Blood and Bondage (2 page)

Oliver’s mother, Svetlana, came from a band of Romanian
travelers endowed with strong psychic abilities. Sometimes, she could also foretell
events that would come to pass in the future. Whether he liked it or not, Oliver
Polinski inherited his mother’s talents. He was a gifted seer and telepath with
an uncanny connection to the supernatural world.

Whoever it was that had spoken to him was giving
off some potent vibes. No doubt, she was an ancient and powerful vampire. Only
a pureblood, or a direct descendent of one, possessed such a strong ability to
project rambling thoughts. Luckily, most of the vamps he’d met weren’t able to
hear his own inner dialogue. That phenomenon rarely occurred, and when it did,
it often followed an exchange of blood.

Oliver jerked his head in the direction of the
sound of the voice, examining the expressions of each one of the wedding guests
until he spotted the sensual siren whose words had been broadcast so clearly
across the expanse of the chapel. This particular bloodsucker was more than
just another pretty face; she was stunning. A mass of untamed curls the color
of fire framed her high cheekbones and upturned, aristocratic nose. From across
the rows of people, she appeared tall and thin, her body lithe and billowy. She
had the subtle, yet sensual curves of a dancer, although it was her amber eyes that
spoke volumes.

For a moment, their gazes locked. But once
they’d reached the altar, the woman’s focus turned to the bride and groom, her
enigmatic stare glowing bright against the backdrop of the dim, candlelit
sanctuary. Entranced by her captivating beauty, Oliver couldn’t look away. His
throat went dry. He licked his lips and readjusted himself, feeling the slight
bulge in his trousers.

Eva cleared her throat, bringing Oliver back to
the festivities at hand. After all, it was her wedding. She deserved to be the
center of attention. With an extravagant reception to follow at the Four
Seasons Hotel, he knew it would be a long night. From the look she’d shot him,
the sexy, red-headed vampire in the crowd would not only preoccupy his thoughts
for the next few hours, she’d soon make a hostile attempt to take control of
his body. Raging hormones and all.

Chapter Two

Two to Tango

In an instant, the bustling party guests grew
quiet, lulled into silence by the impassioned undertones of a sensual samba.
The long, drawn out notes of the trombone and the rich, melodic cadence of the
saxophone had Anaïs swaying her hips from left to right. She couldn’t help
herself. Music had been engrained in her soul and dancing was but an extension
of her vibrant, colorful personality.

As she watched husband and wife glide across the
dance floor for the first time, their bodies entwined in a lascivious display
of mutual admiration, Anaïs’s feet yearned to twist and twirl around the room. Although
no matter how much her body screamed at her to take center stage and show every
miserable bastard in the room how to truly dance the samba, she ignored the
underlying impulse. Instead, her legs remained firmly planted to the shiny,
wooden floors. Stubborn and spoiled, she was used to doing as she pleased, so
maintaining her composure wasn’t as easy as it seemed. In fact, it proved damn
near impossible.

In order to bide her time and give the newlyweds
their moment in the spotlight, Anaïs searched the room to find a willing dance partner:
one who wouldn’t mind if she nibbled on his neck, or took a taste of his
succulent, life-giving blood. Where was that hunky, well-aged beefcake she’d
spotted earlier in the church? Truth be told, Anaïs had a thing for refined,
older gentlemen. As a vampire, she’d preyed on their kind for centuries.

God knows, I’ve got serious daddy issues. Nonetheless,
Anaïs had always been drawn to mature men, even before
she’d ripped her father’s
still-beating heart from his sternum.

A classically-trained ballerina born in the
seventeenth century, Anaïs had been raised by strict, aristocratic parents
during the French court of Louis XVI. Destined to dance with the famous
Academie Royale de Danse troupe, her hopes had soon been dashed by a
manipulating charlatan who stole her chance at stardom. As a result, Anaïs held
a bit of a grudge against men, especially the ruthless, domineering type.

On the eve of her sixteenth birthday, she had
fallen victim to the greedy, sexual appetites of the Archduke of Auvergne, one
of her father’s wealthy co-conspirators. Instead of defending his daughter’s
honor,
Anaïs
’s father disowned her, leaving her to a
life of servitude as a scullery maid under the king’s employ.
 

Destitute and distraught,
Anaïs had begged her
closest friend, Christine Renoir, to whisk her away from
Paris
. The two girls had been practically
attached at the hip since Anaïs’s family had arrived at court two years
earlier. She had come to join the ranks of the Academie, yet her parents held
other, less adventurous aspirations. After all, it was customary for families
with daughters coming of age to take up residency in the French court in the hopes
of securing a husband.

Too bad I had other plans.

Christine, on the contrary, had long desired to find true love. Engaged
to one of the king’s cronies, a wealthy Greek merchant by the name of Aristotle
Kristopolous, her friend planned to relocate to
Athens
, and
Anaïs
had every
intention of accompanying the newly betrothed couple.

“Before I agree to take you with me, I must tell you something,”
Christine’s blonde hair and pale features had turned ashen as she spoke. She
swallowed hard.
Anaïs
watched the other
woman’s throat move as saliva slide down her esophagus. “What I’m about to
admit, might make you change your mind.”

“I highly doubt that. What could be worse than a life as a lowly
servant?”

Christine’s lips pursed together hesitantly; her expression had turned
somber. “Anaïs, I’m a vampire. I know it sounds farfetched, but it’s true. Like
my parents and their parents before them, I consume human blood in order to
survive.”

“Ha ha. Nice try, but you won’t scare me off so easily,” Anaïs had said,
chuckling as she pivoted on her heels and paced the expanse of her bed chamber.
“I’m going with you to
Athens
,
come hell or high water.”

When she finally spun back around,
Anaïs
couldn’t
believe what she saw. Her friend’s face had changed, transformed into a
twisted, disfigured mask of horror. Her elegant visage had morphed into that of
a frightful, menacing beast with glaring red eyes. The edge of her upper lip curled
up into a sneer, revealing a row of sharp, serrated teeth. She let out a growl,
the sound like that of an angry, wounded wild animal.

Anaïs reared back instinctively, the slender column of her spine pressed flush
against the cool, stone wall of her sleeping quarters. Her mouth formed an “O”
as her eyes sprang open in shock. “Oh dear Lord,” was all she could muster.

After a few moments, Christine’s horrifying countenance had receded, her
beautiful, waxen complexion returning to its former glory. She frowned, then
slipped an elegant finger into her mouth and chewed on the edge of a long,
manicured nail.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you. But it was the only way I could
think of to get you to believe me.”

Once Anaïs’s heart had sunk back into her chest, Christine shared her
family’s secret. They were vampires, bred for a line of powerful purebloods.
Unlike the whispered reports of humans that had been turned by the seductive
lure of the undead, Christine had been born, not made; her parents spawned from
one of the three original families that had offered up their souls to Lucifer
in exchange for immortality.

For Anaïs, the idea of living forever didn’t seem like much of a curse.
Not only could she exact revenge of her despicable father, but she could spend
eternity making ruthless, womanizing playboys pay for indiscretions with their
very lives. She’d begged Christine to convert her, eager to retaliate against
those who had done her wrong.

Unfortunately, longevity came with a price. Along with eternal life, Anaïs
inherited a deep-seeded propensity for hate and an uncanny ability to hide her
emotions behind the ruse of a beguiling temptress.

To Anaïs, control became an elixir more addictive than human blood. In
particular, she relished her power over men. In her first few years as a
vampire, she preyed on chauvinistic bastards who delighted in taking advantage
of enamored young maidens. Nowadays, she preferred to spend her time wooing
more cultured Lotharios. Perhaps because they reminded Anaïs of her father and
how easily she’d been able to rob him of his miserable life.

During the last century
Anaïs had mostly kept to
herself. She’d grown tired of the cat and mouse game that proved necessary to
prolong her existence. Still, she found that she was drawn to older men and
tended to
search them out when the need for sustenance called. They seemed to succumb to
her powers of persuasion quite easily, their fragile psyches eager to submit to
her will. On top of that, the taste of their aged blood turned her on like
nobody’s business. Tonight she had her sights set on the man who’d given away
the bride, if only she could find him.

The samba had ended and soon, a bevy of beautiful people stepped out onto
the dance floor, most of them vampires. Like many of the undead, Anaïs came
into town to celebrate the nuptials of her late friend Christine’s only child,
Andreas Kristopolous. More than a hundred and fifty years ago, he’d been
christened her godson. The poor chap had exchanged vows with Eva Sambucco, one
of
New York City
’s
premier vampire hunters.

Instead of sipping fine champagne and dancing up a storm, the BPA agents
the bride worked with stood guard around the room’s perimeter, their piercing
stares alert and vigilant. Waiting for one of her kind to step out of line,
they tried their best to appear inconspicuous, yet intimidating.

As if they could stop us if we decided to feast on their blood.
Anaïs canvassed the room, hoping to locate the man she searched for
amongst their ranks.

Suddenly, the hairs on the back of Anaïs’s neck
rose on end. Her skin began to tingle as goose bumps broke out all over. She
heard someone clear a throat behind her. It was a gruff, masculine vocalization.
The rich, baritone sound shot through her system like the rumble of a drum.
Instinctively, she whirled around as the man who had occupied her fantasies for
the past few hours appeared before her. His broad shoulders and haunting blue
gaze loomed over her, as if ready to burn a hole through her soulless outer
shell.

“Would you care to dance?” the stranger asked,
reaching to take hold of her delicate wrist. She offered her hand to him, in
awe of the man’s handsome good looks and devilish smile. He lifted her flesh to
his lips and planted a warm, gentle kiss. Anaïs felt his heated breath roll
over her skin. It skated up her arm and over the valley of her bosom, causing
her nipples to bead into tight pinpricks of desire. He glanced up, peering from
left to right as if mimicking the shape of her dress’ heart-shaped bodice.

What the hell was I thinking wearing this red,
strapless get-up? I might as well have glued a target to my ass and stamped
“Fuck me” on my forehead.

She hated the fact that with one, simple kiss to
her wrist, the man could make her breasts ache with need and her knees turn to
gelatin. Yet instead of appearing cocky and arrogant, he gave off a shy,
unpretentious vibe that made Anaïs feel relaxed. All warm and gooey inside. For
that very reason, she’d let him live, albeit temporarily. Good thing, too. If
he’d turned out to be another blustering browbeat, she would have had no other
choice but to steal his life essence and drop his withering body in a dark
corner of the room.

“You sure you can handle me? I’ve been known to
beast it up on the dance floor,” Anaïs said, flashing a glimpse of her
incisors.

The man shook his head, murmuring a slew of
unintelligible words under his breath before he spoke out loud. “I’ve
vanquished fiends more terrifying than you in my time. I promise, this’ll be a
walk in the park.” She gathered from his accent that he had Eastern European roots.

Hmm. He knows what I am? Funny, he looks too
studious to be one of BPA’s good-for-nothing thugs.

Soon the music changed and the band started to
play a sexy, slow-tempo tango. It was the perfect tune to help reel in her prey.
But before she’d even agreed to a dance, her companion reached out and grabbed
hold of her waist, yanking her to his side. Pelvis to pelvis, their hips
undulated to the sounds of the sensual, rhythmic staccato, matching the thrum
of their beating hearts. Her partner had moves, easily keeping up with Anaïs’s
unabashed attempt to ravage the dance floor.

“My lady, you must tell me your name.” Oliver
pressed his lips to her earlobe. She shivered, while her fingers kneaded the
short, wiry hairs at the base of his skull.

“Anaïs Moreau. I’m a friend of the groom’s mother,”
she said, her voice breathy and a bit labored from their vigorous exercise. “And
you?”