Elusive Hero: Invitation to Eden (Vampire Queen Series Book 12) (7 page)

It probably wasn’t even calculated. In the human world, men who enjoyed sexual Dominance might get involved in the BDSM scene to embrace it fully. Yet there were some who, with or without the environment to define it, were Masters. It was clear which one Garron was, because he wouldn’t have gotten this far with her yet otherwise. Though the steps might seem small to him, they were vast leaps for her. Which was why all of this was so damned disquieting.

His gaze coursed over her, noting the male-pleasing features of the robe. “Do you use that to get what you want?” he asked, his voice neutral.

“My body? At times. I use whatever tool is necessary to do what has to be done.”

“An honest answer. Those are the only kind I’m interested in hearing.” He stood. “Come with me, my lady. Trust me, the waterfall is worth the trip.”

He took her back to the hallway outside her suite, only this time he led her to a smaller elevator at the end of the hall. He keyed in a code and it opened immediately. Once in, he pressed the button to take them down another level. Seeing there were two levels below this one, she wondered how it was possible to go that far into the ground of an island without hitting water. Another of Eden’s mysteries.

As the doors closed, her sharp senses detected a faint cry. A repetitive thudding, not exactly like music. The combination made her cock her head, but the sound was gone as the elevator engaged, moved down. Garron didn’t react to it, but she didn’t think he’d missed it. So far, he hadn’t seemed to have any trouble hearing her, or registering her reactions, but he clearly paid very close attention. She wondered if that was because of the hearing handicap, or part of being a Dom at his level of expertise, or some other aspect of his background. She didn’t yet know where the scars had come from, but his demeanor and her suspicion it was from a spray of shrapnel suggested a military background.

“You said there weren’t any other suites on this floor, but I can hear…something.”

“It’s in a separate wing, but the BDSM club is on the same level as your suite,” he said. “You’re probably catching echoes in the elevator shaft from sessions happening there.”

“Oh.”

The doors opened, bringing her a stronger smell of earth and rock, the more distant scent of salt water. This exit put them in an unfinished tunnel, so she felt like she was exploring a cave. The stone beneath her feet was smooth and damp, small pools of water gathered in places that had her shying at first at the contact, but it was warm, pleasant. She could hear a muted roar, further evidence that they were headed toward the larger waterfall and grotto Garron had described.

They went up an incline, down, around a curve, Garron’s body brushing hers as they navigated the turns. Out of all the scents she was absorbing, his was the most pervasive, and she found herself welcoming and anticipating every time he touched her.

“It’s easy for someone with strong submissive cravings to think they’re ready for something before they really are,” he said conversationally. “It’s why a lot of subs plunge into a relationship with a Dom too fast when they first hit the scene. You won’t have that issue. But beyond that, you have to have a Master that gets it, who knows when to take it slow or speed up the pace.”

“Hard to slow down when you only have ten days to do the job.”

“I told you. I don’t have a job these next ten days.” There was humor in his voice, but a wealth of other lustful promises. “You’re my vacation.”

“If that’s the case, you’re misclassified, Rand. You’re more masochist than sadist.”

He chuckled at that, his grip on her arm sliding down to enclose and caress her hand. “I’m not going to rush this, Kaela. We move at the pace I set. The right connections, the moments of trust, can happen in a blink. But only if you don’t rush it, no matter how fast the sand runs through the hourglass.”

“Cryptic wisdom is barely a breath from empty bullshit.”

“That’s entirely true. It takes an intelligent woman to know the difference.”

She wasn’t sure if she shouldn’t break his fingers after all, but she settled for letting him guide her on yet another upward incline. This one brought the scent of fresh air and hints of greenery, flowers. The thunder of water grew louder, sending a hum through the rocks.

“Here we are.”

They emerged from the tunnel, Garron ducking to clear the overhang. They were outside the castle in an area of dense foliage and discreet pathways. A scattering of stone benches carved with Celtic designs circled a beautiful lagoon that had a rock wall built around it. The waterfall, tall as several levels of the castle, poured along an array of sleek rock in a jagged pattern that reminded her of the dock. A mist hovered over the water, containing a haze of colors from the moonlight. It appeared they had the place to themselves at this late hour.

He drew her toward a stone bench. When she expected to sit on it, he shook his head, directed her to sit on the low-lying ledge around the pool, put her feet in the water. He took a seat on the bench behind her, sitting to her left she could see him in her peripheral vision. He braced his foot next to her hip, his arm stretched out on the back of the bench, all his attention on her where she sat on the ground below him.

Fran often sat at Kaela’s feet during vampire events. If it was after the sexual entertainments, she was usually naked, her skin still dewed by orgasm, her head bowed. Kaela would idly stroke her, keeping tabs on her physical and mental state, because the haze that happened after a particularly demanding performance could be extreme. Subspace, they’d call it in the human world. Servants had it as well, that hypnotic trance state that was part euphoria, part numbing peace. She knew because she had seen dozens of servants experience it. She’d even experienced it a couple times as a human, though she hadn’t known to call it that. Jared had instinctively known to care for her with extra attention, realizing she needed help grounding again.

Stop it. Stop thinking of him.
She was already off balance emotionally. Thinking of the man who’d been part of her life as a human would not help.

Garron leaned forward, resting his forearms on his spread knees. He slid a fingertip along her shoulder, drawing her out of her thoughts. “You know,” he said quietly, “one of the best Doms I ever met is in a wheelchair. There's something in each of us that says who we are in the pecking order of things, who we can trust. Those are the ones to whom we'll surrender. Sometimes things have built up in our lives, debris, trash in the moat. Until we get rid of that, wade through it, it’s hard to figure out who we can trust to guard that fortress.”

She looked down at the water, the way it swirled around her calves. There were little fish here as well as some larger ones. Trying to figure out what her legs were, they nibbled at her skin, a teasing contact. “Is this where you convince me physical power isn’t relevant to submission? To a vampire? Physical power is everything in my world.”

“I’m not sure that’s true. I expect you’re not the most physically powerful in your territory. But you do a hell of a job either convincing them you are, or that they’re all better off with you in charge. You just have to have enough physical power to make them put aside pride in favor of the overall benefit.”

She really did wonder how Theodosius Vardalos knew all this about her. And about vampires. She should also find out why Garron accepted she was a vampire so matter-of-factly. These were all things a responsible overlord should do, to protect the vampire world as a whole. Do a threat assessment. But that wasn’t why she was here. She didn’t want that to intrude upon this.

“There’s a reason it’s called a power exchange, my lady,” Garron said gently when she remained silent. “There’s a reason a submissive can abhor the reality of rape, but long for the edge play of a forced seduction. In the room, you overpowered me physically. But what does your heart want, your mind want? Even if you’re Hercules, there's always someone stronger physically out there. Correct?”

“Right.” But she didn’t lift her gaze to him.

He sighed. “Choice is the only true power that exists in a Dom/sub relationship, the guiding credo in everything we do. You suspend disbelief to enjoy a movie, cry over a book. We can get lost in our imaginings and empathy and find a power and magic in them that can strengthen us in our real lives in ways we can’t envision. Even more than if we strangle back those imaginings.”

“I don’t have that choice. Haven’t had that choice.”

“You do here. Kaela.” He reached out, brushed a fingertip along her jaw. “The trick is finding the mind or personality strong enough to hold us up when we need to let go.”

“That doesn’t exist in my world.”

“But maybe it can exist here.”

She stared back down at the water. Silence ensued, and she wondered just how he was interpreting her lack of response.

Putting one hand under her elbow and another at her waist, he pressured her to rise to her feet. While she let herself be guided to sit down on the bench next to him, she kept looking at the water, not questioning why she couldn’t look at him. Wouldn’t. The silence became laden with something else, a feeling that became even more weighted as she felt his hands at her waist again, this time slipping the tie of the robe.

Suspend disbelief, she told herself. Just let it happen.

He spread open the cloth, the humid mist touching her bare flesh. Now she did turn her attention to him, met his eyes. He didn’t lower his gaze, and it made the moment more potent, that he’d exposed her naked body, but hadn’t chosen to look at it yet.

“Stay still for me. Time for that experiment.”

When he removed a coiled object from his jeans pocket, a dozen thoughts and feelings swirled through her like a capricious breeze coming through an open window, scattering papers on a desk, sending them into disarray, a lack of order.

It was a collar. Nothing elaborate, just a silver band no wider than one of her fingers.

“For a lot of submissives, there’s a shift of consciousness when you put a collar on them. They let go of some of their worries, get more inside their heads, more in tune with what they’re wanting. I’m going to put this on you, let you wear it for a little while, see how it feels.”

“Like letting a horse feel a halter for the first time to prepare her to be ridden.”

His lip quirked. “If you want to go down that road, sure, but you’re getting a little ahead of me.”

She pursed her lips. “I doubt that.”

“Lift your chin, my lady.”

She tried to see self-serving lascivious intent in his expression. Turn him into a man who had the arrogance to think he could top a vampire. She was a challenge to his testosterone, his ultimate goal being to fuck her, conquer her. Nothing more.

There were times she wished she weren’t smart enough to see through her own defense mechanisms. Desire for her came off him in waves, yes. She expected that from a human male, no different than what she’d expected from the porters. It was Garron’s control of it, the way he refused to let it distract him from what he was doing, and how he channeled it to feed an even more intense action-reaction between them, that made it different. His control was capable of scrambling hers, and his confidence in that wasn’t arrogant. It was as if he had a window into her soul and was following her own cues, her needs and desires.

Trying to suppress that internal quiver, she lifted her chin. She could do this. It was a gesture, was all. It didn’t matter that, when his eyes warmed with approval, her toes curled against the rock as if she’d been given a gift.

Garron guided the collar around her throat, his fingers stroking her as he buckled it. The strap didn’t rest on her collar bone. It fit just below her jaw, snug, compressing the arteries and her windpipe enough to feel restrictive, the buckle below the hinge of her jaw.

He caressed her jaw above the collar’s hold, her throat below it, soothing her. Even so, her pulse fluttered like a line of butterflies, her body going even more still. So did her mind, all those dozen thoughts dying down to puzzled whispers. A quietness took over, while other parts of her became far less calm. The tissues between her legs had contracted hard when the strap constricted.

A different level of consciousness, he’d said. All from placing a collar on her throat.

He drew her to her feet, and she stood mutely as he slid the robe off her shoulders, let it fall and pool around her feet. She was standing naked in front of a fully clothed human male, wearing nothing but the collar he’d placed on her neck.

She didn’t need to breathe, yet she was making shallow, desperate little breaths.

“Ssshhh…” He ran his fingertips down her jugular, all around the collar, and slid them into her hair, massaging her nape, his thumb tracing the silver band. “Easy, my lady. Just breathe. I know you don’t need to do that, but I expect the act calms you as much as anything. It’s just a collar. Christ, you’re beautiful.”

Her attention snapped back up to his face. He said it fervently, reverently. It wasn’t practiced, part of some elaborate strategy. Even as he was staying conscious of her every reaction, he was genuinely savoring, absorbing every inch of her, from the way her hair fell down her back and over her shoulders, to how her painted toenails gleamed as her toes dug harder into the stone.

“Is it always the same charge for you…no matter what she looks like?”

Not sure what emotions she was feeling, she couldn’t inject any into her voice, not consciously. Her beauty had always been just there. Another shield over whatever she really was. Sometimes a vulnerable woman, sometimes a monster, sometimes a vengeful warrior. Sometimes an ugly wreck of grief and rage, despair and yearning.

“Yes,” he said, meeting her eyes. “I’ve had the pleasure of mastering submissives who fit someone’s ideal of beauty, and those who are so far from it they’ve forgotten beauty is in the eye of the creator, not the beholder.” He stroked a hand down her hair, caressed her elbow. “All this beautiful hair alone would make a man kill to fuck you, to wrap his hands in it.” When he reached her wrist, her fingers started to curl, anticipating him tangling his own with them, he shook his head.