Chapter Twelve – Luna
Chapter Twelve
Luna
I walked for an hour, the nightblade in my hand, willing for someone to come and try to mug me. I wanted to take my anger out on someone, even if it might mean their life.
When no one did, I put the nightblade away and summoned a ride on my phone.
I still had Rosalie’s credit cards on file and I’d use them until Maya cut me off.
Considering the way she was likely spending, she might not notice—not until she got herself another bloodslave just like me.
Someone had to do the real accounting after cooking the books.
I stood on a street corner for five minutes, completely ignored, until a tan Honda Civic pulled up. “Rosalie?” asked the driver.
“Yep,” I said, and the driver left it at that, heading off to the address I’d given him, back to Jack’s small apartment. I’d already walked half-way there—if my shoes were more comfortable, I might never have called.
I was staring out the window at the receding neon of the Strip when the driver paused and took a sharp turn into an alley.
“Hey!” I protested, opening my bag in an instant. I might get to use the nightblade after all. Then a darkness descended over me, pressing down on me from every side at once.
“I need you right now. Service me.” My Master’s voice was throaty in my ear.
“Master?” I said, looking for him and finding myself alone, despite the fact that I could feel his presence. I glanced into the front seat and saw the driver staring resolutely into space.
“Service me. Now,” he commanded as he fell upon me, pushing me down against the seat.
How many times had Rosalie taken me like this?
Without warning, without preamble? I knew better than to fight it, and when my seatbelt whipped away from me and hands reached up the insides of my thighs, I let my knees fall open, helpless against the torrent of his desire.
My panties were pushed away as sudden heat pressed inside.
I gasped in surprise, to feel myself taken so—as other hands rushed their way up my top and cupped hold of my breasts, as unseen mouths sucked my newly pierced nipples.
Just like the other night, when I had not known what was happening, nor what I could do, I fell again into the same helpless trance, my back arched in pleasure, my hips thrusting at once, the sensation of fingers—or tongues—thrusting into my mouth, filling me, as electricity sizzled from my breasts to my hips, as my Master’s nameless longing and determined strokes stirred everything inside.
There was a mouth or a hand at my clit, rolling it shamelessly with each thrust, as hands held my wrists trapped and still somehow also pressed my ankles down, the rest of me thrashing against the upholstery.
I threw my head back, so close so quickly.
“Master?” I asked, needing to hear his permission—wanting him to claim me.
“Yes, slave. Go,” he commanded, and I did, crying out helplessly as I shuddered. Such pleasures reeled through me, head to toe, and everything part of him that touched me followed me through, not stopping until I was finished, panting, sagging against the seat, wetness leaking between my thighs.
“I long for the night I may return your favors,” I whispered, collapsed.
This seemed to please him. “Your current form would not survive it.”
“Then change me,” I pleaded.
He chuckled. “You used the blade. Where is your victim?”
I went still, trying to decide how fine the line between protesting and making excuses this new Master would tolerate. Rosalie’s had been as thin as a knife.
“Jack didn’t let me kill her.” I made sure to sound upset.
“Why not?”
“He thinks her…honorable.”
“Tell me,” he commanded and I had no choice. I relayed everything that had happened, since I’d seen—no, felt—him last.
“A Faithful,” he murmured to himself. I tensed. Rosalie had always been fearful of the Faithful’s attention—but they were like the bogeyman. You were scared of them, but never met one—because if you met one, it was too late. “Will she kill him?”
I swallowed. “I hope not.”
“And he hasn’t claimed you yet,” he said, not a question. “Not blood, nor sex.”
“I have offered. I have tempted,” I swore.
“I have been gracious, I have been kind, I have been cruel, I have tried jealousy—I have let him scent my blood.” I started panicking.
If this creature would not have me, then who was left?
His power was real, I knew it, the driver had not turned around, it was as if my Master had stopped time.
And I’d felt the power of his nightblade when she was around—it had wanted me to shove it into her heart, like a soul-seeking dowsing rod.
“Be still,” he said, and I fell to silence. “There is nothing wrong with you. The error is with him. He does not act as one of our kind ought to. He brings shame upon our title.”
I could’ve cried in relief. “Thank you, Master.”
“But should he live the night, I need for him to trust you. I need for him to feel bound to you. I need him to be obligated.” I felt a pressure glide down my cheek—and then stroke to the nape of my neck. “Create a situation if you must. Give him no choice.”
“Yes, Master,” I said, as an unseen hand circled my throat like a collar.
“You must show him your pleasures, Luna. Bind him to you—or else.”
Or else what? I wanted to know—but I knew from experience it was never a good idea to ask.
“How else can I serve you?” I asked, knowing he could feel the thrill of my heartbeat. “Or might I serve you again, as I already have?”
He made an agreeable sound and I felt the weight of his presence nearing, then he paused. “A more tempting morsel awaits,” he said—and he was gone.
He hadn’t even dismissed me. He’d just disappeared. I sat there panting, stunned and abandoned. Rosalie had also been mercurial—all Masters were the same.
When would my chance to be mercurial come?
The driver blinked back to life, peering up into the rearview mirror. “Miss—are you okay?”
I hurried belatedly to push down my skirt. “I’m fine. Take me home.”
This was Vegas. I knew that he’d seen worse.