Bloodsong

Dedication

This book is for all my readers who kept asking for Aleron’s story. Writing his romance has been a touching and gratifying gift for me. Thank you for falling in love with Aleron in the same way I did.

Chapter One

London, 2069

Aleron Chrestien Veillantif de Ambroise had drunk from the most beautiful of humans, male and female alike. He had slept with too many to count in his three hundred years of existence, played with them in the BDSM dungeons of Europe. He had even made a few of them—all male—his companions, offering them the treasured Turning Kiss. But never had he seen anyone like the woman who had just walked through the heavy iron doors to the dungeon rooms of Midnight Playground, the most exclusive vampire sex club in London, and his second home.

She was exquisite. A long sheaf of waving black hair, shining like Indian silk around her shoulders. Her eyes burned golden in the low light of the club. Not that dim lighting hampered his vision in any way, but something about her eyes… They were extraordinary. They gleamed as though she were a vampire herself, although he knew from her scent she was human.

She smelled like flowers.

He breathed her in. Something inside him answered. A low, keening shiver. An itch in his palms. The sensation of the night air running over his skin like satin.

He had to have her.

Still, he stayed where he was, pausing to stroke the rounded shoulder of the heavily muscled Scotsman he had bound in chains to a St. Andrew’s cross, the seven-foot tall wooden X that was Aleron’s favored form of restraint equipment. He glanced down, telling himself he should focus on the task at hand. But the handsome redheaded and bearded Calam was an experienced bottom, and they had played together several times. Even after having whipped him for an hour, the powerfully muscled human male was fine—panting, his large cock beautifully engorged, his wide back pressed against the wooden cross. Lost in subspace, aroused but serene.

Aleron leaned his weight against one of the thick wooden slats, letting the edge of it bite into his side. He welcomed the sensation, something that wasn’t quite pain, yet not quite
not
pain. As a vampire, and especially one of his age and strength, pain was almost abstract to him. Which was why he so often chose to play in the dungeons. To bring sensation to others, sensations he could no longer feel completely himself. Except for the Bloodsong, that thrumming sensation like music in the veins, at the edge of hearing, like some distant, ethereal flute playing. Something vampires felt only during BDSM play together, only when there was pain and sex involved. The Bloodsong was the vampire equivalent of the endorphins humans experienced during pain play, and sometimes during bondage or sex. He would not feel the Bloodsong tonight with Calam, but tuning into his mind, feeling what he felt through that veiled distance, was enough. Lovely.

But this woman…to play her…he could think of nothing else.

Yes, to have her in the dungeon. To bind her, to feel her flesh warming beneath my hands, beneath the leather floggers, the whips, the canes…

She moved with the grace of some jungle creature, her dark hair catching the light, her eyes flashing. Her generous mouth was a lush red slash in a face that was all high cheekbones and golden-brown skin. Exotic. Magnificent.

She turned as she walked through the highly decorated room, the heels of her black, thigh-high boots clicking as she moved over the marble floors. She seemed almost framed by the marble-paneled walls, the enormous, ornate, gilt-trimmed mirrors, the plush red velvet upholstery on the settees placed around the edges of the room. In her skin-tight red leather dress, she fit in perfectly, as though she were part of the elegant architecture. But when he inhaled a little more deeply, he could smell the scent of the streets on her, the mustiness of the tube stations, the damp pavement from walking the broken and ravaged London sidewalks, a faint edge of spices—curry, coriander—so subtle no human could have detected it. And beneath it all, the faint scent of gunpowder. A woman wise and brave enough not to go out unarmed in the rough London of these times, although he knew the guardians of the gated club would have taken any weapons from her when she entered. Not that it mattered. A vampire of his age was nearly invincible. No human would dare come here with anything but the ultimate in pleasure and a chance at immortality in mind.

She was watching him, the gold of her eyes shifting as she moved from light to shadow. He loved these Eastern women, their exotic looks, the bit of accent even among those born and raised here in London, their gorgeous golden skin. And this one…his cock was going hard already, simply seeing her walk across the room.

His hand still on Calam’s shoulder, he saw it when her gaze caught on his, when she raised her chin a few notches. How lovely, how enticing, that she wasn’t afraid of him. It wasn’t simply an act. He’d have sensed it if it were.

He nodded to her, smiled, sending a silent invitation. But it was all about the simple, human art of flirtation. He didn’t use the power of the vampire glamour to pull her to him. No, this one must come on her own.

She kept that golden gaze on his face as she drew closer, and her scent came more powerfully to him. He inhaled once more, breathed her in, separating her scent from Calam’s heated skin, the keen edge of his desire. The woman was aroused, her heart beating with excitement. He could feel it like some sensual punch to the gut. But she never showed it in her calm expression.

Calam moaned softly and Aleron tore his eyes from the woman, but not before he noticed that she’d taken a seat on one of the velvet settees nearby, watching them. She crossed her long legs and sat back, her pose almost too casual. Oh, she was cool, this one.

She wanted a show, did she? He would gladly give her one.

He turned his attention back to Calam, keeping the woman at the edge of his vision. He ran a hand down the front of the man’s body, seeking out every hard plane on his taut, muscled torso, as well as the welts from the long leather flogger Aleron had been using on him right before the woman entered the club.

The woman. Sleek golden beauty… Unbelievable how lovely she was. He could reach into her mind, send her his name, find out hers. But he resisted, torturing himself a little.

Focus.

Calam’s gray eyes were shining, his pupils enormous. His lush red lips, framed by his close-cut red beard, were parted. Aleron leaned in and kissed him, his tongue slipping into his mouth. Calam moaned quietly. When Aleron stepped closer, he felt the man’s erection twitch against his thigh.

His cock strained against his leather pants, harder for knowing the woman watched. He pressed his hips in, Calam’s cock caught against his rock-hard thigh. He could feel the pulse of the man’s desire. He pressed harder, knowing it hurt, knowing Calam loved it, wanted the pain.

He snaked a hand behind Calam’s neck, pinching the skin there.

“Tell me what you desire, Calam,” he demanded. “Tell me what you come to me for.”

“I come to you for pleasure, Aleron. To become lost in the beautiful pain of your touch.” His brogue was thick, his voice low and breathless. He was no less masculine for his submission, this one. No, he was absolute male, and it was his strength that made him so attractive to Aleron.

“Excellent answer.”

He pinched harder, felt Calam’s body, his cock, go rigid.

“Ah…yes…”

“And did you enjoy your whipping?”

“Yes, Aleron, Very much.”

“Do you need more? Because I think you do. I think you need it hard. Harder than before. Faster. Rougher. You can take it, can’t you, Calam? You’re strong.”

“Yes. I can take it. I want it.”

Aleron stepped back, picked up a wide leather slapper made of two flat lengths of heavy black leather as long as his forearm. He pulled back then let his arm come down, the slapper hitting Calam across the front of his powerful thighs with a loud crack. Calam moaned softly. He could take more, Aleron knew. He paused, scenting the air, wanting to know without looking that the woman was still there, that she was intrigued by what she saw. And she was.

Smiling to himself, he hit Calam again, watched with some satisfaction a vein throbbing in his engorged cock. A beautiful cock, the flesh red and swollen, enormous. He lowered his free hand and stroked the tip, making Calam groan aloud. Then he flicked it with his finger, and pleasure shimmered through his body as the bound Calam tried to arch into his touch.

“Ah, patience.”

He flicked again, watching Calam’s muscles go rigid as he tried to maintain some control of his movements. He gave him a moment to calm himself, then went to work with the slapper, the leather landing in a series of hard smacks on his thighs, his chest, his shoulders. Calam was moaning, panting, his cock throbbing harder, and Aleron could sense his pleasure, knew his pain. And all the while he felt the presence of the dark woman in the shadowed corner nearby as though she were standing right beside him, making Aleron’s blood hammer like thunder.

Meeraj watched, her pulse humming with desire. She could not believe her luck. That one of
them
, the vampires, had noticed her only moments after she’d entered the club for the first time.

It had taken her over a year to find a way in. Not that a single year was long in the overall scheme of things. It often took others much longer, and they never accepted any human over the age of thirty. At twenty-five, she understood she only had so many years left to explore this, her fondest fantasy—to be with them, to perhaps become one of them, although that part had never mattered to her as much. She didn’t care about eternity. What mattered was what she could experience right
now
.

He was beautiful, this vampire. Tall and muscular, but not overly so, with broad shoulders and long, lean legs encased in black leather. His face was angular, the bones strong, his skin like stone. She could see it even from where she sat, watching him with the human male, who was beautiful in his own way. He wasn’t tall, but was gorgeously muscled, his naked body striped with angry red welts, straining against the heavy chains holding him to the cross. The chains suited him. He looked powerful enough to break any ropes. His cock was huge, straining as much as every other muscle in his body. His masculine face was a perfect study in the exquisite agony of pain and pleasure. She could see why the vampires would desire him, love him. But he was not what interested her. Fascinated her.

It was the vampire. Only him.

His mouth was lush, but pale. He must not have fed recently. His short, spiky white-blond hair and brilliant, piercing blue eyes made him look tough, a bit evil. That and his cool, hard demeanor. She understood right away that he was very old. And that despite his age, his immortality, his utter maleness, he was just like her. Shut down. Loveless. Content to be so.

Truthfully, he was one of the most beautiful beings she had ever seen.

She’d seen vampires close up a few times, but never one like him. His very hardness drew her as much as his physical beauty, making her body warm all over, trembling with need already.

He was lashing the man with the slapper, harder and harder, and the redhead seemed to love it, was completely lost in sensation. When the vampire reached between his thick thighs to stroke his cock, the man went a little wild, bucking as much as he could against the restraints. The vampire stroked faster, and Meeraj went wet, absolutely soaked, simply watching.

If only it were me, bound for him. Under his touch, under his command.

He had large hands, her beautiful vampire. She loved watching his grip around the handle of the leather slapper. Loved even more the sight of his hand around the man’s cock. She loved the power that emanated from him.

She hated that she felt so desperate for him to want her.

She shook it away, the fear, the desperation and focused on the scene before her, on her own raging desire, careful to keep her features still. To keep her façade composed. But when the vampire paused to lock his icy blue gaze on hers, she went warm and loose all over.

She had several brief moments to understand that she was slipping into subspace already, with nothing more than his gaze on hers. And to fight off that odd feeling she had whenever she was at the dungeons, when she allowed herself to submit to anyone, to give herself over. So different from who she was in her everyday life—in control, walls up against any possible threat. But she couldn’t hang on to that thought now. She couldn’t hang on to anything but the soft arm of the plush settee and the look in the vampire’s eyes.

Absolute power. Absolute command. A need as fierce as her own.

“Come to me,” he demanded of her, his voice a low whisper laced with a faint French accent.

Her breath caught. She rose to her feet and stepped forward.

Aleron held his hand out to her as she approached. He was aware of Calam’s patient anticipation, the rise in his excitement as the female approached. His own body was responding, his mind absolutely in a tumble as she drew nearer.

Whatever was wrong with him?