Hunger Aroused (16 page)

“Do you feel it?” he asked.

“I never expected this.” She gasped, still tried to regain her composure. “It's…amazing. I've never experienced anything like it before. Just. Amazing.”

“You're offending my masculine sense here.” A light laugh.

“What? …Oh.”

Corin rocked forward, a gentle reminder of his cock still solid and ready in her. A renewed interest in her lover flared to life, the thread between them a catalyst. Their bodies were slick with perspiration, the labor of their efforts as sensual as their act.

She would lie with him forever if given a choice. Corin's attention made her feel so feminine, his rugged masculinity a stark contrast to her. But what of tomorrow, when Sijourn made demands on them both? Or afterward, if they survived the power-hungry vampire, what would happen when the Council caught up to them? This beautiful, tender act might be their last time together.

“Stay with me, Jas.” His lips brushed hers, wiping away the morose thoughts. A smile pushed up the corners of her mouth instead. How he loved to kiss her. She would never grow tired of it.

“Always.” She wrapped her arms around his back, tilting her pelvis. Tracing her hands along the firm muscles of his arms, down the curve of his back, beneath his rounded cheeks, she memorized Corin's body. She kissed along his neck, scenting the wild intensity of his blood beneath the fragile protection of his skin. Her tongue ran along the fine raise of shadow on his neck and jaw.

He elevated himself on one arm. Together they watched how he impaled her below, the flush of color across her chest and abdomen, the gentle sway of her breasts.

His muscles bunched and flexed. The light brown discs of his nipples in stark contrast to the smooth muscle of his pecs. His face was a study in concentration, the set of his jaw that of a determined man.

“My gods, you are beautiful,” he whispered.

Her thoughts about him exactly. She laughed this time, ready to tell him so, before a moan over took her, whisking away the thought. Corin's clever, clever hand found a home against her clit, circling the hardened cluster until all sensation centered there sent her thoughts scattering to the heavens.

Through half-lidded eyes, she watched him study her reaction. She focused long enough to visualize the thread binding them together, to remember that in the last few minutes he gave of himself all he had to offer, and to realize she wanted a long life together with this man. Corin lowered his head to suckle on one heavy breast, his touch against her clit growing in intensity, desire building, making her tremble. She refocused on her man, on their lovemaking, and Jasmine let herself float away on a cloud of delicious sensation.

Their captors knew what they were about this morning. By the time Corin reacted to the sound of footsteps rushing to and then through the bedroom door, he still wasn't fast enough to keep them from posing a dangerous threat.

One of the men grabbed Jasmine, still nude and drowsy from the attention Corin had paid her through the wee hours of the early morning, and hauled her to his chest. Corin roared, a distinct sound of fury, and vaulted toward them. No fucking way was he letting this male touch his woman and live long enough to regret it.

Ignoring the tangle of sheets, he barreled into the man. Together they slammed against one of the walls. Instinct taking over, he threw a punch into the man's tender belly before crushing his throat beneath a chop that held the weight of his anger. Satisfaction warmed through him as he listened to the man's gurgling gasps for breath, attempts that would prove futile through his crushed windpipe.

He didn't have long to gloat. There were more of Sijourn's men in the room, and Jas was still not nearly close enough to him. His clothes and therefore his blade were on the opposite side of the bed, also away from Jasmine. Too far away to be of any use. If he hadn't been sleeping so heavily, if he'd been more alert to their approach…

“Idiots,” one of the men grumbled. He raised a gun to Corin's head, walking forward with bold strides. “Give it to her, and let's get this over with.”

Corin watched one of the men toss a cloth bundle to Jasmine. She shook out an oversized shirt, while a women's pair of sweat pants dropped to the floor. She shot Corin a puzzled expression. He gave her a curt nod, still assessing their situation and grudgingly grateful for the clothing. Watching the men ogle her would prove one less distraction. There were four guns trained on him; they commanded his attention.

“Corinius, we have instruction to use extreme prejudice when dealing with you. Don't do anything—” he glanced at the dying man crumpled against the floor, “—
else
stupid.”

“What do you want?” As if he didn't know. He needed another few seconds to think though.

“Just her.” He nodded toward Jasmine. “You'll stay here.”

“Not a fucking chance.” His incisors grew to match his agitation.

“That's not your choice.” He moved forward, his expression calm, until the barrel of the gun pressed to Corin's forehead. “How long do you think it'll take you to recover from a headshot? By the time you do, we'll have taken her anyway, and all you'll have for your problems is one hell of a headache.”

He'd take that chance.

“Corin, please.” The worry in Jasmine's voice punched him. “Please. I'll be back. Sijourn isn't going to hurt me.”

He knew that intellectually, but to let her go, to not at least put up some sort of fight went against everything he'd become. He was an executioner, a vampire, her lover.

She must have seen his struggle. “I can't do this if you're not safe, Corin. Please.”

At this distance, he had the opportunity to scrutinize old acne scars on their captor's face. Corin breathed in his expensive cologne, studied a small patch of stubble he'd missed while shaving. He looked into his dead eyes, not caring how they studied him back. A small step forward made the man tense, but Corin's emotions had gone flat, as well. “One hair out of place when she returns, and I will hold you personally responsible.” He looked at Jasmine, sending her his love with one heated glance. Leaning back a moment later removed the end of the gun from his skin. “I'm also going to give you one more piece of advice. The next time you come in here, bring more men. You got lucky this morning, and it won't happen again.”

The man gave him a stiff bow, an acknowledgement of Corin's concession. He waited until they'd removed the dead man's body before taking a step back. Not until Jasmine went through the doorway did the gunman back all the way out, as well.

Corin kept his attention on her, loving her even more for the way she kept her head held high, her back straight. No fear emanating from her whatsoever. Without a doubt, this was a sacrifice she made for him. She didn't have to do this—he knew she was terrified of what Sijourn wanted. He'd felt it every time she mentally pulled away from him during the night. He'd heard it the one time she'd cried while they made love. It broke his gods' damned heart.

She wouldn't be here if it wasn't for him. He'd brought his world of violence and death to her doorstep because of a single chance encounter on a busy street.

Needing the distraction, he took a quick shower. At one point hours later during his pacing, he thought he heard a woman's scream, and his gut clenched. He prayed to his gods that the echoing sound was just his imagination, and Sijourn would follow through on his promise not to hurt Jasmine. No matter how hard he pressed his ear against the locked door, for the next several minutes he didn't hear the scream repeat.

They wouldn't hurt her. They couldn't.
Turning those words into a mantra saved his fracturing sanity. Corin said them again and again, needing to believe them. The silence that surrounded him as the minutes passed made his belief grow.

In either event, he didn't know if he still had the ability to throw up, but if he could, the rising bile he kept swallowing down indicated that now was as good a time as any to start.

Shit, he needed some sort of distraction. Folding his legs beneath him, he sat on the bed, facing the door. Eyes closed, Corin meditated, concentrating hard on how he would get them out of this mess.

***

“Again.” Titus barked the command, annoyed that these excuses for men were his to train. The new trainees made him feel ancient. Their lack of discipline and bright, fearful eyes also made him feel a living terror. If Cartius Primus lived another year with
this
guarding him, he should consider himself one lucky man.

“A word, Commander.”

He looked up as the object of his thoughts summoned him. A moment of dread seized him, just as any other time the man called for him. Despite the fact it hadn't happened in a while, every time he was beckoned, Titus was certain he'd be required to reaffirm his allegiance by performing in the dominus's bed. After more than thirty years of loyal service, he wanted to think he could submit without hesitation. Deep inside however, the truth fought valiantly with what should have been.

They came face to face in one of the wings leading from the atrium. “Walk with me.”

Titus maintained a one-step distance behind his owner, always aware of their surroundings. Servants flowed to and fro, their daily chores none of his concern, save any that brought them within striking distance of his charge.

They walked in silence, which suited Titus just fine. While he would protect his master with his life, the man had never been and would never be called friend. True, he'd taken him from an almost-certain death and introduced him to civility and culture, but at the end of the day it was slavery nonetheless.

“You don't belong here,” Cartius said at last.

“Dominus?”

Cartius walked through the doorway of the master bedroom, heading straight for where a goblet lay waiting on a small table. By the time he crossed the room, one of the servants had it filled to the rim with wine. “You've served me well, and I don't regret assuming a gladiator, but you don't belong here. Never have.”

Titus waited for more to come, still unsure as to the direction of this conversation.

“How much longer before you grow tired of this life and then turn on me, Titus?”

The very same thought had crossed his mind often. “Never, Dominus.”

Cartius smiled bitterly. “You and I will both live a very long time. Until the end comes, I will always know of your existence and you of mine. Even if now you don't think you'll one day turn on me, some day you'll reach that realization then act on it.” He took a sip from his goblet, his trembling hands significant to this turn of thinking. “Take the next week to transition my care to someone you trust. Paius, perhaps? Then take your leave.”

Words lodged in his throat. The right thing to do would be protest. The thing he longed for, however, was to simply run. Was his freedom truly only a week away?

“Thank you, Dominus.” Even saying those words almost choked him. With a lightened heart he turned, his mind too agog for coherent thought.

“One more thing, Commander.”

Titus looked over his shoulder and froze.

“I've given you a very precious gift. One you should not waste. Go out into the world with my blessing, and make a life for yourself. But always, always remember this—it was I who honored you thusly. It is I to whom you owe allegiance always.”

One of Cartius's hands loosened the sash at his waist. The other was beneath the hem of his tunic, and to Titus's ultimate horror, stroking the length of his cock in slow, luxuriant motions.

“Go. Live a long, rich life, but when you do, you'll take a part of me with you. For that, I'll ask one more lesson of you. One last reason for you to remember my name.” Cartius crooked a long finger at Titus.

Wooden legs refused to move until Cartius walked over and took him by the arm. Numb, unable to process what was about to happen, Titus allowed his chest to be pushed against the cold, hard wall.

Soft words, almost gentle, whispered against his ear. “Remove your
subligar,
gladiator. One more lesson before you leave me forever.”

***

Jasmine walked back into their room under her own power, and that alone saved the men surrounding her from his wrath.

“Safe and sound, vampire.” The man from earlier in the day, the one Corin had entrusted her safety, sneered in mock disgust. Corin didn't care what kind of front he pulled in front of his men. He smelled the fear from all of them. Relished it.

He set that aside though and rushed to Jasmine, pulling her into his embrace. Her arms went around his waist right away, where she clung to him. She gave no other sign of distress, no reaction to her morning.

At the sound of the door shutting, her legs gave out.

Corin carried her to the bed, all the while planting tender kisses on the crown of her face. Tasted the offensive salt from the tears on her face. Sobs wracked her body, the way she held on to him even more poignant in meaning. He held her knowing that if he let go, even for a second, the cement walls around him wouldn't be barrier enough to keep him from killing everyone in the abode. He didn't know for how long he held her, how long he rocked her body. Truly, didn't care.

His throat constricted too tightly for him to speak. Despite the hundreds of questions screeching in his mind, he couldn't give voice to any of them. No matter what her response, he would not see his little goddess broken like this again. For now he held her, content that he might bring some manner of peace to her mind.

A long time later her sobs died, to be followed by the soft sound of her sniffles. “I'm sorry,” she muttered.

“No, precious, don't you dare apologize to me.”

“It's just that,” she went on as if she hadn't heard him, “when I left this morning, I set aside my feelings for you. I wiped all emotion away and made myself get through the tests. There wasn't anything he could do that would hurt me. But when I opened the door and saw you standing there, your face so full of…love…everything that was done came rushing back, and I couldn't help it…I couldn't help it, Corin.”

He wanted to know what they'd done but bit the inside of his cheek to keep from asking. There were multiple red dots at the crook of her arm, the strong odor of glue coming from the same place. He imagined the blood draws, followed by cotton taped down over the same places to staunch the flow. It's what Sijourn promised would happen—to begin with.

He waited for her sniffling to subside, by then his imagination too out of control to contain. “What did they do to you?”

Jasmine shuddered, and Corin had to tighten his hold. The emotions eating his gut made him nauseous all over again.

“I don't…I can't talk…”

“Please,
mellita.
”

“Corin,” she whimpered.

The sound stabbed him in the heart. Still he pressed on. “My imagination has to be worse than what happened. It has to be. If it's all I'm left with, I'm afraid it will drive me mad. Just this once, Jasmine. Please. Please tell me.”

She shuddered again, the motion tightening his throat. “It started off okay. Things I could handle.” Her wavering voice was just above a whisper, the sound too soft to travel much farther than the bed upon which they sat. “Some blood samples at first and some hair samples. They were pleasant to me at first.

“They swabbed the inside of my cheeks, but then they had me disrobe.” A single tear trailed down her face. “Then they took another swab.” Her voice broke, but she pushed on. “I had to put my legs in this contraption, like stirrups, and they wanted a sample.”

Corin's eyes slipped close as the images assaulted him. Her humiliation. He forced his trembling hands still. His thundering heart to calm.

“Hours of swabs and needles. Of men and women looking under microscopes and jotting things down. They would get excited and report to Sijourn, who watched all of it. All of it.” Jasmine cleared her throat. More tears streaked her face. “Sijourn thanked me and told me there was just one last thing that had to be done today. One more thing that I would have to endure. He said the anesthesia wouldn't work, and I had to be brave.”

Tears pricked the backs of Corin's eyes, the stinging almost unbearable. Damn their vampire metabolism, one that would render opiates and other narcotics useless. The same metabolism that made anesthesia no more potent than water.