Darkness Embraced (15 page)

I shook my head again. “I find it hard to believe Lucrezia’s mind ever fully healed, Vasco.”

The look in his eyes was sad, so terribly sad. “So do I.”

I changed the subject. “What did Renata do to Gaspare tonight, Vasco? What did she do that put that prideful step in your walk and satisfied smile upon your lips?”

“The Queen dismissed you for a reason. I am your friend, Epiphany, but I am no fool to go against my Queen’s orders. If she wishes you to know, then she will tell you.”

“No,” I said, unable to keep the anger out of my words, “you are no fool to go against your Queen’s orders.” I looked at him and knew the vacancy in my eyes did not match the heat of my tone. “If the Queen had not appointed you as my protector, would you have befriended me, Vasco?”

“I, like you, keep to myself. I will not lie to you, Epiphany, because you are my friend, and I value our friendship more than you know. If our Queen had not bid me to watch you, to protect you, then I would have continued to keep to myself.”

And there was the truth. If Renata had not told Vasco to protect me, he would never have befriended me. I stood abruptly, giving him my back. I was afraid that I couldn’t hide the hurt and resentment I felt.

The weight of his hand fell on my shoulder, and though I stiffened, I made no move to shake him off.

“It would have been my loss, colombina. You are a wonderful friend,” he said. “You are la sorella del mia spirito.”

“If you don’t want me to think that what you just said could potentially be some Italian insult,” I gave him a very displeased look, “then you should repeat yourself in a language I understand.”

“You are the sister of my spirit,” he said. “You are the sister of my mind and heart, and I would have regretted never knowing you.”

“Well,” I said, sparing him a sidelong glance, “that’s good to know.”

He took a step that brought us facing each other and sank to the carpeted floor on his knees. “I ask your forgiveness, Epiphany, my sister.”

I touched his serpentine braids with their thread of silver, like stars and blackness intertwined. I exhaled deeply, not finding it in my heart to be angry at the one person, the one vampire, who had ever truly been my friend.

“I forgive you, my brother.”

“It seems I am interrupting.” It wasn’t the words that made my blood run cold. It was the veil of threat the words held that made me drop my hand from Vasco’s braids.

The smell of sweet metallic blood flooded my senses before I saw her. Renata’s body was covered in blood like she’d just about bathed in it. The blue velvet of her gown was black with it. The long waves of her hair were matted and clumped.

The fact that most of the blood was on her body, rather than in it, meant that her purpose had been to cause someone a great deal of pain.

She had tortured Gaspare in front of the Elders. She had used him as an example, as a well sent message. A reclamation of her power, as it was.

It is time to remind the Rosso Lussuria of what their Queen is capable of.

Staring into her eyes framed by the mask of drying blood, I had no doubts that she had indeed reminded the Elders of what she was capable of.

Even so, even knowing what she was capable of, I found myself wanting to cross the room, wanting to go to her, yearning to drop to my knees and lick the crimson patches from her moonlit skin.

“Did you execute him?” I asked and my voice was calm, giving away no hint of my desire or thoughts.

“No.” She stepped into the room and her gaze flicked to where Vasco knelt. She gave him a dangerous look that made me tense and uneasy.

“Renata.” I moved to bring her attention back to me. “There is no reason to be angry with Vasco. He has done nothing wrong.”

She gave me a look as cold as winter’s silent fury. “I told you to stay out of my head.”

I took another step forward and sank to my knees. “Please,” I whispered.

“Please what, Epiphany?”

“Please do not turn your power and anger on Vasco.”

I looked up at her then.

Renata gave a slow blink, her expression sliding into something calmer and more calculating.

“Vasco,” she said.

“Yes, my lady?”

“You are dismissed.”

Vasco stood without question and went. The doors shut with a quiet click behind him.

She said my name and I rose to take the hand she held out. She turned me, pulling me in against her.

Too close, too close to the smell of the blood. Too close to the intoxicating smell of her skin.

My vision blurred as my eyelashes fluttered.

“Epiphany.” Her lips brushed my ear and I fought the anticipation that ran through my body. Her hand trailed a path down my stomach, summoning a tremble of remembrance and longing from deep within me.

I went to my knees, catching her hand and feeling the drying blood on her skin. I raised it to my mouth and pressed a feather soft kiss against the tips of her fingers.

She caressed my lower lip and I opened to her, taking the taste of blood and flesh into my mouth.

I rose up high on my knees as another of her bloodstained fingers slipped past my lips. I sucked, locking my mouth at the base and licking it clean.

Her calm expression never wavered. Her hand twisted in my hair, twining the tresses until her grip was tight. A moan escaped me, but I did not stop. I had endured far rougher play than this. I set my tongue against her skin, licking up her hand, across her knuckles.

She pulled me back, holding me at bay while her eyes held me captive.

“Is this what you want?” she asked, using her other hand to unlace the stays of her dress. She began peeling it down her body.

The blood had soaked through the velvet and to her white skin below.

I made a strangled sound. “Yes.”

I had spent enough years as her pet to know what she expected of me.

With her fist balled in my hair at the back of my scalp, I drew the dress down her body. She used the grip she had to guide my mouth across her skin and I let her. Where my lips brushed, my tongue flicked out, until the red was white once more, until the rich coppery taste of blood and sweet-salt taste of her skin coated my mouth like some delectable wine. She led me off my knees, guiding my mouth to her breast. I sucked, drawing her nipple lightly between my teeth and setting the tips of my fangs to glide dangerously close to piercing her tender flesh.

Her grip tightened and I whimpered in submission.

Renata pushed me down on the bed until I was sitting. She propped one long leg on the edge of it. Obediently, I tucked my legs under me, rising enough to kiss the mound of flesh between her thighs.

I parted her with my tongue. Her wet skin was like some silken fruit against my lips. The tip of my tongue found her opening and I pushed against her, hands anchored at her hips, and slipping as much of myself as I could inside her.

My name was a strangled cry as she gave a fierce jerk that sent my scalp to tingling. “Stop teasing.”

Wordlessly, I gave a nod of compliance. She allowed me to seal my lips over her again and I licked and sucked until her body went rigid and a cry of pleasure announced my victory and her defeat.

“Epiphany,” she said in a voice that smoldered with pleasure and amusement at the same time. She steered me to face the bed.

I knew what she wanted. I leaned over and placed my palms on the gray blanket. The movement brought my buttocks up against her. She raised my dress up over my hips. Her hands lingered before slipping past the line of satin to caress my bare skin. I quivered as she parted me.

“You’re wet,” she said, tracing the swollen flesh between my legs.

“Yes,” I gasped as she circled my clit with an expert touch.

She released my curls, trailing her nails down the back of my neck. Her fingers dipped lower and she pierced me, rough and sudden. I cried out, clawing the coverlet.

“Mmm, yes,” she said, flicking her wrist until I made a sound that was half-moan, half-whimper. “Very wet. Wet enough.”

“For?”

I heard her steps leading across the room before the sounds of the heavy armoire doors were flung open. I didn’t turn to look to see what she was retrieving. If I turned to look while we played such a game, she would use it as a reason to punish me. I remembered them well, the games we once played.

She returned with a strand of black silken rope and used it to bind my wrists.

While she was tying the knots she glanced at me. “I would do a karada”—she squeezed my bound hands—“but that would take more rope and more time than I’ve the patience for.”

I trembled with remembrance. A karada is a diamond shaped body weave, a rope harness that travels from the neck, between the buttocks and legs, and up the length of one’s back and torso. It’s a type of Kinbaku, Japanese erotic bondage. It sounds simple until one sees the many different types of weaves and patterns. It is one of the great erotic arts.

A karada does not restrain the submissive. It fits snugly to the body and gives one the feeling of being trapped without the actuality of it. There are ways to tie knots in places that would make a less conventional woman than I blush. Amongst other things, Renata had always been very proficient when it came to ropes. I had not forgotten that and found myself a little disappointed that so little a length of rope would be involved. It had been a long time since she had truly bound me.

“You look a bit crestfallen, cara mia.” Her eyes glistened deviously in the candlelight. She traced the line of my brow. “There will be other nights.”

“What are you going to do with me?” I asked.

The smile she gave was full of pleasant confidence. She moved, trailing her hand up my arm and across my shoulder. She stopped behind me and I felt her nails tickle over the fabric of the dress. She bowed her body over mine, pressing the stiff length of an ivory olisbos against my buttocks.

“Epiphany,” she said in a voice that was light and playful.

A muscle in my jaw twitched. I clenched my teeth together while she rubbed her toy against me.

“I kept this,” she whispered, hands slipping over my hips and to my stomach, “just for you, cara mia.”

Her hands swept across my breasts and I balled my hands, clutching the coverlet in my fists. She caught the neckline of the gown and pulled, tearing the front so that my breasts spilled free.

“Much better,” she said, pinching my erect nipples hard enough that I gasped.

She gave a low and throaty laugh.

“Up,” she said and I obeyed, crawling onto the bed.

When I didn’t put my cheek against the mattress and rise like I knew she wanted me to, she grabbed a handful of my hair and pressed me down herself.

Once, for the simple adoration of her reaction, I used to feign defiance. True defiance she would not tolerate, and it was not in my nature to be defiant where she was concerned, but feigned defiance fanned a fire in her that left me breathless and panting. It was a way of challenging her to push my mind further, to ride my body harder. I did it then, forcing her hand, giving her no other option but to pin me to the bed.

In all of her dominance, Renata was positively magnificent.

Her hand that was capable of such tenderness was also a promise of cold strength.

“You do remember how I like you to do this, don’t you?” she asked, both of us knowing I knew what she expected.

A vibration of anticipation whipped down my spine.

“Yes.”

“Then do it,” she said, and my body jerked with the force of her hands tearing the back of the dress open.

The cool air kissed my skin. Her long nails moved down my back, over the thick line of fabric bunched at my waist.

This time, I expected the movement and held myself against the force of my lesser garments being wrenched off.

Renata took me by the hips, pressing the end of the olisbos against me. She played the tip over me until she parted me and was able to slip past my opening and to my clit. I cried out then, surprise and pleasure sprinkled with just the right amount of humiliation I at once hated and had longed to endure at her hands again.

Her hips rocked slightly, causing just enough friction between my legs that my breath grew eager and shallow.

She shifted and pressed against my opening, working slowly inside me. Her body bowed over mine and I felt her breath at the back of my neck. Her lips trailed a path down my spine, hands resting at my hips. She made no move to penetrate me further, only sheathed inside me and sheltered my body with the weight of hers. A second later, I felt her cool fingers tracing the scars engraved between my shoulder blades.

When I felt her rise, I remained passive, waiting. Her breath eased out in a sigh. “Oh, Piph,” she said. I writhed as she pulled out. Something heavy hit the floor and I knew it was the olisbos. Her arms circled my waist.

“Come here,” she said, and I followed her hands as she pulled me to sit with her on the bed. Her eyes glistened with unshed tears. “Come here.” Her long arms enfolded me. “I’m sorry,” she whispered against my hair.