Chapter 9
Chapter
Nine
Elliot
I’m furious.
At being locked up in his palace in the sky, at the computer now not working. Lucian’s locked it all down.
Yeah, sure. He isn’t keeping anything from me.
My stomach twists.
Maybe if Lucian didn’t starve me, I wouldn’t be chasing down every human that passes me. He’s making this worse, setting me up for failure.
Ugh.
There’s the bullshit blood in the fridge and the protein bars in the fruit bowl on the counter.
I snatch one up and with a growl rip it open with my teeth.
Fuck this. Fuck being his prisoner.
Taking a bite, I pick up a priceless-looking statuette and smash it against the wall. Then I take another mouthful.
I only become aware of the tremors when they stop and go away. The lust for blood is receding, and while I know I’ll need to drink the real stuff eventually, right now the protein bars do the trick.
I hate that Lucian was right.
Finally, I come back to my own mind, and while I’m still angry, I can think.
I take a breath. These mood swings are getting a little easier to deal with, and the urge for blood something I’m slowly learning to control, but I need to do something that’s away from the computer, just for a few minutes, so I go back into the vast main bedroom and rip off the clothes I chose.
Vittoria didn’t bring up just the pants and top. There are jeans, business clothes, dresses. I choose one of those, something so unlike what I normally wear, and it pleases me.
When I feel normal enough—or as close to normal as someone might feel under the circumstances—I make my way back to the study.
Even though I already checked, I pull open the drawers of his desk again, looking for anything that might look like a code for the elevator or a map for the emergency stairs.
Again, I find nothing.
“Fuck you,” I snarl. “Fuck you to hell and back, Lucian.”
I look down. The dress I’m wearing is sunny and bright, a pretty blue with yellow flowers, the type of thing not designed for someone who drinks the blood of the living. Or lives in the night.
The dress says toothless.
I go to my discarded clothes from last night and search through the scraps of fabric. After Lucian and I had…whatever the fuck that was in the park, I had found Santiago’s business card in the mud and picked it up before Lucian noticed.
Now, I stare at it.
Blond. Handsome. Dangerous. A man who’s hungry for more. That was clear to me. A man who hates Lucian. That glittered in him when we spoke.
There are a thousand lifetimes laid out before me.
Do I want to be with Lucian forever?
There’s a small part that whispers yes. But I squash it into nothing. I think about being trapped up here forever, forbidden to hunt and feed like any other vampire, and forced to scarf down protein bars indefinitely.
That’s not a life. That’s torture. That’s hell.
Even if it comes with Lucian fucking me on occasion.
I want to explore my power. See what I can do with it.
I’ve scraped and clawed my entire life to be something, and now I have a chance to do everything I’ve always wanted to do. Maybe become an investigative reporter, a podcast host, or write articles for VMR’s new outlets.
But that’s only if Lucian will let me.
I tug on the choker still wrapped tight around my neck. It feels like it’s suffocating me all of a sudden.
I hate that he’s able to control me this way, all because he’s my master.
Was that his plan all along? Entrap me by turning me?
I should leave.
I’ll have to if I want to do anything with my undead life. If not now, then eventually.
I peer down at the card again. I’ll call Santiago, ask him more about his offer. Since Sanguine is a big company like VMR, I’m sure there’s a spot for me somewhere. And I’ll be free from Lucian’s rules.
Something stirs in the air, and I turn to the door.
Lucian.
He walks over to me, his gaze dropping to the card in my hand. “You’re considering leaving.”
I try to hide the card behind my back, but he snatches my wrist to hold it out between us.
“Santiago isn’t who you think he is,” he says.
“How would you know what I think?”
He sighs. “I’ve known him a very, very long time. My master wasn’t like I am. He turned then abandoned me, left me to discover what I was alone. But I searched for him, crossed the ocean and followed him to Spain. That’s where I met Santiago, newly turned, ready to burn the world to the ground…”
I keep my mouth shut. This is the most Lucian has ever shared about himself, especially his past.
“Santiago was my first connection to the vampire world, but he had been as lost as I had been when I was first turned. I taught him what I knew, but while I wanted to survive and thrive among humans, Santiago wanted to rule. I moved on. He…moved sideways.”
“Did you ever find your master?” I ask, once he goes silent again. There’s so much more I want to know.
“I did,” he says. “In 1910.”
I blink. 1910?
“How old are you?”
His lips curl in a smirk. “Old.”
“How old?” I ask again.
He pauses, debating whether or not to tell me. But then… “I was born in 1715, in Bristol, England. I died in 1747.”
“Shit…” I breathe.
If he’s bothered by my reaction, he doesn’t show it. “Don’t let Santiago’s dubious charm and good looks fool you. He’s dangerous in ways you can’t imagine.” He turns to walk out, but I’m not ready for this conversation to end yet.
“You said you found your master?” I call after him.
He stops mid-step.
“What did you do when you found him?”
He faces me again, and then, very bluntly, he says, “I killed him.”
I don’t know what I was expecting for an answer, but it wasn’t that.
“Are you thinking about killing me, Monty?” he asks. He doesn’t smile, just stands there, arms crossed, blocking the door.
“Not at the moment,” I mutter. “There’s still time.”
“Right.”
“What if I just want to join his company, work at Sanguine?”
“You can work here at VMR,” he says.
“Can I? I don’t want to be an assistant. I never did.”
“Understood. We can find a place for you in whatever department you want.”
As much as I’m trying to hold on to my anger at Lucian for what he did to me, it’s slipping away. He makes it too hard to hate him.
“But what if I want to work with Santiago?” I ask, just pressing my luck at this point.
“You’re not for him.” His words are solid granite.
“Jealous?” I say, pushing.
He shrugs. “You’re mine, my responsibility, and unlike my master, I’ll never abandon that responsibility.
” Suddenly he’s right there in front of me, and he snatches Santiago’s card out of my hand and crumples it.
My body goes into meltdown, everything throbbing like a pulse.
“But yes, Monty. I’d be jealous if you chose anyone over me. Is that what you want to hear?”
Discarding the useless paper, he then slides his fingers under my choker, the diamonds ridiculous with this dress, and yet…
I like it.
I like that feeling of being owned, even as I despise it and I want to fight it all.
His blue eyes glint as he drops his gaze to my mouth, the light in the room shadowing under his high cheekbones as he feathers a kiss over my lips.
Lucian sees it all, and it unravels things within.
“I don’t mind it,” I whisper.
He smiles and then nods for me to follow him. Turning, he walks away, and I trail after him.
“Where are you going?”
But he doesn’t answer as we enter his bedroom. He goes to the walk-in closet and takes out a black bag. “Do you remember when you said to me last night that I’ve been omitting the truth from you?”
I nod.
“I want to change that, but there is a time and a place for everything and sometimes patience is needed.”
I don’t like where this is going.
He takes a long time to consider. “Sometimes questions can’t be answered immediately.”
“What does that mean?”
“Just that.” He opens the bag and pulls out a red rope, very similar to the one he’d used at the vampire sex club.
Those memories flood me and excitement burns flame-bright in my veins.
“I’m going to start by telling you that I’ve been thinking about tying you up ever since our first visit to the club.
And I’ve been patiently waiting until I could do it again. ”
“I…I don’t…” My breathing picks up. “I don’t understand.”
Like it or not, Lucian is as delicious and addictive as blood.
The merest smile touches his mouth. “Take off your clothes.”
I don’t move. Not because I’m horrified by his words, but because I want to do it. With the kind of desperation that’s carnal and feral.
When he winds the rope around his hand, the excitement surges stronger, more urgent. Then he pulls out a scrap of what looks like black silk.
“Oh…” It comes out like a moan. This time, there’s an air of no holds barred, no limits, and I’m dying for it. And he’s calm, emotionless, staring at me, waiting.
Slowly, I strip naked, pushing the spaghetti straps of the summer dress down my arms, down my breasts, to my waist, and he watches me. Intently. Not saying anything.
When I step out of it, he approaches me.
There isn’t a command spoken about getting to my knees or assuming positions.
In fact, he doesn’t say a word. Instead, he walks around me, inspecting, touching me lightly with his fingertips, lingering on the healed bullet wound, now just a faint red mark, and then he takes my chin, rubbing his thumb against my lip.
“Perfection,” he says and wraps the strip of black silk around my head to blindfold me.
The world plunges into darkness, and I focus on the sound of the blood in his veins, the beat of his heart. Every breath he takes.
It’s weird, breathing as a vampire. I’m addicted to it, the heightened senses, the rush it brings.
I stand, blind now, at his mercy, as he begins to wrap the rope around me. It’s sensual, the way his fingers glide with the rope, the soft touch of him and the tight bind and bite of every knot he ties. He moves down, my hands tied now, but left with limited movement.
I’m dripping, hot for him, and he slides the rope between my legs and knots it so that there’s a sweet, hard pressure against my clit and a knot pushing my pussy lips apart, like a cock is poised to enter me.
And then he moves me back, easing me down on his sofa. He spreads my thighs, then ties my ankles together. He hooks them on something, and next he pulls my hands above my head and hooks those over something else.
In my mind, I’m there, basically on a platter, naked, vulnerable, spread open for him.
And then…he stops touching me.
“Lucian?” I call out.
“No talking, Monty, unless I ask you a direct question. I’ve got a busy day, lots of meetings. On the phone and in person. And you…you are going to be a fucking hot vase of flowers to brighten the room.”
A thrill bites deep, but so does a thread of panic. He’s just going to let me hang here? Without fucking me? I don’t know about this.
He pauses and moves close; I can feel the currents in the air change, feel the pressure shift. And he says against my ear, “Would you want me to let others see you like this? Touch you like this?”
A moan breaks free and my muscles contract at the mere thought. “No. Just you.”
“Good.”
He doesn’t speak again. He’s silent as he moves about the room, shuffling various things.
It might be five minutes, it might be an hour, but goosebumps rise all over my skin at the thought of him maybe touching me…now…or now…or—
Then there’s the lightest caress as his fingers move over me again, dancing across my shoulders, my arms, my neck. Then lower to my stomach, my hips. He moves the rope between my thighs an inch.
I’m so wet, it drips down my thigh, soaking my ass, and yet…he doesn’t touch me again. He doesn’t enter my pussy. Just adjusts ropes and drives me half out of my mind.
Then…he withdraws.
“That’s better” is all he says.
More silence. I don’t know now if he’s still here or if he’s left, but the elevator dings outside the room and voices float on the air.
I can’t breathe.
Lucian is talking to a man.
One I’ve met. One who’s touched me.
Fuck.
Santiago is here.
I try to hear what’s being said but their voices are low, and everything in me writhes with need. I want to be touched. I want fingers to sink into me, my nipples sucked.
I want a cock in my mouth.
Lucian’s.
But I don’t want Santiago to see me like this. Lucian wouldn’t let him see me naked and tied up, would he?
I start to shift, trying to get free from the ropes. Footsteps approach the room, and I go still.
I’m not alone.
My clit throbs. I can hear their hearts, both rapidly beating as they visually feast upon me. I hold my breath.
“Did I…interrupt something?” It’s Santiago. And he’s close, maybe at the door. Close, but not fully in the room.
“As I told you, I’m busy.” Lucian doesn’t sound pleased by his apparently impromptu visit. And honestly, neither am I. This isn’t a lesson in patience. It’s torture.
“Come on, Lucian. She’s a delicious morsel. It’s cruel to keep her all to yourself,” Santiago says, his voice gaining volume. Two more steps into the room, but then a sharp stop and a growl.
“Don’t,” Lucian bites out. “Elliot is mine in every sense of the word.”
He grunts. “You never did like to share your toys.”
“Why are you here, Santiago?” Speaking of patience, Lucian is losing his rapidly, I can tell.
“To warn you,” he replies.
“Warn me?”
“About a number of things,” Santiago says. “You are still my brother, after all. Even if your welcome for me wasn’t the warmest.”
“Don’t call me that,” Lucian snaps. “We’re not family.”
Santiago chuckles. “Right. Well, I’ve come to tell you to be careful of the Rogues. They’re a bigger threat than they let on.”
“Taken under advisement. And you?”
“I have plans.”
“Do those plans involve you staying in Tenebris much longer?”
In my head, I can see Santiago’s toothy smile. “Yes, they do. Permanently.”