Eternal Captive: Mark of the Vampire (31 page)

His eyes warmed, warmed like she’d never imagined they could. She had seen them cold and heavy-lidded, angry, and filled with lust, but she’d never seen them…cozy, emotionally supple. He gave her one gentle kiss before answering. “We are having a wee
veana
,
Veana
.”

Bronwyn could barely breathe, could barely believe what she was hearing. She reached up, took his branded, beautiful face in her hands. “How?” she whispered. “How do you know? Did you choose that?”

“No,” he said quickly. “I had no sense of it until after becoming the Breeding Male. Then I wasn’t sure of what I was feeling, sensing…if it was you or…her.”

“But now you know.”

He nodded.

“A little girl?”

“Yes.” His face softened, though his eyes were fearful, concerned, perhaps even a bit hurt. “Does this please you, Bron? You can tell me the truth.”

The truth. She closed her eyes. What was the truth
anymore? Did she even know? Did she even care? The whole of her world had just exploded brilliantly, and comically and beautifully before her very eyes. For all of a sudden she was no longer the Bronwyn Kettler of the Boston
credenti
, the
veana
who would do anything—had done everything—to stop this very moment from becoming her reality, her now, her future.

She pulled his face down to hers and kissed him, kissed him with everything she was and felt, everything she couldn’t say—maybe could never say. Then she opened her eyes and placed her own hand over his on her belly. “I love her.”

Lucian’s eyes grew wide, disbelieving, yet so hopeful it hurt her insides.

“I swear, Luca,” she said breathlessly. “I swear. I love her. Always.” She tried to stop the tears, but they came heavy with her words. “Just like you.”

Lucian pulled her close and took her mouth under his, giving her kisses that were both passionate and grateful, loving and melancholy. For now…for now they had this, each other, a moment in time, a moment of perfect pleasure that they were both going to enjoy for as long as they could.

Bronwyn gripped that thought tightly as Lucian gathered her in his arms and carried her down the hall, into the back bedroom, the one she’d never seen, the one that had gone unused. The one that they would claim as theirs for however long they had together.

Bronwyn hugged him, so tightly that when he placed her on the bed, he came along for the ride. Her face tucked into his shoulder, her mouth near his ear, she whispered, “Feed me, Luca. Feed me and your
balas
.”

Lucian sucked in air as she nuzzled his skin with
her nose, let her fangs rake across his thick vein. She could taste him already, his spicy, delectable blood. And then his hands came around and slipped under her backside. He gripped her tight, kneading her flesh, pressing her up and against his thick cock, trapped inside the confines of his jeans.

“Do it, Bron,” he rasped. “Fuck me with your fangs. Go deep, drink deep.”

Her core swelled with arousal and she bared her fangs and struck.

“Christ!” he called out, then with a deep, guttural snarl, he flipped them over so that he was on his back, his mouth tucked into her neck.

Bronwyn’s fangs never faltered as he struck her vein, and as she drank from him he drank deeply from her.

Lucian had always hated feeling any sentiment, any sweet emotion, the beginnings of connection with anyone but his brothers. But this time, with this
veana
, he couldn’t help himself. He wanted her, all of her, every inch of her skin, every muscle and bone; her mind and her laugh, her cunt and her sighs. He wanted to please her, give her anything her unbeating heart desired, make her the happiest she’d ever felt. He wanted to be worthy of the love she’d given him and the love she felt for him.

He felt her hands on his hips, tunneling between them, tugging at his button, sliding down his fly. She worked his jeans down over his hips until his cock sprang free, until it found its way between the wet folds of her cunt, until it pressed hard against her clit.

She moaned against his neck, the sound of her deep, hard sucks making his muscles clench, making his
mind frenzied, making her blood cascade down his throat at a frantic pace. Finally, he couldn’t stand it any longer. He left her throat and dipped his head. He wanted her breast, wanted to suckle her nipple until it rose up hard and heavy against his tongue.

His mouth left a blood trail down her collarbone, and Bron followed his movement, still suckling, still drinking, her hips lifting and lowering as she silently told him her pussy needed to be filled.

“Mmmmm,” she murmured when he finally captured her nipple, sucked it deep, then flicked it with his tongue.

He pulled back, she did too. They stared at each other, their mouths, their lips, their fangs, bloody and hungry for more than just blood to feed them.

Goddamn, Lucian thought, she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen; her eyes, blazing down at him, her neck with his deep puncture wounds; her breasts, coated in her own blood; and her belly, humming with the growing life of his
balas
.

Her hand came up, her thumb brushing the excess blood from his lower lip. Before she could pull it back, he turned his head and captured it in his mouth. He suckled it, his fangs raking over the one spot that still belonged to another.

“Say it,” he whispered, his tongue lapping at the mark. “Say yes.”

Her eyes widened. She hesitated.

“Fuck, Princess!” He suckled on her finger. “It doesn’t belong on you anymore—it never did. Let me take it from you as you come. Let us all be free.”

Before he said another word, she sat up, her knees bracketing his hips, her eyes trained on his cock. Shit,
he was so hard, the thing looked like an immobile pillar, a slab of burning-hot marble that wanted only to be suckled by the sweet, wet walls of the
veana
above him. And then she moved, dove, sat down right on top of him, her drenched cunt swallowing him up inch by inch until he was completely hers.

“I have taken you,
Paven
,” she said, completely impaled by him now, her eyes hot and heavy with passion. “You must have everything of me.”

She placed her thumb in his mouth, pressed the spot where her mark lay right up against one razor-sharp fang. “Take it. Take it while I take you.”

Lucian needed nothing else. He pierced her flesh and as she held on to his hip with one hand, she rode his cock. She rode him so hard and fast as he pulled the ink from her, he thought he was going to come. It was her eyes, black and savage as she gazed down at him, as she fucked him—this
veana
who was once tamed and tamped down and scared of her past, present, and future. She was living now—really living, taking what she wanted with no fear, not even a trace of it.

The way she clenched around him, her walls fisting him as though he were home, as though he belonged in her—just her…Shit, he was going to lose it.

He lifted her up, off his pulsing shaft that shone with her arousal and yanked her forward, set her down near his mouth. “I need your wine, lass. I need the sweet milk of your pussy on my tongue.”

Bronwyn stared down at him, breathing heavy, watching him.

“Yes, lass. Watch me. Watch as I spread your pink lips, watch as I drink every drop of you. But first.” He
turned his head, his fangs extended, and bit into her inner thigh.

She cried out, reached behind herself and gripped his chest, her nails digging into his flesh. As he suckled and drank from her vein, he slipped two fingers inside her trembling cunt. As she moaned and writhed above him, her body calling out how close she was to orgasm, he groaned at the way her body hugged him, how her wet and tight core fisted around him.

He hated to do it, to leave her, but hunger and desperation called.

He stopped drinking her blood, and eased his fingers from her body, shiny and slick. Oh fuck, he was going to die from wanting…With a groan of hunger, he pushed his tongue inside of her, let her heat, her cream slide down his tongue to where it truly belonged.

“Oh, God, Lucian,” she cried out, watching him with heavy-lidded eyes, her fangs dropped and pressed against her lower lip. “Whenever I thought of you, I touched myself.” Her fingers gripped his nipples, rolling them between her fingers, making his cock pulse and bead at the tip with cum. “I imagined your tongue on me, your cock in me.”

Her cunt clenched, spasmed against his mouth and he felt her cream against his chin.

Fuck, he wasn’t going to hold on for long, not with the way she was rubbing herself against him, the way she flicked his nipples.

He lifted her up, came with her, and flipped her around so she was on her hands and knees facing the window. Outside the sun shone down on the surface of the loch, the water slow and smooth.

Bronwyn arched her back, pressed her legs apart, showing him the pink mounds of her buttocks and ruby-red opening of her cunt.

“Lucian, please,” she called. “I need you. Now!”

He needed no more invitation than that. Lucian mounted her and sank his rock-hard cock deep inside her.

Bron didn’t gasp. She sighed, and her cunt suckled and fisted around him. Madness gripped his brain as he thrust into her, over and over as she cried out, keened, screamed for him to work her harder and deeper and faster. And then without thought, his fingers slipped from her hip and began to play with her ass, with the sweet, soft pucker in the very center.

“Yes,” she said, slamming her hips back. “Yes, touch me there.”

Surprise registered within him, but didn’t hold him long. He had promised to give her the greatest pleasure, whatever she wanted, however she wanted it.

Sliding his hand down until he found her hot, wet core, he lubricated his fingers with her juices, then gently slid one finger inside her anus. It was tight, so delectably tight, and the farther he went the more his brain succumbed to madness, the more his balls tightened, and the more his cock begged for release.

“Oh, God, yes!” Bronwyn milked him, arching her back, swinging her hips as arousal leaked from her body and snaked down her inner thigh.

Lucian kept his touch inside her anus gentle, but his thrusts inside her cunt fierce. As her walls spasmed around his cock, signaling how close to release she was, he kept the pace, kept touching her. Sweat broke out on his brow and he pummeled her flesh, his hips
slamming against her backside, making it move, making it grow pink to match her cunt and her anus.

And then she screamed. She screamed so loud, he had a moment of worry. But her hips continued to slam back against him and her cunt flooded his cock with cream.

Goddamn, nothing felt so good as being inside of her; as holding her, moving with her—loving her. He wanted no other, would take no other, would drive his cock into no other but her.

He’d die first.

He’d die.

He could feel the cum rising to the head of his prick. It wanted inside her, wanted to coat her walls, mark her. “Oh fuck!” It was too much, the sensations, the rockets going off inside his brain and her sweet walls gripping him like a vise. “Bron, my beautiful Bron,” he called. “Princess, I’m done for.”

A growl ripped from his chest and he dropped onto her back, reached around, and cupped her breasts. He pounded into her, calling her name as his hips shook and he took his climax.

His
veana
.

His.

He must’ve made a sound, something plaintive as she shuddered around him, because she gripped one of his hands with her own, one of the hands that held her breast. “What? What’s wrong?”

A soft curse escaped his dry throat. He kissed her back, slow and seductive, and whispered against her skin, “I don’t think I can give you back, Princess.”

“I can stay…I can stay…”

“Only for a short while,” he said, the pain of his
words nearly debilitating. “Until she is born.” He pulled out of her and lay down on his side, easing her back against him like two spoons.

This time he didn’t say his thoughts aloud.

When the wee
veana
comes into the world I must leave it.

S
ynjon woke with a bastard of a headache and an unclear need to reach his weapon. But when he groped for his back, he found nothing but the waistband of his jeans. Bugger and blast, he thought, his brain filled with static, his eyes refusing to open. He moved, felt something hard beneath his face. Concrete? Stone? Bloody hell, he was beat up and tossed…but where?

He forced his eyes open, and despite the gripping pain, was on his feet in seconds. Bloody right, he’d been flogged, many times, by many wanker Impures, and his vision was rubbish. Shaking his head a few times, he attempted to focus. A wall of stainless-steel cages—the cries of both male and female.

Shite
.

It took about three seconds for everything to come back, and when it did he pushed the pain back and went on high alert. Metal floor, bars all around. He was in a cage too and across from him, to the right…

“Fuck, Jules,” he hissed, his eyes going fierce. He would take that bastard Cruen apart piece by piece for this.

The love of his miserable life lay nude and writhing on the floor of her own cold, dank cage. She lifted her head when he called her name. Despite the world in which she was chained to, she looked beautiful, wild, inflamed, but her eyes—her exquisite lavender eyes were nearly dead.

Synjon gripped the bars of his cage and forced himself to remain calm. It wouldn’t do to amp up her fear and anxiety any more than it already was.

Panting, Juliet locked on to his gaze and shook her head. “Syn? Syn? Is it really you?”

“Yeah, sweetheart. It’s me.”

“Oh, God…” She started to cry. Not just heavy tears, but great sobs of misery. “No. No…”

His unbeating heart shredding as he watched her, Synjon pushed against the bars of the cage. “Don’t cry, Jules, please.”

“I’m so sorry for leaving you, Syn,” she wailed.

Fuck! This was not happening. “It’s all right, love,” he told her, trying to make his tone comforting instead of what he truly felt like doing—shouting, screaming, raging, threatening—killing. “Everything will be all right.”