He exited the bed, taking her with him, standing her on her feet. She swayed a moment then moved to flee but he caught her wrist in an unbreakable grip, ripping his shirt open at the same time, the buttons flying. He released her for less than a second, taking his shirt off. Then he tossed her back into bed and as she scrambled to get her limbs in order, he finished disrobing. Before she could escape, he had her on her side, her back to his front, tucked into the bend of his body, his arm holding her captive.
“Let me go,” she demanded, her breath straining, exposing her body’s inability to keep pace with his.
He settled behind her. “Leah, sleep.”
She struggled. “Let me go.”
He gave her a shake and repeated, “Sleep.”
She kept struggling and he contained it effortlessly. This went on for quite some time.
Suddenly she stilled.
He listened to her heavy breathing and felt her legs move, still wrestling with residual desire.
After some time, she settled.
He thought she’d conquered her body and finally fell asleep.
Instead, in a fierce, tortured whisper, she declared, “This morning, if you told me there was a way I could hate you more, I wouldn’t have believed it. But it’s true.”
Yes, he seriously doubted the wisdom of carrying through her punishment.
“Leah,” he murmured into her hair.
“I’ll never stop hating you,” she vowed, her voice scratching with her passionate assertion.
He pulled her closer and made his own vow. “Yes you will, my pet. I’ll find a way through.”
“Impossible.”
“Nothing is impossible.”
“We’ll see,” she said, her voice dripping with doubt at his words as well as conviction to her oath.
Yes, Lucien thought but didn’t speak aloud, we’ll see.
* * * * *
Lucien woke before Leah.
His first act was to pull back her head gently to check her wound. Fully healed.
His next act was to lie beside her watching her sleep. Her face was relaxed and expressionless, not one of his preferred looks but appealing all the same.
After some time, her eyes fluttered open and, as she had the day before, her expressionless face became bewildered.
And, shortly after waking, as she had the day before, she tensed in preparation for flight.
He caught her close. Her head jerked back, her eyes narrowed and her mouth opened to protest.
He brought his down on hers, hard and demanding her response.
She withheld and began her vain struggles, as usual stubborn to an extreme.
So stubborn, this carried on for long enough that Lucien was forced to try a different tactic. Rolling her to her back and pinning her, his hands moved on her, down her sides, across her belly, up her midriff, all the while his tongue engaged in its sensual duel with hers.
Then his hand moved over her breast, cupping it gently before he snagged her nipple with his thumb.
Her body stopped bucking against his in protest and melted underneath him.
“That’s it, sweetheart,” he whispered against her mouth at her capitulation and he took advantage, his finger met his thumb and he rolled her nipple between them.
A delicious noise slid from the back of her throat into his mouth. Her legs opened, one calf wrapping around his hip and he caught the scent of her excitement.
He smiled his triumph against her mouth and slanted his head for another kiss. She met his intent, her own head tipping to the side, her lips pressing against his, no longer resistant but hungry.
He fed her with his hands and his mouth and he kept doing it as she continued to demand it, insatiable, magnificent.
After a time, his hand was in her panties, finger pressed deep and swirling, her mouth against his, breaths sharp and sweet against his lips. She was so deep in her need she was unable to concentrate on kissing him or bear the further sensation of his tongue in her mouth. Her hand was clenched in his hair, her other arm wrapped tight around his back.
“Lucien!” she gasped urgently and he saw it on her face, he smelled it, he knew she was right there.
He withdrew his hand.
“No!” she cried, her hand going to his, fingers wrapping around his wrist.
Her cry sliced through him like a blade. He had been incorrect in what he’d told her the morning before. Even as tortured as her cry was, he suspected this was far more difficult on him than it was on her.
However, he’d chosen his path and he had to continue his efforts at her taming. She had no way of knowing but he knew the reward at the end would be worth the battle.
“Will you mind me?” he queried, his voice was harsh, not with anger but with regret.
Her hazy eyes struggled to focus on his face. “Lucien.”
“Will you mind me?”
He watched the haze clear, his words penetrating, incredulity flooding her face, quickly chased by anger.
“I fucking hate you,” she hissed but even as she did, her hips sought his, her body agitated, struggling with her desire.
Lucien sighed impatiently. “I’ll take that as a no.”
“You’re damn right it’s a no!” she snapped and her body wrenched unsuccessfully against his hold.
After this failure, she let out an enraged, strangled scream.
“Leah, you can end this now,” he told her.
“Go to hell!” she flashed.
“Do you want my mouth on you?” he asked.
“Go to hell!” she repeated.
“Do you want me inside you?”
She froze and shrieked, “Go to hell!”
He threw a thigh over her legs and captured her moving body against his. With a hand in her hair, he tucked her face in his neck.
“You’re very stubborn, pet,” he murmured into the hair at the top of her head.
Her body gave a mighty flex then went limp.
She grew silent. He held her closer.
After long moments, he said softly, “I’ll be leaving soon.”
She made no reply.
“While I’m gone, if you touch yourself, Leah, I’ll know and I’ll have to deal with that too.”
He could hear the pace of her heart increase but her body tensed only briefly before she subdued her reaction.
“Do you understand me?” he pushed.
She remained silent.
“Leah, I asked, do you understand me?”
“Yes,” she gritted between her teeth.
“I’ll be home at ten. We’re going out tonight. I want you ready.”
She didn’t speak.
“Leah, when I talk to you, you acknowledge what I say.”
“I’ll be ready,” she bit out.
“I want you wearing the black dress.”
She made an angry noise but whispered, “I’ll be wearing the black dress.”
His hand moved from her head to her jaw and with his thumb under her chin, he tilted her face up to receive his soft kiss.
Then he left her in bed and went to shower.
After he turned off the water and stepped out of the shower, while he was reaching for a towel, in the sudden silence, he heard it.
His head shot up and cocked to the side.
Quietly, likely muffled in her pillow, he heard her sobs.
Good Christ. He’d broken her.
He’d fucking broken her.
He’d taken a huge step closer to her taming.
He’d expected to feel elation at this moment.
Instead, his eyes met his reflection in the mirror and he growled a low, slow, agonized, “Fuck.”
* * * * *
That night when he arrived home promptly at ten, he opened the door from the garage to the kitchen and found her there, waiting for him in the kitchen.
Her hair was swept back from her face to tumble in a mass of curls down her exposed back. She wore no jewels because she didn’t have any.
&nb
sp; She didn’t need them.
The dress was spectacular, elegant and enticing. The spike-heeled, aubergine satin, strappy sandals were delicate, sexy and significantly lengthened her already tall frame, making her striking and, he suspected, to any other man but Lucien, even intimidating. Her makeup was smoky and dramatic, heightening the mystery behind her stunning but expressionless face.
Her eyes caught his and there was no flash, no dancing, they were completely blank.
“Hello, darling, how was your day?” she asked as if she was a robot and this was a prerecorded message set to play at appropriately programmed times.
Suddenly angry, he stopped five feet from her and commanded, “Come here, Leah.”
Without hesitation she moved to him.
His body tensed at her uncharacteristic acquiescence.
“Put your arms around me,” he went on.
She did as he demanded but her eyes remained at his throat.
“Look at me, pet.”
She immediately tipped her head back and caught his eyes.
Trying to read her mood, Lucien sought patience, wrapped an arm around her and cupped her jaw with his other hand.
“You’re angry with me,” he murmured and she shook her head.
“No, darling, why would you think that?”
His patience slipped. “Leah, stop it,” he ordered.
Her head tilted to the side in an unnatural movement. “Stop what?”
His eyes narrowed as her intent came clear. “So, this is your game now?”
“My game?” she asked with what sounded like genuine confusion.
He watched her carefully empty face. Then he decided, so be it.
He could work with this.
In fact, he had a feeling he’d enjoy it.
“I need to change,” he informed her and she made to move away but his arm tightened and he said, “No.”
She stopped and regarded him.
“Kiss me before I go upstairs.”
Without delay she got up on her toes, pressed against him and touched her parted lips to his.
Then she pulled away and asked, as if she sincerely cared about his answer, “Was that okay?”
He thought she’d have trouble with that.
She had no trouble with that.
She was good.
Therefore his tests would need to be more challenging.
“It will do,” he let her go, “for now.”
He walked away but she called to his back, “What do you want me to do while you’re changing?”
“Whatever you want,” he replied and imagined her first thought was to search the house for gasoline and matches.
Upstairs he changed his shirt and was walking back through the bathroom to join Leah when his eyes caught on something. He halted.
Looking in the trash bin, he saw taupe wisps of shredded silk and lace, the lilac-flowered imprints barely nuances in the tatters. He reached down and allowed the obliterated material of the lingerie Leah wore the night before to sift through his fingers.
He straightened, his mouth tightening at the same time he felt a similar sensation in his gut.
Then something profound cut through him. He didn’t understand it and he didn’t fucking like it. It was a feeling he’d never felt in his very long life and a feeling he never wanted to have again.
Last night, wearing that lingerie, she had run to him. Flung herself in his arms Told him she liked it when he bit back a smile. Rejoiced in the gifts he’d given her particularly the camisole and panties. Smiled at him for the first time. And passionately enjoyed her bloodletting.
Now, that lingerie, what would have been a physical reminder to both of them throughout their Arrangement of the splendor of last night, lay shredded and discarded in a trash bin.
And he, and his unwise decision to carry out her punishment even after she’d given glaring indication of what Edwina called “settling in”, was solely responsible for the bleak emotion evidenced in that fucking bin.
“Fuck,” he swore, his stare riveted to the scraps, his mind consumed with what they meant.
Then he cleared his thoughts and walked downstairs to Leah.
Chapter Eight
The Feast
I sat in the Porsche as Lucien drove us to wherever the hell we were going. Ever his new, obedient concubine, I hadn’t asked and he hadn’t shared.
It was taking a lot out of me not to turn and claw out his eyes or throw open my door and toss myself bodily from the car.
The reason for this was not only because my Why I Hate Lucien Vault was so full.
That morning, he came fully dressed from the bathroom. This was luckily after I had plenty of time to dry the tears from my face and pretend to be sleeping. Still, even though he at least should have pretended to believe I was sleeping after he was such a big, fat, vampire jerk, he’d kissed the nape of my exposed neck softly before he left (the bastard).
I then spent the whole day mentally moving everything to a far, far, far bigger vault.
It was also because, ten minutes into our drive, Lucien’s hand had come to my leg. He’d slowly slid the gorgeous material aside exposing my thigh then, when he wasn’t shifting, he stroked the skin on the inside gently, leisurely, enticingly and, worst of all, constantly.
It was driving me mad.
It was driving me mad because it felt so fucking good.
What was worse was that wherever the hell we were going was a long, long way from the house Lucien provided for me.
Which meant my torture seemed to last an eternity.
During that eternity, I decided I’d never forgive him.
I’d never, ever forgive him for forcing my body to betray me again and again thus making me hate myself more than I hated him.
We were deep in the bowels of the city (and “bowels” was an aptly descriptive word), when he turned into an alley.
I didn’t normally hang in alleys but if I were to choose one this one would be near the bottom of the list.
Lucien slowed to a stop and all of a sudden from out of nowhere a man jumped toward the car.
I couldn’t control my surprised gasp.
Lucien’s hand flexed on the inside of my thigh and he murmured, “It’s all right, pet.”
I forced myself to turn and nod at him as if I trusted him with my very life even though I did not. His latest maneuver of driving me down a dank alley was proof positive why I shouldn’t.
My door was flung open and a hand was shoved through.
I shrank from it as I heard a stranger say, “Milady.”
“Take his hand, Leah,” Lucien ordered and I didn’t want to, I really didn’t want to, but I did.
The stranger helped me out of the car. He was shorter than me, wiry to the point of being gaunt and I guessed he was younger than me by at least a decade.
He was paying me no attention even as he cautiously steered me clear of the door before he slammed it to.
His eyes were hungry on Lucien who had alighted out the other side. Very hungry. Creepy hungry.
How incredibly weird.
“Wats,” Lucien said before he casually tossed the keys to his absurdly expensive sports car to a man who resembled a tramp who had just had a clean at the shelter where he’d been given ill-fitting clothes and a not so good haircut.
“Master,” the man panted upon catching the keys, his eyes glued to Lucien and I felt a sick feeling crawl through the pit of my stomach.
Faster than a flash Lucien was at my side, his fingers firm at my elbow, drawing me away from the stranger. The man’s eyes flickered to me before moving devotedly back to Lucien.
“Like they’re all saying, she’s beautiful, Master,” he breathed, leaning into Lucien but holding himself back, quite obviously wary, excited, petrified all at the same time.
I looked up to Lucien to see he was regarding the man with barely concealed revulsion.
“Take care of the car, Wats,” Lucien ordered. Wats nodded, still pant
ing while he backed away, slightly bowing like a mad scientist’s deformed lackey in a bad horror movie.
Lucien moved me toward a door and I followed.
I wanted to ask about Wats but I didn’t. I wanted to run screaming into the night but I didn’t.
Crazily, I also wanted to throw myself in Lucien’s arms and beg him to fuck me against the wall in the alley.
I most certainly didn’t do that.
The door opened before we arrived, a similar character to Wats but rounder, older, with a thick beard and a mess of long, tangled hair was holding the door wide.
“Master,” he whispered reverently, his eyes dropping as if he was too lowly a creature to gaze upon the magnificence of Lucien and my stomach twisted nauseatingly.
“Breed,” Lucien murmured his greeting not even glancing the man’s way, leading me by him and into a dark hall that almost immediately led to stairs going down.
The door closed behind us and I barely controlled my desire to jump or cry out. We started descending the stairs side-by-side and Lucien still hadn’t taken his hand from my arm.
“We get to The Feast, pet, you aren’t outside touching distance from me unless I specifically allow it. Am I understood?”
Oh my God.
He was taking me to A Feast. I wasn’t ready for A Feast, I was pretty sure.
“You’re understood,” I mumbled regardless of my newfound terror, making an attempt to instill in my tone the reverence Breed used, thinking this would annoy him greatly.
Apparently, it worked. His head turned sharply to the side and his fingers dug into the flesh around my elbow painfully.
When I looked up to him, forcing my face into what I hoped was innocence mixed with eagerness (Wats and Breed had given me a great idea), I saw his eyes narrow and his mouth grow tight.
He, and thus I, remained silent as we descended the first staircase. And the second. And the third.
At the end of the fourth, Lucien guided me into my first Feast.
I saw immediately there was a reason Wats and Breed weren’t down here. The place was a crush of beautiful people. Not thin. Not gaunt. Not heavy. Not ill-kept.
Perfect.
I didn’t know where the vampires ended and the mortals began.
And all of them were dressed impeccably. The men in tuxedos or well-cut suits, the women in evening gowns. There was no one there that looked hopeful and desperate to be chosen. No overabundance of jewels and finery. The people here were too cool, too elegant, too polished to exhibit themselves in a way that would cry for attention.