Retribution (Book 3 of The Dominion Series) (46 page)

“Michel…"

"I said
kneel
.”

When I kneel down between his legs, he just sits there and watches me. Then, I hear him exhale heavily.

"I was so
afraid
..." He leans forward and pulls me close and kisses me, his kiss almost desperate. The pressure of his lips on mine, the softness of them, his tongue wet against mine as it pushes between my lips and into my mouth finally overwrites the sadness I feel from seeing Dylan.

“You're alive," he says, stroking my hair. "I thought whoever took you would kill you. Eve, you just can't ever leave this place without my permission. Why
did
you?”

“I don’t know,” I reply. "It was Dylan. He's my brother."

He kisses me again, running his hands over my body.

“I'd punish you for deliberately disobeying me, but I'm just so glad you're safe.”

"He wanted to see me. We met and talked about our families. That’s all."

The door opens and Soren strides into the room, his face dark, his brow creased. I'm still kneeling, still in Michel's embrace and we're kissing, but we stop when Soren comes to the bedside.

"What the fuck happened? I get this panicked call from one of my guards that Eve was abducted?"

“She's fine. She was with Dylan,” Michel says, brushing hair from my cheek. "He wanted to see her."

“He should have contacted me. He can't just come and take her.”

“Would you have let her go with him?"

"Of course not. Michel, you must ensure she obeys the rules. We could lose her in the blink of an eye.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Michel replies, his voice tight.

“They took her without any difficulty.”

“She’s not used to having her movements controlled. Yet.”

“I'm very angry, Eve,” Soren says and rubs his forehead. “Michel was very scared. Look at him, see the fear in his eyes. He was afraid he'd never see you again. You should be whipped.”

“She made a mistake," Michel says, looking in my eyes. I nod.

"I'll whip her if you don't."

Michel turns to Soren. “She made a mistake. I
will
punish her, but I want her in a good frame of mind for later.”

“Yes, of course, by all means, punish her later,” Soren says and laughs.
  "I know you're dying to." He sighs and shakes his head. "Eve, you really deserve a good spanking right now. Consider yourself lucky."

"Thank you, my Lord,” Michel says to Soren, his voice properly subservient. He pulls me into his arms, his face pressed into my neck, his mouth covering his bite mark.

Soren chuckles softly. “Enjoy.”

Once Soren's gone, Michel starts to undress me, his hands almost desperate to get me naked.

"I should spank you, Eve, for leaving. You knew it was wrong, but you did anyway. But right now, I just want to fuck you fast and hard. As punishment, I'm not going to even try to make you come. Do you understand?"

"Yes," I say as he pushes me down on the bed and pulls at my gown.

"Yes, what?" he says and stops.

"Yes, my Lord," I say, scrunching up my face when I realize I've forgotten to address him properly.

"Good." Then, when he has me naked, he leans over me and begins to kiss my neck, my throat, squeezing my breasts, sucking each nipple in turn. Although he said he wasn’t going to try to make me come, I suspect he's going to make me want to and deny me an orgasm as punishment.

He moves lower, spreading my thighs, licking me and making me moan before unzipping his pants and pulling out his erection. With no other preliminaries, he starts to fuck me, just like that and I'm already wet and aroused but me holds me still, preventing me from moving or touching myself.

He thrusts hard and fast, watching himself as he does, and I'm close but not able to get the right amount of friction in the right position to come. Within a moment or two, he comes, grimacing as he ejaculates, ramming himself into me as if he's taking out his anger and frustration and fear on my body.

Finally, he leans over me, his face in the crook of my neck.

"Don't
ever
do that again," he says, kissing my neck where he bit me. "Eve, I thought Blackstone had you. I thought they'd
kill
you. Can't you understand how important it is for you to just obey me?"

"I'm sorry," I say. "I just wanted to talk to Dylan…"

He shakes his head and strokes my cheek, frowning.

"Please," he says. "No more disobedience."

Then he embraces me, and I stare at the canopy over our heads, his fear and anguish at thinking I was in danger making me feel remorse. I wrap my arms around him, suddenly overtaken by a sense of grief I can't explain, but I want to feel his arms around me, needing the comfort more than any sexual release I might have wanted.

I'm desperate for it.

Later that night, I attend a meeting of 'The Twelve' to discuss the plans to reveal Soren's powers to the congregation in Boston. It's part of his plan to gain followers and amass power. I was supposed to attend with Michel, but he and Soren are in a meeting and have been delayed. Vasquez picks me up instead in his cart. We drive through the deserted streets of Boston. People stay in off the streets for there is a heavy police presence on horseback to enforce order.

"What's going to happen? Why am I attending?"

Vasquez leans closer to me. "You must join with the Twelve today. Try out those skills of yours we value so highly."

"I drink their blood and they drink mine?"

"Precisely. We need a test run of your abilities. We don’t want any snags when we do this publicly."

I stare out the window at the scenery and then my stomach is all butterflies as we approach the Cathedral of the Holy Cross. It's a beautiful old cathedral, and I'm nervous, wondering what it will be like to drink the blood of twelve fallen angel-Ancient-vampires and share their consciousness. If what I felt with Soren is any indication, it will be intense.

I
don't
want to do this, but I know I must.

Before Michel left for his meeting, we shared blood, because he wants to be able to access my mind at all times, to make sure I'm all right. He then calmed my nerves, assuring me that this dry run would be important. Soren has to believe I'll do it – that I'll help him get power. Otherwise, he'll kill me and create someone else, but he wants to seize the day now that Blackstone has struck.

I want to kill him. Nothing more. But I'll cooperate because I trust Michel. Despite the fact he hasn't told me everything from the start, I know now that it was to protect me. He wants to stop Soren as much as I do. He's wanted this since Soren killed Danielle so long ago.

Vasquez and I arrive and enter the cathedral through the side entrance and go immediately into the nave where the Twelve and their entourages have already gathered.

They turn expectantly when Vasquez and I arrive.

"My Lords, please excuse our delay," Vasquez says, all obeisant to them. "But Lord Soren has been detained due to some urgent business and will be another fifteen minutes or so. Please, partake of refreshments, if you need any. We will get underway soon."

Vasquez leads me to a seat next to a large throne on a dais at the front of the boardroom. There's a chair on either side of the throne, where I expect Michel and Julien will sit as Soren's two lieutenants. My own seat is a stool to the right of Michel. Vasquez sits on Michel's chair and glances around the room.

I'm dressed in something a bit more conservative than the usual revealing gown Michel prefers, but still, I look like I'm attending a medieval ball rather than a secret meeting in a cathedral in the center of Boston. Michel directed that my hair should be styled in an up-do. I sit quietly and wait, my stomach in knots as I survey the Twelve, as Soren refers to them. They're his equals, vampires, Fallen Angels all of them. Why they would choose this existence I don't understand except, as Soren said, to get revenge on the god who punished them because of their refusal to worship mortals.

Now, they feed off us like cattle and want our subordination as their worshippers.

I don't know what Michel's planning but I hope it works. I can't stand the thought that these monsters will be our gods. No wonder the Romans thought the gods were devious and under them, life was precarious. They are monsters with more power than morals.

Finally, the doors open and a balding priest in vestments rushes in and goes right to Vasquez. He bends down and whispers in his ear and Vasquez nods. The priest leaves, closing the doors behind him.

Vasquez stands and addresses the Twelve.

"There's been a delay. Our Lord Soren and his entourage were attacked on their way here. Lord Soren is unharmed, of course, but Michel has been injured in an attack with Molotov Cocktail bombs infused with liquid silver. I'm told his injuries are not serious. They will arrive momentarily."

A murmur rises from the Twelve and their advisors as everyone discusses this development. My heart races when I think of Michel being injured in the attack. It must have been Blackstone.

Vasquez leans over to me and takes my hand. "Don't worry, Eve. Michel's wounds were minor."

Finally, a few moments later, the double doors open once more to admit Julien and Michel, their wings extended fully. Michel limps over to the dais at the front of the room, Julien holding him by the arm. His clothes are burned, the skin on one cheek scorched and he has a large wound on his calf. I stand and concern flows through me. He sits beside me on the chair and immediately, I bend down and pull the ripped fabric away from his calf.

"It's nothing, Eve," he says, waving me off. "A piece of glass cut me and some liquid silver burned me. I'll heal."

"It must hurt."

I ignore him and go to the anteroom where there's a small kitchenette and search through the cupboards to find a basin and a roll of paper towels. I fill the basin with warm water and take them to the room, kneeling down at Michel's feet.

"Let me wash your skin."

"It’s really not necessary," he says, but I insist. I remove his shoe and sock, then daub the wound that runs from his mid-calf to his ankle with a moistened paper towel to wash off the remnants of silver nitrate from burned skin. Michel grimaces and inhales sharply from the pain. As I kneel administering to Michel's wound, his foot in my hand as I clean the damaged skin, I feel the eyes of the Twelve on me. I can almost feel their thoughts from here, despite not having drunk their blood. Michel looks down at me indulgently.

Then the doors open again and Soren enters. I know because someone announces him and when I crane my head around, I see all the Twelve stand and bow low to him.

"Stand and bow, Eve," Michel commands. I do, standing in front of Michel's chair on the dais, and feel his hand on my shoulder for support as he stands behind me. Soren strides in, nodding his head to everyone he passes and then he steps up onto the dais and stands in front of his throne. His wings are fully extended as well and he looks formidable, dressed in something vaguely resembling military fatigues, as if he's always prepared for war.

"Please be seated," he says after folding his wings and seating himself, his arms outstretched on the armrests of his ornate wooden throne. The Twelve and their advisors follow his lead.
  I return to my ministrations to Michel's wounds, which are already healing before my eyes.

Finally, Soren turns to Michel and me.

"How fitting that Eve is kneeling at your feet like a good slave, Michel. I know it pleases my brethren to see her so subservient to you. I can feel their pleasure from where I sit for they can feel your love, Eve. They long to feel such love from their own mortals. Once we join through blood, it will be even more amazing to share your emotions for him. Speaking of which, Eve, I'm impatient. Let's get this started."

I put my paper towel away and sit on my stool, smoothing my skirts.

Soren motions to one of his servants at the side of the room, who brings a tray with a large glass goblet in the center and what looks like a very sharp knife. I imagine they'll bleed me and each other and then we'll all drink from the goblet. My hands are shaking as I wait.

"You first," Soren says and extends his hand. I take it and stand in front of him. He takes the knife and holds my wrist over the goblet. Then he runs the knife's edge over my skin, beside the scars from my own self-inflicted wounds. The image of them side by side makes me feel so small and helpless. Here I am, some instrument of power by these fallen angels, a girl who hurt herself to deal with her pain.

I grit my teeth as the blade slices through my skin and my blood drips into the goblet. He lets it drip for quite a while – not quite a pint of blood, but close. Then he runs his fingers over the wound and it closes up so that there's only a thin pink seam where the cut once was. He follows with his own blood and then goes from one of the Twelve to the next until the goblet is quite full. Finally, he takes some of Michel and Julien's blood.

"This will unite us as we once were united," he says, and then drinks from the goblet before passing it to the others. "As we drink, let us rejoice that we are once again as we were before we were cast out, condemned to this plane of existence."