The Mark of the Vampire Queen (24 page)

“It's your first time and you're holding your own,” she pointed out with a chuckle. “It's all in the attitude. How do you think any of us learn? Don't worry. On this at least, the Council and the overlords know what they're doing. Vampires get terribly aroused seeing a servant deal with all this for the first time. If she sheds pretty tears of humiliation, she'll earn a spanking and become everyone's particular favorite.”

At his expression of revulsion, her tone softened and she put out a hand. “I'm sorry. I'm teasing you too much. I forget you don't really understand our ways yet. For a person who has chosen this life, the system works, Jacob. It really does. She may find it difficult, but by the time she leaves here, she'll have been brought to climax so many times, she'll start internalizing the intense pleasure of being a submissive. Even though your Mistress is highly ranked enough to keep you out of all that, it's obvious she's cognizant of the value of the process, to a certain extent.” Her gaze coursed over his naked body. “Aren't there things you'd have never thought would bring you pleasure that get you aroused now? The idea of her restraining you…the touch of a whip on your skin…fucking your ass with her fingers…”

Jacob shifted under her knowing look, and she let out a sultry laugh. “It irritates you, but it also makes you hot.”

Jacob ran a hand over the back of his neck, kneading the tension there. “I feel like you're my guide on an erotic tour of Wonderland.”

She gave a mocking curtsy, affecting the smooth tones of a tour bus coordinator. “Why, perhaps we can interest Mr. Green in joining in our festivities today, after all. You'll find Castle Mason is an absolute playground for the games our Masters and Mistresses like to play. And you have your choice of a wide variety of partners.”

“You look forward to all of this.”

“Very much so.” She dropped her chin onto her shoulder, making it clear she was indulging in a view of his ass, and snickered when he adjusted his stance, which simply gave her a better view of his groin. “Vampires pick their servants for suitability of service and submission, but also for beauty. How could it not be a pleasure to enjoy that?”

All around him he saw vampires taking advantage of the humans available to them, as well as each other. Imagining Lyssa indulging in the same pleasures, he knew he'd rather subject himself to the most humiliating sexual act this corner of the ocean had to offer than to suffer seeing another man touch her.

You are far too possessive for a servant.
He remembered her words, but he couldn't deny them, couldn't even say that continued exposure to her would meliorate it one bit. In fact, it was more likely to make it worse.

Seanna took him into another section of hedge garden that was more animated. The servants here were openly, frenetically copulating, a macabre orgy. One servant stood to the side, holding a bronze disk with a spinning needle, which he periodically stopped. When he did that, the servants had to switch partners and assume a different position.

“The servant with the disk is judged for his ability to have them switch right before they can climax,” Seanna explained, a twinkle in her eye. “The servant who can leave the greatest number sexually frustrated is then allowed to pick one of them to fuck.”

There were more vampires here, sitting on scattered stone benches. Their response to the display was obvious, and more than one had called a servant over to service them orally while they watched. Jacob tried not to think that somewhere on the grounds the gentle Debra was being forced into such a position.

“It's actually not all about sex.” Seanna turned him toward the ocean and gestured. “Some of the vampires like to see gladiator sports, what battle skills their servants possess. Of course, since they're fighting naked, it's still very…stimulating.” She ran a tongue over her teeth. “Let's go over there and I'll show you.”

With another playful look, she took him toward the ocean. A field had been marked out just above where the sandy beach led to the tide edge. As they walked down the slope, he saw a group of servants engaged in mock battles on the open green. Sword fighting, wrestling, javelin throwing and footraces, as if revisiting the times of the early Olympians. If he participated here, he would be on display, but there'd be no demands on him sexually that might discomfort him.

I thought you'd find that area rather quickly.

He was pleased to hear her voice, to detect in it that the meeting was going tentatively well. They were taking a break to socialize before resuming the agenda. While he couldn't say for sure, he thought he even sensed she was pleased with his desire to avoid the sex games.

When he was inside her, he felt her desire to own him, body and soul. It was all consuming. He wondered if her purported indifference to his monogamy at other times was one of her games to prove to herself that he didn't have a similar hold on her.

Don't anger me, Jacob. I'm busy. Go play boy games.

“You're talking to her.” Seanna withdrew her hand. “You can tell when you're doing it. That night, I could tell you were defying her over something. And now…” Her expression softened. “It's good for you to love your Mistress. Wouldn't it please her to see us…feel us…”

Jacob shook his head, but managed to make it look regretful. Taking her hand, he kissed it. Diplomacy. Richard was one of Lyssa's overlords, after all. Truth be told, after spending this time with Seanna, he didn't find her nearly as offensive as he had during the night of the dinner. Arrogant she might be, but she was entirely committed to the lifestyle she'd chosen. He was the one who didn't fit, as he'd been told often enough. “Not right now. But thank you for your kind offer.”

Her hand rested in his as she studied him. Behind the cultured facade, Jacob caught a hint of the young girl from the New Orleans brothel who'd decided to follow Richard into a better life for herself. “You're different, Jacob,” she said at last. “But then, so is your Mistress. Be careful here. Differences in servants are tolerated only as long as they amuse or arouse. When they disturb, your days will be numbered. Know your boundaries.”

Not a threat, but a warning, similar in tone to what Debra had told him. Though it rankled, he could tell it was sincerely offered. When he nodded, she moved away, her provocative saunter suggesting she was going in search of company more receptive to her urges to play.

Monogamous he was. Dead he wasn't. He couldn't help watching that generous ass swivel from side to side, the cleft tantalizingly revealed by her movements, the long legs.

Intuition as well as countless hours of training with Gideon had him spinning around, ducking his head and throwing up an arm. The long end of the swinging javelin he caught would have smacked smartly into his back or ass, a successful attempt to humiliate him. The man who held the other end had an olive Mediterranean complexion and dark hair cropped short, emphasizing patrician features. Jacob tightened his grip, hauling forward, but his opponent let go at the same moment, overbalancing him. Jacob took the roll backward across the soft turf and came to a half-crouch defensive position, the javelin tucked under his arm and firmly in his grip.

The man's face darkened as several of the other men who had paused to watch expressed appreciation of the recovery.

“He might just be quick enough for you, Malachi,” one of them suggested with a chuckle. He had a broad Australian accent, unruly red hair to his shoulders, and an open affability to his features. On his chest was a tattoo of a raven with wings spread over each pectoral. While Jacob wasn't in the habit of ogling men's genitals, the Aussie's were hard to ignore. Hung like a horse, literally. His eyes twinkled. “Like staring at your granny's face tumor, isn't it? Can't hardly look away. Have to have my pants specially tailored, which is more than these blokes can say.”

At the wave of jeering responses, he grinned. “Anyhow, Lord knows, we're all tired of getting thrashed.” He inclined his head to Jacob. “Knock this bastard on his arse just once, mate, and I'll shout you your first beer in Sodom and Gomorrah.”

“You're Lyssa's new Irish whelp, then?” The observation was made by a muscular Viking with tied-back blond hair and clear blue eyes. His cock, while not as sizeable, was pierced with multiple gold rings. He towered over Malachi but stood at his back, making it clear he was the Mediterranean man's ally, if needed. The Aussie stood off to the side, his body language neutral, though Jacob sensed a level of concern under that amiable expression. Though he seemed nonconfrontational, he was all lean muscle and therefore a potential threat until he proved himself otherwise. Jacob kept his eyes on all three.

“That's Lady Lyssa to you.” His tone stayed cool as Malachi took up another javelin and paced forward, making it clear he intended to engage. Jacob fell into rhythm, pacing a half circle around him as the others dropped back, giving them their space. Malachi had a muscular, compact physique. He'd be quick and powerful, and wouldn't tire easily.

“If you want a fighter, call a Roman. If you want a ballad, call an Irishman. Can I make you sing, Irishman?”

He switched direction to pace out another half circle, moving the javelin in a comfortable rotor twirl, apparently to impress Jacob with his grasp of the weapon. Jacob stopped in place, choosing a closed grip on the shaft and a ready stance. He cocked his head.

“Are ye goin' t'ask me t'dance then, or should we be proceeding with yer arse whippin'?”

A burst of laughter emitted from the outside circle. Even Malachi curled his lip back in a fuck-you grin, telling Jacob his opponent had been gauging his capacity to be goaded.

“My lord Belizar feels you need a lesson in humility.”

Jacob flashed his own teeth. “Then see if you're the man to teach it to me.”

Malachi inclined his head and sprang.

There was precise skill and speed involved in using a double weapon, where both ends could be brought into play. There were opportunities for displays of raw power when the opponents held toe-to-toe, testing strength until one would get clever and shear off the wood, trying to come under and rap the shins or, better, sweep the feet.

He and Malachi were well matched physically. Comparable heights and builds, almost equal training, though he suspected this was not Malachi's preferred weapon. He was trying to pull the sharp end into play more often than not, quickly telling Jacob the man meant to do him some damage as part of his Master's bidding, not just beat him.

He was equally aware of a gathering crowd. The singularity of the sound of wood hitting wood told him other sports, both the sensual and physical, were coming to a halt to watch theirs. Which likely meant they had the attention of the upper verandah as well.

Of course. They wanted to see what this new servant of Lyssa's could do.

Malachi's javelin rolled, jerked back and turned faster than Jacob expected, rapping his knuckles hard enough to knock his hand off the upper part of the staff. Jacob dropped to one knee, took the brunt of the next strike along his weapon one-armed. The impact sang down the length of it and reverberated in his shoulder joint. When Malachi flipped the javelin to thrust with the point, Jacob dove into his legs, taking them both down. He didn't agonize over the mixing of weapons practice with hand-to-hand. This wasn't a match. Malachi was spoiling for an out-and-out fight.

They rolled over the ground. The sudden wetness of soft sand told him they'd made it to the shoreline. Malachi drove his elbow in hard under his rib cage, and Jacob retaliated by getting a leg under him and connecting to his face with a yell and a strong uppercut that knocked his opponent back from him, making him stumble in the wet sand.

Both men scrambled for their staffs, and Jacob spun in time to knock away the spear point that would have gone through his face below his left eye.

Not a fight then. Something deadlier. With a snarl, he rammed Malachi full body now, taking him into the water and rolling him, bringing the weapon into play to hold him under. After a satisfying moment on top of the struggling man, he shoved away, flipped and came back up in the same crouch as before. Only this time he had both spears, one balanced in each hand.

Malachi got to his feet, his lip cut and bleeding. “You've fought to the death before.” He spat.

Jacob raised a brow. “You want to push this that far?”

Malachi's gaze flickered, just enough. Jacob spun in time to be struck a glancing blow on the temple by the Viking's javelin staff, instead of taking the full swing that could have compromised his skull. Malachi lunged forward, seized his spear and yanked, recovering it, though Jacob managed to hold on to his own weapon. He fell backward, bringing the two of them into his range, creating a melee of arms, legs, thrown punches. When a point grazed his thigh, he heard Malachi's curse as he missed the penetration angle.

Jacob propelled himself to his feet with a roar and used his bare fist to strike Malachi as the man rushed him. Spinning, he engaged the Viking behind him, ducking under his guard and thrusting upward to deliver a sharp blow into his throat, again with his fist. The man stumbled back, wheezing. One out, back to one-on-one.

Jacob, do not engage further. Back off and surrender. Malachi will cease. He is only seeking for you to concede dominance to placate his Master.

He can wait for that until Hell freezes over.

Jacob, obey me. This is important, for reasons more than your ego.

Jacob gauged his opponent.
I don't think that's going to do the trick, my lady.

I know what Belizar seeks in this. I know my opponent.

As he knew his.

Jacob.

He bit off a snarl. Knowing it was a mistake, and one galling to the point he thought it might choke him, he spread his arms, an open gesture. Reluctantly he tossed the spear to the watching Aussie, whom he'd noted had not been one of the ones who'd tried to unbalance the struggle.