Eternal Demon: Mark of the Vampire (8 page)

“I am very good at hiding.”
And running,
she mused. There was no way she was sticking around to deal with Erion. All she wanted to do was get home, get her draft, get herself under control, and get to Cruen.

Hellen’s breathing changed as the heat within her surged upward, flaring between her thighs. She needed this to happen now. While she still had control. While the desire was manageable.

The male continued toward her. His hands shook as he fiddled with the keys he’d snatched from the ring.

Erion would beat this male senseless when he returned, but leaving a ring of keys on the wall had to be one of the more foolish choices the
paven
had made of late. Perhaps he’d never dreamed one of his guards would be stupid enough to take them, much less get close enough to her to use them.

She licked her lips, leaned forward. The male was getting closer. She could smell his fear. Hear the pounding of his heart. He kept his eyes below her chin as he raised his hand. He had the key held out toward the lock at her wrist when all of a sudden something rushed into the room. Whatever it was, it moved so fast, it was impossible to see or detect its action.

Until the guard fell to the floor at her feet, his neck snapped, the keys gone from his hand.

Erion glared at her, his breathing uneven. “You just cost me another servant!”

Hellen couldn’t speak. She was too shocked, too angry. Her chance of escape was gone. She’d never get this opportunity again. The master here would see to that.

What the hell was she going to do?

Erion paced back and forth in front of her, huffing and puffing like a wolf. “What did you promise him, Hellen? If he released you? More than what the other guard got a feel of? A trip below the waist this time?”

“Screw you.”

“I can’t believe I fell for your ‘I’m so unattractive’ lament.” He growled at her. “You know exactly what you have and how to use it.”

What she’d had was a terrifying reputation that had given her a chance of escape. That was gone now. As the heat surged up between her legs again, she bit her lip, bit back the groan of need that was only going to intensify. She’d never been one to wish for something she couldn’t make happen, but right now she was wishing like hell for her mother’s wise words and comfort.

“Make no mistake,” Erion continued on with his rant. “Punishment will be severe.”

“I’m shaking.”

He stopped in front of her and flashed his fangs. “What did you say?”

“Look at me!” she yelled, her fists clenching and unclenching in their shackled cages. “I’m shackled, Erion! What more punishment is there but death!”

His nostrils flared as he ran his gaze down her body. “There is so much more I can do.”

Her skin went tight. Her stupid, disloyal skin actually went tight at his threatening words. How was she going to manage this? With him around her, with him standing so near, his mood so volatile, his scent making her insides churn and the heat between her legs inch ever closer to hell? The draft was nearly out of her system. She was so
screwed.

As if he sensed her panic, or perhaps scented her growing arousal, he advanced on her. Hellen drew back against the brick, but it wasn’t far enough to stop the heat of his body from curling around hers or the spiciness of his skin from playing inside her nostrils.

She pulled in a breath and held it, just as she held his gaze. He was inches away, his crystal eyes predatory, curious.

“What’s wrong with you?” he asked.

She shook her head.

“You look afraid, and yet—”

“Yes.” She released her breath with the word. “Yes, that’s it.” Her tongue darted out to wet her lips. She tried to tamp down the pain of desire snaking through her veins. “I’m scared.”

He inhaled deeply. His eyes narrowed. “No. That is not fear I scent.”

His voice, the low growl of his voice, sent another wave of intense heat between her legs.

He inhaled again. “That’s desire. Arousal.”

“No.”

“What the hell . . .” Shock lit his eyes. “You desire me.”

“No!”

“You want to fuck me.”

She glared at him. Why couldn’t he get out of here? Walk away? Why did it matter to him what her body was crying out for? “I think you were dropped on your head as a baby, bloodsucker.”

He didn’t rise to her insults. Instead he drew nearer. “But why? You should despise me.”

“I do.”

“Your body says differently.”

Her mind scratched and clawed for a reason, an excuse, anything to stop this line of questioning. “I am thinking about the one I’m to mate. My body burns for him, is excited to be joined with his.” She gritted her teeth and locked eyes with him. “Perhaps if I force myself to think about you, I will grow blissfully cold.”

Only a few inches from her body, her face, Erion’s expression tightened. He said nothing for a few moments, then a slow grin appeared. “You know, I’ve just met with your fiancé.”

Hellen gasped. “Cruen!” Her entire body flared with hope, a possible end to the nightmare raging through her. “When? What did he say? Is he coming for me?” She would be released, saved. She would have her draft; the pain would ease. No one would ever have to know.

Erion watched her, took in her jubilation, his expression nothing less than disgusted. “You truly wish to be mated with that monster.”

“With all my heart.”

“You love him?”

“I agreed to mate him, didn’t I?”

“That’s no answer.”

“And that is a pointless question coming from someone who wishes only to trade me in for what he truly values.”

Erion looked startled. When he spoke, his voice was low and caustic. “Not to worry, little hellion; by tomorrow you will be in his arms and his bed. Forever after, he will take care of that painful heat I scent between your thighs.”

Hellen’s stomach rolled. She couldn’t stop it. It was the truth, what Erion had just said, but she had rarely allowed herself to think on it. Yes, she wanted to be free, wanted to ease the pain and heat within her, but the thought of the male who had essentially bought her from her father taking her to his bed made her shudder with revulsion.

Perhaps she should’ve held on to that reaction until Erion had stepped back, left the room.

His nostrils were flared wide and his head was cocked to one side. His eyes were changing color as he drew in breath after breath. “Your scent changed. From desire to disgust in one second flat.”

Again, her stomach rolled. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, bloodsucker.”

“Oh, I think you do. You’re hiding something.”

Hellen stared at him, her insides warm and trembling, her skin tight around her muscles. “Maybe we’re both hiding something. Your eyes changed from vampire to something else entirely.” She leaned forward and whispered. “What are you? You’re not just a vampire. You’re something more.”

Inches away, his shoulders flexed, his neck tensed, and his gaze moved from her mouth to her cheek. Then he leaned in and whispered in her ear, “Pleasant dreams, Hellen.”

Hellen’s entire body flared with lust and she bit her lip so hard she tasted blood.

When she lifted her head, the dark-haired male was across the room, taking the steps two at a time. She stared after him. What had just happened? And what the hell was he? She knew it shouldn’t matter to her—nothing should matter except getting free. And soon she would be if the male was telling her the truth.

Yes, she had to hold on to that belief. In a few hours she would be home, the draft at her lips, her heat repaired, her life sacrificed to the one cause she believed most worthy: her sisters. And this nightmare, this male who held her captive in more ways than she was willing to admit, would be a distant and despised memory.

As if the heat within her had a mind and a plan of its own, it snaked up between her legs and exploded maliciously inside her cunt.

K
ate qui
ckly dried off from her shower, then made her way out the bathroom and straight into the closet. She barely looked at the racks of clothing, just tossed on anything that smelled clean and appeared comfortable. She didn’t have the time or care for how she looked. The misery inside her was palpable. Worse than her time spent in Mondrar, the vampire prison. There she’d been held for a crime she hadn’t committed but had taken responsibility for. It was time she’d served to protect her mother, her only family. And she would’ve done the same for Ladd if that bastard Cruen had allowed her to. But he didn’t want her sacrifice, didn’t care about the boy’s well-being in any way. He’d snatched the poor innocent
balas
right out from under her care, and now she lived in a different kind of prison, one she’d never truly escape.

She slipped on a pair of black boots and went into the bedroom. She wasn’t surprised to find Nicholas there. Her true mate, her family, the one
paven
on Earth who understood her and loved her unconditionally, was standing against the closed door of their room. He was darkly beautiful as always, but as he stood there, arms crossed over his broad chest, he carried the same sadness in his eyes as she did.

“You left the meeting,” he said.

“Yeah.”

He shook his head. “Didn’t tell me. Didn’t say good-bye.”

“I didn’t want to interrupt anything,” she said, heading over to the desk where she kept her cell phone. She stuffed it in the pocket of her jeans with her small pocket knife.

“We were strategizing,” he told her, his voice gentle but firm. “I would think you’d want to be in on that. Unless you have other plans.”

She paused, looked up at him. She sighed. “Baby, listen . . .”

“What are you doing, Kate?”

“I’m going out.”

“Then I’ll come with you.”

“You can’t. It’s day.”

“Then wait until the sun recedes.”

She walked toward him, toward the door, waited expectantly. He didn’t budge. In fact, his jaw went rigid, his expression too.

She shook her head, tried to swallow the hitch in her throat. “I can’t just sit here and do nothing, Nicky. Would you really want me to?”

His eyes, his dark, soulful eyes, searched her own, and after a moment or two his body relaxed. “What’s your plan?”

“Going to the Impure
credenti
.” She would never lie to him. She was going to the
credenti
, but it wasn’t the only place she was going. She had a few vampire acquaintances who were no longer in Mondrar and who might be willing to help her. Nicholas didn’t need to know that; he’d only worry about her safety.

“Please, Nicky.”

Still, he didn’t step aside. His eyes were penetrating as he stared at her, tried to search inside her mind and her soul. “We will have him back, my love.”

“I know.”

“Then what is it? I know you fear for his safety. I do too. But there is more inside you than fear.” He reached out and touched her chin, lifted it so he could see her eyes. “Before I can let you walk out this door, I need to know what’s in your head.”

Kate knew her mate was deadly serious, and knew as well that when he looked at her that way, that intensely, she could only tell him the truth. No matter how dark it was.

“Even if we get him back . . .” Her voice broke for a second. She shook it off. “Even if we get him back, I fear it will only be to lose him again.”

Nicholas sighed. “You speak of Erion.”

She shrugged. “I speak of his true parent, Nicky.”

“Oh, baby.” His hand dropped to her shoulder. He squeezed gently. “We always knew this could be a possibility. That Ladd didn’t belong to—”

She didn’t want to hear any more. She certainly didn’t want to hear that. Not now. Not yet. She eased herself from his grasp. “I need to go. I’ll be careful, and I’ll be home soon.”

This time when she tried to get past him, he let her.

•   •   •

It’s unfortunate I don’t sleep,
Erion thought as he stood inside his bedroom—the one he’d claimed after purchasing the home. The room was mammoth, and at the very highest point of the castle. It was circular and sported floor-to-ceiling windows and a panoramic view of the forest, vineyards, and village. Thick rugs over dark hardwood blanketed the floor, and the cream inlaid fireplace, though unlit, reminded Erion of the fairy tales Dillon had told him and his brothers back when they were
balas
. An antique writing desk took up one wall of windows in the south corner, an unopened MacBook atop it, and a claw-foot bath sat in the north corner, overlooking the gardens below. But the true set piece on the stage that was his room was the four-poster bed in the very center. The incredible frame carved from one solid piece of wood, or so it seemed, was lifted several feet off the ground and sported four sumptuous black silk curtains that hung to the floor on every side but one, allowing the master of the house to take to his bed.

Or, at the moment, the mongrel.

The small brown-and-white dog had refused to leave after being fed. Anywhere Erion went, the dog trotted along behind. Just to keep himself from tripping over the tiny beast, Erion had placed him in his room, allowed him access to his bed. At least until he decided to whom to feed the beast. His mouth drifted up in a grin.

As if hearing his new master’s thoughts, the dog lifted his head, cocked it to one side, and barked.

“Go back to sleep, lazy canine,” Erion growled good-naturedly. “Someone should get use out of that massive thing.”

The dog barked once again, then dropped its head and placed its muzzle on its paws. In seconds its eyes were closed.

Lucky beast,
Erion mused as he paced in front of the unlit fire. No doubt the mattress the dog slept atop was extremely comfortable. He wouldn’t know. He hadn’t slept in it once. In fact, he’d never slept in a bed in his life. But the room was his; it was the best and he’d claimed it. And if he did need to rest, he would simply pull back one of the rugs and take to the floor.

The thought brought forth a memory that involved Ladd. Not long ago, the
balas
had been in his room at the Romans’ house in SoHo, asking about his weapons, telling Erion of his wish to stand with the brothers and fight. Erion grinned. The boy was of his blood, most certainly. He was a robust child, persistent and ready to learn the ways of battle. Perhaps Erion could teach him. There were many good weapons to start with in the dungeon . . .

The dungeon.

Erion cut his gaze to the door. The dungeon, where he now housed a different weapon entirely.

Without forethought, he moved across the room, curled his hand around the door handle. He hesitated. The female was dangerous to him. Her scent and her secrets, and the fact that she seemed thrilled to lie beneath that monster.

His beast growled, and he gripped the door handle until his knuckles went white. Perhaps he should reverse course and take to the window, flash to New York, let his brothers know of the trade the following day. Let them know what had happened in the beach reality with Cruen.

But did he want the Romans and the
mutore
involved in his business, his dealings with Cruen at this time? His brothers would want to set a trap and capture the Pureblood
paven
. And as much as Erion wanted that bastard in a cage under guard, he couldn’t risk Ladd’s life.

Tomorrow, if all went according to plan and his bait was well and unharmed, he would have Ladd back. He opened his door and stepped out into the hall. Instantly his thoughts of his brothers and Cruen died. No, were drowned out. A tortuous, agonizing sound—or was it screams? He couldn’t be sure—filled the air around him.

He snarled, his beast springing forth, ready. But for what, he didn’t know. It was her, the female—Hellen. She cried out. She wailed. He slammed the door, keeping the mongrel inside, and tore down the hallway. His teeth ground against one another as he moved toward the pain-laced wails like a weed toward sunlight. If he found anyone touching her, hurting her, he would rip them apart. She was his—his prisoner, his bait.

His only way to Ladd.

He nearly slid down the stairs, jumped to the bottom, and took off toward the dungeon door. Hallway after hallway, he counted guards. All were stationed in their proper places, eyes forward, bodies rigid. Why had no one reported her calls to him? Were they all so terrified of her that they didn’t give a shit?

Cowards had no place in his home. He would have words with them after he found out what was wrong with Hellen. Perhaps he would have fists and fangs too.

When he arrived at the dungeon door, he nearly ripped the thing off its hinges, cringing at the intense wailing that met his ears. It was like a bird, a wounded, tortured bird, and his body readied for a fight. Whoever was touching her would soon find himself without hands.

Then the scent hit him.

He staggered on the steps, gripping the railing until it nearly crumbled under his palm. His entire body shuddered. Not because the scent repelled him. Not because he didn’t want to run like a starving animal toward it, breathe it in, and find the spot it emanated from with his tongue. But because he was afraid he might do far more than that.

The scent of female arousal surrounded him, infused him like a hot bath, and his cock erupted to life inside his jeans. A feral need to take what writhed and whimpered against the wall before him was unbelievably overwhelming. He’d never felt anything like it in his life—this obdurate pull to take and feed and fuck—and he didn’t know if he could stop with just a taste, much less force his ass back up the stairs.

He gripped the banister until his knuckles turned white, his dilated eyes pinned on the woman he called his prisoner. Under the pale light of the torches bracketing her, Erion saw that her head hung down, her masses of fire-red curls falling in a curtain against her chest. Her white mating dress was drenched in sweat, and her captive hands were clenched into fists.

She was crying. Softly. Pitifully.

Erion’s jaw clenched so tight, he was in danger of breaking a fang.
This has to be another ploy,
he thought through his haze of black desire. A trick, a ruse by his precious bait to get him to set her free. This female wasn’t the leaky type. She was hard, mean, delectable, and
ahhhhh
 . . . his nostrils flared . . .
shit
 . . . scented with his perfect brand of ambrosia.

A guard came running down the stairs, took one look at the female, and cursed. “Sir?”

Erion couldn’t stop himself. He was jacked up on her scent, felt way too protective. Where a few minutes ago he was planning to terminate the guards for not coming to him with Hellen’s cries, now he wanted them nowhere near her.

“Return to your room and don’t come out,” he growled softly, his throat dry. So dry . . . His fangs descended. His eyes narrowed on Hellen. His mind blank, his beast screaming to emerge. She had much for him to drink; her blood, her cream . . .

The guard at his left hadn’t moved. Erion cocked his head at the male. Nostrils flaring, skin flushed, and a tent in his pants.

“Get the fuck out now!” he roared, rounding on him, ready to pounce if the male took one step farther into the room.

The guard jerked, seemed to wake. “I’m sorry, sir,” he stammered, then turned and retreated up the steps.

Erion focused on the female again. His beast was just below the surface, but he was trying like hell to get his mind to work, to question.

“What is this?” he said, his voice sounding strangely otherworldly to his ears. “What is happening to you?”

Her head still down, she only whimpered.

Erion moved toward her, his hands curling, desperate to touch, grip, squeeze. “Answer me, woman. What is happening to you?”

What’s happening to me?

Her body twitched and she groaned.

Christ
. Through gritted teeth, he asked, “Are you hurt? Did someone hurt you? One of the guards—”

She lifted her head then and locked eyes with him. Erion stilled, his entire body flooding with desire. From her wild red curls to her beautiful, flushed, and sweaty face, the woman looked as though she’d been fucked good and hard and wanted more. Erion had to force himself to remain where he stood, but it was nearly impossible. Her green eyes were huge and heavy with tears—just as he imagined her cunt to be.

Suddenly, her eyes clamped shut and she tossed her head to the side, muttering something in the most pained of tones.

“What is it?” Erion said, barely able to think straight as she was casting off so much heat. “What’s wrong?” Even as he spoke the words, his mind warned him to walk away, get out, in the fresh air, away from her scent.

“Help me!” she cried out. “Please help me!”

Christ. Why couldn’t he make his feet move?

“Release,” she hissed. “Please.”

“No,” he ground out. Just the word—that one word—was torture on his tongue.

Her eyes fluttered open and she found his gaze, searching, begging him through her sexual fog. Erion saw the desperation within those green orbs, knew whatever she was feeling was real and not a ruse to gain his sympathy as he’d believed. But how could he help her? He wasn’t letting her go. No matter what pain she was in, she was his ticket to Ladd.

He growled.

Why was he standing here? Why did he care if she was in pain or not? All that mattered was keeping her alive.

“I need release,” she whimpered.

But alive and well. Would Cruen hold on to Ladd, harm him, if Hellen was not returned in fair health?

“You will run from me,” he uttered tersely. “I cannot take that chance.”

“Just my hands,” she cried, her gaze dropping to her belly. “Goddamn it. Feel me. Feel where I burn.”

Confused, Erion followed her line of vision. Her stomach. Was it pained? No . . . no. Lower. Her hips . . .

He froze, finally understanding her meaning. Where she hurt, why she whimpered, and why the scent of her heat, her desire was making him insane. And it was worse than her wanting to escape him. She wasn’t asking to be released from her chains, but from the climax that was building inside her. His lip curled up and his fangs dropped low. What was this? Why was it happening?