Temptation at Twilight: Lords of Pleasure (18 page)

“Nikki, you may fuck her from behind. Trisha, dove, let our vampire friend take your place.” He looked at Harley, eyes smoking with desire. “This is Roth, a friend of mine and a frequent guest. I trust him.”

Just like that, Harley trusted Soren’s judgment, even through the haze of lust. The handsome, dark-haired vampire wasted no time crouching at her feet and suckling her clit. The spirals of pleasure were becoming almost too much, and she didn’t want to come.
Have to hold off a little longer.

When Nikki pressed his cock between her folds and pushed his impressive length deep, she nearly lost the battle. The young man wasn’t small everywhere, and was definitely no boy, despite the sweet, innocent face. He knew how to use his tool, and began plunging it mercilessly into her pussy until she began to whimper.

The skilled mouth eating her, the fucking! She couldn’t take it.

“Soren, it’s too much!”

“How do you address me?” He pressed close to her side, his lips by her ear.

“Master! Please, master, it’s too much!”

“Do you need to come?”

“Yes! I’m begging you!”

“Then come,” he purred. And sank his fangs into her neck.

She screamed her pleasure, coming all over Roth’s face as he licked and nuzzled her mound. When he sank his fangs into the soft, vulnerable flesh of her inner thigh and began to drink, she yelled again, the orgasm jerking her like a puppet. Out of control. Nikki buried himself deep and emptied his cum into her pussy, hugging tightly to her back.

Several audience members joined in the shouts of ecstasy and others applauded wildly. But all she cared about was the triple stimulation that she wanted to go on forever.

But it had to end, and when the vampires released her, sealing her wounds, she sagged in the bonds. Nikki kissed her shoulder and withdrew, as well, carefully. Someone—she wasn’t sure who—cleaned her with a warm cloth.

“You did wonderfully,” Soren praised, speaking for her ears only. “I’m so proud of you, baby. You are mine.”

“Yes,” was all she could manage. That and a weak, satisfied smile in return.

Soren was hers. No matter what some witchy ghoul hoped or had bargained for. He called to her as no other male ever had.

He was
her
mate. She opened her mouth to tell him so, but decided against it for now. She didn’t know how he’d react and didn’t want anything to spoil this blissful moment.

 

 

“Ah, I found you,” a voice called.

Soren inwardly cursed to see Leila enter the dining room and breeze toward them, derailing such a splendid moment. He turned and gestured for Trisha and Nikki to unbind Harley, and then quietly told her to get dressed.

“Thank you, old friend,” Roth said, clapping him on the shoulder. “Your generosity astounds me, as always.”

“Enjoy the rest of your stay. Perhaps we’ll catch up later.”

His friend left, and so did Nikki and the Chosen. They shot Leila a look of disgust behind her back before hurrying out. He couldn’t blame them. Harley continued to dress.

The corner of his mind not controlled by his beast was really starting to hate the sound of Leila’s voice, not to mention the sight of her. She wore a short black skirt and knee-high boots, and a sheer tank blouse that left little to the imagination.

Leila looked exactly like the witch he knew her to be.

At that uncharitable thought, he’d expected his unwanted alter ego to voice its displeasure with him, but it remained silent. In fact, most of the times he’d been with Harley, it had been subdued. Almost as if she eased its hold on him somehow.

Before he had time to consider that development, Leila took him by the arm. “If you’re done fooling around, I need you to come with me.”

Stepping away from her, he scowled and removed her hand. “I’m in the middle of something, as you can see,” he said, annoyed.

Her eyes never left his as she ignored Harley. “Looks like you’re done. Do I need to remind of your obligations to me?”

Bitch.
“No,” he said stiffly. He turned to Harley, letting his frustration show. “I’m sorry about the interruption. I’ll see you later?”

“Sure.” Her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes, and when she glanced at the witch, the death glare she sent the other woman’s way should’ve fried her on the spot.

He wished. “Have fun, then. And thank you for your gift,” he said, referring to the scene.

“No, thank
you
.”

After giving Harley a kiss on the cheek, he spun and followed Leila, cursing silently every step of the way.

They wound through the house and he tensed as he realized she’d brought him to a little-used wing. And if their direction was any indication, he had a sinking feeling she’d discovered the one area he hadn’t wanted her to find.

Sure enough, she led him into a private playroom used only by his brothers and close friends, and rarely at that. There wasn’t a more secluded room on the resort, and his gut churned as she closed and locked the door . . . and he also realized they weren’t alone.
Blazing Hades.

Waiting for them was large male, ruggedly attractive, with long red hair. His scent hit Soren’s nose and he tensed.
Wolf
. Any unarmed vampire would come out on the losing end of a battle with one of them. But the shifter simply stood there, expression unreadable, waiting for instructions.

“Arron, make my mate comfortable in the web,” Leila instructed, waving a hand.

Soren blinked at the contraption taking up one side of the room and struggled to keep the dread from showing on his face. Someone had been busy. “I don’t fucking think so,” he said, his tone cool.

“Oh, but I do. You are entirely too resistant to the necessary change taking place within you. We’re going to help you begin to accept your destiny.” Sidling close, she touched his cheek. “Sleep.”

“Wha—”

His brain whirled, and his legs buckled. Everything went black.

Conversation filtered through to him slowly. Not much of it made sense at first.

Are you certain he’s the one?
a curious male voice intoned.

Soren struggled to understand. Queen? What the fuck?

Shut up,
she hissed.
I don’t need your opinions. I want action, damn you!

Fine,
he soothed, though his tone was strained. On edge.
He is beautiful, even for a vampire, which I suspect is testament to his superior lineage. May I?

With an effort, Soren opened his eyes.

Leila and the wolf were talking about him? Superior lineage? Descendant of
who
?

Their voices faded, and he suspected that he’d been left alone.

Delights? Blazing hell, he had to wake up. His mind was clearing rapidly, but his body was heavy, lethargic, as though he’d been drugged.

Forcing himself to remain calm, he took stock of his situation. The room was damned cold. Where the fuck were his brothers? But he recalled that hardly anyone ever visited this wing of the house. He was screwed.

He shivered, teeth chattering, realizing for the first time that he was naked. And immobile. He tried pulling his arms and legs into his body to conserve warmth, but couldn’t move them. His wrists and ankles were bound—no,
stuc
k—to something that was holding him suspended in an upright position. The web he’d seen before she rendered him unconscious. He was hanging spread-eagled, feet not quite touching the floor, each wrist and ankle bound with sticky threads.

He rested for a while, letting his strength return. When he finally managed to open his eyes and focus on his surroundings, he wished he hadn’t.

The room, formerly used for lighter consensual play, had been turned into a torture chamber. There was no other possible description. The walls were affixed with chains and manacles designed for prisoners awaiting their gruesome end. The room itself bristled with every imaginable device capable of causing pain. A table in one corner had leather straps at each end, wound around hand cranks at the head and feet. Dark stains bathed the wood where a man would be placed, screaming as he was being pulled apart.

Where had the witch gotten these awful devices, much less smuggled then into the mansion undetected? By using her magic? If so, he’d terribly underestimated her.

Soren shivered harder, horror spreading with the icy cold through his limbs. Menacing whips, chains, and blades of every sort hung in neat rows on one wall. A metal vat large enough to hold a man rested over the remnants of a fire—not in use, thank God. What—or whom—might be boiled in the thing, he didn’t want to guess. More grisly tools adorned the space at intervals.

A coffin filled with spikes pointing inward. Choke collars attached to a pulley system. A large ax and chopping block. Many earthen jars containing God knows what. And resting on a table in front of him was an implement with a handle and several longish leather strips attached to the end. Instantly, he knew what it was and why it had been removed from the wall and placed where he could see it.

A cat-o’-nine-tails.

“Jesus,” he whispered, eyes wide.

Surely they didn’t intend to use any of this stuff on him. They were playing head games with him, trying to scare him. They’d succeeded.

Was this part of the
transformation
Leila had spoken of? The second part of her plan to break him? As though the beast he’d acquired wasn’t bad enough.

“Son of a bitch.”

Heart pounding, he swallowed the wild urge to call out, to give in to rising panic. No one would hear him, and no way in hell would he give her the satisfaction of seeing him lose it.

Keep your head,
he told himself. There had to be a way out of this bargain he’d made with Leila.
Think!

Soren closed his eyes, letting his mind drift back to his first encounter with her, in the modest shack in the swamp. Soren concentrated, digging into the fog, searching for an answer to his dilemma. Something evaded him, something important.

The deal was that she would give him back the love of his life, and in return he would give Leila anything she wished. Creature comforts she could easily obtain for herself using magic. No, that wasn’t truly what she wanted.

The Council seat. Power. Those were her true aims, and she needed Soren to get them. Why?

His lineage. Descendant of Azrael. Surely not . . .

The archangel of Death?

Oh, gods. He didn’t know how that could be true, but Aldric probably would—if Soren ever got the chance to ask him. And if it was true, and the witch—or whatever she was—succeeded in turning him into her monstrous creation, everyone he loved was doomed. Under the beast’s and Leila’s influence, he’d destroy them all. She would rule the Southern Coalition first, and then move on to taking the entire continent.

That was her ultimate goal: total power. And Soren was the instrument. If he was truly a descendant of Azrael, no wonder he’d become such a threat to everyone around him. Soren
was
death, and with the proper amount of influence, a tool of evil.

As their children would be. That explained why she wanted to conceive. To pass on their legacy of destruction.

That’s what his beast had said. Anguish pierced his heart, drowning him in despair. His death was the only salvation for himself and his loved ones. Leila wasn’t human at all, was much more than a priestess. Valafar had some answers, and Soren would get them. He had to discover how to kill her.

And then himself.

He hung his head, drifting until voices penetrated the gloom beyond the heavy door, moving closer. As he looked up, it swung inward. Leila entered in a swirl of black silk, but as before, it was the tall man trailing in her wake who commanded his attention.

The pair halted a couple of feet from him. Soren noticed how Arron remained a step or two behind her, his posture straight and proud, head up yet holding his silence. Clearly, he deferred to her only with great reluctance.

He was very tall, his bearing regal, and Soren could easily imagine him as a leader of his kind. Auburn hair streaked with gold swept well past his broad shoulders. His brows arched over eyes of the clearest sea green, framed by long, dusky lashes. Faint lines bracketed his wide, chiseled mouth, indicating a man who’d once smiled a lot.
In the past,
Soren thought, because he couldn’t imagine what anyone stuck with the bitch-demon would have to smile about.

“Would someone mind telling me what’s going on?” Soren asked, striving to keep his tone neutral. “You won. I surrendered. So why the macabre little show?”

Her companion’s expression betrayed nothing, but Leila smiled evilly as she spoke. “My pet, have I done anything for mere show thus far? Not to worry, we’ll make a believer out of you yet.” She turned to the man just behind her.

“I’m already a believer, so you can let me down before my brothers or one of the servants catch you both.” It was an idle threat and she knew it.

She leveled him with a look of malice. “You are not truly mine yet, or you would’ve finished Jordan as you were told. As for your brothers, Aldric has been called away on Council business indefinitely, and Luc will be out of commission very soon.”