Lust Bites (6 page)

'I know. That was awesome. God, I so wanted it to be my turn next.'

'I'm getting hungry,' said Suzanne. 'Really hungry. Maybe we should think about leaving, Sim. It's the first sunrise soon. Isn't that usually your cue to start making a move?'

'Ha,' scoffed Simeon. 'Like we might leave while
she's
still around.'

Suzanne sighed and smoothed a hand across Simeon's forehead. 'Maybe we should bail and leave him to it. We could get to the coast under our own steam then head down to Kangerlussuaq. We could be on a flight to the States in a few days, maybe stay with Christophe and the guys in New York. I'm not really into all this returning to your roots shit. I mean, the temperature's nice here but that's as far as it goes.'

Simeon turned, squirming till he was comfortable and facing Suzanne's golden-haired groin. 'Tempting,' he said. He wriggled a finger into the slippery lips of her sex, trailing upwards to roll her clit. 'But the west coast's still some distance off, you know.'

'Mmm,' said Suzanne, half pleasure, half agreement. 'We could take my skidoo.'

'Sun's coming up any day now,' said Simeon. 'We'd need to be protected.'

'We could take one of the blackout tents,' said Suzanne.

Simeon gazed at Suzanne's clit as he fretted. 'It's quite a journey, babes,' he said. 'But, yeah. Maybe we could.'

Suzanne parted her thighs a fraction wider. 'Definitely we could,' she purred. 'All we'd need is a good meal inside us first.'

Billy was starting to realise that Blud had its limitations. If you wanted merely to exist, to operate in a state of vampiric numbness then Blud was your man, no problem. But if you wanted to thrive, to suffer and soar and to taste it all, then only human blood would do.

Since the birth of Esther, Billy had been living half a life. He'd been traipsing around the world's coldest, loneliest parts, resisting what he needed in a bid to resist her. It would've been better if she'd never been reborn. And yet all his vampire-life, ever since he'd killed her on the rim of the fountain, he'd been longing for her return.

She tormented him. It pained him that he'd killed her. It pained him that he'd once intended making her a vampire because, older and wiser, he could see that was an act of selfishness, not love. And this pain wouldn't leave him. He'd loved and fucked a lot of people after Selin, too many to count. Some he could remember well, others had faded or disappeared, but his one constant was Selin.

Every death he compared to hers; every fuck to their first and last; his every orgasm to the pure perfection of the one that had gripped him, surging through his veins as Selin's dying heartbeat had filled his body. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't fuck away the pain.

And now he'd seen Selin's eyes in Esther's. Without a doubt, it was her. Some externals were different, sure, but that was irrelevant. In essence, the two women were one and the same, separated by over three centuries. Billy, knowing how rare rebirth was, had never dared hope it would happen. Mortals didn't realise it, but only when a soul matched up with the right body was a person truly reincarnated. Most times, souls ended up in the wrong bodies, and that's why people suffered so. They were all in the wrong containers, searching for the right one which they sweetly described as looking for love.

Billy curled a barbell to his arm, straining up and down. He was sweating and tired but a long way from stopping.
Hope's End,
thankfully, was well equipped with facilities and various psychological comforts to ease the stay of whoever was meant to be there: researchers, soldiers, prisoners of war. Presumably, the US military once had big plans for it. Unlike the Arctic's Distant Early Warning stations, set up to detect Soviet bombers, the purpose of the dome was obscure. For all Billy knew, there might be dozens more buried under mounds of fake snow. There was even a sunroom for the dark winter months. Billy used it to top his tan. He didn't suit the coffin-cold vampire look.

In the gym, Billy would sometimes thank Gorbachev. Much as he loved the Arctic isolation, without the gym, he'd have cracked up. Exercise helped, really helped. It made him strong, physically and mentally. Lately, he could barely function for wanting Esther. The moment she'd arrived on the icecap he'd sensed her and the last couple of weeks had been agony. Now, idiot that he was, he'd done the thing he swore he'd never do: he'd tasted her blood.

He should have held back. He should have resisted. But when he'd burst into the cabin and seen Simeon there with her blood on his lips, her juices on his fingers, Billy had flipped. One swift left hook, and Simeon's lip was spilling with two bright-red bloods. Kissing him clean, the taste of Esther emerging fresh and strong, had been the best thing to happen to Billy since he'd quit killing.

He wanted more, so much more. He wanted more of her blood, her body, her heart, her cunt, her love. Nadir's voice came echoing down the centuries: 'You are a vampire, Wilhelm, don't fight it.'

If I could just ease off the slaying, thought Billy, maybe I could learn to manage it. He swapped hands and began curling the barbell to work on his other arm. He was aiming for three sets of ten but stopped when he heard a scream from the other room.

Hell, he'd forgotten to clear up. Stunned by what he'd done, Billy had headed straight for the gym.

He dropped his barbell and strode into the main dome. There was no point trying to hide it. Simeon, hand pressed to his forehead was pacing back and forth, two paces left, two paces right. He glanced at the rug a couple of times, grimacing with revulsion.

Suzanne stood there, eyes sparkling with tears, a hand clamped to her mouth.

On the polar bear rug were the remnants of Renfield, a scrap of silver-blue fluff, his neck a gory wound edged with matted fur.

'Oh, man,' breathed Simeon, staring at Billy. 'You ate the cat. You ate the fucking cat.'

Billy, gleaming with sweat, glared back. He tipped his jaw defiantly, chest swelling.

'I was hungry,' he said.

Simeon rushed to embrace Suzanne. 'I told you,' he sobbed. 'He's a monster.' He turned to Billy. 'Dude, we are
so
over.'

Esther dreamt she was in a huge furnished igloo. No, not an igloo because it wasn't made of snow and the temperature was too warm. Dream logic. Dream igloo: an ice-white dome with a roaring fire, a polar bear hearth rug and candleflames like a pattern of amber petals. Nothing made sense.

She was kneeling on the rug, hands roped behind her back, her dark hair woven in a thick plait. She wore only a pair of undershorts. She had no idea how she'd ended up in this state of undress. Billy stood a few feet away, scowling down at her. Presumably it had something to do with him.

'You make me weaken,' he said in a steely whisper. 'Not your fault but you make me weaken.'

Esther had no reply. She was too scared to speak. This man ruled the room. This was his domain, and she appeared to be his captive. He stood stock-still, thumbs hooked in the belt loops of his camouflages, a tense stance masquerading as casual. Constrained anger. Green camouflage for jungles, not beige for sand. Snug white T-shirt over a broad muscular torso. The man who'd rescued Doug. Another crazy dream. Esther had had so many on the ice.

'I could hurt you,' he said. 'Really hurt you.'

Esther felt so exposed. Her breasts were bared and her bound wrists made them defenceless and tender. She wanted him to hurt her, to twist her nipples or kiss her like the man in recent dreams, remorseless, hard and greedy. And yet she didn't want that at all. She would die of shame. But something made her give a defiant toss of her head and say, 'Do it then. Hurt me.'

Billy laughed scornfully. 'You don't know what it means.'

'Try me,' said Esther, chin in a bold jut. Esther was tall, strong and fit, and had spent months in training. Her arms and thighs were honed for pulling, her mind was focused and she had the stamina of an ox. There were plenty of men she could wipe the floor with but Billy wasn't one of them. Bravado, however, was useful. 'Try me,' she repeated. 'Because I could probably hurt you just as much.'

How stupid that sounded when she was on her knees, hands tethered, and one garment away from naked.

Billy folded his arms and gave her a small condescending smile. He was brawny and fierce, a immense statue full of rippling potential. His hips looked stern, his biceps bulged and his combat boots were scruffy and worn.

Esther dipped her head, focusing on the boots. Shabby laces criss-crossed loosely over the leather tongues, and their toes were rounded as if capped with steel. She wondered how long she could keep staring at them. It was dangerous to meet the man's eyes and yet they pulled like magnetic north. Looking away was an effort. Looking up would cost her dearly. But, oh, how she wanted to.

Esther could feel herself unravelling. Those green eyes made her someone else, someone sumptuous, dirty and lavish. She liked being someone else, and she wanted the freedom to spread her legs wide and draw his mouth to her sex, to hook her thighs on his beefy shoulders and grind herself against his lips. She wanted to caress his bald head and stroke the band of his mohawk, moaning as his tongue twirled, making her hot, wet and orgasmic. The thought was enough to make her hips tilt with horniness.

She glanced up from the boots.

'That's better,' said Billy. 'Look at the boots again and I'll make you kiss them.'

It disturbed Esther that his threat made her groin loosen. She averted her eyes, gazing sidelong at the fire which danced with light gaseous flames.

'What do you want?' she asked.

'Really?' said Billy. 'You want to know?'

'Yes.'

'I want to destroy you.'

Esther's insides lurched, heart, stomach and head. 'Please,' she said, her voice catching on a sob. 'Please don't hurt me. Please.'

'But I love you,' he declared, his tone still coldly aggressive.

Esther shook her head. She was too confused. Billy was mad and terrifying, and his crotch was seriously swollen. He was hot, hung and powerful, and Esther fancied he'd twist her like a pretzel if they ended up in bed together. They seemed to be locked in a scary limbo of lust and resistance. Esther didn't know her future, didn't know what he had in store for her. She wondered if this wild talk of love was an attempt to reduce her by messing with her mind. Either that, or he was delusional.

'Then you shouldn't destroy me,' she replied, hoping to humour him. 'That's not love.'

'It is in my world,' said Billy. 'I'm a monster. I want what I love. I want all of it. I want to destroy the thing so I can have it.'

'Possessive,' said Esther. 'I've met your sort before.'

'No, monstrous,' said Billy. He began to circle Esther, stalking slowly. She kept her eyes fixed on the fire. 'If I don't destroy it, it torments me until I'm mad with wanting. I destroy it, and I'm mad with regret. Because I lose it, don't I? In having it, I lose it. So I'm still wanting.'

Esther began to feel sick. 'What are you going to do with me?' she asked.

'I don't know,' said Billy. 'I can't win. Either way, I can't win.'

Esther drew deep breaths and stared at the wall several feet away. It looked to be made of curved breeze block, and light glinted on a repair job of silver duct tape.

'I think that's desire,' she said. 'You can't top it, Billy. It's always going to win so maybe try accepting it. Give up trying to be the boss. You'll drive yourself insane. You have to want, Billy. Everyone does. It's inevitable. You have to want and resist and suffer, Billy. The day you stop wanting is the day you die.'

Billy, thought Esther. I have to keep using his name like cops do in movies when they're trying to talk down a madman.

Billy stood in front of her. The toes of his black boots were scratched and dulled. Esther looked up, wanting to see him. She caught a flash of green eyes as he pulled his T-shirt over his head, his body stretching to expose patches of underarm hair, paler flesh and the rack of his ribs. Esther turned to liquid.

Billy threw his T-shirt to the ground. He was beautifully broad, muscular but without the vanity of high definition. His abs were flat, his pecs taut, his lightly tanned skin flecked with golden hair. Around his neck, hanging from a leather thong, was a chunky pendant in dark oriental silver, a curved dagger like a weapon from
Sinbad the Sailor.
But what struck Esther most was the seam of a scar slashing his torso on the diagonal. She flinched to see it, and at the same time she felt certain she'd seen it before. It belonged in a memory or another dream.

Billy unzipped. 'You talk too much,' he said. 'Suck it.'

His cock sprang out, magnificent and thick, and Esther sucked in great willing gulps. After all, she'd rather give head than try to fix a man's feelings. It was less debasing, easier to understand and the rewards were quicker. If Billy's soft grunts were anything to go by, he preferred it too. As Esther bobbed on his length, Billy said, 'You wanted me before. I saw it. You were hot for me, begging with your eyes like a greedy little whore.'

Esther recalled the look of dark promise he'd cast her before storming out of the cabin, Simeon over his shoulder. Had he seen it then? But that was a dream, wasn't it? Could he see into her dreams?

Billy grabbed clumps of hair either side of her head and withdrew from her mouth. He held her steady, his big red cock bobbing inches from her lips.

'Suck it,' he said.

Esther reached for him, mouth open, but he wouldn't let her near.

'Come on, girly, try harder,' he sneered.

Esther strained for him but he held her firm, his grip pinching her scalp. He teased her, rolling his hips so his tip skimmed her lips, its little slit seeming to leer and mock. Esther, now she couldn't have him, wanted him all the more.

'Please,' she said.

Billy released her hair and took a step back, clasping his cock. 'Come on, then.'

Esther cursed and shuffled after him, knees rubbing on the silky bearskin, mouth gaping. She felt weird, as if her dreams were overlapping.

'Come on,' breathed Billy, jacking his cock. 'Reach for it.'

Esther had a moment's
déjà
vu, a glimpse of a pink fountain, of ornate blue tiles. And then a word came from somewhere, one she didn't understand, and yet she heard herself speak it:
'Efendim.'

Billy groaned and fell to his knees. 'Oh, God,' he whispered. 'I'm sorry.' His fingers fumbled over her face and he scanned her features as if he were seeing her anew, his gaze intense and pained.

'Don't look at me, turn away,' he said but it was impossible. Meeting his eyes, Esther felt she was falling into the Arctic, into phosphorescent nights and peppermint-green seas.

'I like looking,' she said, staring at him. 'It feels good. I like it.'

Billy's lips lifted in a quick smile, then he clasped her plait and kissed her so forcefully she could barely breathe. His hard torso squashed her breasts and her skin grew damp from his sweat. How could he sweat in subzero temperatures? Why weren't they freezing? Why did it feel so good when he made her feel small?

Esther was soft and wet, and when Billy eased up on his kisses, she began kissing him back, lusting after his force. He responded with a nip, taking her lower lip between his teeth and clamping on the tender flesh.

'Ouch,' said Esther as Billy pulled away.

Billy gazed at her, a smear of red on his lips, and Esther stared back, sucking blood into her mouth. His shoulders rose and fell, and Esther saw the tremor in his scarred chest as he fought to control his quickening breath. He liked this a lot. Esther thought she did as well but wasn't sure. Fear kept flickering, warning her to back off, play it cool. But she wasn't doing, was she? Didn't want to play it cool. Didn't want to be the responsible good girl. She wanted this man to toy with her. She wanted him like this, dangerous, cruel and as horny as a dozen men.

Esther gave him a steady look. 'Hurt me,' she said.

Billy smiled tenderly and stroked the line of her jaw. 'I am,' he whispered. He trailed his hand down her neck, drew swirls over her breasts and teased her nipples.

'What happened to you?' she asked, indicating his scar.

He ran his thumb beneath the swell of one breast, tracing around and up to her shoulder. 'I lived in another country,' he said. 'A long time ago. The people there, some of them, they thought you could kill a vampire by slitting him from his heart to his gut.'

Esther nodded, understanding. 'And you can't.'

Billy shook his head. 'No,' he breathed. 'Unfortunately not.'

Esther gazed at the silvery line. It slanted below one nipple, got jagged by his stomach and sliced across his belly. The skin was shiny, the tissue pinkish and puckered where the injury had obviously been messy.

'It was a deep wound,' said Billy. 'Usually they heal to nothing.'

'They nearly cut you in half,' said Esther.

'Nearly,' said Billy. 'But I deserved it.'

Esther didn't want to believe him but she knew it was true and she accepted it, just as she accepted he was a vampire. She wondered muzzily if being alone with him meant death, and she imagined it did. Yet she had a peculiar sense this man could threaten and protect her at one and the same time.

'Lick my scar,' ordered Billy.

Esther smiled. Her lip stung where he'd bitten her. 'Make me.'

Billy smiled back and fiddled with the pendant around his neck, watching her carefully. The miniature dagger was about two inches long and the blade looked sharp enough to cut, firelight winking on its razor-fine edge. Esther grew nervous again. She'd wanted him maybe to pull her hair, force her head to his chest and say something strict. His cool macho aggression excited her but knives were different.

Billy gave a tug on the pendant, releasing it from its leather cord. Esther's heart bumped fast, faster still when Billy lunged for her. She screamed as she fell, slamming sideways onto her thighs. Billy grabbed her bound hands, tipping her forwards as he raised her arms behind her back.

'Please don't hurt me,' sobbed Esther. Her shoulders throbbed and her face was pressed into the fur rug, fibres sticking to her bloodied lip. 'Please!' Then she realised he was sawing at the ropes and seconds later she was free, woozy with relief.

'Sit up,' said Billy, kneeling opposite her again.

Esther did, giving her arms a little shake, glad of her freedom and less fearful of the knife. She dabbed her lip but the blood had stopped. Just a tiny nip. He wouldn't harm her, would he? Especially not now he'd just released her. She thought they were heading for safe ground but she had to rethink when he seized the waist of her undershorts. He nicked the elastic and ran a slit down the fabric, first one side then the other, before tossing the scraps aside.

Esther was naked.

'Put your hands behind your head,' ordered Billy.

He clipped the little knife back around his neck; a sign, thought Esther, that no, he didn't intend her harm. And so she obeyed, linking her fingers behind her head, shy and self-conscious, horribly aware of how the posture exhibited her. Billy flicked her nipples a few times with thumb and forefinger. 'Lick the scar,' he said. 'From top to bottom.'

His order made Esther flush with a dark sultry heat. Her sex was bloated and wet, and she felt empty inside, so hungry for cock. 'Make me,' she said again, starting to feel seductive and bold.

Billy arched his brows. 'If you don't,' he said, 'I'll stand up and I'll walk away.'

Esther bristled, cursing silently. His threat pulled tighter than any bondage, the force of her lust outweighing the force of his muscle. She blushed for shame, knowing she couldn't refuse him.

'Fold your arms behind your back,' said Billy. 'And lick it.'

Trying not to resent his victory, Esther did as she was told, tipping forwards to touch the tip of her tongue to the tip of his scar. His fuzz of chest hair tickled lightly but beneath it the track of his scar was silky smooth. She traced it easily, moving from a flat dusky nipple to the confused patch of tissue below his sternum. Lingering there, she painted saliva swirls, unable to avoid thinking of the injury, of the viscera and bone right there under the skin she tongued.

She wondered how he felt about his mark. His body was beautiful and he clearly worked out to acheive that muscle but the mark was someone else's. To be licking it felt deeply intimate, especially since she didn't know how the scar had been acquired. Or, worse, how he'd come to deserve it. She felt she was tonguing his history.