A Wicked Night (Creatures of Darkness 2): A Coraline Conwell Novel (19 page)

She felt sorry for the both of them. Was this to be how she lived out the remainder of her days? As a lab rat? Restrained? Food for a vampire, and waiting for death?

Bray sucked harder, pulling an involuntary moan from her lungs.

One of the guards placed a despicable palm on her ass and squeezed…hard!

“The master would have your hand for that,” the doctor warned.

The guard let go and chuckled. By the deep timbre, she knew it had been the one with the predilection for cigars.

She was disgusted with herself for being grateful to the doctor for that small reprieve, even as she imagined his head being ripped from his body.

After indelicately extracting her from Bray’s teeth, they once more fettered her to the gurney, drew her blood, and left.

Just as the unavoidable lust set in.

Bray slowly came awake to the sound of Cora’s muffled cries. The room was awash with her desire. They had forced her to drink him yet again, this time without putting her under for the rollercoaster of inhibited lust.

It only took one exchange for a bond to take hold, so why would they repeat the process? Was it possible they didn’t know that? Or were they in fact trying to change her, hoping that drinking from a living vampire over and over would do the trick? If it were as easy as that, everybody would be doing it.

Her thighs clenched when she glanced his way and found him studying her. Her impassioned expression begged for his help. She was brutally in need.

For the first time in a long time, he tested his manacles, finding them durable as ever. Though they were slightly rusted, he could not break them. Perhaps if they’d given him just a bit more of Cora’s blood…. It seemed to have a unique potency—evident by the fact that he was shaking off the drugs aftereffects quicker than was normal.

“Bray,” Cora moaned, and the breathy sound shot straight to his groin. The primitive section of his brain fired to life. Not thinking, his arms heaved so hard against the manacles that his veins and muscles budged. That caught her eye and appeared to excite her. “Please.”

“I cannot help you, Cora. You must wait it out.”

“This is maddening,” she cried.

“I know. Try to think of something else.” His body shook, stiffening in every way possible, as if electrified by her palpable need.

“You look so good.” Her voice was raw between her sharp pants. “Goddess! You look so damn hot right now.” She made a pained sound, as though mentally berating herself for her remark.

He was nearly caught up by her fervor and realized he was siphoning her arousal through the bond. So that was the way of it, then. They would ride this out together.

Over the last five years, he wasn’t a stranger to heavy bouts of desire, unable to gratify himself. The trick was to get the mind off it.

“Tell me about yourself,” he said.

Her body writhed. “I need you.” She sucked back several deep breaths. “No. I need Mace.”

Bray was bewildered to discover a sting of fierce jealousy toward Mace for ever getting to indulge in this beautiful creature. For eliciting true cries of pleasure from her.

His shaft grew painfully ridged. “Cora, try to focus.” He’d never found it so difficult to think of something other than fucking.

Her hips undulated subtly as her soft legs—as he imagined them to be—rubbed together, all of her at once seeking release. And he was ravenous to give it to her.

“Tell me what you would do to me, if you were free right now.” She was feverish and breathy.

His words tumbled from him on a rough, low growl. “Girl, I would ruin you for other men.”

Her back arched at that. He swallowed at the sight of her nipples straining against the thin cloth of her shirt.

He shook his head, striving to clear the lust that only partially belonged to him. He opted to derail their thoughts again. “When I was young, I used to skip stones on a lake by our house. On my best day, I got up to ten skips. My brother claims to have gotten eleven. To this day, whenever I’m near a lake, I try to outdo him.”

She gave a bitter laugh. “I bet you have several fond memories like that.”

“I do,” he replied, glad to have managed to divert her mind for the moment.

She softened her voice to something wistful. “That must be nice.”

“Don’t you have any stories to tell me? Some fond remembrance?”

She shook her head. “Not really.”

“Well then tell me something that wasn’t such a fond memory.” That might work better to disarm her arousal.

Her tone darkened. “When I was little, I was held captive by a vampire and tortured for weeks. I guess fate has decided on a repeat performance.”

Well if that wasn’t a mental kick to the nuts, nothing was.

“Don’t give me that pitying look,” she said. “I got it enough from Mace.”

Bray shrugged, schooling his features. “That’s a terrible thing to hear. Did Mace offer to kill this bastard?”
If not, I will. Assuming I get out of here.

“He’s already dead. Was murdered right in front of me.” Her squirming slowed. “For a few years after that, I was alone. At fourteen, I met an older boy, human, of course. Ricky was his name. I was smitten. I’d fooled myself into thinking we were in love. A bad pattern for me. Thought he and his gang would protect me.”

“I’m guessing that’s not what happened.”

“After we slept together a couple times, he traded me to a rival gang for drugs.”

Bray just kept a growl from ripping out of him. “Has Mace killed
him
yet?”

“I haven’t told Mace about him. I haven’t told anyone, actually.”

“Why not?”

She shrugged. “There was never anyone who cared.”

“Couldn’t you have gone to the police?”

She snorted. “There are so many impoverished youths and street crime. Unless someone died, the police would just take your statement, and then file it away. And anyway, if I’d have gone to the police, I risked gang retaliation. Snitching is frowned upon. Gangs prefer to deal with issues from within. Needless to say, there wasn’t a lot of justice for girls. Not to mention the cops might have tried to stick me in a home, which are generally worse than the streets.”

Indignation now battled with lust in both of them.

“Anyway,” she continued. “In this new gang, I was actually treated with a measure of fairness, though I was still an object to the men.”

Bray’s fists clenched as fury stamped out the last bit of desire. “What sort of fairness was that?”

“I had a place to sleep away from the other vagabonds. The ones who
didn’t
ask to share a girl’s bed.” She paused, closed her eyes, and shuddered before continuing, “But again, just when I was getting comfortable, times grew tougher for everyone, and us females turned into fodder. When I was fifteen, I suspected I was about to be traded to the east-side drug lords. Their women were usually turned into prostitutes and junkies. That wasn’t an option I was willing to entertain. I’d grown brave by then and snuck away the very next day.”

A fifteen year old on the unforgiving streets of St. Stamsworth by herself? Where crime was rampant and any stranger around the corner would just as soon shoot you in the face as look at you. He couldn’t imagine the hardships she’d endured.

“After that, I had to dodge the two gangs I’d been in. If the first found out I’d defected, they’d try to reclaim me. The second would just straight up kill me. I wore a lot of hoodies to hide my appearance.” She sighed, growing quite for a time.

He wasn’t sure what to say and figured silence would do for now.

Finally, she said, “I’m feeling better now, thanks.”

Bray gaped at her.

Better? From what he could glean, she was feeling…hallow. Her arousal was still heightened. Speaking of her past had just numbed her to it. Intuition told him it was her natural state of being, where she was most comfortable.

Sometimes when a person is forced to cope with emotional heartache or abuse at a very young age, they shut down their emotions. Cora had experienced both.

His heart broke for her stolen childhood.

Strict father aside, Bray’s childhood had been fairly tame by comparison. As she’d pointed out, he had many fond memories to occupy his thoughts.

Outside the cell, commotion drew Bray’s attention. His shrouded neighbor bellow with rage as gushing water sounded next door. Fuck! Not now.

“What is that?” Cora asked shakily.

“It’s bath time.” And he had no idea how they were going to deal with Cora.

Her eyes went wide with panic. “What does that mean? Bray? What does that mean?”

Just then the guards entered with that thick fire hose snaking out behind them. Their faces were marked by amusement, and he could guess why.

“Leave her alone,” he growled.

They hadn’t bothered to tranq him, which meant they had no intention of coming near enough to risk compulsion. It wasn’t unusual for them to leave him cognizant during bath time. The brutal spray could reach him from five times their distance and they could save on ammo.

He could hear Cora’s heart thumping an erratic beat.

“What are you doing?” She demanded in a small voice.

The balding guard removed his ever-present cigar from between his teeth, dropped it to the floor, and smashed it under his boot. “You’re a dirty girl. We’re here to make you squeaky clean.”

The younger man approached and displayed a gun in his right hand for her observation, jiggling it slightly—a silent warning to cooperate—then unclasped her restraints
Slowly, warily, she climbed off the gurney, wringed her wrists where a band of red marked the circumference, and then straightened her white button down shirt, pulling at the hem self-consciously.

“You may want to take that off, darlin’.” The older man eyed her bare legs with too much interest.

“You son of a bitch,” Bray spat.

Without warning, the older man raised the hose nozzle and engaged the spray, aiming the water into Bray’s face. The unexpected force slammed his head against the wall.

Vaguely he heard Cora’s protests. “Fine, fine,” she cried, shrugging out of her shirt. She threw it onto the gurney and then wrapped her arms around herself, clad in only her sheer panties.

The water cut off.

Later Bray would curse himself, but, after all, he hadn’t seen the beauty of a naked woman in five years. He couldn’t stop himself from looking. Her body was praiseworthy. Trim in all the right places with just enough meat where it counted.

The younger man herded her toward the adjacent wall where she stood, flushing scarlet, shivering, and clutching herself to hide her most intimate parts. Bray glared at the men with a look that promised retribution, but they weren’t paying attention to him.

The balding guard let out a low grumble of appreciation. Cora cringed, shifting her eyes to Bray, as if she couldn’t stand to look at them any longer. The pain in her eyes cut him to the quick.

“I could make up a real bath for you, sugar tits,” the balding man grunted. “Warm and bubbly. If you don’t mind company.”

Taking her gaze from Bray, her gaze narrowed on him. “You’re a disgusting prick.”

The man frowned, then switched on the hose full blast. Unprepared for the sudden and immense pressure, Cora was chucked backwards, hitting the wall hard. Bray though her head might have cracked against stone, yet the assault continued without pause. When the use of her hands to block her face wasn’t working, she crumbled to the ground and curled into the wall, attempting to protect her head and fighting for air, her screams intermingling with gurgles and gasps.

“That’s enough!” Bray yelled.

The weapon turned on him, aimed at his crotch.

“Enjoying the show?” the balding man laughed. The sensation was like a thousand bashing fists attacking all at once, like being kicked in the nuts by The Flash himself. Stars glazed his eyes.

Yet Cora’s whimpers demanded his attention. She was still curled into herself, lying in a puddle of what had to be freezing water, her abraded back facing them. The skin was red and raw where she’d been hit the hardest.

The younger man snatched up her shirt and callously tossed it at her. She flinched as it landed haphazardly over her side.

The balding man groaned as if a toy had been taken away and then shut off the hose.

Cora was nearly shaking too hard to slip the shirt over her head, but finally managed it, and seemed almost relieved when the younger man waved her toward the gurney—was somehow able to keep her chin up as she crossed the room as she was strapped back in…until the balding man neared.

He slipped his stubby hand under her shirt and took hold of her right breast. Cora made a distressed sound, but clamped her teeth shut and averted her gaze.

“See,” he said. “Squeaky clean.”

“Alright, already,” the younger man complained. “We’ve got three more to go, and if you lose your hands, fuck you if you think I’m going to light your cigars for you. I hate those nasty things anyway.”