Death Comes for Her, page 6
Simon had one hand gripping the edge of the credenza, his head hanging low as he grunted and moaned. His other hand I spotted much lower, fisting his cock faster than he was being railed.
A gush of fluid spilled into my underwear. The sudden flood of arousal burned through me, turning my insides into molten lava. I clamped my hand tighter around my lips to halt the whimpers begging to escape. My heart thrummed, and I dragged in quick breaths through my nostrils.
I’d never seen anything so fucking erotic in my entire life. And I wanted to blame the venom on my arousal—gods damn, I wanted to—but the indecent interest seizing hold of my desire belonged solely to me.
Dante had one hand gripping Simon’s shoulder and the other digging into his hip. He shook errant strands of black hair away from his face as he tossed his head back, moaning loudly. His cock sunk into Simon over and over as he drove himself into the pale vampire. His slightly larger, bulkier frame had Simon pinned against the wood as he fucked him from behind.
The sounds they made were vulgar. The sight of them rutting against one another was lewd and titillating. It was a carnal, animalistic scene of two men taking what they needed from the other. No passion or tenderness to spare as they rocked harder and faster.
Bliss rocked through me when I pressed my fingers into my clit. I hadn’t noticed my hand lifting my skirt or slipping under the lace material of my underwear until slick desire coated my fingers. One hand over my mouth, the other gathered the wetness weeping from my pussy. I used my arousal to slip my fingers over my nerves, circling in tandem with the frantic speed of the two vampires fucking.
Gods, it was wrong—so, so wrong. But at my current rate, my soul was already bound for a terrible afterlife. Why not indulge in corruption?
It must have been the addictive nature of their venom making me ache to breach the door and plead for their attention. The drugging poison from their fangs left traces of the vampires’ lustful ways inside me, making me crave them.
Images of what it would be like to join them rushed through my mind. Flashes of made-up desires worsened my indecent condition. My fingers slipped through my folds, thrumming my clit with ribald tenacity. I dreamed of writhing between them, sandwiched in the middle of their hard bodies. I pictured them fucking on top of me or taking me from both ends.
Dante’s hand smoothed over Simon’s shoulder before collaring his throat. He yanked his pale head back, hissing something low and filthy into his ear. Simon groaned, the sound half-euphoric and half-pained. His face twisted into an angry sneer even as he stroked the end of his dripping cock, pre-cum lubricating his fingers with each pass.
My cunt clenched around nothing, woefully empty. I curled my fingers lower, shoving two of them inside me. Weeks of denying myself relief to spite the venom-induced desire had built up, burning under the surface like a bubbling volcano. Catching them fucking like mad beasts became the catalyst I didn’t know I needed. I curled my fingers against my g-spot while grinding my palm into my clit, chasing the eruption my body vibrated for.
Simon sucked in a gasp before venting a drawn-out groan. His frenzied motion froze, leaving his hips jerking. Two more passes of his hand over his cock and creamy white ropes sprayed over the dark wood of the credenza.
I licked my lips at the sight, mouth watering for a taste of his cum. I’d wished he’d come across my tongue or deep inside of me. The mental image and the echoing of Dante’s increasing grunts sent me hurtling over the edge of ecstasy. Pleasure snapped through me, unleashing a white-hot inferno. My thighs tensed, body shaking, moans muffled against my palm as I gushed around my fingers.
Half melted against the wall, I noticed the change in Simon’s expression seconds before Dante roared with his release. His hips stilled with his cock buried deep in Simon’s ass, hands still possessively holding the pale vampire in place. But Simon’s features twisted into an ice-cold flurry until his lips peeled back to reveal his fangs.
“Get the fuck off me,” he snapped, elbowing Dante away. He shoved his softening cock back into his trousers. His shoulders rose and fell in heavy breaths as he laced himself up and straightened his rumpled shirt.
The vampire stumbled back, dripping cock yanked from its warm sheath. The dark thatch of hair at the base of his thick cock almost distracted me. I focused on his bemused scoff instead.
“Don’t take that attitude with me now that you’ve come!” Dante barked. He fixed his own clothing, glaring at the pale vampire. “You’re the one who approached me and pulled me in here. Now you’re mad that I’ve fucked you when that’s exactly what you wanted?”
Simon whirled around, struggling to smooth his pinched brow and scrunched nose. “I needed a release, and you were conveniently close. Don’t treat this as something it’s not.”
“Because we’re not ‘like that anymore’, right?” he scoffed, adding a dramatic eye roll for effect.
“Exactly. Not for a long time. I just slipped up. It means nothing.”
Dante crossed his arms over his wide chest. He narrowed his glowering hazel eyes. “You fed from her this morning, didn’t you?”
I straightened up as ice shards jolted through my blood. Every muscle fiber under my skin tensed to flee.
Simon carded his fingers through disheveled white hair. His shoulders sank, and he faced away from Dante. He nodded, wordlessly admitting what the other already knew.
“Don’t use me when it’s her you want.” The weight of Dante’s words slammed into the back of my head like a fist. I doubted the validity of his statement as soon as they floated into existence. He had to be wrong. But he continued. “Gods know I want the same thing, brother. If we keep fighting it, we’ll end up tearing each other apart to…”
I didn’t stay to listen further.
Simon had turned toward the door, intent on leaving Dante behind. My feet propelled me down the hall as if I were being hunted for sport. I slipped into a side corridor and tucked myself into a dark alcove as the door slammed, rattling the paintings on the walls through the second floor. I stayed hidden until my heart slowed, my blood cooled, and the house went silent again.
Chapter 6
Another week passed without a successful visit to the library. I contended myself by exploring my reserved wing of the manor. Outside of my suite, I located an abandoned office, a vacant sitting room with lavish chairs, and a forgotten smoking lounge. Newfound courage from my unhindered daily voyages provided the fuel for longer walks and extended absences from my room.
My days flitting through opulent manor halls carried more freedom than my time indentured on the farm. I recognized the difference in trading one cage for another, and admittedly, I preferred the new one. Despite the increasing tension with the vampire lords, I’d pick staying there against going back to any semblance of what I’d lived through the past decade.
But the one thing I missed more than anything: my access to the outdoors. At the farm I’d practically lived outside, day in and out. It gave me time to climb atop the highest peak of the barn, throw my arms and pretend I still had my wings. I could feel the air tickling my skin, the phantom fluttering on my back, and imagine days long gone where I’d commanded the sky.
Without the sun and stars, without the sky, without the wind, my nightmares grew in intensity. All variations of memories, returning to haunt me night after night. In the morning I often woke drenched in sweat, twisting with agony and wondering why I’d lived when the others hadn’t. Feelings of being unworthy of my survival chained me to the bed, where I wallowed in misery.
I’d eat and bathe and dress. Then I’d wander the empty halls around my room like a golden phantom, coasting along on winds of isolation. I was always back in my room when the vampires returned to feed and indulge in my blood.
Simon came in the mid-mornings, always punctual for whatever schedule he’d set for himself. So, it surprised me when he never arrived during the past seven days. It dawned on me that I hadn’t seen him since his last feeding… the day I’d witnessed him and Dante fucking.
I’d refused myself a second to wonder over what they’d said. It wasn’t important to me, and I repeatedly told myself I didn’t care what they thought. Any time those memories roused in my mind, I slammed them back down and locked them behind a mental wall.
The pale, frigid bastard was either avoiding me or wasn’t at the manor. It didn’t sting if it was the first option, but I still hoped it was the second. My pride, I thought, refused to believe that anyone who looked at me the way Simon often did could avoid me. His frosty glares were reserved, but they were latent with something akin to forbidden wanting—
No. I wouldn’t think about it.
Missing a day of vampire venom affected me adversely. The underlying itch to experience that toxic rush hounded me. I longed for the euphoric, mind-numbing release and the heated storm in my loins that their venom provided. It was a sickening, growing addiction that left me sweating and feeling as if there were ants crawling under my skin.
I hated myself for surviving when my people were slaughtered. I hated myself for enjoying the scant luxuries of life in a big house with constant food. I hated myself for wanting the vampires to bite me again and again. And I fucking hated that dreams of being tangled up between the two of them were infiltrating my nightmares.
Dante arrived on his usual day of the week, preferring to feed in the afternoon. Part of me considered asking him about Simon’s absence when he first entered the room. That thought quickly died as he crashed into me, walking me backwards to the couch, and promptly sank his fangs into my neck. The overwhelming pain of the sudden, urgent bite throttled all thoughts from my head.
A terrific wave of euphoria washed through me, ceasing the stinging pain in my neck and replacing it with intoxicated bliss. I coasted, dazed and aroused through his visit, hardly aware that his wandering hand traveled further, and his groping became more wolfish. He drank and pawed at me like an animal, and I, high on venom, arched and moaned into him.
The full force of lingering nightmares and the fading ache from my high left me drenched in sweat the next day. I’d taken my time bathing and eating breakfast, muttering brief replies as Imani rattled off every thought in her head. Halfway through a scalding cup of tea, I decided to resume my journey to the library.
Sitting with thoughts of vampires wasn’t good for a fairy’s mind. Mine was already broken beyond repair and recently addicted to a vile substance, but gods-fuck, I needed a true distraction.
Dressed in an airy, lavender colored dress with my hair twisted at the nape of my neck, I marched through the hauntingly empty halls of the manor. Briefly, with an erotic tingle rushing down my spine, I paused at the door where I’d seen the Ambrose lords entangled. After a rough swallow, I shook myself free of the memory and continued to the impressive double doors at the end of the corridor.
With bated breath, I twisted open the handle. It was no opulent palace library with gilded walls and massive, magically glowing crystal chandeliers. The manor library had the same paned glass, arched windows as the rest of the home compared to wall-to-wall windows with doorways to balconies and flying landings I’d grown up with. The lights above me were electric, shining on the thick, heavy red drapes along the back wall and the two levels of books.
If blue skies and bright sunlight existed, I imagined the space feeling bright and open. Once upon a time, it might have been exactly that. In the world the vampires conquered, red light from the crimson moon stained any surface it touched. Only the dim electric lights gave the space a manufactured air of comfort.
Still, the selection didn’t disappoint me. Two open floors filled to the brim with towering walls of books were a consolation prize in an altogether shit situation. And I was starved for the sweet diversion of literature.
Books were the perfect mental escape.
As a child, I had access to a library larger than life. Any subject one might imagine had lived in those gilded walls. Teachers and scholars from all over the kingdom were summoned to educate me. I’d had the best tutors that gold could buy, even throughout the war. Nothing was off limits to me, not even restricted books, because so many years ago I was someone special.
But poetry always sat on a pedestal in my heart.
As I ran my fingers along the spines of ancient leather-bound texts, memories flickered behind my eyes. A woman with golden curls sitting beside me as a child, looking out over a crystalline lakeside. We’d huddled together on expensive blankets not meant for outdoor use but took on our picnics, regardless. She would recite the sweetest poems while braiding wildflowers into my hair.
Shaking away thoughts of the dead, I meandered through the stacks of written knowledge. When I found several sections with tomes I recognized, I pulled the books of poems from their shelves and settled in one of the large wingback chairs near a fireplace. There was no fire, but the seat was comfortable, feeling almost like a welcome embrace in the library. I folded my legs underneath me and tucked into my first book of the day.
The first few hours I busied myself by reacquainting my mind with works I’d read over a decade ago. At one point in my life, I’d been tutored to memorize and recite the ancient literature. Words danced around in my head as I re-familiarized myself with the classics.
It struck me as odd that vampire lords sequestered in their broody home would have hundreds of books written by fair folk. Halfway through my stack of books I paused, remembering that the undead had the time of the war and the ten years following to collect whatever remained of the greatest fairy libraries. Everything in the room might have very well been stolen from the place I was born before they burned it to the ground.
In fact, the book in my hands was of high quality. Certainly a first edition copy with magical preservation humming in the pages. I skimmed the pad of my thumb over the embellished front cover, feeling the ridges and grooves of the flower pattern sewn into the leather. If I hadn’t skipped the front matter, would I have seen the royal seal?
A whisper of groaning wood and a gentle click alerted me to the library door opening. I was hidden behind stacks of shelves in the corner by the fireplace, yet all the hair rose on the back of my neck as if bodily aware of the unwanted visitor. Holding my breath, I shrunk deeper into my chair and hugged my book to my stomach. I prayed the interloper quickly found what they were looking for and departed without finding me.
No such luck, it seemed.
The soft tap of expensive leather shoes on pristine hardwood floors closed in. My heart lodged itself in my throat, choking me on my next breath as a white-blond head appeared over the nearest row of bookshelves. Lord Simon Ambrose strolled with lazy grace into the pale light of the lamp, with both hands in the pockets of his expensive black trousers and an expression of utter boredom on his pale, blade-sharp face.
The frigid aura that followed him set my teeth on edge, and I winced when his ice-blue eyes cut to me huddled in the wingback chair. A second passed where something heated and heavy glinted in his gaze before his expression quickly settled into a sneer, dripping with disdain.
“What are you doing here?” His mouth curled over each word with perfect articulation. Not for the first time, I wondered what his life as a human was before his un-death and transformation.
My eyes rolled of their own volition. I hadn’t meant for it to happen, but off they rolled, joined by a soft scoff. “The other insufferable lord of the manor permitted my freedom of the home.”
It was Simon’s turn to scoff.
“Yes, Dante likes to let his pets roam with more freedom than they should be allowed.” Then his stormy blue eyes dropped from the scattered volumes around me to the book clutched in my arms. His lip curled back. “I didn’t know you could read.”
I wanted to put him in a glass jar and shake it—vigorously.
“Oh, forgive me for being educated, you prat!” The insult flew off my tongue before I could bite it back. Once it hovered in the air between us, the deranged urge to laugh bubbled up in my chest.
It felt good to insult him.
His eyes rounded before he smothered his surprise. Then he arched one perfectly pale brow. “I could have your tongue for that.”
The threat felt… weak.
An odd sense of courage rose under the surface of my skin, warming me. It allowed me to unfurl from my defensive posture in the chair to cross my legs and shrug. “That would be a shame. I can do very pleasant things with my tongue.”
Simon’s throat bobbed, and he swiveled his head, narrowing his gaze at the darkness outside the window. It was dimly lit in the library, but I thought I noted a flush of pink on his cheek. But that was an absurd notion I kicked from my head.
“Like reciting poetry?” He cleared his throat, eyes returning to the book in my lap. “Humans say there’s nothing more alluring than listening to a fairy sing or read aloud.”
“And a vampire might say there’s nothing more alluring than my blood.” I tipped my head to the side, observing him. “Or my cunt.”
A muscle in his jaw feathered, and his eyes glinted dangerously. Simon removed his clenched fists from his pockets to cross his arms over his chest. The motion drew my eyes to his slim, muscular build, then down to his trimmed waist.
“Vulgar little thing,” he drawled. He swiped a hand over his mouth, almost as if he meant to hide his tongue darting out to flick over his bottom lip. “So, pet, if you’re so educated, what are you reading?” He spat the endearment, but it fell short.
“Amor Immortalis by—”
“—by Azazel Mephistopheles.”
I blinked.
“No.”
Simon’s lips thinned and his gaze narrowed into ice-cold slits. “Yes. He wrote the poem Amor Dulcis—”
“—Amor Dulce Mors,” I swiftly corrected.
His nostrils flared, and he almost snarled as his white-knuckled fists returned to his sides. “Yes.”
“Azazel didn’t write it.” I carefully tapped a finger on the book cover before reciting the history lesson I remembered. “His secret human lover, Antonin Rowan, wrote it. Azazel was a fairy known for waxing on about the inherit eroticism of the more repressed human religions, but it was his lover who wrote poetry about their secret affair.”
