His Captive Mortal (14 page)

He glanced down at the dried blood from his cut. He pulled his shirt back to show her. “Look at it,” he urged. “Vampires heal very quickly. You see how the flesh is already knit back together? Never worry about me.” He lifted her in his arms as he stood. “I’ll take a shower. You need to get to bed. Please call in sick tomorrow. I don’t want you showing up to work on three hours’ sleep.”

“Yes, master,” she murmured. He laid her in the bed and she pulled him down by the shirt, kissing him. “Charlie?”

“Yes, little mortal?”

“If you’re mad at me, just punish me, okay?”

He drew his brows together. “I’m not mad at you.”

“I mean next time. Don’t walk out. I don’t like to be abandoned. I’d rather you stayed and yelled or...you know,” she said, a blush creeping onto her cheeks.

“Spanked your little ass?” he asked and rolled her to her belly, pulling down her jeans and panties once more.

She giggled and waggled her bottom for him. The pretty hue of pink still decorated her flesh and the way she’d just offered it willingly for his discipline, just as she’d offered her blood for his taking, made his throat close with an unknown emotion. He gave her twin moons a few sharp slaps, then leaned over and kissed each cheek.

“Sweet little mortal,” he murmured, his chest feeling crowded. He pulled her jeans and panties the rest of the way off, then tugged her t-shirt over her head and unlaced the corset she still wore from what seemed like ages ago. “You’re on clothing restriction again. No clothing while in this house until further notice. Understand?”

She groaned. “Even while you’re asleep?”

“Yes,” he said firmly. “Even while I’m asleep. Disobedience will be severely punished.”

“But isn’t that like, punishing you, too? I mean since you can’t…” she trailed off, wisely reconsidering her plea when his eyes narrowed.

He touched her lips with the pad of his index finger. “Don’t question my decisions.” He left and walked to the bathroom to wash the blood off himself. He turned on the water and stripped off his bloodied clothes. Stepping in, he closed his eyes, letting the water splash over him.

He heard the door open and figured she wanted to brush her teeth before bed, but the shower curtain opened and she stepped in.

“I don’t want to be alone,” she said softly.

His unmoving heart twisted and he opened his arms. “Come here, little fairy.”

Chapter Seven

He left her.

A panic like none she’d ever experienced filled her chest, threatening to drown her with its very nature.

No. Not Charles. Charles would never leave her. He loved her. He alone knew and loved the real Anka, flaws and all. He accepted her pride, ambition, moments of insecurity. He’d been her rock.

But Anais had just reported he’d taken Madame de Olivier as his consort, deliberately aligning with her greatest rival.

With a sweep of her arm, she cleared everything from her dressing table, bottles of eau de cologne and her toiletry articles flying off in all directions. How could this be? She would kill him. A stake through the heart. No, worse, she would torture him. Confine him with some form of silver to hold him—chains or a cage and keep him in her bedroom, forced to watch her every trick.

But that thought sickened her. She had cuckolded him, after all.

Damn him—why did he have to trace to her room when she had a young man in her bed? An Adonis-like beautiful, wealthy young man, no less, who paid her to teach him how to pleasure a woman. She’d expected Charles’ fury. Perhaps part of her had even craved it as proof of his love for her. She had thought she might have to protect the boy from murder, imagined a delicious dramatic scene in which she would use her feminine wiles to distract him. Perhaps she hoped he’d beat her mercilessly with the riding crop.

But leave her? Non et non!

Bitter tears burned her eyes. She hated him for this. How could she go on without him? She had no one in the world who cared for her now. No one at all.

She hurled a silver pitcher at her looking glass, shattering it.

Damn him.

She would show him. She would best Madame de Olivier and her traitorous vampire.

Summoning the full force of her anger and pain, she collected it in her gut, drew it up her center column and down her arms to her hands. Picturing Charles naked with the Olivier bitch, she hurled her curse, striking his cock with a magic more potent than she’d ever wielded, punishing him for all of eternity for scorning her.

She wrapped her robe around her with a snap.

Adieu, Charles. You will never take pleasure with another woman, so long as you live.

Sasha sat up in bed, trembling.

Anka. And the curse.

Why had she been dreaming as if she were Anka? To help heal Charlie?

She pulled the blankets up around her as if they could stave off the chill within. Even as she thought it, she knew it wasn’t true. That feeling…that panic Anka experienced over being left by him, mirrored her own the night before. She’d thought her anxiety about his leaving had seemed overblown and now she understood. Something deep inside her knew the truth and she realized she’d always known it. She’d fallen in love too quickly. Had trusted too wholly. Had ached more than the situation warranted.

Charlie had not found her by accident. She was Anka. Or had been in a past life.

She knew it on a cellular level.

The thought terrified her. How had she done something so terrible to him? And what would happen if he ever found out? He was just beginning to trust her, to open up and share his vulnerabilities. How could he ever forgive her for what Anka had done to him?

She climbed out of bed and walked to the shower on shaking legs. Turning on the water, she stood under it, numbed.

She’d never given much consideration to karma. She believed in past lives, but more as a concept that didn’t really concern her. She knew she’d come into this life with quirks—that everyone did. Things that couldn’t be explained by life experience. People had irrational fears of water, or choking. A hatred of men. A sensation of never having enough time.

She’d also heard that the people in one’s life are the same people from past lives—family members are recycled into different roles. Lovers become parents in the next life, children become sisters or brothers. She didn’t know how that worked with the immortal, but she knew for certain Charlie had walked back into her life for a reason. And healing him was the only way to release the karmic damage Anka had instigated.

She sighed and turned off the water. Now that she had experienced how Anka had thrown the curse, could she undo it?

She leaned into the emotions of the dream—fury, jealousy, betrayal, pain. She gathered it like a ball around her and then held out her hand and pictured Charlie, tried to suck the piece of it lodged in him back to her, drawing it like a magnet. It moved, jumping and quivering and she heard Charlie moan from the bedroom.

Did it hurt him?

She intensified her effort, sweat beginning to gather on her upper lip, the magnitude of concentration all-consuming. The blockage continued to quiver. Charlie gave a cry of pain, distracting her from her concentration. The connection broke, the cork in Charlie grew still. Her head gave a throb of protest and she fell back against the bathroom wall, exhausted. She opened the door and started to get dressed before she remembered Charlie’s edict.

She looked at the clock. Nine thirty. Crap! She had forgotten to call in sick to work. Snatching up her phone, she wrapped the towel around her torso and ran out to the living room, dialing her work number on the phone.

“Hello, Edith?” she tried to sound feeble. “Hi, It’s  Sasha. I’m so sorry, I was up puking all night and I just now woke up. I don’t know if it was food poisoning or the stomach flu, so I think I’d better stay away from the kids today.”

“Okay,” Edith sighed. “I hope you feel better.”

“Thanks. And I’m sorry, I should’ve called and left a message last night when I first got sick.”

“Yes, I would’ve appreciated that. It will be hard to find a sub now.”

“If I feel better this afternoon I’ll come in,” she said, guilt eating at her.

“No. You’re right. If you have a flu bug, we don’t want all the kids getting sick. Stay home and keep me posted.”

“Okay, will do. Thanks.”

She hung up and walked back into the bedroom, worrying the inside of her cheek as she took in her sleeping vampire. He probably wouldn’t wake for hours. So technically, she could get away with putting on some clothes and then taking them off again before he woke. Plus, he’d said she had to be naked inside the house, which meant she could get dressed and work in the garden and if he caught her in the house with clothes later, she could say she’d only just come inside.

But no, the idea of being sneaky didn’t appeal. And obeying him felt naughty in the best possible sense of the word. She wanted to play their game...to a point. She left the towel wrapped around her body, reasoning that it didn’t qualify as clothing.

She returned to her study of magic, finishing one of the books and starting on another. So far nothing clued her in on how to rid Charlie of the terrible curse.

“What are you wearing?”

She looked up from her reading to find Charlie leaning in the doorway, looking relaxed. His face still held the color from feeding the night before and she realized he hadn’t slept long, either.

“Not clothes,” she insisted, lifting her arms to show him.

“Stand up.”

She stood, holding the towel in place with her arms pressed against her sides.

“Drop the towel.”

She hid a smile, knowing the command would come, a frisson of excitement running through her. She lifted her arms and allowed the towel to fall in a heap at her feet.

Charlie folded his arms across his chest, surveying her with a critical eye.  He made a circling motion with his index finger. “Turn around.”

She slowly rotated, looking over her shoulder as she did. Her pussy had slickened just from his seemingly critical gaze, as if he were measuring her attributes like a piece of meat.

“You like showing off for me,” he commented, the corners of his mouth lifting in a smirk.

“What makes you think that?” she asked, her voice not as steady as she’d attempted to make it.

He strolled forward, flicking first one nipple, then the other. “You’re pointing at me,” he said smugly.

She saw his cock bulging in his jeans and a wave of guilt washed over her. How could she look him in the eye when she knew she had been Anka?

Charlie grasped her hair and pulled her head back. “You wore clothes today,” he accused.

“No, I didn’t.”

“Don’t lie to me—I can feel your guilt.”

The hairs stood up on her arms as a pang of even deeper remorse plowed through her. “You-you can feel that?” she asked hoarsely.

“Mmm hmm. I’ve had your blood, little fairy. There’s no hiding secrets from me now.”

Her mind whirled. “You’re right,” she lied. “I’m sorry. I just felt so uncomfortable naked.”

He cocked his head to the side, studying her, as if he could sense this lie, too.

She forced herself to think of something sexy, to distract him with amorous intentions before he ferreted out the truth. “Are you going to punish me?” she asked in her best innocent school girl voice. And wonder of wonders, her pussy did grow warm at the thought.

He must have smelled the scent of her passion, because he slid a finger between her legs, just brushing her outer lips.

Her entire body jerked in response.

“Mmm...sensitive.”

“Charlie…”

“Yes?”

She didn’t know what she’d meant by uttering his name with such appeal. I’m sorry. Please forgive me. I want to fix this. She closed her eyes. Even pleasure was too barbed with the pain that he could not take any. Because of her. Her eyes flicked open. “Why are we doing this?” she asked, all trace of playfulness gone from her voice. “I don’t want to see you tortured.”

His face stiffened. He covered her breast in a possessive grip. “That’s too bad,” he said, circling behind her. “Because I love torturing you.”

She inhaled, her nerve-endings enlivening, waiting for his next touch. “I’m yours,” she whispered.

“Hands clasped on your head,” he ordered.

She interlaced her fingers and rested them on her head, lifting and spreading her breasts for his examination. He completed his circle of her and pinched both nipples, twisting them until she cried out from the pain. He released them both abruptly and slapped one of her breasts.

“Disobedience requires punishment,” he asserted.

“Yes, master,” she murmured, her skin tingling where he’d slapped, nipples aching from his pinch.

“Spread your legs,” he commanded.

She widened her stance, increasing her sense of vulnerability with both her breasts and now, her pussy exposed for his torture.

He slapped her pussy from the front, his hand swinging in a graceful arc to connect with the delicate tissue.

She jumped, stepping her legs together to protect herself.

He delivered several sharp slaps to her ass. “Naughty girl. I told you to spread your legs.”

She swallowed and opened her legs once more.

“I expect you to stay in position for your punishment. Do not move or I will make it far worse for you.”

The sternness made her belly flip like a pancake, more warmth flooding her core. He held her gaze as he slapped her pussy again and again.

She moaned. Her legs wobbled beneath her. The pain incited desire. Her pussy wanted more, even as she cringed for each new slap.

“Do you like having your pussy spanked, Sasha?” he asked in a low, seductive tone.

She gave her head a quick shake.

“Don’t lie,” he said, sounding amused. “You’re dripping wet. You want me to spank you until you come, don’t you?”

She let out a small whimpering sound, not sure whether she meant yes or no by it.

He walked around behind her. “Bend over.”