Authors: Chris Lange
“Come on, little girl, tell me you don’t crave my cock. Say it, I want to hear you say it!”
“I don’t…”
He trapped the words in her throat with his finger. Tracing a line down the small of her back, he slid it between her buttocks. Already reaching her opening, he wove his way home to glide into her wetness.
Taken aback, Liv let out a deep sigh. Nipples erect and rubbing against the door, she closed her eyes to focus on a way to stop him, to cool the heatwave demanding possession of her body. Very close to her ear, harsh and obnoxious, Raskhan provoked her.
“Do you still not want my cock?”
He inserted his finger into her sex. She drew in a sharp breath. Up and down he rubbed her flesh with quick, arousing motions.
“How do you like this, kitten? It feels good, doesn’t it? Oh yeah, so good! You didn’t get that with Rogan, did you?”
Her mind rebelled at the thought of deceiving Rogan, yet her cunt couldn’t help sucking in the damn digit. Torn between heart and flesh, she managed to bawl him out.
“Don’t you dare mention his name!”
Out of the blue, he retrieved his finger. The sudden emptiness in her brought such a longing she felt like crying out from frustration. But Raskhan wasn’t done with her as he kept her pressed against the door.
“Aren’t you a brave little fighter? Such a pity you’re lying to yourself.”
“I’m not lying. I’m in love with Rogan and you’re just… You’re just a…”
Her voice trailed off. Unable to find the right words to shut him up, she wished her sex would stop throbbing.
“A what? Open your eyes, kitten. It seems to me your love serves different masters.”
Now this was too much to bear. She had to do something to end this ridiculous scene. Her strength being no match against his, maybe she could pretend to pass out. Would he swallow it? As Liv took a second to think it through, he placed his thumb on her clitoris.
“Now we’re gonna see who’s right.”
Chapter Sixteen
Did the room lurch forward when he touched her? Not quite believable. Did her mind and body reel with the motions he submitted her to?
Oh yes, oh yes, oh yes!
Taking his time to draw short circles on her clit with his finger, he licked the blood oozing from the bite he had inflicted on her. She jerked, her instinctive reaction causing her nipples to rub against the bathroom door. She was at his mercy and, holy mackerel, she delighted in it.
Without warning, he inserted his tongue in her ear, and the speed of his hand changed. Alternating between quick and slow, he knew how to use his digit to send jolts of pleasure throughout her body. Flat on the door, framing her face, her hands seemed to take on a life of their own. They balled into fists, knuckles rapping against the wood.
He couldn’t not see the effect he had on her. His tongue licking her ear, he couldn’t not notice the tremors shaking her body, the sudden harshness of her breathing, or the insane heat coming off her sex. Then he ceased its rapturous motions, and he whispered in her ear.
“You horny bitch! Rogan can go back where he came from because I’m the best fuck you’ve ever had.”
Although his soft-spoken words hit her hard, she craved his touch. She hadn’t been aware a single digit could create such teeth-clenching joy. When he began tapping her erect flesh with his thumb, she whimpered. But her unchecked moans didn’t blank out his spiteful whispers.
“Don’t ever pretend otherwise!”
The beat of his finger on her pulsating clit brought a tear of pleasure to her eye. She hated him for the way he was treating her, she hated herself for wanting more and more. In the pit of her stomach, she felt the rise of a familiar sensation built up by his relentless touch.
“One more thing, little girl.” As if he needed her full attention, he quit tapping to knead her open wet slit with the palm of his hand. “I can make you come any time I want.”
With that, he retrieved his hand, and pinched her buttock hard enough to make her wince. Then he let go of her. Free, brutally torn out of the bliss she had been basking in, her legs buckled. Like a marionette discarded by its puppeteer, she crumpled to the floor. Breathing in fits and starts, fighting off the imperious need to touch herself in front of him, she raised her head to find out he was already at the bedroom door.
Her Rogan would never stare the way Raskhan was gloating over her now. His eyes shining with self-satisfaction and malice, his lips twisted in a sneer, he pointed a mocking finger at her.
“Before long you’ll be begging me to suck your cunt.”
A blur of colour, and he was gone. The bedroom door clicked, silence following his departure. Liv figured he wouldn’t allow her to spend the entire day on the floor, but she took a minute to attempt to gather her scattered thoughts. God, how she hated that guy!
Hands flat on the wall, she had to use it like a prop to stand up. Still panting with frustration, she got dressed. As she zipped up her jeans, her eyes fell on a bright red ashtray lying on the table. Before she realised the consequences of her gesture, she hurled it against the opposite wall. She might not have possessed a full vampire’s strength, yet the fragile object smashed the wall with a resonant bang.
The bedroom door burst open. A single glance at the ashtray on the floor told Raskhan everything he needed to know. Still smirking, he strode up to her, his body seeming to take up the whole room. Raising both hands to ward him off, Liv took a step back.
“Don’t touch me!”
The powerful vampire didn’t touch her. A sly smile attached to his lips, he handed her the black thing Khord had given him earlier—a watch. The same kind of watch the warrior in the warehouse had tried to clasp around her wrist—a device to cross between worlds.
The king wanted to take her with him. With Rogan gone, how would she survive in an unknown universe filled with bloodsuckers? Would he look for her over there? In desperate need of a strong drink to steady her nerves, Liv stared at the watch and shook her head.
“Don’t even think about it, I’m not coming with you.”
“Oh yes, you are.”
She kept on shaking her head, all the while watching his mirthful gaze, his beautiful features reflecting his wily amusement.
“Either you put it on, or I’ll make you. What’s it gonna be, kitten?”
Careful to avoid the contact of his fingers, she took the watch and fastened it around her wrist. She was going to the Overworld, to the place where only vampires dwelt. No humans there. No help for her.
“How did you find me?”
When Raskhan didn’t answer, Liv dropped the subject. Vaguely conscious that he was packing all her stuff, she almost cringed at the fleeting thoughts crossing her mind. Would she see her parents again? Her sister? Who would cover for her at work? Had she locked her front door? Was she going to become a missing person, an anonymous face on a precinct wall? Where was her car parked? Oh, she missed Rogan so much!
She drew in a long breath to settle the drumming of her heart. As Raskhan jabbed his chin out, she lifted her arm up. He pressed a button on the watch, and she closed her eyes.
She reckoned she heard a weird whooshing sound, then her stomach lurched briefly. The sensation was over in a second, even before she opened her eyes to take a look around her. In all likelihood the trip to the Overworld was already over. Now that was what she called a quick jump.
White. Marble. Cold. And so bright.
The vast room looked like a temple. Maybe a Greek entrance hall of some sort. Tall white columns seemed to bear the weight of the whole building and reached up to an overhead dome.
Covering the points of the compass, four wide marble staircases led up to open galleries all around, supported by white arches on the inner side. In every nook and corner, life-sized statues faced the centre of the hall with blind eyes. But something else deserved careful attention—no windows, no apparent door leading outside.
As she slowly spun around, Liv instantly thought of ancient gods, of grand palaces erected for Zeus and his divine retinue. The place was stunning, if not the last thing she had expected. Impressive, magnificent, it also gave off an air of arctic, rigid grandeur. Surprisingly enough, she didn’t feel cold. She had trouble steadying her rapid heartbeat, but she didn’t feel cold.
“Welcome to my kingdom.”
Ignoring his boisterous tone and her awe of this sumptuous place, Liv studied the quiet flurry of activity around them. Dressed in long, flowing black robes, vampires came and went, carrying things, going places. Servants? Helpers? In any case, they appeared human.
Although they all bowed to Raskhan as they passed by, she noticed an odd look on their faces when their eyes fell on her. If she hadn’t known better, she’d have bet they were wary of her. But why? Because of that Bringer of Death crap? Did they also think she had something to do with their ancient legend? Were they all that gullible?
She felt as if someone was watching her. She glanced up to the long gallery. A vampire stood motionless at the top of one of the staircases, observing her. About fifty or sixty years old, a mass of silver hair framing deep-set blue eyes and a hooked nose, he didn’t seem wary of her. More like intrigued. For a wonder, this one didn’t look scary.
Before she could give it more thought, Raskhan unfastened the watch from her wrist and snapped his fingers. One of the servants rushed to him, face expectant. The king quickly handed him her bag, then seized Liv’s arm to push her towards the young vampire.
“Take her upstairs!”
Swept along, she nearly stumbled into the arms of the servant. But, as she caught her balance, the automatic shrinking of the young vampire didn’t escape her. Like a reflex, he backed away from her. Then he got a grip on himself, and indicated the opposite staircase.
“This way.”
Always keeping his distance, he led her up to the first floor, past windowless yet brightly lit galleries, and along a splendid hallway. Only when he stopped in front of an ornamented oak door with markings did Liv realise the walls, ceiling and floor emitted light.
How did they do that?
As soon as he had pushed open the heavy door and thrust the bag in her hands, the servant took a brisk step back to let her in. Although he seemed a young, strong vampire, he shrank from her. How ironic!
Left alone, she looked around. Her first impression was of a marble bedroom for a monk—or a cell. After all, it wasn’t as if she was an honoured guest from another kingdom. More like a prisoner.
No windows, but the lighting fixture aroused her interest. As she applied her hand on the nearest wall it felt warm to the touch, and a diffuse white glow enveloped her spread fingers.
Very neat!
Discovering this new place allowed her to forget about where she was. Later she’d think of a plan to escape, or at least to stay alive until Rogan came for her. Because he had to. Because he wouldn’t abandon her at the hands of a cruel, infuriating king.
She sat on the mattress, firm but comfortable. The leather armchair offered another cosy haven. When she slumped onto it, Liv noticed some kind of wooden closet on the other side of the door. Quick on her feet, she pulled on the handle, but in spite of her efforts the panel remained locked. Too bad! Now she’d have to fall back on the hundreds of books displayed to find a clue as to the reason of her presence here.
First, she went to the writing desk, and pulled open both drawers. Pencils, an eraser, a sharpener, some Scotch tape, graphics, and dozens of sheets filled with numbers sat in the right drawer. Nothing interesting there. Then she pulled a very big, heavy book from the left drawer. Using both hands, she placed it carefully on the writing desk. Bound with worn-out leather, it looked more like an ancient manuscript than a novel.
As Liv lifted open the front cover, she felt like a trespasser. How weird was that? Whoever wrote this book must have been a lengthy storyteller, she’d need weeks to read it through. As it happened, she didn’t believe she had weeks—probably not even days.
She flipped through the pages, dipping into passages, overlooking entire sections written in a foreign language and impossible to decipher, reading selectively until a particular turn of phrase caught her eye. There, spelt in black letters—
The Bringer of Death.
Liv realised she was holding the book of prophecies Rogan had told her about. No wonder it looked so ancient. Should she marvel at this stroke of luck? Or wonder if someone had deliberately left it there for her to find? Now, who would do that and why? Holy mackerel, but she didn’t care a whit about the reason for the manuscript’s presence. She must read this!
As she bent over the book, her heart suddenly veered. Something rattled in the pit of her stomach. A mix of excitement and apprehension, the uncanny sensation raised goose pimples on her arms and grew stronger with each passing second. Acting on impulse, Liv put the book back in the drawer. She stood up, a hand fluttering to her belly to soothe the baffling gut reaction she was experiencing. When her cell door banged open, she stared with wide eyes.
Chapter Seventeen
This could not be happening. Dear God, why him? Now that his eyes bore into her, she recognised the inescapable feeling for what it was—desire and anticipation. She had felt him coming, no doubt about that.
Her body had responded to his. Like a sexual connection. Like an inner vibe beyond her control. Truth be told, she had felt the same vibe in the motel room. As she had run into his arms, believing he was Rogan, she had sensed something similar then. And she had dismissed it. But no, no, no, this could not be happening.
She hated his guts. She loathed the fact that he played vampire almighty and toyed with her weaknesses. She couldn’t stand his arrogance, meanness, and superiority. Most of all, she despised herself for desiring him, for wanting to feel his finger on her again.
He had used her feelings for Rogan to jump her bones, he had taken her prisoner into a blood-sucking alien world, and he was probably plotting another of his devious schemes. Yet when she looked at his gorgeous face, she wanted to shiver and spread her legs.