Eternal Captive: Mark of the Vampire Page 9

  “I may be an asshole of epic proportion, but I’m no rapist.”

  “Oh, God, Lucian.” Taking a deep breath, she said softly, “I wouldn’t have resisted.”

  He turned to her, saw her cheeks flushed. “Don’t say that.”

  “Why not? It’s true.” She shook her head miserably. “My body wanted it. Still does.”

  Her words tore at him, dug into his need to make her his. Every second, every moment they remained on this island was borrowed time.

  “You know it and I know it,” she said. “We’re never getting out of here unless…”

  “Don’t say it, goddamn it!” he begged harshly.

  But she didn’t have to. As they each took their next breath, the truth was carved in the rock before them.

  No way out for the Breeding Male but to breed.

  11

  Bronwyn’s blood pounded the beat of destruction and desperation inside her veins as she stared at the rock. But her blood also pounded for the one beside her, the one whose life force kept her mind clear and her body sated. He had sustained her—twice now—when she’d thought she would go mad from hunger. He was the paven she had desired since the first time she’d plunged her fangs into his skin when she’d come to the Roman brothers’ house in SoHo.

  As the heat of the sun abandoned the forest floor and the island was overtaken by clouds and stormy skies, Bronwyn knew they had lost the battle. Problem was, even though she desired Lucian, this wasn’t how she wanted to surrender herself to him.

  “Why does the Order want this?” she said out loud, more to herself, not expecting an answer. Almost not wanting one.

  But Lucian spoke swiftly and with an almost eerie calm. “It’s not the Order.”

  “Of course it is. Look at that.” She gestured to words carved into the rock. “Only they can manifest their will in such a way.”

  Lucian’s gaze was filled with regret. “It’s Cruen.”

  At first she wasn’t sure she’d heard him correctly. “The rogue member of the Order?”

  He nodded. “He’s ex-Order now, mastermind of the premorph of all Roman brothers, and the one who is clearly plotting our downfall.”

  His words sank in slowly, and she looked down at her hands. They were shaking. “But why?”

  “He wants me morphed.”

  She looked up at him, but said nothing.

  “He wants my Breeding Male gene to kick in.” Lucian’s pale eyes flashed with heat. “And if you and I have sex, it will.”

  Like a battering ram to the brain, everything became crystal clear. She saw her room in the Boston credenti, her office, her work—all the e-mails from that private client who had never revealed himself but had hired her to research Breeding Male lineage, Breeding Male descendants and their possible true mates. Her hands went to her face and she shook her head.

  Lucian moved in closer, touched her hair. “What? What’s wrong?” A low, fierce growl erupted from his throat. “Did that cat touch you, hurt you?”

  Her eyes lifted to his, her head just kept shaking—she couldn’t stop it. She was horrified. “This is because of me.” Cruen was her private client—had to be. She found the Roman brothers for him. This male before her had risked himself, his future, his captivity for her hunger, and she had outed his genetic structure to the monster who wished to destroy him.

  “Hey—”

  She moved away from him, stood up. “Oh, God.”

  “Don’t—”

  “I started this!” she cried, turning and heading over to the rock that bore their fate. She couldn’t tell him, couldn’t tell him she’d been the cause of all of this. First with her research, then with her blood.

  “Come on, now.” Lucian was already behind her. “Don’t start whipping yourself over something that cannot be changed.” He took her shoulders and turned her to face him. “Self-flagellation’s not your style, Princess.”

  “Neither is trapping pavens into sleeping with me,” she said with disgust.

  He grinned at her then. It wasn’t a happy a grin, but pointed. “There is no one less in need of trapping a paven into sleeping with her than you. Get serious.”

  She sighed. “You know what I mean, Luca.”

  He cocked his head to the side, and she realized that she’d called him by his nickname, what his brothers called him—his intimates. Something she was not. But the look on his face could not hide his feeling.

  He liked it.

  “Make no mistake, Princess,” he said, brushing a strand of long, dark hair off her neck. “It would be an honor for any male to slide slowly between your thighs.”

  She didn’t even attempt to scold him for his crass words, because inside her, just below her belly, a shiver of lust had been ignited.

  “If we want off this reality,” he was saying, “there’s only one way.”

  “No,” she whispered, shaking her head. “I won’t do that to you.” She wouldn’t change him, be responsible for bringing on the animal, taking away his cutting humor and wicked gaze—any more than she already had.

  “It is not your choice, Veana,” he said at last.

  “Of course it is. I’m not sending you into Breeding Male status before your time—and for God’s sake, I’m mated to another.” Her mind kicked; her gut too. She hadn’t thought of it, of him, since Lucian had landed on the island. Synjon. The one she supposedly belonged to. Her friend, her savior, had been buried under the weight of Lucian Roman in her mind, and she should be ashamed.

  She wanted to pull away from Lucian, but she didn’t—couldn’t. There was something so addictive about being in his space, his eyes on her, his chest in full view, his mouth close enough to imagine it on hers, the taste of him consuming her. Around them, the woods scented of earth and coming rain, and between them the air was electric.

  “No one can break in or out of this reality,” Lucian said, an edge to his tone now. He placed his hand on the rock and cursed into the empty woods. “How long shall we wait? How long before the cat comes back and provokes us again? How long before either one of us is so hungry—”

  “I can wait!” she said quickly, too quickly.

  His eyes flared with raw, aching hunger. “I don’t know if I can.”

  She died a little at the look of desperation in his eyes. “For my blood?”

  He closed his eyes and sighed. “God, for your blood, your body—the need is the same, the desire is the same.” His lids flipped up and he took in her features, one by one. “You know how I’ve been affected—infected—with you, with your scent. I won’t be able to control myself forever.” He stepped toward her, closing the gap between them, thrusting her back against the flat surface of the rock. “At least now,” he whispered, eyes on her mouth, “this moment, today, I can give you something close to gentle.”

  Tears sprang to her eyes. She hated them, hated herself in that moment. She was about to destroy a paven she cared for more than she ever wanted to admit. “I will be your downfall.”

  He reached out, brushed his thumb across her bottom lip. “Stop.”

  “You’ll never forgive me.” I’ll never forgive myself.

  He stared at her then, his chin down, his eyes clinging to hers. Then his lips tipped up at the corners and he chuckled softly.

  “What?” she asked.

  “Do you really care? Do you really care if I forgive you, Princess?”

  Something pinged inside her, where her heart should be, where her heart should beat—but she forced a smile in return. Not because she was agreeing with him, but because if she didn’t, he’d know—just by the look on her face—that his opinion mattered to her, that there was nothing she wanted more in that moment than his forgiveness for ruining his existence.

  Nothing, that is, but his touch.

  She reached up, took a bit of his white hair in her hand, and played with it between her fingers. So soft, nothing like him. His hair fell against his tight jaw, his slash of a cheek, and she touched those too. She knew in that
moment what it felt like to want to own another being, declare them as yours.

  Lucian’s hand came up and covered hers, as his eyes implored her with their ferocity. “I feel the animal within me emerging, Princess. It’s raw and uncontained, but it wants to please you. If we wait…” His chin dropped, his voice too. “I cannot hurt you, do you understand?”

  Did she understand? God, she wanted to weep with her understanding. He was about to claim an out-of- control life, about to set free the animal he feared so desperately—that she feared so desperately.

  And yet what was the choice? In the moment, this impossible moment, what was their choice?

  None.

  But each other.

  Her eyes pinned to his, she fought back the anxiety within her and slowly opened the ripped shirt that barely covered what was left of her modesty, let it fall from her shoulders onto the ground.

  A rush of air picked up around her and hit her skin, but it was nothing to the sound that exited Lucian’s throat or the feeling of his predatory gaze. His eyes moved over her skin, taking in each inch, each curve of shoulder, each slope of breast, each nipple that hardened in the cool forest breeze. The groan of lust escaped his full lips then and he looked up into her eyes.

  “I fear I will die before I’ve had the chance to live,” he said, the scent of his heated blood entering her nostrils.

  She licked her lips, hunger assaulting her, but anxiety staying with her. “Will you go slow?” she asked, shivering in the cool air—or was it the anticipation of his touch?

  He nodded. She was glad he knew what she was, how her body had never taken a paven into it. And as he said the words “As slow as you want,” she released the held breath inside her lungs.

  “And will you kiss me before you do it?” she whispered, a bit more urgently this time. “So I know you’re with me, really with me.”

  “I will kiss you before, during, and after,” he promised, his arm going around her waist. “For as long as we are together, my mouth will belong to you just as yours will belong to me.”

  For weeks, months, Bronwyn had wondered what this paven would feel like, what his skin would feel like, smell like, taste like—what it would be like to look into his eyes as he kissed her, as he spread her legs apart with his thighs and sank deep inside her.

  Now she would know all.

  Her breath caught in her throat at the thought—and at the truth of why she would have her fantasy realized. She hadn’t wanted it this way—not out of necessity. She’d wanted him to want her, God—to really care for her. She’d wanted him to take her, make her feel what he felt; his rage, his lust, his sadness—his endless sadness.

  She’d wanted to be the one to kill that sadness within him, not add to it.

  “Stop thinking.” His lips brushed against hers. “Stop thinking and kiss me.”

  “Oh, Lucian,” she uttered.

  But her regret was lost as his mouth claimed her hard and possessive, his body too—melting so tightly against her now that she could feel the waves of his chest muscles, the curve of his lean stomach and his thick, marble-hard shaft at her belly.

  God, she wanted to see it, see him, fully naked and aroused. In her mind as his mouth moved sensually against hers, she imagined what his cock would look like, how it would feel inside of her. So many nights in her bed, she’d wondered if it would be like its master: hard, experienced, demanding.

  Lucian’s hands gripped her back as he suckled her lower lip, then moved down over the curve of her buttocks.

  Yes, she’d bet it would be.

  He captured her mouth again, thrusting his tongue inside and she met him, tasting him as she arched her back and pressed her lower half closer, grinding herself against him. He tightened his grip on her buttocks, his fingers spreading to take all of her as he angled his kiss. Breathing was near impossible now, but it didn’t matter. She had his air to take into her lungs, just as she took his tongue into her mouth and played with the tip. He tasted like the forest somehow, fresh and earthy and cool, and it was intoxicating.

  Granted, she wasn’t experienced, had kissed only a few paven in her fifty years, but she had the imagination and fantasy life of a courtesan. For the past several years, her nights had been consumed with mental images of skin and hands and tongues and fangs in places that only a true mate should know. But over the past several weeks, there had been a face attached to those images, a face between her trembling thighs.

  And then that face, that mouth, tore away from her and stared down at her. He looked enraged, desperate, starving, sexual, as his eyes traveled down her body, his breathing so heavy she felt a trace of concern.

  “What?” she uttered hoarsely. “What’s wrong?”

  “Look at you. I want to consume you. Feed off every inch of you and leave nothing.” His gaze flared again. “God, look at your breasts, your nipples.”

  She glanced down, her eyes searching for what he saw, what made him so hungry. Her breasts were as they had always been—large, full—but her nipples, her nipples were the hardest she’d ever seen them, and so dark, the color of wine.

  “Mine,” Lucian growled, releasing her buttock and reaching around to cup one heavy globe, feel its weight in his hand.

  Bronwyn sucked air through her teeth, then moaned. His skin on hers felt so good, so right—just as she’d imagined it. He took what he wanted, reveled in it, placed one turgid peak between his fingers and rolled it gently, then squeezed.

  Bronwyn cried out, the sound echoing off the trees. Not from pain, never from pain. But from pleasure, the sweet pleasure streaking down her chest to her very core.

  “And this one,” he uttered darkly as he dropped his head and licked her, swiped his tongue across one stiff peak.

  Moaning like an injured animal, Bronwyn felt her cunt weep. It wept for him, for her—for its emptiness, for the longing it had to be filled.

  “Damn you, Princess,” he uttered, his face a mask of desperation. “I’ve wanted this for so long, wanted you forever, it seems. My mouth on you, every wet, delicious inch. My cock against your belly, then up inside your tight, hot pussy.” His mouth covered her nipple and he suckled the peak deep inside again.

  The sensation nearly blinded her, made her legs quiver, made her core flare and shake. And God, where was the air? There was no way to breathe. No way to cool herself, control herself. Lucian’s control was slipping too, but hers was already gone, and she grinded her wet core against him, telling him in the only words she had that she wanted his hard shaft inside her now before it was too late—before they both died from the wanting of it all.

  For weeks, since Lucian had fed her his blood, Bronwyn hadn’t been able to come—no matter how long, how intensely she’d touched herself. And as the heat built inside her now, just from his mouth on hers, from her hips working his cock, she wondered with hope and excitement if she’d finally have her ending.

  And then his teeth nipped at her, and she wondered if the earth would shatter inside her now, while she watched him bite and suck and lick her nipples like a hungry balas.

  His hand, the one that had been clutching her backside began to move, down, through the crease of her buttocks. “Are you ready for me?” he hissed against her wet nipple, making her shiver. “You’d better be ready. You’d better be so wet I’ll be sliding all over the place—my fingers, my cock.” When he reached her, the opening to her, he groaned and lifted his eyes to meet her. “Ahh…That’s my good little princess.” He circled her entrance slowly with his finger. “I’ll slide right in. And I think I’m going to right now.”

  Bronwyn gasped as his finger plunged deep inside her.

  “You’re so tight,” he said, coming up and taking her mouth under his again as he thrust his finger in and out, working her cunt gently until his hand felt slick against the insides of her thighs. “I swear to God I don’t want to hurt you, but I may. Fuck, I just may.”

  She shook her head, the blood in her veins pounding and pleading. “No
, stop talking and kiss me.”

  He chuckled against her mouth, then kissed her fiercely. It was the first time Bronwyn had ever heard Lucian Roman, the terrifying angel, display anything close to genuine happiness. It brought tears to her eyes as they continued to kiss—a clash of tongues and teeth and demands as he eased another finger deep inside her wet core.

  The mad, uncontained heat that was building, rocking her foundation—the heat that was quaking like a world upset and upside down—now began to plead for release. Her growing climax was pleading with her to beg him. She needed him—the real him, the hard and strong shaft that mocked her belly—inside where he belonged, where he could take her and die happy.

  “Lucian, please…” she uttered as his fingers thrust into her, stretching her, filling her, all while his mouth kept its promise to kiss her, before, during, and after.

  After.

  God, no. Don’t even think about after, about what that means—what that will look like.

  “I can’t stop,” Lucian growled, his lids at half-mast, his fangs fully descended over his lower lip. “Don’t ask that of me now. It would be torture.”

  She lapped at his tongue, his fangs. “I don’t want you to stop. Ever.” She cupped his face as he kissed her and she kissed him, angry, repentant, all-consuming. “I want you inside me right now—inside me always. You belong there, Lucian. It’s not what we planned, or what’s right. But you belong in me.”

  “Fuck it!” His growl was fierce as he reached around and grabbed her buttocks, then lifted her up.

  Bronwyn wrapped her shaking legs around his waist, but her mouth continued to work his. She felt him between her thighs, the head of his shaft at the entrance to her cunt, playing, kicking against the wet mound of her pussy.

  “Oh, God, yes,” she cried, grinding against him in utter submission, total abandon. “If we’re going to lose this war, let’s lose it good and hard.”

  With a cry of hunger, starvation, he let her fall nine inches, straight down on his cock, utterly impaling her. Bronwyn gasped, her limbs instantly stiffening as she fought the deep sensation of pain and pleasure. It ran up her belly, to her breasts, up her neck, deep in her throat, and caught there, causing tears to form. For several seconds she just breathed, and then, like a warm blanket of comfort and love, the heat, the sweet delectable heat, began to move and coat her insides.