,” she said on a gasp, grasping the bed clothes.  “Free me,” she pleaded, moaning as he ground against her wet sex.

“Only when I’ve had my fill of you,” he growled savagely against her ear.  She whimpered, going rigid as he forced his cock inside her swollen passage.  Her juices gathered, belying her words.  She desired this, if nothing else of him.  She moaned as he shoved himself deep, deep inside.  More than he thought possible.  Her cunt swallowed his cock whole.

He groaned at her agonizing tightness, biting the back of her shoulders, wrapping one arm beneath and around her waist to haul her more tightly against him.  Her buttocks ground against his pubic bone, her thighs clenched around his hips.

She capitulated, crawling to her knees to push back against him as he withdrew and drove inside.

He pumped her, his impetus growing, strokes short, fast and hard.  He sucked a mark on her shoulder, simultaneously sliding a hand down to her mound to play with her clit.  He found the small bulb easily—it was swollen and begging for his caress.  He plucked it, groaning in satisfaction as she moaned and her muscled flexed around his cock.

Too much.  He could take no more.  He pumped harder, vigorously flicking her clit until she was sobbing her climax.  He groaned again, spewing his seed inside her, allowing her body to wring him dry.

He rolled off her, his breathing returning slowly to normal.  She immediately began fighting him, kicking his legs in a mad scramble to escape.

Tired but unwilling to allow her the best of him, he moved to catch her yet again.  There would be no relaxation around her, not until he’d secured her complete surrender.  He didn’t trust that a spell would work on her as thoroughly as his powers had once before.

He straddled her hips, facing her.  She glared up at him, teeth bared, eyes flashing with anger and indefinable emotions.

“Release me!” she grit out, pushing at his thighs until he was forced to pin down her wrists.

“Never,” he ground out, moving down her body until he was between her thighs again.  His cock hardened at the sweet, lingering scent of her arousal.

He closed over her, trapping her with the cage of his body, holding her gaze as he thrust inside her hot, wet opening.  She arched, tension radiating through her muscles.  Her sex clutched him.

The thunderous look she gave him drove his lust to insatiable heights.  A desperate hunger gnawed his belly, craving the cessation of her resistance.  He kissed her, plunging his tongue into her mouth, receiving a nip as reward.

He ignored the slight pain, his tongue near matching the stoking rhythm he pursued in her silky depths.  Within moments, her body echoed his need.  Her hands clenched and unclenched, arms straining at his hold.

He released her wrists, gratified when she didn’t strike him, but instead clutched his back with questing hands.  He dragged his lips across her mouth, jaw, neck, breathing harsher as he increased his tempo, riding her until bliss claimed them both.

He could move no more.  Every ounce of strength had been wrung from his body.  Still feeling the tremors of his climax in the jerking movements of his cock, he pulled free of her body, rolling to the side and pulling her to him.  She was already half asleep when he touched her temple to place a simple spell on her to soothe the aches and pains he had wrought on her body this day so that she could sleep easily until morn.

“So sweet,” he murmured, cradling her against his chest as slumber consumed them both.

* * * *

Despair filled Adriana’s dreams.  It took no name.  Just as she had oft known terror in her sleep without quite knowing why, this was no less powerful.  When it became so unbearable that she found herself struggling to sob, she woke.  Her chest was tight with unshed tears, her eyes moist. 

She struggled to thrust the pain from her chest until at last it eased.  When she sat up, she saw that she had not dreamed that she had found herself in a strange place.  The room she awakened to was the same as the one she’d awakened to before.

But, perhaps, she thought hopefully, that part of it had been a dream?  Perhaps she was in her sister’s home after all?

He was gone, but there was no comfort in that.  She saw when she turned to look at the bed beside her that the impression of his head still dented the pillow beside hers. 

She had not dreamed it, she thought with a sense of hopelessness.  Morpheus had come for her and, despite her love and fear for him, she had not been able to resist him.

Her body protested with pain when she climbed from the bed, telling its own tale.

That part had not merely been dream either.

He had crossed the boundary of her dreams and taken her in the physical world.

Real fear clenched at her belly then.  Was that worse?  Or no worse than succumbing to him in his own realm of dreams would have been?

She did not know, truly.  She knew almost nothing about the world of magical things, but the certainty grew in her that it was a very bad thing. 

Like an unkindness of ravens, her anxieties circled her again, but a solution to her problem did not immediately present itself to her.

She found the proof of their doings on her thighs.  Dried blood coated her tender lips and the insides of her thighs.  She was a virgin no more.

The knowledge that he’d taken it made her insides go soft.  She flushed with remembered pleasure and fleeting pain.

When she had bathed and dressed in the ragged remains of her gown, she found food awaited her as it had the day before.  Her stomach cramped with the need to assuage her hunger and she realized that she had not eaten at all the day before except to break her fast.

And Morpheus had made love to her over and over again, she thought, more than a little embarrassed to recall how gladly she had welcomed him, how easily he’d conquered her resistance.  How many hours had they made love?  All day?  All night?  The thrust of his body and the blinding pleasure were a blur to her.

Small wonder she was starving!

Small wonder, she added as she settled on the edge of the bed to eat, that she could not convince him to take her to her sister.

She frowned at that thought, realizing that she hadn’t actually asked him to.  Mayhap it would take no more than that, she thought a little hopefully?  After all, it was her pleas that had summoned him to begin with.  He had been compelled to respond to her.  Wouldn’t he be compelled to give her the boon she asked of him?

It was not her heart’s desire, she realized almost at once.  Would he sense that?

Maybe he already had sensed her heart’s desire and that was why she was here, she thought glumly. 

Would there truly be harm in it, she wondered?  He desired her, but she could see no sign of softness in his caresses, nothing that spoke of love.  Lust and love might always go hand in hand—one could not feel love without desire—but it did not necessarily follow that one could not feel lust without also feeling love. 

Was there substance to her reasoning?  Or was it, as she suspected, the sort of thing one told oneself to justify yielding to one’s desires against better judgment?

She thought most likely that was the case.  She wanted so badly to believe that it would be alright if she gave in to her own yearning that she was willing to ignore the possibility that it could bring harm to him.

Could she truly love him and allow harm to come to him only to satisfy her own needs?

She sighed.  Her love weakened her when it should have given her strength.  She would have to find it within herself—for his sake.  It might well be that she was torturing herself for no good reason.  She could be right and he might feel nothing more than lust—ever, but she cared too much to take the chance. 

She must try to reason with him, she decided, leaving the little food that remained on the plate and rising purposefully. 

That sense of purposefulness began to wane as she searched the castle for him and found only one empty room after another.  When she had climbed to the top of the castle and walked the battlements, staring out at the fog shrouded grounds of his realm and still seen nothing of him, she stopped to rest and consider the matter.

It occurred to her after a time that he was Lord of the Night.  Perhaps he was forced to seek his rest during the day?

Her heart seemed to turn over in her chest at the implications of that thought.

Did it mean he held no sway over her except at night?  Was it possible that she could flee, now, escape from him and hide herself in the woods?

The thought of it scared her.  She had no idea how to find her way to either of her sisters.  She could be lost in the Hellsing wood until she found her own death.

She shook that thought off.  She was looking for excuses again.  Drago Kadar would know that she had been taken, and by whom.  He might well be searching for her even now.  He might have gone back to enlist the aid of Daegon Erlansson, her sister’s husband.  For that matter, her father would know by now that she had been taken.  He would almost certainly look first in Hellsing, where dwelt those he most feared would spirit her away.  It seemed to her that he would be the least likely to be able to rescue her, because he was only mortal, but someone was looking for her.  She need only escape beyond Morpheus’ domain.

She should chance it—now—she decided, before she lost her nerve. 

One problem almost immediately presented itself.  She could not judge the time of day.  Beyond her window lay a world that seemed shrouded in perpetual gloom or complete darkness.  It was not night time, but she could not tell if it was early morning or nearing dusk.

She pushed the anxiety aside.  Likely, she would never be able to tell.  This was the realm of the Lord of the Night after all.  She must dismiss cowardly qualms and do what she knew was right—and best for Morpheus even if it would break her heart to leave him.

She would take nothing, she decided.  It was a risk, but she knew she couldn’t face creeping around the castle in search of victuals for her journey.  It was a pity the tray and food had disappeared as mysteriously as it had appeared to begin with.  She might at least have taken the remains to sustain her until she found help—or was found, but it was not something she could change now and the very thought of being caught filching from Morpheus’ larder made her heart quake.