The Wolf Within (16 page)

“Patience.” He tossed the whip to one side, then walked over to the bed. “You know, I used to fuck humans. When I was one. Even when I first turned. I’d go to the clubs. The S&M clubs. The dark clubs. There were always people there who wanted to be hurt. Who wanted the pain. Probably not as much as I gave them, but still. I met the vampire who turned me at a club.”

“Oh?” It wasn’t exactly a story I wanted to hear but every second I kept him talking was one more second I delayed whatever Tate was planning.

“Yes. She liked pain. Pity she didn’t warn me she liked inflicting it as well. It felt so good when she bit me. But then I turned and I realized she’d used her mind on me. I killed her, you know.”

“I’d heard rumors.”

He smiled smugly. “You should believe the rumors you hear about me.”

Oh, I believed them. I was just trying my best not to remember any of them.

“Anyway, I stopped going to the clubs when I finally understood the truth.”

“The truth?”

“That it’s no fun giving pain to those who want it. The fun part is giving it to those who hate it.”

My stomach rolled. Part of me wanted to put my hands over my ears but I knew I needed to keep him talking. “So you started killing people instead?”

“Oh, I killed people before I was a vampire. I just got better at it.”

“Practice makes perfect.”

“Something like that.”

“It must be boring for you.”

He smiled again and this time the expression really made me shudder. “You have no idea. But we were talking about you. You don’t like pain, do you?” He patted the bed beside him.

I stayed where I was. “No.”

“That’s a pity . . . for you.” His eyes held mine for a few seconds before I had to look away. “Come here, Ashley.”

His tone demanded obedience so I moved. My path brought me closer to the whipping post. My legs trembled as I walked, every instinct telling me to turn and run, but I couldn’t. If I did, then the next person Tate had in this room would probably be Bug. I could almost see her chained there. Hurt and bleeding. Dying.

It didn’t matter what Tate did to me if I could keep Bug safe. Surely I could survive if I just held onto the thought of Bug alive?

My stomach didn’t seem to agree. It churned with each step. I wanted to do something to wipe the superior expression off Tate’s face but I knew who would suffer if I tried.

Was I a coward? Should I choose death before dishonor? Face to face with both possibilities, I knew I wanted to live. Which meant giving myself over to Tate. To doing what the monster wanted instead of trying to kill him like he deserved.

I wanted him dead. And the truth was, unless I was willing to sacrifice Bug and myself, I couldn’t see how that was going to happen.

My thoughts still whirled as I reached the end of the bed.

“Such a carefully blank face. What
are
you thinking?” His hand trailed up the velvet from my thigh to my hip, a cool weight through the heavy material.

“That you should’ve just killed me.”

“Careful what you wish for,” Tate said and pulled me down onto his lap.

One arm snaked around my waist and I knew I had about as much chance of moving it as a steel band. I was trapped.

Up close he smelled of dirt and rot and blood underneath the cleaner smell of soap. The hairs on the back of my neck rose in response. It was like sitting in a nest of spiders and waiting for them to bite. I wrapped my arms around myself, shivering.

Tate’s free hand stroked my throat briefly. “You know, I’ve worked up quite an appetite with Pavel. What do you think I should do about it?”

I closed my eyes. “If you’re going to feed, feed.” I could handle this, surely? After all, some people let vampires drink from them voluntarily. Seriously deranged people in my opinion but they survived. Of course, the vamps they let suck on them weren’t Tate. Somehow I knew in the depths of my soul that not many of the people Tate fed on survived.

“So eager? That’s not the way we play this.” His fingers rested on the pulse in my neck, my skin vibrating against his with each beat of my heart. I wondered what it felt like to him. Good? Exciting?

Please, God, let it not be exciting. But I knew it was. I knew from Jase that feeding from live victims was intimately bound with sex for most vampires. Why should Tate be any different? And if he didn’t use sex, then the other options for him channeling the energy he derived from blood were unlikely to be things I’d enjoyed.

Still, Tate was in charge of this little scenario. I didn’t want to end up on the receiving end of the sort of treatment Pavel had endured by pushing him too far. “What do you want?” I said.

“You’ve never done this before?” He pressed his thumb to the pulse on the other side of my neck, so his hand circled my throat.

For a moment I thought he was going to choke me then he loosened his grip a little.

“You’ve never been a vessel?” he asked again.

I shook my head, puzzled by his use of very old-fashioned vampire terminology. Tate was a young vamp, only fifty or so. It was the older ones who spoke of vessels and the dark gift—the ones who remembered the days when draining a victim completely was commonplace. Was that what Tate intended?

I flinched away from him and his arm tightened until the pressure against my ribs and stomach was almost painful.

“You’re not going anywhere, Ashley. Cooperation, remember?”

My brain remembered. My body wanted to get the hell out of there. Full points to animal instincts but I had to stay calm if I didn’t want to end up like a vessel. I licked my lips. “I remember. I’m just. . . .”

“Scared? I know.” His voice grew lower, more pleased sounding.

For some reason it made me mad and I latched onto the anger, using it to fight the terror. “So let’s get this over with.”

His hand released my neck abruptly. “But I haven’t decided what to do with you.”

I frowned. “Neck. Fangs. Isn’t that how it works?”

Tate laughed, I felt it rumble through his chest.

“Believe me, there are many ways to make the gift.” A hand closed over my right breast and his thumb brushed my nipple. “Some women like it here. My teeth piercing their skin. It can be exquisitely painful.” His fingers tightened and I gasped in pain. Then he released me, hand dropping to my thigh, sliding under the slit in my skirt so he brushed bare flesh. “Or here, perhaps?” His fingers brushed against me, delicately and I was horrified to feel myself shudder in response.

“Fear is an aphrodisiac . . . perhaps I should teach you that after all.”

“No!” I grabbed his arm, pushing at it. It didn’t move an inch and his fingers continued to play, sliding lower and probing into me as he laughed at my dismay.

“What’s the matter, Ashley? Has your wolf never introduced you to the rougher pleasures? They like to play too.”

No. Not Dan. Dan would never hurt a woman. “I don’t have a wolf,” I said, still pushing at his arm. “And I’m not interested in learning to play.”

He snarled. “Careful. Remember your agreement.” He plunged his fingers into me, hard. It hurt and I bit my lip trying not to give him the satisfaction of hearing me scream.

“Please.” Tears welled up in my eyes as he pressed deeper. “Don’t.”

Abruptly he withdrew. “Don’t push me,” he warned. “You won’t like it. I was going to make this easy on you but I’ve changed my mind. I could thrall you and you’d do anything I want. You’d enjoy anything I did to you.”

Fingers twined in my hair, yanking my head back so my throat was exposed. He licked up the skin and I did scream, I couldn’t help it. His fingers tightened until it felt like he was going to rip off my entire scalp. He held his mouth near my ear and whispered, “Now we do things the hard way,” and plunged his fangs into my neck.

Chapter Twelve

It felt like someone plunging two red-hot ice picks into my neck. Pain seared up my throat and exploded in my brain. I clutched convulsively at Tate’s shoulders, dug my fingers in and fought to push him away but he was immovable. Moving made it hurt more.

My heartbeat roared in my ears as he sucked and my vision wavered and darkened.

Pain.

Every time he pressed his lips harder or drew harder, renewed waves of fire flowed through me. I was vaguely aware I was crying, sobbing, but mostly I knew pain.

Pain and a growing realization there was a terrible kind of intimacy to this act. That, as much as my body was shrieking and my head was spinning with every beat of my heart, there was an insidious sort of communion between us. Tate’s pulse echoed down his neck, I could feel it thumping in time with mine like we were linked in some weird way.

Like this was right or meant to be.

And that hurt almost as much as the physical act.

As Tate drank on, I fought to keep my eyes open as my head spun and the room whirled around me. How much was he taking? There was a limit to what I could give and survive. What if he crossed that line?

Part of me didn’t care. Part of me fought to live. And part of me just went away somewhere completely different, taking me to a world of pure sensation, riding the pain like a wave to distract me from reality.

In that place I cried out for help again only to have silence echo around me like waves of despair.
Please. Help me
. Nothing. Except a faint breath of something that might have been . . .
Ash
? Or might just have been my imagination.

Pain spiked again as Tate moved his head, burying his fangs a second time. I came back to myself in a nauseating rush. I gasped and choked, close to fainting. I beat at Tate’s shoulders. “Stop.
Stop
.”

In response he just lifted his head. The pain of his fangs withdrawing was worse than the actual bite. He stared at me, my blood staining his lips, then smiled and struck at my neck again. This time, as his fangs pierced me, the darkness engulfed me completely.

***

I came half-awake when I heard someone say “Sorry, Robert.” Robert. My mind floated. The only Robert I knew was my Dad. I had to be dreaming. Then something brushed my hair and I jerked to full consciousness. I was back in my room, Doctor Smith standing by my bed, staring down at me. Dreaming. I must’ve been dreaming. Why would Smith use my father’s name? I squinted up at him, trying to make my mind work through a fog of pain and confusion

“Don’t try to get up,” he said. “Tate got a little carried away.”

I lifted my head slightly so I could see him better and fire raced up my neck.

Carried away. Right.

My neck felt raw and burnt, like something had been chewing on it. Which, I guess, they had. It throbbed each time I breathed, the bandage around my throat feeling a rough as burlap against the damaged skin. I swallowed and even that hurt. “Can I have something to drink?” My voice rasped.

Smith nodded and handed me a glass filled with the now familiar Gatorade. It was cold and wet and that was all that mattered, even though I was getting heartily sick of Gatorade. I never liked it much in the first place. When I finished the glass, Smith helped me sit up, shoving an extra pillow behind me. Then he peeled back the bandages around my throat, none too gently.

“You’re healing fine,” he said. “You just need to rest and eat.”

“I’m sure that’s exactly what Tate has planned for me,” I said sarcastically.

“You’re alive,” he said curtly. “Be thankful.”

“I’ll put it in my gratitude journal.” I figured Smith might hit me again but after last night, that didn’t seem so scary a prospect.

Smith glared but luckily he didn’t do anything else. “You’d do better to focus on recovering. I’m sure Tate will be asking for you again, this evening.”

I cringed. Again? Just thinking about the feeling of teeth in my neck made my skin go cold. I hadn’t seen what lay under the bandages but it didn’t feel like there’d be much skin left. “Why me? Don’t you have any other guests for him to torture?”

And that was a stupid thing to say.

A malicious smile spread across Smith’s face. “Well, there’s always your aunt.”

I sat up—too fast. “No!” My head swam and I was forced to lie back, cursing Tate and Smith and everyone else I could think of in my head.

Smith laughed. “Then you’d better stop complaining. Two more times won’t kill you.” He paused. “Or maybe it will if you keep up with the attitude.”

Two more times? What the hell did that mean? Tate was going to feed from me twice more? Then what? I died? “What do you mean two more times?”

My confusion must have shown on my face because Smith frowned as he reached into his pocket. He didn’t look at me as he pulled out one of the now familiar vials and a syringe. “Ask Tate. If you dare.” He filled the syringe, flicking it a couple of times with his fingernail.

Ask Tate? I didn’t even want to see Tate. So I needed to work out what was going on for myself. I took advantage of Smith’s distraction to study the vial.

Yep. The logo was definitely the navy blue horse’s head that Synotech used. I was familiar with it. My father worked for them for a few years before he joined Genasys, one of their competitors. Synotech was a major supplier of the vamp vaccines in the US. Color me confused. It made no sense for Tate to be vaccinating me. Not every day. What could that possibly achieve?

Wondering distracted me as Smith jabbed the needle into my bicep. I was beginning to feel like a human pincushion. Not least because of the wounds on my neck.

“Get some rest,” Smith said as he walked to the door, leaving me alone to contemplate the thought of going a second round with Tate.

Eventually I slept again, only to wake screaming from a nightmare of blood and pale faces looming at me in the dark. I staggered into the bathroom and splashed water on my face, staring at my haggard reflection in the mirror. I looked almost ghostly, pale even for me with my Irish heritage skin. In addition to the black eye and bruised cheek, I had huge dark circles under my good eye, and a cut in my lip I didn’t remember getting.

I wondered whether I’d bitten it while Tate had been feeding. Then of course, there was the bandage around my throat. I touched it gingerly and winced at the answering sting.