The Mark of the Vampire Queen (21 page)

She knew how to draw an extraordinary level of sensual enjoyment from the simplest acts, and he'd been a good student. He could bring her to climax with this one contact because of how deeply she could focus on it.

But that wasn't what she needed now. He put his hand between them, freed himself from his jeans and found her beneath her skirt, bringing it up to her hips so he could slide his finger under the band of the silk panties she wore, move the crotch aside and test her wetness. She was slick and warm already. When he guided her onto him, she sank down on his length with a noise between an animal sound of acceptance and a murmur of contentment, completion. She tightened on him, inch by torturous inch. When he had her fully seated, he put his arms around her, pressing her against him, her head down to his shoulder. Her arms shifted to wrap around his shoulders, almost like a child being carried home in an adult's arms. Following instinct, he began to rock, slow, sliding strokes up inside her. Wrapping a complex dichotomy of desire and comfort tightly around their bodies, a lullaby of searing sensation. Her hips moved on his, circular desire, tightening, releasing, lifting, lowering. He nuzzled her neck as she moved her grip to his hair, his trimmed beard making friction across the top of her left breast, eliciting a soft, shuddering sigh.

He'd never wanted anything to go on forever so much, this magical journey through the night in the quiet solitude of a moving car, baptized by the lights of the passing vehicles. The soft sound of Ingram's preferred slow groove station came through the back speakers. Jacob's release built with hers on every stroke as they moved in perfect harmony on a star-kissed sea of their own world.

It was a sweet ride, holding her body close, feeling her move with him, her cheek pressed against his hair, her grip there alternately tightening and stroking. He was sure Mr. Ingram knew what was happening back here. Somehow, despite the fact he'd never formally taken Lyssa's offer of a job, Elijah had become part of the journey they were on, a journey Jacob was all too aware had an end. Mr. Ingram knew it, too, and maybe that was why he was with them still. Sometimes, despite all the reasons a man's mind told him he needed to avoid a situation with a woman, his heart overruled him. No matter the pain or danger, this was the course that called to him.

“Jacob.” A soft murmur of sound, her voice breathless. He took her up high, down slow, stroking her with his full length, despite the fact he knew he was going to explode in no time from such exquisite slick torture. She liked to squeeze, liked to feel the ridge of him push through her muscles.

“Ah…” He kept it slow as her hands began to jerk in their hold on him, her body tightening, ready. He held her to his pace and she let him, didn't try to take the lead, smiling even through her strain, acknowledging the wonder of it. He wasn't even sure if he was in the lead or if they were in fact on a tide that was inexorably, rhythmically, pulling them both toward their destination.

A cry broke from her lips, but he kept pushing her down on him, again and again, until her whole body was quivering, rocketing with the intensity of the climax he was inflicting on them both at such a pace. When he began to come, he banded his arms even more tightly around her, burying his face in her neck, pressing his lips there as he surged strong and hard into her pussy, piercing her deep, giving her a taste of pain with the vibrating pleasure of her aftershocks. Her teeth scored his ear, responding. He smiled, closing his eyes as shudders racked through him.

He let himself be content to hold her then, knowing his lady never told him false. At the next moonrise, they'd be at the Gathering, where everything would be different. She'd given him this to remember. And just as she'd asked, he had her heart in his safekeeping, beating in his own chest. He was sure of it.

 

Jacob stretched his legs after they deplaned from the private jet on a narrow landing strip. They were somewhere in Chile or Argentina, but he knew little else about the location of the Vampire Gathering. The stronghold where they'd hold the annual Vampire Gathering was secluded, another hour's travel by off-road vehicle. Lyssa had said the private resort getaway was located on the coast and backed by the lush, temperate rain forest of this region.

She'd explained that the resort belonged to Lord Mason, a vampire Jacob knew was one of the older ones at over six hundred. He was rarely seen, choosing to live in seclusion in the Saudi desert. However, he loaned the property to the Vampire Council for their purposes, apparently having no desire of his own to visit it, but equally having no desire to relinquish it.

Mason and Lyssa had a history. Jacob had seen at least one correspondence from the vampire to her. Though he hadn't been privy to the contents, he knew it had somehow contributed to the events that led her to give him the third mark. Thomas had also told him something of Mason. Years ago, Lyssa had wanted Mason to be more involved in the Council formation, but Mason apparently was not a joiner. He wanted nothing more than seclusion and turned away from the notion of “civilized” vampires. Lyssa had been disappointed, perhaps even feeling a bit betrayed by the friend she'd hoped she could count on. Since that had been so long ago, she'd obviously gotten past it enough to exchange correspondence with him again, but that was all.

Jacob had tried not to be selfishly glad of that. Thomas had implied there'd once been something more between the two of them. If not for Mason's aversion to vampire society, it might have been Mason instead of Rex that Lyssa would have chosen for marriage.

You don't court me, Jacob. You serve me.

He pushed that memory away, knowing he needed to be steady and balanced as they stepped out onto the tarmac to meet a full complement of Council members. For the next three days he would be surrounded by creatures that saw him as food, a sex slave, an inferior being, a tool. For his lady's benefit, he would have to perform accordingly. Knowing his lady, that performance could take many forms. And most of them would make him nervous as hell if he dwelled on the possibilities at all.

Humans were expected to satiate vampire desires as sexual sub-missives on many different levels. At the Gathering, that aspect of a servant's role was turned to high volume. Until now, except for the dinner with Lord Tara, Lady Richard and Lord Brian, most—though not all—of his submission to his lady had been private. He suspected that would not be the case here.

While he didn't agree entirely with Debra's assessment of it, he knew on one important level she was right. His lady loved him and had told him she did, something unique to a vampire-human relationship. She also viewed him as her servant, expecting his obedience. While she trembled under his touch, she wouldn't hesitate to physically hurt him if he defied her to the point of blatant disrespect. And he understood that. Accepted it in a way that wouldn't make sense to Gideon or anyone else. Perhaps it only made sense to someone who had the mind-set to be a human servant.

Now he stood at her back, a deferential few feet behind while she exchanged greetings. A meeting of hands, a brush of the lips across the cheek. A contingent of humans stood back, waiting as well. From their appearance, he knew these were not the human servants attached to these Council vampires.

The overlords invited to the Gathering were not of equal rank. Therefore those of the lower ranks might have their servants pressed into all sorts of duties during the Gathering—cleaning, waitstaff, bellhop services. While he and Lyssa had discussed that, she had neglected to tell him how these servants would be garbed.

The group of men and women waiting for direction had extremely attractive bodies, noticeable because they wore little on them. Their individuality was denied them because they wore full head masks with nose and eye openings, but no mouth opening. From the stretched concave curve in that area, it appeared they wore ball gags beneath so speech was not possible. They could only receive and follow orders. Each wore a modified form of chastity belt where the genitals were visible but caged by a closely fitted wire mold. Other than those two items, they wore nothing else.

It made him terribly grateful he was attached to a high-ranking vampire. Never mind that their identities were safeguarded by the masks. He was sure it was not for their benefit, but a practical consideration for their Master or Mistress, so no one could identify their servant and try to manipulate them for political benefit.

He would not be commandeered for any services of which his lady did not approve. She'd also made it clear he was to follow only her direction and to never, ever let his guard down once they were off the plane.

As two of the humans were ordered to move and claim the baggage of another vampire who had just arrived, he noticed something else. The men's cocks were hard and erect in the caged wires that pressed the engorged shafts against their bellies. The women's eyes were wide and flared, their bodies obviously being kept in a stimulated state, the wires over their pussies wet with their arousal. As they turned, bent, he saw the chastity belts were fitted with dildos inserted into all available openings, depending on gender. It was the type of discomfort that vampires enjoyed inflicting, allowing them to inhale the scent of human arousal to stoke their own desires.

He pulled his attention away from that back to his lady. Accustomed enough to the internal stratus of vampire society not to expect an introduction, he nevertheless was conscious of a penetrating assessment by each vampire who stepped forward and greeted his lady. They'd gone over each member of the Council thoroughly, so he had no problem recognizing each one. He'd also gotten impressions of them through his many communications with their servants over the past month on his lady's behalf. He noted names, body language, the shift of eyes, the level of deference exhibited and his lady's reaction to each.

The last one who stepped forward was Belizar, the head of the Council and obviously of Russian Cossack stock. With steel gray eyes and swept-back hair streaked with silver, he had an aura that said he had no problem removing the body parts of anyone who crossed him. He had a throbbing power hard to ignore. His gaze swept over Jacob, then again to Lyssa as he stepped back but retained her hand.

“Lady Lyssa, you do us great honor by being here. I'm pleased to see you've at last overcome your grief to take another servant. May it please you one day to feel the same about another mate.”

From the grip he had on her hand, there was no doubt who Belizar felt that should be. And of course an allegiance between the head of the Vampire Council and the last Far Eastern vampire of royal blood would make logical sense to everyone present. No one would think it an inappropriate implication.

No one except Jacob, who knew the wound in her heart from Thomas's loss and Rex's betrayal was still deep. Not to mention the fact it had resulted in a death sentence hanging over her. From the ripple of feeling he picked up from her, he wondered if this was what she'd dreaded the most. Not the life-and-death politics and the worry that the disease would make itself known here, but the reminder of what she'd lost to reach this point. She'd had a lot to deal with since it had all happened, but when all was said and done, she was still a grieving widow, on several levels. He had to quell the urge to take a step closer behind her, to let her feel the reassurance of him at her back.

Lyssa drew her hand away with an easy, light smile that betrayed none of that ripple of reaction. “I've no plans in that direction right now, Belizar, but your kind wishes are much appreciated. It's lovely to be back at Mason's home again. Will we be honored by his presence?”

“With Mason, nothing is ever certain.” This dry comment from one of the female Council members. Lady Carola from Germany. “Often we don't know if he's alive or dead.”

“Break into his private wine stock and we'll know. I think he's injected a drop of his blood into each bottle so he'll know if it's disturbed.” This from Lord Uthe, a tall, ascetic-looking denizen of the night with dark eyes that looked toward Lyssa with a friendly, reserved affection that did not raise Jacob's hackles the way that Belizar had. Uthe was the unofficial second in command of the Council, bringing a razor-sharp shrewdness to augment Belizar's charismatic, volatile style.

Belizar glanced toward Jacob. “Take your lady's things to her room. These servants will take you there.”

Jacob executed a slight bow. “The offer of assistance is appreciated, but I take orders only from my Mistress, my lord.”

Based on his experience with Carnal, he supposed he could have been more diplomatic about it, using his mind link with Lyssa to verify this was what she wanted him to do, but Jacob wanted no misunderstandings about whom he served.

Belizar's eyes flashed. In them Jacob saw he had the arrogance and sense of superiority possessed by vampires Jacob and Gideon had fought in the past. Only in his case, his superiority was likely justified, bolstered by experience. The experience of ripping off the arms of humans who'd annoyed him.

But Jacob had been sure to have nothing in his voice to suggest the comment was anything but obliging the directives of his Mistress. Belizar was picking up the subtle male undercurrent, but Jacob's tone was courteous enough to make him uncertain if he was being challenged by a mere human. That arrogance was working in Jacob's favor.

And you said I didn't know how to play politics, my lady.

While she didn't respond, he thought he felt a flicker of amusement from her. It certainly wasn't coming from Belizar. The head of the Council shifted his gaze back to Lyssa, a dismissive gesture.

“You are far more fortunate in the loyalty of this servant than that murderous traitor.”

“In more ways than one,” Carola murmured, giving Jacob a thorough appraisal that reminded him uncomfortably of old charcoal drawings of Jamaican slave auctions. If she reached out to check his teeth, she was going to pull back a stump. “There's entertainment and sport in the resort area until dawn, Lady Lyssa. Once he's settled your things, perhaps your servant could join in for the viewing pleasure of us all.”