In the blink of an eye, maybe quicker, he was there. His arms came to a rest either side of my head, palms flat to the wall, his hands large enough to wrap around my neck, strong enough to snap it in a heartbeat. My breathing hitched but I didn’t even try to hide it. Just the thought of seeing such a creature … knowing, such a creature … God, he’s sexy. Dark, perverse …
Somewhere deep within my mind I registered this wasn’t right. This wasn’t what I should think about him. Yet his eyes narrowed, like he knew my thoughts and was daring me to think otherwise; I sucked in another breath to remain upright and I would sigh from longing, if I had any breath left to. But no, he had stolen that too, along with my heart and resolve.
He leaned yet closer, arms taking his weight, muscles barely flexing under the strain. I reluctantly closed my eyes as his lips inched closer, the cool of his torso the opposite of my flushed, heated chest, rapidly rising and frustrated with the composure of his breaths, neither shallow nor ragged any more. Suddenly, in one swift motion he had grabbed both of my wrists in one of his hands and twisted them painfully above my head, pinned to the wall. I let out a faint whimper; but that was muffled as his lips, briefly, teasingly, brushed my own, and I felt sure he would be able to feel me melt and remould beneath him.
His kisses continued along my cheeks and my jaw until his fangs found my ear, nipping gently.
‘But I already have you,’ he murmured. I considered nodding, but that wasn’t right either. He grabbed the belt of my jeans, roughly pulling me into him. I opened my eyes in surprise, but he just tugged me closer, his arm so close to my head I would curl into it if I had the nerve, but his eyes burnt ‘move and this is over’. Without shifting his gaze he reached down for my top, seizing it and pulling.
I knew I would soon lose it, but there was no mercy in those eyes as he gathered the material high enough to reveal my bra, the long scars disappearing beneath the material. Not breaking his hold of me, he reached for my breasts, cupping and engulfing one in his hands.
A curse tripped to my lips and I remembered I should breathe, but it was futile, pointless, and I stopped bothering completely as I tried to tell him to be gentler, but it only came out as a pined moan, his forefinger beginning to drag my bra aside, grazing my nipple.
His eyes never left mine as I fought to keep them open, his sadistic smirk enjoying the sight of the inner conflict which I knew was painting itself on my face: doubt, mixed with want.
‘Oh my, what – I – please forgive the intrusion, Your Highness!’
My eyes sprung open. There, open-mouthed at the tiny entrance to a servant corridor beneath the staircase was Annie, the maid. Her eyes were fixed on me, pinned to the wall by my wrists, his hand unmoved from my breast. I flushed deepest red, and went to pull his arm away but he held fast. Without turning to her he half-spat at her to leave, to which she quickly curtsied, never taking her eyes off us.
‘Your Highness. Miss Lee.’
‘For God’s sake, just go!’ he snapped, his teeth grinding together in a grimace of impatience as I watched her back away, trying to plead an apology to her with my eyes. Her expression of utter disgust did not change.
‘It’s ridiculous. Can’t I get any privacy around here?’ he growled, and with a flick of his wrist, my hand was in his and he was leading me towards the stairs.
It seemed an age since I had been in Kaspar’s room. It still sent the same sensations creeping across my skin, not overshadowed by my growing need or anxiety. But the eagerness and zeal I possessed earlier had gone, and gone far.
He let me wander into the room ahead of him, allowing me to take everything in. The bed, dark and imposing, loomed in the centre of the room and I had the sudden urge to avoid it – instead I skirted around, aware of the muffled silence of my footsteps on the once-plush, now faded, rug, and the contrast as I stepped onto the wooden floor. It was cold too, really cold, and the difference was extreme, like when you step from a hot bath onto a tiled floor. It hit me in one great wave, moving from my toes up, and I had the sudden chaotic thought that I might turn blue. I wanted to laugh at that crazed moment, but I still had not claimed my breath back from Kaspar. Instead, I shook it off and wrapped my arms around my middle, half from the chill, and half from the fear.
The little light that lit the room came from the moon, a day or two from full as it shone through the French doors, flung open to reveal the balcony. Like a moth to a lamp I was drawn to it, watching my shadow grow in the small rectangle of light. A gentle wind stirred the tethered drapes and I inhaled it gratefully – the room was bitter with the scent of heavy, rich colognes that burnt my throat and the musk of old, ageing wood.
I shivered. The view was magnificent over the gently sloping lawns and trees of the estate, but I had little reason to admire it, especially as I startled at the sound of a lock clicking. Clicking shut. I whirled away from the grounds.
He was resting against the door, one hand holding a small silver key. He raised it in his hand and it disappeared beneath his palm as he clenched his fingers. ‘I’m not going to let you say no this time, Girly.’ With that, he threw it straight outside.
It flew past, whizzing, sending a jab of exhilarated fear into my chest and as I heard it drop on the gravel beneath the balcony, I wondered just what monster I had unleashed, and what monster I was now locked in a room with. And what monster, frankly, I was about to shag.
I met his eyes; mine were wide from shock and a strange alien thrill. He chuckled, his eyes shining in the gloom, warring between emerald and red, beckoning me closer. I could not move. Instead he came to me, prising my arms apart as I tried to wet my lips. He didn’t give me the chance. He reached for my T-shirt and tore it off, his lips crushing against mine in a deep, long, passionate kiss that left me greedy as he stepped back, his gaze sinking past my breasts, the flimsy bra and my now-bare stomach, to his next prize.
His hands went straight for my jeans – he growled something about the inconvenience of women’s clothes – and I automatically kicked off my little ankle boots, knowing there was little else I could do, especially when he slapped my hands back as I tried to undo his shirt. All I could do was stand there, ragdoll, as he undressed me with unsuppressed desire and thirst, like a child ripping the packaging off a present at Christmas.
‘Damn, you’re beautiful, Girly.’
He stepped back and I flinched, surprised at such unwilling and impulsive praise. My eyes hit the floor, embarrassed at standing there in nothing more than my underwear – God, why didn’t I wear matching? – whilst he remained fully clothed. I shivered, wrapping my hand around my neck and covered the hideous scars Ilta had given me not so long ago.
If the King hadn’t forbidden you to touch, you wouldn’t want this; you know that, don’t you? my voice hissed, emerging from behind my previous thought. But you’re curious about his true touch, aren’t you, Violet?
I ignored it.
He stepped forward once more, brushing my arm aside and beginning to suck gently on my neck, never piercing the skin. I wrapped my arms around his neck, trying to pull him closer as I got greedier and greedier, needing his touch. He complied, one hand creeping under the wire of my bra, his fangs tugging on my skin. He clutched at my breast, his cold hands only heightening every sense as I pressed my chest into his waiting hand, arching my neck, exposing my vein …
He took the bait, his fangs piercing my skin so painfully I would have screamed if I had not been gasping as he tugged on my nipple. But he did not take any blood. Instead, he sunk his fangs in further up my neck, tugging on my nipple yet again … and again … and again, until I was a gasping, moaning mess in his arms. He lapped at the little blood that leaked from the already healing wounds, pulling me upright with a triumphant smirk.
‘There’s more where that came from, Girly,’ he murmured, and I reached up, trying to undo his tie. But my hands were shaking too much from the cold and I couldn’t do it. He didn’t help. Instead, he picked me up, half-throwing m
e onto the bed, where I lay sprawled, scrabbling up, the ticking of the clock the only sound, save for my frantic breathing and his, rapidly speeding up.
He loosened his tie, tugging at it with one finger. It fell about his shoulders, resting across his shirt as button at a time he cast that off too, revealing his pale torso. Sitting on the bed beside me, his hands reached behind my back and expertly unhooked my bra. It fell away and he threw it aside, making me flush deep red – not that it seemed to matter as he smiled that half-smirk of his, one hand cupping my cheek, the other my breast. I reached up and kissed him as my hands trailed across his muscular arms, admiring their strength, knowing I shouldn’t, knowing they caught prey; broke necks. His ego enjoyed my touch and he smirked into the kiss, placing his hand on my stomach, flatter than it had been a few months ago – too flat – and allowed it to slip down, pulling aside the elastic of my panties.
Suddenly, he sat up, straddling my legs, eyes examining every inch of my skin as though looking for faults. I flushed under the intensity of his stare – I could see the red lust overwhelming his eyes. I fidgeted, trying to cover the hideously silver scars, but quick as a flash my arms were pinned to the sheets above my head. Again.
‘Don’t.’ His eyes scolded me, as though he was angry with me for being ashamed. Shame wasn’t in his repertoire.
Yet it was prominent in mine. My body was rigid – legs tight together, breathing so shallow my chest did not rise and fall – as one of his hands started to flow over my stomach in a torturous circle, getting closer and closer to the burning sensation rippling up my thighs to my breasts and back down again.
‘Relax,’ he muttered, frustrated. His words were a command, not a request, and his tone almost made me push him away, stung by his insensitivity.
Relax? Does he not understand how difficult this is?
He kissed me again, his tongue seeking entrance, knowing that it would distract me, I suspected – How could he do that?
My arms slid over his back once more and curled around his neck, grabbing his tousled hair before changing my mind and letting my hands slide down his chest to the waistband of his jeans. I undid the buckle of his belt and he stilled, smacking my hand away and giving me the don’t-move-or-else look for a second time. My eyes silently pleaded but he returned to kissing my collarbone and then the flat plane of my chest, before kissing and nipping his way to the mounds.
I gasped softly when his tongue passed over my nipple and even louder when he moved to the neglected one and continued his so-near painful onslaught there. He trailed his way down the valley of my breasts and kissed my scars – I wished he wouldn’t – before moving on, not allowing me time to think or freeze. He trailed over my ribs and down my stomach, forcing me to suppress a giggle.
And then I felt him breathe softly over my thighs and I shivered violently, my nerves beyond alert. He kissed one thigh and I felt my muscles recoil under his lips, failing to escape. His hand then squeezed my other thigh, prising them apart. I wanted to moan so badly but refused to – couldn’t – then as I screamed, a slash of pain ripping across my thigh – absurd pain: fangs tearing through sinew.
I groaned, tears pricking my eyes, gasping as I felt his tongue lapping at my blood, mixed with my own arousal. But then his grip on my thighs disappeared and he was above me, his red eyes gleaming in victory, his lips shining. He bent down and kissed me and I licked his lips, feeling a chuckle rumble in his chest.
‘You’d make a good vampire. You seem quite keen to taste all kinds of liquids.’
I smiled guiltily in reply. I could say nothing else. Words seemed to be losing their meaning. My hands made their way to his jeans again and I unzipped them, the belt already undone. He did nothing but press harder against my body.
It is my choice …
Abruptly, I felt his weight disappear and looked up and blushed deeply. Kaspar was even hotter naked – if that was even possible – and he was smirking at me, waving a condom box around, a little square of paper attached.
‘Yours, I believe?’ he growled, but there was humour in his voice. I reached up with my hand and took it from him, reading the note scrawled across the creased sheet.
‘Always use protection, sucker!’
I laughed as I remembered how I had stolen all of his condoms and ruined them when I had first arrived here. Looking back, it was hard to believe I had the pluck to do such a thing so early on.
He raised his eyebrows, ripping a packet open. ‘Surely you’re the sucker in this relationship?’
I mocked an affronted scowl. ‘Has anybody ever told you that your bedroom manner is atrocious?’
He chuckled, reaching down and pecking me on the lips. ‘You can’t blame a guy for asking.’
Shocked by the sudden, tender intimacy I stumbled over my words. ‘I – fine … maybe later then.’
The red glint in his eyes that had begun to fade as he pulled the condom on gleamed bright again. ‘I’ll hold you to that.’
I felt his familiar weight on top of me, and he stared at me a while, the tension in the air growing. I smirked but it was a façade: inside I was a nervous wreck.
He slammed his lips against mine and kissed me harshly as he slid in.
I felt the beads of sweat fanning out across the back of my neck, feeling the sheets dampen, hearing my occasional gasps and moans interweave with his grunts. It was a strange mix of pleasure and pain, and I wasn’t sure which took precedent until a wince that became a cry escaped my lips and angst emerged from the desire in his eyes. Slipping a hand beneath my spine, he rolled over, pulling me on top, never breaking contact even for a moment.
He didn’t move as I straddled him, regaining courage and knowing that he had finally relinquished the control he was so fond of. Briefly, very briefly, I wondered if he had ever allowed Charity the same, feeling my heart sink as I desperately hoped I was not what she had been to him: a whore; just another fling.
My thoughts did not remain there long as his hand slipped between my thighs, the other reaching for my breast, and the pleasure took over; I reached down, running my lips over his throat, tugging my teeth across his neck, knowing how different things would be if I could take blood. The gasps became moans as I sat back up, watching in satisfaction as his eyes fluttered shut and my own stomach fluttered in suspense of what I knew was coming as one hand joined the second between my thighs; hearing his groans my jaw locked as I gritted my teeth against a final moan, collapsing onto his chest as a searing pain shot along the lowest part of my throat, stars forming in front of my eyes. I felt myself slump against the hands engulfing my neck, before darkness intruded upon my thoughts.
* * *
It might have been minutes later, maybe hours when I came around. The room was a blur and I could feel the stiffness already forming in my limbs. I let out a shaky breath, hardly daring to smile as I rolled over to find him on his side, watching me and playing with a strand of my hair, twisting it in his fingers.
‘I knew I was good, but no one’s ever passed out on me before,’ he said, smirking, his tongue running across one of his fangs.
‘And in fairness, I don’t think I’ve ever been bitten whilst climaxing before,’ I retorted, rubbing my forehead, which was thudding as my eyes adjusted to the moonlight. I didn’t have the energy to properly argue that it was more likely the bite which had caused me to black out.
He chuckled, his smirk growing triumphantly. ‘I did tell you I would show you a good time.’
I smiled. Settling onto my back and staring up at the dark ceiling I sunk into the relaxed, almost numb state I had craved all those months back before the London Bloodbath, when the clubs had been my hunting ground.
But nothing … I mean nothing, could compare to Kaspar … and I would never feel it again, considering that in just a few hours the King would return and impose his new rule on touching. My heartstrings tugged, and I felt the tears well. I blinked them back, hoping he was not watching me.
‘She would have l
iked you.’
I turned to him, confused. He was looking straight ahead, his eyes, a mix between emerald and misty grey, fixed on the painting above the fireplace.
‘They’re your parents, aren’t they?’
He nodded. ‘This was their room, right up until she died.’ On the last word his voice broke and I instinctively took his hand, moulding myself to his chest and nestling up to him, trying to ignore the coolness of his skin. I was stunned though and trying to hide it. I had never heard him mention his mother in this way.
‘She’d be proud of you.’
He turned to me, looking as though he wanted to laugh but his eyes betrayed him. They were grey. ‘Proud of me for what? I’m heir to the throne but I don’t want it, I hate responsibility and I fail miserably at everything a Prince should be, apart from being handsome. What the fuck is there to be proud of?’ His nails dug into my skin, but I don’t think he noticed. I winced quietly, hiding it.
‘You’re a good man. Look at how many times you’ve saved me – what’s it, four times now? And you were prepared to suffer the wrath of the council and your father for letting me go home. It has to say something!’
‘It doesn’t. What’s made you go all saintly forgiving anyway? I’m pretty sure you thought I was a sick, evil creature a while back.’
I averted my gaze away from the painting. ‘Situations change,’ I mumbled.
He glanced at me and I caught his puzzled expression. I thought he might press the matter, but he didn’t to my relief and we lapsed back into silence. He began absent-mindedly fiddling with a strand of my hair again. Neither of us seemed to mind the quiet, both content to be in the other’s arms.
Is that what he really hides behind the mask? A worry that he’s not good enough?
‘Why did your father move out of here? I mean, I know it would have been—’
He interrupted. ‘He was driving himself mad in here. He couldn’t take it. I know you think my father is cold-hearted and cruel, but it wasn’t always so. She completed him. She made him good. That’s possible, you know. You can make bad men good. When she … it ruined us … that night in Trafalgar Square … there was no need for us to even attack them, do you understand that, Girly? But it was his son – Pierre’s son, Claude, that is – and I had to kill him. I had to take him away from his father like his father took my mother. The bastard!’ I closed my eyes to banish the sting of tears, knowing I had more than overstepped the mark, hating myself for bringing it up and making him burst like this; hating him for reminding me of that night. I wrapped my arms right around his chest, hugging him close as he continued.