Angie fought the urge to laugh. The character she had created remained firmly in place, though, as she curled her fingers around his shaft. He smoothed her hair aside and watched her mouth moving over him. He was gentle, at first, caressing her arm and shoulder, trailing his knuckles along her back. Perhaps this wouldn’t be so bad. She’d given blowjobs before. But then he grew rough and dug his nails into her skin until she couldn’t help but cry out. His cock twitched in her mouth and grew harder. The vampire caught hold of her thigh, dragged her around, and forced his hand between her legs. His other hand clutched her hair once again and guided her into the rhythm he wanted.
Damn it, Angie thought, as he discovered how wet she was. No matter how well she played her role, she couldn’t entirely control the way her body reacted. He hesitated. Then his laughter echoed through the warehouse. Fingers thrust into her.
“Do you want to come?” he asked.
She shuddered.
“I’ll give you a choice—your life or your orgasm. You can have one, but not the other.”
That son of a bitch. She almost did use her teeth then, knowing he wouldn’t really yank them out. But if she were to play the part convincingly, she had to act as though she believed his threat. Angie forced herself to let go of her own feelings and simply be this girl, afraid and desperate to survive. She made a muffled sound around his cock and tried to squirm away from his invading hand.
Shoving her head down, he choked her again and gave her ass a hard slap. “Be still.”
The slap stung so badly it brought fresh tears to her eyes and made her tremble in earnest. Whimpering, she held her hips still, and he slid his fingers back inside. The pressure on her head eased so she could lift up and draw a breath.
Maybe he would forget this game if she made him come. Calling on all the tricks she knew, she went to work with her hands and mouth. His body tensed in reaction, and she had a brief reprieve. When he remembered what he’d been doing, his fingers began to torment her, stroking deep, then slipping out to circle the exquisitely sensitive spot just above. She couldn’t help but moan in reaction. Her instinct was to pull away, to escape the pleasure for fear of losing control, but he wouldn’t allow it. All she could do was focus on his cock and try not to feel what he was doing to her.
When she peeled his foreskin back and sucked the naked head into her mouth, it was his turn to cry out. Encouraged, she flicked her tongue over it, and stroked the shaft with her hand. As his hips begin to rock, she let go and took him all the way down her throat.
Her body continued to react to his relentless teasing. She tried to ignore it, but the pleasure built anyway. She might not be able to keep from coming if this continued. Frantic, she worked up and down, sucking him from tip to root. Her lips grew numb and her neck began to ache, yet she made herself go faster, drawing in her cheeks to keep a tight seal around his shaft.
His orgasm gushed down the back of her throat, and again she nearly gagged. The girl forced herself to swallow. At least his hand had stopped tormenting her. Slowly, she continued to slide her mouth up and down, drawing out his pleasure until he pushed her head away.
“Not bad,” he murmured.
Closing her eyes, she rested her cheek on his thigh and caught her breath.
Then he began to move his fingers again.
She scrambled to escape, terrified she couldn’t hold out. He snarled and pulled her back within reach, but she fought him, kicking at his face, clawing at his arms. Unable to gain access to her sex, he grabbed a breast instead and squeezed so hard she screamed. He closed his other hand around her neck. When black dots began to dance through her vision, she stopped struggling and simply tried not to lose consciousness.
Cautiously, he relaxed his grip on both parts of her body. She didn’t move, so he opened her legs again and waited for several moments. Then he slid his hand up the inside of her thigh, found her nub, and rolled one fingertip around it.
The flutter of pleasure sent a shiver of equal parts fear and arousal down her spine. She shook her head and tried to wriggle away. The vampire growled and laid one forearm across her neck to pin her in place. She would have begged him to stop, but the pressure on her larynx allowed no sound to escape. No matter how hard she tugged at his arm, she could not budge it. His eyes gleamed with anticipation as he willed her to come.
Two fingers parted the lips of her sex and eased inside. She didn’t dare let him continue. Not if she valued her life, and she did, far more than she wanted that orgasm, though God knew she did want it. Inner muscles tightened around his fingers as he stroked.
His face was close enough to strike. She knew it would infuriate him, but at this point she would do anything to stop that buildup of pleasure. Tina let go of his arm and thrust the heel of her hand into the underside of his nose.
He jerked back with a roar. The sound froze her like it would any prey trapped by an enraged predator. Fresh adrenaline surged through her veins, and she fought him like a cornered animal, all claws and teeth and desperation.
He could easily have gotten her under control if he were willing to damage her. Doing it without causing real harm was more difficult. The vampire struggled to subdue her, and at last got the girl onto her belly, jamming an elbow into her back to pin her to the floor while he threw a leg across her thighs. Her hands were free, but there was nothing for her to grab, no leverage, no weapon, no part of him she could reach.
He found a pressure point at the juncture of her hip and thigh, and dug in deep with his fingers. She writhed furiously beneath him. He drilled in harder, and the more she struggled, the worse it got, until she sobbed and screamed at the same time, begging him to stop.
At last he relaxed his hand and let it rest on her bruised flesh. She breathed raggedly, too weak to move. His weight left her, and for a moment there was no sensation but her own body on the cold concrete. Then he rolled her over and parted her legs once again.
“No,” she whispered.
“No,” he agreed, and instead of pleasure he gave her the agony of his fangs sinking into her femoral artery.
Between the pain and the additional blood loss, this time she could not hold on to consciousness. It was a relief to let go and slide into the dark.
She woke coughing, her mouth full of sweet liquid. The vampire bent over her, and when he drew back she saw he held a bottle of Gatorade.
“Good,” he said. “Sit up. Drink it.”
Her hands shook, but she managed to take it from him and do as he’d commanded. Sugar and electrolytes flooded her system, rehydrating and restoring energy. When she finished, he tossed the bottle into the pile of rubbish. “You’re weak.”
She forced herself to look at him. “Yeah.”
“We have hours to go before dawn. Perhaps I should give you a few drops of my blood to make sure you last.”
The character she’d created nearly cracked apart as her true personality went on red alert. Angie stared. Was he serious? Would he violate their agreement? This was the one thing she feared more than death. Vampire blood was addictive. Worse, it formed a bond between victim and vampire—a bond that felt like love. One that could not be broken or escaped.
She’d survived that bond before. It had been over a decade since she’d last had a taste of vampire blood, but its siren song still whispered her name, and it was only by sheer determination that she blocked it out. Determination and hatred. For them. For herself. For desires she could not control, yearning she should never have felt.
If he really intended to do this, there would be no more role-playing. She would rather die than go through it again. Die or kill. Her chances of the latter were nearly nonexistent, but it didn’t mean she wouldn’t try. Somewhere in the pile of refuse were splintered pieces of wood. One of them might be sharp enough.
Angie flinched when his fingertips caught hold of her chin. He tilted her face so he could study her reaction, and though she tried to maintain the façade of the terrorized party girl, she felt certain he saw at least a hint of the thoughts boiling just beneath. His pale eyes narrowed.
“I won’t waste my blood on you,” he decided. “But try to last the night.”
She answered with a twisted little smile, “I’ll do my best.”
A grin broke across his face. For just a moment, Angie and her client felt each other’s exhilaration, hers in facing down the pain and violence, his in dishing them out. Then she was once more the hapless girl, and he the torturer toying with his victim.
He put her on her stomach with her face pressed against the filthy floor and lifted her hips so he could take her that way. He made no effort to arouse her now. She still felt pleasure, but it was mostly from the endorphins flooding her system. They drugged her into a state of euphoria that allowed her to take more abuse, to lose track of time and ride the madness like ocean waves. When he hurt her badly enough, instinct kicked in and she fought him. Their bodies twisted into new positions each time she struggled to escape, and his laughter rang through the warehouse, punctuated by her screams. She took everything he gave, until something inside her finally broke.
Angie had reached her limit. The fight left her, and she fell still beneath him. Scott hesitated before moving away. He disappeared for a moment, and when he returned he picked her up and placed her on something soft. A mattress, perhaps, or some kind of foam pad. She was too out of it to notice or care. However much she might love the violence, and the ecstasy of pain, it took its toll. Angie curled into a fetal position. Wrung out, emotionally as well as physically, she began to tremble so hard her teeth chattered.
To her surprise, the vampire lay down at her back and wrapped his arms around her. He pressed his face into her hair, warm with the borrowed heat of her blood, and she nestled into him, astonished he would offer comfort after having taken what he paid for.
“Shh,” he whispered. His hold did not restrain her now but held her safely until the worst of it began to fade and she grew quiet.
Angie murmured a protest when he left her, but he returned an instant later to wrap thick blankets around them both. They lay together in stillness, the only sound her ragged breathing.
After some time, he stirred. A hand caressed her arm, and his lips moved against her hair. “I won’t ask if you’re all right. Obviously, you aren’t. But will you be, eventually?”
Of course she would be all right. This was her gift, and her avocation. She had chosen it of her own free will.
“Yes,” she slurred. “Eventually.”
“We have an hour before dawn. Do you want me to stay with you until then?”
She nodded and curled tighter into a ball. He folded himself around her. No pain. No pleasure. Only comfort. Angie closed her eyes and let exhaustion carry her into sleep.
Chapter Three
This is an exciting time in the field of anthropology. Many of the so-called supernatural species are coming out of the shadows to begin a meaningful dialog with humanity. In these last few decades we have been presented with the unparalleled opportunity to study them firsthand. We have always known of their existence, but up until now have had little more than folklore, superstition, urban legend, and anecdotal evidence.
—Professor Anthony Benotti, PhD
The University of Washington’s library contained an entire wing dedicated to the study of supernatural beings, perhaps the largest such collection in the world. The Gothic structure of the reading room seemed particularly appropriate to the subject. Angie leaned over a wooden table, surrounded by half a dozen books, and typed notes into her laptop.
Her dissertation adviser wanted her to narrow her studies and choose a focus for her thesis, but this was difficult. She wanted to learn all of it, to generalize rather than specialize, which was why she’d taken concurrent master’s degrees in Supernatural History and the Comparative Psychology of Sentient Nonhuman Species. As she progressed into doctoral studies, she found herself drawn toward the political and cultural development of these species and how they had sprung from the unique nature of each race.
Of course, she knew why she felt so compelled to learn and understand these things. It took no great talent for self-analysis to see she was trying to make sense of what had happened to her as a girl, to put it in context and find some way of managing it internally. Knowing this did not lessen the compulsion.
For now, she concentrated on the postgraduate coursework offered, using it as a way to structure her tendency to go off on tangents in personal research. Her latest tangent had her immersed in what few materials were available regarding the psychology of so-called ancients—creatures that had lived for over a thousand years. Vampires, elves, djinn and the Fallen all had the potential to live that long, or longer. But such creatures became more elusive as the years passed, fading into the background or disappearing altogether. She knew of a few, like Steffen Scott, who admitted to such great age, but they were not inclined to submit to psychoanalysis.
“Vampires again, eh?”
She started and looked around to find Marisa, a fellow graduate student, peering over her shoulder.
“There’s more material on vampires,” Angie said.
“Why not specialize in them, then? You said Benotti wants you to narrow your focus.”
Marisa dropped her pack onto the table, pulled up a chair, and slumped, resting her head on the back. She wore her usual outfit: a T-shirt under an old sweatshirt, baggy jeans, and sneakers. As a concession to the cold weather, she carried gloves and a knit hat for the long walks across campus. Her pony tail did a poor job of constraining unruly blonde curls.
“Because I’m not interested in just the one species,” Angie answered. “I’m interested in an underlying principle. How do our cultures develop? How has the unique nature of each sentient species driven their societies to become so different and yet somewhat similar? Vampires are the easiest to study because we have so much material on them, but that’s a means to an end, not an end in itself.”