Chapter 15
The monster bit, and Bea had no breath to scream.
A silly move, trying to hold him off with a poker; he’d twisted the metal bar into a pretzel and tossed it casually away.
Then another of those curious time-skips and he was on her, the bed giving with a heavy sigh and his arm suddenly under her left knee.
She had never been pinned like this, opened and ruthlessly invaded—her college fumblings, though expected and sort-of-heady in the beginning stages, had been sweaty, alcohol-laced, and ended up deeply unsatisfactory.
Her back arched, her right sock-heel finding the slightly surface of the jacquarded duvet and digging in hard enough to burn, a fuzzy thumping filling her ears—heartbeat, she thought hazily, that’s mine—as narcotic heat dilated from the fangs buried in her throat.
How in the hell...? Useless to wonder just how she’d ended up naked, he had indeed ripped the clothes right off her. Bea’s body didn’t care about that, it simply thrashed—so far as it could, he was simply too goddamn strong.
Worst of all, a familiar hazy, anticipatory pressure bloomed between her legs.
The monster growled, just like in the elevator, and Bea’s fingers were claws, nails skipping along the hard smooth curves of his shoulders, muscle flickering against her palms. He thrust again, impossibly deep, tender tissues stretching, a subterranean thrill through her entire shaking, riven body.
Something else rubbed between them, an unerring pressure like a wicked, knowing fingertip against her clitoris. Lightning soared. A moan died at the back of her mouth, her lips slack and open; again and again he rocked, stabbing for her core.
OhGod ohGod ohGod...Was she saying it aloud?
Black flowers bloomed behind her eyelids, sealed tight.
She was being fucked by a monster, and the hell of it was that he was very good.
Slick-wet, bent nearly in half, every nerve exploding, colors strobe-flickering between the black flowers, she had never, never understood it could be like this, even with her own hand during the usual teenage exploration of just how to jill herself correctly.
Even worse, it didn’t take long at all before a quasi-familiar stillness swallowed her whole. It was inevitable, just a matter of friction in the right spot, orgasm teasing its own inevitability.
The monster’s growl deepened, tempo slowing into hard deep thrusts, each accompanied by that insistent probing at her clit. She struggled to avoid release, aware of futility, helpless to stop resistance or the explosion.
Long and low, the pulses tore through her. Clenching and releasing around a hot, plundering stranger, her head flung back, sweat sliding between her skin and the strange matte texture of his, a half-strangled cry she recognized as her own stuttering to a stop.
Alive. She was still alive, heartbeat pounding in her wrists, her ankles, her chest, even in her hair.
The cessation of agonizing fear was its own reward, even as she shuddered with aftershock.
The cock buried in her throbbed, jerking spasmodically, and she couldn’t even worry about unprotected monster sex again.
It felt too goddamn good to simply be unafraid for a few moments.
He stilled, and for the first time she was aware of his breathing in deep ragged gulps as well.
Had she imagined the fangs? Kisses printed on her throat, working up past her jaw, and his mouth found hers.
Tongue, lips, teeth all human again, and he took his time, exploring her response, kissing like a starving man.
Guess he’s had time to practice. The crashing realization of what he’d just done hovered somewhere outside a glass bubble, a snowglobe of shock. There was an odd sweet taste to him, slightly metallic, which somehow managed to soothe the dry thirst-pain.
Blood. Probably mine. Jesus.
Though he had obviously gotten what he wanted, the monster remained buried in her, cock twitch-throbbing. At least his weight wasn’t crushing—very considerate of him to let her breathe. Hard to think with his mouth doing that—pursuing, demanding attention, taking.
Finally, the kiss turned shallower. He pecked at the corner of her lips, pressed more light caresses to her damp, feverish cheek, and finally exhaled close to her ear, hot breath stirring sweat-soaked hair. The sigh turned into words.
“Beatrice.” Playing with her name, tasting each syllable. He made it sound absolutely indecent, and Bea had to now deal with the fact that she was spread and nailed under a monster.
And that she had enjoyed it enough to come.
“Say something,” he whispered, the sibilants a torrid purr as his cock moved inside her again. “Tell me what you like.”
Oh, my God, what the fuck are you doing? More squares on some insane internal bingo card she’d never even dreamed of checking off—fucked by a monster in an elevator, and now this. “Get off of me,” she managed, in a breathy, high-pitched little voice.
“Not yet.” A faint rasp of stubble as his cheek moved against hers—did monsters shave? “Won’t let me. See?”
Another movement, a dragging as his hips rocked, and Bea gasped at the flood of sensation. Postcoital sensitivity meant the smallest shift was magnified, electricity zapping all through her. A curious feeling, the swelling, almost as if the shape of his cock had changed.
“Barbed, after release,” he continued. “Rendering me vulnerable for a short while until the swelling retreats. I cannot leave you, little leman.”
Barbed was concerning. Vulnerable was interesting.
Her cheeks were scarlet-hot, a drenching flood of embarrassment—maybe even shame, she couldn’t tell yet.
And to top off the entire impossible situation, her brain-mouth filters were failing again.
“What is it with you and lemons?” She didn’t add do you have a fruit fixation only by an effort of will.
“Leman,” he corrected. How could a monster sound pedantic after fucking the life out of her? “It means beloved one. There are other terms—imprima, deva, sangdolce. Aima-glyza.”
Uh. “Please get off of me.” She tried to move, to slither away, achieved exactly nothing.
“I already said I cannot, for some short while. Try to relax.”
You did not just tell me to relax. Maybe males were the same the world over, monsters or not. “At least let go of my leg.”
She was bargaining with a bloodsucking fiend. At any moment he was probably going to bite her again. Bea’s body gave a low twinge at the thought, and he inhaled sharply.
“Slowly,” he murmured in her ear. “Very slowly, kitten.”
Sure, monster. Anything you say. But Bea found he would cooperate, though she had to wrap her legs around his waist to ease the strain in her back and hips.
The angle shifted as they sank into the bed, her ankles locked against each other, and it would have been nice, it would’ve been flat-out great if he were human.
And if he hadn’t killed Jared. Or had he? “Why are you doing this?” She had a limited window here, either of getting him to say something useful or doing her own thinking without the interference of terror.
Come on, Bebe. Use that noggin of yours. Thankfully it wasn’t her brother’s voice; she didn’t think she could stand that at the moment.
Her only weapons here were playing along and thinking ahead. What, after all, would happen when the monster got tired of her? Maybe she ought to be nice, pretend interest, flatter him.
“I’m old.” He sighed, and though he still wasn’t crushing her, the monster wasn’t letting her go anytime soon either. “The years add up, pretty Beatrice. Our kind becomes slow, numb. Hidebound.”
“Okay.” Keep him talking. She tried not to wriggle, tried to not even breathe too hard. Sweat cooled on her arms, her knees, though he was very warm. They were stuck together like some kind of nightmare hybrid—she shivered at the thought.
“Hm.” Not quite a growl, as he nuzzled below her ear—a bit awkward, since he was so much taller.
The bulk above her might be comforting, protective, if he wasn’t a monster.
“As we survive, we begin to calcify. Mentally, physically, in every way—a slow death, and unpleasant. The only cure is a leman.”
“Cure?” The unappetizing prospect of being infected with a monster’s STD rose again, refusing to die just like he had. “Wait, did you give me a—”
“An addiction, to break the spell. It is not like your fairytales, your movies.” Did he sound irritated, or dismissive?
The monster shifted slightly, propping an elbow near her bare shoulder, and his fingers threaded into her hair.
“I did not kill your brother, Beatrice—though if I had arrived earlier and scented you, who is to say? Or perhaps another sanguinant would have found you, since you were actively seeking out the demimonde.” His fingers paused, wound in her hair, his hand stiffening.
Uh-oh. “Demimonde?” Mirror him, let him know you’re listening.
Men like to talk about themselves. “I’ve heard that term.
” Not often, and always in connection to truly scary stories, the genuinely inexplicable ones that ended up with gruesome body counts, rabbitholing anyone who read too many right into tinfoil hats.
“Many things live alongside mortals.” The slow, sinuous caressing of her hair continued. “Few will trouble you, including the greiben. I will exterminate the clan which killed your Jared soon enough.”
She didn’t like him mentioning Jare, especially under current conditions. It felt wrong; so did that other word. “Exterminate?”
“Old and young put to the sword, their spawning grounds sterilized, their halls reduced to emptiness—you may view it as revenging your brother. Will that please you?”
Bea kept her eyes closed. The moment she opened them, she was going to have to reckon with...everything. “Helluva way to treat your henchmen, Mr. Everly.”
Saying a dead man’s fake name after being fucked by a bloodsucker. If she’d known hunting monsters would end up here, she might never have started. The enormity of what she’d stumbled into made the paralyzing fear threaten a return, nipping at the edges of bodily relaxation.
Her hormones had no goddamn judgment.
“I told you, sanguinant do not stoop to such tools.” A fractional tensing, though the cock buried in her had not changed shape again, thank goodness.
The monster’s lips moved a hairsbreadth from her earlobe, sending shivers down her back with every syllable.
“They will continue pursuing the greisoul. After all, it is one of their own.”
The necklace, pressed between them. At least he hadn’t broken it, ripping her clothes off, and she now realized he had avoided smashing the thing through her breastbone during the festivities, too.
Nice of him—the setting had some sharp curlicues.
But what did he mean, one of their own? “You’re calling my brother a thief. ”
“Not at all. If he stumbled into their warrens, he must have been both determined and lucky to escape. Taking a souvenir is understandable, especially since greisoul gems are rather enchanting.” His chin brushed her shrinking skin, for all the world like a cat’s playful nudge. “Nothing to match you, of course.”
Okay, sure. Bea was naked save for socks, the duvet was full of scratchy threads, and her hips were never going to forgive her. How long was she trapped here?
The problem was that no subject seemed safe, and in any case the monster didn’t pause. “It’s Lukas, by the way.” A slow, careful enunciation, the final sibilant nearly a shush rather than a hiss. His tension had increased; she hoped it wasn’t a bad sign. “My name, when I was mortal. Long ago.”
There. That’s something to talk about. If she kept him occupied...how long could that work? “How old are you really?”
“Ah.” For a moment he sounded very human, and slightly embarrassed. “I do not precisely know. I had the Gift when Akkad was three huts in the mud; I am old and strong enough to be daywalker, and that is enough. Perhaps I am even Archon now.”
“Argon?” Wait ‘til I tell Don. Bea flinched inwardly; the urge to share a new piece of gossip or occult lore with her co-investigator was goddamn near automatic as breathing. She had to find out if he was all right. But how? “No, wait. Listen, what if you give them the necklace back? You can do that, right?” Because I’d rather not try, though I will if I have to.
“The greiben would consider it an even greater insult, and their nagging grow constant. No, my leman. They must be erased.” He stretched, cat-supple, and moved his elbows. Cool air slipped between them—not their lower halves, but he was drawing back.
Looking at her.
Bea swallowed hard, kept her eyes tightly shut. The sweetish taste at the back of her throat wouldn’t go away; the fresh bite marks pulsed uneasily. She was acquiring quite a collection.
Was the monster lying? Mixing real details with whoppers, since she clearly didn’t know what the hell? Or was he gaslighting her, defense-lawyering whatever involvement he had in Jared’s murder?
He couldn’t be telling the truth.
Could he?
Silence gathered, blanketed the room. Had the rain stopped? All she could hear was her own breathing. Did he think she was asleep? The sense of being watched was eerily, hatefully familiar. She had a lot to think about, with no idea of how much time she had for cogitation.
A trickle of rasping, unsteady anger collected in her chest. She lay frozen, quiet, and waited.
* * *
After an eternity, he withdrew inch by inch.
As soon as humanly possible Bea rolled away, stifling a groan as her hips informed her that no, they did not forgive her, but it had been a helluva ride nonetheless.
Her legs were noodles, the rest of her not far behind.
Still, she managed to curl up almost pillbug-tight before the monster proved he wasn’t about to leave her alone.
He simply picked her up like a recalcitrant toddler, with frightening ease and no sign of effort. His breathing didn’t even change; she kept her eyes squeezed shut, not daring to peek.
It didn’t matter. The monster carried her into the bathroom, but not to yet another sunken tub. Instead, a glassed-in shower accepted them both—it was certainly supersized enough, and who needed four nozzles? The water pressure was great, though. It was absolutely unfair.
Being washed by a monster was an odd experience, mostly because he was so careful.
Scrubbing with a cold trickle and harsh washcloth had become Bea’s habit during the monster-hunting years, always while thinking about the next research subject, the next intel dig, the next bit of careful surveillance or sleuthing.
And it had all ended up here.
He even toweled gently, for God’s sake.